Storm Forged

by Patrick Dugan

  “My shoes?”

  “Yeah, give me your shoes. You’ll understand tomorrow.”

  As I handed over my shoes, I had the feeling I was going to regret this.

  I couldn’t sleep. The sight of Mom behind bars tore at me when I closed my eyes. If they hadn’t hidden my backpack, I would have tried to leave again, but I had the sneaking suspicion Gladiator guarded the exit. A light tap on my door roused me from my worries.

  “Come in,” I said, wondering who was still up at two a.m. Wendi slid in, softly closing the door behind her. I could barely make her out in the darkness of my room. I reached for the light, but her hand stopped me.

  “Tommy, I love you.”

  I wished I could go tell my younger self Wendi would be my girlfriend. I would have gotten a lot more sleep. “I love you, too.”

  She kissed me, hard. I felt an unusual urgency flowing from her. She pulled back. I heard her bathrobe fall to the floor as she climbed into my bed. She kissed me again. “In case something bad happens, I want us to be together tonight.” She slid in next to me, put her head on my chest, and sighed. I wrapped my arms around her, smelling her hair and wondering if we’d ever have a normal life together.

  I fell asleep with my angel next to me.

  I woke up. Wendi had gone, but the scent of her lavender perfume lingered on my pillow. The smile on my face wouldn’t go away, not that I wanted it to.

  I jumped when Marcel swung the door open. “Bruh, I’ve got a way to get Mom out.”

  The smile died. We had one more day to get Mom, Dad, and Abby out before they were killed. “War room in five,” and he left.

  I thought about just throwing on clothes and going until I realized I smelled like a field of lavender. I jumped into the shower, scrubbing vigorously so that Jon wouldn’t smell her perfume on me. Guy has a nose better than a dog. I toweled off then threw on some clothes and headed down, grabbing a banana on the way. Wendi, Jon, Alyx, and Gladiator were assembled. My shoes sat in my customary chair.

  “Okay, let’s start,” Marcel said from behind his laptop. The Megadrome popped up in the center table in three dimensions. “Alyx and Gladiator mapped the perimeter of the Megadrome during their reconnaissance, and there aren’t any weak points into the prisoner area. But there is one way in, here.”

  The model zoomed into the heavily armored entryway. “This leads underground to where all the holding cells, the main frame, and comm array are housed. A nuclear bomb couldn’t breach all the concrete and Carbinium they used. The internal lift moves the contestants from the cells to the arena floor. There isn’t another way from the arena to the holding area.”

  “Okay, so we know this, Einstein, but how does it get us in?” Jon said from where he perched on the sideboard. He never sat in a chair since becoming fully Gifted. He looked like he could launch across the room in a heartbeat.

  “Oh, there isn’t a way to break in.”

  “What?” we all exclaimed in a major jinx moment.

  “No way to break in. But what if you walk up and surrender as the rest of the crew from the massacre? They will escort you to the holding cells, and overnight, I pop the security system and you fight your way out. They’ll never expect it.”

  “Okay, so what do we do once we are out?” I said.

  “Just so happens Mr. and Mrs. Jablonski won a trip to Los Angeles to be on Wheel of Fortune.”

  “Good for them. How does that help us?” I asked. Marcel’s smug grin appeared on his face. I seriously thought about slapping it off.

  “They live here,” he said as the model zoomed out. They overlooked the entryway we would be going in. “Alyx paid their apartment a visit last night; he’ll be waiting with Gladiator to pull you out quick.”

  We had a plan, if you could call it that, but it’s the best we could do in such a short timeframe. “So why did you need my shoes?”

  “I didn’t. I just didn’t want you to leave before I could tell you the plan.”

  I dropped my head to the table to the laughter of my friends. Once, just once, I wanted to come out on the good side of the conversation.

  The sun hung directly overhead as we approached the tunnel entrance. Marcel’s description of the details sounded good, but actually walking up the Reclaimers and turning yourself in was more nerve wracking than listening to him talk about it.

