Part Seven
The Price
Blades dancing, keening the air with razor edges, the helicopter settled. Thick clouds of
dust were heaved upwards by it's breath. Like a living thing, it grumbled as it's landing struts
bumped down. Rotors slowed. The tail quivered. On either side, mounted to insignificant wings,
twin Gatling guns glinted with reflected light. At the center of a vast sand plain, the landing pad
seemed a nest, lacking only the bleached bones of past victims.
The machine drew to a silent stillness so complete, those watching from hidden security
barracks wondered briefly if it were truly real or just a mirage. Heat shimmers made them more
uncertain. Desert tricks fooled the wise and the laughable with equal ease.
When a side hatch slid open and the man in black stepped out, all doubt vanished. No
mirage could have carried him. Save perhaps one born from hell.
He stood, eyes grown weary from travel and lips pursed as he surveyed the area. Nothing
caught his attention, though he knew where every secret lay waiting. All seemed perfectly
natural. A man of infinite desert knowledge might have seen through the carefully crafted illusion,
but such people were few and far between.
He smiled and turned back, reaching out to take the hand of his pilot at the exact instant it
was offered. "The hour, my Lena, is it as late as I believe?"
Firmly grasping his hand, she smiled, ever so faintly. Her Feral genetics made such
expressions rarer than they might have been. "Yes, Mr. Sheckt. The Scorched Earth protocols
have by now initiated. The Frost Lake facility should be fully cauterized within ten minutes of
initial blasts." She stepped down from the helicopter, carefully setting her heavy booted feet on
the landing pad, as graceful as any other charmed serpent.
"Shame we couldn't stay to watch." He spoke with a coolness of tone that belied his true
disappointment. "Yes, a pity."
"You're too important to risk on such things. We need you, especially now. With our
enemies gone, along with all those who might have sought to reclaim power, the world is ripe for
your vision to reshape it." Lena Isley spoke gently, dully, her words carrying subtle emotion.
Only when she met his eyes, did some hint of her affection come into her speech. "The games
have only just begun, my leader."
Touching her face softly, his smile was slow in appearing but honest. "I was lost before
you. My goals were but the echos of my fractured memory. Without your help, my attentions
might never have fallen on Adam Kane." He leaned close. His lips brushed hers. The biting
desert night lost it's chill cruelty. "With Mutant X out of the way, and your own betrayers gone
to dust, we can focus at last. . . upon the future."
Lena bowed her head very faintly, not sure if she wanted him to see in her eyes the
glimmer of happiness he'd sparked. "I lost friends because some at the GSA were too weak to
honor their loyalties. That can't compare to what Adam robbed you of."
At her words, he nodded, acknowledging that truth but then asking, "yet, it tasted sweet
did it not, the revenge I wrought on your behalf? My assassinations of Dr. Kenneth Harrison and
that traitorous agent Morgan Fortier under Ashlocke's nose?" There was no mistaking her shiver
of pleasure at the mere memory of it. Their eyes met again as sandy winds billowed all around.
Though his smile was slight, the trace blush of skin and glint of eye were proof of affection deep.
He turned from her reluctantly and gestured.
In response, a man rose from under a carefully concealed entrance. He wore a uniform
similar to, but vastly different from, that which adorned members of the United States Army. He
held a heavy leather tarpaulin over his head, despite its great weight, unconcerned by the drifts of
sand that fell over him. "This way sir." The man said.
Touching Lena's face, he turned toward the entrance. A shiver ran through the core of his
being. Night had descended, bringing an icy unwelcome tranquility. "Come, we must get out of
this dreadful cold. No fun to achieve victory only to freeze to death in a desert."
"It would, however, be a disturbingly humorous way to go. At the least, the irony would
be perfect." Lena whispered as she followed him.
Once inside, the man lowered the covering and proceeded to use a small hand vac to clear
away all traces of sand. Some drifted steadily deeper into the hidden base. The hallway
extended as far as could be seen, slowly curving downward. Silvery metal gleamed everywhere.
A control panel with a speaker was mounted on a wall near the door.
Inside, the air tasted wrong. It was recycled but held the faintest trace of staleness, a
musky taint that could not be completely erased. Carefully placed and aesthetically designed air
ducts hummed as they blew gentle gusts into the hallway.
A black sign read "No Surrender: Death First."
Everything inside the base was warm. Not unpleasantly so, just enough to cut the chill
from the bones and leave new arrivals feeling welcome. Standing close to her leader's side, Lena
still shivered. Reptilian DNA ensured she was strong, fast, able to climb walls, spray venom and
in possession of a second pair of eyelids; it did not help her keep warm. Especially not now,
when her mutation had grown stronger, turning her blood slightly cool.
Sensing the lingering discomfort, he placed an arm across her shoulders. He said not a
word, yet she began walking with him, matching stride for stride, without even thinking. They
moved deeper. The corridor twisted in on itself.
Into the spiral of descent, they tossed no words, their lips seemingly sealed.
They reached a flat level area after walking for some time. Two men with Ingram machine
pistols strapped to their belts stood guard with M16's in hand. Their eyes were dead like those
of piranha fish. A third man sat at a metal desk welded to the floor's metal plates. He wore a
uniform of desert camouflage, saffron helmet, and an Ingram in a holster. Two 9mm Glock
handguns peaked out of a piratical bandolier that crisscrossed his chest.
The man at the desk held out his hand while the other two aimed their weapons. "Papers."
He commanded roughly.
Lena carefully withdrew her identification card and a mission order slip from her clothes.
Unlike this man, she wore a plain flight vest over an ordinary red dress. She glanced sideways at
her leader, a ghost's smirk on her lips.
After studying the card and orders for a few moments, the guard rose from his desk and
handed them back. He bowed his head. "Forgive my abruptness, Mr. Sheckt, Ms. Isley, but we
must be careful."
"You do not wish to verify my identity?"
The guard jerked at the question. "No, no, no sir! How could anyone dare to try to
impersonate you? Outside of this base, only Duncan Ladd knew your face. You're appearance
here would seem to indicate that he is no longer of any concern." The man saluted. "Welcome
back to Haven sir."
He nodded toward the man and proceeded past the checkpoint. Out of earshot, he turned
to Lena. "He is to be reminded of our many enemies and their talents for doing impossible things.
One can't win the game if one doesn't anticipate every move and countermove. Even with dear
Mutant X's demise, we still tread a razor's edge."
"Some might even say we dance upon that edge." Lena said, turning with her leader
down a corridor. A glance toward him did not seem to show a man who'd just won a major
victory. "Mr. Sheckt, is something wrong? You've been unusually edgy tonight."
He glanced at her for a moment, briefly finding his mind curiously blank, much as his dear
associate's was after encountering Marc Griffin, a new mutant with eyes that stole memories.
Rather than being surprised by this, he merely sighed and concentrated until his thoughts
reformed. Recollection came quickly, for which he was thankful.
"I have begun to reconsider my actions. Trusting in such a labyrinthian plot to destroy
Adam Kane and his band of merry mutants. . . I worry. Had I fired the fatal shots or denoted the
bombs in person, perhaps I would not now be plagued by self-doubt. But what is, is."
"You've won."
He stopped. A door at his right opened and a doctor stepped out. "Right this way sir,
we've prepared the serum." He followed with Lena at his side, her eyes still upon him.
"You have won, Mr. Sheckt. It is over. Mutant X was locked in a cell, afflicted with
subdermal governors, a firing squad should have killed them before the bombs but, even if they
managed to escape that cell, the base was sealed. They would have had to find a way to remove
their governors, reach an outer wall, then use Kilmartin's powers for an escape." She shook her
head, "I highly doubt even they could have managed such a feat without help from the inside." A
dark smile brightened her face. "At least, not before the bombs got them."
He was comforted by her words but had no time to fully consider them.
The exam was beginning.
He sat upon a typical hospital bed and held out an arm. The doctor rolled up his sleeve
and strapped a pressure cuff above his elbow. Five hard presses later, a nurse began swabbing a
putrid orange substance over a vein; iodine to ward off infection. "We'll need to draw a blood
sample first. Nothing to be alarmed about of course, just a routine thing." The doctor retrieved a
mechanism from a nearby table that resembled slightly the devices used at blood drives. "Now,
this shouldn't hurt much."
He plunged the hollow needle into his patient's vein rather painfully and drew five vials of
sanguine wine. "There now, not too bad, eh sir? Renee, bring me a hypodermic, please." The
nurse opened a cabinet as another of her kind took the vampire device and test tubes. A glass
bottle rested in front of the doctor. Once he had a needle in hand, he drew seventy-five CC of
the fluid within and quickly injected it into his patient.
"That's all for now sir. I'll make sure to have the test results on your desk by tomorrow,
along with my report on the new subdermal governor my people have been working on. The new
device will be much more effective against unstable new mutants." The doctor cleaned his
leader's arm roughly, washing away all traces of the orange iodine. "Any symptoms I should
know of? Anxiety, depression, perhaps headaches? Confusion or disorientation?"
For a moment, he considered. There had been many concerns and some vague feelings of
moroseness. Brief moments of forgetfulness. Symptomatic or merely part of his job?
He shook his head. "None. My health is excellent." He rose and walked out of the
infirmary with Lena right on his heels. Long after they'd fallen out of earshot, he turned to her.
"That man has the bedside manner of Attila the Hun. Minus the good looks."
She broke into a rare broad smile and chuckled softly, matching her leader's stride step for
step. "Guevara does carry on. His sister, I'm told, inherited both the looks and temperament of
a real doctor. It is quite a shame she's not working for us."
"Perhaps we will recruit her one day."
"Maybe. She fell off the radar a few years back. My sources have her working for a
computer software company, but what need would they have for a medical doctor, even if her
skills match those of her brother." She favored him with as gentle and sweet a smile as a reptilian
Feral was ever likely to wear. "I could try to find out more. You know I'd do anything for you."
He smiled. "Yes. That is the one thing I am certain of."
Lena reached out and touched his arm. "It will be alright sir. You've won, you beat Adam
Kane and Mutant X. You, Aaron M. Sheckt, did something that no one, not even Mason
Eckhart, ever came close to doing." She sighed gently. In a musing tone, she said "I wonder if
he knows that they've been destroyed. Eckhart, I mean"
"Oh, I imagine so." Drawing near, he enfolded her in his arms. "He knows."
She twirled her fingers in his long dusky hair, her eyes alive with a mischievous darkness.
"I suppose he does indeed."
They laughed together, very softly.
Masters and victors of the game, unaware that half a dozen pieces were still in play.
*************************************************************************
Frost Lake base lay in ashen ruins. Chunks of wall and jagged shards of machine pointed
up at the sky, like the remains of ancient cities lost to benevolent gods. Flames rose high, licking
what had not yet been completely devastated, encouraging cremation for the carcass of a once
proud military base. The moon had risen to shine cold light downward, bathing all with it's
lifeless beauty and empty simplicity.
Close to a quarter ton of explosives had detonated, acting just as Aaron Sheckt had
wanted, leaving death and debris in the wake. His final movement, in what had seemed to his
coldly twisted mind a chess game, was now made and unretractable.
Beneath the watchful eye of night, smoldering fires began to grow.
Trickles of blood slid out from a crumpled barracks' compacted frame.
Hungry predators drew near, smelling death, holding back from the smoke.
And Jesse Kilmartin let his breath out, becoming a tangible citizen once more. He seemed
dazed, trembling where he stood before collapsing, legs giving out as terrible revelation overran
his every thought to drive him to the edge of sanity.
"They're all dead."
*************************************************************************
Inside the CIA building in Langley, Virginia, through a plain black oak door, several small
and nondescript offices were nestled between much larger conference rooms. In one particular
suite, resting upon the only desk present, a simple metal nameplate embossed with "Director of
Counter-Para-Terrorism" seemed remarkable only for it's uncomfortable wordiness. A half
dozen manila folders with black thumb tabs lay beside an ancient, four-year-old computer,
waiting in an IN box. Steam rose from the coffee mug perched precariously on top. On the
walls surrounding were portraits, two in total for both American President and CIA Director.
"Irene? Have been able to reach Adam?" The woman sitting at the desk, quietly reading
over the latest situation reports of new mutant and related terrorist activities, asked as she tapped
out a request on her keyboard by a solitary finger hunt and peck.
From somewhere else in the section of offices devoted to the Counter-Para-Terrorism
division, CPT for short, came a reply. "Not yet Director Bergl. Doctor Kane hasn't answered
any of our calls. Maybe he's out saving the world already."
"That would make our jobs a lot easier, wouldn't it? Keep trying Irene."
"Yes, ma'am."
CPT Director Christina Bergl closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair for a moment,
waiting for the old computer to finish going through roughly twelve thousand files. She'd almost
finished compiling a federal database of new mutants, one that threatened to grow considerably if
her suspicions regarding covert Genomex projects proved accurate, when news of Gabriel
Ashlocke's latest activities arrived.
The Department of Justice had already been working on a case, with her division's help, to
put Dr. David Clark behind bars for his part in selling terrorists a genetically programmable virus.
Now, she was busy trying to find out why Ashlocke had wanted him and why he'd killed him.
So far, her intelligence was unpleasantly sketchy. Her division lacked resources. The morons in
Congress refused to listen to the President's warnings about new mutant terror. Some had taken
to calling her department "Freak Wars."
Christina wasn't pleased by that nom de guerre nor by the asinine giggles that came from
opposition forces when they used it. There were days she wished to return to her previous lower
position in intelligence. If the current political environment remained, it was all too likely she'd
get that half-hearted wish.
An unsettling thought, given the breadth of potential threats she'd uncovered.
The computer chirruped and made a sound like a dyspeptic horse. Crinkling her nose,
Christina turned her attention to the screen. Her eyes roved over the information displayed as her
face lost all traces of peaceful happiness. "Irene, get in here. Now."
"Director Bergl?" Irene Saunders appeared with a lofty stack of new reports in hand, the
weight of them almost making the very petite, dishwater blonde too unbalanced to stand. She set
them down immediately in an empty spot on Christina's desk. Blowing out a whistling breath in
relief, she quickly straightened and tried to look professional. "Yes, ma'am?"
"We have a problem. Do you remember the old Genomex facility, the one that housed our
predecessor, the Genetic Security Agency?" She waited for a nod before continuing.
"According to Agent Smythe, there's evidence to suggest that someone infiltrated the facility after
our last security sweep. Along with Mason Eckhart, there were twenty-seven new mutants still in
stasis pods. Smythe's count came up short by four. Also, he's asked to run a gene signature scan
on several of the bodies."
"Why exactly does he want to do that?" Irene asked quietly, already darkly intrigued by
the conversation. Lately, her boss had been hinting at sending her back into the field. Given the
results of her previous mission, Irene was desperately hoping it wasn't all a big joke.
Christina sipped her coffee. "Agent Smythe is convinced that several of the bodies in
storage aren't the same ones he checked last time." For a few moments, she seemed calm.
Then, without warning, Director Bergl brought down her fist upon the desk, causing papers to
jump along with Irene.
"Damn those fools. If we had the funding we could have monitored Genomex completely.
God help us all if Barry Stirling got out and decides to play havoc with the stock market again or
how about Anderson Luster? Do you remember that nightmare? He was the only one Eckhart
ever threw in that I never felt an ounce of sympathy for." Shaking her head with frustration, she
pointed at the screen. "Irene, I want you to join Smythe. Work with him, check this out. I want
to know who's missing and who's still there. Can I trust you not to screw up again?"
For a moment, Irene couldn't speak. She was speechless with delight.
Joy gave way for anger as her boss's words fully registered. Her jubilant face collapsed
into a stunned grimace. "I didn't. . . madam Director, what happened with David Sark and
Kendra Makovoy wasn't my fault. Agent Pierce, he. . . he. . . well, you read my report."
"Yes, I did." A long and dark pause descended before she finished. "Your report and
your's alone, seeing as how Agent Pierce was unavailable for comment."
"I didn't kill him."
The lines of Christina's face grew deeper with anger. "You didn't pull the trigger, no.
That honor goes to David Sark. However, it was your decision to save the life of Kendra
Makovoy, a former GSA operative, instead of backing up a fellow CIA agent. Your choice cost
a man his life, a woman her husband of seven years, and three children their father." She let
silence reign; let Irene wallow in remorse. "I understand why you did what you did. Personally, I
can't say I wouldn't have done the same. Still, it wasn't by the book and Pierce died because of
that. His death is the reason you're in this office instead of out in the field."
Irene drew a deep breath. Her regret was deeper still. "Agent Pierce was a fine officer of
the CIA. No one here feels worse about his death than I do. But, in my defense, Ms. Makovoy's
testimony and her efforts to assist our operations to uncover hidden Genomex projects have
proven invaluable. It might have taken several lifetimes otherwise."
"Damn it, don't you think I know that?" Christina thundered, her hands shaking with a
mix of angry frustration and persistent pity. "You're a good field agent. Had the decision been
mine, I wouldn't have removed you from active duty. Regardless, you still made a mistake. It was
a mater of doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that
your actions cost Agent Pierce his life. I don't care if he was a bigoted bastard or that he was
unnecessarily rough when apprehending Kendra Makovoy."
Irene's mouth dropped open.
"Unnecessarily rough? He almost killed her!"
Christina sighed. She rubbed her head and wished for aspirin.
"She wasn't an angel, Irene. It's hard to feel sympathy for a woman who worked willingly
for Mason Eckhart." A cold sneer crept upon her face. "She even admits to having had a crush
on him. How could anyone have a crush on that madman?"
Shaking her head, she finished the last of her coffee, sipping at the dregs. "None of this
really matters now anyway. You're time in secretary land is up, effective five minutes ago. I want
you to report directly to the motor pool. Take a car, head to the Genomex facility and meet with
Smythe. I want a full report regarding those stasis pods ASAP."
