****
WEDNESDAY
Note to self: You really need to stop wishing for stuff to happen, because it never seems to turn out the way you expect or want...
Can't believe it was only 24 hours ago that I was getting excited about solving this puzzle, this mystery we were uncovering. Now, I wish Adam had never read those newspaper reports, never decided it was something we needed to check out – today was chock-full of nasty surprises, and even now it's over there's precious little to cheer about.
This wasn't a matter of good versus evil. There weren't even really any bad guys out there to take on and defeat in the name of right, not unless you count that agent guy Holt and he was out of the picture before we got there. And there were certainly no winners. Because in the end I think we all lost something.
But we waded on in anyway, and two more of us died. Oh yeah, I know, they'd have died even if we hadn't got ourselves involved, probably more violently. I just wouldn't have had to watch it happen, had to share my friends' guilt and anger when they couldn't save them, knowing that what had made these men what they were was nothing more than government greed, with total disregard for their human rights – New Mutant or not.
Then I might be able to sleep better.
The day didn't start out so bad, despite having to drag myself out of the sheets at some God-awful hour - if I had my way, anything before 9 a.m. would be abolished. The only thing that made it better was the thought of Brennan roughing it out there on the mountain in that camper van; those bench seats are a pretty poor substitute for your own bed, especially for someone as big as him. Of course, I didn't realise then how sick Shalimar was getting. If I'd known, I'd have swapped with him in a heartbeat, but instead I went in search of that can-opener – and things pretty much went downhill from there.
Chelton totally wasn't what I expected. Emma was right on the money when she said it wasn't a normal psych wing – getting in was much tougher than anticipated, even though we'd checked the plans thoroughly. We ended up having to go the long way round, and because I wasn't about to risk leaving Em in a wall again I had to put a lot of effort into it - full phase all the way, and even sending her through first each time so I could be sure she was clear before I shut it down. But it was still hard getting myself through some of them and out the other side. Sometimes even brick just doesn't want to let me go, and that final barrier in particular had something else in there that made it like treacle for me. I asked Emma about it later, but she didn't notice anything different. Must just be me, I guess... something else I obviously need to work on.
It was good to see that she hasn't completely forgotten what subtlety means. Ever since she got her new psionic bazooka thing, her first reaction to every difficult situation seems to be to just blast away. But sometimes, like today, all the tricks she used to have to rely on – the little mind games, the playing on peoples' fears and anxieties, making them see and feel what she wants instead of what was real – make more sense, especially when you're trying to get in and out unnoticed. That panic attack she induced today was perfect, no need for anything more, but I think she forgets sometimes that offence isn't everything.
I don't think I'll ever forget that first sight of poor Nathaniel, though, once we found him. It was like something out of an old B horror film, the ones with the stereotypical wacko scientists turning unsuspecting test subjects into incontrollable monsters. Looking at him, bound to the chair like that, and with that tray of horrific looking instruments next to him, I kept expecting to see all those outward signs of whatever they'd done to him – the hair, the protruding brow and jaw, the teeth and nails – to magically reverse themselves and reveal the man beneath, just like in the movies. You know how they do it, in close-up, with those hokey special effects? I could hardly take my eyes off him, sort of mesmerised, waiting for something to happen, to tell me what I was seeing was an illusion.
But this wasn't a movie, and there were no mad scientists involved. Well, not in the classic sense, anyway, though you have to question the sanity of the men who conceived and executed Project 318. What I found in the database we downloaded and brought back with Nathaniel made my blood run cold. It's bad enough they *bought* these guys from Genomex like that, played around with their feral DNA to the extent that they became more animal than man. But if they'd gotten around the adding elemental and molecular genes in there as well, who knows what they might have ended up with. I'm sure they didn't. If they'd known what they were about, instead of just doing a bit of trial and error dabbling into genetic manipulation, they surely would have planned on some better outcome than that.
I didn't think we were going to get Nathaniel out of there alive, let alone get him home, but - although I doubt the poor guy really had a clue where he was or what was going on – he seemed determined to hold out at least long enough to die free. Even so, we had to more or less carry him most of the way – not easy when you also have to worry about holding your breath and phasing a wall or two. But we made it out, and he hung on somehow until we got back to Sanctuary.
