Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
"Peter, I am so sorry."
"Girl, you've said that about fifty times."
"I know," I answered, walking behind the kitchen counter. "But you can never say it too many times." Peter gave a small laugh as he leaned back on my couch. A flash of pain crossed his face when he pressed the nape of his neck against the soft pillows. I started to move forward, but stopped when Peter readjusted his position on my couch. Another flash of pain crossed his face as he gently rubbed his neck.
Groaning softly, Peter spoke, "You know, I was just kidding about you having a punch that could kill a guy." I felt a quick flash of heat creep into my cheeks as I took out the tea-kettle from one of the top cabinets.
Setting it onto the stove, I asked, "Are you sure you're okay? You don't want me to call the doctor?"
"I'm fine, girl," said Peter, inching his head away from the sofa and reached out for the TV remote. The television screen turned on to a scene from an old movie.
"Are you sure?" I asked again, turning on the stove and picking up a box of peppermint tea. "You don't look good."
"I said, I'm fine," Peter insisted. I looked at him again, eyes narrowed. Peter's face was impassive as he channel-surfed.
"Fine," I said finally, setting the tea box onto the counter rest my palms against its edge. "I won't bug you."
"Thank God," Peter muttered as he finally landed on Channel Three. I hid a smile as I opened the tea box to pull out to fresh tea bags. I breathed in the tangy peppermint odor, feeling my mind relax after a long day of fighting. The smile on my face froze when I heard the cool tones of Georgia Davis, the Channel Three news reporter come from the television.
"City officials today are at a loss to explain the bloodbath here in the heart of one of America's largest transgenic enclaves," said Ms. Davis, clutching her microphone as one of the transhumans picked up a blood-spattered body off the ground. The reporter turned her head to the transhumans who struggled to lift the dead bodies into the TC ambulances.
Shaking her head in barely concealed disgust, Ms. Davis continued, "Commissioner Daly has issued a statement that he is adding more police along the perimeter, so that today's tragic events do not spill into the public arena. In the meantime, Mayor Thompson will be holding a press conference regarding today's tragedy sometime tomorrow morning." The screen flashed to a video of the fight and my blood ran cold when I saw that they had captured Rita's stabbing of Alec.
"Damn animals," I heard my ex mutter as he changed the channel to ESPN 2. "Ought to lock 'em up." Absently, I heard something crash to the floor.
"Bobbie, you all right?" When I didn't answer, Peter rushed to my side. Putting a hand to my arm, he asked again, "Girl, you okay? Maybe you should see a doctor." Slowly, I blinked my eyes as my brain tried to focus on my surroundings. I looked down at the ground, noticing the shards of broken porcelain that was my coffee mug.
"Oh, crap," I muttered, bending down to pick up the pieces.
"Here, let me help," said Peter, bending down as well, but I glared at him, stopping him in his tracks.
"It's okay, I can handle this," I snapped, gingerly grabbing the broken pieces and dumping them in the garbage pail. Peter looked taken aback as he stood up, staring down at me.
"Girl, what is wrong with you?" he asked, voice filled with confusion.
"Nothing," I answered, standing up and wiping my hands together, brushing away the dusty film left by the broken coffee mug. "I'm fine. Just go back to the couch and watch the t.v." Peter frowned at me again, but sighed when I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow at him.
"I said, go," I continued to stare my ex down until he nodded and returned to his place on my couch. I put a hand on my head as he started channel surfing again. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned towards the stove and smiled when the water started to boil. The high piping shriek of the tea-kettle pierced my eardrums, but it masked the sound coming from the television, still talking about the events in Terminal City.
"You want peppermint?" I asked, keeping my voice light and calm. I reached up to one of the top cabinets and pulled out another mug. Setting it near the stove, I poured out hot water into each mug, letting the steam warm my face.
"Yeah. Sure," Peter absently answered as I dunked in a tea bag into each mug.
"Sugar?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter nod as he leaned forward to watch a basketball game on ESPN.
"Okay," I muttered, sprinkling sugar into each mug and stirring the contents. Leaving a spoon in both mugs, I picked them up and walked over to my couch. Setting the mugs on the coffee table, I leaned back in my seat as Orlando Jones, the Knicks' center, tossed a ball to one of his teammates.
