Subject Seven (3 page)

The man grew bolder as Seven looked down at the plush carpet under his bare, bloodied feet. Why was the carpet so familiar? Why did the place where he stood smell of comfort and feel so safe when he had never been here before? Bleed over. The Other's world was haunting his mind again, making him see the Other's happiness and his own pain, making him compare the two.

“Yes, Seven. Home.” There was a softness to the man's voice now, and a confidence that had not been there a moment before. He reached into his white lab coat and pulled out a syringe, even as he moved in closer to Seven's side. “Everything's going to be all right, Seven. You'll see.”

Time slowed down. Seven felt the adrenaline kick into his system. The world around him oozed. He could see the man's arm lifting, could feel the man's body turning slightly as he looked down at Seven and decided where the needle should go. The warm light from the living room lamp gleamed off the stainless steel needle of the syringe, off the yellowish fluids inside. Yellow was the color of sleep. The yellow liquids always helped Seven rest when the pain was too great.

Home. Pain.

His eyes widened and he moved, shifting his body as his hand caught the man in the lower part of his back and pushed. The man grunted, surprised, and staggered forward, losing his balance even as Seven backed up a bit and bared his teeth.

And then he remembered the man's name. The Other had a special name for him, an almost magical name. Finally the word came to him. “No, Daddy! No home! I go away!”

Seven understood words. Words were power.

The man, Daddy, let out a low noise of surprise and ran toward the door. Before he could reach it, Seven moved forward, lunging and letting his hatred loose. And oh, how he hated. His fingers grabbed Daddy's neck and back and sank into soft flesh. Daddy screamed from the unexpected pain.

Seven's body was changing every day. The man said so. Seven could have told him that. He felt stronger than he ever had before and he felt something else that gave him strength.

He felt hope.

Daddy's head and face smashed into the wall as Seven pushed with all of his might.

He would be free.

Daddy let out a grunt and shook his head as he tried to break free, denying what was happening, trying to escape from the fury that Seven had held inside for as long as he could remember.

He would be free.

Daddy's head crashed into the wall again. The paint changed color, splattered with the red that hid inside of Daddy.

Seven would be free.

Even if he had to kill everyone he saw, he would be free.

EVVY PULLED UP TO the gate and the guard waved her through. From outside there was no sign of trouble, but she didn't trust that. She'd tried calling the central security office four times and gotten no answer. No answer. That never happened.

She couldn't very well call the police either, now, could she? That wouldn't go well at all. The police wouldn't understand the importance of their work, of their lifelong ambitions.

That meant they were on their own.

She climbed from the car as soon as she parked and pulled out the pistol Tom insisted she carry with her. She was glad of its weight, grateful for the destructive power. If any of the subjects had gotten out, if Seven had gotten loose, especially, God help them all.

Would a bullet even stop Seven? She didn't know and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

As she approached the security doors at the front of the large warehouse, she paused and listened. For a moment there was nothing to hear—not surprising when you considered the soundproofing they'd had installed—but after a second she could make out the faint sound of the alarms.

Fear caught at her insides and sent wintry chills lashing through her heart and stomach alike.

They had done tests, of course, but Seven was only ten years old. He wasn't fully matured. They had no idea exactly how strong or how fast he was. He was so much more than human.

DADDY WAS DEAD. HE lay on the ground unmoving. Mommy would be so very angry.

Seven looked around the bloodied room and saw the front door that went out into the Other's world and shook his head. No. He would not be in the Other's world! He wanted his own world without the Other.

More guards were waiting for him when he left the house the way he had entered, but he barely even noticed them.

Much as part of him wanted to hurt all of the people in uniform, he had to leave. He had to get away before they could stop him with the yellow liquids. And they would. They had before.

He could not go home again. Not now, not ever.

He ignored the primal desire to hurt them and ran as fast as he could.

They barely even saw him before he was past them and pushing through to another part of the building, knocking everything he could find down behind him to add to the obstacles they would have to get over to get to him.

There were more doors to his left, to his right, but he didn't bother with them. He knew the door he was looking for would be bigger, stronger, meant to keep him inside and maybe to keep others out.

A man stepped in front of him, wearing a guard's uniform. He spread his arms wide as if he meant to hug Seven, but Seven knew better. He jumped and smashed into the man, knocking him backward. Both of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Before the man could try anything else, Seven used his hands and crushed the guard's face into a new shape.

Finally, there was a door that looked like it must be there to stop him. He moved toward it, wishing with all of his might that it would open for him and let him free.

And to his surprise, it obeyed his wishes. The double doors split apart and the air temperature changed in an instant; a much colder wave of air washed into the hallway as he charged down its length and a new series of smells revealed themselves to him. Some scents were familiar and others completely alien. One of the familiar ones belonged to the woman. The woman who sometimes talked to him and other times studied him from behind thick, dark walls of glass as if he couldn't smell her, hear her behind the shiny surface.

He hated the woman almost as much as he hated the man. But now was not the time for her. Now was the time for escape. More guards were coming for him. He could hear their footsteps past the sound of the alarms. There were so many of them, so many more than he expected.

The door and the darkness beyond it were ahead of him and so was the woman, holding something in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide and she stank of fear. Her heart beat so fast, twice, maybe three times as fast as usual. She pointed the barrel of her weapon at him, and her hateful voice called out: “Seven! Stop right now!”

He did not listen.

He charged instead, screaming his rage at her, a battle cry, a call for blood that she answered with fire.

