The Indestructibles (Book 2): Breakout (5 page)

Chapter 8:

Interrogation

      The handcuffs were the thing that bothered Sam the most. He'd played the role of government agent long enough to know there were protocols and to remember to never take chances, but as he sat in a small, vacant interrogation room in the Labyrinth, he felt vaguely insulted to think the Department thought he needed to be cuffed.

      C'mon, Sam, he thought to himself. Look at it this way. Maybe they think you still have enough left in the tank to be dangerous.

      The cell door opened and the female agent walked in, dark hair slicked back and a neutral look in her eye. She sat down across from Sam at the small table dominating the room.

      He clinked his cuffs on the table and raised an eyebrow.

      "Protocol," she said. "You know the rules."

      "Yeah," Sam said. "So do you have a name, or is not sharing it part of protocol too?"

      "I'm Prevention," she said.

      Sam chuckled.

      "Like Samuel Barren is really your name."

      "We all had aliases in the old days," Sam said. "Prevention is just a little melodramatic."

      "Well, it's my specialization," she said. "I'm a telepath and pyrokinetic. Loss prevention specialist."

      "They find you or make you?"

      "I'm a hundred percent natural, right off the vine," Prevention said. "Tell me about the kids."

      "I only know what I observed. Silence doesn't reveal much about his students. Not that I'd tell you anyway."

      Prevention tapped her temple.

      "Telepath, Sam," Prevention said. "I can take what I want. It's just easier for me and less painful for you if you say it out loud."

      "This is ridiculous."

      "Fine," Prevention said. She slid a photo across the table. Entropy Emily, juggling a pair of cars in her gravitational bubbles, like a kid on vacation, smiling. "Her."

      "Entropy? She's the one you want information on?"

      "The others are all known commodities," Prevention said. "We've dealt with more than one Gawain mutation, so Solar is nothing we haven't seen before. Straylight is another one of the Luminae, there's always one of them hanging around. Werewolves are rare now but they used to be a dime a dozen, they're easy to deal with. And the Dancer is just your garden variety vigilante in a suit."

      "Don't let her hear you say that," Sam said.

      "But we have no data on Entropy Emily. She's a UA. We haven't had a Unique Aberration in half a century. There's nobody active who even knows how to deal with one, let alone how to get information on an unknown."

      "Entropy Emily is the one that scares you?" Sam said. "This is hilarious."

      "The readings we've been able to get on her are off the charts."

      "Please don't tell her that."

      "She's dangerous."

      "You're okay with the impervious girl who shoots fire from her hands but the teenager who makes floaty bubbles is dangerous," Sam said.

      "Silence knew she was dangerous," Prevention said. "He brought her in too young because he knew she was dangerous."

      "You people are still chasing Doc's shadow, aren't you," Sam said. He tapped his cuffs against the table rhythmically because he could see in Prevention's eyes it was bothering her. "The magic thing still bother the brass?"

      "The magic thing?" Prevention leaned back, raised an eyebrow. Sam could tell this was new information for her. Not what she came in for. She was intrigued.

      "The Department could never figure out magic. They still don't have a wizard or magician on staff, do they? Because they can't control them. Had to call in Doc or one of his colleagues to consult any time magic became a problem. The Department resented the hell out of him for that. But Doc used it as leverage to keep the Department at arms' length."

      "Silence didn't keep you at arms' length."

      "Because I didn't lie to him," Sam said. "What do you want with Emily."

      "We want them to come work for us," Prevention said. She stood up, fixed her coat, walked over to Sam's side of the table so he had to crane his neck to look up at her.

      "They won't. Solar's too much like Doc. They all are. They won't."

      "We'll just have to find a way to negotiate," Prevention said. And she touched the tips of her fingers to Sam's forehead.

      It felt like her fingers dug through his skull and into his brain, sharp and worming at the same time, a crawling squeal across the inside of his mind. He might have cried out in pain; he couldn't tell, his senses had all gone awry. Sounds became colors. Memories became illusions. He could feel Prevention poking around in his brain as easily as thief might rummage a sock drawer. Finally, she stepped away.

      "Straylight?" Prevention asked. "Straylight's how we put a leash on Entropy Emily? That's interesting."

      Sam glared at her.

      "Well, threatening loved ones has worked in the past," she said.

      Prevention looked at her hand as if examining the memories she'd touched in Sam's mind.

      "I'm . . . very sorry you're so sick, Sam. I didn't realize how bad it was getting."

      "Would I still be here if you did?"

      "I'm doing my job, Sam. It's what we all do."

      "This wasn't how we used to do things."

      "It's a harsher world now, Sam. We just do what we have to in order to keep up."

Chapter 9:

Werewolf summer camp

      Time took on a different quality among his own kind, Titus noticed.

      His days were split into uneven trilogies.

      Time spent with Finnigan, learning to control his transformations, was light-hearted and wordy, the redheaded werewolf gregarious and charming. He taught Titus to move fluidly and without pain from man to monster and back again. From him Titus also learned that there were variations on the werewolf form, that he could become even more wolf-like and run on four legs if he needed to, or even transform separate parts of himself if he wanted to.

