The Final Freedom Chapter 7: Pursuit

You inhale, steel yourself, and tense your neck in preparation. Then, as you exhale, you relax your all – your neck, your mind, your very concept of identity. As the you that you identify as Sixteen yields, panic rises as another mindset, another essence seeps into your awareness. Eighteen wins the ensuing tug-of-war.

You brush Nineteen's shoulder-length red hair free from where tears plastered it to her cheek.

She shies away from you.

"Hey, kiddo. Don't cry, okay? I'm right here." You watch as your hand gently cups Nineteen's chin and raises her gaze. "I'm still me, and I'm still here."

"Yea-yea-yeah?" Her mouth is quivering. Her response isn't an affirmative, it's a question. A challenge.

"Yeah, squirt. Here, I'll prove it to you." You draw closer, closer. Your noses touch, and you nuzzle her, forcing a smile.

Her eyes narrow, but from below, from her cheeks matching your smile.

You draw even closer. The feel of her lips on yours surprises you. As you draw away, you say, "There, believe me now?"

Nineteen nods. Her hand brushes at her tears.

"Okay, kiddo. I'm going to have to sit back a bit now. We're kinda freaking Gun-girl out."

"I'm fine." Claes makes a show of brushing some speck of dirt off her pants. "If Nineteen's up to it, we need to get moving again. The only question is, do we head back, or keep running?"

You will a small lick of flame to come to being. "We stop running."

Nineteen touches your shoulder.

"Don't worry, Nineteen. I know Eighteen wants to fight, too."

She gives your shoulder a firm and warm squeeze. "Uh-huh!"

You retrace your steps, and eventually find yourself at the door to a stairwell. "That's amazing, Claes. You got us back. I was utterly lost."

"Don't be so sure. When I was trying to explore this floor, I found a few stairwells. We can't be-"

A sudden snap distantly in the hallway causes the three of you to pivot as one. A ball of fire traces a perfect line down the hallway. Beside you, Nineteen crouches, arms primed in front of her. Claes' flashlight illuminates the hallway.

Nothing.

Nineteen gives a slight, quiet giggle. You all exhale, relax.

Claes sweeps the flashlight from its current direction toward the back, showing the other way also empty. "This isn't a very defensible spot."

"De-what-able?"

"He can sneak up on us."

"Oh! But, what can we do about it…" Nineteen gives you a smile, "Gun-girl?"

Claes sighs. "Please, call me Claes. And, to answer your question, the cells are dead ends. We can back up to the cell bars-"

A tightness shrinks your belly. "I don't want to! I don't want to!"

Nineteen squeezes your hand. "She didn't say we were going to go into the cell."

"Correct. That might limit our mobility. We'll back up to the cell bars, so we know he can't sneak up on us from behind. They're set back from the hallway a bit, so we'll be protected from flanking… so he can't surprise us from the sides either."

You both follow, hand-in-hand, as she leads the way.

"Oh, I should warn you, this cell has a body in it."

Nineteen's hand tenses in yours. "I'll be fi-fine."

"I'm here, kiddo. You'll be fine." You pat her with your free hand.

"Eighteen?"

"Both of us. She's here, too. We're both here. We won't leave you."

Claes stops. Her light clearly illuminates the bars, but she's pointing it higher than usual so the floor isn't lit. "It's up to you. Some people fear the unknown more than they fear something they know is bad. That thing may be bad, but not knowing is worse. Others are not as afraid of the unknown. They're rare, but seeing as we are all statistical anomalies, it's up to you."

"What?"

"Do you want to see the body or not?"

You whisper into Nineteen's ear, "I've seen it already. It's not that bad."

She tenses. "Yeah. Let's see it."

Claes lowers the light.

In your mind, the consciousness that is Eighteen becomes an explosion of anguish and sorrow.

Nineteen gasps, then chants "No-no-no-no-" for as long as she has breath. Her hand becomes a vise. Her fingernails drive into you.

Claes sweeps the flashlight back at you both. "What's the ma-" The question dies in her mouth, and her eyes grow wide as they bore into Nineteen.

You are seized with the same question. As you take a breath, as you ready yourself to ask, Claes sweeps the flashlight back to the body, holds it there for a pause, then back to Nineteen. She shines it at Nineteen for a breath's time, then back to the body.