With little more than a fleeting backwards glance, Irene Saunders left the office and went
to prove herself. Alone now, Christina laid down her head upon her folded arms. A dozen
different emotions were all fluttering about inside. Worry about Adam and his continued radio
silence, anger over the funding problem, and now sadness as thoughts of Agent Brandon Pierce
came to mind. It was enough to make her long again for the simple life of a lower agent.
The computer wheezed and a static filled voice came over the speakers. "Director Bergl,
this is Terence Wynter. I have some information for you."
Reaching over and pressing a single key without moving her head was easier than
Christina thought it would be. "What is it Terence?" She asked in a muffled voice, her face
pressed against her crossed arms.
"The Echelon monitoring system picked up on a lead. I was told to contact your division.
Total red flag and rockets red glare kinda moment here."
She looked up. "What was the lead?"
"Uh, hold on." Although the audio was still very scratchy, not to mention hollow sounding,
Christina could make out page rustling noises in the background. She smiled thinly, thinking of
Terence sitting at his cluttered desk, shuffling through post-mission reports, men's magazines, and
the remains of countless fast food lunches, brow appropriately furrowed. "Ah, yeah, here it is.
Sorry about that brief delay. I had the wrong file in front of me. Echelon picked up the name
Aaron Sheckt on a communication sent a few minutes ago."
"Tell me there was a trace."
"Better than that. Talkers used an address. Evidently, this Sheckt character has a base out
by Frost Lake. I had a few of my boys check the voices and the fact. The call was placed by a
known associate to a very unknown third party. Standard satellite bounce with extra bells and
whistles. We couldn't trace a damn thing, not that we didn't try, but we do have confirmation of
an abandoned military base right next to, yes you guessed right, Frost Lake USA."
He quickly gave her the exact coordinates in longitude and latitude, casually remarking
that the lake was some distance from a city. The same city, Christina thought anxiously, that
Adam Kane and Mutant X operated near.
"Thanks for the call. I'll send a team out there."
"Anytime Director, anytime. Just doing my part for the red, the white, and even the Blue
Man Group!"
"Very clever." Christina disconnected the call before Terence tried to chat her up any
further. Much as she admired the man's talents with any and all things electronic, he was
beginning to annoy her with his constant attempts to get a date. Some were more subtle than
others, but his overall approach of being witty but wordy was not earning him many points. "Got
to give the man an A for effort though."
She raised her head and shoved back a swath of black hair that had fallen over her face.
The day hadn't begun well, but maybe her luck was changing. She reached out and dialed a
number. It rang thrice before a groggy voice answered.
"Hullo? Huh?"
Had it not been for the soundproofing around her office, everyone in Langley would have
been treated to the sound of a very frustrated woman screaming. "Agent Vince Beckley Jr. were
you sleeping on duty again?"
"Director Bergl? Huh, oh yeah, sorry. I have an infant son, I kinda have to take it where I
can find it, you know? Give me a break, Haladki's got my back." He said through a yawn.
"What's the situation. You know me, I'm ready in a blink."
She was tempted to task someone else for the job but reluctantly gave Agent Beckley the
details of what she'd just learned. "Frost Lake military base. Get there pronto with as many
troops as you can put together. We may have just found Aaron Sheckt's operational base."
*************************************************************************
Jesse's initial shock wore off as he stood alone in the same hallway where he and
Katherine had been fighting Sheckt's security forces. Just a few seconds ago, he'd drawn a deep
breath and become intangible to let her gun down the last of their attackers by firing through his
body. Then, in the instant before he would have taken a breath, an enormous explosion had
rocked the base. Fire had plumed from deep in the hallway and blown through him.
He was alive only because he'd been too shocked to breath.
Desperately, he swung around and started searching the rubble for Katherine. Even as he
began shifting through fragments of plaster ceiling, heaving away shattered wooden roof beams,
Jesse suspected it was hopeless. The hallway where they'd been fighting was nothing. It had
been annihilated.
Thoughts of his friends and teammates, visions of their dead and crushed bodies, spurred
him to faster action.
'Please,' he begged silently in his thoughts. 'God, please, don't let me be the only one
left. Don't let them be dead. Not now, not when Adam and Emma have just found each other,
not when Shalimar and Brennan still haven't admitted how much they love each other.'
His hands shoved away a tangled mass of wires and glass that had once been a light
fixture. A fragment of wall was tossed back next. Countless particles of dust and ash were
shoveled away.
'We just saved Charlotte's life, damn it, she can't be dead!'
Jesse was breathing so fast he verged on hyperventilation, his head growing sleepy as his
vision turned cloudy. No slowing. Every second counted. He kept moving, hoping, digging.
'I won't give up. I won't, I won't, I won't! They're alive! I'll find them! I'll—.'
He stopped. He'd found Katherine's pistol, still clutched in her hand.
A hand caked in blood.
*************************************************************************
The Jacob's Memorial Hospital fire was all the city was talking about. For over an hour,
people had watched, some rendered breathlessly hopeful, others morbidly enticed, by the human
struggle taking place. Reporting the fire, after anchoring many hours of general news beforehand,
left Eve Frost little time for a life this night. She'd given her capable taxi driver her cell phone
number, a knee weakening smile, then graciously accepted a ride home.
Now, she lay sprawled on her couch, one arm against her chest, the other dangling over
the side, legs crossed at the mid thigh, wearing lace and silk and little of both.
The apartment she kept for her own was surprisingly spare. It lacked much in the way of
knickknacks, bric-a-brac, or assorted whatnots. There were only three rooms, not considering a
puny bathroom, four if one counted the balcony off the bedroom, and none of them were quite
spacious. The kitchen doubled as a dinning area, sleek with silvery metal lines. The living area
held a long couch built to accommodate three, two leather chairs, a battered coffee table with a
picture frame perched on it's surface, and two enormous bookshelves against one wall. The
bedroom was the largest of all, but only if you factored in the balcony. It held a vanity, a closet
with pre-assembled outfits, complete with accessories, but only two extra pairs of shoes. Of all
Eve's furnishings, only her bed was remarkable. It was an antique four-poster complete with bed
curtains, a magnificently carved headboard, and satin sheets that made her skin sigh sensuously.
Had she felt like sleeping, the bed would have been her choice. Resting on the couch in
barely-there underwear was more of a pre-sleep activity. She needed to wind down a little. She
felt as if the day had begun months ago rather than starting mere hours before. So much had
happened, she'd spoken of tragedy and triumph and mysteries.
Eve turned her head toward the large screen of her television, pondering briefly if the effort
required to find the remote was worth it.
"No," she muttered to herself, "I've had enough of the world for one day."
Lying quietly, her mind played back the things she'd seen and brought to the world's
attention. As there were few distractions in her Spartan apartment, Eve could concentrate on
everything with great clarity of reason. She'd told the public about the murder of a prominent, if
prejudiced, scientist and the mystery man allegedly responsible. She'd brought the massacre of
several college students, plus two police officers, before the city's citizens. And she'd been at the
inferno. There were other stories she'd told today, however, that had left her uneasy.
Something about the bizarre reports of precognition gnawed at her brain. She kept recalling
the Proxy Blue stories from a year ago, fantasies about rouge government agencies rounding up
freaks of nature. Then, it had seemed pure fiction.
Now, Eve could easily close her eyes and imagine that it was all real. She'd wanted,
pleaded, for an opportunity to return to the investigative journalism roots that had brought her up
from a nameless highschool paper. This "Cassandra Effect" as a popular scientist termed it
seemed the perfect place to start revisiting the uncanny. Could it be explained by the existence of
"mutants" or was there a rational, boring answer?
Eve turned over so that the gentle stream of air-conditioned wind could trace the lines of
her slight shoulders and tight buttocks rather than her petite bosom and toned tummy. Her hair,
wheat blonde streaked seamlessly with natural auburn, fell in gentle curls around her face. Eyes
shut, she could have imagined a man's fingers massaging the day's woes out of her muscles, but
lonely reality couldn't be ignored. Still, Eve lingered in her new position, thinking.
Proxy Blue had gone silent months back. Perhaps, just perhaps, it had been telling some
of the truth. If the computer generated Mulder spewing paranoid mysteries had been even
remotely on to something, she wanted the story. More than any other before it, this one was
important. To be the one to hunt it, track it, stalk it, trap it, and force it into the open. . . Eve
could think of nothing she'd rather do. The idea that there were humans outside in her city,
people with strange and wondrous powers, nipped at the child within that once dreamed of
unicorns and a handsome prince on a white horse.
Plus, it was a hell of a better way of explaining the weird premonitions than coincidence.
"Like anything that freaky and widespread could be coincidence. Statistically improbable
and too boring for the news." She rolled back over and stretched, arching her back slightly as
she did. "Note to self, check with all sources regarding the old Proxy Blue reports. And, Evie,
sweetheart, remember not to scream at your cameramen just because they put you in a bad light
during a fire. Their lives suck more than yours."
As she started to sit up, her cell rang, chiming a lullaby tune her mother had written. Eve
leaned over the back of the couch and snatched the phone from her purse. "Hello?"
"Hi. Um, I don't know if you recognize my voice."
The softest grin formed on Eve's face. "The handsome cab driver." She lay back. "Tell
me, what's a nice guy like you calling a girl like me for?"
He sighed. "This is going to sound like a line, but I can't stop thinking about you. There's
just something about you." There was nervousness in his voice and a reluctance to speak. Eve
sat up straighter, hearing the serious tone to his words. "I just. . . well, I. . . are you really for
real. You know, about dinner and everything."
She smiled, very gently. "Yeah. I always keep my word and I never give it unless I'm very
serious about it. Maybe there's something about you too." An impulse made her lean forward
seductively, though he could not see her. "So my pretty face is stuck in your head huh? Would
you like more than that to think about?"
"Um. What exactly does that mean?"
Eve grinned, her expression at once sensual and extremely sweet. "Let me tell you what
I'm wearing right now," she said, her fingers fiddling with the lace hem of her panties. The
faintest blush tinged her cheeks. "Or, rather, not wearing."
There was total silence on the other line.
"Hey? You still there?" She asked when he didn't answer, feeling suddenly foolish.
A moment later, the taxi driver spoke, sounding like he was blushing too, though far brighter
than Eve. "I'm not sure I could take that. I've got a weak heart." Even over the phone, she
could hear him smiling warmly with desire. "At least, I seem to where you're concerned."
"Flattery will get you anything you want."
"You don't even know my name." He whispered, barely audible over the static hiss.
Eve laid back on the couch. "Yes I do my handsome taxi driver." She chuckled softly,
then said "You're name's John Martin. You're ID's plastered to the back of the seat in your
cab."
After that, they said their slow goodbyes, leaving Eve alone. Her eyes fell on the picture
frame sitting on her coffee table. "My friends, I wonder where you are right now."
There were three girls, arms around each other, enormous grins plastered across their
faces. The middle lovely was Eve. On the right, a girl with glasses and white blonde hair in a
fashionable bun, to the left, rolling her eyes, a brunette leaning her head against Eve's shoulder.
Beneath the picture, a caption in tiny print, with hearts at either end.
[Best Friends: Tessa McCarthy, Evelyn "Eve" Frost, Emma DeLauro]
*************************************************************************
Flickering lights.
Dancing lights.
Pretty lights.
'Fireflies?' The thought formed groggily in Shalimar's mind. Her vision was blurred and
seemed to swim in and out of focus, as if her eyes were controlled by a broken dimmer switch.
Colors seemed dull, yet very sharp. She hurt terribly.
Sparks burst over head, more of the flickering-dancing-pretty lights. Fireflies frolicking.
Memory cut into reality, a day long past spent playing in a field of wild flowers, playing till the
late sun began to dip away. She was seven, dressed pretty. Blue skirt, pink blouse, red ribbons
circling innocent blonde ringlet curls. Her mother loved to curl that hair; her father loved to
watch her dance and play.
Shalimar in memory was laughing and chasing fireflies.
Her father stood away from her, watching, the biggest grin on his face. Nearby, a man in
a light brown suit, briefcase clutched by his side. Genomex insignia stenciled into the case, the
word, (no, the surname) Falcon below it. Father was saying "you see what you've done for me?
She's healthy and happy again. Thank God for Genomex. I swear, if there's ever anything I can
do for Mr. Eckhart, you tell him that Nicholas Fox owes him a favor."
Even then, before she knew anything about the nightmares that would come and the sins
of Mason Eckhart, a small girl had a bad feeling when she heard her daddy say that. Brown suit
man wasn't nice.
"Shalimar?"
She shook her head. It hurt. It helped. Her vision cleared and her thoughts returned to
the present. They'd been outside the infirmary, Devon was about to open the door, then. . . there
had been an explosion, she'd been knocked out. Her last memory before now: thinking 'I can't
die yet, I never told Brennan.'
She looked up and he was kneeling over her, one hand pressed gently to her forehead,
almost as if he were checking for a fever. "Hey. Welcome back. You gave us a real scare for a
bit there. Can you do something for me Shal? I need you to squeeze my hand. See, I'm holding
your right hand and I need you to squeeze real tight." Brennan's eyes were large and soft and
brown, filled with a heartwarming concern and outright joy that she'd woken up.
"Am I hurt?" The question sounded so silly to her ears that Shalimar giggled. "Boy, that
was a stupid thing to say. Better to ask if any part of me isn't hurt." She gripped Brennan's hand
as tightly as she could, showing him that she was fine.
When she started to sit up, he gently pressed her back down. "Whoa, hold on. Move
slow. You've been out for a few minutes."
A genuine sweet smile formed on Shalimar's lips. "And here I thought you were the one
who needed help."
"I told you guys before, I'm fine. This is only, what, the third time I've been blown up
today? Or did I miscount?" He grinned back at her and tucked a loose strand of her blonde hair
back behind her ear. "I'll help you up. Just put your weight on me and if you feel dizzy, tell me.
Okay?" When she nodded, he lent her his arm and, with a subdued grunt, practically lifted
Shalimar from the floor by himself.
Standing, she suddenly became aware of the incredible devastation all around them. She
also realized that they were standing in the middle of an enormous crater, surrounded on all sides
by fragmented pieces of the building and glittery metallic debris that she only belated realized
were what little remained of various medical devices.
Adam and Emma were standing off to one side, just holding each other. Her head was
resting on his shoulder, his hand was cradling her body against his, palm in the small of her back.
He was whispering something to her, words that made a faint smile blossom. Then he leaned
down and ever so gently kissed the back of her head. He held her tighter. They looked so
terribly happy together.
It made Shalimar feel sick. When Adam had told her, she'd been angry and hurt and didn't
know why. Now she understood. He was the closet thing she had to a father since her own had
betrayed her, locking her in a psychiatric ward around birthday number twelve.
Happy birthday kiddo! Your first gift is mutant Feral powers! Gift number two is an all
expenses paid trip to hell on earth! Aren't you just the luckiest, prettiest little darling?
He was like a father. Emma was her best friend. It felt like a betrayal, perhaps even more
so for the fact that they'd pretended it wasn't happening; they'd lied by omission.
Shalimar understood her anger. She just couldn't make it go away.
"You okay?" Brennan asked, his arm around her, braced to catch her if she started to
slide faint to the floor.
Shalimar didn't answer.
Maybe she didn't have an answer.
From a place near a crushed air duct, Charlotte Cooke muttered. "I'm just fine. No,
please, stop worrying over me. It's just a scratch." All eyes turned to her, and in turning to her,
they also fell upon the deep gash in her leg. A shard of metal from the infirmary door had impaled
her mid thigh. "Heat cauterized it, I think. I'm not bleeding anymore. Not that any of you would
have noticed if I were."
She tried to pull herself up and actually managed it after hissing in excruciating and
previously unimaginable agony. After she'd unclenched her teeth, she glanced around the semi
dark pit they'd fallen into. "Where's that Bowden guy?"
The words were barely out of her mouth before something wet and red splattered onto the
ground in front of her. Blood dripping from a hand stretched over the edge of the pit.
In the hallway, Jesse had uncovered Katherine Bowden. He thought she was breathing.
Thought. He couldn't be sure. There might have been a pulse; again, just not certain. There was
a lot of blood though. Her clothes weren't soaked in it, but there were dark spots where pieces
of rubble had pierced flesh and torn deep. Only a few places bled freely; the rest were clotted
with dust and ash. Jesse took the continued bleeding as both good and bad.
Good, because it meant her heart was still beating.
Bad, because it meant she was dying.
He carefully lifted her damaged body into his arms and started walking toward where the
infirmary had been, where Adam and the others were taking Brennan to check him out.
Balancing her carefully, he had taken only a few steps when he heard something, a sound that
was becoming very familiar to him as the day wore on. Jesse turned around, knowing that
someone had a gun on him and that he was not going to get out of this without Lady Luck, God,
and anyone else who felt like lending a hand.
"Slowly, Kilmartin. Move it slow or I'm going to have to kill you where you stand."
That voice was vaguely familiar. It was cold, emotionless. Yet, there was a tone to it,
something that called to mind a character from a book Jesse had read, the voice of night itself.
He felt sweat and shock pour out of him in equal portions.
He turned slowly and, standing calmly with pistol in hand and twisted smile on face, was
Duncan Ladd. His attire included a bullet hole riddled shirt, darkly stained, and a vest of combat
webbing with extra clips and grenades nestled safely.
"That's right you son of a bitch. I'm back from the dead." His eyes flared with insanity
and a rage that turned Jesse's stomach. "And you don't look very happy to see me. You don't
look happy at all. And do you know what happens to people who lose those special happy
thoughts?" The madman grinned. "Simon, dearest of all my friends, give him a hint."
