Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  The man stood over six feet tall, his body lanky, as if puberty never quite filled out his frame. He paused as he entered the bar, his shoulders slumped, his left hand fidgeting. His thumb touched the tip of each finger, down the row and back again, a nervous twitch she recognized instantly. Her heart beat faster in confusion at whether she should flee, strike the man down, or embrace him.

  The sense of solitude clenching her chest eased. The heart she often ignored wanted to believe it was real, that he was real. Pushing away the emotions, the longing, she prepared for another round of combat against her manipulative captors. At her hip, a sword phased into existence and the muscles in her arm tensed as she prepared to draw the blade.

  “That night on the church balcony, I told you I never received a letter.”

  The Warden had struggled to break her, beat down her defenses until he could consume her. The arrogant man toyed with her, using what scraps of thought he wrestled from her mind as fodder for his elaborate illusions. He took pleasure in torturing his victims.

  “How did you…”

  “I’m in a room. There are no windows. I can hear the hum of computers. I can’t be sure how much of my body they’ve removed. I can see the code. I can see through a thousand cameras. I am an army.”

  “It’s…” Words caught in her throat. The Warden couldn’t possibly know that single moment on the balcony. Its importance didn’t revolve around the conversation they had. Dav5d lied to her that night, something she had believed impossible. The only person she trusted completely, incapable of misdirection or deceit, let a white lie slip.

  “It’s you,” she finished.

  “I saw you, in the warehouse. I tried to stop it. I didn’t want to— “

  “No.” She stepped closer. The part of her brain that connected with others pushed hard, reaching out to him, inspecting his mind. Dav5d’s abilities essentially made him a living computer, able to see the complex probabilities of the future. Thousands of calculations, observations, and predictions raced through his mind like a wild river. The hum of thoughts too quick to discern greeted her. Her defenses melted, and she ran to him.

  Her feet smacking against the creaking floorboards, the wind like rush as he wrapped his arms around her, it all seemed real.

  She had to concentrate, but the sensations of cold steel along her back and the restraints holding her in place were still there. Vanessa understood: her mind created this construct from memories, but her physical body remained in a lab.

  “Where are you?” Pulling away, she stared in the man’s face. Dav5d had a tendency to hide his emotions, not intentionally, but as a byproduct of his abilities. The tears streaming down his face told her enough.

  “I don’t know where I am. I was in a dark place and then I was outside the bar.” His eyes dilated as his powers attempted to connect the dots. “Your abilities are reaching out. You brought me here.”

  “I know this is a lot to ask.” Her hands cupped the side of his face. “Can you see any way out of here?”

  The sound of a rushing river filled the small bar. Vanessa believed she had witnessed his powers work at their extreme, but now she realized it had only been a fraction of his potential. The sound grew until it consumed the space. His eyes darted back and forth, reading something off in the distance. She imagined him trying to solve the meaning of life. With enough time and data, he might be able to.

  “The security is connected to a system I am able to access. The defenses are overwhelming. Given time, I could find my way through them. Right now, no.”

  She leaned in, and her lips shoved against his in a desperate need for human contact. Arms awkwardly hanging at his side, he returned the kiss. Alone in a room with nothing but monitors and drugs being pumped into their bodies, she found solace in his inability to read social cues enough to cradle her face or pull her closer.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” His voice held a certainty that he rarely showed when discussing feelings. “I know it’s a chemical being released in my brain. I know it’s a series of patterns I’ve grown accustomed to. But I want”—a sadness crept into his eyes—“I want you to defy my sense of logic.”

  “We’re going to get out of here.” Tears rolled from her eyes as she tried to convince herself it was possible.

  “The probability of that happening is infinitesimal.”

  “Quiet,” she said, wiping the tear with the back of her hand.

  If this moment never ended, Vanessa would be happy. Locked away from the evils of the outside world, held in the only place she remembered ever calling home, she’d be happy. Dav5d by her side, to balance her emotions with his logic, they’d live, content.

  His dark eyes turned downward while he took her hands, running his thumb back and forth over the backs of her palms. Of all the Children she ever met, only his abilities held a sense of irony. Though he never discussed it, she understood his autism like no other. His difficulty reading social cues only intensified as his abilities allowed him to process uncanny amounts of data. Now he looked for darting eyes, micro-expressions, flicking fingers, or the slight pause of an inhale. His abilities not only intensified his autism, they gave him a method of coping.

  “The night you told me of your letter.”

  “You lied,” she said.

  His gaze focused on anything in the room that was not her face. His fingers stopped twitching. He started, then stopped, several times while he tried to find the words.

  “Eleanor wrote me,” he started. “Her letter did not explain a time, or a place, or how I might connect to the greater scheme. It warned me about myself. Or at least, that is what I believed. We questioned how far into the future she could see so we could predict this growing darkness she references.”

  Her hand rested against his face, the dark green of her skin seeming almost light compared to the black of his. When the touch of her hand turned head slowly, raising his chin, their eyes met. “I knew then. We both have secrets. Now, perhaps more than ever, I understand.”