It was obvious he was really sick, though, and not just from the bullets they pumped into him. I watched Emma trying to calm him while Adam did his thing, wanting to do something to help but not knowing what. I just couldn't get my head round what had happened to him – still can't, really. You'd think after all we've seen, all we've been through, this would have been just one more sign that what we're doing – working to free mutants like him – is right. But I think this struck too close to home, especially when we found out about the virus that was killing him. A virus with no existing cure, that only affects ferals.
A virus that Nate's good buddy Mike had infected Shalimar with as well.
There was nothing we could do to save Nathaniel. He'd lost too much blood and the infection had taken way too big a hold on his already screwed up physiology. Adam tried, though, kept trying although we all knew it was hopeless, begging him to breathe as if he could somehow bring him back through sheer strength of will. And it was left to me to stop him, get him to let the guy go with at least some dignity after all that he'd been through. Emma seemed too shell-shocked by whatever emotions she'd been fielding from both the dying man and Adam himself; desperation, desolation, denial, despair – it was all there in her face as she stood by and watched me pull him away. I guess she'd also have to have been picking up on my own feelings of sorrow and distress at how things were turning out. And let's not forget the impact of my growing comprehension that what killed him was more than likely going to kill Shal too, given what I'd seen in his blood work – that had to be coming over loud and clear too.
Adam took it badly, worse than I'd expected. I know he feels the loss of every New Mutant deeply, but I think the fact this one had suffered so much more abuse just because of what he was had made Adam more determined to give him his life back. And typically he let his failure drive him to work even harder at finding a way to save the others, so that his death might at least have some meaning.
There was so little time, though. I suppose I'd chosen not to think about Adam's warnings that Shal might only have another day before she turned into a wild animal too – or whatever, because he really couldn't say exactly how the virus would affect her – and then died. But Brennan's call changed all that, and it suddenly became a race just to find her before she went too far, completely lost control.
The flight out there was hell, not helped by the satellite interference that kept us out of contact with them until we were practically on top of them. But I spent the whole journey with my stomach squirming like a pit full of snakes, trying real hard not to imagine her out there in the wilderness, lost, alone, fighting a battle against her own body, her own instincts, that there was no way she could win without our help. I heard Emma doing her best to reassure Adam, telling him what he needed to hear – that she believed the anti-virus he was working so hard on would do the job. But we were all painfully aware that this was a step into the unknown, even for him.
Funny how many of those we seem to be taking these days.
He nearly didn't get the chance to try it out, though. We were only just in time to stop Michael – if there was still anything left of the guy inside what they'd turned him into – finishing Brennan off. And Shal seemed to have slipped way too far down the same track, even to the extent of forgetting that Adam would never kill a New Mutant out of hand, no matter how far their mutation had taken them. Otherwise she'd have understood he was only trying to help Michael, not hurt him, and she might not have interfered. But she did. And I know her well enough to know she's going to be paying the price for a long time.
I wish I could have saved her from having to make that choice. But it all seemed to happen so quickly, and I was kind of held in thrall by sheer disbelief at what I was seeing – Emma too, I think. It took that final gunshot to jolt us out of it, and by then it was too late.
Shal was unconscious most of the way back, which was far less heart-breaking than the delirium that came in between. The virus had already made inroads into her neural pathways and there were no immediate signs she was responding to Adam's treatment, so we all had to share her confused ramblings and screams of pain and anger at being restrained during those periods she was awake. And that didn't make the waiting once we got back here any easier.
Adam wouldn't let any of us see her until he was sure she was stabilising, but none of us wanted to be too far away in case the unthinkable happened. So we were reduced to loitering outside her room, pacing when the tension became too much – which was most of the time as far as Brennan was concerned - though Emma and I seemed to take more comfort from just sitting together quietly while he vented his frustration at how long it was taking, and what felt like every single event that had brought us to that moment. No words were needed from us – and we had none to give anyway, not then. Not while the full implications of what had happened, and what it might mean for the rest of us, were sinking in.
They're still sinking, I think - enough that I need more time to really get things into perspective, sort through this jumble of emotions that I'm feeling right now. But at least we know Shal's through the worst of it, and that's enough for the moment.
