by Jeremy Flagg
A hundred tiny needles pricked his chest. The burning pain spread, washing down the side of his body until he feared he’d be unable to open his hands again. He grunted, ripping open an exit hundreds of miles away. The Nighthawks and half the elite military force fell to the cement where Dwayne already hurled electricity at robots.
“Shit!” Skits rolled along the ground coming up with her arms covered in tiny cuts. Conthan followed suit, covering his face as he hit the pavement with a thump, but nonetheless scraping his chin.
“What the fuck?” One of the Paladins spun about, bewildered.
The street flooded with light as Dwayne unleashed a series of bolts. Only as they struck the side of a building did Conthan see the synthetics crawling along the walls like cockroaches. Half a dozen synthetics were hit, knocked down to join their swarming comrades on the ground.
Nearby synthetics stopped advancing, studying and assessing the newcomers. It had been months since Conthan noticed such a delay in their actions. Ever since Dav5d took over, the synthetics had moved at uncanny speeds, dangerously adaptable. Dwayne had killed Dav5d. The thought did little to comfort Conthan as he crawled to his feet.
Shot after shot of blue and white light forced its way from Dwayne’s chest, striking machine after machine, decimating them with tiny explosions. Conthan realized Dwayne couldn’t shut off his abilities.
“Jasmine.” He pointed her toward Dwayne. “You’re the only one who can get close.”
She jogged to close the gap between her and Dwayne. Partway, she stumbled, almost tripping over her own foot. Her arms shot up in defense as a jolt of electricity slammed into her chest. Anybody else's skin would have melted from their body, but Jasmine hardly reacted. Two more steps and she stood behind Dwayne. Her closed fist clocked him behind the ear, rendering him unconscious. The electricity stopped, leaving them in the dark.
“Ready for this?” Alyssa asked.
The closest synthetics burst in a rain of sparks, their heads removed clear from their bodies. Conthan looked to the top of a nearby building where he had placed the Jasmine’s snipers.
“Screw this.” Skits spun her arms about, her bare skin growing bright blue as the air ignited. Gunfire sounded as the closest synthetics attempted to put her down. The bullets vanished into the liquid fire, melting harmlessly. When she punched the nearest machine’s head, it melted from the heat produced by her hands.
“Alyssa, with Jasmine, Gretchen, grab the Paladins. Get the synthetics in a crossfire.” Conthan would not let them die.
The women split, Alyssa ducking under a synthetic’s hand and contorting her body midair as another fired a barrage of bullets. Landing, she grabbed a mechanical arm and tossed the owner toward Jasmine, who pulverized the body. The two women moved about one another in a perfect symphony, Alyssa using Jasmine as a human shield and pulling one machine after another into her steely grip.
Jasmine’s men blinked out of sight. Bursts of gunfire appeared out of nowhere as they moved to the flank. Conthan watched as a dozen synthetics fell to the ground. They were destroying them quickly, but not nearly fast enough to make an impact on the growing masses. Conthan watched a grenade go off on the top of a building as a grenade went off, blowing apart bits of roof. Their snipers were under fire.
“Too many,” Jasmine yelled as she launched one of the machines into a crowd of its brethren. Skits already resorted to enveloping her entire body in flame, an effort even for her. There were at least another hundred of the machines approaching in every direction.
Conthan couldn’t imagine opening enough portals to pull them all from the battle. His waning abilities only had one, perhaps two portals left before he’d need to rest and recharge. But the swarm separated him from Jasmine, and spread out as the Nighthawks were, if he opened just a single exit, he wouldn’t be able to save them all.
“Conthan,” Alyssa yelled, grabbing his attention.
Power burned. It pushed through him, screaming to be released. Conthan understood the risk losing himself to his abilities. Each use was one step closer to losing control. Fear of being consumed remained at the forefront of his mind, but so did the urge for survival. Could he sacrifice himself to save his teammates?
Skits landed on her back and synthetics attempted to swarm her. Jasmine and Alyssa surrounded Dwayne, keeping the Warden’s army at bay.
He would die to save this family.