"Nice throw," I commented. "Looks like they're going to win this game."
"Yeah," said Peter, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip. Closing his eyes in pleasure, Peter continued, "Damn. You make tea just like my Mama."
"Your sister told me what kind of tea she uses," I said. "I like it. It's nice." Peter smiled at me as he leaned back on my couch, letting his head rest against the soft brown pillows. He reached over to touch my hand and gently pressed his larger one over mine.
"This is nice," he said. "Just the two of us. Like old times."
"Yes, it is," I agreed, letting myself be comforted by Peter's warmth. Unconsciously, I let my body press against his, and closed my eyes as my head fell upon his broad chest.
"I am so tired," I whispered. "It's been a long day."
"I can see that," said Peter. I smiled to myself as I heard his deep voice rumble over my head. "You look like you've been hit by a truck. What happened to you?" For a second, I hesitated to answer. Should I tell him? Now? I glanced up at Peter who was looking at me with warm brown eyes. I will. Tomorrow.
"It's nothing," I said. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just sit and relax and forget everything." Peter smiled at me as he hugged me tight.
"Sounds like a plan," he whispered as I closed my eyes again and let myself drift off to sleep.
"It is my duty as mayor of Seattle to see that the transgenic situation is kept under control." A pompous voice reached my ears, causing me to groan and sit up. Rubbing my eyes in irritation, I opened them to see Mayor Thompson on television, standing behind a podium surrounded by the press.
He continued, "Commissioner Daly has informed me that an extra 100,000 police officers are to be stationed around the Terminal City area, protecting the businesses and the common people of Seattle. Now, please, I ask you not to panic. We have everything under control and as long as I am in office, I will make sure that honest, hard working citizens will have nothing to fear from the transgenic menace." The mayor gave the press cameras a dazzling smile as light-bulbs flashed and several reporters began dogging him with questions.
"Yes, all right, I'll be there." I turned to see Peter talking into his cell phone. He nodded in response to the caller and continued, "Don't worry, I'll contact the committee and the mayor's office as soon as I can. Jeanine, make sure Mama's all right and let her know I won't come back for a couple of days." Peter paused to smile at something his sister said. "Look, you just take care of Mama and I'll see you. Bye." Peter turned off the cell with a perfunctory click and smiled at me.
"You're up," he said walking over to kiss me on the forehead.
"That I am," I said. "Talking to Jeanine?"
"Yeah," said Peter, settling down beside me. "Told her I won't come back to Washington for a little while, not when the Seattle stuff is going down."
"I see," I said. "What's the Seattle business?"
"Talked to a couple of buddies of the Anti-Transgenic Committee into setting up a rally around Terminal City," Peter answered, picking up the remote. He flipped through a couple of channels before continuing, "I've already got a couple of guys working there. Until I make a couple of more calls, we won't get a good number of protesters until later on tonight."
"Wow," I said. "All those calls over one little fight."
"It's not just a little fight," said Peter. "That was a riot and who knows what those freaks will do now that they've got blood on their hands. This could spread."
"It's not going to spread."
"How do you know that?" Peter asked. "They're like rats, Bobbie. They eat one of their own and then come crawling out for more. We gotta nip this in the bud." I tightened my lips as Peter settled on CNN. He leaned forward as the news feed flashed to anti-transgenic protesters waving their hate signs in front of Terminal City. A chill went down my spine as I saw Peter's mouth curved into a broad smile.
"Turn that off," I said. Peter didn't pay attention. Angrily, I reached over to him and grabbed the remote from his hands, turning off the television with a loud click. "I said, turn that off!" Peter looked at me, wide eyed.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he asked. "I was watching the news."
"That was news?" I asked. "Trash is more like it. No, hate. Pure, unadulterated hate."
"Bobbie, I know you've got issues with transgenics"
"I've got issues?" I asked. "I have issues?! Look who's talking! Mr. I Hate Transgenics." Peter shook his head at me and gave a little sigh.
"Look, we were having such a nice time," Peter began, reaching out to comfort me, but I backed away from him, shaking my head with barely concealed anger. "Girl, what is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" I repeated. "You sit there and smile about protesting the transgenics' right to exist and you think something's wrong with me? Well, guess what? I'm fine. You're the freak."