  “Know pleasure and let it burn in you so brightly that never a day passes where you forget these exquisite sensations.” The words were poetic, more emotionally charged than Dav5d had expressed to her before. It took a moment, but she realized the words were those of a dead psychic.

  “I found myself…” Vanessa imagined his brain flipping the pages of the dictionary, searching for the connotation of each word.

  “Unnerved.”

  “Why?”

  “This.” He put his hand over hers, clenching it tightly. “Are these feelings because… Did I let myself feel because a woman meddled in my future? Or should it matter how we find ourselves entangled? You are what reminds me to embrace these confusing, maddening, energetic, exquisite sensations.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.” He smiled. “Never a day passes where I forget how beautiful you are. Eleanor didn’t see this moment, but she knew we would need one another.”

  “You saved me,” she said, leaning in, resting her forehead against his. “I am going to beat the Warden at his own game.”

  Dav5d’s head shook back and forth. He disapproved of her willingness to stoop to the Warden’s level.

  “I will save you,” he said. “But I must go.”

  “No,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks again.

  “No. I am in New York. No. Chicago. New Jersey. I am everywhere. I see so many. I am many. It is beautiful, Vanessa. I finally understand the world you experience. It’s…”

  The man she loved vanished. Her knees scraped along the ground as she fell, wailing, her fist beating against the floorboards. Wood cracked, splinters dug into her hands.

  As she raised her fist for another blow, she found herself in the white room. The restraints around her wrists, hiding her claws, groaned while she attempted to flail. The metal band covering her chest was dented, forcing herself into an upright position. The cage on her right hand loosened from
the effort, threatening to dislocate her shoulder.

  Two blurry men in white lab jackets rushed into the room. One held a syringe, ready to plunge it deep into her neck. Their thoughts were indecipherable. She found it almost impossible to feel their mood, let alone pull individual words. Yet his intent was easy to read.

  As the needle sank into the base of her neck, she tried to collect her own thoughts. She tried to reach out, touch their minds and force them to step away. Standing in the doorway, Vanessa could make out a woman in all white with her arms crossed over her chest. As the sedative coursed through her veins, she thought of Sister Muriel and wondered if this was one of the angels she fondly spoke of.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  1996

  Terrorist. The word had become commonplace since freedom fighters in New Hampshire destroyed a nuclear power plant. She understood why they retaliated, or at least she tried. The Culling had military seizing mentalists, most often killing them with prejudice. When video of a police officer shooting a mother and child in their home hit the news, these “terrorists” responded. New England ceased to exist, all that remained an irradiated Outlands.

  “Two miles from insertion point,” came a voice from the front of the van. Two soldiers navigated the black van with tinted windows into the heart of New York’s slums. Ariel gripped the edges of her vest, making sure the straps were secure. When she finished going through all the straps, she started over.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Jonah said.

  “I’m not,” she lied.

  “How many times have you left the Facility?”

  “Three.”

  “Christmas with Mark Davis’s family?”

  Ariel’s fingers froze over one of the straps. “Reading my file?”

  The files detailed her every movement and interaction. It shouldn’t surprise her that Jonah read them all. She didn’t like the fact that he relied more on the files of researchers than simply asking. Real people held conversations, two people exchanging words which weren’t filled with deception or secrets. She longed for that, for some sort of friendship.

  “The photograph on Mark’s desk.”

  The explosion resting on the tip of her tongue defused at the single statement. Jonah had developed an ability to read her, know what she was thinking before she said it. The man did a good job. If he had been older, she would have guessed he had daughters of his own.

  “Telepath?”

  The brown of his eyes became clearer as they widened in surprise. She’d never met a telepath before and didn’t know the extent of their abilities. Could he read her every thought? Or was he more like Penelope, getting broad ideas of her feelings?

  “Psychology major,” he admitted.

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s a bit of a letdown.”

  “My parents said the same thing.” He laughed. “It didn’t do me any favors when I joined the military either. At least until I got this position.”

  Mark insisted early on that she see a therapist at the center, claiming it would help her process her feelings. Jonah didn’t ask her blatant questions about her dreams or her emotions, but more often than not, he observed her in silence. “You’re studying me?”

  He nodded. “I’ve barely opened the folder of notes from Dr. Volkov and Mark. They’re extensive, I’m sure, but I’m more interested in what you can do in the real world. Sitting in a lab isn’t the real world.”

  Every person who met her in the Facility knew the extent of her abilities. They started conversations as if they knew her life story, and after a while, she understood: they did. Arturo and Penelope were the last new people she met. She got to know them by asking questions, and laughing, and making jokes. She assumed Jonah was another “well-researched” type of friend.

  “We’re nearing the insertion point,” the driver said.

  “Ariel.” He put his hand on her leg and squeezed it tightly. “I cannot stress the severity of this mission. This is real. These aren’t robots. They will shoot to kill. You may see things that are upsetting—”

  The warmth of his touch caused her to squirm. “I watched my father put a gun to my mother’s head and pull the trigger.” She locked eyes with Jonah as he tried to process the information. Other than Mark, she had never told anybody what happened to her family. It had been the first time she witnessed a violent crime, or any crime for that matter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I crushed his skull.”