The portal stretched in front of him. First a tiny dot, it grew until it extended twenty feet in all directions. The exit opened a mile away, in a subway tunnel—no, the entry point. Conthan didn’t need to escape. He needed his army.
Needles stepped through, a rifle aimed and ready to go. Each shot produced an explosion, tearing through synthetics. A synthetic’s shot struck him in the shoulder, spinning the man about. The leader of the rebellion, the man keeping hope alive for humans, refused to let the dream die. Even as he sailed back, he continued pulling the trigger, firing into the mass of synthetics.
Soo Jung emerged, a similar rifle in her hand. Then Errick, the healer from Boston, and half a dozen humans stepped through. The synthetics didn’t slow. Lasers and missiles soared through the air, looking for fleshy victims to pulverize. But the collective artificial intelligence paused as a synthetic stepped through the portal, a stripe of blue paint coating the side of its chassis.
Skits’s pet synthetic, Blue, raised its hand, a laser springing from the forearm. Their ally, an antiquated model, fired a volley of shots into the Warden’s army, striking its upgraded counterparts. Their secret army sprang to life, running toward the portal. Synthetics from the subway stepped through, each covered in blue paint.
Assess and destroy: the motto of artificial killers. Metal clashed against metal as machines tore at one another. Skits cut through her assailants as they turned from her to face the newest threat. Jasmine charged into the fray, tearing at anything within reach.
“Chicago belongs to the Children,” Conthan whispered.
* * * * *
Twenty-Seven raised the rifle to her eye, preparing to take the shot. The gun was nearly in position to fire on the Warden. A shot fired; her body knew before her mind. It hadn’t been hers.
Ivan fell to the ground, free from Ariel's telekinesis. Now Twenty-Seven saw past the man to Ariel and the General. Jonah held a pistol in his hand, arms stretched out, the barrel nearly lost in the woman’s copper hair. She could make out the streak of red near Ariel’s temple. Twenty-Seven’s mind fought to ignore the obvious.
The gun fell from Twenty-Seven’s hands just as Ariel’s body started to topple. The sharp sound of dense metal striking the floor didn’t carry the same weight as the thump of the older woman’s body. Twenty-Seven only caught the start of Ivan’s laughter before her lungs drowned it out in a gut-wrenching primal scream.
She wanted to run, to charge the man, but her legs held still, unable to fight.
The remaining military personnel sank to the ground, their bodies convulsing. Only the General and Ivan remained standing, the latter laughing like a madman. Twenty-Seven tried to command her feet to take even the smallest step.
The terror spreading across the General's face mirrored her own. He looked down at Ariel in a growing puddle of blood. Instead of screaming, he snarled. He eyed his hands and stared back at Ivan.
“How—”
“You mean your inhibitor? Admirable, I swear. Perhaps if I hadn’t spent months manipulating you forty years ago.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he yelled.
“You’ve already lost,” Ivan yelled back. “You’re too feebleminded to realize it, but you never stood a chance.”
The General’s hand started to turn, moving the gun into position.
“You won’t win,” the General hissed, the muzzle pressed firmly under his chin, even though his arm's shaking was visible at this distance.
Ivan didn’t reply. The splatter of the General’s head said everything. Blood, bone, and brains became a fine mist blown through
the void where the windows had been.
Twenty-Seven watched in terror as Ivan turned around, his eyes locking with hers. The pain in the base of her skull enveloped her entire mind, making it difficult to concentrate.
“Fuck you, Ivan.” The female voice, which seemed to distract Ivan, sounded distant through the ringing in her ears. But the pressure eased.
“Lillian,” Ivan said. “I should have known you wouldn’t—”
Lillian stepped past Twenty-Seven, her hand raised, palm pointed toward Ivan. The woman’s abilities weren’t as graceful as Ariel's. As she screamed, the air in the room shifted, and Twenty-Seven’s ears popped. Ivan was hurled backward, arms flailing. His head struck a window frame, the blow sending him spinning out of the building. Lillian fell to her knees, shaking.
