Binary, page 17
“With Bruce,” I answered. “I need you to call off Pope and his men.”
“The... they’re not go... going to do that,” answered Dr Schultz. “Bru... Bruce hurt several of the guards and wa... one is on li... life support. They... They’re go... going to deactivate hi... his exoskeleton.”
I was stunned by the thought. My eyes searched the Pharmacy without reason. I looked at Bruce—who had not a care in the world—knowing his innocence would make it impossible to blend in long enough to correct the situation.
The counterman in the Pharmacy fixated on the small television over the cash register, lost in his own world and ignoring me during the call. I eased to another part of the store to talk while he was distracted.
“Bruce isn’t a threat,” I said. “He just thinks you’re going to hurt me for reasons I can’t understand, but if we’d all sit down and talk, I think we can work this out. Bruce is changing by the day since we linked him with the Heart Device.”
“We... we can’t—”
Somebody snatched the phone from him.
“Alexis,” Pope’s voice echoed, “you need to get that machine back here or get away from it.”
“Pope?” I asked.
“That’s right,” he answered. “We’re looking for it now. I suggest you get away from it. I also suggest you not aid in keeping him separated from the compound.”
“Wait.” I paused. “Did you just threaten me?”
“Do I seem like a man that makes threats?” he asked. “I’m simply saying that you’re putting yourself at risk if you stay close to it, because when we come for it, if it’s resistant, we’re coming hard.”
The counterman said something under his breath, but I could not make it out. I looked his way. I thought he overheard the conversation, but he was glued to the television over his cash register. He looked back at me, and I went about my business to remain unsuspicious as another phone rang in the backdrop on Desmond Pope’s end. A voice followed it.
“We got their location,” said someone on the other end.
The phone clicked dead.
Something was not right. The man working the counter’s eyes shook upon contact with mine. I stared him down as he talked on his cell phone. His body language was strained. His head turned quickly away when I looked at him and he continued his conversation.
“Bruce,” I called out, “we need to go.”
He was nowhere in sight. I peeked around the corners to find myself with nothing more than freshly stocked shelves. My heart sped as I saw him across the store. We could not afford to get separated.
I took his hand as the counterman ended his call. “We have to get out of here.”
The pudge worker was fidgety and looking for his keys or something. Patting his pockets. He was worried and trying to hide it.
I looked at the elevated television perched across from him as I approached and caught what I thought was a glimpse of myself as the screen clicked black. The world stalled as I turned my head back towards the counterman.
I reached for the remote in his hand. He tried to pull it away, but I was too quick. His grasp was firm for his age. We struggled for a moment.
“Gi...” I said in frustration. “Give it to me.”
I pulled him nearly halfway across the counter. I was desperate. The power of adrenaline.
He backed away slowly as I turned towards the television. My life turned further upside down when Bruce appeared on the screen. The images showed him running with me in the tattered clothing he left the facility in. A single line scrolled the top of the newsflash repeatedly:
‘(555) 555-HELP — WARNING — (555) 555-HELP — WARNING’
Subtitles scrolled from left to right across the bottom edge of the screen as a muted reporter talked in the backdrop:
‘Dangerous’
‘Possibly armed’
‘Do not confront’
‘Manhunt’
They were demonizing us in the public eye. We had to hurry. I rushed Bruce to the back of the pharmacy, searching for nursing scrubs.
A loud click caught my attention, and mechanical gears turned in various parts of the store. The security liner dropped in front of the drug counter next to where we were standing. Lights dimmed. It was a full-on shutdown.
A faint metal-on-metal sound chimed in as the security doors lowered up front. If we were going to leave, we had to hurry. I grabbed Bruce and ran to the back of the store, entering a section that jaunted out to separate bathrooms from the main aisles. No cameras were present.
“Change,” I said.
“Should I turn around so that—”
“Just change,” I interrupted.
We dressed and shot across the store, but it was too late. The counterman stood on the other side of the security door as it touched down. We were stuck.
The small windows that lined the upper walls of the pharmacy also had security doors dropping in front of them. What was once a pharmacy had become a vault and Bruce was the valued contents it held safe. I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair.
It would not take long for them to close in and apprehend Bruce. It was awful, worse if the cops surrounded us before we freed ourselves. If they gained access to the pharmacy, it would put Bruce on the defensive, further advocating any reasoning to deactivate him, as Dr. Schultz so gracefully put it. I did not know what to do. Both sides of the equation were in danger.
I sat on the glossed concrete floor between shelves, looking up at the sealed windows high above. My mind was a hamster on a wheel going nowhere. I barely heard his footsteps.
“Alexis,” said Bruce.
Getting depressed about the situation was not a goal of mine, but I could not help it. I saw no way out that did not involve someone getting hurt.
Bruce was standing over me. “We must go, Alexis. Is that not what you said we had to do?”
“How?” I looked around, motioning to the sealed overhead windows. “The exits.... They’re all blocked.”