Twice she makes this cycle, as if she's doubling-checking an impossible…

The dress.

The unfortunate corpse in the cell is wearing the same dress as Nineteen.

But, that's no reason to…

Red hair.

They both have red hair.

"Nineteen? It's just a coincidence." It has to be!

She lets go of you. Her shaking hands come up to her chin, fingers loosely cupped. "No. I remember this… I remember this cell. It's not a coincidence. It's not a coincidence, Eighteen."

You hug her. "You're here. You're here, ki- You're here, Nineteen. Listen to me. You're alive!"

She presses her head against you. "No, Sixteen. That's me. I'm dead."

You squeeze her all the harder. "No! You're not! You can't be! I need you! Who's going to … going to…"

"Just take me in like you did with Eighteen. Just like that. Besides," she chokes back a sob. "Besides, that means I'll be together with her again."

You nod, your cheek resting atop her scalp. Within your arms, beneath your head, Nineteen seems to yield, to become less present. Your arms start to move through her, at first with stiff resistance, but easing over the span of a few breaths. You raise your head and look at her.

She is glowing. A soft yellow light seems to come from her skin, but as she grows more and more translucent, the light's source is revealed to be deeper and deeper within.

By the time your arms pass freely through the space where once she stood, a faint glowing yellow mist is all that remains, save one bright and pulsing pinpoint of light.

It blinks, and with each flash, it grows dimmer.

With one final weak glimmer, it winks out.

You look at Claes. She is no longer staring, no longer gape-mouthed. Instead, she has her hand together in front of her, right hand still holding the pistol, left hand atop it. The boxy stock attached to the pistol is pressed between her right arm and body. Her head is slightly bowed. She does not speak. Her reverence is palpable.

You sniff back one final sob, brush your eyes free of tears. "So we wait here?"

"We wait here." She lowers herself to one knee and shoulders the pistol. She ejects the magazine, feels it, then slides it into some holster on her belt. Another one is in her hand as she feeds it into the pistol's handle.

The resulting click is one of determined confidence.

During the wait, you fight for your sense of identity, of control over who you think, no, who you know yourself to be. Eighteen and Nineteen fill your chest with a joyous warmth, though it has some bitterness at the fringes. An electric excitement invigorates you. Be it from your own anticipation or the other two, you are ready.

As Claes rises, then lowers herself on to her other knee, you hear a faint growl.

"Hey! Over here!"

You shoot her a glare. "What are you doing?"

"We have a plan, right?"

You blink. "Yeah. But, why…"

"If we aren't going anywhere, why should we wait for him to find us?"

You nod. "Doc Ugly! We're right here!"

With both of you calling, he finds you in short order. His form is no longer human. Its lower torso seems reversed, with its legs and feet pointed in opposition to its approach. Its legs are bent at the knees, and the way it walks is more like a chicken. Its head protrudes from its chest, and its arms stem from the front of its belly.

You rally the voices within, and your thoughts coalesce into a single tempo. You extend your arms in front of you, palms facing forward.

Both of you inhale.

"Now!" you shout. Fire projects from your right hand. Your left trembles as a force unseen departs.

The fireball hits first. It sizzles away.

The projected force strikes it, slows it, but doesn't stop it.

"Again! Hit it again!" Claes fires another three-round burst.

In spite of the rush, the fear, the thrill, you know her shots will do nothing. Your lungs are emptied after the last salvo, so you hurriedly gulp air, then ready another one.

"Die!"

This time, they hit together, but not in the same spot.

Claes fires again. "This isn't working!"

You are completely out of breath. Your lungs ache. You see blobs of false colors. Between swallows of air, you manage to say, "Do you… do you have… any better… ideas?"

She wraps her free arm around you and lifts you without any exertion. She stands and places one foot against the cell bars behind you. "Yes. Running."

She kicks against the bars, and you are both propelled over the mass that was once The Doctor.

It screams, a sound both a screech and a roar at once. It rears up, and almost snares you with its claw-like hand.

You land, Claes wrapping herself around you and rolling to protect you. In a smooth motion, she emerges from the roll, you still wrapped by her left arm, and starts running down the hall.

You are facing behind her. You have no idea where you are going. With the flashlight pointing away from you, you can only guess what is behind you. Growling and braying.

And they sound louder each time.