The scent of blood was impossible to forget. Through everything. Every terrible moment and horrific memory, that was the memory that lingered the sharpest. The metallic scent, warm and wet, smeared across my cheek, dribbling from my nose. It was pooling beneath my face. I could feel it sticking to my eye, soaking into my skin. The surface hummed beneath me. The air where the blood didn't touch was cold like ice, carrying the scent of gasoline beneath the familiar twang of blood.
The light was too bright and I tried to move away from it, but I was lying flat on my stomach, my hands bound behind my back, and I couldn't summon the energy to get up.
"Johanna?" a voice said, cautiously. The surface beneath me shifted as they walked across the platform.
"It takes a lot out of her," another voice said from far off. "She has a hard time recovering. The higher the number of targets, the harder it is for her to bounce back."
A shadow crossed the opposite wall and I realized my eyes were opened. I blinked, feeling the blood cake into my eyelashes. I couldn't make out the figure. Just another dark shape in a memory swirling with dark shapes. My head felt as if it had been split right down the middle, cutting through my eyes like the slice of a sharp blade. The cold air burned. My hands twisted involuntarily but refused to move further. The shadow knelt on the other side of me. Fingers slid over my skin to move the sticky hair from my face.
"Her eyes are open," said the closest voice. It was quiet but low and deep. Rumbling like the engine I could still feel humming and vibrating the floor.
"Good," the other said. "Then she might be able to walk. Just don't expect her to be who you want her to be."
"What do you mean?"
"She wasn't their only experiment. There were others. Twins. They could do things. Things you couldn't even imagine. One of them could make you see things that aren't real. The last time we spoke—I don't even think Jo knew who she was."
"She has bandages on her hands. And her feet." Now that he'd pointed it out, I felt the tightness of the bandages. The sharp ache beneath them. The way they stuck to my skin with day old dried blood.
"Broken glass," the other explained. "She tried to escape."
The memory sliced through me like a blade, right down that trail of pain through my eyes. The feel of broken glass beneath my feet. The sliver I'd held in my hand. The way it cut into me when I swung it against living flesh.
There was pressure on my wrists. Hands, feeling, pulling. And the cuffs snapped apart like twine. Dropping my arms back to my sides. I couldn't get them to respond, but I could feel the frayed fabric of my clothes. My palms burned and my arms felt loose and twitchy. It was another familiar feeling. Like I felt when I didn't eat enough. When I was so hungry, my brain passed its ability to function properly. The blood had caked to the inside of my nose, forcing me to breathe hard and wheeze.
"How did you know they were transferring her?" the voice asked.
"The twins had their own agenda. They have it out for Stark. Wanted to make sure no one could get to him before they did. Jo was a threat to that plan. They made sure I heard."
"How'd you get the signal out?"
"They kept me in a storage cell. Full out outdated equipment." The man wrapped his hand around my forearm and tried to yank me up. He got me to my knees, but I swayed back, unable to get myself up all the way. So he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, trying to keep me balanced as he got me to my wobbly feet. I could barely keep my head up.
"You don't think that sounds like a setup?" he was asking. His voice was close enough to feel. Vibrating through my arm like the humming of an engine. He got me to my feet and held me steady, just in case my knees gave out. They wobbled and knocked together as if I'd never taken a step before.
"Of course I considered that," the other said. He was standing outside at the back of the truck, waiting on the two of us. "But I don't think they meant for any of this to happen. She had to have been scared."
"Why were they transferring her?"
"They didn't understand what they'd released. Beata knew that. Look around you, Barnes, and tell me why they were moving her."
"Quarantine. Is she dangerous?"
He got me up and around without falling. The man at the back of the truck held out his arms so I could stumble to the ground. The dirt was cold and frozen and my feet were bare except for the bandages. I remembered the feel of the glass on my feet. More than that, I remembered the fear.
"The girl put things in her head," he explained, holding me up so that the other one could jump out of the truck. "They wanted her to be afraid of you. But they wouldn't have wasted a weapon like this on a threat that small. They always think bigger, don't they? And what does Jo have that no one else does?"
"Inside access to the Avengers."
"Right. You're just a minor inconvenience."
"So we keep her away from the Avengers. Where do we take her?"
"Right now we just need to get as far from here as possible. I don't know how it works just yet. It's—beyond anything Beata understood. But I have no doubt they'll have scouts. They'll take her out first."
My feet kept slipping in the ice and snow. I wasn't asking them to move, but the men guided me forward and my feet followed along without instruction. There was a dark haze in my mind, like a shadowy veil. Their voices were familiar, their conversation sounded important, but I couldn't focus enough to know for certain. It stayed just out of my reach.
