The Bionics, no. 1, page 20
Tears roll down Trista’s cheeks and she trembles, her fingers tightening as she clings to me, presumably a stranger. “He did it,” she whispers. “He actually did it.”
“What are you doing, Trista?” I ask, hoping to get some answers before I have to run again. I could never forgive myself if she’s found with me and punished for committing what amounts to an act of treason. “You could get yourself killed if you’re seen as being in league with a bunch of terrorists.”
She raises and eyebrow at me and crosses her arms over her chest. “So could you.”
That’s my sister. The girl I know gives as good as she gets. “Point taken,” I answer. “I have my reasons.”
Trista nods decisively, grabbing my arm again and propelling me through the room—which turns out to be a large storage bay. “We don’t have much time. Your friends got away, but you’ll have to hurry if you don’t want to hold them up. I assume you need to get to the tarmac?”
“Yes,” I confirm as she leads me through a maze of shelves storing uniforms, armor, and weapons. “If they have any sense, they’ll leave without me.”
“I’ll try to get you there as fast as I can and maybe you can catch up with them. If you stay here, they’ll kill you… after they’ve tortured you for information on your friends. First, you gotta ditch the armor.”
I quickly oblige, peeling off the heavy pieces and laying them gently in a dark corner so they don’t clatter. I stand there in my black flight suit as she rifles through containers on a shelf beside me before tossing a bundle in my hands.
“Put these on,” she said. “It’s a pilot’s uniform. Put the hat on and yank it down low. Hopefully, no one will look too closely at your face. It should work just long enough to get you to the airstrip.”
I pull the slacks, button-down shirt, belt and hat on before slipping into the boots she tosses at me, cringing as I realize they’re a size too small. But I’m not complaining. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, not because I don’t know, but because it’s a question Jack Knightly would ask, and right now, that is who I am.
She turns to me, the light of her flashlight casting shadows against her haggard face. “Because I refuse to live in a world where an innocent child—my daughter—is considered an enemy of the country. I refuse to stand by and watch this government persecute the innocent. If you are for the Resistance, then I will help you in any way I can.”
I don’t like it, her involvement. I took Agata away so that she wouldn’t have to fight this battle. By taking my niece out of the equation, I’ve put myself in the position to fight for her. Yet, I realize now that none of us can be exempt from this. Revolution is here and the time will come when we all have to choose sides.
Trista gives me a once over, sweeping me from head to toe with the flashlight and nods her approval. “Good enough. Once you’re out this door, take a left and follow the tunnel out to the side of the building. Stay close to the wall; you’re less likely to get picked up by the cameras. Keep walking along the building—to the left—and you’ll see the tarmac when you round the corner. Once you’re there, run like hell and don’t look back.”
I nod and tuck my weapon into the belt around my hips and turn to face Trista. “I have a message from Gage.”
Her confusion is evident but I don’t have time to explain. There is no way for me to tell her how Jack Knightly would know she’d be there when seconds before he’d been surprised to see her. None of that mattered when I was facing the possibility of never seeing her again.
“He says he loves you,” I say, my voice hitching a bit on the last word. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “And he says to stay strong. He’ll come for you.”
Trista smiles but her eyes say it all. She knows she can’t go on double-crossing the government forever. She has signed her own death sentence by siding with terrorists. I steal one last glance at her before I open the door and slip out into the empty tunnel. As I walk—as quickly as I dare without drawing attention to myself—I fight the urge to look back. Yet, I am resolved to return for her, to rescue her from certain death when she is found out. I now add Trista to the list of people counting on me. One more reason why I cannot fail.
Chapter 19
Gage Bronson
Stonehead Prison Facility
Washington D.C.
August 18, 4010
9:30 a.m.
