by Jade White
Jensen stood up and hobbled his way to a beat looking couch across from the bed. He jerked his thumb behind him, pointing to a crude stove. “There’s some oats in there if you need to eat.”
Ryker nodded, shifting his position on the wooden chair he was sitting on. Jensen fell asleep in minutes, much to his envy. Some people just slept fine, despite threats looming over them. Ryker couldn’t. They couldn’t be that far away; they made werebeings specifically for tracking and then killing, just like hunting dogs.
They had crossed state lines for a week now, with no visible werebeings or government soldiers. It would only be a matter of time before they would catch up to him and Alexia, and what could go wrong, he thought, would go wrong.
Ryker wasn’t in the mood to eat, but he knew he had to in order to maintain his strength. He sighed and took a chipped off ceramic bowl, dunking a spoonful of oats into it. He ate in silence, watching the two of them sleep, his thoughts wandering off to further possibilities of escape. The old man had books on display, remnants of his professor days, and he took one out, reading the Caledon Manifesto, a book that the first Caledon president had written. It was filled with idealisms, echoing Sun Tzu and Machiavelli, something that he had no grasp of. All he knew was that all the Caledon leaders ruled with an iron fist.
The United States of America under a dictatorship, he thought wryly. He had no idea what the facility planned to do next. All he assumed was that the werebeings were sent out to get them, and heavy firearms would be involved as well.
He couldn’t defend Alexia from bullets, but he could try against werebeings. He wondered why he was so riled up about keeping her safe. Was it to prove himself? That he wouldn’t let anyone else die while they were still with him? He recalled the first time he had seen her, calm and collected, as if she had been used to the torture all along. How could anyone be used to ill treatment? He didn’t want her to go through what he had seen before -- the electroshocks, the blood loss, the psychiatric damage…
He knew all about mental torture, as Mr. Toretti employed that tactic a lot, and he had quickly picked it up, much to his former boss’ enjoyment. He had been given lessons, by no less than Mr. Toretti’s counsel, whom he accompanied as bodyguard sometimes. At least Mr. Toretti had been good for something, aside from the remunerations he had gotten…
Ryker didn’t have any cash with him; he had no accounts and had always paid in cash for any purchases he made. It was always the case with those working under unscrupulous trade. He was in the same boat as Mr. Jensen, and the only records the government had of him were his past as a child and his present as a winner of the most recent WereGames. They had his DNA, they had videos of him, and they had data of his patterns, patterns he unwillingly presented with Alexia under threat.
He had nothing notable against the regime, nothing that could bring them down. The general population feared the government, and when the government wanted to kill or destroy, they did so splendidly. Ryker was in no position to lead a rebellion, or even incite one, but the very fact they existed was already considered a threat. If Alexia had been that important, then why didn’t they just let her live her life inside that facility? There was the possibility of her dying on an operating table, anyway. Still, they wanted her dead, and they wanted him as a soldier.
A soldier? He cursed. There was no way in hell he’d follow a government that destroyed his youth and buried his parents six feet underground. He thought about Dr. Delaney, and there was a part of him that wished she was still alive -- at least she had moral compass. What did he have, except the fact that he could turn into an animal and a young woman who relied on the animal in him?
Alexia could get hurt because at any time, his beastly characteristics could go into overdrive. It was a reason why he didn’t shift too often. The last time he had, it had had bloody consequences, and it still haunted him until now, apart from his parents’ deaths. He had secretly prided himself on being a survivor, but he had no idea how to survive this one.
Just get to Washington first, he told himself, before drifting off into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER 16
There was a little boy, and he was scared and he was shaking. She heard shouts all around her, and she was confused. Why were the grown-ups angry? She saw a bearded man whose eyes blazed with anger. There was a woman crying. What was the older woman crying about? Did she feel sorry for the little boy who was hunched over on the carpeted floor, wailing for some pain that she herself couldn’t see was being inflicted?
