by JN Chaney
And then it happened.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
It was coming from before him, somewhere distant, but close enough to reach. He started walking, his eyes half opened, his mind floating in a cloud as he listened for the path.
The beating pattern begged him for a name, screamed for recognition, and he craved to give it one, begging it to come and stay a while.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
There was familiarity to the noise. A heartbeat, yes, of course, pounding intensely, anxiously. Nervously. He edged his way forward through the hall, turning at the fork to the eastern wing.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
It was growing closer, as though it were seeking him. Could it be Mei or John, come to find him? Had they failed to locate Alex? Had he been following the wrong person?
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum.
No, they weren’t the source. Mei and John were still behind him. He stepped through a doorway, into a storage room filled with boxes and equipment. The beating was intense now, strong and quick and powerful.
“Alex,” he said, opening his eyes completely. “I know you’re here. Come out.”
No answer, so he stepped inside. He considered flipping the light switch, but realized his chances would be greater if he was the only one who could see, should he find himself in a struggle.
He kicked aside some broken metal and a set of bones beside them, jerking dust into the air. It made the air smell dry and old. He scrunched his nose and held his breath, waiting for it to settle. When he breathed again, there was something else still lingering—a living scent that echoed sweat and blood and flesh. He turned to his side, to a cluster of tall computer towers and storage crates, and cautiously stepped forward.
Suddenly, from behind the darkness of the equipment, Alex lunged toward him. Terry swung his rifle around, shooting wildly into the walls, missing him. Alex grappled the weapon, throwing Terry back against the wall, holding him down. He was so strong—as strong as Terry, but how?
Terry pressed his foot into the corner of the wall behind him and pushed forward. Alex reacted immediately, redirecting Terry to the wall again. The force of the impact staggered him, knocking a bit of air from his lungs.
Alex pressed the side of the gun to Terry’s neck. He leaned in close, matching his eyes in the dark. Could he see him? Was it even possible?
Alex smiled. “Don’t follow me,” he whispered. With both his hands on the stock of the rifle, he snapped it in half, casting the pieces of it to the side. “Next time, that’ll be you,” he said, gripping Terry by the arm, and flung him like a rock into the wall. Then, he ran.
Terry slid into the pile of bones on the floor. He coughed as the dust scattered but quickly composed himself and followed Alex.
In all the time since they’d found him on the surface, Alex had never displayed such raw strength before. Nothing like what he’d just done, nothing like Terry’s. No one had.
Could he have been hiding it? It seemed so unlike him…that he should shy away from arrogance and show of strength. To think in all the time that he had been with them, keeping this secret to himself, acting as their prisoner, he could just as easily have run. Why had he stayed with them? Why go on pretending?
Terry rounded the hall and dashed toward a sprinting Alex in the distance. He was heading back to the observation deck, back to the catwalks and the machine. Mei and John might be there. Maybe they’d be fast enough to down him.
Terry reached the end of the hall and entered the deck. Staring through the looking glass, he saw John and Mei had returned, but something was wrong. Mei was screaming.
As he drew closer, Terry saw Alex had seized Mei’s rifle in one arm, holding her by the neck in the other. Atop the metal grate, John lay on his back, his gun missing, and Alex’s boot pressed hard into his chest. A wicked smile and crooked eyes peered down at John before finally rising to meet Terry. “I told you not to follow me,” said Alex. “I was going to let you go.”
“Stop it, Alex!” yelled Terry. He stood at the door to the observation deck, several yards from them. “Whatever you’re doing isn’t the way. We can talk it out. Put down the gun and relax.”
“We already talked it out, remember? You didn’t give a damn what I had to say.”
“I’m sorry,” said Terry. “I made a mistake. But I’m listening now, see? Let them go and you can tell me again.”
“You think I’m stupid? I tried talking to you the other night in the field. I tried again today. None of you want to hear the truth. All you care about is your friends and your precious city!” He pulled Mei close and stuck the barrel of the rifle in her neck. “But I can fix it for you, Terry. We can get rid of all your distractions right here and now.”
