Chapter Ten
✭
Everything happened at once.
The girl and I turned simultaneously — her to the left, me to the right. I took off, full-tilt sprinting.
I heard a shout, and knew that the ruse was up.
I wasn't even looking where I was going when I started to run, I was too busy watching the dark-haired girl disappear down the side-street before I remember I should be looking where I was going.
I turned my head just in time to see the red-haired woman jump in my path, her arms outstretched to grab me.
I gasped, swerved around her, nearly tripping over my feet in the process. I thought for sure my clumsiness would be the end of it, that I'd feel those hands clamp down on my arm.
Only her fingers swiped past me, inches away but too far, too slow. I couldn't believe it as I stumbled forward, my arms flailing as I tore down the street, going as fast as my legs could take me.
...which turned out to be pretty fast, actually.
I swung around the corner, nearly overshooting it because I underestimated my momentum. I grabbed the corner of the building to swing myself around and propel myself forward.
My hand let go a split second before the brick exploded, shattered by bullets. The sound of gunshots rang out behind me and I cried out, pulling my hand back to my body. Holy shit, they did have guns!
But why? I wasn't dangerous! Why did they need to shoot me?
I didn't have time to think about. Just keep going, you idiot! Don't slow down!
The alleyway stopped at a wall, went into two directions. I had no idea how fast I was going — and my shoulder slammed into the wall. I gasped, surprised, before bouncing off. Without thinking, I went left.
I had no idea what I was doing. I just had to get away.
The alleyway, which I was beginning to think was a maze, split off in different directions again. It extended down maybe a block, walls so tight that I couldn't hold out my arms all the way. Hearing footsteps behind me, I took the first right I saw.
My feet flew over the dirt and cobblestones. Paff! Paff! Paff!
The building walls blurred around me. The world moved too fast. I looked down at the ground, watching as my white shoes snapped in and out beneath me.
It was so light, so easy. And yet so hard. My arms flailed, my knuckles bashing off the walls because I had no idea how to freaking run. Holy shit, I hadn't this fast since I was on Peter's skateboard. I didn't even know I could go this fast.
I glanced behind me. I didn't see the team chasing me. Was I actually outrunning them?
My lungs should hurt. I knew that. But they didn't. Climbing up a flight of stairs winded me; I shouldn't even be breathing right now, but here I was, in an all-out sprint, like I was being chased by a T-Rex, and I wasn't slowing down.
...In fact, I might just be getting faster.
I swallowed air by the mouthful. More air than I've ever breathed in my life. Instead of choking it down, it just flowed.
No cotton in my throat, no soda straw and smoothie.
Just air.
How was this happening? I've never felt this good in my life.
Unfortunately, answering that question right now might be difficult. As I turned another corner, I was confronted with a very bad sight: a chain-link fence blocking the way.
There was no way around it. No other turns, and I didn't even consider double-backing. I had to climb it, but the fence had to be at least ten feet, if not more. I barely graced five, how could I get myself over that?
"Crap!" I skidded, slowing down, but not stopping. My momentum still carried me forward, slamming me into the fence — but instead of letting it stop me, I grabbed it, hauled myself up. I'd seen Peter do it thousands of times, cutting through alleyways to get home faster. How hard could it be?
With a huff, I tensed my arms, hooked my fingers in the loops, stuck my toes in and pushed myself upwards — my legs took me higher, my reach was longer than I expected. In less than two seconds I was already at the top. So... Not hard at all, in fact. It was easier than climbing a ladder, and even though the chain-link bent and wobbled beneath me, it held as I scrambled up, and with one incredible haul I vaulted myself up over the top and down to the other side.
I landed in a somersault I didn't even know I could do, before recovering into a run again.
"Ha-ha!" laughter broke out of my mouth despite myself; what, did I just do that? And I didn't eat shit? That was so cool! Guess that fence wasn't so tall after all.
Still amazed and bewildered, I looked behind me as I left that once-presumed-insurmountable fence behind. I was pleased by the sight of the team of four crowding at the chain-link as they tried to get over it at the same time.