When the airstrip comes into view, I know that we’re in deep shit. Jenica, Blythe, and the Professor haven’t even made it to the craft yet and are ducked down behind a row of hover bikes, taking cover. I can see our hijacked government craft several hundred yards away, its guns raised and swiveling on their turrets as Dax and Sayer try to help us pick off the MPs one by one. It is an impossible task—there are too many of them. The smart thing to do is run, but I know Dax won’t leave without the others. As I weigh my options as quickly as possible, I realize that there is no way we’re getting out of this together. I start across the tarmac, gun in one hand, raising my COMM device with the other.
“Janner!” I bark as Dax as I make a beeline for a craft parked on the other end of the airstrip. With so much manpower concentrated on the others, this craft is unguarded. I’ve never piloted a hovercraft in my life and what little I do know has come from watching Jenica at the controls, but I can’t think about that now. The MPs are closing in on Blythe and the others and there is nowhere for them to run. “Do you know how to fly one of these things?”
Dax’s voice—or rather, Sergeant Barnes’ voice—crackles over the speaker. “Not that particular model, but Strom does. What are you thinking, Bronson?”
“I’m thinking you need to get out of here and get our rescued prisoners home,” I say as I reach the hovercraft and proceed to climb up toward the closed hatch, all the while praying that it is unlocked.
“That’s a negative, Bronson,” Dax answers, yelling to be heard over the sound of gunfire. “We’re not leaving without our team intact.”
“That’s not exactly an option,” I answer, trying the hatch and find it open. I quickly scramble inside. “We’re going to have to split up. Put Strom on the line and tell him I need a five-minute piloting lesson. I’m going for Jenica, the Professor, and Blythe.”
Dax hesitates for a split second before I hear his heavy sigh over the speaker. “You’d better not get them killed,” he grumbles, and I can picture him grudgingly handling the COMM device to Sayer. “Or I will seriously kick your ass.”
“If I don’t do something, we’re screwed either way,” I retort before Sayer comes on the line.
“Strom here.”
“Strom, give me the basics,” I say as I run up the hovercraft’s center aisle and find the pilot’s chair. Rows of foreign buttons, gauges and screens line the panel in front of me. I watch through the window while the space between Jenica, Blythe and the Professor and the MPs grows smaller. I don’t have much time.
“See that clear plastic box to your right near the throttle?” Sayer asks over the COMM device.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Pop it open and flip that red switch.”
I do as he says and immediately the hum of the hovercraft tells me it’s turned on. “Done.”
“There’s a series of silver switches to your left.”
I locate them. “Yeah, there are six of them.”
“Those control your elevation. Each one will lift you higher into the air. Flip the first two and that’ll get you high enough that you’re flying but still low enough to swoop down and grab Jenica, Blythe, and Professor Hinkley.”
I quickly follow his instructions and the hovercraft jolts as I flip the two switches, then it ascends, hovering several feet over the ground.
“Now what?” I ask, dropping into the pilot’s chair and fastening the harness. My hands shake as I grip the throttle.
“Fly,” Sayer answers before the connection is cut. I drop the COMM device into my life and swallow past the lump in my throat. Fly. That’s it? It sounds simple, but I know there’s more to it than simply steering. Yet, it’s all I have to go on, so I grip the throttle and accelerate forward the way I’ve seen Jenica do so effortlessly. The craft jerks and shoots off way too fast, propelling me halfway across the tarmac in one very clumsy motion. I’m thrown off balance as my hand jerks on the throttle, causing the craft to bank right, hard. My teeth gritted, I fight to get control of the massive thing, nearly going upside down as I overcompensate by jerking left and nearly plowing into another, parked aircraft.
I gain enough control to point it in the right direction and come in for a very rough landing, the nose of the craft pointed down and scraping the pavement just inches away from where Jenica is crouched behind the row of hoverbikes. After mashing the button to open the craft’s door and lowering the ladder, I leap from the pilot’s chair and climb up to the hatch on top of the craft, sticking the upper half of my body through the hole and providing cover fire as Jenica, Blythe, and the Professor scramble up the ladder one by one.
