The Bones Beneath My Skin

by TJ Klune

  They look up when they hear him approaching. “Weir,” Reyes says. “What are you doing up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  Jones laughs. “Getting old, buddy?”

  “Must be,” he says, already having decided upon how to dispatch them with minimal noise. “I need to get inside.”

  Jones’s smile fades a little. “Can’t do that, big guy. You know the rules. No one inside until six. Protection, you know? We don’t want it to hurt anyone.”

  Alex snorts. “You really think she’s going to hurt me?”

  Jones and Reyes share an uneasy look. Oh, and he knows what that means. They, like most everyone else below his pay grade (and maybe even a few above), don’t know what to make of him, don’t know if he’s entirely human anymore. He’s heard their whispers, saying that he’s been brainwashed, that it’s gotten inside his head too, that it’s infected him, making him do its bidding. They’re wary of him, yes, but they’re also scared of him. They’re afraid of what they don’t understand.

  Which is good. Because they should be.

  “No,” Reyes says slowly. “We don’t think she’s going to hurt you, but orders are orders. You know?”

  “I outrank you.”

  Neither of them have reached for their rifles yet. Foolish, really. “True,” Jones says. “But this is above you. You know that.”

  “I do,” Alex says, smiling. “I’m just playing around, guys. Yanking your chain a little.”

  They both relax.

  He goes after Jones first, as he’s the quicker of the two. Alex has got two decades of experience under his belt. Even though he’s been assigned to this project for ten years now, he hasn’t let himself get out of shape. He’s as strong as he’s ever been and still able to move quicker than a man half his age.

  He has his hands over Jones’s face, slamming his head back against the rock wall behind him. Jones grunts, slumping down in his chair.

  Reyes moves faster than Alex expects. He’s already raising his rifle as Alex spins toward him. Alex grabs it by the barrel, sight digging into the flesh of his palm. He snaps it to the side, breaking Reyes’s trigger finger. The rifle does not go off. Reyes opens his mouth to cry out in pain, but all that comes out is a harsh croak as he gets the heel of Alex’s palm slammed against his throat. His eyes bulge as Alex grabs him by the back of the head, slamming him face-first into the table. It collapses at the force of the impact, and Reyes goes down with a low grunt. His eyes are fluttering as he rolls to his side, nose bleeding in rivulets down his cheeks. He stares blearily up at Alex and opens his mouth, but Alex’s boot meets his face, and he’s out.

  Less than a minute has passed since they greeted him.

  He drags an unconscious Reyes to the panel next to the door leading to Art’s room. He holds his hand up to a black pad. For a moment, nothing happens. Then a thin blue light scans down the length of his hand. The door slides open.

  He drops Reyes to the floor.

  Art watches as he enters her room. The low lights flicker overhead. He moves quickly, needing to get to the computer before the power—

  The lights go out.

  There’s a beat of silence, and then the emergency lights pulse white along the floor.

  “No,” he whispers, because her fucking cage is locked, it’s—

  She’s standing against the glass wall nearest him.

  She puts her hand flat against it.

  He feels it in his head. The whispers. The images. She thinks of impossible stars.

  Spiderweb cracks burst underneath her palm.

  Alex takes a step back.

  The wall of glass shatters.

  But the pieces don’t fall.

  She lowers her hand and walks through the glass slowly, pushing sharp shards out of her way.

  She stops in front of him, a small smile on her face. “Are we going on an adventure?”

  He says, “Time to saddle up and hit the trail.”

  (Nate was gone, gone, gone.)

  He takes her by the hand. His grip engulfs hers.

  They flee the room.

  She doesn’t comment on the two men they have to step over.

  He’s moving down the hallway, the way out already mapped in his head. He glances down at his watch. The shift change is coming up in ten minutes. The hallways are dark, the generators not yet having kicked back on.

  They bypass the main thoroughfares. It’s easier to stick to the smaller paths. Fewer people. But there will come a point where they won’t have a choice. Each exit to the Mountain will have at least two guards posted with two more on the way.

  But that’s what he’s counting on.

  They reach the closest exit in less than five minutes.

  He peers around the corner.

  Two men stand in front.

  He has to be quick.

  He lets go of Art’s hand and thinks, Stay.

  He walks around the corner.

  The man on the right sees him first. He looks to raise his rifle but stops when he recognizes Alex. “Sir,” he says.

  “What are you still doing standing here?” Alex growls. “The generators haven’t come up yet. There are protocols in place. Why haven’t you checked in yet?”

  Right glances at Left. “Shift change hasn’t come through. We thought we’d wait until—”

  “You thought wrong,” Alex snaps. “Move your asses and—”

  Then, from behind him, “Holy shit, what the hell is it doing out—”

  He turns. Shift change was early. Two men stand, guns pointing toward Art, who has moved into the hallway.

  Fuck.

  Left and Right moan behind him.

  “Hello,” Artemis Darth Vader says. “It’s nice to see you.”

  She jerks her head to the right.

  All four men slam against the walls, rifles falling from their grasps and landing on the ground.