The woman uttered a frustrated growl as the four of them came to an abrupt stop. They're collective clambering made it impossible for anyone to get over.
So instead, she raised her gun, and a loud bang echoed down the cramped walls, followed by a window shattering. My laugh was quickly cut off by broken glass raining down on my head.
I cried out, raising my arms over my head to protect myself, closing my eyes and hoping I didn't step on it.
In that split second of blindness, I tripped over some garbage. The bags cushioned my fall (although the smell kind of ruined any appreciation I'd have), and by the time I picked myself up again, one of the men had already gotten over the fence.
I saw him charging at me and scrambled back up to my feet, breath caught in my throat as panic gripped me.
I didn't remember to breathe again until I broke out of the alleyway onto another street. I slowed down to look both ways trying to figure out where to go, uphill or downhill — before a car honk had me diving out of the way, still in the middle of the road. The driver yelled at me, shaking his fist out the window.
"Sorry!" I held up my hands as I sidled around the bumper. Another gunshot had me taking off again.
The driver started swearing when the bullet knocked off his side mirror, but I didn't hang around to see what happened next. I went down downhill, the path of least resistance, throwing myself right into traffic because I was a complete and total idiot who thought that might somehow slow down my pursuers.
The traffic was heavy here; one last glance over my shoulder revealed two of my four pursuers coming out of the alleyway. They'd just turn their heads and I saw them point at me, shouting — before I ran behind a delivery truck and cut off their line of sight.
Taking advantage of this, I made a sharp turn right before they could see which way I went. Down another alley I went, opening to another street, with a set of stairs to my right, wrapped around a building.
I took the stairs, desperate to throw them off my tail. I bounded up the steps three at a time, swinging around the corner and up another flight, before finding myself on the small garden roof of a three-story building. There was no one up here except for a collection of dead potted plants and some lawn chairs. I paused for a second, catching my breath and trying to decide what to do next.
To my left was the fourth and fifth floors of the apartment building, too high for me to scale. To my right to the building on the other side of the alleyway I was just in. The gap was maybe ten feet, but the other roof was lower.
I couldn't believe I was actually thinking of this. Was I really going to jump across buildings? That was something I only saw crazy parkour artists do in New York.
But what other option was there? I wasn't going to go inside this building, I wasn't going to trap myself in tight rooms and hallways.
No. I had to keep going.
But the only way to keep going was to jump. The thought sent jitters through my system, and I almost gave up right then and there. There was no way I could do this. I wasn't that stupid. I could get hurt! This could all go so wrong so quickly!
It could also go wrong if I got caught.
Hating myself and hoping my stupidity didn't get me killed, I took a deep breath. Then I grimaced, and charged the end of the roof.
I crossed the space in less than a second, faster than I anticipated. I almost forgot to lift my foot, to step onto the low ridge before leaping off.
The wind rushed past my ears as I threw myself into open air. The alleyway gaped open beneath me, like that maw of Charybdis, hungry monster ready to swallow me whole. A long drop that I would not survive — at least not without a few broken bones.
Vertigo hit me, dizzying and nauseous. My heart leapt into my throat. My mind blanked. This was it. This was how I died.
It passed beneath me. For a split second, I spotted two men in black passing in the street, who did a double-take when they saw me leaping across. I didn't have time to think about that before the other roof rushed up to greet me, a blur of hard terracotta and dusty brick.
"There she is!" I heard them shout below me.
Whumph!
I gasped as I landed on the balls of my feet only to overbalance and fall forward. I threw out my arms to protect my fact, and fell hard on my stomach.
I grunted, the air knocked out of my lungs, and I laid there, breathless for a moment. The shock of the fall reverberated through my body, hurting mostly my chest, and a new twinging in my back reminded me that I had been shot. And might still be soon.
With one last look over my shoulder, I picked myself up and kept going.
I made it across exactly one roof before the ground in front of me exploded — two gunshots rang through the air. My heart skipped, the sound piercing my ears — like thunder, deep in my head.
"Stop right there!"
I came to an abrupt halt, skidding and breathing hard. Heart racing, I threw up my hands, turned around slowly to see who stopped me.
