EVO Universe 1: The First

by Kipjo Ewers

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  8:50 AM Monday Morning September 8th, her little antic two nights ago had placed the entire state on high alert, all around her were heavily armed officers and soldiers on almost every corner, squad cars and personnel vehicles driving up and down the city, while helicopters scanned the air; she could have sworn she even saw a drone or two.

  The heat was so bad instead of traveling one; she jumped two states away to avoid detection. It did not matter; the objective was always to wait for Monday to initiate her plan.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  She remembered the day before promising to wage no war on a Sunday, instead she found another motel to set up camp, changed her clothes putting on a pretty long yellow flowing summer dress, with white sling-back wedges, and a small purse she picked up. Items she would later leave in a bus stop locker with the rest of her belongings that she did not need to carry for this mission. After Sunday, it would no longer matter if she came back for them or not. She found the nearest church to visit taking part in the sermon to kill half the day. It was Pentecostal, the sermon of the day by the pastor was God’s miracles, and the incident at Interstate 10 somehow became a part of his sermon.

  She thought it would have been amusing if she could have stood up and informed the congregation that the person he was taking about was standing in their midst, but she opted to making goo-goo eyes at a little girl with pigtails staring back at her from the pew in front.

  A mother next to her asked if she could kindly hold her eight-month old while she got his bottle from her bag. She nervously obliged holding the child that just stared back at her with inquisitive eyes.

  The child appeared to be more fascinated with her dreads as he reached out to grab one handling it. The innocent act made her eyes gloss over. His mother noticed the sadness her eyes could not hide.

  She leaned in whispering in her ear, “Your time will come…God has a plan for you. You just have to believe.”

  Sophia wanted to tell her with a smile that God screwed up her plans four years ago, using the F-word as the verb. She opted to just smile and thank her. If He did exist she had a grudge against her Creator, she was there because it was less likely for F.B.I agents or local authorities to storm one of His houses during a service looking for her. It was the least He could do for her. She became the designated babysitter for the rest of the service, left a substantial offering, and vanished before anyone could ask her if she accepted Jesus Christ into her life.

  She stopped by a small mom and pop dinner, had a stack of pancakes and eggs with sausage on the side, along with a glass of orange juice to wash it down for brunch. She finished her meal with a slice of homemade apple pie and a strawberry milkshake. She then just sat there looking out the window and around the diner at the people, while from time to time thinking of happier days. She made sure to leave a very nice tip before departing.

  Returning to the motel, she changed her clothes, and spent the rest of the day into the night studying her own self. A local junkyard was the perfect training ground. After the local guard dog realized there was no way his teeth was going to pierce her impenetrable hide and decided to behave itself, she got to work. She needed to know how fast she was, how strong, how durable, and if her new mental capabilities could be used for anything else other than accessing memories. If she was going into combat, she was going to be prepared.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Back in DC, everything was business as usual. People scrambled to get to work unconcerned with the heavy security, making it a bit easier for her to get around; she simply got into a DC taxicab and drove to her destination.

  It also helped that she wore a very nice navy blue two-piece business skirt suit with an ivory blouse underneath, black pumps, and a book bag. Glasses pulled the outfit together; she figured if it worked in the comic books; it would work for her. As she got out of the cab, she looked up at her target, the CNN news station.

  “No more hiding…” she said to herself one final time. She also knew there was no going back; everyone would see her once she did this, which meant everyone would be coming after her.

  She walked across the street with a crowd rushing to work to avoid detection from officers with full body armor, assault rifles and police dogs stationed at the corner. A scene people grew accustom to since 9/11. She headed up the steps and entered the lobby heading to the directory to find out the exact location of the news station. One of the guards, a stocky baldheaded Caucasian man with a salt and pepper goatee was watching her from the minute she entered the lobby and had a very bad feeling in his stomach despite her business attire. Ninth floor was her destination in the eleven-story building, as she appeared to sail across the lobby floor heading to the turnstile, the guard discreetly moved in her direction so as not to cause any alarm.

  “Excuse me Miss may I help you?” he asked politely.

  “No,” was what she shot back with.

  “May I ask who you are here to see?” he asked to which she responded with another, “No.”

  “Ms. I’m going to have to asked you to…,” before he can finish his request for Sophia to either comply with some information or leave, she gripped the turnstile in front of her and in one single motion ripped it from its foundation holding it in the air with her bare hand.

