Subject Nightingale 1: Birth and Death

by Tim Cody

  Nightingale just shook her head.

  “Hey, hey,” Jonny said, his voice strained as he felt his heart struggling to beat around the bullet, “look at me.” He dropped his gun and reached out, and lifted Nightingale's face with his hand on her chin. “Remember what Michaela said: you're strong, Nightingale, and you're braver than you know. Do you believe what she told you?”

  She sniffled and nodded quickly, her eyes suddenly rising to Jonny's.

  “Good, because it's true. So you're going to be just fine—you're going to be perfect, okay?”

  Nightingale winced and clenched her eyes shut tight when Jonny spoke those words. A dull pain throbbed in her head, but it was weak.

  She caught a glimpse of Jonny in a hospital room, sitting beside a young girl hooked up to medical equipment.

  “You're going to be just fine,” Jonny said to her, tears on his face, “you're going to be perfect, okay?”

  “Are you with me, Nightingale?” Jonny said.

  “Yeah...” she whispered.

  “Okay, so get ready to run. Understand?”

  “Roger,” Nightingale said, and wiped her eyes. She piled everything back into the medical kit and strapped it across her torso.

  “How about some cover fire, Garland?” Jonny called out.

  Garland breathed in a deep and frustrated breath, and then exhaled. If Jonny took another bullet, he would let go of that switch, and the entire floor would go up. “Providing cover fire,” he said, and he and Heavy Guard immediately took cover behind a few of the lobby's couches. They laid down a layer of suppression fire; just enough so Tommy had to keep his head down, and couldn't take a shot.

  “Go!” Jonny shouted at Nightingale. “Run!”

  Nightingale sprung to her feet and bolted for the door. It was several yards away, but she ran as fast as she could, and she didn't look back at the gunfire. She clutched the medical kit to her chest, and she just ran.

  The sliding glass doors opened for her and she ran through a small foyer, and then she was outside. She clenched her eyes shut tight at the bright sunlight and lifted her arm to block it, struggling to squint them open as she looked toward the sky.

  The sky was eclipsed by a white metallic disk three miles up, and a couple hundred miles wide. Its underside was constructed of grinding gears and cogs, like the inner workings of an intricate clock. The clear blue sky was visible beyond its edges, broken up every mile by evenly spaced pillars constructed similarly to the disk they supported.

  Nightingale lowered her gaze to her surroundings, and froze when she saw the dozens of armed Heavy Guard squad members staring at her. She had stepped onto the Lab's concrete entryway, lined with artificial trees and shrubbery, and also with guards. The bird on her shoulder chirped worriedly as she began walking down the center of the walkway, her breathing quick and nervous, her entire body shaking.

  She began picking up speed as she moved farther away from the front door, soon jogging, and then sprinting. She kept her eyes forward, and she just ran.

  Back in the building, Garland ordered his men to hold their fire after Nightingale had stepped outside. Tommy peeked over the edge of the mezzanine and readied his sniper rifle again, the scope focused on Jonny's hiding spot.

  “Now that we got that out of the way,” he muttered to himself.

  Jonny smiled as he watched Nightingale run away from the building. “Good,” he whispered, “remember what Michaela told you...”

  “It's time to turn yourself in, California,” Garland said, he and his squad swinging their weapons around to aim at Jonny. “Surrender or die, soldier.”

  “Actually, Garland,” Jonny said, but he could barely raise his voice above a pained groan, “I was thinking it may be my turn.”

  “Your turn for what?” Garland asked.

  “You see, the good half of my squad, Theo and Michaela, they gave their lives to protect that girl...”

  “Don't do anything foolish, California.”

  “But somewhere along the way, the order got mixed up. A good leader always takes point—that's something you can understand, right?” Jonny's thumb touched the detonator's trigger.

  “Dammit! Heavy Guard, fall back! Retreat!” Garland ordered, and his squad rushed for the exit.

  “%$#@!^& glitches,” Tommy said, grunting and groaning as he struggled to his feet.