He kneeled beside me. “Why can we not just wait here? Somebody will be back to unlock the doors when the store reopens. Will they not?”
“No,” I answered. “They won’t.”
I had not explained the gravity of the situation. He did not understand what was at stake.
I took a second to gather myself before telling him. “I think they’re going to deactivate you, Bruce.”
“Power me down for further upgrades?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “I think they’re going to destroy your exoskeleton.”
He rose from the floor and stepped away from me. “I will not let them hurt you, Alexis.”
“Bruce,” I shouted, “they’re going to kill you.”
I was certain he heard me, but he continued walking to the metal doors over the store’s entrance. He was from another world and unpredictable. All I could do was try to calm the police when they arrived.
Still, many questions haunted me. Why did Bruce think I was in danger? Was it a misunderstanding? Perhaps he had overheard the doctors talking and jumped to a conclusion? Maybe it was something less direct.
“Bruce...” I said as he bent at the knees, “what are you doing?”
He grabbed the bottom of the drop-down door and crushed what he gripped. A biological carbon-based fluid dripped from his organic hands—a swirl of greens and blacks. I stood up.
His body tensed. The door crumpled in his hands, buckling in the middle as he stood. Its sides pulled together, concaving as metal creaked, squeaked, and twisted. Bolts popped loose from the walls at its sides. Concrete cracked and metal tore as he lifted the door against its will.
Oscillating red and blue lights pushed their way under as it rose.
“Listen up,” a bullhorn called from outside. “Keep your hands in plain sight and exit the building slowly.”
Everything I had been worried about was bringing itself into existence, like watching a cartoon snowball roll down a hill before slamming into something, only it was not funny.
“Bruce,” I said, “don’t go out there.”
“But there is only one car of them,” said Bruce, easing under the door.
I had spent my entire life looking and longing for problems I could not solve. And I had finally found one, only to wish I had not.
Chapter 24
Out of the frying pan
I HAD TO FOLLOW him from the pharmacy. I did not want to. I made up excuses, telling myself it was part of my duty to him, not only as a friend, but as someone supposed to be guiding him into his new life.
Two officers came into view as I dipped under the crumpled security door behind him. Their guns pointed directly at us from behind the protective doors of squad cars. My hands raised as red and blue lights bounced off my eyes.
There were squad cars at both ends of the street in front of the store, sealing it off from traffic. Passengers sat patiently in their cars, trucks, and SUVs, waiting to watch or record what would happen next. If someone were about to be shot, they did not want to miss it. Such is human nature.
We moved gradually towards the cold firearms bearing down on us. I feared something was going to happen—something tragic. They were going to shoot one or both of us.
Bruce’s eyes fixated on the officers. “I remember more.”
“Now’s not the time,” I said.
“But I am,” he said.
My hands remained high. Bruce, however, kept his dripping hands at his side.
“I said, hands up,” repeated the officer on the bullhorn. “Get them on your heads.”
It took me less than a second to get my hands on my head, but Bruce did not move. He had not a concern in the world for the situation. My chest tensed with rising blood pressure. It would not go over well on my resume to be arrested, and I highly doubted I would enjoy getting shot.
The entire week had been crazy and was continuing to spiral out of control: the officers were on edge, sirens wailed, and people in the background had their camera phones in hand for a shot at social media fame. The public would soon see it all.
“Bruce,” I said, “do what I’m doing.”
He looked my way and did as I asked, placing his hands on his head.
“Alright,” said an officer. “Don’t move.”
Two of the three officers made their way from behind the squad cars and headed our way. Their weapons remained high, intending to fire if needed. I was motionless when they moved to our sides.
Bruce raised his hands level with his head and stopped. He was planning something.
“Down on your knees,” said the front officer.
I dropped to my knees. Bruce did not. He stood his ground with fluid making its way down his forearms. His gaze locked forward, focusing on something far in the distance. I looked to see what he was staring at. More patrol cars were flying onto the scene with lights turning and sirens blaring.
The officers persisted in shouting at Bruce as they closed in on his position, but his eyes remained forward.
“Oh no,” I said. “Bruce...”
Bruce looked at me as the officer reached for his hands. Fear emulated from him. It poured from his eyes. I knew of expressions about cornered animals, but that was the first time I saw it in person.
The first officer grabbed him by the wrist to lower his arm behind his back, but Bruce knocked him into the second officer with astonishing speed. I heard the officer’s shoulder and arm break. He screamed. The other officer’s firearm discharged when his partner slammed into him, but we were not hit.
They hit the ground, badges down, and it knocked the second officer unconscious when his head met the pavement. The officer thrown into him riled on the ground in pain, clutching his shoulder and arm. The watching officer’s eyes went to a deer in the headlights state, and his firearm momentarily lowered.
Bruce had somehow disarmed a man in blue and taken his firearm He took a few steps towards the officer near the squad car, broke the pistol in half, and hurled its grip towards the officer, knocking his firearm from his hands as he dropped the barrel at his feet.