Jesse froze as the barrel of a pistol was pressed to the back of his head.
Behind him, another dead man grinned. His name was Simon. Jesse had seen his lifeless
corpse at the safe house, a daisy-pusher before they'd rescued Charlotte. Yet, he was here.
'I'm in hell,' Jesse thought, stunned horror filling him. 'I'm in hell.'
"We're talking to you." Simon snarled, jabbing his weapon so hard into the back of
Jesse's head that he nearly dropped Katherine. "My friend asked you a question. You're losing
your happy thoughts, losing them good and fast. So tell us, Mr. Mutant X Man, tell us what
happens when those pretty fairytales are dead as dust in your mouth?" Another sharp jab, this
time done so that the triangle of metal at the barrel's end, the sight, tore into Jesse's scalp,
drawing blood.
Duncan stepped forward and grabbed Katherine's body from Jesse's arms.
Without hesitation, he threw her like a child's rag doll.
She collapsed in a seemingly lifeless heap on the floor.
"When the veil of lies your mother told you about good beating evil, your happy thoughts,
are gone, you see truth." Duncan raised his pistol so that it was set between Jesse's eyes. "You
wake up in hell."
*************************************************************************
Kelly Rice had fallen asleep guarding Gabriel.
If she'd been awake, she would have hated herself for that.
As it were, she slept and dreamed and remembered. First, she dreamed of the memory of
trying to leave the Strand. Her doubts overcame her that day. Gabriel would never return. He
had been taken by Eckhart and there was no hope. She'd believed that and, even in sleep, she
hatred herself for that moment of weakness. Though forgiven by her god, by Ashlocke, Kelly still
despised the escape attempt.
It had failed, of course. Morgan had found her and brought her back.
Memory showed her Shalimar and Brennan as they fought Morgan and the Feral she'd
brought along. Had Kelly been better prepared, less afraid, she'd have won. Fear of fire was
genetically programed into Ferals. Morgan had never been particularly smart. If Mutant X
hadn't abandoned her, hadn't left her to be caught, she'd have gotten away too.
Pain came as she remembered. They ran away. They left her behind. Morgan could have
killed her and they hadn't cared. Suddenly, in the dream, Kelly found herself back in the Clark
warehouse, fires all around. Jesse Kilmartin and Shalimar, that bitch who'd run, were standing
before her.
"Come with us!" Jesse yelled, and it would have been so easy to go.
He was so cute.
"You tried to escape once, you can do it again." He said gently, and suddenly, the fires
were gone and so was Shalimar. Only he remained, standing there before Kelly. They were out
in the country. The scenery was familiar and she wanted to run, run fast and far, run from the
memory that would soon come, but suddenly Jesse moved forward, grabbed her arms and held
her so tight she couldn't get away.
He screamed out at her, the sound thundering throughout the vast world of her dream,
echoing forever inside. "Run Kelly! Run, run, as fast as you can! He's coming now and I can't
hold him back. Please go! Go!" Jesse released her arms and she started to move backwards,
away from Jesse Kilmartin and the dark things she'd done.
Then he wasn't the cute blond haired, blue-eyed member of Mutant X. He was Gabriel,
he was her god, only she didn't want to be his, not in any way, any shape, not for all the love or
money in creation. Her backwards steps turned to desperate flight, but he grabbed her and
pinned her arms behind her before she could get far.
There was a terrible grin on his face, the face of the man he'd become. "Kelly, Kelly,
Kelly, I am so very disappointed in you. What happened to faith? What happened to love?" He
laughed as she struggled and tried to escape. "I have to remind you, don't I? You're making me
do this, babe. Don't worry, I'll be gentle. You'll love me soon."
His laughter filled her mind then he was gone but he wasn't. Gabriel the man vanished and
Gabriel the young boy, barely near teenage years, stood holding her arms. She'd first met him
when at this age, so many years ago. Before the pod, before Genomex took him, here was the
boy who would be a god. There was a smile on his lips, but it wasn't a child's smile. Knowledge
lay behind it, far darker knowledge than any mere boy could have. Gabriel lacked years, but he
was already a man. He was already planning to murder his parents.
"I've got secrets." The boy Ashlocke whispered conspiratorially, still holding tight to
Kelly's arms. "You want to see? Do you? I've got a club house and everything. There are
others, just like you and me. We're safe together. The old geeks don't know I built it."
She pulled away at last, but it didn't matter. The first headquarters of the Strand rose in
her mind's eye, filled the world a thousand fold. "Mine, all mine." Boy Gabriel said with such
sickening self-absorption that Kelly wanted to kill him. He looked back and saw how afraid she
was, how desperate to run from what was coming. "You liked me once. Liked this place once.
We all liked you, didn't we Kelly? We were all friends here."
There was madness in those eyes. Why hadn't she seen it before? Why? She wanted to
run but her feet were being held off the ground. Morgan was standing behind Boy Gabriel, just a
little girl herself but with powers. And, amazingly, Kelly felt herself grow young again. She was
crying and crying, just like a child, because she was one suddenly. She was so afraid.
With a swish, Boy Gabriel and Girl Morgan vanished. They were gone away, but Kelly
was still there. She was alone, standing nowhere, for the world had disappeared with them. She
felt so afraid and so terribly lost. Her nose was running and tears were streaming.
"I want my mommy." She cried out quietly. "I want mommy and daddy."
A figure appeared before her. It was Jesse again.
"You tried to escape once, you can do it again." He whispered softly, reaching out to hug
the frightened child Kelly had become. "We want to help you. Gabriel's a madman. He's using
you and all the Links. He doesn't care about you. We do." Memory mixed and meted out. His
words from Clark's warehouse. She sniffed and he had a tissue. She smiled.
"I didn't mean to be bad." Kelly whispered. "I didn't mean to."
Jesse vanished. She desperately grabbed where he had been, trying to find him.
"Please, come back mister!" Her high pitched child's voice broke in fear and trembled
with remorse. "I'm sorry, please, don't leave me! Please. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."
She closed her eyes and the world changed into a small girl's bedroom, with pink painted walls
and stuffed unicorns on a beautiful bed with star covered sheets that looked like a night's sky on
Christmas eve. Kelly opened her eyes and saw and started shaking uncontrollably. She knew
this memory. She knew and didn't want to remember.
"It was an accident." Kelly whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. "It was an
accident. Please, don't leave me here. I'm sorry I was a bad girl."
The memory began to play. She was compelled to do as she had so many years ago.
Her father came into the room. He smiled in a depressed way. "Kelly, honey, now don't
cry. I promise you, it won't hurt much. Just a little sting, that's all." He came closer and knelt
down before her. "Come on sweetie. Daddy's had his vaccination shots and I'm okay."
"The needles hurt!" Kelly wailed in the dream as she had in real life so many years ago, "I
don't want to see doctor Falcon. He's mean!"
"Now, honey, that's no way to talk about the man who saved your life. If it weren't for him
and Genomex, you wouldn't be the healthy, beautiful little darling you are right now." Her father
gave her a hug. "There, now. That's better."
It was better. Kelly sniffed and let him pick her up, even though it strained his back.
"You're getting too old for me to carry you around honey." But he laughed when he said it and
she laughed because she loved her father and knew she'd been dumb to act the way she had.
He'd carried her almost to the front door before setting her down. She walked after him as he
opened the door but stopped when her head started aching and her hands started to feel itchy.
"Daddy, I don't feel so good."
He turned away from the front door, she never knew why because he had been taking her
out to see her doctor. Maybe he thought it was a joke or maybe that she was faking. Kelly
never asked him why he turned his back to the door, why he leaned down so close, why he
smiled the way he did and said "I love you Kelly."
Maybe he'd known what was going to happen.
She'd started to reach toward him, wanting him to make her hands stop itching, when the
fire came. It burst up in a thin but almost white hot gusher. Kelly's father never had a chance.
He was dead before the he'd realized he was on fire.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Kelly screamed as she had that day. Then she ran for her mother, her
mother in the baby's room, her mother who could fix it, because Mrs. Rice was a nurse and she
knew how to fix the big booboos. "Mommy! Daddy's hurt!" She didn't know he was dead.
She was a child again, she didn't know that she'd just killed him because no one had told her that
now she could make fire walls because she was a new mutant. Kelly couldn't know she'd killed
the father who loved her.
She came into the baby's room to find her mother holding her infant brother, staring
fearfully at her daughter. "What happened Kelly?" The question was vaguely accusing because
Mrs. Rice always worried about how her husband carried their daughter.
Kelly turned slightly back toward the doorway, gesturing, beginning to say that something
bad happened and daddy was on fire, but she never said a word. The instant she pointed, fire
bloomed again like a Death Rose from hell, like a one-way ticket on a ferryboat across Styx, a
ride to oblivion.
"Mommy! I'm scared!" Kelly screamed, falling back from the fire. Even as she cried out,
a part of her waggled a disapproving finger inside. Dancing flames didn't frighten her.
They were, in fact, quite beautiful.
Her mother picked her up from behind and carried both her daughter and her baby son,
not even a year old, into the bathroom. She reached up and tried to turn on the shower, to
drench them in water, but she couldn't. That morning, a neighborhood boy, a very mean boy
that Kelly didn't know yet but would soon, had turned off their water. As pranks go, fairly
harmless. Unless there was a fire.
Mrs. Rice started praying.
Her son started crying.
Kelly left the shower stall to get a tissue.
Her mother saw and reached out, "Kelly, baby, come here! I think we're safe here!" She
might have said more, probably would have prayed more, but the moment her daughter turned,
hands raised in the act of reaching for that tissue, the fire came.
Mrs. Rice had, to a point, been right. A half hour later, after the fire department got inside,
they found Kelly alive and well, cried into unconsciousness under a sink. The flames from outside
the bathroom hadn't taken inside because all of the room was tiled from floor to ceiling. Her
mother had loved ceramic tiles and insisted, disregarding the price, that every bathroom be like
that. There was, as a result, only one bathroom in the Rice home.
Kelly's mother and baby brother had died slower than her father, because the fire wall
she'd accidently created in the shower was weaker and had only human flesh to fuel it's heat.
Unable to move, unwilling to move, Kelly's clothes, skin, hair, even her lungs, choked with the
scent of cooking meat.
Of the seven firefighters who beat the flames in the Rice home and found Kelly alive,
crying in her sleep, not a single one ever forgot that unholy stench or the sight of a tiny blonde girl
under a sink. Eventually, they'd taken up a collection to help the orphaned child. Two had even
acted as foster parents for a short time, before Kelly was found by Gabriel, less than a year after
she'd killed her family.
He forgave her then, on that long ago day. Sweetly, gently, lovingly made her see that it
was a horrible accident. She had done nothing wrong. He showed her the way. He saved her
sanity and her soul.
That was how Gabriel Ashlocke became her god.
This was what Kelly Rice dreamed.
*************************************************************************
With surprising ease, the members of Mutant X, plus Charlotte, climbed out of the hole
they'd fallen into. Standing outside where the infirmary had been, working together, they'd
managed to lift the heavy metal door that had been on top of Devon and throw it back down into
the level below. It had been the infirmary door, the one he'd been just about to open. Explosive
force had torn the barrier from it's hinges, a cleaved remnant of said hinges having become the
stabbing metallic splinter in Charlotte's leg. Devon had been pinned beneath the door.
"Is he alive?" Brennan asked, in a voice so numbed with shock and weariness that he only
sounded moderately interested, as if he saw death far too often to be further impressed.
Standing apart from the others, debating whether or not to rip the shard of slag from her
thigh, Charlotte looked over at them, at Devon, and started crying silently. She'd seen death.
Too much of it in fact and wished with all her heart that there would be no more. Her mind kept
trying to turn to Jesse but she refused to consider him. She had to not think about him, because
she was, at heart, a pessimist despite the hopeful things she'd written down.
She knew if she started thinking about Jesse, she'd think about him dead and, right then,
that was the one thing Charlotte could not and would not allow herself to think. Hope was all she
had to cling to. Hope that Jesse was okay, that she'd find him, that they'd get out of the ruins of
Frost Lake.
Because they were trapped right now. Whether Devon was alive or dead, they were
trapped. What little of the hall around the infirmary that hadn't collapsed was surrounded by
caved in debris piles. Roof beams, enormous chunks of plaster, pieces of wall.
They were quite impassible.
"He's alive," Emma DeLauro whispered quietly, "but just barely. He'll need a hospital."
Near her side, Charlotte thought they made a lovely couple, Adam was studying one
closed off sections of hallway. He reached out and tried to move some of the junk, only to leap
back, his arms going around Emma to protect her, as the entire pile rumbled closer by several
millimeters, then stopped.
"Please, don't do that again." Brennan whispered, holding Shalimar close.
The blonde nodded. "Yeah, Adam. We can't dig out. This whole place is just barely
staying stable as it is. We need Jesse."
Emma reluctantly disengaged herself from Adam, hesitating only so long as it took for her
to remember that Devon needed help. She knelt down beside him, reaching into his mind and
giving him dose after dose of hope and faith and inspiration. Beside her again, Adam. He
checked the man's vitals. His face was grim. She looked to him and there was no reassurance
there, only a sad surrender.
"He's not going to die." Emma said, meeting his eyes, needing this man whom she loved
and had, truthfully, always loved, to tell her a lie. She wanted him to lie to her. Somewhere
deep, where soul and mind met, she reached out to him and he to her.
And, he touched her hand, did not take hold but just barely touched the very top.
He lied to her.
"Everything's going to be okay."
Emma's eyes said thank you.
If Aaron Sheckt's plan to murder Mutant X had had a flaw, it was this: Katherine Bowden
had never truly worked for him. Her infiltration of his organization under the guise of a thrill
seeking new convert, her training, the time away from her husband, it had all been lies. Her true
loyalty was to Devon and America. She was CIA, a part of America's answer to new mutant
terrorism, the Counter-Para-Terrorism division.
Until she came to "kill" Emma DeLauro, and instead faked her death for the surveillance
equipment, her husband had never even suspected the truth.
She wasn't sure she'd get the chance to make things up to him either, for something
terrible had happened. An explosion had torn through the Frost Lake base and she'd been
caught up in it. Her body ached all over and her ears were ringing deafly, thought it seemed some
time had passed. Thick blots of clotted blood tangled in her hair, marring the left side of her
head. She groaned in pain when she tried to move, feeling acutely the agony of having been
buried alive.
Having once been in an explosion, a minor terrorist attack which occurred shortly after
she'd joined the CIA as a field agent, she recognized the feeling.
"Well, well, well. Look who's awake."
The voice, stone frozen and dark as septic sludge, made Katherine play statue.
It was impossible for her to be hearing that voice.
"Are you acting dead? Good. You'll need practice for the real thing."
She opened her eyes and found him, his face a still mask of rage and madness.
"I killed you." Katherine said, wondering momentarily if she could be in hell. She didn't
remember committing any sin quite bad enough to deserve the ticket down, but then again, her
head was a bit leaden from being nearly blown up. "How can you be here?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Jesse, who was being held at gun point by
Simon, another monster who was supposed to have disappeared when the lights came on.
Duncan Ladd knelt close and twisted her face toward him, sending a wave of agony through
her entire body. "Boggles the mind, does it? Well, here's a clue you pathetically micro-brained
bitch. I'm a new mutant with Molecular abilities. I can repair and regenerate my bodily tissues.
You should really consider leaving murder to more qualified experts, like myself." He looked up
and across the ruins of what had been a long hallway inside the Frost Lake base, his eyes finding
several men who were walking toward him. "Ah, Simon, it's good to see all of you."
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Her heart grew chill at the very concept.
Three men were drawing near and each wore the same face.
"Confused?" Duncan asked with a snarling laugh. "Another of Sheckt's finest recruits.
New mutant all the way. Rather rare gift, probably the only one with it in all the world. Simon can
duplicate himself. Too bad his clones have a nasty habit of going insane."
A few of the Simons laughed at this while two them didn't seem to know how to react.
Only one, his eyes and gun on Jesse, acted deaf. She made an intuitive leap and surmised this
was the original. Her thoughts turned to her pistol, and she wondered what would happen if the
real Simon died, as she tried to signal Jesse with eyes alone.
Though she was nearly dead, almost surely going to soon be dead, Katherine was still an
agent of the CIA.
She still had a job to do.
Perhaps noticing her glance at Jesse, or maybe just deciding to taunt her some more on his
own, Duncan jerked Katherine up to a sitting position. He took aim with his own pistol at Jesse.
"Look upon him, my dear traitorous bitch. He's alive, you're alive, all because I, Duncan Ladd,
prepared for your betrayal. While I pretended to trust you, Sheckt saw fit to place you in a
position to be his perfect instrument of disinformation. Everything you've sent whomever you
work for has been fabricated by him for you."
He laughed at her astonished face, never realizing that when he'd thrown her from Jesse's
arms before, she had landed virtually atop her own weapon. Fraction of a fraction, she was
edging her left hand to the pistol's comforting grip.
Katherine had a plan, but she had to make Jesse understand that he had to phase out. If
he massed out, becoming solid and virtually impervious, the plan would fail and her life would be
spent uselessly.
While she planned, her eyes desperately trying to send Jesse a signal, Duncan was speaking.
"This is indeed a night for surprises. Somehow, Mutant X managed to plant explosives to murder
my leader. Truly brilliant, though a tad insane, but I must salute you." He faked a bow, his gun
never leaving Jesse's heart, it's target across a few meters empty space.
That was good. Katherine needed that gun to stay exactly where it was.
Duncan watched her, his eyes darkening. "This is a night for surprises, is it not? You betray
me, but I maintain the full loyalty of all of Simon." At this praise, one of the Simons bowed
theatrically, then laughed. "Hmm. Another one losing his grip, eh my friend?"