  “Someone's saving me a seat, and I don't wanna be late.”

  Jonny pressed the trigger.

  Chapter 9

  Run, Run, and then Run Some More

  Nightingale just ran.

  Her surroundings hardly seemed to change as she put distance between herself and the Lab. Everywhere she looked, impossibly tall buildings constructed of the same white metal reached toward that disc in the sky. Massive black ECHO trucks and vans surrounded the property, forming a barrier and secure checkpoints, but the armed guards ignored her on Garland's command. She ran right by two guards who didn't even seem to notice her, and then stopped dead in her tracks when an explosion rocked the area.

  “Jonny?” she said, and almost looked back.

  But she resumed her sprint instead. She didn't have a destination in mind—she didn't know any destinations to begin with—so she just ran, like Jonny said.

  She sprinted between rows of sleek and polished cars, running through a massive parking lot, keeping her eyes on the patches of sky miles away.

  There must be something there, she thought. Anything!

  Her legs burnt, but didn't give out; her lungs worked overtime, but she didn't have trouble breathing. She had no idea how long she had been running before the edge of the parking lot crept into sight, and her eyes landed on a new target: a tunnel built into a giant concrete wall.

  The armed guards raised a four-foot solid steel barricade from the ground and lifted their rifles when they saw Nightingale approaching.

  Just let me pass, just let me pass! she repeated in her panicked mind, not slowing down for even an instant.

  The guards lowered their weapons and the barricade sunk back into the concrete, and she didn't stop to wonder why.

  She just kept moving.

  The dim tunnel sloped down, twisting and turning, and periodically branched off at another guarded checkpoint. Green signs with white lettering pointed at the different exits and entrances, and the farther she ran, the more cars she encountered. They weren't like the slick cars of the parking lot, though—many of them appeared rather old, and their quality continued to decline as she ran deeper and deeper into the tunnel.

  The exhaust fumes began to grow thick, and Nightingale began to cough. The bird on her shoulder began to chirp worriedly, and then something that sounded like a gunshot rang through the tunnel. She jumped and ran faster, and turned right at the next checkpoint. The guards didn't even glance at her as she bolted by, and soon she was back in fresh air.

  She could hardly see the sky in the distance anymore. The view was blocked by buildings and apartments of varying sizes, constructed of red and brown bricks and reinforced by haphazardly placed wooden planks. Broken, taped, and boarded up windows lined their walls, and the paved streets and sidewalks were cracked and pockmarked with signs of aging and disrepair.

  A gentle rain fell over the area, filling the spots of missing pavement and soaking Nightingale as she continued to run. There weren't many citizens out and about or too many cars on the street, so she continued uninterrupted—she had no idea for how long, but it felt like forever.

  She eventually ducked into an alleyway between two apartment buildings, and continued to run until her path was blocked by a tall chain-link fence. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed it with both hands, giving it a good shake before gasping and turning around quickly.

  There was absolutely no one behind her.

  Nightingale assumed there would be guards chasing her, she had passed so many checkpoints... She was beyond relieved to be alone, however. She let out a sigh of relief and pushed her hair back with both hands, combing
the matted strands away from her face with her fingernails.

  “How far did he want me to run?” she asked the bird on her shoulder—but it just cocked its head to the side and chirped. “And what am I supposed to do once I can't run anymore?” This next question was asked through quivering lips as the reality of her situation sunk in.

  She was lost. She had no memories of herself—who she is, where she came from, where she can go to be home, or even safe... Does anyone know her? Does she have any friends, or did they all die getting her out of that building?

  “Michaela...” she muttered, staring down at the medical kit she now clutched protectively to her chest. Tears mixed with the rain on her face, and she sniffled.

  Suddenly, the day caught up with her. Her limbs burnt and she slid down the gate to a sitting position, panting in heavy breaths as her lungs seized up from the exhaustion of running so many miles without a break. She groaned and coughed, her throat and mouth completely dry. She doubted there was anything to cure such exhaustion in the medical kit, so she looked around her immediate vicinity.

