by Jeremy Flagg
Rage. Anger. Confusion. Vanessa braced herself for the emotional explosion. The nuclear effect of Dikeledi’s abilities hurled the telepath against a church wall. The seething abrasiveness of the empath’s turmoil threatened to eject her from the woman’s mind. Vanessa grasped a support column, holding herself in place.
Obonye absorbed every gut-wrenching emotion emitted from his sister. With a final raise of the knife, he brought it down into his own chest. Racked with anguish, he turned the blade, slicing through his lung causing him to cough dark red. Death took hold of the man, leaving his sister alone.
Dikeledi turned back, sobbing. Vanessa pulled herself forward, grabbing the empath by the sides of the head. Vanessa pushed the image of her dead husband and brother into her brain, forcing it to the forefront, refusing to let the woman go numb. Vanessa wanted Dikeledi to see the death of every man she loved each time she closed her eyes.
Dikeledi convulsed, falling to the ground. Her eyes grew distant, while ghosts haunted her. Vanessa’s hands started to sink into Dikeledi’s flesh, vanishing beneath the skin. Vanessa pushed harder, letting the woman’s horror build, over and over again.
“I’m done with your puppets.”
In the hospital, Dikeledi opened her eyes. The cool metal of the bed frame under her fingers steadied her as she focused on the winged woman immobilized there. Taking deep breaths, Dikeledi attempted to calm herself as she held up her hand, inspecting the rich dark tones of her skin.
“I’m coming for you, Jacob.” Dikeledi’s smile mirrored the smile spreading across Vanessa’s unconscious lips.
* * * * *
“No.”
The word hung in the air, more a beggar's wish than a tyrant’s demand. It wasn’t the deep red hair, or the way she let her palms face forward, or even the uncanny manner in which she suspended herself above the ground—no, it was her nose tilted down, causing her green eyes to be covered in shadow, that gave away her identity.
“It can’t be,” Ivan whispered.
He reached out. As his fingers passed through the projection, they obscured the image. He tried to conjure a believable lie. The odds of her surfacing again after decades seemed astronomical. Flashes of memories bubbled to the surface, of the young girl straining to lift her own feet off the ground without anger fueling her abilities.
The flick of her wrist, a subtle reflex forced power to surge forward. The read out from the machine's cameras fritzed, losing the feed for a moment. Ivan watched as the mech’s was arm torn away, a thousand pounds of metal ripped as if a sheet of paper.
She was decades his junior and decades his body’s senior. Neither gap in years prevented the start of an erection as he witnessed his most powerful test subject demonstrate the full potential of her gift. The scared girl no longer existed, only the solemn-faced woman. The fiery temper of an adolescent had in fact become tempered.
“You are exquisite.”
Years of studying the girl taught him little about mentalists that couldn’t have been figured out from reading a thick envelope of observations. His research might have proven fruitless, but in the time between studying the young girl’s telekinesis, he had managed to penetrate the psyche of nearly every person at the Facility. Ivan had been a man of science, decisive in his surgical assaults on victims. When he consumed the minds of every human in the Facility, he discovered the girl was not the only one needing more observation.
The Warden emerged, a personification of ambition and raw talent.
Ivan touched the tips of his fingers to his face. Despite the flawless skin of this vessel, the deep grooves of his original body still resonated. Burned by a pyro determined to kill him, he clearly recalled Ariel fleeing with the child in tow. For months he searched for them while he secured his power as the Warden. Now, it seemed destiny reunited him with her.
The woman hovered close to the mech’s camera, close enough that he could make out the crows feet decorating the corners of her eyes. Age had thinned her lips and her hair started to whiten near the roots, but regardless, he found himself entranced. Part of him wanted to let the mech decimate the woman; the scientist in him wanted her as a test subject again, this time without the restraint of morality hindering his studies.
Ivan jumped out of his chair as Ariel was pushed backward along the ground. He had to restrain his anger at the robot for striking the woman. Ivan touched the screen, dragging it to the left. The scene played again, a look of agony spreading along the her face. Ivan quietly cheered.