The real Simon, the one standing behind Jesse, smirked. "Don't worry. As long as my I'm
here to exert my will over them, they'll keep long enough for what needs to be done. Now, kill
the speech and kill that bitch already. If her friends on the outside manage to reactivate the bombs
my other selves defused, we'll end up as dead as my slower selves."
Katherine caught Jesse's eye at last, just as Duncan turned his head to glare at Simon. To
signal him about her plan, she started blinking at high speed in morse code. For a moment, he
seemed confused. Then, suddenly, his own eyes grew wide and she knew he understood what
she was doing. She signaled him that she needed him to phase out on her signal. There was no
time to pass more than that simple message on. Duncan and Simon's brief staring match was
over.
Duncan sighed. "We should savor this moment more. It is not often that one get's to kill
someone so obviously blessed. To think, until their own bombs, neither one of them had a single
life-threatening injury. Astounding." He shook his head gently and began to smile.
At the instant he was about to turn back to her, to kill her, Katherine shouted out to Simon,
"he killed you at the safe house!" Whether Simon had already known this fact or not, her scream
distracted him for an instant. In that moment, Jesse took a breath so fast it made him dizzy. He
became intangible, untouchable.
Seeing that Jesse was taking that breath, Duncan had instinctively fired.
There was just enough time, between him pulling the trigger and the bullet exploding from
it's chamber, for Jesse to become completely phased out.
The lead slug from Duncan's pistol burrowed through the space Jesse occupied, plowed
through Simon's own chest, turned the multiple man's heart into evil tartar, and burst from his
back to strike the back wall and embed itself there. Simon's own impulse, just as the bullet was
ripping through him, the same instant he realized that Jesse was phasing, was to shoot as well.
His bullet raced across to Duncan and flashed by his face, the heat of it's passage leaving a faint
scorch mark on his cheek.
Duncan Ladd spun around, stuck his gun in Katherine's belly, just as she brought her own
weapon up and jammed it under his chin. They both pulled the trigger at the same time. He died
instantly, his brains destroyed by a high velocity round that tore through his skull and bored into
the roof. Katherine felt like she'd been punched in the gut.
Jesse started breathing again.
To be accurate, he gasped desperately, drawing in as much air in a series of choking gulps
as he could, filling his lungs so quickly that his thoughts swam like fish and his vision blurred. He
watched the fine red mist that lingered for a brief instant over Duncan's head mix with plaster
ceiling dust that cascaded down like snowfall from the apocalypse.
A hanging tube of fluorescence sputtered and glinted. Jesse glanced left and right. The
other Simons were on the floor, just as dead as the original, though a few twitched disturbingly.
Without hesitation, he rushed to Katherine's side and dropped down so that he knelt over her.
He shoved Duncan's lifeless body away, hoping that this time there would be no regeneration.
He took hold of her hand and felt a squeeze, relief flooding him as she let out a groan.
"What the hell happened?" She muttered as her eyes opened. "Jesse? Uh, my stomach
hurts." For this instant, her mind was muddled. It cleared in the next instant. Reboot after the
system shock. "Tell Devon, I'm sorry."
"Tell him yourself." Jesse whispered, rapidly tearing strips of cloth from his own shirt.
He bandaged the wound as best he could and pulled her up. Her anguished scream did nothing
to deter him from his desperate attempt to force the universe to give them one more miracle.
"You hold on to that pain. You stay with me."
Jesse carried her to the wall, touched the wall, and phased it so that they could pass
through. It took only a few seconds, but in that time, Katherine slipped out of consciousness.
He was outside, it was night and dark and a feeling of palpable misery hung in the air.
Only in that moment, as he laid Katherine down beside the lake, desperately hoping that he
would never have to deliver her message, did he realize that there were dozens of men all around
him. Every one of them was armed. Every weapon was on him. Someone was yelling for him to
put his hands behind his head and get on the ground.
He was too tired to do anything else.
He wondered where the others were.
He hoped they were better off than him.
*************************************************************************
Dr. Laura Guevara sat at her desk, staring at a picture of her brother Larenzo, remembering
better times. Her family had come to America many generations ago, yet before the famous
Guevara twins, not a single member managed any sort of education. There were no doctors
before them. There had been, in fact, only a single Guevara to graduate from highschool. Uncle
Max had inspired both his niece and nephew to go farther.
Together, they'd worked for tuition money. Together, they'd studied. Together, they
graduated from college as co-valedictorians, because their grades were identical and so were
their contributions to the school and to various clubs they'd been a part of.
Both applied to the same medical schools by an unspoken agreement that both wanted to
be doctors. Only there did they begin to differentiate. Laura had loved healing people. She'd
never been happier but her brother had been drawn away from such altruistic work to become
more than a simple medical doctor. He'd transformed himself into a research scientist of renown,
specializing in human genetics and the Chimera theory pioneered by Dr. Stephen Falcon.
She'd followed his lead to a degree. She had become more than just an ordinary doctor
too. Her range included advanced courses in various surgeries. Dr. Laura Guevara knew more
about saving people's lives than any ten doctors. She could perform brain surgery, heart surgery,
complex nerve surgeries, and just about anything else. Her instincts for diagnosis were also
impeccable; she was better than most diagnostic machines.
When they'd separated, the famous Guevara twins also fell out of touch. Laura wasn't
even certain where her brother was or who he was working with.
"Dr. Guevara?"
She set down the picture and turned around. Without her noticing, one of James King's
followers had entered her office. "How may I help you?"
The servant, that was how she saw the members of the Society of Supremacy, bowed
slightly to her. She'd earned respect by her actions. It had been her efforts, bought at a dear
price, which had secured a new mutant named Templeton Darroch for the Society. Darroch's
teleportation gifts granted the covert group access to funds and material resources, as well as a
plethora of "forced recruits" as James King called them. Laura had betrayed Darroch, her
patient, because he was a new mutant and such anomalies were dangerous to human kind. At
least, she had rationalized her actions that way. Truthfully, she'd done it because she wanted
money and because she was more like her brother Larenzo than she was willing to admit.
James King saw the darkness in her easily. Though not a mutant, he was incredibly intuitive,
easily discerning deception and false emotions. He'd recruited Laura Guevara years ago to work
for a then struggling software firm. Now, the corporation they both ostensibly served was one of
the largest on earth. The CEO, a man named McCandless, was beginning to realize that the
sub-levels were no longer under his control. King manipulated his employer with enough finesse
to keep him from interfering.
"Mr. King has asked me to tell you that our leader will be here soon." The servant said
before turning and leaving the office.
Dr. Guevara raised an eyebrow. "How succinct." With a sigh, she returned to her
memories, barely even wondering who King's mystery woman really was. When he'd walked
into her lab with a bag filled with technological and medical miracles, she'd been interested.
Now, after two weeks hearing him blather about a new world order and a future empire, Laura
simply wanted to get out.
She stared at her brother's picture.
"I hope you're working for a saner man than I, mi hermano."
*************************************************************************
Dr. Larenzo Guevara studied a photo of his sister. Her dusky yet pale skin, the color of
his own. Her deep bronze eyes, again, like those he saw through. The curves, lines, and bone
structure nearly identical to his own. They both looked like their mother, a dark-haired Caucasian
their father had met at an unemployment agency. He'd been unemployed, she'd been the helpful
one who found him work.
Marriage had come after almost three years of dating.
The famous Guevara twins two after that.
Larenzo put down the photo and sighed, making a steeple of his fingers as he'd seen his
employer Aaron Sheckt do on occasion. In his mind's stare, he recalled the face of their mother,
her gentle smile and quiet strength, the way one curl of almost black brown hair never stayed in
place but constantly fell across her left eye. She'd been very short, very petite, and having the
famous Guevara twins and come so close to killing her that she'd been read the Catholic Last
Rites twice before her doctor declared the births complete.
In the end, she came home after her children. She never begrudged them the pain they'd
inadvertently caused her. Never, in nearly twenty years of living with her and his father, could
Larenzo Guevara remember a single instant where she spoke above a robust whisper.
Her name was Celia Anderson Guevara, her husband was Marcos Mariano Guevara, they
lived in east Texas and were still very much in love.
His sister never failed to remind him of their mother. Larenzo sighed and shook his head,
making a mental note, saying it aloud fix it in memory. "I need to call home and let mama and
papa know I'm alive."
He hadn't spoken to his parents in nearly two years.
He hadn't seen his sister in almost five.
Dr. Guevara sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he'd been wearing
glasses that pinched. With great effort, he set down his sister's photograph and returned to the
work he'd been doing for Mr. Sheckt.
Several dozen files were spread out across his desk. Each a test result and research
related to that result. A few documents bore a stylized falcon, marking their contents as the work
of Dr. Stephen Falcon, perhaps the most brilliant theoretical geneticist alive. The subject of it all
was Chimera and Aaron Sheckt. They were all but indivisible now in Guevara's mind as he
sorted through pile after pile, scanning an in-depth blood analysis one moment then turning to a
fifty page theorem on genetics the next. Over the course of a year, Larenzo had pieced together
all he could learn of Chimera and what it had done to Sheckt.
Despite his hard work, he'd learned only a fraction of what he needed to know.
Part of what he knew came from former GS agent Lena Blake, who went by Lena Isley
now. That information showed Adam Kane's involvement in disrupting Chimera. It had proved
an invaluable piece of the puzzle, allowing Guevara to focus his search on Genomex and it's
stunning accidental creation of new mutants.
The second most important fact had come from the published works of Stephen Falcon.
Chimera theory had been his brainchild, and Dr. Larenzo Guevara's obsession, but the man had
hidden an important element of the research within coded publications. It had taken Larenzo
some time to realize this and even longer to crack it, but he now knew that Chimera required
three donor subjects.
Dr. Guevara paused in his study of the documents before him and sighed.
"Wherever you are mi hermana, I hope you're working with a less complicated man."
*************************************************************************
Shalimar studied the wall.
When explosions ripped through the Frost Lake base, only one wall, the infirmary side
wall, had remained mostly intact. Adam speculated that the medical facility had been intended to
double as a bomb shelter, which explained why its walls were still standing while the floor had
been blasted upward and the door rocketed outward. No one expected a subterranean blast.
Though she couldn't be sure, Shalimar thought that this was an outside wall, or at least
near one. The map Katherine had given Emma and Devon seemed to indicate she was right.
Her eyes slid to the man's broken form. After clearing a section of stable floor, they'd
carefully moved him, Adam monitoring his vital signs as best he could without instrumentation.
The infirmary door had all but destroyed the man. Several of his bones were barely more than
splinters and there was evidence of a slow, but steady, internal bleed. He breathed raggedly and
wetly, indicating a punctured lung. Adam was afraid they'd done more damage moving him, but
it had seemed important somehow, as if leaving him where he'd been struck down was a sign of
giving up.
Emma and Adam were watching over the man, as they had been before. Charlotte now
hovered with them. The concern she felt was obvious but not automatic. A depressing numbness
had settled over her some time ago, as if everything were finally catching up to her, and it had
sent her spiraling downward. Her own wound was ignored.
Shalimar noticed how Emma kept rubbing the side of her head then stealing a brief glare
toward Charlotte. Her emotions were giving Mutant X's resident telempath a headache.
"Find a way out yet?"
She turned suddenly and then relaxed. "Brennan. You startled me."
The dimmest of smiles. "Sorry. Guess those eyes in the back of your head are taking a
break." There was an edge to his voice, very faint, but there. "Anything useful? Any way out?"
He stared at the wall before them, as if trying to make it tell him how to escape from the cavern
of collapsed building they'd awakened in.
"My turn to apologize. It's solid as a rock." She thumped it angrily. "Without Jesse, we're
not getting out."
Brennan nodded, as if she'd just confirmed his own assessment, then winced noticeably.
"You okay?" She asked, reaching out to him.
Without answering, he drew away from her. The move was so unexpected and hurtful
that Shalimar immediately stepped back herself. "Brennan, what's wrong?" She asked quietly,
consciously trying to keep the conversation as private as possible. The others were so busy
trying to do what they could for Devon, she didn't want to burden them with any more trouble.
Then her thoughts went to before the explosion, when they'd been so concerned about
Brennan and his head. Fear caught in her throat then dove down into her belly.
Maybe he saw that worry reflected in her eyes, because Brennan forced himself to smile
and say "I'm fine. It's just. . . well, I'm worried about Jesse." He nodded toward the wall. "If he
were okay, he'd already have come looking for us."
His voice held a distinctly depressed note.
Brennan thought Jesse was dead.
That revelation struck Shalimar like a fist and, before she could stop herself, she'd taken
hold of Brennan's coat collar and brought him face to face with her, so close she could either kiss
him or rip his throat out like the jungle felines that were kindred. She glared at him and her eyes
turned a sharp yellow, Feral anger spewing out. When she spoke, it was in a very quiet voice
that the others did not notice but also a voice filled with pure hellfire.
Annunciating every word to maximum clarity, spacing them out so that each was a sentence
unto itself, a universe of singular statement, she said "Jesse. Is. Fine. He. Will. Come. And. He.
Will. Save. Us." Her stare brooked no argument.
In a moment best described as the flashing of a frame, Brennan jerked and seemed to
realized what he'd said without words. He looked horrified at himself. "God, Shalimar, I didn't
mean that." His whisper was desperate. "I'm sorry, I just lost hope there for a second. It's been
so long since the blast."
"No it hasn't." Shalimar replied, releasing him from her iron grasp. "It's been maybe
twenty minutes at the outset, probably a lot less than that."
He nodded but still seemed unconvinced.
"Jesse should have been here by now."
The fire went out of Shalimar, leaving her empty and weak. She hugged Brennan now,
trying not to cry. "Yeah. He should have. But he's okay, because he has to be okay. Because we
can't lose him. Because we can't lose anyone."
Brennan held her tightly, a tear sliding down his face, because he didn't believe things were
going to work out this time. His faith was dead.
From where she knelt, carefully stroking the embers of fading strength inside of Devon
Bowden, Emma turned toward them. Without thinking, she conjured hopeful and peaceful
emotions, then silently adjusted Brennan's thoughts. The moment it was done, she felt terrible
and almost started to apologize.
But she didn't. She could see how her tiny interference had helped Brennan.
'Later,' Emma thought to herself, 'later I'll tell him.'
Suddenly, the infirmary wall phased out and dozens of men and women, all wearing combat
fatigues and carrying weapons swarmed in. They pointed their guns momentarily at each member
of Mutant X before lowering them. "Adam Kane?" A man asked, stepping forward and
producing a leather wallet with an ID card from his armor vest. "My name's Vince Beckley Jr,
CIA agent assigned to the Counter-Para-Terrorism division." He smiled warmly, motioning for
several medics who rushed forward and quickly transferred Devon Bowden to a stretcher.
Soon after, everyone was outside, watching as a helicopter left carrying injured men and
women found in the ruins of Frost Lake, Devon among them.
Jesse gave them a strangely humorous smile. "The calvary arrived. Better late than never,
right guys?" He recounted the events after the bombing for them, from the moment he awoke to
the sudden discovery that dead men walked. He told them that Katherine had been taken on
another helicopter, medics swarming about her in a desperate attempt to stabilize her. Jesse also
made a heroic, though futile, attempt to fend off their joyful hugs and a few thankful kisses from
the ladies.
"Hey, give me a break guys!" He said, though he made almost no effort to escape
Charlotte's arms. "Vince here's the real hero of the hour."
The man blushed brightly, a strange thing to see a CIA agent do. "I wouldn't be here if it
weren't for intelligence our tech guys picked up. They're the real heros. Them and Agent
Bowden." Lines in his face and a sad glimmer in his gaze showed concern. "I hope she pulls
through. Katherine's one of our best."
Agent Beckley was about to say something more, but Adam interrupted. "Before
everything started exploding, Devon said she worked for a woman named Christina." Something
in Adam's tone made the words both statement and question.
"Yes, sir. We all do."
"What does she look like? How would you describe her demeanor?"
"Um, well she has dark hair and these sort of sad eyes." Agent Beckley said, thinking
carefully, "Christina Bergl gives off a vibe, like it wouldn't be a good idea to upset her. I guess
she'd be pretty if she ever smiled. Why?"
"I knew a woman named Christina years ago. She worked in intelligence. Her name wasn't
Bergl then, but I'd be surprised if she hasn't changed it by now." A vague smile, barely a
twitching of his lips. "She never did like her surname."
Emma's eyes narrowed as he spoke but she didn't say anything. In the back of her mind,
she'd known that she wasn't the first woman in Adam's life. Sometimes, though, it had felt like
it. The way he held her in his arms, how they kissed, like they were the only living beings in all of
creation. Emma hadn't wanted to think about ex-girlfriends popping up. Hearing him ask
questions about another woman now. . . it bothered her. She ran a hand through her red hued
hair and tried not to think too much on it. They were together and that was that.
Catching Emma's expression of jealousy out of the corner of her eye, Shalimar started to
say something comforting to her.
Then didn't.
She didn't want to be comforting to her best friend, not about him.
No one said much of anything as they left the CIA agents to their investigation. Whether
or not she'd expected them to be there, Christina had given Agent Beckley orders before he'd
left on the mission. If he found Mutant X, he'd been told to leave them be. He told them to go
home, speaking with all the authority he could manage under the circumstances.
Quietly, together, the team walked away, moving out into a pitch black night. Various
nocturnal fauna made a melody of chirps, hoots, and odd croaks. The surface of Frost Lake
seemed a gigantic mirror, reflecting a beautiful glimmer moon. When they'd gone halfway toward
the car Emma and Devon had arrived by, they turned back to see thin columns of smoke rising
from the ruins of the military base.