  A few tin trash cans and black bags of garbage were piled in the corner, right next to an upside down, red and white umbrella. It appeared to be in mostly good condition, and was overflowing with rainwater.

  “Think it's clean?” Nightingale whispered, unable to raise her voice any louder.

  She reached one tired arm toward the edge of the umbrella; it was just out of her reach, but it closed the gap itself and touched her fingertips. She pulled it closer and leaned toward the water, inspecting it carefully. It looked clean enough—it was clear, and she couldn't see anything foreign floating around... The nightingale hopped off her shoulder and perched on the edge of the umbrella, and began drinking it first.

  “Hey, wait,” Nightingale said, “we don't even know if it's safe.”

  She was so thirsty, though, and the bird didn't immediately keel over... So she leaned in close and cupped her hands together, scooping out an experimental handful and sipping it down.

  It tasted so fresh!

  Nightingale's eyes lit up and she leaned her face toward the umbrella, pursing her lips and gulping down as much water as she could. She drank by the mouthful, and then stifled a quiet belch once she was sufficiently hydrated.

  She sighed and leaned back against the fence, and her stomach began to protest her hunger next. She had no idea when she had last eaten. The soreness in her limbs was quickly fading, though; she could sense the nanobots that Metzger had put in her restoring her muscle strength, and her thoughts drifted to that monster—Phellman, completely overcome by the very same things that were in her...

  “What are we gonna do?” she asked, panning her gaze to the bird as it perched back on her shoulder. She had too much going on. She was exhausted, but she wasn't tired; every muscle in her body ached, but she could physically feel them recovering; she was lost, shivering in a freezing rain, and as far as she knew, there may be people hunting her. Her eyelids were growing heavier by the second; she was having trouble keeping them open.

  The full extent of the day's exhaustion and emotion had caught up with her all at once. She knew that sleep—perhaps more aptly described as losing consciousness—was inevitable. All she could do was think quickly and do her best to warm up and dry off.

  She grabbed the umbrella and turned it right-side up, dumping the water out. She stuck its handle through one of the links in the fence behind herself, successfully propping it up above her head as a makeshift roof. It kept her bird entirely dry, and herself mostly.

  She hugged her legs to her chest, and fell asleep against the fence at the end of the alley.

  Chapter 10

  The Girls Who Were Almost Sisters

  Nightingale was woken some time later to something tugging at the medical kit strapped around her torso. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw a small hand reaching into the pouch, and she heaved the bag away.

  “Get away from me!” she shouted, and the hand retracted immediately. She followed it to its owner—a young girl, she couldn't have been more than twelve years old—falling flat on her rear and sliding a few feet across the pavement.

  “Ouch, hey!” she shouted.

  “Hey, quit it!” An older girl, she looked to be around Nightingale's age, knelt beside the younger one and cradled her in her arms. “You don't gotta push her around, she's just a kid!”

  “It's okay, she didn't push me,” the younger girl said as she was helped to her feet. “I just fell, or...something... Somehow... And slid, I guess?” She looked up at the older girl and shrugged.

  The older girl stared at Nightingale defiantly and held the younger one protectively. “Keep it to yourself, okay!?”

  “She was trying to take stuff outta my bag!” Nightingale rebutted, examining the contents of the kit before zipping it back up securely. It didn't look like anything was missing.

  “Whisper, is that true!?” the older girl looked down at the younger girl—Whisper.

  “W-well, I, um...” Whisper stammered for a moment, looking between Nightingale and the older girl. “It's got a red cross on it—that means it's got bandages in it, right?” She kicked at the ground nervously with the toe of her black boot. “I was just looking, Elise... I wasn't gonna steal anything, I promise!”

  Elise sighed and shook her head, and grabbed one of Whisper's two long ponytails. Her nearly waist-long hair was black and streaked with dark purple, and Elise gave it a firm tug. “How many times do I gotta tell you!?”