"You're unwell," said the man on the left. The one with strong arms, who was holding me up as I stumbled along.
"I'm just tired. We didn't exactly get the five-star treatment," the other replied from my right. He didn't have strong arms. A thinner body. More broken.
"We'll move quickly. Do you think you'll make it?"
"I'll go for as long as I can. Let's just focus on getting her out of here. Worry about me later."
The man on the left stopped and the one on the right was forced to hold me up. His arms were boney. His hands trembled like he was unused to holding anything at all.
"Warm yourself up," the other instructing, handing out his jacket.
"Give it to her. She's probably freezing."
"I've got my arm around her. I run hot. Just take it."
The man on the left pulled me back to him. His arms and chest were significantly more stable and solid. I fell against him and his hand moved to the back of my head. Affectionate. Warm. Familiar. The fabric of his shirt was scratchy against my tender skin. I could hear his heartbeat in my ear. The dull rhythm. One, two. Three, four. Over and over. Calm. Steady. Familiar.
But there was a holster strapped to his ribs. My fingers slid over it as I tried to hold myself back up. My hand moved to the weapon under his arm. Metal. Colder than everything else. Also familiar. And I didn't know if he was just distracted or didn't think I was a threat, but he didn't even seem to notice until I snapped the safety off and shoved him back.
My arms were weak and I trembled as I held the weapon up. I swayed, trying to catch my balance, as I stared him down through messy blood-caked hair. I had the barrel pointed between his sharp blue eyes. He lifted both hands and took a step back. But he didn't seem afraid. Only cautious.
I couldn't think straight. The pain in my skull was blinding now. I didn't think I'd be able to stay standing if I tried to move. But I knew enough to recognize what he was doing. Putting distance between us so he could grab the gun. It was a stupid move. Unless he was confident he could do it. Either because I was too weak to fight him, or because he had the reflexes of an eagle.
"Jo," he said cautiously.
It was confidence. I recognized that emotion. He knew he could take the gun. And not because I was weak. He was trained. Built. Created for this.
"I saw what you did," I whispered. My voice felt dry and rough.
But the memory, whatever it was, was fleeting. It slipped out of the darkness long enough to ring alarms before slipping away again. I didn't know why I was afraid. I didn't know what he'd done.
"What did I do?" he asked.
I blinked because I couldn't answer that question. I focused on his face, trying to make sense of his features. Brown hair. Long. Hanging free around his face. Hanging over shockingly vibrant blue eyes. Facial hair shadowing his chin and jaw. Big. Strong. Tired.
The memories resurfaced. Flashing like lights. The dead look in his eyes when he held a woman down and stabbed her in the stomach. Her belly round. Important. I didn't know who she was. Just that I had to protect her. I had to protect the baby. I loved them. And he'd taken them from me.
"I saw you kill her," I explained before the memory could slip away again.
"Jo," the other man said.
I felt a careful hand on my shoulder and suddenly remembered that there were three of us. I jumped and turned around to face him. But the movement threw off my balance and I almost slipped.
This face was familiar.
Full beard. Black hair with specks of silver. Eyes like coal. Like mine. But a face that had turned hollow and weary. There weren't any alarms this time. Instead, I felt something comforting in the memories that slipped out of the darkness. Friend. Leader. Father.
"Give me the gun. We're being tracked," the other said, reaching across me to take it from my hands. But I resisted. It was my only weapon and I couldn't risk being unarmed again. I swung my elbow back and used my remaining strength to fight him off. My bone cracked against his teeth. Making him hiss from the sudden pain.
"Give him the gun, Jo. He's not going to hurt you," the weaker one said. He gripped my shoulders, hard enough to make me slip.
And then there was a blast. I felt a sharp pain in my back. Striking me hard enough to jostle me. I hit the man trying to hold me still and the gun went off. Shaking all through my arms and directly into my pounding skull.
The man staggered back, forcing me to keep myself up. My blood felt hot under my skin, as it spread through my back and into my limbs. He held his hands over his stomach as blood began to pump from between his fingers. Something inside me was screaming. Memory or fear, I wasn't sure. But it was loud enough to scare me. My head felt dizzy. Confused. Afraid.
The gun was ripped out of my hands before I could drop it. My knees finally gave out and I dropped. But an arm shot out and grabbed me by the waist before I fell. He lifted the gun and fired. This time the gun felt as if it was drilling directly into my skull. I flinched and held my hands over my ears. I didn't want to do this again. I couldn't do this anymore.
My eyes shut. My legs gave out for good.