They'd survived.
But, God help them, they knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
***************************END OF PART SEVEN***************************
The Price
Blades dancing, keening the air with razor edges, the helicopter settled. Thick clouds of
dust were heaved upwards by it's breath. Like a living thing, it grumbled as it's landing struts
bumped down. Rotors slowed. The tail quivered. On either side, mounted to insignificant wings,
twin Gatling guns glinted with reflected light. At the center of a vast sand plain, the landing pad
seemed a nest, lacking only the bleached bones of past victims.
The machine drew to a silent stillness so complete, those watching from hidden security
barracks wondered briefly if it were truly real or just a mirage. Heat shimmers made them more
uncertain. Desert tricks fooled the wise and the laughable with equal ease.
When a side hatch slid open and the man in black stepped out, all doubt vanished. No
mirage could have carried him. Save perhaps one born from hell.
He stood, eyes grown weary from travel and lips pursed as he surveyed the area. Nothing
caught his attention, though he knew where every secret lay waiting. All seemed perfectly
natural. A man of infinite desert knowledge might have seen through the carefully crafted illusion,
but such people were few and far between.
He smiled and turned back, reaching out to take the hand of his pilot at the exact instant it
was offered. "The hour, my Lena, is it as late as I believe?"
Firmly grasping his hand, she smiled, ever so faintly. Her Feral genetics made such
expressions rarer than they might have been. "Yes, Mr. Sheckt. The Scorched Earth protocols
have by now initiated. The Frost Lake facility should be fully cauterized within ten minutes of
initial blasts." She stepped down from the helicopter, carefully setting her heavy booted feet on
the landing pad, as graceful as any other charmed serpent.
"Shame we couldn't stay to watch." He spoke with a coolness of tone that belied his true
disappointment. "Yes, a pity."
"You're too important to risk on such things. We need you, especially now. With our
enemies gone, along with all those who might have sought to reclaim power, the world is ripe for
your vision to reshape it." Lena Isley spoke gently, dully, her words carrying subtle emotion.
Only when she met his eyes, did some hint of her affection come into her speech. "The games
have only just begun, my leader."
Touching her face softly, his smile was slow in appearing but honest. "I was lost before
you. My goals were but the echos of my fractured memory. Without your help, my attentions
might never have fallen on Adam Kane." He leaned close. His lips brushed hers. The biting
desert night lost it's chill cruelty. "With Mutant X out of the way, and your own betrayers gone
to dust, we can focus at last. . . upon the future."
Lena bowed her head very faintly, not sure if she wanted him to see in her eyes the
glimmer of happiness he'd sparked. "I lost friends because some at the GSA were too weak to
honor their loyalties. That can't compare to what Adam robbed you of."
At her words, he nodded, acknowledging that truth but then asking, "yet, it tasted sweet
did it not, the revenge I wrought on your behalf? My assassinations of Dr. Kenneth Harrison and
that traitorous agent Morgan Fortier under Ashlocke's nose?" There was no mistaking her shiver
of pleasure at the mere memory of it. Their eyes met again as sandy winds billowed all around.
Though his smile was slight, the trace blush of skin and glint of eye were proof of affection deep.
He turned from her reluctantly and gestured.
In response, a man rose from under a carefully concealed entrance. He wore a uniform
similar to, but vastly different from, that which adorned members of the United States Army. He
held a heavy leather tarpaulin over his head, despite its great weight, unconcerned by the drifts of
sand that fell over him. "This way sir." The man said.
Touching Lena's face, he turned toward the entrance. A shiver ran through the core of his
being. Night had descended, bringing an icy unwelcome tranquility. "Come, we must get out of
this dreadful cold. No fun to achieve victory only to freeze to death in a desert."
"It would, however, be a disturbingly humorous way to go. At the least, the irony would
be perfect." Lena whispered as she followed him.
Once inside, the man lowered the covering and proceeded to use a small hand vac to clear
away all traces of sand. Some drifted steadily deeper into the hidden base. The hallway
extended as far as could be seen, slowly curving downward. Silvery metal gleamed everywhere.
A control panel with a speaker was mounted on a wall near the door.
Inside, the air tasted wrong. It was recycled but held the faintest trace of staleness, a
musky taint that could not be completely erased. Carefully placed and aesthetically designed air
ducts hummed as they blew gentle gusts into the hallway.
A black sign read "No Surrender: Death First."
Everything inside the base was warm. Not unpleasantly so, just enough to cut the chill
from the bones and leave new arrivals feeling welcome. Standing close to her leader's side, Lena
still shivered. Reptilian DNA ensured she was strong, fast, able to climb walls, spray venom and
in possession of a second pair of eyelids; it did not help her keep warm. Especially not now,
when her mutation had grown stronger, turning her blood slightly cool.
Sensing the lingering discomfort, he placed an arm across her shoulders. He said not a
word, yet she began walking with him, matching stride for stride, without even thinking. They
moved deeper. The corridor twisted in on itself.
Into the spiral of descent, they tossed no words, their lips seemingly sealed.
They reached a flat level area after walking for some time. Two men with Ingram machine
pistols strapped to their belts stood guard with M16's in hand. Their eyes were dead like those
of piranha fish. A third man sat at a metal desk welded to the floor's metal plates. He wore a
uniform of desert camouflage, saffron helmet, and an Ingram in a holster. Two 9mm Glock
handguns peaked out of a piratical bandolier that crisscrossed his chest.
The man at the desk held out his hand while the other two aimed their weapons. "Papers."
He commanded roughly.
Lena carefully withdrew her identification card and a mission order slip from her clothes.
Unlike this man, she wore a plain flight vest over an ordinary red dress. She glanced sideways at
her leader, a ghost's smirk on her lips.
After studying the card and orders for a few moments, the guard rose from his desk and
handed them back. He bowed his head. "Forgive my abruptness, Mr. Sheckt, Ms. Isley, but we
must be careful."
"You do not wish to verify my identity?"
The guard jerked at the question. "No, no, no sir! How could anyone dare to try to
impersonate you? Outside of this base, only Duncan Ladd knew your face. You're appearance
here would seem to indicate that he is no longer of any concern." The man saluted. "Welcome
back to Haven sir."
He nodded toward the man and proceeded past the checkpoint. Out of earshot, he turned
to Lena. "He is to be reminded of our many enemies and their talents for doing impossible things.
One can't win the game if one doesn't anticipate every move and countermove. Even with dear
Mutant X's demise, we still tread a razor's edge."
"Some might even say we dance upon that edge." Lena said, turning with her leader
down a corridor. A glance toward him did not seem to show a man who'd just won a major
victory. "Mr. Sheckt, is something wrong? You've been unusually edgy tonight."
He glanced at her for a moment, briefly finding his mind curiously blank, much as his dear
associate's was after encountering Marc Griffin, a new mutant with eyes that stole memories.
Rather than being surprised by this, he merely sighed and concentrated until his thoughts
reformed. Recollection came quickly, for which he was thankful.
"I have begun to reconsider my actions. Trusting in such a labyrinthian plot to destroy
Adam Kane and his band of merry mutants. . . I worry. Had I fired the fatal shots or denoted the
bombs in person, perhaps I would not now be plagued by self-doubt. But what is, is."
"You've won."
He stopped. A door at his right opened and a doctor stepped out. "Right this way sir,
we've prepared the serum." He followed with Lena at his side, her eyes still upon him.
"You have won, Mr. Sheckt. It is over. Mutant X was locked in a cell, afflicted with
subdermal governors, a firing squad should have killed them before the bombs but, even if they
managed to escape that cell, the base was sealed. They would have had to find a way to remove
their governors, reach an outer wall, then use Kilmartin's powers for an escape." She shook her
head, "I highly doubt even they could have managed such a feat without help from the inside." A
dark smile brightened her face. "At least, not before the bombs got them."
He was comforted by her words but had no time to fully consider them.
The exam was beginning.
He sat upon a typical hospital bed and held out an arm. The doctor rolled up his sleeve
and strapped a pressure cuff above his elbow. Five hard presses later, a nurse began swabbing a
putrid orange substance over a vein; iodine to ward off infection. "We'll need to draw a blood
sample first. Nothing to be alarmed about of course, just a routine thing." The doctor retrieved a
mechanism from a nearby table that resembled slightly the devices used at blood drives. "Now,
this shouldn't hurt much."
He plunged the hollow needle into his patient's vein rather painfully and drew five vials of
sanguine wine. "There now, not too bad, eh sir? Renee, bring me a hypodermic, please." The
nurse opened a cabinet as another of her kind took the vampire device and test tubes. A glass
bottle rested in front of the doctor. Once he had a needle in hand, he drew seventy-five CC of
the fluid within and quickly injected it into his patient.
"That's all for now sir. I'll make sure to have the test results on your desk by tomorrow,
along with my report on the new subdermal governor my people have been working on. The new
device will be much more effective against unstable new mutants." The doctor cleaned his
leader's arm roughly, washing away all traces of the orange iodine. "Any symptoms I should
know of? Anxiety, depression, perhaps headaches? Confusion or disorientation?"
For a moment, he considered. There had been many concerns and some vague feelings of
moroseness. Brief moments of forgetfulness. Symptomatic or merely part of his job?
He shook his head. "None. My health is excellent." He rose and walked out of the
infirmary with Lena right on his heels. Long after they'd fallen out of earshot, he turned to her.
"That man has the bedside manner of Attila the Hun. Minus the good looks."
She broke into a rare broad smile and chuckled softly, matching her leader's stride step for
step. "Guevara does carry on. His sister, I'm told, inherited both the looks and temperament of
a real doctor. It is quite a shame she's not working for us."
"Perhaps we will recruit her one day."
"Maybe. She fell off the radar a few years back. My sources have her working for a
computer software company, but what need would they have for a medical doctor, even if her
skills match those of her brother." She favored him with as gentle and sweet a smile as a reptilian
Feral was ever likely to wear. "I could try to find out more. You know I'd do anything for you."
He smiled. "Yes. That is the one thing I am certain of."
Lena reached out and touched his arm. "It will be alright sir. You've won, you beat Adam
Kane and Mutant X. You, Aaron M. Sheckt, did something that no one, not even Mason
Eckhart, ever came close to doing." She sighed gently. In a musing tone, she said "I wonder if
he knows that they've been destroyed. Eckhart, I mean"
"Oh, I imagine so." Drawing near, he enfolded her in his arms. "He knows."
She twirled her fingers in his long dusky hair, her eyes alive with a mischievous darkness.
"I suppose he does indeed."
They laughed together, very softly.
Masters and victors of the game, unaware that half a dozen pieces were still in play.
*************************************************************************
Frost Lake base lay in ashen ruins. Chunks of wall and jagged shards of machine pointed
up at the sky, like the remains of ancient cities lost to benevolent gods. Flames rose high, licking
what had not yet been completely devastated, encouraging cremation for the carcass of a once
proud military base. The moon had risen to shine cold light downward, bathing all with it's
lifeless beauty and empty simplicity.
Close to a quarter ton of explosives had detonated, acting just as Aaron Sheckt had
wanted, leaving death and debris in the wake. His final movement, in what had seemed to his
coldly twisted mind a chess game, was now made and unretractable.
Beneath the watchful eye of night, smoldering fires began to grow.
Trickles of blood slid out from a crumpled barracks' compacted frame.
Hungry predators drew near, smelling death, holding back from the smoke.
And Jesse Kilmartin let his breath out, becoming a tangible citizen once more. He seemed
dazed, trembling where he stood before collapsing, legs giving out as terrible revelation overran
his every thought to drive him to the edge of sanity.
"They're all dead."
*************************************************************************
Inside the CIA building in Langley, Virginia, through a plain black oak door, several small
and nondescript offices were nestled between much larger conference rooms. In one particular
suite, resting upon the only desk present, a simple metal nameplate embossed with "Director of
Counter-Para-Terrorism" seemed remarkable only for it's uncomfortable wordiness. A half
dozen manila folders with black thumb tabs lay beside an ancient, four-year-old computer,
waiting in an IN box. Steam rose from the coffee mug perched precariously on top. On the
walls surrounding were portraits, two in total for both American President and CIA Director.
"Irene? Have been able to reach Adam?" The woman sitting at the desk, quietly reading
over the latest situation reports of new mutant and related terrorist activities, asked as she tapped
out a request on her keyboard by a solitary finger hunt and peck.
From somewhere else in the section of offices devoted to the Counter-Para-Terrorism
division, CPT for short, came a reply. "Not yet Director Bergl. Doctor Kane hasn't answered
any of our calls. Maybe he's out saving the world already."
"That would make our jobs a lot easier, wouldn't it? Keep trying Irene."
"Yes, ma'am."
CPT Director Christina Bergl closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair for a moment,
waiting for the old computer to finish going through roughly twelve thousand files. She'd almost
finished compiling a federal database of new mutants, one that threatened to grow considerably if
her suspicions regarding covert Genomex projects proved accurate, when news of Gabriel
Ashlocke's latest activities arrived.
The Department of Justice had already been working on a case, with her division's help, to
put Dr. David Clark behind bars for his part in selling terrorists a genetically programmable virus.
Now, she was busy trying to find out why Ashlocke had wanted him and why he'd killed him.
So far, her intelligence was unpleasantly sketchy. Her division lacked resources. The morons in
Congress refused to listen to the President's warnings about new mutant terror. Some had taken
to calling her department "Freak Wars."
Christina wasn't pleased by that nom de guerre nor by the asinine giggles that came from
opposition forces when they used it. There were days she wished to return to her previous lower
position in intelligence. If the current political environment remained, it was all too likely she'd
get that half-hearted wish.
An unsettling thought, given the breadth of potential threats she'd uncovered.
The computer chirruped and made a sound like a dyspeptic horse. Crinkling her nose,
Christina turned her attention to the screen. Her eyes roved over the information displayed as her
face lost all traces of peaceful happiness. "Irene, get in here. Now."
"Director Bergl?" Irene Saunders appeared with a lofty stack of new reports in hand, the
weight of them almost making the very petite, dishwater blonde too unbalanced to stand. She set
them down immediately in an empty spot on Christina's desk. Blowing out a whistling breath in
relief, she quickly straightened and tried to look professional. "Yes, ma'am?"
"We have a problem. Do you remember the old Genomex facility, the one that housed our
predecessor, the Genetic Security Agency?" She waited for a nod before continuing.
"According to Agent Smythe, there's evidence to suggest that someone infiltrated the facility after
our last security sweep. Along with Mason Eckhart, there were twenty-seven new mutants still in
stasis pods. Smythe's count came up short by four. Also, he's asked to run a gene signature scan
on several of the bodies."
"Why exactly does he want to do that?" Irene asked quietly, already darkly intrigued by
the conversation. Lately, her boss had been hinting at sending her back into the field. Given the
results of her previous mission, Irene was desperately hoping it wasn't all a big joke.
Christina sipped her coffee. "Agent Smythe is convinced that several of the bodies in
storage aren't the same ones he checked last time." For a few moments, she seemed calm.
Then, without warning, Director Bergl brought down her fist upon the desk, causing papers to
jump along with Irene.
"Damn those fools. If we had the funding we could have monitored Genomex completely.
God help us all if Barry Stirling got out and decides to play havoc with the stock market again or
how about Anderson Luster? Do you remember that nightmare? He was the only one Eckhart
ever threw in that I never felt an ounce of sympathy for." Shaking her head with frustration, she
pointed at the screen. "Irene, I want you to join Smythe. Work with him, check this out. I want
to know who's missing and who's still there. Can I trust you not to screw up again?"
For a moment, Irene couldn't speak. She was speechless with delight.
Joy gave way for anger as her boss's words fully registered. Her jubilant face collapsed
into a stunned grimace. "I didn't. . . madam Director, what happened with David Sark and
Kendra Makovoy wasn't my fault. Agent Pierce, he. . . he. . . well, you read my report."
"Yes, I did." A long and dark pause descended before she finished. "Your report and
your's alone, seeing as how Agent Pierce was unavailable for comment."
"I didn't kill him."
The lines of Christina's face grew deeper with anger. "You didn't pull the trigger, no.
That honor goes to David Sark. However, it was your decision to save the life of Kendra
Makovoy, a former GSA operative, instead of backing up a fellow CIA agent. Your choice cost
a man his life, a woman her husband of seven years, and three children their father." She let
silence reign; let Irene wallow in remorse. "I understand why you did what you did. Personally, I
can't say I wouldn't have done the same. Still, it wasn't by the book and Pierce died because of
that. His death is the reason you're in this office instead of out in the field."
Irene drew a deep breath. Her regret was deeper still. "Agent Pierce was a fine officer of
the CIA. No one here feels worse about his death than I do. But, in my defense, Ms. Makovoy's
testimony and her efforts to assist our operations to uncover hidden Genomex projects have
proven invaluable. It might have taken several lifetimes otherwise."
"Damn it, don't you think I know that?" Christina thundered, her hands shaking with a
mix of angry frustration and persistent pity. "You're a good field agent. Had the decision been
mine, I wouldn't have removed you from active duty. Regardless, you still made a mistake. It was
a mater of doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that
your actions cost Agent Pierce his life. I don't care if he was a bigoted bastard or that he was
unnecessarily rough when apprehending Kendra Makovoy."
Irene's mouth dropped open.
"Unnecessarily rough? He almost killed her!"
Christina sighed. She rubbed her head and wished for aspirin.
"She wasn't an angel, Irene. It's hard to feel sympathy for a woman who worked willingly
for Mason Eckhart." A cold sneer crept upon her face. "She even admits to having had a crush
on him. How could anyone have a crush on that madman?"