  Two guards approached, machine guns pointed at us. We set our backpacks in front of us, Jon laid down his bow as well, as we explained who we were. An officer stepped out the smaller entry door; the loading dock doors stayed closed. He frowned as he approached.

  “What do we have here, Collins?”

  “Sir,” Collins said, his eyes never leaving us. “These three say they participated in the massacre with The Butcher. They want to turn themselves in.”

  The officer, Captain Wilker according to his name tag, barked a mirthless laugh. “Kids, you might think this joke is funny, but I assure you tha…”

  Wendi stood behind the three soldiers with only the breeze to announce that she moved.

  Wilker grabbed the radio from his belt. “We have a code 43, I repeat code 43 at the main gate.” He pulled his pistol pointing it directly at Wendi. “By the authority of the Protector, you are under arrest.”

  We put our hands behind our heads as soldiers ran from the Megadrome like ants from a kicked hill.

  I swallowed hard. I really hoped Marcel knew what he was doing.

  The guards surrounding us, shoved us forward through the massive doorway. The concrete hallway slopped, reversing its course every hundred feet or so. I’d guess we were a couple of hundred feet below the Megadrome by the time we stopped walking. A guard station, situated between two massive concrete bunkers, blocked our path. The narrow entry forced you to enter or exit one at a time. An armed guard could hold off an army here.

  They jammed orange jumpsuits at each of us. Shock wands hovered inches from us as we stepped into a clear chamber. Laser lights flowed over us, air circulated around us, and when a green light clicked on overhead, the glass frosted, and we were told to change. My clothes and shoes were confiscated as I exited the booth. One of the techs examined my shoes carefully, prodding at the sole a couple of times before they were deposited into a bag and tossed to the side. I sighed with relief in my head, glad to know Marcel’s little joke hadn’t been discovered.

  A couple of the guards made comments about leaving the glass clear while the Wendi changed. Captain Wilker turned on them, teeth clenched. “How about I switch off the dampener and see how well you fair in there?” Both snapped to attention, and the other guards all found something to do.

  After another long walk, I was placed in a room, a window separating me from the three military men. It couldn’t make out details with the bright light focused on my face.

  “Looks like our net caught a few more fish,” one chuckled. “We should kill kids more often—we might rid ourselves of the Dissidents once and for all.”

  I wanted to break through the glass, but I held my tongue. For the next hour, they shot questions at me about why we had surrendered, who else was loose, and various other questions that I answered without giving anything away. A loud buzz sounded, and I was escorted to the holding cells.

  The guards collected us, verified our restraints, and marched us through a maze of halls. Another station guarded the entrance to the holding cell. I saw on the video screens the cell consisted of a large room, separate sleeping quarters, and two bathrooms. A TV screen had been embedded into the far wall, and the Protectorate propaganda news station played on it. Gladiator would have felt at home in such a place. Surely the architect must have a thing for the Roman Coliseum since it could have been taken from there.

  Each of us had our cuffs removed and then were shoved into the cell. Mom stood there, and I could tell she wasn’t pleased to see me. The flood gates broke, and I raced over to hug her. She returned the hug with enough strength to crush a car. “What are you doing?” she whispered into
my ear.

  “We have a plan,” I whispered back as much from lack of air as not wanting to be overheard. “I’m getting you out of here. Marcel is shutting off the security systems during the night so we can escape.”

  She released me, and I glanced around. Wendi, Jon, and Abby were huddled together talking. Mom took my arm and led me to the back of the room. Seated on the bunk in his cell was my dad. He glanced up as we approached.

  “Michael, I would like you to meet Tommy,” Mom said.

  Dad stood up, and it shocked me to look him straight in the eyes. I’d grown more than I thought. I could see what Mr. Fix-it meant. His face mirrored mine, the same nose, the same hazel eyes. Bandages covered his arms. Waxenby had told me Dad’s Gift burned him as he used it. He started to offer me his hand to shake, but then pulled me in to a hug. I couldn’t believe I had finally met my dad.

  He held me out at arm’s length so he could see me better. “Tommy, I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.”