“Not so powerful, are we, Ariel?” he hissed at the screen.
As a younger man, he understood his obsession with causing pain, now, contained in Jacob’s body, he found the childlike zeal came more often. Whether because of a remnant of the body’s former owner, or his zest for life returning, the image of Ariel’s face contorted in pain gave him pleasure.
A naked woman lay captured underneath a net while another furiously attempted to free her. “No,” he yelled at the screen. “Ignore them!”
Ivan would normally relish the idea of his machines stomping out a Child and her co-conspirators, but he wanted the camera to focus on Ariel’s eyes, the look of complete and utter terror as she found herself bested. If Ivan couldn’t put his hands around the woman’s throat himself, he’d settle for watching it happen live.
The robot approached a trapped Jasmine, yelling for her companion. Ivan didn’t need the volume turned up to know she was saying something heroic. This one, she had a relentless nature about her. He’d met with her on several occasions as she deposited Children at the Facility. Unamused by his games, she had been stubborn as he tried to push inside her defenses on each visit. He was hardly shocked to discover she was a freedom fighter, an accurate occupation for her holier-than-thou attitude.
“Mrs. Gentile, I look forward to seeing if you're capable of remaining stoic as you’re torn limb from limb,” he said, lifting a glass of scotch to his lips.
As he swallowed he gagged a little, the monitors all turning black. Static filled each screen, robbing him of the ability to watch the thorn in his side perish. Cursing under his breath, he blamed Ariel. The wretch had been getting in the way of his plans for as long as he could remember.
“But like every time…” He cracked his neck with a sharp turn of his jaw. “I win.”
Storming from the room, he touched the small piece of plastic attached to his ear. An operator picked up, but didn’t speak. Jacob has trained them well, he thought. It didn’t take a telepath to know the person on the other side was terrified of being called upon, perpetually worried they’d displease their master.
“Prepare the jet,” he said. “I need to see an old friend in Chicago.”
“Private or Air Force One?”
Jacob, he thought, I hope you’re watching how to rule.
“Air Force One,” he said. “It’s a matter of national security.”
* * * * *
“Murdock, do it.”
The nets held Jasmine in place, the motor in the anchors tightening them enough to keep her from squirming. Explosions flared on the left leg of the massive machine causing it to stagger. A phosphorus round burned through the steel in a bright white and green light. A second burst of green removed the right leg, toppling the robot.
“M-M-Murdock?”
Three synthetics jumped over the mech, charging toward her pinned location. Unlike their cannon-fodder counterparts, these operators understood the element of surprise. The machines ignored her, instead leaping over the net to where Twenty-Seven and the male voice had been.
Scraping metal and gunfire sounded. Jasmine tried to roll over, but the net refused to give. “Twenty, you okay? What’s happening?”
A rifle shot blew apart the anchor holding the net taut. Jasmine spun onto her other side. One of the synthetics struggled to pull Twenty-Seven’s metal hand out of the way so it could reach her softer parts. She screamed as a surge of electricity jumped from the machine to her arm.
As Tw
enty-Seven fell, the synthetics turned to a man in black climbing over the rubble. He turned to point a gun at the machine and managed to fire the weapon before it was knocked from his hands. The bullet struck the synthetic’s arm, leaving it a lifeless limb.
She caught a glimpse of his eyes, silver where the white should be. It had been nearly two years since she saw upon that particular augmentation. Murdock turned his back to the machine, leaving himself wide open for a clubbed fist to the head, or perhaps a laser burning through his chest cavity. She prepared to scream a warning.
Shrapnel flew into the air as a bullet from an unseen gunman pierced the skull of the synthetic. The Paladins had arrived, all of them.
The synthetics' forearms opened, and three-foot rods fell into their hands in unison. The tips glowed blue and they attempted to prod the man, a zapping sound filling the air each time they neared their target. Jasmine knew the wands were more painful than lethal. Whoever controlled the machines understood that a Paladin would be a great asset for the president.