“Stop it!” he cried. “Don’t do this!”
“You did this to them when you refused to listen,” snapped Alex. “It’s on you!” He clutched the rifle close, then leaned into Mei. “This one’s for forgetting your place, little girl,” he whispered in her ear. “Enjoy the bullet, bitch.”
John screamed and latched hold of Alex’s leg. “Get off her!” he yelled, then bared his teeth and bit Alex’s ankle.
Alex cursed at the pain and fell, pulling the trigger before dropping the rifle over the railing. Mei loosed a terrifying shriek as the bullet grazed her cheek. A stream of blood slid down the side of her face as the bullet hit the console near the machine.
Alex fell backwards and onto the scaffold, letting go of Mei. She ran, tears in her eyes, toward Terry and the observation deck. She passed him, shaking, spouting incoherent cries from having nearly died. Terry ran in the other direction, toward the others. He had to make it to John before Alex got back to his feet.
John scrambled to stand. He saw Terry and started toward him, but before they met, Alex was back up and charging.
The three of them met in the middle of the platform. Alex plummeted into them both, screaming. He grabbed hold of John’s shoulder and flung him away, then looked at Terry with wild, mad eyes, his chest heaving, and went at him.
Again, they clashed, and Terry could feel the weight of Alex’s fury pressing down on him, forcing him back. He struggled, desperately trying to fight, but it wasn’t enough. Alex cast him down, knocking him into the railing. Then, holding him by his gear, he lifted him over the side and threw him from the railing.
Terry fell into the pit, landing hard against another catwalk, knocking every ounce of Variant air from his lungs. Blood dripped over his eyes, splashing into the metal grate like a crimson waterfall. He felt numb, cloudy, almost empty. He tried to lift his head, only managing to turn over on his back, trying to see what was happening on the platform high above him.
But he couldn’t see a thing. The room was blurring, evaporating into nothing. Darkness replaced it, a fraction at a time, until everything was black and all the light had gone. Was this the moment, then? Was this where he was going to die? Killed so far from home, deep inside a grave, staring up toward the end…
He drifted, lost in a sea of memory.
He thought of the moment he first entered the academy, when he stood in Bishop’s office all those years ago and listened to a towering man tell him his future—how this was his home now, and there was no going back. He thought of the baseball on the wall. He’d never seen a baseball before, except in pictures. He wondered where it came from.
He remembered Mr. Nuber, the one-armed teacher who called him a baby. The only man in the city to kill a rab and live. Terry used to think Nuber was the toughest person in the world. Maybe he was. Terry thought about his bald head. Did everyone lose their hair like that?
Terry thought about Sarah and Roland, born soldiers and natural leaders. None of this would have happened if either of them were still here. What would Roland say when Terry saw him again?
John, his best friend, always looking after him. Always noble and brave and selfless. All Terry wanted was to repay that debt, to prote
ct everyone the same as John had. Now, he would never have the chance.
He thought of Mei, so smart and kind, filled with an overabundance of love. She could put adults to shame with her intelligence. She’d been born in the wrong century, her natural gifts wasted. She was like a sister to him.
Like Janice. Oh, how he wished he could see her, wherever she was. If he could only speak to her again, hug her, scream that he was sorry for breaking his promise. He hoped she was happy, that somehow she’d found a way to forget him. I wanted to fix it all, he thought, alone in the darkness. I wanted to fix the whole thing for you, Janice. I’m sorry I couldn’t. I’m sorry I’m too weak.
Too weak and small, too lacking in the strength that makes men great. And now, because of his weakness, countless lives would suffer. An entire city filled with people would stay buried in the desert, far away from the world, and there they would remain until they died, dwindling like stars in the new dawn.
And the answer to everything, to all of their pain, to his race’s salvation, to his sister’s survival, was a button on a platform, floating high above his head.