  “Huh,” Art says. “They weren’t as heavy as I thought they’d be. I may have overdone it. Poor guys. That’s gonna hurt when they wake up.”

  Alex grabs a key card off one of the men near the door. He waits.

  Nothing. The power is still off.

  He’s starting to panic. “Come on. Come on—”

  The lights kick on overhead. He doesn’t know if it’s the power coming back or the generators, but it doesn’t matter.

  He slides the key card through the black slot on the wall.

  It beeps.

  The door slides open.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “We have to hurry.”

  They run down a long hallway. They’re close. So close.

  They reach the last door. This one isn’t locked electronically.

  He shoves it open.

  Rain slams against his face. He takes in a deep breath of cold air. His skin is instantly soaked. Art gasps at the wave of wet that washes over her, and later Alex will realize it’s the first time she’s been out of the Mountain in over three decades. It’ll hit him and hit him hard.

  Lightning flashes overhead.

  Thunder rolls.

  He grabs Artemis by the hand again and pulls her out into the storm. The gravel on the path crunches beneath their feet. Alex blinks away the rain. Ahead of them, he can see the spotlights at the entrance to the base moving slowly back and forth, the guards pacing in their towers.

  They head away from the front gate. Alex leads them off the main path, keeping to the trees and the shadows. They freeze briefly as two soldiers run by. They wait until the soldiers disappear around a corner before they move again.

  The motor pool is empty this early in the morning. The mechanics don’t come on shift for a few more hours. The warehouse housing vehicles belonging to the government of the United States of America is large, but Alex knows exactly where they need to go.

  They enter through a side door and close it behind them. Rain drums on the ceiling overhead. Art is shivering, bu
t there’s nothing he can do about that now. He remembers the first time he found out she could be cold, and it had shocked him more than he expected it to. And then he’d learned she could be hungry and happy and experience pain, and he still wonders if this is worth it to her. From the bits and pieces she’s given him, it’s not like this for her when she’s… how she normally is. She doesn’t experience emotions or sensations, not to the extent humans do. At least she didn’t before.

  There are days he wishes for that. Days he wishes he could push it all away.

  He doesn’t know if she wants the same thing.

  He doesn’t know how to ask.

  They move down rows of Humvees and Jeeps and armored vehicles with mounted machine guns across the top. He’s briefly considered taking one of those, but it wouldn’t be very subtle, now would it? He can’t imagine driving down a road and not getting pulled over because of the large weapon attached to the top of their vehicle.

  The Jeep is gray. It’s a newer model (most of the vehicles in the warehouse are—taxpayer dollars at work in this secret government facility experimenting on an alien life force) and fully gassed. He’s stocked it as best he could while remaining inconspicuous. His duffel bag is already inside, filled with clothes and cash. He’s grabbed a similar bag for her. There’s some food and water, but it isn’t much. He couldn’t take more without drawing suspicion.

  And now that they’re here, now that he’s opening the door for her and she’s climbing inside, he realizes how crazy this is. How spectacularly bad of an idea this is. Oh sure, he’s thought it was nuts before, but it was abstract. He’s had other things to focus on besides the fact that the chances of this working—of them actually escaping—are slim.

  He has to try.

  He puts her seat belt on.

  She touches his hand. “We’re going to be okay.”

  He nods tightly.

  He steps back and shuts her door. He’s around the front of the Jeep when a voice says, “I told myself you wouldn’t be this stupid. I hate it when I’m proven wrong.”

  Laura’s standing a few rows down, flanked by two men. He doesn’t recognize them, but he can figure out who they are. Or rather, what group they belong to.

  Enforcers.

  An elite group of men in the Mountain whose primary job is this exact moment.

  They are trackers. Hunters.

  If there is a breach, they are the ones sent to find and contain.

  He’s seen a few of them around the Mountain before. There were whispers about who exactly they worked for. From what Alex has gathered, they are privately contracted by the United States. It gives deniability in case it is needed.

  They’re armed, but then so is Laura. She has a pistol in her hand, a blank look on her face.

  “You have to know this won’t end well,” she tells him, not unkindly.

  Alex says nothing. He’s already planning in his head.

  Laura nods, as if she’s expected his silence. “I don’t know what it’s capable of, Mr. Weir. I don’t think even you know. It has infected you.”

  The massive doors at the front of the warehouse are still closed. The Jeep is reinforced, so they’ll still have a chance. This doesn’t have to be the end.

  Except Laura raises her gun and shoots him.

  (Nate thought he was screaming, but no sound came out.)

  It’s so quick that he doesn’t have time to react. He’s been shot before, once, in the Al-Asimah province in Kuwait back in 1982. It’d been in a port city, a through-and-through on his right arm. It’d hurt, but he’d been able to grit his teeth and fight through it.

  This isn’t that.

  At first, he’s unsure of what’s even happened. One moment he’s standing in front of the Jeep, hands in fists at his sides, and the next he’s staggering against it, his abdomen on fire. He can hear Art yelling behind him, and he takes in a ragged breath. It hurts, holy fuck does it hurt. His vision is starting to tunnel, but he’s trying to fight it.

  One of the Enforcers hands Laura a thick circular band of metal.