"What?" Shaking my head, I stood up and paced in front of the television.
"Do you even know why I called you?"
"You said you wanted to tell me the truth."
"Yes, that's right," I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently. "I'm going to tell you the truth. Right here. Right now."
"All right," said Peter, leaning back and opening his arms. "Hit me."
"Fine," I said, moving towards him. "You asked for this." I walked up to Peter until our noses pressed together. Slowly, I turned around and I started to move my hand towards my ponytail. For a brief moment, I hesitated; then I flashed to Georgia Davis' disgusted look at the transhumans and Peter's creepy smile. Feeling a burst of anger, I lifted my ponytail so that Peter could see my barcode. With my back turned to him, I could hear Peter's sharp intake of breath.
"Well?" I prompted. "What do you think?"
"Is this a joke?" he asked. "Cause it ain't funny."
"No joke," I said, letting my ponytail down and turned to face him. "This is real. This is me." Peter's brow crinkled as he shook his head in protest.
"No. No," he said. "This is some weird trick. You put me on a reality show, right? Some weird version of Joe Millionaire?" Biting my lip, I shook my head.
"I wish I were joking," I said. "But the barcode's real, Peter. It's my designation, 332 021 807 592." Peter shook his head again, this time backing away from me.
"No, no," he said again, standing up and moving over to the kitchen. "You can't. You can't beyou just can't be"
"One of them?" I finished. "I am. Have been all my life." Silence fell between us. The sharp burst of a car backfiring and car alarms blaring outside my apartment building disturbed the frightening gap between us. Peter kept shaking his head as he moved over to the kitchen counter and pressed his palms against the edge. Finally, he looked up at me, thunderous rage churning in his dark eyes.
"You lied to me." Peter's voice was low and quiet and I closed my eyes.
"I'm sorry." Peter shook his head again and flashed me a bitter grin.
"That's all you can say?" asked Peter. "Sorry?"
"I don't know what else to tell you." I hated how cold my voice sounded, but somehow I found myself retreating, my confused and painful feelings suddenly locked away in a familiar box inside my heart. "I figured with the break-up, you needed to know. It was only fair."
"Fair?" Peter repeated. "Fair?! You stand there and tell me that you're a transgenic and that everything we've been to each other was---," Peter stopped and swallowed hard.
I looked away from him and said, "I said I was sorry. I didn't want to lie to you. Believe me."
"Why should I?" asked Peter. "You've been lying to me for near three damn years. I asked you to marry me!"
"I know."
"Then why?"
I looked at my ex with cold eyes and pointed to the blank television screen. "That's why." I pointed to his cell phone and said, "That's why."
"What?" Peter looked confused.
"In the past two and a half years I've known you," I began. "You have done nothing, but rant and hate against my people and quite frankly, who can blame me? Why should I expose myself to a guy who does nothing, but hate the very essence of who I am."
Peter fell silent under my glare. His dark brown eyes slowly met mine. "You still should have told me. When were you going to tell me? During the wedding? After the honeymoon? After our first kid?"
I looked away from him again and focused on my fingers.
"Come on, Bobbie," said Peter. "You weren't going to tell me at all. Were you?"
"I was," I said. "I really was, but it never seemed to be the right time." I could see Peter's jaw clenching and I held up a hand. "Listen to me, please. I was going to tell you. I hated lying to you. You were the one good thing in my crazy life and I didn't want to lose that."
Peter rubbed his nose and paced back and forth in my kitchen. I could see his fists opening and closing as he struggled to keep a lid on his barely concealed anger. Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. Pressing his palms against the kitchen counter once more, he asked, "Was it real?"
I took a step back and asked, "What?"
"Was it real?" he repeated. "Was any of it real? The first kiss? The first time we" Peter stopped for a moment to look away from me before continuing, "The first time we made love? Was any of it real? For you? Cause it sure as hell was for me."
"Peter"
"Girl, I love you," he said. "Crazy as it is, even with this this thing you put on me, I still do. God, help me, I still do." I felt a lump grow in my throat and my heart tighten in pain. I bent my head down to rub my nose and keep the tears from springing.
"I love you too," I whispered. "I love you so much, it killed me to lie, but I had to. I had to do it, to keep you safe, to keep me safe. You have no idea how dangerous my life is. You see these bruises?" I held up my battered left arm, the knife wound still a pulsating red. I could see Peter's face become one of horror.