      This latter component was more challenging than changing completely, Titus found. It took him weeks to master the ability to change one hand into claws, and even at that, he could only transform his left hand.

      "That's okay, kid," the older werewolf said. "Some of our kind can't even do that much."

      "How did you get so good at it, then?" Titus asked, watching as Finnigan changed a single finger into a talon to open up a bag of beef jerky.

      "Bloodlines and luck, my boy," Finnigan said. "Some of us just have it in the family, like eye color. It's hard to tell if it's because we're closer to the beast, or if we're just more relaxed about it, but there it is."

      "What were my parents like? Were they good at it?"

      "Not particularly. Thing about Whisperings is they tend to commit. If you're going to let the wolf out, they let it out all the way."

      Meanwhile, Gabriel's lessons were silent and mercurial, the quiet werewolf teaching Titus how to use weapons.

      "You're going to get caught in places you can't transform," he explained. "You might be the first werewolf to end up on television, but you'll find times you want to be discrete. Being able to fight will help."

      Gabriel was brilliant with the staff and spear, and taught Titus rudimentary tactics with both, saying that you can always find a stick to fight with in a pinch. Nothing elegant or highbrow about the choice, Gabriel explained. Practicality ruled.

      He also showed Titus how to fight using short, hooked knives. These were more deliberate, Gabriel said.

      "You can mimic the way you'd fight with your claws with the right knives," he said. "It will feel more natural. You won't always be able to get your hands on them, but if you do, you'll be in good shape."

      And he was right. Titus was horrified at how quickly he picked up techniques from his teacher, mostly through muscle memory, remembering like old dreams the feeling of his werewolf self's natural instincts. Titus took to keeping a pair of stubby knives on his belt for practice. The first time Gabriel saw this, he smiled, something he'd never done in front of the younger werewolf before.

      Between repeated transformations with Finnigan and the beatings he took during Gabriel's lessons, Titus was a walking muscle ache. It felt good, though. He felt better than he ever had. More in control. And that snarling subconscious, that other self, slunk around just below the surface still, but the wolf no longer threatened to take control. It seemed almost as if the monster approved.

      When he needed to rest, he sat with Leto.

      According to Finnigan, Leto had more control over her transformations than Finnigan could ever hope to have, and she taught Gabriel everything he knew, but she chose instead to talk. She spoke about history. About the way the werewolves scattered around the world, the way they kept themselves secret, hermits and hidden tribes, on the outskirts of man's civilization.

      "So we're just a species, like anything else?" Titus asked.

      "It depends on how grand a scheme you think the universe has for anyone," Leto said.

      He found himself gazing into the fire or listening with his eyes closed because otherwise he'd end up staring at her. Finnigan teased him when they were alone, assuring Titus that everyone did it. It wasn't only desire that drew eyes to her, he said.

      "What do you think we are, then?" Titus said.

      "I think we're the shaman on the hill," she said. "I've always thought this. I think we were put here to keep the monsters from the doors of men, and to keep men from the doors of monsters. That's why we are both at the same time. Liminal. Someone has to understand both sides of the coin."

      "But we're dying off, right?" Titus said.

      "There aren't many of us left, yes."

      "Does that mean we're not needed anymore? Or does that mean we failed at our job?"

      She looked at him, eyes penetrating and luminous, and it was a look so heavy with sadness Titus felt a tickle in the back of his throat, a twinge in his eyes.

      "Titus Whispering, we're dying because man and monster both hate us," she said. "We have no friends in the world anymore."

      "I have friends."

      Leto smiled.

      "And that's why I'm glad we found you," she said. "Because you give me hope. When we saw you on the television, the others thought you had just brought about the last step in our extinction. They were so angry."

      "I didn't know!"

      "No, not angry with you," Leto said. "We all knew we failed you by not finding you sooner. It wasn't your fault. But many of us thought, 'there goes our future.' We're no longer the shaman on the hill. We're the monster in the gladiator pit."

      "Is that what
you
believed?"

      "At first. Finnigan thought you were wonderful. He volunteered to come with me to find you. Gabriel as well, because he thought you fought like an idiot berserker and you offended his sense of style."

      Leto cracked another radiant smile.

      Titus couldn't help laughing a bit.

      "So basically my circus act was a public embarrassment for my entire species."

      "Absolutely," Leto said. "But you also made a very frightened people brave again. It's something the Whisperings have always been good at."

Chapter 10:

Like a zombie movie

      The mall was a dead zone, quiet and echoing without living bodies to absorb the sound. It was also incredibly cold, Billy noted, the hum of air conditioners left on for days without purpose filled the void of human voices.

      This place is a ghost town, Billy thought.

     
There are no ghosts here,
Dude said.
This place is too new for ghosts.

      Anything else you can tell me, Dude? Billy thought.

     
It is teaming with bacteria.

     
Great, thanks.

      All four Indestructibles wore breathing devices around their mouths and noses, filtering the air in the hopes whatever had made all the customers sick before could be defeated by the bizarre technology they had lying around the Tower. Jane had a sensor in her hand, a disc-shaped object the size of a softball, which blinked and hummed as it took readings of the air.

