Subject Seven (22 page)

Just as quickly the pain vanished. The man on the other end of the long leads from the Taser looked down at him and stepped closer. “You got any kind of sense, you're going to stay there and behave. I don't want to juice you again.”

Not-Gene let out an animal roar and tried to stand up. He reached for the darts in his arm, intent on pulling them out, and the man hit the switch and juiced him again. The pain hit again and laid him flat. Spittle flew from his lips, and the world through his eyes lost shape and definition.

“Gunnnnna k-killl yhuuuuu . . . ” Without even trying, Joe could feel the Other's frustration.

“Stay down, you idiot.” The man was talking, his lips moved, his face started to smile or to sneer; it was hard to say which.

Not-Tina took two darts in her hip and let out a shriek as the current hit her nervous system. She hit the ground, her body twitching and a long, drawn-out “EEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee” coming from her mouth.

Joe felt their rage; their helplessness was almost as overwhelming as their fury. Not-Gene tried to sit up again and felt the current smash him backward again. There was nothing he could do, and that knowledge was worse than the pain moving through him. Joe understood that. So he sent for help, even as he and Not-Kyrie crossed the rooftop to look down on the fighting below.

JOE CLOSED HIS EYES for a moment and reached out with his mind, seeing the Others around him. Not-Kyrie was right next to him, her fury abated for the moment. She was happy, enjoying the freedom that came from being awake and in control.

Not-Cody was at the back of the building, looking down at his broken toys. He could see the creature, but it was harder to understand what was going through Not-Cody's mind than he expected.
This one,
he thought,
could be trouble.
Time would tell.

The pain he felt from Not-Gene and Not-Tina was dimmed because it was theirs. He could feel it, could register what it was, but it had little to do with him directly. Joe looked through their eyes and saw the situation.

His commands were direct and required no words, no names. He directed Not-Cody to move to the front of the building as quickly as possible and at the same time he reached down and pulled the Taser from the belt of the man who'd been giving him information very reluctantly. Not-Kyrie followed his lead and pulled another of the weapons from one of the men sprawled across the rooftop.

Not-Cody didn't resist the commands. He simply moved, charging around the side of the building with astonishing speed for so large a figure. He didn't bother with weapons. That was just as well. Joe was pretty sure the boy had no idea how to use any weapons.

Joe walked to the front of the building and looked down. Not-Gene and Not-Tina were on the ground, both of them twitching and uttering small noises as they were jolted again. Even if the power were shut off, it would be a few minutes before they were recovered enough to do anything at all. The men in black uniforms stood around them, and two of them were preparing handcuffs.

His immediate response was rage. But he knew that anger was a tool, and like everything else it had a place and a time—and this wasn't it.

That was what he understood that the Others did not. They brutalized their enemies with wild abandon, not caring about the consequences of their actions. They were too new, too young to fully understand.

He aimed the Taser at the soldier juicing Not-Tina. Not-Kyrie took aim carefully and fired, and the other guard with a Taser dropped to the ground, screaming out a high-pitched yelp of pain.

Nineteen feet below, the soldiers were starting to look in their direction. “Now.” He spoke aloud but also with his head and Not-Cody responded, moving around the side of the building and roaring.

The men turned toward the sudden distraction and two of them opened fire with their weapons. They were not fast enough. In their defense, they were only human.

Bullets cut the air and the ground around where Not-Cody had been. The Other had jumped, his body clearing the ground, then landing briefly against the side of the building. His hand caught the brick surface, helped him keep his balance for a moment as he repositioned himself, and then he jumped again, this time firing himself at the soldiers like a living missile.

Joe and Not-Kyrie jumped down from above with one graceful move. They worked together as if they'd been trained to do so for years, but only because she trusted Joe and listened to his mental commands.

The fight was over before it really started. Joe watched his peers as they brutalized the soldiers and nodded. They were as fast and strong as he'd hoped, as fast and strong as him. That was important because they'd be asked to do a lot more before everything was done.

Joe flexed his arm and felt the muscles ripple and pull. A bullet had punched clean through his bicep and it hurt, yes, but it didn't incapacitate.

And it was healing fast. He could feel the muscles knitting themselves back together, and the blood had stopped flowing down his arm.

He was alive. And he was no longer alone.

Not-Gene crawled slowly back to his feet, his body shaking. A moment later Not-Tina did the same, her skin pale and sweating. Joe felt for them; he'd been hit by Tasers before and knew exactly how painful the sensation was.

“Give it a few minutes, guys. You'll feel better.”

“Who are these losers?” Not-Kyrie sneered down at the unconscious and the dead. They were all the same to her—Joe could feel that. They were a good excuse to lash out, and as far as Not-Kyrie was concerned, they didn't even qualify as worthy of consideration beyond that. If they lived or died, it meant nothing because they were not her. She, like all of their kind, was extremely self-centered.

“Well, whoever they are, they want us captured or dead. That makes them the enemy.” Joe looked at his arm. The bullet wound had completely scabbed over.

“They must really, really want us badly.” Not-Cody's voice was strained, but Joe sensed a certain amusement from him.

“Why?” Not-Kyrie was frowning, her full lower lip stuck out like a diving board. Even with the sour expression, she was a striking figure.

Not-Cody pointed with his right hand. All of them looked where he pointed.

All of them saw the helicopter coming for them. The vehicle was jet black and carrying two large black boxes perched just above the landing skids.

Not-Gene was still recovering. Not-Tina was already on her feet and looked like she was ready to go again. Joe winced as he grabbed Not-Gene by an arm and started moving. “Run! Run! Run!”

They ran. The five of them moved as quickly as they could, even as the black boxes on the helicopter opened, the fronts blooming like mechanical flowers, and vomited a hail of destruction on the warehouse where they'd been only ten minutes earlier.