"Yeah. You see them? I got these from fighting today," I let my arm fall to my side, wincing inwardly as the wound burned. "The people I fought against, they will kill you and they can kick my ass. If it's not those bastards trying to shoot me down, then it's the people who made me who want to speed up my life. I'm a prototype, Peter. You know what that means?"
"No."
"It means, I'm the first. Everyone else who is like me is like a blueprint. We're not the endpoint. We're a means to an end," I felt the bile rise in my throat as I recalled my years at Manticore. "They wanted to see if they could make the perfect soldier. Well, they got it. With me, with my brothers and sisters and everyone else, you like to call animals."
"Bobbie," Peter moved to step forward, but I backed away from him.
"No," I said. "You need to hear this. I've been wanting to tell you this for a long time, so listen up. We're not animals. We have been gene-spliced with members of the animal kingdom, there's a difference. Only a small part of me is feline, the rest of me? Pure human."
"You're stronger, faster, and smarter than the rest of us," said Peter. "I've read the reports."
"That's funny," I said, letting a bitter smile cross my face. "So have I. Wouldn't you like to know how they got those report findings?" Peter's eyes widened again as I moved around my apartment. I took in a deep breath to calm myself down.
"Bobbie"
Keeping my back turned to him, I continued, "Peter, my life has been harder than you can ever imagine. Some of the things that they did to us"
"You could have escaped," said Peter. "I heard twelve kids got out."
"Yeah, and they left the rest of us to face Manticore's wrath," I said. "I know all about those kids. Bully for them, they got out. I didn't. Besides, I wouldn't have left if I could. I had family to look after. I couldn't leave them behind, not after what happened after the escape."
"But you said something right?" Peter asked. "You didn't do those things I read about." I couldn't help it. I started to laugh until I bent over, my stomach cramping.
"What did you read?" I asked, wiping the tears from my face.
"I saw pictures," said Peter. "Transgenic tortured a man to death." Suddenly, the laughter stopped as I watched Peter's face stare me down. Straightening, I crossed my arms again.
"Hmm," I pursed my lips in thought. "Who was the target?"
"What?!"
I looked up at my ex-boyfriend. "You heard me. Who was the target? Scientist? Businessman? If it's a scientist, he was probably selling Manticore secrets. If it was a businessman, it was probably a message to his friends and clients."
"I don't know."
"Oh, well," I shrugged. "Poor guy. Whoever did that job probably got killed. No way any of my group would have left a torture vic exposed for pictures." I ignored the appalled look on Peter's face as I walked over to the coffee table and picked up the half-empty coffee mugs. Setting the mugs in the sink, I concentrated on emptying and washing them. As soon as I was done washing and drying the mugs, I looked up at Peter who was staring at me.
"What?" I asked, putting the mugs away in one of the top cabinets.
"Oh, nothing," Peter shrugged, but I could see the slight fear in his eyes.
"Peter," I began, but stopped. What could I say? "Do you want to know anything else?"
"No," said Peter. Sighing, I dropped the towel onto the counter and winced when I shifted my left arm. Dammit.
"That looks bad," said my ex. "Don't you heal fast or something?"
"I do," I said, glancing down at the reddened wound. "This one's just being a bitch and a half. I'll be fine."
"You sure?" I looked up at Peter again and let myself smile at him for the first time all morning.
"I'm sure."
"Okay," Peter still looked uncertain, so impulsively I reached out to squeeze his hand, but drew back when Peter backed away from me.
Forcing a smile on my lips, I asked, "So what are we going to do? What do you want to do?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he answered. "We're not together anymore, right?"
"Right," I said.
"So, I guess you want to return the ring?" Peter and I stared at each for the longest time. I took another deep breath as I walked away from him and stepped into my bedroom. I walked over to my dresser and opened one of the drawers and pulled out the diamond engagement ring. Cradling it in the palm of my hand, I felt intense pain well up from my chest and threatened make my heart explode.
"Bobbie? You got it?" Peter called as I clutched the ring in my hand.
"Yes," I replied. "Give me a minute." Tightening the grip on my ring until it dug deeply into my hand, I closed the drawer and walked out of the bedroom. Peter was leaning against the kitchen counter, facing the window. I walked up to him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He jumped a bit before turning to face me.