  He knows what that is.

  The thing in the little girl behind him had once inhabited the body of a young soldier named Oren Schraeder. After a time, it was decided to see if they could hurt it. Her. Him. They tried many things. Chemicals. Gas. Injections. But it wasn’t until they electrocuted the hell out of Oren that they realized how they could at the very least contain it.

  The Enforcer has handed Laura a collar capable of shocking the wearer with thousands of volts.

  Art has never had to wear it before.

  But the threat has always been there.

  Alex doesn’t think it’s just a threat now.

  And apparently neither does she.

  Because Alex feels it building. It’s like a storm in his brain.

  Artemis is pissed.

  Get in the truck, he hears in his head. Now. He’s never heard her sound so cold.

  The vehicles around him begin to rattle.

  The Enforcers take a step back.

  Laura’s eyes narrow.

  She raises her gun again and—

  The ground cracks beneath his feet as he lurches toward the driver’s side of the Jeep. He hears one of the Enforcers shout in warning, and there’s the crack of gunfire, and he swears he hears the bullet cutting the air as it hurtles by him. He’s got one hand wrapped around his middle, and he knows he’s bleeding. It’s bad, but Art has told him to move, so he’s moving.

  He’s at the door and jerks it open. He grits his teeth through the pain as he climbs inside. He fumbles for the keys he’s hidden in the visor and closes the door behind him.

  Art isn’t looking at him.

  She’s staring straight ahead, eyes wide and vacant.

  Alex follows her gaze out the window.

  “Fuck,” he breathes.

  Dozens of vehicles have risen into the air. They hang suspended at least ten feet off the ground. The Enforcers have their weapons raised toward them as if bullets will stop what is about to happen.

  Laura, though. She’s staring straight at them, gun raised, collar in her other hand at her side.

  “Drive,” Art tells him in a low voice.

  He starts the Jeep.

  He sees the exact moment Laura decides to pull the trigger again. Her shoulders tighten, and she lets out a deep breath.

  Alex shifts the Jeep into drive.

  He slams his foot on the gas pedal.

  The vehicles begin to rain down. There are loud shrieks of metal as they crash into the ground, glass shattering, hoods popping off and flipping into the air. Farther into the warehouse and off to the right, a Humvee explodes, the fire bright in the dark, shrapnel embedding itself into the walls.

  The Enforcers are running, trying to dodge what’s coming from above. One almost makes it to a side door when another Jeep lands on top of him. Alex doesn’t see what happens to the other one.

  Laura doesn’t run. She walks slowly toward the oncoming vehicle, firing her weapon with sharp precision. The bullets hit the reinforced windshield and deflect away. Her aim is true; the windshield chips right in front of Alex’s face.

  He doesn’t slow.

  She doesn’t jump out of the way like he expects. When the Jeep strikes her at nearly thirty miles an hour, destruction still falling from above, she’s on the hood and against the windshield, a bright splash of blood spraying against the glass. And then she’s up and over the Jeep.

  “Doors,” Alex says. “Art, doors.”

  Artemis hums a little under her breath. The sliding doors shudder in their frames, and there’s a moment when Alex thinks they’ll slam into them head-on. It’ll be over before they ever exit the warehouse.

  But then the doors are torn off their hinges, the entire front wall of the warehouse breaking away as if a massive tornado is spinning outside. They’re in the warehouse, and then they’re out in the dark and lightning, rain
slashing against the windshield. He’s driving one-handed, his other hand holding the wound in his side.

  From there, it’s like a dream.

  He hears alarms blaring, knows they’re being fired upon, but no bullets seem to hit them. He’s floating, maybe just a little, hearing whispers in his head that tell him everything is going to be all right. Everything is going to be just fine. They’ll be okay.

  He believes the whispers.

  At one point, there’s a spotlight shining down on them, and he hears the thumpthumpthump of rotor blades, but then there’s a jarring crash and an explosion somewhere in the distance.

  They burst through the back gate and onto an old logging road. The road is muddy and slick, water rolling down the hills around them. His focus is on keeping his eyes open. He has precious cargo. Nothing can happen to her.

  Art will tell him later the next crash he hears is an avalanche behind him, one of the rocky hills giving way and falling onto the road, washing it out. “We got lucky,” she’ll say. “The storm must have loosened it.”

  He won’t believe her, but he won’t say a word about it.

  She’s telling him to move his hand, Alex, move your hand, and he groans as he does. Then her hand is on him, and it feels hot, like she’s scalding him. He somehow manages not to scream.

  Three days later, they find a sign pointing them toward Herschel Lake.

  Art says, “There. We should go there.”

  Alex says, “We have to keep going. We have to get as far away as we can.”

  Artemis Darth Vader shakes her head. “No. Alex. We have to go to the lake. I know it. You have to trust me.”

  He does. She’s the only thing he has left.

  So he turns up the road toward the lake and—

  Nate blinked slowly, feeling as if he’d just awoken from the most vivid of dreams.

  Artemis was snoring, head on Alex’s shoulder.

  Alex was watching him.

  Neither of them spoke for what felt like hours.