I thought it might've been one of my pursuers who somehow managed to flank me, but I was surprised when I came face to face with a man in armor, wielding a large rifle. One of the roof guards, like I'd seen earlier at the hospital.
He looked angry, an expression I couldn't comprehend. "Get on your knees!" He shouted, gesturing with his gun. Pointed at me. At me.
"Please, you can't —"
"Get on your knees!" He repeated, stepping for and raising his gun. I thought he'd shoot me, but instead he struck me across the shoulder, forcing me down. "Do it! Now!"
"Okay, okay!" I winced, biting back a cry. I could feel my eyes burn, a lump forming in my throat; terror and confusion overwhelmed me. No ever treated me like this before, not so harshly, not so violently. I never thought about how awful it was to be struck by someone I didn't know. I wanted to explain that this was an accident, just a big mistake, that he had no reason to point the gun at me — that I was no danger, why was he treating me like I was a danger.
"Put your hands on your head," the guard ordered, leveling his gun back at my head. I couldn't take my eyes off of the barrel, the hole raised to my brow. It was so huge, the bullets it carried could probably take off my entire head. Hands shaking, I did as he ordered. I could feel a headache forming between my eyes.
I opened my mouth to protest — to say anything so he wouldn't kill me, that I was lost, I was American, that I was being chased.
But before I could say anything, another gunshot rang out. But not from the guard, whose head jerked forward. I yelped, surprised, as he fell, suddenly limp, to the ground, revealing a hole in the back of his head.
Behind him appeared my two pursuers — one bearded, the other wearing a green kerchief. The bearded one had his pistol aloft, its muzzle still smoking. We stared at each other for one long moment.
What the hell are you doing? Run, damn it!
My senses returned to me, and I scrambled to my feet.
At the sight of them, I scrambled to my feet — but before I could get away, Green Kerchief lunged forward, grabbing me by the arms as I attempted to get away.
"Oh, no, no, no!" he grunted, smiling a little as I cried out, tried kicking him, but he had me pinned in a second, one arm around my neck and another my middle. "You're not getting away from us this time, Cолдатка."
Soldatka. The word sent a shiver of frisson down my spine. I heard that word before, but I couldn't remember where.
"Let go of me!" I snapped, twisting this way and that, getting hair in my face. My chest hurt, and the sob that I was holding down was threatening to break free. The only thing keeping me from totally breaking down was a strange electric feeling in my veins, the same feeling that had me kicking and fighting, even though I knew I should just be trying to talk to them, to explain that there must be a big mistake. "I'm not who you think I am! Let me go!"
"I can't believe it's still alive," Green Kerchief grunted, trying to keep a hold of me. He had to readjust his grip every few seconds. "You'd think two bullets would be enough us normal folk, but I guess not, huh?"
"Didn't you read the file?" The bearded one asked, throwing his compatriot a skeptical look as he holstered his gun. "This thing isn't normal. None of them are. Lucky for us, it's not as smart as the other two."
Then, to me, he sneered and said, "Did you really think you could escape the Crucible so easily? The Chairman doesn't tolerate deserters or rebels."
"You don't get it! You have the wrong person!" I shook my head. The Crucible? The Chairman? None of that sounded familiar. "Please, you have to believe me. I'm American, I'm not supposed to be here. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, is that so?" The bearded man tilted his head, smiling, stepping closer. So calm, so casual, watching a girl tremble and shake in fear as though he were enjoying it. It made me sick, but not as much as what he said next. "Then how is it you can speak Sokovian?"
"W-what?" I stared at him, freezing in surprise. I hadn't even realized we weren't speaking English. Just like in the hospital, it had been so natural, it hardly felt different. But now that he said it, I realized he was right. The words he spoke and the words I said weren't English in the least. I didn't even know how to switch back. "I don't—I don't understand…"
"It's alright," the bearded man said, in what seemed to be an attempt at kindness, but only came across as condescending. "Once you're back under our roof, we'll make sure you'll never be confused again."
"Just make it easy on yourself, Amelia," Green Kerchief said in my ear and I froze. Suddenly, I was breathless, like I'd been punched in the gut.