Holding out the ring, I said, "Here you go. Thank you for the offer."
Peter looked at me before reaching out to take the ring from me. "If things were different," he began.
"Yeah, if things were different," I said, not looking at him.
"Well, I better go," he said, putting the ring into his pocket. "Need to check on a couple of things."
"You do that," I whispered, letting him walk past me to the front door. "Let me open that for you." I walked over to the front door and opened the locks. As the door swung open, Peter stepped out into the hallway.
"Uh, Bobbie," said Peter, shifting around and stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You going to be okay?" I glanced down at the floor, before looking up at Peter.
Letting a big smile cross my face, I answered, "I'll be fine. You go and spread the hate." I felt like doing a touchdown dance when I saw Peter wince at my remark.
"Be that way, girl," he said, stepping out further into the hall. "I'll see you."
"See you too." With that, I slammed the door shut. Closing my eyes, I sank to the ground and pulled my knees up to my chest. Burying my face into my kneecaps, I squeezed my eyes shut as tears ran down my face.
"Oh, God," I moaned. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" I rocked back and forth; letting the tears wet my face until all I could see was a blurry haze. Finally, until I felt like I couldn't cry anymore, I wiped my wet nose and struggled to stand up. Fiery pain burst down my left arm and I grabbed it, moaning in agony.
"Damn it!" I hissed, stumbling towards my couch. "This just isn't my day." A knock came at the door and I glanced up, raising an eyebrow in confusion. The knocking came again, this time, more insistent. I started to open my mouth and stopped. Peter wouldn't come back now. Would he? I bent over my couch and reached under it with my good hand for the Sig-Sauer I kept hidden there for safety measures. With my left arm aching the way it was, I wouldn't be able to hold up the rifle underneath the bed in my bedroom properly. Cocking the gun until the safety was off, I called out, "Who is it?"
"Special delivery," was the reply.
"Didn't order anything," I said, walking up the front door.
"Says here special delivery for Bobbie A. Jackson," the voice answered. "It's urgent. Gotta have a signature."
"Once again, didn't order anything," I said, standing on my tip-toes to look through the peephole. Gingerly, I unlocked the front door.
"Oh," said the delivery guy. "Too bad." Faster than I could have anticipated, he slammed the door open, knocking me to the ground. The gun in my hand clattered away from me as the delivery guy stepped into my apartment. He was tall with dark blond hair and a mean look in his eyes. A vicious grin was on his face as he pulled out a sharp knife. I backed away, wincing inwardly at the pain in my left arm. The wound had re-opened, letting blood trickle down my arm. My right hand curled around the telephone coil attached to the telephone next to my couch.
"Down for the count," the delivery guy spoke, licking his lips. "Just like she said." He moved forward, only to have my telephone slam into his face. He stumbled back as I jumped up, holding up my fists.
"Come on," I mocked. "I'm not that easy." With that, I grabbed one of my end tables and threw it in the delivery guy's face. The table smashed into a million pieces, causing me to groan inwardly. One hundred and fifty dollars down the drain. I ran to my kitchen and opened up the knife drawers, pulling out the large knife I used for cutting meats. Waving it in the air, I watched the delivery guy stagger up from the ground, only to scream in pain as I threw the knife into his chest, aiming straight for the heart. Red blood bubbled around the knife as I spat on the ground in disgust.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered. "Serves you right, asshole." I walked over to the dead body and turned it over, pulling down the collar to see if there was a barcode. There was none.
"Damn it," I breathed, letting the body fall to the ground again. Suddenly, I heard something come from outside and I ran to the kitchen window, poking my head out to see a group of large muscle bound men carrying guns and other weapons from an armored car in front of my building. Pursing my lips, I marched into my bedroom, pulled out an undershirt and tore it in half, wrapping one half over my wound and stuffing the other half into my back pocket.
Bending down so that I could look underneath my bed, I pulled out the M-16 and checked to see if I still had any bullets. I did. Grabbing the gun, I walked out of my bedroom, stepped over the dead body and picked up the Sig-Sauer and stuffed it into the waistband of my shorts. Slipping on a fresh pair of sneakers, I walked into Bree's room and stepped out onto the fire escape. Below me, the Familiars barked orders as they rushed to assemble whatever they had planned around my building. Using my enhanced vision, I felt a shiver go down my spine as I saw a bomb being passed from one Familiar to another. The Familiar holding the bomb disappeared from my sight as I ducked from being seen by a female Familiar who glanced upwards.