She took a step forward and saw a large mirror behind her brother. He was her brother, wasn’t he? Only family could make her feel that wounded as well. She was a little girl. How could she be this small? The boy was crying, violently shuddering this time. He was calling out for someone, and yet she couldn’t understand whom he was calling out for.
“Alexia!” he growled, his eyes turning red in a single breath.
Alexia bolted awake, sweating from head to toe. Wildly, she looked around, her first instinct to reach out for Ryker.
“She’s awake, kid,” an old man said in a hushed tone.
Alexia readied herself to bolt out of the bed and run far away; then she saw Ryker step into view. He was bare from the waist up, covered in sweat. He had an axe in his hand. Her voice was caught up in her throat. For a moment, she was afraid he had left her alone. For a moment, she was afraid that someone had finally caught up to them and took her instead. She felt ashamed at that thought, knowing how selfish it was. So what if he left? She had no hold over his choices…
Ryker stared at her, observing her pallor and her eyes. They were better than the last two days -- that was for sure. It didn’t mean they had the luxury to stay here though. Ryker had chopped up firewood for Jensen at the back of his cabin, taking the initiative to check for threats. The back of the cabin was nestled against a small cliff that slid down to an even thicker part of the forest. At least that part meant they couldn’t be completely surrounded…
“You hungry?” the stranger asked.
She stared at the man, with his wizened face and wispy graying hair. He had soft blue eyes, a contrast to Ryker’s icy ones. His face screamed congenial, but then again, so had Dr. Wallace’s. She said nothing, waiting for Ryker to move closer to her; at least that was a semblance of safety, was it not?
“I guess she’s still tired.” The old man bustled about in his tiny kitchen, and the moment he opened the pot, Alexia thought she could smell heaven.
“You look like crap,” Ryker commented, pleased she was awake after two days of rest.
“What she looks like is dehydrated,” Jensen told Ryker. “Could you be so kind as to get her a glass of water?”
Ryker sighed, closed the door, and walked to a jar on a wooden table, scooping some water out of it using a ladle.
“How long-?” she began to ask, her voice hoarse. She could taste blood as she licked her lips. They felt cracked and drier than the deserts in the pictures she had seen.
“Around two days. Well, more like two and a half days,” Ryker told her. “You conveniently fainted, and Mr. Jensen here found us.”
He gave her a mug filled with fresh spring water, and she drank it slowly, afraid her grip on the mug would loosen. Ryker took it from her, seeing it wobble.
Her gaze slowly drifted to Jensen, who was busy pouring some soup into a bowl. He looked at her and smiled.
“Best you drink up first,” Jensen told her. “How are you feeling?”
She bit her lower lip. “Tired.”
“Ha,” Jensen said good-naturedly, “we all are. Now, eat and drink. Apologies for the simple fare; my condiments aren’t commercialized.”
He shoved the bowl on the table, motioning for her to get up. Shaking a little, she held onto the edges of the bed. Ryker stood close by, determined not to touch her again, but still wary she would collapse.
She made her way to the table, holding onto the furniture to get there. Jensen nodded at her, signaling for h
er to eat. Ryker stood up and ate his meal in silence as Jensen engaged in lighthearted conversation.
“So, what’s your name?” Jensen asked her. “I’m Jensen, Joseph Jensen, former professor, University of California.”
“Alexia,” she said, looking at Ryker.
Jensen saw this. “Oh, he didn’t tell me your name. I guess he’s not a snitch. But he did tell me you two aren’t safe, that someone’s out to get you.”
Ryker looked away, busying himself with his soup.
“There are a lot of them, I guess,” Alexia began, after taking her first sip.
It was simple, homey fare, surprisingly better than the food she had been used to. She began wolfing it down, realizing that she had never been so hungry in her entire life. She finished her bowl in minutes, much to Jensen’s delight.
“Seconds?” Jensen asked her.
She nodded, feeling her cheeks go warm.
“That’s good. It means you’re feeling better,” Jensen said, grabbing her bowl. “So, kids, what do you plan to do after this?”