“What are you doing, Bronson—trying to kill us?” Jenica screams as she throws herself into the pilot’s chair, strapping herself in and going to work on the control panel. Blythe takes a seat at the controls beside her—taking control of the guns—and the Professor pulls up the ladder and slams the doors closed. I am barely in my seat and buckled in before Jenica has us in the air and hurtling across the airstrip, steadily rising higher and higher.
I sneak a peek out of the window just in time to watch a swarm of hover bikes take to the sky, one large hovercraft at their center like the queen bee.
“We’ve got company!” I bellow as I pop my window open and stick my gun out to take aim.
“Shit,” Blythe murmurs as she works to swivel the guns to the rear of the craft, her eyes clued to the radar screen. “There have to be at least two dozen of them, Jenica.”
“You just shoot,” Jenica answers, her jaw clenched in concentration as she increases our speed and pulls up higher. “I’m going to try to find a thick patch of forest to lose them in.”
That’s easier said than done. Maybe in some other areas of the country, where cities have been decimated by nuclear war, poverty, and famine, there are miles of woods that have overtaken civilization to hide in. But here in D.C., every square mile of trees has been mowed down to make room for gleaming skyscrapers, condos, and national monuments. The outskirts of the city are usually the best bet for the coverage of trees and foliage, but we are at least half an hour from being out D.C.
We’re pretty much screwed.
Sweat breaks out over my brow as I try my best to take aim. It’s hard in the moving craft. Plus, my weapon isn’t made for distance shooting. I’m pretty much just wasting my weapon’s charge and soon it will die and become completely useless, or overheat. Deciding to conserve power for when I might really need it, I toss the gun aside and join Blythe near the radar screen, watching as she takes out bike after bike. Yet, she doesn’t seem to be making a dent in their numbers. Then there’s the other hovercraft to deal with. It’s becoming very clear that we are going to be shot down in a matter of minutes and they are gaining on us.
Jenica must realize this, because after a while, she sets it to autopilot at top speed and unbuckles herself from the pilot’s chair.
“We’re going to have to use the escape pod and make a run for it.”
“Are you insane?” Blythe screeches, her knuckles nearly white where she’s gripping the guns’ controls. Her hair is plastered to her neck and face from sweat, her eyes wide with fear, the human eye’s pupil dilated by adrenaline. “Landing in D.C. is a death sentence!”
“We don’t have a choice,” the Professor interjects, his voice surprisingly calm. How the hell does the man do it? “We can try to lose ourselves in the crowd and find a hotel to hole up in until we can form a plan. We have to try to disguise ourselves, even you, Gage, as Jack Knightly’s face is now undoubtedly all over the news along with ours.”
Jenica reaches into one of the many pockets of her flight suit and comes out with a syringe. “Let’s do it,” she says as she pulls the cap off the syringe before jamming it into her carotid artery.
Blythe shrieks in reaction to the sight and I cringe. Jenica doesn’t even flinch … and then she is on her knees, groaning through clenched teeth as the familiar sound of popping bone and stretching cartilage tells me what she’s just done. She’s used the same DNA altering serum that gave me my disguise. Only her transformation isn’t nearly as dramatic and when she stands, I find myself staring into a familiar, yet unfamiliar face. The titanium plate that covers half her face like an opera mask is gone and I am now able to see what Jenica looked like before the blasts tore off a huge chunk of her face. Two dark, slanted eyes and a cute, button nose are cover by flawless, porcelain skin. My jaw drops.
“Since I have a prosthetic that is harder to hide than the others, I always carry one,” she says with a shrug. “Most people don’t remember what I looked like before the blasts anyway and it’s easier to use my own DNA than someone else’s. My genetic material holds the code for the missing parts of my face.”