  She then proceeded to crush it causing everyone, save for a few and the guards behind the reception desk, to run out screaming.

  “You think they’re paying you enough to stop me?” she bluntly asked.

  The guard looked at the crushed turnstile in her hand with pieces of tile dropping off it to the floor, before giving her the obvious answer, “No.”

  She released the turnstile dropping it with a hefty thud to the floor before heading through the open area she created. A younger slimmer guard wearing a faded hairstyle fretfully walked up to the older guard as he watched Sophia head toward the elevator banks.

  “What should we do?” the younger guard asked.

  “Call everyone…,” said the dumbfounded older guard.

  “The police?” he asked again getting specific.

  “No…everyone…” ordered the older guard.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  At the F.B.I Washington Field Office - 601 4th Street NW, Mercer laid sleeping on the couch in their dual office, while Armitage sat at his desk with a cup of black coffee in his grip; it had been almost forty-eight hours before any of them got any rest including the flight from Houston back to Washington. Mark rifled through the investigation files that had grown bigger and bigger since this case began. Adding to the mystery, were files that stated Lieutenant Robert Matheson was treated at the Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center, but there wasn’t a doctor, nurse, physical therapist, or even janitor that could physically confirm he was ever treated there. No one had ever heard of the doctor or physical therapist that was on his files, nor could anyone explain how the apparent ghost files got into the system. It was more than clear that someone wanted people to believe he was getting treatment at that facility to mask where he received actual treatment.

  On top of that, General Matheson was impossible to locate, was not going to give an interview, and could not be touched on top of King’s orders, which meant he had something to hide.

  Armitage appeared to be at his wits end buried with more questions; finding no answers to help him burrow out of the grave that was suffocating him.

  As he contemplated burning everything on his desk including Dustin who was snoring up a storm on the couch, the door to his office flew open.

  A frantic female agent barged in to deliver the news they waited for all night into the morning, “Sirs!”

  Dustin sprang up on instinct still half-asleep, as Mark got out of his chair grabbing his body armor getting it ready to put on after he strapped on his shoulder holster.

  After securing the holster Mark pulled out his service piece from out of his desk, “Where?”

  “CNN News Building… 8
20 1st St!” she confirmed.

  “Get everything not bolted down there now,” he ordered.

  “Sir, Executive Assistant Director King has already given that order,” she said. Mark nodded as she ran off to prepare herself.

  Dustin wiping the cold out of his eye got to his feet, and grabbed his vest strapping it on, “At least she didn’t go to Fox…”

  “Kill the jokes and get your shit on…” Mark ordered not in the mood for early morning banter.

  “Well what the hell is the plan when we get there?” Dustin muttered, “Besides blowing the whole building to shit with her in it?”

  Mark muttered back, “I’ll think of one once we get there…”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Back at the CNN building, Sophia knowing they would probably cut the power the second she entered the elevator, opted to take the building emergency evacuation stairs.

  Impatiently she tore the steel door to the stairs from its hinges tossing it aside. As officers from the outside now entered the lobby from the commotion she caused, she removed her heels, and thought of a particular martial arts movie where the hero took great leaps covering large distances.

  Of course, the hero performed the stunt by Wire-Fu, but Sophia was capable of duplicating the same technique minus the wire and harness clearing each of the staircases with ease as she headed to the ninth floor.

  The training last night allowed her to hone her abilities better. She learned that her nervous system and muscles could duplicate any action or movement she had ever seen with just a thought, as long as it was within reason of her physical capabilities.

  Aside from denting parts of the stairwell with her bare feet when she landed, she quickly turned each corner completing the process repeatedly moving from floor to floor with considerable ease as she quickly closed in on her destination, while back in the lobby the officers present were instructed via radio to stand down, evacuate and secure the area. She had to go into the fifth floor to get to the sixth floor stairs to continue her ascension to the ninth floor.

  She decided to walk the last two flights of steps to the ninth floor, without hesitation she flew the emergency doors walking onto the floor. Since CNN owned the entire floor, it was not that hard to find what she was looking for. The receptionist was the first to see her, and got an equally bad feeling in her gut like the guard got downstairs. The feeling got bigger as she started to head in her direction.

  “Excuse me…can I help you?” the receptionist asked with a bit of an attitude smelling trouble.