He longed to reach it now, to fix it all so he could just go home again. To find his sister and repeat the last words he spoke to her all those years ago: I love you.
But how could he ever tell her from here? How could he let himself die in a place like this without speaking those words again? How could he break his promise?
No, he thought. I have to go home. I still have things to do.
He curled his fingers, felt tingles in his hands and arms like they were asleep. He kicked, but his feet didn’t move. He screamed, but nothing came out of his mouth.
He kept screaming, deep inside his mind. He screamed forever, over and over, filling whatever world he was in with every ounce of rage that came to him, and suddenly he felt the adrenaline begin to swarm, felt the churning, rising flame in his veins and heart. It grew intensely, uncontrollably, and for a moment, he could barely breathe. As he came out of the dream, out of the nightmare, the raw pain of his body filled him, and he screamed an awful cry into the ancient place. The pain washed over him, wave after wave, until it dragged him down, suffocating him. He gasped, sucking the Variant in, and felt the air leave his lungs and evaporate through his pores.
Then, suddenly, the light came back, and it filled him with such a force that it nearly blinded him. And in a single moment, for all there was to see, he saw everything.
The room, so simple before, so empty, became a jungle of substance and microscopic life. There, floating in the Variant-enriched air, suspended in a beam, a thousand colors in a thousand patterns flickered, dancing on a single particle of dust.
The world echoed with hundreds of sounds, bouncing off of one another like an orchestra of life, and it was beautiful. He heard his heart pounding gently, slowly, and he felt the blood in his veins flow.
In the distance, Alex and John fought, and a pounding, beating thunder erupted from their chests, vibrating through the air and filling Terry’s mind. He could feel their hearts inside his own, though they were slow, ticking an eternity apart. The moment stretched on like an unbreakable band.
Everything was moving slower, including Terry. He tried to move his hand, but it barely went anywhere. The only thing that seemed to act normally was his own mind, though he knew the reality was far different. He was actually thinking much faster than he could physically react, or that anyone else could, for that matter.
He pushed it aside, not knowing how to do it, but doing it nonetheless, and suddenly, time normalized. Alex had John by the arm, getting ready to throw him. Terry jumped to his feet. He had to get there quickly. There was a ladder on the wall, several yards along the catwalk. He started running.
He felt lighter now. Much lighter. Each stride grew longer as he went, until he was leaping several feet, several yards at a time. Before he reached the ladder, he jumped, catching one of the bars high in the air, then he climbed from one to the next until he was level with the other platform.
He jumped, easily landing above on the grate and sprinted to the far end towards the fight. All things considered, it took him six seconds from start to finish to reach the fight.
When he arrived, Alex was standing over John. He stopped to see Terry fast approaching. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say the words, Terry plummeted into him with the force of a small train. Together, they slammed into the railing, snapping it apart. Alex kicked Terry in the chest, knocking him clear and back a few feet. Midair, Terry pivoted his body so he landed on his feet, then pressed off the metal and aimed himself back at Alex like a bullet, hitting him in the face with his skull.
Alex staggered back, clutching the railing, blood dripping down his broken nose. He screamed madly, then charged again. Terry deflected him, stepping to the side and letting Alex fall onto the metal flooring. Alex caught himself, sweeping his leg under Terry’s and causing him to fall. Alex leapt on top of Terry, gripping his throat and squeezing, his hands like steel bars. Terry jabbed the tips of his fingers into Alex’s lower abdomen, the same spot his deadly wound had been a few days prior. There must still have been some damage, because Alex’s grip immediately loosened and he let out a short grunt. Terry leaned in, grabbing Alex by the chest, and flung him back.
Alex stumbled to his feet, clutching his side. He looked around, his eyes wide with desperation. He ran to the broken railing, grabbed a piece of the bar, and snapped it clear off. With a loud cry, he started swinging. Terry raised his arm to block the pipe, but the metal hit his wrist, and he heard a crack that sent a wave of pain up his arm and through his chest and both legs. He deflected the blow, and responded by slamming his fist into Alex’s chest, which sent him flying in the direction of the observation deck. He collided with the glass window, shattering it to countless pieces. He landed between two consoles.