SHE'D BARELY OPENED THE doors before he was there, her worst nightmare come true. Seven, broken free and coming right at her, his entire body painted in blood and gore, as if he were a wild animal. And, really, wasn't he? Hadn't they almost guaranteed that he would be little more?

Experiments in sensory overload, long endurance tests, food and water deprivation, tests in every sort of extreme, just to see how he would react and whether or not what he experienced would carry over.

“Oh God, Seven! Stop before I shoot you!” She barely even recognized her own voice.

Seven came at her even faster, screeching like a wounded chimpanzee. She took aim at his chest and fired again and again.

The first bullet missed him. The second grazed his calf and the third hit him in his side, plowing through flesh and bone as he came for her, his face a mask of hatred and blood.

And before a fourth bullet could escape the muzzle of her pistol, he was on her. His body burned with the heat of an oven and the stink of sweat and blood was all over him, then all over her as Seven grabbed her by her hair and hurled her aside, his body smaller than hers, his strength so far beyond what they'd expected it would ever be.

The pain of her scalp separating from her skull was staggering. Still, there was a part of her, the scientist beyond the woman who was worried about her job and projects, that rejoiced. They had succeeded! If the others were anywhere close to Seven—

She struck the ground and felt the skin scrape from her hand and the side of her face. Before she could recover, Seven grabbed her and lifted her up in the air. She had only a moment to gather her breath for a proper scream before the wall took that breath away and knocked her senseless.

She would wake up to find that most of her world had been destroyed by the very thing she had struggled to create. Subject Seven had killed her Tom and stolen away her Bobby and so many of her dreams.

She had done it to herself, really. She might as well have killed her husband with her own hands, and as for her son? Well, that thought was enough to leave her crying.

In time she would get stronger. She would make herself be strong. There was no other choice, not really. Someone had to carry on her dreams, Tom's dreams. Their legacy.

THERE WAS ONLY A single fence between him and freedom. He cleared the fence with ease, only hesitating when the razor wire caught his skin. He was bleeding when he struck the grass on the other side of the fence.

He would heal. He always did.

The air smelled cold and fresh, and the night was filled with stars and a breeze that caressed his bare skin and chilled him.

He had felt the cold before and far worse than this.

Limping, bleeding and bruised, he moved away from the only home he had ever known. Yes, he was afraid. He could admit that.

But he would survive. He had been designed to survive.

He made a vow to himself. He would do whatever he had to do to make sure he stayed free from the hell that was his home. Even if he had to kill the entire world to stay free.

Time would prove him a boy of his word.

HIS LIFE HAD CHANGED a lot in the year since he escaped. He'd learned to speak properly, learned to read—words were still powerful, more so now than ever before and he loved learning their meanings. He'd found his way in the world, a small boy, yes, but also powerful and capable. There were people who paid him for his services because no one else his size and age could do the things he could do. He had money. He had respect. He was in charge of his own world. Sometimes, at least.

Seven looked around the city and sniffed the air. He preferred cities to small towns. People in small towns liked to ask questions about why an eleven-year-old boy was on his own in the big bad world. And sometimes when they asked questions, Seven had to kill them. Murder didn't really bother him, but it was inconvenient.

He could hear the Other, screaming, fighting to get free. The thought filled him with anger. He was back in Philadelphia again, not because he wanted to be, but because the Other had snuck out while he wasn't looking. He had lost his vigilance. He had let himself forget. Big mistake.

It had taken him a while, but now he was back in control of the situation. He liked Philadelphia well enough. It stank of pollution, but it was alive and the people were always interesting.

Also, there were the cheesesteaks. A boy had to eat, right? And Seven liked to eat. He loved to eat. He had a passion for food that unsettled people. He knew that other kids his age did not eat as much, but the ones he met also were not as strong or as fast. They didn't heal as quickly and they didn't have the Other to contend with. All that he did required calories and meat and salt. And coffee. He liked coffee. And Red Bull. And other energy drinks. The list of foods he liked was very long. Years without had made him greedy. If he'd led a more stationary life, he'd have probably been fat by now, but he walked almost everywhere he went. Not only did he not have any ID, but he also had trouble seeing over the steering wheel of most cars. At eleven years of age, he was hardly grown up. His life in public was a constant series of camouflaged maneuvers. He couldn't afford to be questioned about why he wasn't in school or where his parents were because—
Killed Daddy! Broke Mommy!
—he didn't have any. He couldn't tell people where he lived because that changed every night.

He'd spent months living on the streets, making connections and finding ways to circumvent the police and the people who always wanted to take him home. He'd run from the complex, from the city where the complex lay hidden, fleeing as fast and as far as he could from the Other's home and everything that reminded him of it.

What Seven could not carry he did not keep for long.

He started for the closest place that sold cheesesteaks and felt his stomach grumble. The people on the street around him were too numerous to count and that was good. It helped him stay anonymous. Seven needed meat. Some sugar and caffeine wouldn't hurt either. The Other came around most often when he was tired. When he was weak. He couldn't afford to be weak, but he also couldn't go without sleep.

How many times had the Other tried to call his mother? He couldn't even begin to guess.

Just thinking about the Other was enough to make his blood boil. The Other had to be stopped.

Seven's eyes drooped as he felt the Other struggling to be free. “Get down. Get back down, you bastard . . . .” He growled the words, closing his eyes and fighting harder than before. “You hear me? I'm done with this, and I'm done with you.”

No answer. He didn't really expect one, so that was just as well.