  He leaned back, wearing the same expression Mark had years ago when he learned what happened. Her family hadn’t been particularly close. Her parents’ genes made her, but beyond the legal obligations, she was an afterthought. When money dried up and drugs became scarce, they turned to crime. When they were arrested, she lived with her aunt until they received parole. Rehab turned to religion, and their new drug of choice became God. She didn’t have a bad childhood, but she recognized how detached it made her from the rest of the world.

  “I do what I have to,” she said.

  “Survive.” He held out his fist. She bumped knuckles with him.

  “We’re here,” the driver said.

  The sun had set on their ride to the Big Apple. When the door opened, the lingering sticky warmth of the city flooded the van. She had never been to New York before. Washington D.C. was the only city she had to compare it to. Where the row houses of D.C. had been maintained and kept in proper condition, these buildings appeared to have the vibrancy sucked from the very bricks. The five-story-tall buildings appeared as if they might crumble at any moment.

  Jonah gave the signal and the van continued on its path, driving past a decrepit apartment building so as not to raise suspicion. He put on his headset and lowered the small monocle granting him the ability to see in the dark. She mimicked him, letting her vision adjust to the green spectacle covering her eye. They both reached up and touched their earpieces, listening for the faint click as they turned on.

  “Stay close,” he said.

  The mission didn’t have many details. A senator from Manhattan had been taken hostage by terrorists. They predicted the people who kidnapped him weren’t more than organized thugs. The senator had been a target of opportunity, a town car in the wrong part of town at the wrong moment. She had asked why local law enforcement didn’t get involved, but the briefing room ignored her. When the military ignored a question, the standard answer tended to be, “It’s on a need-to-know basis.”

  They ducked into an alley and crouched behind a dumpster. Jonah scanned the walls. He didn’t speak, but she could see enough of his furrowed brow to sense his annoyance at the fire escapes not reaching all the way to the ground. When he started to move toward plan B, she grabbed his shoulder.

  Her finger poked him in the chest and then pointed to the fire escape. With the raise of an eyebrow, he showed that he understood the plan. Beneath the fire escape, she made it appear effortless as he lifted into the air until he could grab the bottom rung. What she couldn’t do with her body, her mind made up for in spades. Unlike the researchers she showed the trick to, Jonah remained stiff, resisting the urge to flail as he levitated upward.

  He grabbed on to the railing and climbed as she turned her gifts on herself. For her, it was less imagining herself flying and more pushing off with invisible hands from the objects nearby. Invisible lines radiated off her body and pushed against the ground, raising her from the pavement. Unlike Jonah, she had trained enough to be graceful in her movements as she touched down on the landing outside of the first-floor windows.

  He didn’t speak, instead signaling to her and the stairs. Their footsteps were silent as they ascended. From five stories above the dying city, she had a chance to see the plague infecting the surrounding buildings. New York had less in common with D.C. than she originally thought. They were on the outskirts of the pride and jewel of the east coast, and the neglect left an empty feeling in her heart.

  “Is every city like this?”
<
br />   He looked over the edge of the roof to the street below. He shot her a confused look. “You mean the emptiness? Every city has its spots.”

  “But why don’t the people do something? What about the government?”

  He shrugged as he moved toward the only door on the roof. “It’s a long explanation, but every city has spots they ignore.”

  She couldn’t fathom why the richest city in the country didn’t invest in its citizens. With some streetlights, a fresh coat of paint, it could be filled with people. Instead, the neglect made for perfect criminal hiding spots. She understood the world wasn’t black and white, but she didn’t understand why people turned a blind eye to these obvious problems.

  “Forward,” he said, redirecting her attention.

  The building they scurried along had once held apartments. The door had several locks bolted into the wood. Jonah reached into his pack, pulled out a small crowbar, and wretched the two locks loose, taking care to be quiet. Ariel rested a hand on his shoulder, then pulled him away from the door.

  She didn’t know exactly who was on the other side, but she sensed the movement. He reached for the handle, prepared to step out of the way. With a swift motion, he yanked the door open.

  The man on the other side had a gun. Past tense.

  Without moving, she jerked the gun from his hands and left him defenseless. As he lunged, she punched him in the throat. Unsure of what to do next, she staggered backward, not used to her opponents desperately clawing at her.

  Jonah grabbed the man’s arm. With precision, he lifted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. The man coughed and spat, trying to clear his throat to yell. In seconds, Jonah had his hands bound and a swipe of black duct tape covered the man’s mouth.

  Jonah picked up the weapon, inspecting it. “Thugs,” he said, pointing at the half-filled magazine. “They weren’t prepared for this.”

  The man lay on his side, barely moving. She had a moment of worry as she wondered what she would have done without Jonah there to follow through. She could have easily propelled the man from the roof, sending him to his grave. There was no doubt she had the ability to kill, but could she?