John stood nearby against the wall. He looked at Alex, then back at Terry. “This is crazy,” he said.
Alex coughed, followed by the sounds of glass cracking as he stood. His clothes were torn in a dozen places where the glass had cut him, and there was blood everywhere.
“It’s over,” said Terry. He took a step forward. “Let it go, Alex.”
Alex didn’t answer. His chest was heaving as the blood dripped from his forehead, streaming down his eyes and cheeks like tears. He looked at John, who was still standing near the wall, then back at Terry. He gave a wicked grin.
“No, wait!” yelled Terry, but it was no use.
Alex dashed at John so fast that there was no time to react. He jabbed John’s face with his fist, then kneed him in the stomach. With John doubled over, Alex stomped on his leg, shattering the bone. John cried out in pain.
Alex gripped John’s wrist and threw him through the window frame towards Terry, who caught him. Together they fell back in the direction of the machine, smashing into the nearby console. Terry turned John over on his back, but before he could check him, Alex was already there, lording over them. He bent down, grabbed Terry by the shoulder, and struck him in the belly. The pain was enormous, and Terry could feel blood pooling out of him. He looked at the wound, only to see a six inch shard of glass sticking out of it.
Alex grabbed John before Terry could react. He dragged John to the broken rail and dangled him over the edge by his neck. Alex stared at Terry as he got to his feet. “Move, and he’s dead.”
John squirmed, clawing at Alex’s wrist as he struggled to breathe.
Blood began to fill Terry’s throat, and he coughed, spraying it into the air. He touched the glass in his stomach, and for a moment it hardly seemed real. “Stop it, Alex. Please…”
“I gave you a chance,” said Alex. “I was going to let you go because you’re like me.” He squeezed John’s neck tight. “But it’s too late now.”
“It’s not too late,” insisted Terry. “Just put John down. We can fix this.”
“Fix it?” he asked. “That’s
all you care about, isn’t it? You think you can fix everything. Me, the planet, the city. It’s all you can think about. It’s all you talk about. Well I’m sick and tired of listening to you ramble on about it. I don’t want to fix anything!”
Suddenly, Alex’s chest tore open and spewed a stream of blood into the air before him. A jagged piece of metal slid through his ribs. His jaw quivering, he peered down at it. He let go of John, who grabbed hold of the railing and clung to it with what little strength he had.
Alex blinked repeatedly as he staggered back, trembling at the sight of the blade in his body. He opened his mouth, but instead of words there came a river a blood.
Mei stood behind him, her terrified eyes looking up at him, her hands still in the position they were when she stabbed him.
Alex stumbled towards John, then collapsed to his knees. He continued to stare at Mei, who stepped back from him, still shaking. “B-bitch,” he said, gargling his insides. “You…bi…”
Alex, his eyes cold and empty, fell lifelessly past John, careening into the empty chasm below.
Mei bent down and grabbed John’s hand, trying to pull him back up. Terry went to them and helped, and together they managed to secure him. John fell on his chest, then rolled over.
Mei grabbed John’s sleeves and pulled him close, wrapping her shaking arms around him. She screamed intensely until she couldn’t anymore, until she was horse.
Bloody and broken, John held her, and in an instant there were tears in his eyes, too, and they glided along the edges of his rough cheeks, down the curve of his broken lips, and disappeared into her charcoal hair. He swayed back and forth, rocking her gently. “It’s okay,” he kept repeating. “Everything’s okay now.”
Terry watched in shock, not knowing what to say or do. His bones ached and his eyes throbbed—his body felt submerged in pain—but none of it mattered right now. All that mattered were the people sitting before him, and they were in agony. Complete and utter torment. All he wanted to do was fix it, to take their pain away—carry it on his back and bury it far from here—but all he could do was stand there.