  “Bad feeling” did not even acknowledge her as she passed her heading through the doors into the office area of the station, which the receptionist took as extremely rude getting to her feet, “Excuse me!”

  Sophia walked through the sea of office cubicles looking for the newsroom itself as the receptionist followed behind her sounding like a little ankle biter, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Whoever you are, you can’t be back here!”

  “Oh yes I can…” Sophia sang back in defiance.

  People either got up from their desks or poked their heads out of their cubicles to see what the commotion was. As she searched around for the newsroom one of the staff members probably a reporter got up out of his seat and tried to step in her way, “Excuse me…where do you think…?”

  Sophia calmly swiped him out of the way, gentle enough as not to injure him, but powerful enough to send him flying five cubicles down hitting the carpet floor hard and forcing everyone to get to their feet stunned. The display of power stopped the receptionist in her tracks understanding that Ms. Dennison was not the one you wanted to trifle with or follow.

  As she made another cubicle turn in her search a much taller and stockier staff member sporting glasses stepped into her way, “Hey you can’t…”

  He apparently did not get the memo about not getting in her way; she decided to educate him by grabbing the near six foot four man by the front of his pants and hoisting him into the air like a rag doll.

  A chorus of screams rang out in the office from shock as the now terrified man held onto her arm for dear life, “J…Jesus Christ!!”

  “I’m going to asked you once,” she calmly looked up at him; “The newsroom…where is it?”

  He quickly pointed in the direction she needed to go; she then steadily walked him over to a nearby seat sitting him down. He looked up at her with timid little child like eyes.

  She pointed a finger at him, “Don’t move…”

  “N…no ma’am…” he promised rapidly shaking his head.

  She quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone else willing to challenge her. Finding none, she made her way to the entrance of the newsroom itself.

  The receptionist quickly rushed toward the staff member still sitting in his seat with his head down, “Joshua…are you okay?”

  “She told me not to move…,” said a visibly shaken Joshua, “I’m not moving…”

  Inside the newsroom all eyes became instantly fixed on her as Sophia walked toward the set, partially from the commotion that could be heard from outside. The news anchor Carol Costello who was in the middle of a news report looked like a deer in headlights as the very woman she was reporting on stood before her. Luck was on both women’s side that day. Mrs. Costello originally based out of Atlanta came up to do her show in Washington to cover both the financial crisis, the election and the mayhem Sophia caused the state in since Saturday. Which meant Sophia could do what she came to do, and Mrs. Costello would be a part of the exclusive of possibly the century.

  The production manager still oblivious to what was actually going on screamed to go to commercial, “Who the hell is that on my set?!”

  One of the production assistants took the initiative to walk onto the set, which made Sophia roll her eyes being this would be the third person she would have to snatch since walking into the building.

  “Hey who the hell are you?! What are you doing…?” the production assistant demanded.

  Without any thought, Sophia grabbed him by the front of his pants and effortlessly hoisted the near two hundred pound young man high into the air.

  “Oh! Oh god!!” he screamed.

  It set off a chain reaction within the studio including the production manager until Sophia turned looking around allowing her to see her face, “Holy shit…that’s…that’s Sophia Dennison…”

  “The escape death row inmate?” asked one of her staff members.

  “No your mother…” she shot back at him for asking a stupid question.

  “Excuse me,” Sophia calmly looked around, taking off her glasses, while still holding the young man in the air, “Anyone looking for an exclusive?”

  “Get her whatever she wants…Now!” ordered the production manager, “And contact all other stations to switch over to us right now! I want this broadcasted throughout the entire country in two minutes!”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Back outside Mercer and Armitage rolled up to an invasion in front of the CNN building.

  “Wow…they actually got us tanks…,” said an impressed yet disturbed Dustin.

  Two M1 Abram Tanks sat flanking one another with turrets aimed at the front entrance of the building. Cluttered around the tanks were AVRs, and two Mobile Command Vehicles. A sea of FBI, army military personnel, and SWAT in their respective combat gear scattered around taking position. The duo exited their vehicle to the sound of a copter soaring across the DC sky.

  Armitage spied Executive Assistant Director King in all of the commotion coordinating with the Chief of Police and the Sergeant Major in command to position snipers, and M60 machine guns for a crossfire attack. He quickly marched over with Dustin bringing up the rear to try to quell the madness before it got further out of hand.