****
WEDNESDAY
Note to self: You really need to stop wishing for stuff to happen, because it never seems to turn out the way you expect or want...
Can't believe it was only 24 hours ago that I was getting excited about solving this puzzle, this mystery we were uncovering. Now, I wish Adam had never read those newspaper reports, never decided it was something we needed to check out – today was chock-full of nasty surprises, and even now it's over there's precious little to cheer about.
This wasn't a matter of good versus evil. There weren't even really any bad guys out there to take on and defeat in the name of right, not unless you count that agent guy Holt and he was out of the picture before we got there. And there were certainly no winners. Because in the end I think we all lost something.
But we waded on in anyway, and two more of us died. Oh yeah, I know, they'd have died even if we hadn't got ourselves involved, probably more violently. I just wouldn't have had to watch it happen, had to share my friends' guilt and anger when they couldn't save them, knowing that what had made these men what they were was nothing more than government greed, with total disregard for their human rights – New Mutant or not.
Then I might be able to sleep better.
The day didn't start out so bad, despite having to drag myself out of the sheets at some God-awful hour - if I had my way, anything before 9 a.m. would be abolished. The only thing that made it better was the thought of Brennan roughing it out there on the mountain in that camper van; those bench seats are a pretty poor substitute for your own bed, especially for someone as big as him. Of course, I didn't realise then how sick Shalimar was getting. If I'd known, I'd have swapped with him in a heartbeat, but instead I went in search of that can-opener – and things pretty much went downhill from there.
Chelton totally wasn't what I expected. Emma was right on the money when she said it wasn't a normal psych wing – getting in was much tougher than anticipated, even though we'd checked the plans thoroughly. We ended up having to go the long way round, and because I wasn't about to risk leaving Em in a wall again I had to put a lot of effort into it - full phase all the way, and even sending her through first each time so I could be sure she was clear before I shut it down. But it was still hard getting myself through some of them and out the other side. Sometimes even brick just doesn't want to let me go, and that final barrier in particular had something else in there that made it like treacle for me. I asked Emma about it later, but she didn't notice anything different. Must just be me, I guess... something else I obviously need to work on.
It was good to see that she hasn't completely forgotten what subtlety means. Ever since she got her new psionic bazooka thing, her first reaction to every difficult situation seems to be to just blast away. But sometimes, like today, all the tricks she used to have to rely on – the little mind games, the playing on peoples' fears and anxieties, making them see and feel what she wants instead of what was real – make more sense, especially when you're trying to get in and out unnoticed. That panic attack she induced today was perfect, no need for anything more, but I think she forgets sometimes that offence isn't everything.
I don't think I'll ever forget that first sight of poor Nathaniel, though, once we found him. It was like something out of an old B horror film, the ones with the stereotypical wacko scientists turning unsuspecting test subjects into incontrollable monsters. Looking at him, bound to the chair like that, and with that tray of horrific looking instruments next to him, I kept expecting to see all those outward signs of whatever they'd done to him – the hair, the protruding brow and jaw, the teeth and nails – to magically reverse themselves and reveal the man beneath, just like in the movies. You know how they do it, in close-up, with those hokey special effects? I could hardly take my eyes off him, sort of mesmerised, waiting for something to happen, to tell me what I was seeing was an illusion.
But this wasn't a movie, and there were no mad scientists involved. Well, not in the classic sense, anyway, though you have to question the sanity of the men who conceived and executed Project 318. What I found in the database we downloaded and brought back with Nathaniel made my blood run cold. It's bad enough they *bought* these guys from Genomex like that, played around with their feral DNA to the extent that they became more animal than man. But if they'd gotten around the adding elemental and molecular genes in there as well, who knows what they might have ended up with. I'm sure they didn't. If they'd known what they were about, instead of just doing a bit of trial and error dabbling into genetic manipulation, they surely would have planned on some better outcome than that.
I didn't think we were going to get Nathaniel out of there alive, let alone get him home, but - although I doubt the poor guy really had a clue where he was or what was going on – he seemed determined to hold out at least long enough to die free. Even so, we had to more or less carry him most of the way – not easy when you also have to worry about holding your breath and phasing a wall or two. But we made it out, and he hung on somehow until we got back to Sanctuary.