  Whisper squealed and grabbed her hair closer to her head to pull counter to Elise's tugging and lessen the pain. “Quit it, Elise, that hurts!”

  “That's the point!” Elise said as she continued to tug her hair. “It's not polite to look through someone else's things, so apologize!”

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Whisper immediately caved, and Elise released her hair.

  Nightingale just watched, mostly confused by the scene unfolding before her. She began shivering when a chilly breeze picked up, and hugged her legs to her chest for warmth; her clothes were dry, and then she noticed that the rain had stopped.

  “I'm sorry about that,” Elise said to Nightingale next. “She's just trying to help. We can get pretty scraped up sometimes while looking for supplies.”

  “It's...okay,” Nightingale said a bit pensively. She pulled the umbrella out of the fence and placed it aside so she could see the girls fully.

  “That's a pretty clever trick,” Elise said. “An umbrella in a fence can be a good night's sleep if you're new to the streets, but it won't do much to protect you from the cold.”

  “New to the streets?” Nightingale asked, staring up at her. Whisper was suddenly preoccupied with untangling her long hair.

  “Yeah, you're new, right?” she asked. “Newly homeless?”

  “I'm not homeless.” Nightingale shook her head.

  “Oh, you're not?” Elise responded, one eyebrow lifting curiously. “Where do you live, then?”

  “Well, I...” Nightingale frowned thoughtfully and her gaze drifted toward the ground. “I'm, um... I don't know... I came from higher up, I was running, and now—”

  “You came from up top!?” Whisper said excitedly. “How high up!?”

  “What?” Nightingale looked at Whisper. “Um, I don't know... I think I passed maybe a dozen checkpoints?”

  “A dozen!?” Whisper shouted, eyes wide in disbelief, and then she looked up at Elise. “Elise, how much is a dozen!?”

  “It's twelve,” she answered Whisper, and then looked at Nightingale skeptically. “You came down to White Rain Falls from twelve levels up?”

  “She's rich! That means she's rich, right!?” Whisper asked.

  “She's not rich, Whisper, she's sleeping in an alley.”

  “Will you please just leave me alone?” Nightingale said next. She didn't know what these girls wanted, but she just wanted to be left alone.

  “Aw, drat, I thought we were gonna get a reward for finding her
or something,” Whisper said, and then grabbed Elise's hand. “Come on, we don't have much time left if we wanna find you some new pants.”

  “Alright, Whisper,” Elise said, and turned to leave Nightingale to her own business.

  That's when Nightingale noticed the tear in Elise's pant leg. The calf was sporting a large rip, and a particularly nasty scrape was bleeding down her leg and staining the denim a darker shade.

  She sighed and looked down at the medical kit in her hands, and remembered what Michaela had told her. She remembered what she said about there being so many children here who need help—who don't have anyone to look after them... She unzipped the pouch and inspected its contents thoughtfully, and then looked at the bird on her shoulder.

  “What do you think?” she asked quietly, and it chirped happily. “Hey, come back!” she called out next, and the girls turned around.

  “Yeah?” Elise responded.

  Nightingale tried to stand and go after the girls, but her legs felt like rubber and she just fell back down. She was fatigued from hunger, and could hardly stand on her own. “I can patch you up,” she said, her voice suddenly weak when she realized her hunger. She grabbed the fence behind herself and tried to pull herself to her feet.

  “Really!?” Whisper shouted and rushed back over.

  Elise was suddenly more concerned for Nightingale, though. “Don't try to stand!” she said, following Whisper. “Look at you, you look starved... When's the last time you ate?”

  “I don't know,” Nightingale answered.

  “You don't know when the last time you ate was?” Whisper asked.

  “When's the last time you at least drank something?” Elise asked next.

  “It was raining just before I fell asleep, I drank then.”

  “It hasn't rained for two days!” Elise said, shocked, as she knelt and pulled the backpack off her back. She placed it on the ground and unzipped it, and retrieved a bottle of water. “Here, drink this.”