There was no mistake. They knew who I was.
My head continued to pound, worse than before. I watched blankly as the bearded one pulled out a case from his pocket. Unzipping it, revealed a syringe, needle, and vial of clear liquid. I seized at the sight of this, but Green Kerchief held on, continued, "Don't fight this. If you can admit your shame for disobedience, for trusting your so-called friends, the Chairman can be made to see forgiveness. He's not unreasonable. Loyalty is always rewarded."
The bearded man fixed the syringe and needle, before drawing up 30 ccs of that strange liquid. He brought it up to my arm, and Green Kerchief pulled up my sleeve to reveal the skin underneath. I tried to fight it, but he still had me pinned, and it only made the Bearded man draw closer.
The Bearded man looked me in the eye and asked, "Last chance, Amelia. Would you kindly be a good little soldier and shut the hell up?"
I paused, meeting the Bearded man eye to eye.
"No."
Then my legs raised, knees bent, seemingly of their own accord. Green Kerchief swayed back, surprised, as my weight was suddenly redistributed entirely onto him. I watched in dazed bewilderment as I locked my ankles around the Bearded one's hand.
Then snapped it to the left.
Crack!
"Augh!" The bearded one grunted in pain, bending down over his broken wrist, having dropped the syringe.
At the same time, I whipped my head back, head a loud crunch as the back of my head connected to Green Kerchief's nose.
Green Kerchief cried out, but the blow only loosened his grip, instead of releasing me.
But it was enough.
One arm came loose, and I slammed my elbow back into his gut, heard the gasp as I knocked the air out of him. Thrusting out with my arms, it was so, so easy to break through his hold. In fact, I had done it with enough force to knock Green Kerchief back, and he stumbled back, one hand over his bleeding nose.
I raised my fist to finish him off, but heard a click behind me.
One glance over my shoulder. Bearded one was getting back up, pulling out his gun with his good hand, bringing it up on me.
I didn't even pause to think. Instead, it felt like I was at the mercy of an invisible puppet master, controlling my every move with seamless choreography. I threw my weight back on one foot, lifted the other, swiveled my hips and shoulders at the same time. The motion spun me around, my foot swinging through the air. My heel made direct contact with his hand, knocking it away just as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet shot wide, past my head. The gun fell.
The bearded one grimaced, his mouth opening in a shout of rage. It ended when my follow-up, a fist, smashed into his jaw.
He dropped, face-first, into the ground.
"Dammit!" Green Kerchief cried — I whipped around, startled by the sudden switch to English. I almost forgot what it sounded like until I heard it, but reacted immediately when Green Kerchief whipped out a metal baton.
Nose still bleeding, he lunged at me, swinging hard. I thought it'd hit me, crack against my skull — instead, I ducked. His arm swung over my head, and I reached up to grab it. Twisting myself around so his chest slammed into my back, a move that would typically leave me crushed, instead had me bending down, taking Kerchief with me.
His weight and momentum sent him flying over onto his back in front of me, landing on top of the already fallen Bearded one.
The baton had dropped. Green Kerchief was still moving, reaching for the fallen weapon. Without thinking, I grabbed it first, jumped to my feet, and struck him across the head.
He went still.
I stood over them, gasping a little, barely out of breath. Two men, over six feet tall, totaling 400 pounds, armed with weapons.
Taken down in less than ten seconds.
By me.
I dropped the baton, horrified. Stumbling back, I brought my hands to my mouth, then away again, staring at my palms as if they no longer belonged to me.
My hands shook now, when only a second ago they had delivered powerful, deliberate blows. There was no way I did that. There was no way Mia, the tiny asthmatic thirteen-year-old with a weak immune system and fragile bones, who never laid a hand on anyone in her entire life, who wouldn't hurt a soul, didn't have the heart to, could take down these two men.
The worst part was how efficient it was. How quick, how easy. How I didn't even have to think.
It had been instinct.
An instinct I didn't have before.
"No, no…" I shook my head, looked back at the scene before me. I swallowing at the lump in my throat, clutching my head as it throbbed. The gunshots still echoed in my ears, knocked around inside my mind. "N-not possible. Not logically possible."