  “Me too, Dad.”

  He went on as if I hadn’t said anything. “But you shouldn’t have come here. What were you thinking?”

  I recoiled as if he had struck me. “What?”

  “You surrendered,” he said, a bit of heat in his voice. “There is nothing you can do here but die. This is rigged, and you know it.”

  I could feel my face ignite with a mixture of outrage and embarrassment. After all I’ve gone through to rescue him, this is what I get? “Well, I guess it runs in the family, huh?”

  His face flushed with rage. “I was protecting you and your mother. They stopped hunting for you after I surrendered. You were safe.”

  “Safe?” My tone would have made a polar bear shiver. “We lived in Redemption. I got beat up almost every day, and people spat on Mom for having a Dissident for a kid. We weren’t safe. Powell tried to kill me and my friends. We were far from safe.”

  He sat down on the bed. “Powell was a good man at one time. He lost his wife and child when Titan destroyed the bus they were on. I hoped he would be able to find some peace after he brought me in.”

  “No, he hated you with a passion.” I’d never pictured meeting my dad going like this. This reunion should have been epic, not us fighting.

  “Hated?”

  “He attacked me and my friends. When I told him about you, he went nuts and used jumper cables so he could ruin my face.” I stepped carefully around the subject since Dad had burned him so badly. “My collar shattered, and I killed him.”

  “I’m sorry, Tommy,” Dad said slowly. “I should have finished the job, but I couldn’t kill any more people. We were losing, and I knew they would stop searching for you after I gave up. I should have been there for you and Susan all those years.”

  Mom put her arms around him, whispering softly in his ear. After a lifetime of her being angry that he left, it felt good to see her forgive him. I left them alone to make up.

  An hour later, Mom and Dad joined us in front of the TV. The footage of the school bus massacre dominated the newsfeed. Dad stepped over and shook Jon’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jon.”

  For once, Jon didn’t have the smug air about him. In fact, he might have been a bit awed. “Very nice to meet you, sir. You are amazing to watch fight, sir.”

  Dad smiled warmly. “Abby has told me a lot about you and your sister, Wendi, isn’t it?” He held his hand out to Wendi, who took it. Dad patted the back of her hand. “I understand both of you are quite talented. It will be an honor to fight beside you both.”

  Wendi beamed. “Thank you. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  “As do I, Wendi.”

  We sat together, the muted TV broadcasting propaganda. We talked about little things, and Dad and Abby spoke about the challenges they had faced in the Gauntlet. Soon the lights flickered, announcing lights out.

  We each took a bed in one of the alcoves; I wisely did not follow Wendi to hers. The lights turned off as I climbed into the uncomfortable bed. I definitely preferred the previous night’s not sleeping to this one. The hum of the dampening units droned on through the night. I had fully charged before we left, but I couldn’t feel the power, so I didn’t know if I’d have juice when my Gift came back.

  I laid still, feigning sleep. I didn’t want the guards wondering why I paced the cell and coming to investigate. The hours dragged by without the signal. I finally drifted off.

  I sat up in shock as the cell doors slid open with a resounding clang. The night had passed, and the security systems were still running. Marcel had failed. Tonight, I would to die on national TV.

  39

  Nerves were getting the better of me in the holding cells. The security system was not going down. When they came for Mom, they got her, but not without a fight. Abby had been shocked, but not before she had smashed in one guard’s knee and another’s teeth. Jon limped slightly. My ribs ached from where I’d been struck with the baton. They made sure not to hit us where it would show. Once the inhibitor field dropped, the injuries would heal rapidly.

  I spent my time talking to Wendi, hoping at any moment the signal would sound and we could break out, but time passed, and nothing happened. Marcel must be going crazy since his plan hadn’t worked. I should have never let Wendi and Jon come along.