“Officer down,” he shouted. “I repeat, officer down.”
The other patrol cars slid into position. Bruce blasted into the car nearest us, tipping it onto the driver’s side door in a vulgar display of power before grabbing its axel and pulling, but his feet slid, and the car barely moved.
Shocked onlookers remained locked on with their cell phones, unable to flinch after witnessing Bruce do what they had only seen in DC and Marvel universes.
The officers trapped in the toppled car were kicking the windshield as Bruce assessed the situation. He leaned into the axel and stomped his feet into the pavement a few inches, then dragged the patrol car towards me. His feet potholed the pavement with each step.
“Come on,” said Bruce.
I looked at the people watching, nearly unable to believe they still had their cell phones out recording. The world was watching. My life would never be the same.
I was going to be considered an accomplice to the crime if I went with him, but I did not have a choice. The prospect of projected fragments of lead tearing through my body horrified me. I scurried up next to Bruce and remained huddled down as he dragged the car again.
We crossed a median dividing four lanes of downtown traffic as bullets dug into the vehicle. I was shielded, but not safe. The officers certainly had backup in route.
Mayhem tore loose as the officers in the car finally kicked out the front window and fled, opening fire with their squad mates once they reached cover. Bullets struck the top of the car. Club-goers were screaming and running for safety along with those previously recording that finally got wise enough to flee.
An officer changed positions to get a shot on us from behind, but Bruce tossed me to the opposite axel with his free hand and angled the car in time for the bullets to hit the trunk. I tried frantically to stay undercover. His shoulder smoked against the hot exhaust when he switched to the rear axle, but he gritted his teeth through the pain.
Part of the car’s understructure broke off in his hands when he repositioned it to safeguard us again. The whole thing fell. I believed I was about to be crushed and screamed out as we pressed forward, but he caught it in time, and we made our way across the street.
24-2
Escape
Officers shouted and people screamed in the backdrop on all sides of us, but it did not matter. Bruce was a fast-moving weapon. Even when the car nearly toppled, he kept a suitable distance between us and the officers.
He turned the cruiser into an alleyway that passed between a pair of buildings, pulling its under-structure in towards it. It left the car propped up with its bumpers reaching the left and right sides of it to form a makeshift wall. I knew it would not by us much time, but I was glad he had done it. The patrol car was the only thing separating us from the officers on the other side. The whole thing lasted only a few minutes, but it seemed longer.
Bruce grabbed my hand and pulled me down the alley. I was in a full sprint and only able to look back once, long enough to see an officer climbing over the patrol car. I thought he was going to shoot, but he stopped long enough to help another officer over it when he reached the top.
The rest of our escape was erratic: we rounded a corner at the end of the brick alleyway, rushed down another passed back entrances to stores and clubs, cut left across a street into another, ran through a parking garage, and tore through heavy traffic.
Bruce was still pulling me by the hand. I struggled to keep up as he crossed a street with the chopping blades of a helicopter approaching. He looked up at it as he ran.
“Bruce,” I shouted as a car came into my peripheral vision.
The car hit him as I tried to stop and spun Bruce onto its hood before its brakes locked up and sent him to the pavement in front of it. He barely released my hand in time, but it still sent me spinning to the ground beside the car.
The driver exited the car and reached for me as a helicopter spotlighted me from above.
“Are you okay?” asked the driver.
The driver looked up at the helicopter as I watched Bruce. He was back on his feet and moving to help me up. The man looked back at me. Our eyes made momentary contact. I was shaking with a dashing heart, but it left him in shock to see Bruce unaffected, and we ran off.
An officer hit his sirens and his engine revved as he moved in, but Bruce rushed towards the nearest open door. It was a night club with a line of patrons dressed in mostly black chained garments and shave or spiked hair waiting outside to get in, but I did not bother to catch the establishment’s name. I followed him in on instinct.
A bouncer full of piercings and tattoos stepped forward when he saw us rushing past the line. “Hey.”
Bruce shoved him over the railing at his side. Two other bouncers at the door took in after us.
24-3
Mosh
The music was loud. Laser lights pierced artificial smoke in rhythm with Slayer’s death metal anthem, Raining Blood, blasting over the speakers. People were moshing, and we pushed through them with two bouncers in tow. One bouncer grabbed me, but Bruce shoved him into the other hard enough to topple several people to the floor.
He led me to the back of the club, unsure of his path, and came to a door he never checked the lock on. He crashed through it with me hot on his tail. It led us into another back alleyway as the world wagered against us.
I kept pace with him until we reached an alley with a backhoe and front end loader in it. Perhaps it was the influence of distress, but I remained focused. I did not dare stop my feet from moving until Bruce did.
24-4
Skyscraper
Two blocks later and we were at a large building in the heart of downtown, a skyscraper without a name, and he braked to a standstill. The structure was undergoing construction and must have caught Bruce’s attention with the scaffolding at its base and the lack of lights illuminating anything within it. It stood out to me as the only building in the area not in pristine condition.