Gunfire continued to sound as synthetics tried to breech the hill of fallen columns and rock. Unable to divide her attention, Jasmine focused on her former subordinate. She expected him to reach down to the holster on his leg or perhaps break out his baton and fight them. Instead he stopped moving.
Two more shots. Two more synthetics collapsed to the ground.
“You have more reinforcements?” Jasmine asked.
“Five,” Murdock replied, holding out his hand, helping her to her feet.
Jasmine ignored the fact that she stood naked, her chest exposed to the man. Never did his eyes wander from her face. “I didn’t think I’d see you alive again,” he said honestly.
“Ditto.”
“We need to go,” he said.
“Am I prisoner?”
He shrugged. “I’m still a grunt, that’s for management to decide.”
Murdock’s eyes darted up the hill. He paused as somebody spoke into his ear. A moment later, he nodded. “There’s another hundred of them coming. We need to go. Now.”
“Help me with Twenty-Seven.” Jasmine reached down to pick up the woman. Even with enhanced strength, she found it difficult to deadlift her companion. Murdock did nothing to help. “I’m not leaving her.”
“You know the protocol.”
“Yeah,” she hissed back. “That’s why I’m free, and you’re still a prisoner.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1996
The plane’s propellers spun loud enough that she found it difficult to hear Jonah yelling. Arturo gripped his vest, eyes closed, distracting himself as the plane bounced. This mission brought with it an entirely new set of challenges. They each wore a white strip on their chest measuring the radiation, a countdown for how long they had to live.
Jonah held up his finger. One minute until they jumped. Her ears popped as the door on the side of the plane rolled open. Arturo stood in a low crouch, making his way to the exit. She had parachuted twice before. Both times she had been strapped to Jonah and he had the responsibility of deploying the chute. Now, none of them had the luxury of a safety net.
She stood behind Arturo. Jonah slapped him on the back and he dove head-first out of the plane. With a similar slap, she followed suit. The goggles pressed tightly against her face as the wind whipped by. Arturo spun around, giving her a smile.
Jonah sped past them both. Lowering her head, she held her arms in tight. Arturo followed. She imagined a tether tied between the three of them. As one moved too far from the others, the line tightened. By it, she held them steady as they sped nearly two miles toward the ground. As the nuclear reactor grew closer, Jonah pulled away.
He vanished in the blink of an eye as he threw his arms wide, the webbing between his wrists and waist slowing his descent. She prepared for the jerking motion as she spread her arms. It didn’t get easier. Even with the stick brace behind her head, she fought to keep from spewing her breakfast.
Eyes open. Jonah’s training echoed in her head: eyes open, stay aware. Once her stomach adjusted, she had a moment of awe. She could levitate, even hover along the ground, but nothing like this. With her arms stretched out, she soared through the air. She wished she could to do this on her own, but at this distance, she had nothing to push against with her abilities.
Arturo worked his way between them. Jonah lead them toward the entrance to the plant. They couldn’t slow down as they approached the building. She had to stop them from running headfirst into the front door. He knew they’d have to get dangerously close to the ground for her to have any affect. With a simple “We trust you,” he made it sound as if she performed miracles.
A stone wall blocked the main facility from the street. The corners had guard towers, looking more like a prison than a power plant. She wondered if the guards had carried guns when they patrolled the perimeter before the fallout forced them to evacuate.
They neared the road leading straight to the building housing the reactor. Jonah steered himself to align with the road. They sank lower, almost close enough for her to grip the pavement with her mind. As they zipped through the broken gates, ten feet from the street, she reached out and dragged an invisible hand along the ground. She kept the others in her sight as they started to slow.
Ariel let their momentum carry them, their wings doing less of the work and her abilities keeping them afloat. They passed harmlessly over a truck with steam still coming off the engine.