But there was no logic to be found here.
The air was quiet, calm again. No one else had witnessed what just happened — I was still questioning if it even happened at all. Was this real? Did I really do that?
Two unconscious bodies. One dead one.
There was still more of them out there. These...whoever they were. Soldiers, agents? They almost sounded like spies, but...well, it couldn't be spies. How the hell would I have ever gotten involved in that? This kind of stuff only happened in movies. It wasn't real life.
But apparently fact was stranger than fiction. And I couldn't deny what happened here.
Neither would anyone else, once they stumbled upon this.
I had to go. Now.
I turned and started to run.
You'd think there wouldn't be anywhere else to go. Turned out I still had energy left to bound across a couple roofs; my motions were more erratic now, fueled by a panic I couldn't quell. Before, I had been scared of my pursuers, my panic certain and true, knowing that I had to get away, to survive somehow.
Now, I was scared of myself. And that was one thing I couldn't run away from.
But I could try.
I ran as far as I could along the rooftops, running into tables and chairs, knocking over plants, startling a woman taking down her laundry. I could only offer a curt, honest apology before stumbling away again, horrified of maybe hurting her, too. Who knows, what if I just lost it, what if my body just started attacking every one of its own accord?
I didn't get tired, even after everything that happened. A scary thing, in its own right. I just kept running.
Eventually, I came to the end of the road. The only way was down.
I skidded to a stop at the edge, breathing hard. I couldn't very well jump, I wasn't suicidal. I was three stories up, and the only way off was a rickety old fire-escape. That'd probably take time, and for some reason now that I slowed down, I didn't want to keep running. I wanted to hide. I was out of sight from the rest of my pursuers, I should at least find a place to hunker down, make sure they were off my trail.
I scanned the buildings around me. In front was a wide street, one of the main paths in the city. Left and right were smaller ones, residential areas filled with shorter buildings, some lone-standing houses. I seemed to be in the suburbs of some sort. Whatever city this was.
Then, along the larger street, I saw a run-down old brick building. One of the walls had crumbled at the top, leaving a caved roof, and the doors and windows were missing. It might've been an office building once, something real fancy with its stonework and large entrance. There was an old sign above the doorway, paint stripped away and made unreadable by years of weather. No one seemed to have inhabited it for a while.
In New York, you didn't go into abandoned and condemned buildings because you weren't stupid or desperate. Places like that was filled with dangerous stuff; nails on the floor, broken glass, asbestos, lead paint, shaky foundation. One wrong move could bring the whole thing down on top of you.
Peter liked exploring them, especially the old factories and mills still left in Manhattan. They turned out to be a great source of cool, arty photos.
And in this case, they also provided a good hiding spot for those who didn't want to be found.
I made my way down the fire escape, careful not to cut myself on any sharp edges. I was still shaken, and I didn't trust my body to do what I wanted it to do anymore, so I took special care not to do anything frivolous. When I finally dropped down to solid ground, I wilted in relief.
Then I entered the street, drifted into pedestrian traffic, keeping my head down, my shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around myself, where I knew they couldn't touch anyone.
I kept an eye out for the rest of the team, but didn't spot them. So, I made my way towards the rundown building and, when no one was looking, ducked inside.
It was dark in here. Smelly, too. Mold and dust, a lingering stench of decay. Not as bad as it could've been, to be honest, and I found it tolerable enough considering the situation. I shuffled slowly through the first floor; the stairs had collapsed, not that I wanted to climb them anyways.
I startled a family of squirrels when I entered the back room. It was large, a high ceiling supported by columns. My theory of it being an office building was confirmed by the number of overturned and broken desks lying around. Loose rubble lied around, the floor covered in dirt and dead leaves and other miscellaneous trash. There were a few broken beer bottles, like some loiterers spent their free time here.
My legs finally had enough, and I collapsed against the far wall, my thoughts scattering as everything that happened crashed down on me at once. Lost, confused, frozen and shot, strange city and strange reflections, men with guns and revolutionaries and bombs and the Crucible and the Chairman and my hands my head it hurts it hurts so bad why can't I remember—
I choked on my breath, tears suddenly welling in my eyes. My toe catching on the sidewalk and I stumbled, but caught myself against the corner of a building.