  They fed us stale chicken salad sandwiches and water. So much for our last meal before execution. After we ate, the guards showed up. Guards filled the hall, all in riot gear. As they called each of us, we stood with our backs to the door and handcuffs were put on. They left Abby for last. Instead of cuffing her, a guard shot her with a dart, and she tumbled to the floor. “That’ll teach the bitch,” I heard from one of the guards. Abby was carried out; the rest of us followed.

  The others walked behind me as we were led down the silent hall. We walked through a door like we had back in the Air-Lock and entered wonderland. The place contained racks of clothes, props, barber chairs with lighted mirrors. The cuffs came off, and a small man with black glasses and a scarf around his neck came over. He pranced around me tsking the whole time. “They expect miracles with these deadlines,” he muttered as he stood in front of me. “I’m Frankie, your stylist. We need to prep you for tonight. Now your friend there,” he gestured as the four guards moved Abby off through the clothes and out of sight, “she made it hard on all of us. You can make this easy or hard. Your choice.”

  I noticed a series of tooth-sized scabs on his left arm. I guess hair and makeup didn’t rank very high on Abby’s list.

  “I’m good.”

  Frankie nodded. “Take the pretty one to Darlene and tell her I want her to shine, unlike beast girl.” He looked me over one more time. “Mmm, child, I have just the thing for you.”

  He went to a clothes rack filled with different suits. After selecting and rejecting ten different suits, he settled on one. He held it out for me. “What do you think? I wish I had time to design it from scratch, but the show must go on.”

  My suit had a blue center and dark red with extra armor at the shoulder. The legs were red on the outside while the blue continued down the middle. Solid gunmetal gray boots with a red stylized star burst on the side, blue gloves, and belt finished off the look. “Ummm, it’s okay.”

  “Let’s make you fierce,” Frankie said with a laugh. “At least you’ll be a beautiful corpse.”

  Great, I get stuck with the comedian.

  I emerged from Frankie’s grasp with my hair puffed up and wearing makeup. I got jammed into the suit, and while I’d seen more subdued clowns, I appreciated the carbon fiber plates that covered my hips, chest, arms and shins. Reinforced knee pads would come in handy as well. I figured the suits didn’t have any other use than a costume. I was glad to be wrong. Frankie refused to let me wear my helmet. “No helmets in the finale! We must see your beautiful faces.”

  The guards shoved me down another hallway to the prep room. A gun butt to the back propelled me into the room. I could hear them laughing about us being dead me
n walking. We would enter the arena from here. Dad wore a new combat suit since the last one had been torn to shreds. This one had golden lightning bolts from his hips to his black combat boots. The center chest piece shimmered with the same gold, running from the edges of his shoulder armor and narrowing as it descended his torso.

  “New suit?” I asked innocently.

  Dad laughed. “I wanted my old one, but Taylor almost fainted when I mentioned it. I really want my helmet.”

  I mimicked Frankie. “No helmets in the finale!”

  We both laughed.

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I thought things would have worked out differently.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Tommy, I am proud of you. Your mother pointed out to me I pulled the same boneheaded stunts back when I fought with Omega Squad. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  I felt a warm glow of pride well up inside of me. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Let’s make it the fight of the century. If they are going to take us down, we’ll do it with style.”

  I started to reply, but Dad nudged me with his elbow. The door to the prep room opened, and Wendi sauntered in. Her suit was a deep red with yellow accents. Laces held the front of her suit together, showing a lot of skin. Her hair was curled into ringlets, and she had on a lot more makeup than normal. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She struck a runway model pose, spun around, and walked over to me.

  “Wow!” All thoughts died in my brain.

  A knife flashed under my chin as Wendi giggled. “Eyes are up here, Sport.”

  “Knives?” I asked, noticing matching sheaths on each hip.

  “Darlene informed me I needed weapons to fight.” She spun the knife around and reseated it in the sheath.

  Dad stepped up. “Wendi, you should probably hang back during the fight.”

  She nodded. “Because if I stand back and we lose, they’ll just let me walk, right?”

  When neither of us answered, she continued. “I’m Gifted just like you. This is my fight as much as yours. I’m taking down whatever they put in front of me, even if I have to use my bare hands. Got it?”