Alexia found herself looking at Ryker again, who didn’t look back at her.
“We’re leaving today,” Ryker said. “We’ve stayed here too long, and we want you safe.”
“Nonsense,” Jensen said. “Overstaying is irrelevant. You two need a roof over your heads.”
Alexia closed her eyes. “Sir, your kindness is immeasurable, but we can’t risk your life for our comfort.”
Jensen broke into a smile. “You’re rather eloquent for someone who’s escaped a facility, and yes, your friend here told me about that. Did you have classes or something?”
“A doctor,” she began, closing her eyes momentarily, “a doctor taught me… she gave me books. I think she’s dead.”
“The important thing now is you won’t get caught,” Jensen said to them, “you shouldn’t. I won’t ask where exactly you’re headed, but I understand you have to pass through some states.”
“You’re a werebeing,” Alexia suddenly said, “but you haven’t shifted in years.”
Jensen smiled. “What gave me away?”
“I can tell.”
“Is that why they kept you in that place? The one in New York?”
“I didn’t even know we were in New York. I had no idea where I was,” she replied. “They kept me for a lot of reasons, but I guess they just wanted me dead in the end, after I’d served my purpose. Isn’t that what we’re here for?”
Jensen looked thoughtful. “Maybe, maybe not. The world’s not as small as we’d like to think, my dear. Who knows, you and this young lad could be destined for something better than just escape?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Please, call me Jensen.”
“I don’t know, Jensen,” Alexia corrected herself. “I don’t know much about this world. I was so enclosed there, I couldn’t even see proper sunlight.”
“Well, here you can get all the sunshine you need, provided you’re careful.”
“Out of the question,” Ryker murmured. “We’re leaving in a few.”
He looked out of the tiny window by the kitchen, his senses provoked.
Jensen sighed. “Alright, but you need to bring some sustenance along. Just enough until you find your next stop. She needs to rest once in a while. I’m no doctor, but young lady, you’re quite pale, and still too thin to traverse.”
“We’ll manage,” Ryker quickly said.
Jensen sighed heavily. “Alright, I’ll just grab a few things for you to take. I have extra clothes here somewhere and an extra blanket, too. The village is a good twenty miles west of here. Best you avoid it, and don’t hitch rides on trains or cross country trucks.”
Alexia found herself nodding. Ryker suggested everything; she had no idea what she was supposed to do. There had been a lot of observing and internalizing for her in the seven days since she had set foot outside of the facility.
She watched as Jensen began packing some fruit and potatoes into a small, worn-out satchel that bore the name of the university where he used to work at. She looked back at Ryker, who had his arms crossed as he stared at Jensen.
She slowly stood up, wondering if Jensen wanted to come along with them. Ryker wasn’t her boss, anyway. Before she could step forward, Ryker suddenly lunged for her, shouting, “Get down!”
Alexia saw Jensen’s head blow up just like how a tomato would when riddled with bullets. She found herself screaming, but no sound came out, and she landed on the floor with a loud thud. The shots continued, and Ryker kept her down as he looked around for an escape. He began to crawl for the crude bathroom cum toilet that Jensen owned, pushing Alexia in front of him, frantically pointing to the open door that led to it. Alexia heaved her way to it, the floor riddled with splinters of wood, broken glass, and paper.
She sat, hunched, shaking in fear as Ryker crawled up to her. Ryker kicked the wooden toilet seat away with one leg, exposing the pipes and the dirt underneath the house. The acrid and rotten smell hit their nostrils, but the urgency to get to safer ground was greater. Ryker crawled into the exposed earth, his arms outstretched as Alexia slid down with him.
Alexia looked down, her feet teetering at the edge of the cliff. It was only about twenty feet down to thick trees. Ryker grabbed Alexia in his arms, and he slid down without another moment wasted. They landed on the muddy earth with a thud, and Ryker took the brunt of it. He quickly got up.
“Run; run and don’t look back,” he told her.