"Bastards," I muttered, holding up the M-16, wincing when my grip loosened slightly as another stab of pain raced down my left arm. As soon as I had three Familiars in my sight, I let loose three quick shots, smiling to myself when I saw that all three went down quickly. Lydecker would be so proud. I tossed the M-16 into Bree's room, glancing back for a minute to see that it landed smoothly onto Bree's bed. I turned my gaze to the Familiars again, who had all rushed forward to check on their dead comrades. I looked up at the bright morning sky and closed my eyes. Sorry, I thought. May they find peace and please, keep me alive.
While the Familiars gathered around the dead men, I gripped the fire escape's ledge and flipped upwards into a handstand. For a brief moment, I felt a little dizzy and my heart sped up when I felt my left arm buckle slightly. I let myself fall down, landing on the ground just behind the Familiars. I grinned when they didn't seem to hear me. Five more Familiars gathered around the three dead men, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Quietly, I took out the Sig-Sauer and fired. Two bullets hit two Familiars in the arm and another hit a third Familiar in the chest. The Familiars left standing stared at their fallen comrades and then at me. Stuffing my gun into the waistband of my shorts, I grinned at them, and said, "Aww. All this? For me? You shouldn't have."
With a mighty roar, they all rushed at me. I grabbed the Familiar in the center by the shirtfront and pulled him down, pushing him over me with one leg. The Familar crashed behind me as I jumped up and grabbed the arm of another Familiar and spun so that he knocked down two other Familiars. Only two Familiars were left standing as the three of us stared at each other warily.
The one on my right whispered, "They were just children. Let's see how you hold up against a true superior, freak." Before I could respond, the Familiar to my left rammed his fist into the nape of my neck, sending shockwaves of pain throughout my shoulderblades as my knees crumpled to the ground. The Familiars instantly began punching and kicking me. One fist hit my sore arm and I groaned in pain. Taking a deep breath, I curled up in fetal position, absorbing the blows until I reached down and gripped the gun tucked into my shorts. I pulled it up to my chest as another fist slammed into my head. When a foot slammed into my stomach, I struck my right arm out, firing another shot. The Familiar on my right fell back-wards to avoid being shot and I took this chance to roll over and kick his legs out from under him. He slammed onto the ground as I jumped up to face Lefty. The Familiar that was on my left held his fists up as I fired again, aiming for his shoulder. Blood and bone splattered onto my face as he fell down to the ground. Not wanting to check and see if Righty was going to wake up anytime soon, I ran over to the armored car and breathed a sigh of relief when no one was inside.
"Bomb, bomb, where's the bomb?" I muttered, looking to see if there was a remote charge for the bomb. I grinned when I saw the remote control for the bomb located in the corner of the car. Giving it a quick once over and seeing the red, black and yellow wires attached to the charge and the glowing red button showing me that the bomb was set to activate, I muttered again, "Red and yellow, kills a fellow. Red and black, step back." I rummaged through the sheaf of papers next to the desk in the car and grinned when I saw a small pair of scissors. Taking the scissors, I walked over to the remote charge and hovered over the wires.
"Please, God, let me remember Bombs 101," I whispered, clipping the red and black wires. The red button that glowed brightly, showing me that the bomb was active went dark and I smiled in relief.
I didn't have time to really enjoy my success because a hand clamped over my mouth and a voice hissed, "You little bitch! You killed my people! Prepare to die!" I clamped my grip over the scissors in my hand as the Familiar lifted me off the ground, tightening his grip over my mouth and nose. Spots danced before my eyes as I started to lose oxygen. Pretend you're underwater, I thought. This is just an oxygen deprivation exercise. I let my lungs relax as I conserved the oxygen in my body. The Familiar increased the pressure on my head as I clasped the scissors and rammed the blades into his stomach. Absently, I felt warm blood cascade over my hand. Letting me go, the Familiar screamed, clutching his stomach in pain.