The shells shrieked as they struck the building and roared as they exploded. Ten, eleven, a full dozen mortars struck, blasting the building into a colossal fireball as the Others ran.

The shock wave lifted Joe and his cohorts into the air, little more than rag dolls in a hurricane, and Joe gnashed his teeth. He hated feeling helpless more than anything,

They landed hard, scattered all across the street, and Joe once again took command, barking silent orders.

As the flames expanded and the smoke rose in a thick black column from what had been the warehouse, Not-Gene reached out and lifted the manhole cover from the center of the road next to him and crouched low as the others scurried and scrambled their way down into the darkness.

The copter's blades sliced the air and blew the smoke away from the crater and Joe watched as the vehicle looked for them. They were lucky. Either the smoke stopped the occupants from seeing them or they'd been told not to blow up the rest of the block along with the building they'd already destroyed.

Not-Gene dropped the cover back in place, sealing them off from anyone looking for them. Joe stood in the ankle-deep filth of the sewer.

“Where are we going?” Not-Tina's voice was only a little petulant.

Joe grinned. “We're going for a night on the town, kiddies. I think we earned it.”

“We need better clothes.” Not-Kyrie's voice was still agitated.

“We'll get them.”

“We need—”

He held up his hand for silence. “We're going to get clothes. We're going to get money. We're going to eat like kings. And then, we're going back to the hotel to leave a message for the failures.”

“What's my name?” Not-Cody asked the question casually.

Joe shrugged and suppressed a wince as his arm reminded him that it was still hurting. “You tell me.”

“What do you mean?” A quick frown.

“I mean you're not Cody. He already has a name. You have to decide for yourself what you want to be called.”

Not-Cody stared at him in the darkness of the sewer tunnel—the darkness barely affected any of them—and smiled. “Cool.”

“Give it some thought. Until then, I'm just calling you ‘Hey, you.'”

They walked in silence for a while, which suited Joe just fine because his ears were still ringing from the explosions earlier.

EVELYN WATCHED THE FOOTAGE in silence, her hands held together in front of her face as if she might be praying.

She wished there had been cameras inside the building instead of merely the ones along the perimeter. Her life would be easier if she could see their faces clearly and decide if they were anyone she knew.

One of them, one on the roof. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him. The others? Nothing. The only things they had in common were unbelievable reflexes, oddly poor choices in the sizes of their clothing—which were universally too small—and a penchant for savagery.

George watched the footage with her. No one else was allowed in the room. There was no one else she trusted as implicitly as she did her second-in-command.

She kept a careful count of the men she saw fall to the strangers who'd come into her territory.

“Well, this is hardly the sort of footage I was hoping for, George.”

He nodded. After they watched the building getting blasted into debris, he finally spoke. “Do you think they got away?”

“Of course they did. There were plenty of opportunities for a competent athlete and these ruffians, they are decidedly athletic.” She paused for a moment and then used the remote control to slowly reverse the film. “There. See?” She pointed at the shadowy forms near an opened manhole cover. “Right there. That's them getting away, I suspect.”

“Cheeky little bastards, aren't they?”

“George, they killed twenty-five of our men. I think that makes them more than ‘cheeky.'”

He frowned. “Well, to be fair, I think the helicopter probably killed most of them.”

She waved a finger at him. “Let's avoid the debate. Find the right people to make sure this is read as a gas main explosion and make sure you pay them off quickly.” He nodded. “When that's done, clean out the secondary offices.” She sighed. “I have no doubt that the ones on the roof got one of the men talking.”

“Full cleanup?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No. Give them something. Let's assume they're looking for me, shall we? Give them an address.”

“What location?”

“Somewhere isolated, where we can have a better chance of controlling the outcome. Really, George, I'd hardly expect this to be challenging for you.”

He made that little tsking noise she so despised. “I know you, Evelyn. If I don't double-check, you'll be pointing a finger at me if it goes wrong.”

“I'll be pointing a finger at you either way, George. That's why you're my assistant.”

He sighed. “Anything else you need me to take care of?”

“Yes. One more thing.” She tapped the remote again and backed up the recording until she got the clearest shot of the two intruders on the roof. “Does either of them look familiar?”

George leaned in closer to the screen. The high-definition monitor was as clear as ever, but the recording was grainy. It wasn't meant for close-ups. He frowned and scowled and squinted each way he could. “I don't suppose we've had this sent off to get the images cleaned?”

“Not yet. We only just had the situation a short while ago, George. These things take time, and they require that you actually call on the appropriate parties.” Her voice was sharp, but he ignored the slight.

“Yes, I'll get on that.” His tone was snide. “Just as soon as I've handled every other whim of yours for the day.”

“And you call other people cheeky. Honestly.” Still, she smiled a little. Anyone else would have been fired, but George was allowed a little room. It was one of the benefits of being someone she trusted.

He pointed to the male in the dress slacks and bloodied shirt. “He almost looks like . . . ” His voice trailed off. “Is that even possible, Evelyn?”

“Well, I would hope not, but no body was ever found, now was it, George?” It had been over four years since the last time Bobby had tried to contact her. After he stopped trying, they had to assume that Seven was dead and Bobby along with him. They were inseparable, after all.

George stared hard and slowly shook his head. “Seven? Could he be alive after all of that?”

Evelyn leaned back in her seat and sighed, making herself stay calm. There was a possibility that her son was alive out there, along with his other half, Subject Seven. The boy who made her life a better, brighter place and the monster who'd taken away her husband and son. “We're going to have to work under the assumption that he is.” The thought sent a hundred different feelings through her. Seven. Alive. Was that even possible? Did she dare hope for that? After all that he'd done, after all that he'd taken. Her hand moved to the necklace again, fondling the ring and the tooth next to it unconsciously.