Twenty-Seven found the will to move. She ran past her new ally and crawled on all fours next to Ariel. Ignoring the blood pooling under her, Twenty-Seven lifted her friend, cradling her. The woman was warm, like she might still blink at any moment. Yet her blank stare and glassy eyes gave away the empty body.
“No, no, no,” Twenty-Seven repeated as she brushed Ariel's copper locks from her face. Tears ran down her cheeks to land on Ariel’s forehead. With the fingers on her birth hand, she closed Ariel’s eyelids.
“I…” Twenty-Seven shook as she tried to form a coherent thought. The room was filled with death. Behind her, almost within reach, the General lay on the ground, his head jerked back at an unusual angle. Twenty-Seven didn’t care about any of them; only the woman in her arms mattered. Only the woman held firmly against her bosom had been a friend.
“I’ll miss you,” she squeezed out between sobs.
“He’s dead,” Lillian said, resting on her haunches. The woman spoke and moved with a newfound zeal, a freedom about her that Twenty-Seven recognized. She had the same sense of satisfaction the moment she watched the light dwindle in her former husband’s eyes.
And so she regretted dashing her hopes.
“No,” Twenty-Seven warned the woman. “He’s not.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
1996
The crying hadn’t stopped for hours. Raymond's tears overlapped and drowned her own sobbing. It had been days since they fled, and the only time he stopped was to ask when his mom was going to come back. The child’s innocent question tied knots in her stomach, tears filling her eyes each time.
Ariel faltered, her foot stubbed against broken cement. Her telekinesis caught her fall, lifting her upright. Raymond kept his face buried in her neck, his sobs muted by her stolen hoodie. Ariel's stomach rumbled, angry she hadn’t spent more time shoplifting canned foods from the small gas station. She considered herself fortunate that the kid had a fondness for Chef Boy-R-Dee.
“We’re almost there,” she whispered.
Raymond had seen through her attempts to disguise their exodus as a fun adventure. The boy was just old enough to sense she was lying. She found it difficult to concentrate with the kid’s sniffling and bawling. There hadn’t been a plan, at least nothing beyond fleeing. If Ivan came searching for her, she’d be hard pressed to protect herself, let alone Mark’s only child. Fleeing turned to surviving and the only rule about survival was, don’t stop moving.
For years she argued for the right to see the world, to be part of the society existing beyond the walls of the research center. The military gave her a glimpse into that world, a taste of what the universe might offer. All she found in their strikes, and all she encountered were tales of suffering in a dystopian world. The movies she watched turned into cautionary tales, a dramatic last minute twist spelling disaster for the protagonists.
As the large building ahead of them grew closer, her military training rose to the surface. Cars no longer rested parallel to the road, instead turned to act as barriers and provide cover for gunmen. Towers around the once held security guards when the nuclear facility had functioned. In fact, it looked like they still did. The glint of light from the furthest tower didn’t escape her attention. Somebody watched for the last mile of her trek. With a crying infant, there was no way she’d manage to sneak into their encampment. The only option that remained: walk down the center of the road and appear non-threatening. A second shimmer of light responded to the first, a conversation she couldn’t understand, definitely about her.
“Raymond,” she said quietly, “I’m going to put you down. I need you to walk behind me.”
Sniffling, he pulled back to see her face. Either because of her tone or her concerned expression, but he remained silent. Ariel said a quiet thank you to whatever gods might be listening.
Raymond refused to let go of her finger, causing an awkward walking situation. She tried to keep her face forward, watching for more flashes of light. Hunched over, she pulled the little guy along. She lead him toward the left side of the road, where the buildings offered cover from one of the towers. Depending who manned those towers, they may have already discovered who the solo woman and child might be.
“Halt.”
The voice bounced off empty buildings, making it impossible to locate. Ariel pushed Raymond further behind her, using her body as a shield. Days earlier, the power at her fingertips had been overwhelming, enough to thrash security guards and hurl scientists without effort. Whatever fury granted her those awesome abilities had faded; now, she’d be lucky to be able to stop a single bullet.
“I need shelter for me and the kid,” she yelled.
With no response, she continued walking forward.