I snatch off my baseball cap and hand it to the Professor, who tucks his wild curls under it and pulls the brim down low. Of the four of us, his face is the most recognizable. He takes off his glasses and hands them to Jenica, who slips them on, taking focus off her very distinctive eyes and sloping cheekbones. Blythe slides open the door to the escape pod and finds two MP uniform inside. She quickly dons one and though it is oversized, it more importantly comes with a helmet that will cover her face. I shed my pilot’s uniform and throw the other set of armor on over my flight suit, putting on the other helmet. We step into the escape pod, which barely fits the four of us. We are pressed together like sardines, with the Professor and me standing shoulder to shoulder. Blythe is in front of me, with her back pressed against my front. For a split second, I reach for her hand and clasp it tightly. She is trembling, but that stops the moment our hands touch, as if she’s drawing strength from me. I let her have as much of it as she needs, placing my other hand at her waist and pulling her close in an embrace.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as Jenica presses the button to release the pod. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
My earlier promise to her bears repeating after all that’s happened today. Things have gone horribly wrong once again and I need her to know that no matter what the cost to myself, I will stay true to my word.
“I know,” she says, even though her shaky voice says otherwise. I give her another squeeze as the pod shoots away from the hovercraft. It hurtles downward toward the city so swiftly my heart drops down into my stomach.
“Hey Jenica,” I ask conversationally, trying to detract from the dread growing in my middle. Once we hit the ground, it’s time to start running. “If you can change your face back with a simple injection of DNA and hide your titanium plate, why wouldn’t you?”
Jenica’s eyes are sharp and her voice cuts me like a knife as she shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “Because,” she says, her voice shaking with years’ worth of suppressed rage, “I shouldn’t have to.”
The hovercraft lands smack in the middle of the city’s industrial district. Rows of factories and warehouses line the streets and workers wearing jumpsuits in bland shades of white, black, and beige walk in neat little rows to work like ants. MPs linger on the corners with their weapons lowered. But I can tell their eyes are scanning the streets, keeping on alert for trouble. Most likely, a broadcast has gone out with our descriptions. They are watching out for us.
“We should split up,” I say as quietly as I can once we’ve stepped from the pod. “By now they realize the others have escaped and are looking for four people.”
“You’re right,” Jenica says, her eyes darting back and forth behind the Professor’s glasses as she scans our environment. “Let’s split up and wait it out for a bit, let things cool off. Keep your COMM device on and close by. I’ll call you in a few hours and we’ll go from there. Hopefully, Janner and Strom will get the others back safely.”
The last I saw of Dax and Sayer, they were hightailing it away from Stonehead. For their sake, and the sake of their rescued prisoners, I hope so too. We part ways, Blythe and I blending in with the crowd in our MP uniforms.
“We need to get off the street,” she says, her voice low as we walk as quickly as we can without calling too much attention to ourselves. Even with a helmet on, I’m not sure if her eye is shielded from the scanners that can detect bionic equipment. Hopefully, no one will see the need to inspect the MPs on the street. Either way, she’s right. I’ve seen what panic can do to crowds, and news of our escape from Stonehead is undoubtedly spreading like wildfire.
“Okay,” I say, scanning our surroundings for a place to hide. There aren’t a lot of options. Most of these buildings are filled with factory machinery and workers doing their jobs. “Keep your eyes open for an alleyway. We’ll duck into one and maybe slip into a building’s basement for a while.”
We keep a steady pace for about half a mile before I find a darkened alleyway between two warehouses, one of which looks abandoned. Within moments, we are in the dark passageway with Blythe holding my gun and keeping watch as I pry wooden boards from across a doorway. By the time we get inside my palms are scratched and blistered, but we are alone, safe in a darkened warehouse that has been emptied of all equipment. Only stacked wooden crates and stray trash litter the floor, while a small beam of light trickles in through a few boarded-up windows.
I lower myself onto one of the crates and Blythe stands in front of me, removing her helmet before reaching for mine.
“You’re hurt,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing as she notices the nasty burn on my temple. Now that I’m sitting still and adrenaline has slowed, it stings like a bitch.