Shaking her head, she finished the last of her coffee, sipping at the dregs. "None of this
really matters now anyway. You're time in secretary land is up, effective five minutes ago. I want
you to report directly to the motor pool. Take a car, head to the Genomex facility and meet with
Smythe. I want a full report regarding those stasis pods ASAP."
With little more than a fleeting backwards glance, Irene Saunders left the office and went
to prove herself. Alone now, Christina laid down her head upon her folded arms. A dozen
different emotions were all fluttering about inside. Worry about Adam and his continued radio
silence, anger over the funding problem, and now sadness as thoughts of Agent Brandon Pierce
came to mind. It was enough to make her long again for the simple life of a lower agent.
The computer wheezed and a static filled voice came over the speakers. "Director Bergl,
this is Terence Wynter. I have some information for you."
Reaching over and pressing a single key without moving her head was easier than
Christina thought it would be. "What is it Terence?" She asked in a muffled voice, her face
pressed against her crossed arms.
"The Echelon monitoring system picked up on a lead. I was told to contact your division.
Total red flag and rockets red glare kinda moment here."
She looked up. "What was the lead?"
"Uh, hold on." Although the audio was still very scratchy, not to mention hollow sounding,
Christina could make out page rustling noises in the background. She smiled thinly, thinking of
Terence sitting at his cluttered desk, shuffling through post-mission reports, men's magazines, and
the remains of countless fast food lunches, brow appropriately furrowed. "Ah, yeah, here it is.
Sorry about that brief delay. I had the wrong file in front of me. Echelon picked up the name
Aaron Sheckt on a communication sent a few minutes ago."
"Tell me there was a trace."
"Better than that. Talkers used an address. Evidently, this Sheckt character has a base out
by Frost Lake. I had a few of my boys check the voices and the fact. The call was placed by a
known associate to a very unknown third party. Standard satellite bounce with extra bells and
whistles. We couldn't trace a damn thing, not that we didn't try, but we do have confirmation of
an abandoned military base right next to, yes you guessed right, Frost Lake USA."
He quickly gave her the exact coordinates in longitude and latitude, casually remarking
that the lake was some distance from a city. The same city, Christina thought anxiously, that
Adam Kane and Mutant X operated near.
"Thanks for the call. I'll send a team out there."
"Anytime Director, anytime. Just doing my part for the red, the white, and even the Blue
Man Group!"
"Very clever." Christina disconnected the call before Terence tried to chat her up any
further. Much as she admired the man's talents with any and all things electronic, he was
beginning to annoy her with his constant attempts to get a date. Some were more subtle than
others, but his overall approach of being witty but wordy was not earning him many points. "Got
to give the man an A for effort though."
She raised her head and shoved back a swath of black hair that had fallen over her face.
The day hadn't begun well, but maybe her luck was changing. She reached out and dialed a
number. It rang thrice before a groggy voice answered.
"Hullo? Huh?"
Had it not been for the soundproofing around her office, everyone in Langley would have
been treated to the sound of a very frustrated woman screaming. "Agent Vince Beckley Jr. were
you sleeping on duty again?"
"Director Bergl? Huh, oh yeah, sorry. I have an infant son, I kinda have to take it where I
can find it, you know? Give me a break, Haladki's got my back." He said through a yawn.
"What's the situation. You know me, I'm ready in a blink."
She was tempted to task someone else for the job but reluctantly gave Agent Beckley the
details of what she'd just learned. "Frost Lake military base. Get there pronto with as many
troops as you can put together. We may have just found Aaron Sheckt's operational base."
*************************************************************************
Jesse's initial shock wore off as he stood alone in the same hallway where he and
Katherine had been fighting Sheckt's security forces. Just a few seconds ago, he'd drawn a deep
breath and become intangible to let her gun down the last of their attackers by firing through his
body. Then, in the instant before he would have taken a breath, an enormous explosion had
rocked the base. Fire had plumed from deep in the hallway and blown through him.
He was alive only because he'd been too shocked to breath.
Desperately, he swung around and started searching the rubble for Katherine. Even as he
began shifting through fragments of plaster ceiling, heaving away shattered wooden roof beams,
Jesse suspected it was hopeless. The hallway where they'd been fighting was nothing. It had
been annihilated.
Thoughts of his friends and teammates, visions of their dead and crushed bodies, spurred
him to faster action.
'Please,' he begged silently in his thoughts. 'God, please, don't let me be the only one
left. Don't let them be dead. Not now, not when Adam and Emma have just found each other,
not when Shalimar and Brennan still haven't admitted how much they love each other.'
His hands shoved away a tangled mass of wires and glass that had once been a light
fixture. A fragment of wall was tossed back next. Countless particles of dust and ash were
shoveled away.
'We just saved Charlotte's life, damn it, she can't be dead!'
Jesse was breathing so fast he verged on hyperventilation, his head growing sleepy as his
vision turned cloudy. No slowing. Every second counted. He kept moving, hoping, digging.
'I won't give up. I won't, I won't, I won't! They're alive! I'll find them! I'll—.'
He stopped. He'd found Katherine's pistol, still clutched in her hand.
A hand caked in blood.
*************************************************************************
The Jacob's Memorial Hospital fire was all the city was talking about. For over an hour,
people had watched, some rendered breathlessly hopeful, others morbidly enticed, by the human
struggle taking place. Reporting the fire, after anchoring many hours of general news beforehand,
left Eve Frost little time for a life this night. She'd given her capable taxi driver her cell phone
number, a knee weakening smile, then graciously accepted a ride home.
Now, she lay sprawled on her couch, one arm against her chest, the other dangling over
the side, legs crossed at the mid thigh, wearing lace and silk and little of both.
The apartment she kept for her own was surprisingly spare. It lacked much in the way of
knickknacks, bric-a-brac, or assorted whatnots. There were only three rooms, not considering a
puny bathroom, four if one counted the balcony off the bedroom, and none of them were quite
spacious. The kitchen doubled as a dinning area, sleek with silvery metal lines. The living area
held a long couch built to accommodate three, two leather chairs, a battered coffee table with a
picture frame perched on it's surface, and two enormous bookshelves against one wall. The
bedroom was the largest of all, but only if you factored in the balcony. It held a vanity, a closet
with pre-assembled outfits, complete with accessories, but only two extra pairs of shoes. Of all
Eve's furnishings, only her bed was remarkable. It was an antique four-poster complete with bed
curtains, a magnificently carved headboard, and satin sheets that made her skin sigh sensuously.
Had she felt like sleeping, the bed would have been her choice. Resting on the couch in
barely-there underwear was more of a pre-sleep activity. She needed to wind down a little. She
felt as if the day had begun months ago rather than starting mere hours before. So much had
happened, she'd spoken of tragedy and triumph and mysteries.
Eve turned her head toward the large screen of her television, pondering briefly if the effort
required to find the remote was worth it.
"No," she muttered to herself, "I've had enough of the world for one day."
Lying quietly, her mind played back the things she'd seen and brought to the world's
attention. As there were few distractions in her Spartan apartment, Eve could concentrate on
everything with great clarity of reason. She'd told the public about the murder of a prominent, if
prejudiced, scientist and the mystery man allegedly responsible. She'd brought the massacre of
several college students, plus two police officers, before the city's citizens. And she'd been at the
inferno. There were other stories she'd told today, however, that had left her uneasy.
Something about the bizarre reports of precognition gnawed at her brain. She kept recalling
the Proxy Blue stories from a year ago, fantasies about rouge government agencies rounding up
freaks of nature. Then, it had seemed pure fiction.
Now, Eve could easily close her eyes and imagine that it was all real. She'd wanted,
pleaded, for an opportunity to return to the investigative journalism roots that had brought her up
from a nameless highschool paper. This "Cassandra Effect" as a popular scientist termed it
seemed the perfect place to start revisiting the uncanny. Could it be explained by the existence of
"mutants" or was there a rational, boring answer?
Eve turned over so that the gentle stream of air-conditioned wind could trace the lines of
her slight shoulders and tight buttocks rather than her petite bosom and toned tummy. Her hair,
wheat blonde streaked seamlessly with natural auburn, fell in gentle curls around her face. Eyes
shut, she could have imagined a man's fingers massaging the day's woes out of her muscles, but
lonely reality couldn't be ignored. Still, Eve lingered in her new position, thinking.
Proxy Blue had gone silent months back. Perhaps, just perhaps, it had been telling some
of the truth. If the computer generated Mulder spewing paranoid mysteries had been even
remotely on to something, she wanted the story. More than any other before it, this one was
important. To be the one to hunt it, track it, stalk it, trap it, and force it into the open. . . Eve
could think of nothing she'd rather do. The idea that there were humans outside in her city,
people with strange and wondrous powers, nipped at the child within that once dreamed of
unicorns and a handsome prince on a white horse.
Plus, it was a hell of a better way of explaining the weird premonitions than coincidence.
"Like anything that freaky and widespread could be coincidence. Statistically improbable
and too boring for the news." She rolled back over and stretched, arching her back slightly as
she did. "Note to self, check with all sources regarding the old Proxy Blue reports. And, Evie,
sweetheart, remember not to scream at your cameramen just because they put you in a bad light
during a fire. Their lives suck more than yours."
As she started to sit up, her cell rang, chiming a lullaby tune her mother had written. Eve
leaned over the back of the couch and snatched the phone from her purse. "Hello?"
"Hi. Um, I don't know if you recognize my voice."
The softest grin formed on Eve's face. "The handsome cab driver." She lay back. "Tell
me, what's a nice guy like you calling a girl like me for?"
He sighed. "This is going to sound like a line, but I can't stop thinking about you. There's
just something about you." There was nervousness in his voice and a reluctance to speak. Eve
sat up straighter, hearing the serious tone to his words. "I just. . . well, I. . . are you really for
real. You know, about dinner and everything."
She smiled, very gently. "Yeah. I always keep my word and I never give it unless I'm very
serious about it. Maybe there's something about you too." An impulse made her lean forward
seductively, though he could not see her. "So my pretty face is stuck in your head huh? Would
you like more than that to think about?"
"Um. What exactly does that mean?"
Eve grinned, her expression at once sensual and extremely sweet. "Let me tell you what
I'm wearing right now," she said, her fingers fiddling with the lace hem of her panties. The
faintest blush tinged her cheeks. "Or, rather, not wearing."
There was total silence on the other line.
"Hey? You still there?" She asked when he didn't answer, feeling suddenly foolish.
A moment later, the taxi driver spoke, sounding like he was blushing too, though far brighter
than Eve. "I'm not sure I could take that. I've got a weak heart." Even over the phone, she
could hear him smiling warmly with desire. "At least, I seem to where you're concerned."
"Flattery will get you anything you want."
"You don't even know my name." He whispered, barely audible over the static hiss.
Eve laid back on the couch. "Yes I do my handsome taxi driver." She chuckled softly,
then said "You're name's John Martin. You're ID's plastered to the back of the seat in your
cab."
After that, they said their slow goodbyes, leaving Eve alone. Her eyes fell on the picture
frame sitting on her coffee table. "My friends, I wonder where you are right now."
There were three girls, arms around each other, enormous grins plastered across their
faces. The middle lovely was Eve. On the right, a girl with glasses and white blonde hair in a
fashionable bun, to the left, rolling her eyes, a brunette leaning her head against Eve's shoulder.
Beneath the picture, a caption in tiny print, with hearts at either end.
[Best Friends: Tessa McCarthy, Evelyn "Eve" Frost, Emma DeLauro]
*************************************************************************
Flickering lights.
Dancing lights.
Pretty lights.
'Fireflies?' The thought formed groggily in Shalimar's mind. Her vision was blurred and
seemed to swim in and out of focus, as if her eyes were controlled by a broken dimmer switch.
Colors seemed dull, yet very sharp. She hurt terribly.
Sparks burst over head, more of the flickering-dancing-pretty lights. Fireflies frolicking.
Memory cut into reality, a day long past spent playing in a field of wild flowers, playing till the
late sun began to dip away. She was seven, dressed pretty. Blue skirt, pink blouse, red ribbons
circling innocent blonde ringlet curls. Her mother loved to curl that hair; her father loved to
watch her dance and play.
Shalimar in memory was laughing and chasing fireflies.
Her father stood away from her, watching, the biggest grin on his face. Nearby, a man in
a light brown suit, briefcase clutched by his side. Genomex insignia stenciled into the case, the
word, (no, the surname) Falcon below it. Father was saying "you see what you've done for me?
She's healthy and happy again. Thank God for Genomex. I swear, if there's ever anything I can
do for Mr. Eckhart, you tell him that Nicholas Fox owes him a favor."
Even then, before she knew anything about the nightmares that would come and the sins
of Mason Eckhart, a small girl had a bad feeling when she heard her daddy say that. Brown suit
man wasn't nice.
"Shalimar?"
She shook her head. It hurt. It helped. Her vision cleared and her thoughts returned to
the present. They'd been outside the infirmary, Devon was about to open the door, then. . . there
had been an explosion, she'd been knocked out. Her last memory before now: thinking 'I can't
die yet, I never told Brennan.'
She looked up and he was kneeling over her, one hand pressed gently to her forehead,
almost as if he were checking for a fever. "Hey. Welcome back. You gave us a real scare for a
bit there. Can you do something for me Shal? I need you to squeeze my hand. See, I'm holding
your right hand and I need you to squeeze real tight." Brennan's eyes were large and soft and
brown, filled with a heartwarming concern and outright joy that she'd woken up.
"Am I hurt?" The question sounded so silly to her ears that Shalimar giggled. "Boy, that
was a stupid thing to say. Better to ask if any part of me isn't hurt." She gripped Brennan's hand
as tightly as she could, showing him that she was fine.
When she started to sit up, he gently pressed her back down. "Whoa, hold on. Move
slow. You've been out for a few minutes."
A genuine sweet smile formed on Shalimar's lips. "And here I thought you were the one
who needed help."
"I told you guys before, I'm fine. This is only, what, the third time I've been blown up
today? Or did I miscount?" He grinned back at her and tucked a loose strand of her blonde hair
back behind her ear. "I'll help you up. Just put your weight on me and if you feel dizzy, tell me.
Okay?" When she nodded, he lent her his arm and, with a subdued grunt, practically lifted
Shalimar from the floor by himself.
Standing, she suddenly became aware of the incredible devastation all around them. She
also realized that they were standing in the middle of an enormous crater, surrounded on all sides
by fragmented pieces of the building and glittery metallic debris that she only belated realized
were what little remained of various medical devices.
Adam and Emma were standing off to one side, just holding each other. Her head was
resting on his shoulder, his hand was cradling her body against his, palm in the small of her back.
He was whispering something to her, words that made a faint smile blossom. Then he leaned
down and ever so gently kissed the back of her head. He held her tighter. They looked so
terribly happy together.
It made Shalimar feel sick. When Adam had told her, she'd been angry and hurt and didn't
know why. Now she understood. He was the closet thing she had to a father since her own had
betrayed her, locking her in a psychiatric ward around birthday number twelve.
Happy birthday kiddo! Your first gift is mutant Feral powers! Gift number two is an all
expenses paid trip to hell on earth! Aren't you just the luckiest, prettiest little darling?
He was like a father. Emma was her best friend. It felt like a betrayal, perhaps even more
so for the fact that they'd pretended it wasn't happening; they'd lied by omission.
Shalimar understood her anger. She just couldn't make it go away.
"You okay?" Brennan asked, his arm around her, braced to catch her if she started to
slide faint to the floor.
Shalimar didn't answer.
Maybe she didn't have an answer.
From a place near a crushed air duct, Charlotte Cooke muttered. "I'm just fine. No,
please, stop worrying over me. It's just a scratch." All eyes turned to her, and in turning to her,
they also fell upon the deep gash in her leg. A shard of metal from the infirmary door had impaled
her mid thigh. "Heat cauterized it, I think. I'm not bleeding anymore. Not that any of you would
have noticed if I were."
She tried to pull herself up and actually managed it after hissing in excruciating and
previously unimaginable agony. After she'd unclenched her teeth, she glanced around the semi
dark pit they'd fallen into. "Where's that Bowden guy?"
The words were barely out of her mouth before something wet and red splattered onto the
ground in front of her. Blood dripping from a hand stretched over the edge of the pit.
In the hallway, Jesse had uncovered Katherine Bowden. He thought she was breathing.
Thought. He couldn't be sure. There might have been a pulse; again, just not certain. There was
a lot of blood though. Her clothes weren't soaked in it, but there were dark spots where pieces
of rubble had pierced flesh and torn deep. Only a few places bled freely; the rest were clotted
with dust and ash. Jesse took the continued bleeding as both good and bad.
Good, because it meant her heart was still beating.
Bad, because it meant she was dying.
He carefully lifted her damaged body into his arms and started walking toward where the
infirmary had been, where Adam and the others were taking Brennan to check him out.
Balancing her carefully, he had taken only a few steps when he heard something, a sound that
was becoming very familiar to him as the day wore on. Jesse turned around, knowing that
someone had a gun on him and that he was not going to get out of this without Lady Luck, God,
and anyone else who felt like lending a hand.
"Slowly, Kilmartin. Move it slow or I'm going to have to kill you where you stand."
That voice was vaguely familiar. It was cold, emotionless. Yet, there was a tone to it,
something that called to mind a character from a book Jesse had read, the voice of night itself.
He felt sweat and shock pour out of him in equal portions.
He turned slowly and, standing calmly with pistol in hand and twisted smile on face, was
Duncan Ladd. His attire included a bullet hole riddled shirt, darkly stained, and a vest of combat
webbing with extra clips and grenades nestled safely.
"That's right you son of a bitch. I'm back from the dead." His eyes flared with insanity
and a rage that turned Jesse's stomach. "And you don't look very happy to see me. You don't
look happy at all. And do you know what happens to people who lose those special happy
thoughts?" The madman grinned. "Simon, dearest of all my friends, give him a hint."