“Who are you?”
Answer, and they might shoot. Not answer, and they might shoot. Neither choice struck her as winning. The Outlands had turned into a world of outlaws, gangs more content to rule in squalor than partake in society. Locked away in a cement fortress, she'd never had the opportunity to experience life beyond movies, but Ariel had smarts enough to know she’d never survive in a world where normal was the status quo.
“Stop." To the right, a man no older than her held a rifle sighted on her chest. His frame was hidden underneath layers of sun-bleached clothes. The gun never wavered as he stepped from behind one of the vehicles turned barricade. Raymond hugged the backs of her legs, his soft, quiet sobs starting again.
“The kid is tired and hungry. Hell, I’m hungry.”
“Stop talking,” the man said.
No. The gun was ripped from his hands and fell to the ground. Reaching behind his back, he found the gun there pulled free, chucked like the first. His startled expression, and look of disbelief showed he hadn’t been here for her last visit.
“Where’s Roderick?”
“Nobody here—”
Exhaustion threatened to push her to the ground. The abilities she’d relied on for so long required too much effort. Shoving him against the car should have been second nature. But now, he managed to push back, and she retreated. He scurried back away in horror.
“Ariel.” It wasn’t a question. To her left, stepping out from the back of a capsized eighteen-wheeler, was Roderick, the only man she knew by name in the Outlands. Behind him, a woman with a head full of curls held out a pistol. Ariel couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had access to shampoo for curly hair. Did the Outlands even have running water?
The world blurred for a moment as she stumbled. Raymond plopped backward, and the crying starting all over again. Ariel's palms were scraped against the pavement and she fought to keep upright. Roderick ran over, a large blob of sun bleached rags reaching down.
“What’s wrong?” The stern voice vanished, replaced by a softer, cooler tone. He dropped to his knees, cradling her as she rolled over.
“He killed them all,” she whispered.
“Who?”
Who. The thought crossed her mind. Could she explain how a telepath violated the most secure facility in the world? Would Roderick understand how one man could possess the mind of anybody he wanted? Inside the research facility, everybody alive remained a prisoner, his prisoner. It was no longer a bas
tion of scientific curiosity. He reigned over a complex filled with mindless slaves. One phrase repeated in her head.
“The Warden,” she whispered. “The Warden killed them all.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
2033
Lillian handed her a camouflage jacket, gesturing to cover Ariel’s face. Twenty-Seven swatted the jacket, sending it to the floor. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the most courageous woman she’d ever met. Twelve minutes, the entire span of a human life, passed before her eyes.
“What do the flares mean?” Lillian’s voice broke the silence. Twenty-Seven almost turned her head. But she feared the moment she looked away from her calm face, Ariel would be just another causality, forgotten in a war.
Refusing to blink, she studied grooves of lines at the edge of each eye and the way Ariel's eyebrows held a gentle arch. As she reached the lips, she found them uncharacteristically turned upward. Twenty-Seven tried to remember a time she caught Ariel smiling.
“You’re free to walk amongst the angels,” Twenty-Seven whispered as she reached for the jacket. Treating Ariel’s body as if it were made of glass, she slid from underneath it and lay the woman to the side of the puddled blood. The jacket’s fabric weighed more than she expected. Dragging it up her friend’s body, she stole a final glance before laying the coat across Ariel’s face.
“I see you, Ariel.”
Twenty-Seven eyed Azacca, whose face and shirt were covered in blood. The wound in his shoulder continued to bleed. If the Child had been human, would he have survived the wound? He favored his left brace, staggering as he walked. Lillian raised her hand, the man’s weight balanced and he grew less dependent on the brace.
“I feel like we should say something,” Twenty-Seven said.
Azacca nodded. “Ariel had the heart of a warrior. I did not know her as a woman, but I know her soul. Set on the warrior’s path, she fought for those who could not fight for themselves. We see you, Ariel. We see the war that raged in your heart. We see that at every turn you warded off the darkness. We see that even in the night, your flame will continue to burn. We see, Ariel. We lay you to rest, to walk among the gods who still listen.”