"Wow, you can feel pain," I said, facing him and kicking my foot into his bleeding stomach. The Familiar flew out of the car and stumbled onto the road. I jumped out of the car and my eyes widened when I saw more Familiars headed in my direction. I looked down the open street and knew that I would have to draw them out of the neighborhood. Taking the gun out of my shorts again, I fired two shots at the oncoming crowd and saw two fall down, while seven pressed forward. I turned and ran down the street, stopping every so often to fire another shot. Feeling the wind burn down my throat as I pounded my feet against the pavement, I calculated how many more bullets I would have left to deter the crowd running after me. A bullet whizzed past me as I made a right turn on Parker Street. Up ahead, I could see a small man straightening the fruit stand in front of a grocery store.
"Mr. Mohammed, duck!" I cried, pushing the small grocery store-owner out of my way. The older man fell into the garbage pails in the alley beside his store. His large glasses fell down his face as he struggled to push himself up.
"Bobbie? Wha--?" I heard him sputter as I saw a bus pull up ahead. I glanced back again, still seeing the Familiars push a couple of women who had stepped out of their houses out of the way. Two Familiars held up their guns and began firing. I moved faster, racing towards the bus which was picking up its last passenger. With a burst of extra speed, I ran, jumped, and landed on top of the bus. The light changed and I grinned as the Familiars watched me speed away.
The bus moved all the way to the Sector 6 checkpoint and as I looked down I saw a beat-up Saturn up ahead. The sector cops beckoned the Saturn's driver to step out of the vehicle. Taking a closer look, I could see that the driver was Peter. The bus lurched forward to its spot at the checkpoint, rolling until Peter's car and the larger vehicle, were parallel to each other. While the bus driver showed his identification with a sector cop, Peter showed his card to his cop. With both sides occupied, I moved over to the edge of the bus and jumped onto the roof of Peter's car and slid into the open side window that led to the backseat. Peter slid into the front seat of the car and drove past the checkpoint. While he drove, I glanced down at my left arm and saw spots dancing before my eyes again as a wave of dizzyness temporarily overtook me. Forcefully, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, struggling to maintain some form of control over my body. Once I felt my equilibrium returning, I waited several minutes before popping up and saying, "Hi!" Peter's eyes swung to his rearview mirror and gave a little shriek, causing the car to swerve on the street.
"Be careful!" I warned as Peter quickly regained control of his car.
"Bobbie!" Peter cried. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
"Okay," I began. "Don't look now, but I've got a couple of Familiars on my tail. They've got guns and my arm hurts like a son of a bitch, so take me to Terminal City."
"Wha-, What?!" Peter sputtered, his knuckles turning pale as he gripped the steering wheel. I turned my gaze to the back window and felt a chill run down my spine as the armored car that had been in front of my building earlier stood at the checkpoint.
"Okay," I said again. "New plan. Get out of my way." With that, I leaned forward to grab Peter and shoved him into the passenger side of the car. The car swerved again, getting dangerously close to a green SUV. Twisting, I slid into the driver's seat, grabbed the wheel, and made a sharp right in front of the SUV. Glancing up at the rearview mirror, I could see the armored car pressing towards us. A Familiar leaned out from the passenger door, rifle in hand.
"All right, Peter," I said preparing to press down on the accelerator. "Let's see how fast this baby can run." I slammed my foot onto the pedal and the car zoomed forward. The back window shattered as I used my right hand to shove Peter down. The car twisted and turned as I made a left and deftly avoided smashing into the cars up ahead.
"Sorry!" I yelled when Peter's car brushed against another. My eyes widened in horror as the armored car shoved the car I had brushed against out of the way, causing the poor car to flip over and give a sickening crunch. I made another left and plowed straight into the mass of protesters assembling in front of Oak Street. The protesters screamed and hollered as they jumped out of the way, throwing their signs onto the windshield. Gripping the wheel, I rammed into Terminal City's fence, ripping the metal wire in two. I didn't stop driving until I made a right on Oak and drove towards headquarters. When I arrived at the TC headquarters, Max and Alec were stepping out of the building and staring at Peter's destroyed car. Shutting off the ignition, I stepped out of the car and grinned at my younger brother whose eyes moved from the car to me.
"Hey," I began. "I think I've been poisoned." With that, I fell to the ground, darkness overtaking me.