Once she set them down, Jonah turned to Arturo and started pulling off the flying suit. They dropped the suits on the ground quickly while Jonah maintained a vigilant eye. She noted his radiation badge maintained its sparkly white stripe. If the scientists were correct, that wouldn’t last long.
“We read a dozen heat signatures inside,” Jonah said. “We can assume they are heavily armed. These aren’t run-of-the-mill thugs. We’re dealing with real domestic terrorists.”
“You’re behind us,” Arturo said. Ariel found herself surprised when Jonah nodded in agreement. He insisted on being the point man whenever it was just the two of them.
“Let’s go,” she said, placing her hand on the door leading into the plant. She couldn’t fathom why the government had decommissioned the reactor, but still left radioactive material behind. At nineteen, Ariel believed she could do a better job than the president.
The metal under her fingertips was cool to the touch. Unfortunately, when she focused on the other side, she found combination locks, something she’d failed at solving during routine exercises. Jonah preached that there was never a single right answer to complex problems. She pulled the pins from the door’s hinges, and seconds later it opened from the wrong side.
“Good girl,” he mouthed.
Arturo ducked low as he entered, with her close behind. Moving through the lobby, she suspected something was wrong with the mission. They continued down a dark, narrow hallway with only Arturo’s fires dotting the floor for light. The terrorists were missing opportunities to bottleneck their opponents and easily win a skirmish. Ariel was far from a tactical master, but even this seemed like an obvious choice.
Double doors stood firm as she pushed with her hand. Arturo pointed to the card reader on the wall and she replied with a slight nod. With her hand pressed on the doors, her abilities crept through the material and she found the bolts holding them shut. With a forceful tug and a slight snap, they opened.
A single scream filled the area on the other side.
Ariel’s chest tightened. In the back of her mind she could hear Jonah. They’re not people. They’re the enemy. Somehow, he thought his speech made it easier to kill. If anything, his words sounded cold and absolute. But as she pushed through the doors, she understood.
She paused to listen in the dark space. The room seemed vast, swallowing the sound of every footstep. Small flames were being extinguished on the other end of the room as the occupants attempted to shroud themselves in pitch black. She understood why they didn’t need to bott
leneck them in the doorway—for a normal assault team, they’d already be at a disadvantage.
“Got it,” Arturo whispered.
His abilities had a far greater reach than hers. She ignored her jealousy as the tiny fires in the distance flashed in massive pillars of flame. People screamed as they retreated from the spectacle. Where she had absolute control over her abilities, Arturo required focus to maintain the shape of the fire, continually needing to stoke the flames.
“Damn.” Hundreds of people were running from them, being pushed toward the back of the room.
“Snipers up high,” Jonah whispered.
The room spanned more than four stories, surrounded by catwalks with doorways leading off to nowhere. In the middle was a turbine like the blueprints had shown, reaching nearly to the second floor. On either side, concrete surrounded the massive device, leading into a trench where she assumed technicians worked on the machinery.
None of the people running looked like military; most were shrouded in torn and dirty clothing. She expected men in black suits with high tech weapons, but these seemed more like homeless fleeing for their lives.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach stopped the moment she heard the bang. Gunfire. Large caliber. High. The round sped toward them. With a thought, she sent it off course to harmlessly embed itself in the concrete. Behind her, Jonah snapped two shots.
Ariel moved along the side of the turbine, trying to understand what she was seeing. Sheets hung from the side of the machine, held with branches and shovels. Her foot stepped on something squishy. Reaching down, she picked up the object, and found herself holding a grungy pillow.
“They’re not terrorists,” she said aloud.
The light grew brighter as she approached the six-foot-tall columns of flame created by Arturo. Chairs were gathered around tables and it seemed as if a group had been eating soup. It reminded her of a scene in a movie where cops investigated a tent city underneath a bridge in New York. From the makeshift homes to the creative use of materials to cook food, it nearly mirrored the T.V.’s version of the apocalypse.