      "I broke into a mall once," Billy said. "In the middle of the night. It was like this."

      "I hid in a rack of clothes until the mall closed one night," Emily said. "I thought it was going to be awesome."

      "Was it not awesome?"

      "No," Emily said. "It wasn't, because I couldn't get the gate up in the store I stowed away in, so I was stuck there the whole night and had to hide again in the morning to get back out."

      Jane and Kate had both stopped walking to stare at their companions.

      "The two of you," Jane said. "It's like an anarchists' support group on this team sometimes."

      "I fell through the skylight of a mall chasing a burglar one time," Kate said. "Not the same thing, but it was a lot harder getting back out again. What did you do all night?"

      "I tried on all the things," Emily said. "All of them. All the things."

      Jane shook her head.

      "The closest mall to the farm was an hour and twenty minutes away by car," Jane said. "I feel like I missed out on part of my childhood."

      The device beeped faster as they walked, a sign, Neal had warned them, that it was picking up more signs of the infection or illness in the air.

      "This is like something out of a zombie movie," Billy said.

      "Thanks dude. Thanks," Emily said.

      "What?"

      "I don't want to even think about dealing with zombies."

      "Zombies aren't real," Kate said. "Relax."

      "Your boyfriend is a werewolf. I don't believe that zombies are fictional in a world where werewolves have girlfriends."

      "He's not my boyfriend, and you shut up."

      Emily looked like she was about to fire off a retort, which made Billy particularly nervous — nobody retorts Kate — but they arrived at the food court and suddenly the disaster on display overtook all their attention.

      "Holy carp," Emily said.

      "I can't believe this," Jane said.

      The court was a catastrophe, chairs overturned, food left to rot where it sat. Remarkably, Billy noticed, the rate of decay hadn't been too bad — probably a combination of the cranked up air conditioning and whatever horrible chemicals were used to prepare the food. Still, the smell was strong enough to invade their rebreather masks.

      And then there was the vomit.

      "Oh no," Kate said.

      Billy looked at her and saw that Kate had turned three shades paler, with a distinct green tinge.

      "You okay?"

      "No. No, I'm not okay," Kate said.

      She wobbled on her feet, and Jane steadied her. Billy's mouth almost dropped open at the sight of it. Kate never let anyone help her, and there she was letting Jane grip her arm and help her remain standing.

      "Are you feeling sick?" Jane said. "Did the mask not work?"

      "I'm fine, I'm fine," Kate said, the usual edge returning to her voice. "I just. I have a thing about . . ."

      "I'm right there with you, lady," Emily said. Billy looked to where Emily had been standing only to find her sitting on the ground, holding her head with both hands. "I can't handle puke."

      "I can handle it," Kate said, but she took a knee anyway, turning her face away from the scene.

      "I can't believe they haven't cleaned this place up," Jane said.

      "Probably still collecting evidence," Billy said.

      "Do we have enough evidence? Us? Do we? Can we go now?" Emily said, her tone rising to hysteria.

      Jane tapped a button on the sensor device she'd been carrying.

      "Neal, do you need any more data?"

      The computer's voice emanated from the device.

      "I will not be able to complete a full analysis until you return with the sensor, but I believe you should have sufficient information for me, Designation: Solar," Neal said.

      "Thank gawd," Emily said.

      "Anything you can tell us preliminary from what we're feeding you?" Jane said.

      "I can confirm it is not the pneumonic plague, Designation: Solar," Neal said. "The cellular structure appears to be manufactured. I will need time for further review."

      "Man-made?" Kate said.

      She still looked green, but there was a glint in her eye that indicated she was getting her sea legs back.

      "Do we need to decontaminate before returning to the ship, Neal?" Jane said.

      "No," Neal said. "It appears that the bacteria goes inert after a window of activity."

      "Inert?" Billy said.

      "Neal, you said man-made?" Kate said.

      She was back on her feet, unsteady still.

      "Yes, Designation: Dancer."

      "How do you know?" Kate said.

      "I will need to perform a more thorough inspection, Designation: Dancer, but it appears there is a . . . trademark element."

      Kate sighed. She planted a hand on Jane's shoulder to steady herself again and looked at Emily.

      "Get up. I need you to take me somewhere."

      "Me?" said Emily.

      "Yeah. Come on, we're going to investigate something."

      "Me?" Emily said again. "You sure you mean me."

      "Emily."

      "Me who you told to shut up five minutes ago."

      "Emily!"

      "Cool, let's go."

      Jane looked Kate in the eyes.

      "You okay?"

      "Just a little queasy. I'll be fine once Girl Genius over there flies us out."

      "You going to tell us where you're going?" Jane asked.

      "Just a hunch. I'll fill you in when we get back."

      Emily popped up unsteadily and scooped Kate with a bubble of float.

      "Does this mean we're partners now?" she asked.

      "No."

      "Can we be partners?"

      "No."

      Their voices tapered off as Emily flew them in her less than precise way down the hall and out of earshot. Billy looked at Jane, and she glanced right back at him, both of their faces comedic masks of confusion.

      "I'm so confused by this I don't even want to know," Jane said.

      "Right there with you boss," Billy said. "Right there with you."