It was obvious he was really sick, though, and not just from the bullets they pumped into him. I watched Emma trying to calm him while Adam did his thing, wanting to do something to help but not knowing what. I just couldn't get my head round what had happened to him – still can't, really. You'd think after all we've seen, all we've been through, this would have been just one more sign that what we're doing – working to free mutants like him – is right. But I think this struck too close to home, especially when we found out about the virus that was killing him. A virus with no existing cure, that only affects ferals.
A virus that Nate's good buddy Mike had infected Shalimar with as well.
There was nothing we could do to save Nathaniel. He'd lost too much blood and the infection had taken way too big a hold on his already screwed up physiology. Adam tried, though, kept trying although we all knew it was hopeless, begging him to breathe as if he could somehow bring him back through sheer strength of will. And it was left to me to stop him, get him to let the guy go with at least some dignity after all that he'd been through. Emma seemed too shell-shocked by whatever emotions she'd been fielding from both the dying man and Adam himself; desperation, desolation, denial, despair – it was all there in her face as she stood by and watched me pull him away. I guess she'd also have to have been picking up on my own feelings of sorrow and distress at how things were turning out. And let's not forget the impact of my growing comprehension that what killed him was more than likely going to kill Shal too, given what I'd seen in his blood work – that had to be coming over loud and clear too.
Adam took it badly, worse than I'd expected. I know he feels the loss of every New Mutant deeply, but I think the fact this one had suffered so much more abuse just because of what he was had made Adam more determined to give him his life back. And typically he let his failure drive him to work even harder at finding a way to save the others, so that his death might at least have some meaning.
There was so little time, though. I suppose I'd chosen not to think about Adam's warnings that Shal might only have another day before she turned into a wild animal too – or whatever, because he really couldn't say exactly how the virus would affect her – and then died. But Brennan's call changed all that, and it suddenly became a race just to find her before she went too far, completely lost control.
The flight out there was hell, not helped by the satellite interference that kept us out of contact with them until we were practically on top of them. But I spent the whole journey with my stomach squirming like a pit full of snakes, trying real hard not to imagine her out there in the wilderness, lost, alone, fighting a battle against her own body, her own instincts, that there was no way she could win without our help. I heard Emma doing her best to reassure Adam, telling him what he needed to hear – that she believed the anti-virus he was working so hard on would do the job. But we were all painfully aware that this was a step into the unknown, even for him.
Funny how many of those we seem to be taking these days.
He nearly didn't get the chance to try it out, though. We were only just in time to stop Michael – if there was still anything left of the guy inside what they'd turned him into – finishing Brennan off. And Shal seemed to have slipped way too far down the same track, even to the extent of forgetting that Adam would never kill a New Mutant out of hand, no matter how far their mutation had taken them. Otherwise she'd have understood he was only trying to help Michael, not hurt him, and she might not have interfered. But she did. And I know her well enough to know she's going to be paying the price for a long time.
I wish I could have saved her from having to make that choice. But it all seemed to happen so quickly, and I was kind of held in thrall by sheer disbelief at what I was seeing – Emma too, I think. It took that final gunshot to jolt us out of it, and by then it was too late.
Shal was unconscious most of the way back, which was far less heart-breaking than the delirium that came in between. The virus had already made inroads into her neural pathways and there were no immediate signs she was responding to Adam's treatment, so we all had to share her confused ramblings and screams of pain and anger at being restrained during those periods she was awake. And that didn't make the waiting once we got back here any easier.
Adam wouldn't let any of us see her until he was sure she was stabilising, but none of us wanted to be too far away in case the unthinkable happened. So we were reduced to loitering outside her room, pacing when the tension became too much – which was most of the time as far as Brennan was concerned - though Emma and I seemed to take more comfort from just sitting together quietly while he vented his frustration at how long it was taking, and what felt like every single event that had brought us to that moment. No words were needed from us – and we had none to give anyway, not then. Not while the full implications of what had happened, and what it might mean for the rest of us, were sinking in.
They're still sinking, I think - enough that I need more time to really get things into perspective, sort through this jumble of emotions that I'm feeling right now. But at least we know Shal's through the worst of it, and that's enough for the moment.
****