Jesse froze as the barrel of a pistol was pressed to the back of his head.
Behind him, another dead man grinned. His name was Simon. Jesse had seen his lifeless
corpse at the safe house, a daisy-pusher before they'd rescued Charlotte. Yet, he was here.
'I'm in hell,' Jesse thought, stunned horror filling him. 'I'm in hell.'
"We're talking to you." Simon snarled, jabbing his weapon so hard into the back of
Jesse's head that he nearly dropped Katherine. "My friend asked you a question. You're losing
your happy thoughts, losing them good and fast. So tell us, Mr. Mutant X Man, tell us what
happens when those pretty fairytales are dead as dust in your mouth?" Another sharp jab, this
time done so that the triangle of metal at the barrel's end, the sight, tore into Jesse's scalp,
drawing blood.
Duncan stepped forward and grabbed Katherine's body from Jesse's arms.
Without hesitation, he threw her like a child's rag doll.
She collapsed in a seemingly lifeless heap on the floor.
"When the veil of lies your mother told you about good beating evil, your happy thoughts,
are gone, you see truth." Duncan raised his pistol so that it was set between Jesse's eyes. "You
wake up in hell."
*************************************************************************
Kelly Rice had fallen asleep guarding Gabriel.
If she'd been awake, she would have hated herself for that.
As it were, she slept and dreamed and remembered. First, she dreamed of the memory of
trying to leave the Strand. Her doubts overcame her that day. Gabriel would never return. He
had been taken by Eckhart and there was no hope. She'd believed that and, even in sleep, she
hatred herself for that moment of weakness. Though forgiven by her god, by Ashlocke, Kelly still
despised the escape attempt.
It had failed, of course. Morgan had found her and brought her back.
Memory showed her Shalimar and Brennan as they fought Morgan and the Feral she'd
brought along. Had Kelly been better prepared, less afraid, she'd have won. Fear of fire was
genetically programed into Ferals. Morgan had never been particularly smart. If Mutant X
hadn't abandoned her, hadn't left her to be caught, she'd have gotten away too.
Pain came as she remembered. They ran away. They left her behind. Morgan could have
killed her and they hadn't cared. Suddenly, in the dream, Kelly found herself back in the Clark
warehouse, fires all around. Jesse Kilmartin and Shalimar, that bitch who'd run, were standing
before her.
"Come with us!" Jesse yelled, and it would have been so easy to go.
He was so cute.
"You tried to escape once, you can do it again." He said gently, and suddenly, the fires
were gone and so was Shalimar. Only he remained, standing there before Kelly. They were out
in the country. The scenery was familiar and she wanted to run, run fast and far, run from the
memory that would soon come, but suddenly Jesse moved forward, grabbed her arms and held
her so tight she couldn't get away.
He screamed out at her, the sound thundering throughout the vast world of her dream,
echoing forever inside. "Run Kelly! Run, run, as fast as you can! He's coming now and I can't
hold him back. Please go! Go!" Jesse released her arms and she started to move backwards,
away from Jesse Kilmartin and the dark things she'd done.
Then he wasn't the cute blond haired, blue-eyed member of Mutant X. He was Gabriel,
he was her god, only she didn't want to be his, not in any way, any shape, not for all the love or
money in creation. Her backwards steps turned to desperate flight, but he grabbed her and
pinned her arms behind her before she could get far.
There was a terrible grin on his face, the face of the man he'd become. "Kelly, Kelly,
Kelly, I am so very disappointed in you. What happened to faith? What happened to love?" He
laughed as she struggled and tried to escape. "I have to remind you, don't I? You're making me
do this, babe. Don't worry, I'll be gentle. You'll love me soon."
His laughter filled her mind then he was gone but he wasn't. Gabriel the man vanished and
Gabriel the young boy, barely near teenage years, stood holding her arms. She'd first met him
when at this age, so many years ago. Before the pod, before Genomex took him, here was the
boy who would be a god. There was a smile on his lips, but it wasn't a child's smile. Knowledge
lay behind it, far darker knowledge than any mere boy could have. Gabriel lacked years, but he
was already a man. He was already planning to murder his parents.
"I've got secrets." The boy Ashlocke whispered conspiratorially, still holding tight to
Kelly's arms. "You want to see? Do you? I've got a club house and everything. There are
others, just like you and me. We're safe together. The old geeks don't know I built it."
She pulled away at last, but it didn't matter. The first headquarters of the Strand rose in
her mind's eye, filled the world a thousand fold. "Mine, all mine." Boy Gabriel said with such
sickening self-absorption that Kelly wanted to kill him. He looked back and saw how afraid she
was, how desperate to run from what was coming. "You liked me once. Liked this place once.
We all liked you, didn't we Kelly? We were all friends here."
There was madness in those eyes. Why hadn't she seen it before? Why? She wanted to
run but her feet were being held off the ground. Morgan was standing behind Boy Gabriel, just a
little girl herself but with powers. And, amazingly, Kelly felt herself grow young again. She was
crying and crying, just like a child, because she was one suddenly. She was so afraid.
With a swish, Boy Gabriel and Girl Morgan vanished. They were gone away, but Kelly
was still there. She was alone, standing nowhere, for the world had disappeared with them. She
felt so afraid and so terribly lost. Her nose was running and tears were streaming.
"I want my mommy." She cried out quietly. "I want mommy and daddy."
A figure appeared before her. It was Jesse again.
"You tried to escape once, you can do it again." He whispered softly, reaching out to hug
the frightened child Kelly had become. "We want to help you. Gabriel's a madman. He's using
you and all the Links. He doesn't care about you. We do." Memory mixed and meted out. His
words from Clark's warehouse. She sniffed and he had a tissue. She smiled.
"I didn't mean to be bad." Kelly whispered. "I didn't mean to."
Jesse vanished. She desperately grabbed where he had been, trying to find him.
"Please, come back mister!" Her high pitched child's voice broke in fear and trembled
with remorse. "I'm sorry, please, don't leave me! Please. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."
She closed her eyes and the world changed into a small girl's bedroom, with pink painted walls
and stuffed unicorns on a beautiful bed with star covered sheets that looked like a night's sky on
Christmas eve. Kelly opened her eyes and saw and started shaking uncontrollably. She knew
this memory. She knew and didn't want to remember.
"It was an accident." Kelly whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. "It was an
accident. Please, don't leave me here. I'm sorry I was a bad girl."
The memory began to play. She was compelled to do as she had so many years ago.
Her father came into the room. He smiled in a depressed way. "Kelly, honey, now don't
cry. I promise you, it won't hurt much. Just a little sting, that's all." He came closer and knelt
down before her. "Come on sweetie. Daddy's had his vaccination shots and I'm okay."
"The needles hurt!" Kelly wailed in the dream as she had in real life so many years ago, "I
don't want to see doctor Falcon. He's mean!"
"Now, honey, that's no way to talk about the man who saved your life. If it weren't for him
and Genomex, you wouldn't be the healthy, beautiful little darling you are right now." Her father
gave her a hug. "There, now. That's better."
It was better. Kelly sniffed and let him pick her up, even though it strained his back.
"You're getting too old for me to carry you around honey." But he laughed when he said it and
she laughed because she loved her father and knew she'd been dumb to act the way she had.
He'd carried her almost to the front door before setting her down. She walked after him as he
opened the door but stopped when her head started aching and her hands started to feel itchy.
"Daddy, I don't feel so good."
He turned away from the front door, she never knew why because he had been taking her
out to see her doctor. Maybe he thought it was a joke or maybe that she was faking. Kelly
never asked him why he turned his back to the door, why he leaned down so close, why he
smiled the way he did and said "I love you Kelly."
Maybe he'd known what was going to happen.
She'd started to reach toward him, wanting him to make her hands stop itching, when the
fire came. It burst up in a thin but almost white hot gusher. Kelly's father never had a chance.
He was dead before the he'd realized he was on fire.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Kelly screamed as she had that day. Then she ran for her mother, her
mother in the baby's room, her mother who could fix it, because Mrs. Rice was a nurse and she
knew how to fix the big booboos. "Mommy! Daddy's hurt!" She didn't know he was dead.
She was a child again, she didn't know that she'd just killed him because no one had told her that
now she could make fire walls because she was a new mutant. Kelly couldn't know she'd killed
the father who loved her.
She came into the baby's room to find her mother holding her infant brother, staring
fearfully at her daughter. "What happened Kelly?" The question was vaguely accusing because
Mrs. Rice always worried about how her husband carried their daughter.
Kelly turned slightly back toward the doorway, gesturing, beginning to say that something
bad happened and daddy was on fire, but she never said a word. The instant she pointed, fire
bloomed again like a Death Rose from hell, like a one-way ticket on a ferryboat across Styx, a
ride to oblivion.
"Mommy! I'm scared!" Kelly screamed, falling back from the fire. Even as she cried out,
a part of her waggled a disapproving finger inside. Dancing flames didn't frighten her.
They were, in fact, quite beautiful.
Her mother picked her up from behind and carried both her daughter and her baby son,
not even a year old, into the bathroom. She reached up and tried to turn on the shower, to
drench them in water, but she couldn't. That morning, a neighborhood boy, a very mean boy
that Kelly didn't know yet but would soon, had turned off their water. As pranks go, fairly
harmless. Unless there was a fire.
Mrs. Rice started praying.
Her son started crying.
Kelly left the shower stall to get a tissue.
Her mother saw and reached out, "Kelly, baby, come here! I think we're safe here!" She
might have said more, probably would have prayed more, but the moment her daughter turned,
hands raised in the act of reaching for that tissue, the fire came.
Mrs. Rice had, to a point, been right. A half hour later, after the fire department got inside,
they found Kelly alive and well, cried into unconsciousness under a sink. The flames from outside
the bathroom hadn't taken inside because all of the room was tiled from floor to ceiling. Her
mother had loved ceramic tiles and insisted, disregarding the price, that every bathroom be like
that. There was, as a result, only one bathroom in the Rice home.
Kelly's mother and baby brother had died slower than her father, because the fire wall
she'd accidently created in the shower was weaker and had only human flesh to fuel it's heat.
Unable to move, unwilling to move, Kelly's clothes, skin, hair, even her lungs, choked with the
scent of cooking meat.
Of the seven firefighters who beat the flames in the Rice home and found Kelly alive,
crying in her sleep, not a single one ever forgot that unholy stench or the sight of a tiny blonde girl
under a sink. Eventually, they'd taken up a collection to help the orphaned child. Two had even
acted as foster parents for a short time, before Kelly was found by Gabriel, less than a year after
she'd killed her family.
He forgave her then, on that long ago day. Sweetly, gently, lovingly made her see that it
was a horrible accident. She had done nothing wrong. He showed her the way. He saved her
sanity and her soul.
That was how Gabriel Ashlocke became her god.
This was what Kelly Rice dreamed.
*************************************************************************
With surprising ease, the members of Mutant X, plus Charlotte, climbed out of the hole
they'd fallen into. Standing outside where the infirmary had been, working together, they'd
managed to lift the heavy metal door that had been on top of Devon and throw it back down into
the level below. It had been the infirmary door, the one he'd been just about to open. Explosive
force had torn the barrier from it's hinges, a cleaved remnant of said hinges having become the
stabbing metallic splinter in Charlotte's leg. Devon had been pinned beneath the door.
"Is he alive?" Brennan asked, in a voice so numbed with shock and weariness that he only
sounded moderately interested, as if he saw death far too often to be further impressed.
Standing apart from the others, debating whether or not to rip the shard of slag from her
thigh, Charlotte looked over at them, at Devon, and started crying silently. She'd seen death.
Too much of it in fact and wished with all her heart that there would be no more. Her mind kept
trying to turn to Jesse but she refused to consider him. She had to not think about him, because
she was, at heart, a pessimist despite the hopeful things she'd written down.
She knew if she started thinking about Jesse, she'd think about him dead and, right then,
that was the one thing Charlotte could not and would not allow herself to think. Hope was all she
had to cling to. Hope that Jesse was okay, that she'd find him, that they'd get out of the ruins of
Frost Lake.
Because they were trapped right now. Whether Devon was alive or dead, they were
trapped. What little of the hall around the infirmary that hadn't collapsed was surrounded by
caved in debris piles. Roof beams, enormous chunks of plaster, pieces of wall.
They were quite impassible.
"He's alive," Emma DeLauro whispered quietly, "but just barely. He'll need a hospital."
Near her side, Charlotte thought they made a lovely couple, Adam was studying one
closed off sections of hallway. He reached out and tried to move some of the junk, only to leap
back, his arms going around Emma to protect her, as the entire pile rumbled closer by several
millimeters, then stopped.
"Please, don't do that again." Brennan whispered, holding Shalimar close.
The blonde nodded. "Yeah, Adam. We can't dig out. This whole place is just barely
staying stable as it is. We need Jesse."
Emma reluctantly disengaged herself from Adam, hesitating only so long as it took for her
to remember that Devon needed help. She knelt down beside him, reaching into his mind and
giving him dose after dose of hope and faith and inspiration. Beside her again, Adam. He
checked the man's vitals. His face was grim. She looked to him and there was no reassurance
there, only a sad surrender.
"He's not going to die." Emma said, meeting his eyes, needing this man whom she loved
and had, truthfully, always loved, to tell her a lie. She wanted him to lie to her. Somewhere
deep, where soul and mind met, she reached out to him and he to her.
And, he touched her hand, did not take hold but just barely touched the very top.
He lied to her.
"Everything's going to be okay."
Emma's eyes said thank you.
If Aaron Sheckt's plan to murder Mutant X had had a flaw, it was this: Katherine Bowden
had never truly worked for him. Her infiltration of his organization under the guise of a thrill
seeking new convert, her training, the time away from her husband, it had all been lies. Her true
loyalty was to Devon and America. She was CIA, a part of America's answer to new mutant
terrorism, the Counter-Para-Terrorism division.
Until she came to "kill" Emma DeLauro, and instead faked her death for the surveillance
equipment, her husband had never even suspected the truth.
She wasn't sure she'd get the chance to make things up to him either, for something
terrible had happened. An explosion had torn through the Frost Lake base and she'd been
caught up in it. Her body ached all over and her ears were ringing deafly, thought it seemed some
time had passed. Thick blots of clotted blood tangled in her hair, marring the left side of her
head. She groaned in pain when she tried to move, feeling acutely the agony of having been
buried alive.
Having once been in an explosion, a minor terrorist attack which occurred shortly after
she'd joined the CIA as a field agent, she recognized the feeling.
"Well, well, well. Look who's awake."
The voice, stone frozen and dark as septic sludge, made Katherine play statue.
It was impossible for her to be hearing that voice.
"Are you acting dead? Good. You'll need practice for the real thing."
She opened her eyes and found him, his face a still mask of rage and madness.
"I killed you." Katherine said, wondering momentarily if she could be in hell. She didn't
remember committing any sin quite bad enough to deserve the ticket down, but then again, her
head was a bit leaden from being nearly blown up. "How can you be here?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Jesse, who was being held at gun point by
Simon, another monster who was supposed to have disappeared when the lights came on.
Duncan Ladd knelt close and twisted her face toward him, sending a wave of agony through
her entire body. "Boggles the mind, does it? Well, here's a clue you pathetically micro-brained
bitch. I'm a new mutant with Molecular abilities. I can repair and regenerate my bodily tissues.
You should really consider leaving murder to more qualified experts, like myself." He looked up
and across the ruins of what had been a long hallway inside the Frost Lake base, his eyes finding
several men who were walking toward him. "Ah, Simon, it's good to see all of you."
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Her heart grew chill at the very concept.
Three men were drawing near and each wore the same face.
"Confused?" Duncan asked with a snarling laugh. "Another of Sheckt's finest recruits.
New mutant all the way. Rather rare gift, probably the only one with it in all the world. Simon can
duplicate himself. Too bad his clones have a nasty habit of going insane."
A few of the Simons laughed at this while two them didn't seem to know how to react.
Only one, his eyes and gun on Jesse, acted deaf. She made an intuitive leap and surmised this
was the original. Her thoughts turned to her pistol, and she wondered what would happen if the
real Simon died, as she tried to signal Jesse with eyes alone.
Though she was nearly dead, almost surely going to soon be dead, Katherine was still an
agent of the CIA.
She still had a job to do.
Perhaps noticing her glance at Jesse, or maybe just deciding to taunt her some more on his
own, Duncan jerked Katherine up to a sitting position. He took aim with his own pistol at Jesse.
"Look upon him, my dear traitorous bitch. He's alive, you're alive, all because I, Duncan Ladd,
prepared for your betrayal. While I pretended to trust you, Sheckt saw fit to place you in a
position to be his perfect instrument of disinformation. Everything you've sent whomever you
work for has been fabricated by him for you."
He laughed at her astonished face, never realizing that when he'd thrown her from Jesse's
arms before, she had landed virtually atop her own weapon. Fraction of a fraction, she was
edging her left hand to the pistol's comforting grip.
Katherine had a plan, but she had to make Jesse understand that he had to phase out. If
he massed out, becoming solid and virtually impervious, the plan would fail and her life would be
spent uselessly.
While she planned, her eyes desperately trying to send Jesse a signal, Duncan was speaking.
"This is indeed a night for surprises. Somehow, Mutant X managed to plant explosives to murder
my leader. Truly brilliant, though a tad insane, but I must salute you." He faked a bow, his gun
never leaving Jesse's heart, it's target across a few meters empty space.
That was good. Katherine needed that gun to stay exactly where it was.