Alexia nodded, bile rising up her throat, like fear. He pushed her forward, and her legs began to move, as if on their own accord. She ran through thickets, ran through cold mud, ran through branches and bushes that thwacked and scratched her. She ran and ran until the sounds of guns firing and of glass and wood breaking seemed to drift further and further away. She stopped, gasping for breath.
“Don’t stop running,” Ryker said from behind her.
She took a breath and continued to run, eventually stopping as they reached the edge of a roaring river. Ryker knew they would be caught unless they deliberately lost them again in the water. Alexia had been unconscious the last time, and this time, she had no choice.
“Jump,” he told her.
Alexia froze, knowing she didn’t know how to swim at all.
Ryker grabbed her hand and dragged her into the cold water, their feet landing first. He fought to keep her head up, warbling that she shouldn’t struggle.
“Try to stay calm! Don’t struggle; you’ll drown!” he shouted to her.
Alexia’s eyes were wide open, terrified at the vicious tide that slapped on her body and face. The cold stung her skin, and she was swallowing water. Her grip on Ryker’s arm was loosening, and he fought against the tide, holding onto her arm with all he had.
With one mighty lurch, Ryker pulled Alexia close to his body, embracing her in his arms, close to his chest.
“We’re not gonna die here, you hear me?”
*
Caliban shook his head as he stepped inside the house, just mere minutes after they had reduced it into a scrap heap. He could no longer smell them, but he could smell blood. Someone had been hurt, and he couldn’t pinpoint whether it was Alexia or X014.
He kicked at the old man’s body, riddled with bullets, his head no longer recognizable as a human head -- it looked more like pulp now. He looked at it disdainfully; they continued to look around. It was a tiny home, no larger than his quarters at the military facility.
“They escaped using the toilet, sir,” one soldier told him breathlessly.
Of course they’d escape, no matter how disgusting the means. Caliban almost laughed at the irony of the escape. They had made a mess, and X014 and Alexia escaped via a mess. X014 had no plans of returning to the lab, and Caliban presumed Alexia was being used as a blood source, a means to thrive if ever he needed to regain his strength. He had been briefed an hour after Alexia had been taken by X014.
Ryker Locklear, the bastard who
had nearly killed him. Nearly. Dr. Wallace had made sure he had gotten out of the facility with nary a pulse. They had done everything they could to save him, even if the viewers had presumed he was dead. It had taken him a full month to come out of a coma, and another month of physical therapy, along with new internal organs salvaged from unwilling donors.
He knew he was alive for a reason, and that reason was to hunt Ryker down, retrieve Alexia, and finally get that promotion he had long deserved. Caliban was a young soldier, not quite twenty-two years old, according to the records he had been shown. He had known Alexia ever since he could remember, but he had left the facility at age sixteen to be trained as a soldier. He had told himself he would come back for her one day.
Caliban had wanted to win and had wanted to request that Alexia be set free once he won the WereGames. She was the only person who had shown him kindness inside that lab when they had been tortured as children. No matter the tests they did, he made sure he never forgot her.
How could you forget someone who taught you how to read? How could you forget someone who soothed your pains? Who gave you blood so you could heal? Never, he thought. Retrieving Alexia was what mattered.
He caught his reflection on a piece of broken mirror, dangling on a wall. There were two ugly scars that ran down his cheek, the newer one a result of Ryker’s claws. His shock of white hair had increased after the games, covering more than half of the hair on his head by now.
Caliban ran a tongue over his incisors, thinking of their next course of action. He answered to Lt. Stephen Caledon, an officer far from being a general, but he was the president’s son all the same. He quickly reached for his phone, dialing Stephen’s direct line.
“Officer,” Stephen responded in two rings.
“They got away,” Caliban told him, seeing Stephen’s face on a hologram screen.
“Find them,” Stephen ordered, with a slight frown. “You and your team have been in pursuit for a week; this was the best lead you had, and yet you let them slip through.”
“It won’t happen again, sir,” Caliban replied.