Gasping, I swallowed a breath, trying to force down the lump in my throat. I leaned against the wall, bring up my arms to cover my face, bring darkness around my eyes so I didn't have to see this awful world anymore.
Maybe if I closed my eyes, I'd wake up. Maybe if I just waited, this would all be over, and I'd wake up in my bed, back in New York City, home and safe again.
Mom would be there. She'd have chicken soup, because I was still sick. Sick enough to cough up blood, to choke on it, to collapse and die —
It didn't happen. This nightmare was real. Real as the cold air biting my cheeks, the rough cobblestone beneath my feet, the loose grit of the brick wall beneath my fingers. It didn't fade, even as my chest constricted, even when I felt tears burning down my face, even as I started breathing so fast I thought I'd hyperventilate and incur another asthma attack.
I was trapped. And this time I didn't have Mom to wake me up.
The sensation of helplessness overwhelmed me. My hands were in my hair, pulling and yanking. What was all this? Why was this happening? Why couldn't I wake up? What was the Crucible? Who was the Chairman? What did he want with me? Why was I so important that men had to point guns at me, had to chase me down and try to stick me with a needle? Nothing I did warranted that. I wasn't special. I was just a sick girl who needed help, who needed to go home.
Home.
The thought of Mom and Peter and Aunt May and Uncle Ben sent another wave of tears down my cheeks. I missed them. I missed the cramped little apartment, my bed and its dozens of covers, I missed Stitch and the photos Peter gave me, I missed Mom's food, I missed the sounds of New York, I missed knowing the feeling of belonging somewhere. Of somewhere belonging to me.
Now I was a stranger in a strange city. I was a stranger to myself.
And there was no one here to help.
I was alone.
I thought I knew that feeling before. Being the only person like me that I knew. Always sick, always coughing, always on the verge of death, of being that pity story, of never being up to snuff.
I never realized what it actually felt like to be alone. Before was loneliness, isolation while being surrounded by people I knew; not good, but not terrible, either. My family was always there if I needed them.
Not anymore. Now I knew what it meant to be alone.
It meant being afraid with no answers. It meant not knowing how to find them. How to get home. It meant knowing that the people you cared about also had no idea where you were, because like hell I'd still be here after two years if Peter had anything to do with. Or my mom.
And the worse thing about it? The people who did know me, who did know my name? They wanted to hurt me.
I coughed, throat ragged from the sobbing. I wiped at my face, my sleeve already soaking and not doing much good now. It was bad enough that I couldn't concentrate on my own surroundings, didn't pay attention when I heard footsteps — multiple ones, in fact — coming closer and closer.
One loud crunch of boot on dried leaves, crackling in the air, loud and suddenly very, very close. I jumped, startled, and suddenly I was in a panic again, heart skipping a beat, thinking it was those men again, having caught up with me.
I clutched at my shirt, biting at my lip and trying to quell my sobs, my breathing, keep from making any noise at all. They couldn't find me. Not now. Please, not now.
As the newcomers drew nearer, I realized something in the back of my mind. Something was different. Not wrong, necessarily, but different. The footsteps were too light. Not from someone moving carefully, but from someone who was not a tall, heavy set man bent on chasing down a single girl throughout an entire city.
Still, I couldn't move. I pressed my back against the wall, staring as two shadows drew across the floor. They had already heard me.
There was nothing I could do as they came around the desk, finding me instantly.
It wasn't those agents.
It was a girl and a boy. Specifically, the girl in the red dress, her too-wide, gaunt eyes falling on me with a curious tilt of the head, bird-like. Next to her, a tall boy in a blue jacket, the ends of his hair bleached white. He had the same set to his mouth as the girl; serious, but with a quirk of mischief.
I stared at them, uncomprehending, tears still rolling down my face.
The girl stepped closer and bent down, so we were eye level. I flinched at the movement, and she hesitated, frowned. Then she held out a thin, pale hand.
And she asked, "Are you okay?"