Duncan watched her, his eyes darkening. "This is a night for surprises, is it not? You betray
me, but I maintain the full loyalty of all of Simon." At this praise, one of the Simons bowed
theatrically, then laughed. "Hmm. Another one losing his grip, eh my friend?"
The real Simon, the one standing behind Jesse, smirked. "Don't worry. As long as my I'm
here to exert my will over them, they'll keep long enough for what needs to be done. Now, kill
the speech and kill that bitch already. If her friends on the outside manage to reactivate the bombs
my other selves defused, we'll end up as dead as my slower selves."
Katherine caught Jesse's eye at last, just as Duncan turned his head to glare at Simon. To
signal him about her plan, she started blinking at high speed in morse code. For a moment, he
seemed confused. Then, suddenly, his own eyes grew wide and she knew he understood what
she was doing. She signaled him that she needed him to phase out on her signal. There was no
time to pass more than that simple message on. Duncan and Simon's brief staring match was
over.
Duncan sighed. "We should savor this moment more. It is not often that one get's to kill
someone so obviously blessed. To think, until their own bombs, neither one of them had a single
life-threatening injury. Astounding." He shook his head gently and began to smile.
At the instant he was about to turn back to her, to kill her, Katherine shouted out to Simon,
"he killed you at the safe house!" Whether Simon had already known this fact or not, her scream
distracted him for an instant. In that moment, Jesse took a breath so fast it made him dizzy. He
became intangible, untouchable.
Seeing that Jesse was taking that breath, Duncan had instinctively fired.
There was just enough time, between him pulling the trigger and the bullet exploding from
it's chamber, for Jesse to become completely phased out.
The lead slug from Duncan's pistol burrowed through the space Jesse occupied, plowed
through Simon's own chest, turned the multiple man's heart into evil tartar, and burst from his
back to strike the back wall and embed itself there. Simon's own impulse, just as the bullet was
ripping through him, the same instant he realized that Jesse was phasing, was to shoot as well.
His bullet raced across to Duncan and flashed by his face, the heat of it's passage leaving a faint
scorch mark on his cheek.
Duncan Ladd spun around, stuck his gun in Katherine's belly, just as she brought her own
weapon up and jammed it under his chin. They both pulled the trigger at the same time. He died
instantly, his brains destroyed by a high velocity round that tore through his skull and bored into
the roof. Katherine felt like she'd been punched in the gut.
Jesse started breathing again.
To be accurate, he gasped desperately, drawing in as much air in a series of choking gulps
as he could, filling his lungs so quickly that his thoughts swam like fish and his vision blurred. He
watched the fine red mist that lingered for a brief instant over Duncan's head mix with plaster
ceiling dust that cascaded down like snowfall from the apocalypse.
A hanging tube of fluorescence sputtered and glinted. Jesse glanced left and right. The
other Simons were on the floor, just as dead as the original, though a few twitched disturbingly.
Without hesitation, he rushed to Katherine's side and dropped down so that he knelt over her.
He shoved Duncan's lifeless body away, hoping that this time there would be no regeneration.
He took hold of her hand and felt a squeeze, relief flooding him as she let out a groan.
"What the hell happened?" She muttered as her eyes opened. "Jesse? Uh, my stomach
hurts." For this instant, her mind was muddled. It cleared in the next instant. Reboot after the
system shock. "Tell Devon, I'm sorry."
"Tell him yourself." Jesse whispered, rapidly tearing strips of cloth from his own shirt.
He bandaged the wound as best he could and pulled her up. Her anguished scream did nothing
to deter him from his desperate attempt to force the universe to give them one more miracle.
"You hold on to that pain. You stay with me."
Jesse carried her to the wall, touched the wall, and phased it so that they could pass
through. It took only a few seconds, but in that time, Katherine slipped out of consciousness.
He was outside, it was night and dark and a feeling of palpable misery hung in the air.
Only in that moment, as he laid Katherine down beside the lake, desperately hoping that he
would never have to deliver her message, did he realize that there were dozens of men all around
him. Every one of them was armed. Every weapon was on him. Someone was yelling for him to
put his hands behind his head and get on the ground.
He was too tired to do anything else.
He wondered where the others were.
He hoped they were better off than him.
*************************************************************************
Dr. Laura Guevara sat at her desk, staring at a picture of her brother Larenzo, remembering
better times. Her family had come to America many generations ago, yet before the famous
Guevara twins, not a single member managed any sort of education. There were no doctors
before them. There had been, in fact, only a single Guevara to graduate from highschool. Uncle
Max had inspired both his niece and nephew to go farther.
Together, they'd worked for tuition money. Together, they'd studied. Together, they
graduated from college as co-valedictorians, because their grades were identical and so were
their contributions to the school and to various clubs they'd been a part of.
Both applied to the same medical schools by an unspoken agreement that both wanted to
be doctors. Only there did they begin to differentiate. Laura had loved healing people. She'd
never been happier but her brother had been drawn away from such altruistic work to become
more than a simple medical doctor. He'd transformed himself into a research scientist of renown,
specializing in human genetics and the Chimera theory pioneered by Dr. Stephen Falcon.
She'd followed his lead to a degree. She had become more than just an ordinary doctor
too. Her range included advanced courses in various surgeries. Dr. Laura Guevara knew more
about saving people's lives than any ten doctors. She could perform brain surgery, heart surgery,
complex nerve surgeries, and just about anything else. Her instincts for diagnosis were also
impeccable; she was better than most diagnostic machines.
When they'd separated, the famous Guevara twins also fell out of touch. Laura wasn't
even certain where her brother was or who he was working with.
"Dr. Guevara?"
She set down the picture and turned around. Without her noticing, one of James King's
followers had entered her office. "How may I help you?"
The servant, that was how she saw the members of the Society of Supremacy, bowed
slightly to her. She'd earned respect by her actions. It had been her efforts, bought at a dear
price, which had secured a new mutant named Templeton Darroch for the Society. Darroch's
teleportation gifts granted the covert group access to funds and material resources, as well as a
plethora of "forced recruits" as James King called them. Laura had betrayed Darroch, her
patient, because he was a new mutant and such anomalies were dangerous to human kind. At
least, she had rationalized her actions that way. Truthfully, she'd done it because she wanted
money and because she was more like her brother Larenzo than she was willing to admit.
James King saw the darkness in her easily. Though not a mutant, he was incredibly intuitive,
easily discerning deception and false emotions. He'd recruited Laura Guevara years ago to work
for a then struggling software firm. Now, the corporation they both ostensibly served was one of
the largest on earth. The CEO, a man named McCandless, was beginning to realize that the
sub-levels were no longer under his control. King manipulated his employer with enough finesse
to keep him from interfering.
"Mr. King has asked me to tell you that our leader will be here soon." The servant said
before turning and leaving the office.
Dr. Guevara raised an eyebrow. "How succinct." With a sigh, she returned to her
memories, barely even wondering who King's mystery woman really was. When he'd walked
into her lab with a bag filled with technological and medical miracles, she'd been interested.
Now, after two weeks hearing him blather about a new world order and a future empire, Laura
simply wanted to get out.
She stared at her brother's picture.
"I hope you're working for a saner man than I, mi hermano."
*************************************************************************
Dr. Larenzo Guevara studied a photo of his sister. Her dusky yet pale skin, the color of
his own. Her deep bronze eyes, again, like those he saw through. The curves, lines, and bone
structure nearly identical to his own. They both looked like their mother, a dark-haired Caucasian
their father had met at an unemployment agency. He'd been unemployed, she'd been the helpful
one who found him work.
Marriage had come after almost three years of dating.
The famous Guevara twins two after that.
Larenzo put down the photo and sighed, making a steeple of his fingers as he'd seen his
employer Aaron Sheckt do on occasion. In his mind's stare, he recalled the face of their mother,
her gentle smile and quiet strength, the way one curl of almost black brown hair never stayed in
place but constantly fell across her left eye. She'd been very short, very petite, and having the
famous Guevara twins and come so close to killing her that she'd been read the Catholic Last
Rites twice before her doctor declared the births complete.
In the end, she came home after her children. She never begrudged them the pain they'd
inadvertently caused her. Never, in nearly twenty years of living with her and his father, could
Larenzo Guevara remember a single instant where she spoke above a robust whisper.
Her name was Celia Anderson Guevara, her husband was Marcos Mariano Guevara, they
lived in east Texas and were still very much in love.
His sister never failed to remind him of their mother. Larenzo sighed and shook his head,
making a mental note, saying it aloud fix it in memory. "I need to call home and let mama and
papa know I'm alive."
He hadn't spoken to his parents in nearly two years.
He hadn't seen his sister in almost five.
Dr. Guevara sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he'd been wearing
glasses that pinched. With great effort, he set down his sister's photograph and returned to the
work he'd been doing for Mr. Sheckt.
Several dozen files were spread out across his desk. Each a test result and research
related to that result. A few documents bore a stylized falcon, marking their contents as the work
of Dr. Stephen Falcon, perhaps the most brilliant theoretical geneticist alive. The subject of it all
was Chimera and Aaron Sheckt. They were all but indivisible now in Guevara's mind as he
sorted through pile after pile, scanning an in-depth blood analysis one moment then turning to a
fifty page theorem on genetics the next. Over the course of a year, Larenzo had pieced together
all he could learn of Chimera and what it had done to Sheckt.
Despite his hard work, he'd learned only a fraction of what he needed to know.
Part of what he knew came from former GS agent Lena Blake, who went by Lena Isley
now. That information showed Adam Kane's involvement in disrupting Chimera. It had proved
an invaluable piece of the puzzle, allowing Guevara to focus his search on Genomex and it's
stunning accidental creation of new mutants.
The second most important fact had come from the published works of Stephen Falcon.
Chimera theory had been his brainchild, and Dr. Larenzo Guevara's obsession, but the man had
hidden an important element of the research within coded publications. It had taken Larenzo
some time to realize this and even longer to crack it, but he now knew that Chimera required
three donor subjects.
Dr. Guevara paused in his study of the documents before him and sighed.
"Wherever you are mi hermana, I hope you're working with a less complicated man."
*************************************************************************
Shalimar studied the wall.
When explosions ripped through the Frost Lake base, only one wall, the infirmary side
wall, had remained mostly intact. Adam speculated that the medical facility had been intended to
double as a bomb shelter, which explained why its walls were still standing while the floor had
been blasted upward and the door rocketed outward. No one expected a subterranean blast.
Though she couldn't be sure, Shalimar thought that this was an outside wall, or at least
near one. The map Katherine had given Emma and Devon seemed to indicate she was right.
Her eyes slid to the man's broken form. After clearing a section of stable floor, they'd
carefully moved him, Adam monitoring his vital signs as best he could without instrumentation.
The infirmary door had all but destroyed the man. Several of his bones were barely more than
splinters and there was evidence of a slow, but steady, internal bleed. He breathed raggedly and
wetly, indicating a punctured lung. Adam was afraid they'd done more damage moving him, but
it had seemed important somehow, as if leaving him where he'd been struck down was a sign of
giving up.
Emma and Adam were watching over the man, as they had been before. Charlotte now
hovered with them. The concern she felt was obvious but not automatic. A depressing numbness
had settled over her some time ago, as if everything were finally catching up to her, and it had
sent her spiraling downward. Her own wound was ignored.
Shalimar noticed how Emma kept rubbing the side of her head then stealing a brief glare
toward Charlotte. Her emotions were giving Mutant X's resident telempath a headache.
"Find a way out yet?"
She turned suddenly and then relaxed. "Brennan. You startled me."
The dimmest of smiles. "Sorry. Guess those eyes in the back of your head are taking a
break." There was an edge to his voice, very faint, but there. "Anything useful? Any way out?"
He stared at the wall before them, as if trying to make it tell him how to escape from the cavern
of collapsed building they'd awakened in.
"My turn to apologize. It's solid as a rock." She thumped it angrily. "Without Jesse, we're
not getting out."
Brennan nodded, as if she'd just confirmed his own assessment, then winced noticeably.
"You okay?" She asked, reaching out to him.
Without answering, he drew away from her. The move was so unexpected and hurtful
that Shalimar immediately stepped back herself. "Brennan, what's wrong?" She asked quietly,
consciously trying to keep the conversation as private as possible. The others were so busy
trying to do what they could for Devon, she didn't want to burden them with any more trouble.
Then her thoughts went to before the explosion, when they'd been so concerned about
Brennan and his head. Fear caught in her throat then dove down into her belly.
Maybe he saw that worry reflected in her eyes, because Brennan forced himself to smile
and say "I'm fine. It's just. . . well, I'm worried about Jesse." He nodded toward the wall. "If he
were okay, he'd already have come looking for us."
His voice held a distinctly depressed note.
Brennan thought Jesse was dead.
That revelation struck Shalimar like a fist and, before she could stop herself, she'd taken
hold of Brennan's coat collar and brought him face to face with her, so close she could either kiss
him or rip his throat out like the jungle felines that were kindred. She glared at him and her eyes
turned a sharp yellow, Feral anger spewing out. When she spoke, it was in a very quiet voice
that the others did not notice but also a voice filled with pure hellfire.
Annunciating every word to maximum clarity, spacing them out so that each was a sentence
unto itself, a universe of singular statement, she said "Jesse. Is. Fine. He. Will. Come. And. He.
Will. Save. Us." Her stare brooked no argument.
In a moment best described as the flashing of a frame, Brennan jerked and seemed to
realized what he'd said without words. He looked horrified at himself. "God, Shalimar, I didn't
mean that." His whisper was desperate. "I'm sorry, I just lost hope there for a second. It's been
so long since the blast."
"No it hasn't." Shalimar replied, releasing him from her iron grasp. "It's been maybe
twenty minutes at the outset, probably a lot less than that."
He nodded but still seemed unconvinced.
"Jesse should have been here by now."
The fire went out of Shalimar, leaving her empty and weak. She hugged Brennan now,
trying not to cry. "Yeah. He should have. But he's okay, because he has to be okay. Because we
can't lose him. Because we can't lose anyone."
Brennan held her tightly, a tear sliding down his face, because he didn't believe things were
going to work out this time. His faith was dead.
From where she knelt, carefully stroking the embers of fading strength inside of Devon
Bowden, Emma turned toward them. Without thinking, she conjured hopeful and peaceful
emotions, then silently adjusted Brennan's thoughts. The moment it was done, she felt terrible
and almost started to apologize.
But she didn't. She could see how her tiny interference had helped Brennan.
'Later,' Emma thought to herself, 'later I'll tell him.'
Suddenly, the infirmary wall phased out and dozens of men and women, all wearing combat
fatigues and carrying weapons swarmed in. They pointed their guns momentarily at each member
of Mutant X before lowering them. "Adam Kane?" A man asked, stepping forward and
producing a leather wallet with an ID card from his armor vest. "My name's Vince Beckley Jr,
CIA agent assigned to the Counter-Para-Terrorism division." He smiled warmly, motioning for
several medics who rushed forward and quickly transferred Devon Bowden to a stretcher.
Soon after, everyone was outside, watching as a helicopter left carrying injured men and
women found in the ruins of Frost Lake, Devon among them.
Jesse gave them a strangely humorous smile. "The calvary arrived. Better late than never,
right guys?" He recounted the events after the bombing for them, from the moment he awoke to
the sudden discovery that dead men walked. He told them that Katherine had been taken on
another helicopter, medics swarming about her in a desperate attempt to stabilize her. Jesse also
made a heroic, though futile, attempt to fend off their joyful hugs and a few thankful kisses from
the ladies.
"Hey, give me a break guys!" He said, though he made almost no effort to escape
Charlotte's arms. "Vince here's the real hero of the hour."
The man blushed brightly, a strange thing to see a CIA agent do. "I wouldn't be here if it
weren't for intelligence our tech guys picked up. They're the real heros. Them and Agent
Bowden." Lines in his face and a sad glimmer in his gaze showed concern. "I hope she pulls
through. Katherine's one of our best."
Agent Beckley was about to say something more, but Adam interrupted. "Before
everything started exploding, Devon said she worked for a woman named Christina." Something
in Adam's tone made the words both statement and question.
"Yes, sir. We all do."
"What does she look like? How would you describe her demeanor?"
"Um, well she has dark hair and these sort of sad eyes." Agent Beckley said, thinking
carefully, "Christina Bergl gives off a vibe, like it wouldn't be a good idea to upset her. I guess
she'd be pretty if she ever smiled. Why?"
"I knew a woman named Christina years ago. She worked in intelligence. Her name wasn't
Bergl then, but I'd be surprised if she hasn't changed it by now." A vague smile, barely a
twitching of his lips. "She never did like her surname."
Emma's eyes narrowed as he spoke but she didn't say anything. In the back of her mind,
she'd known that she wasn't the first woman in Adam's life. Sometimes, though, it had felt like
it. The way he held her in his arms, how they kissed, like they were the only living beings in all of
creation. Emma hadn't wanted to think about ex-girlfriends popping up. Hearing him ask
questions about another woman now. . . it bothered her. She ran a hand through her red hued
hair and tried not to think too much on it. They were together and that was that.
Catching Emma's expression of jealousy out of the corner of her eye, Shalimar started to
say something comforting to her.
Then didn't.
She didn't want to be comforting to her best friend, not about him.
No one said much of anything as they left the CIA agents to their investigation. Whether
or not she'd expected them to be there, Christina had given Agent Beckley orders before he'd
left on the mission. If he found Mutant X, he'd been told to leave them be. He told them to go
home, speaking with all the authority he could manage under the circumstances.
Quietly, together, the team walked away, moving out into a pitch black night. Various
nocturnal fauna made a melody of chirps, hoots, and odd croaks. The surface of Frost Lake
seemed a gigantic mirror, reflecting a beautiful glimmer moon. When they'd gone halfway toward
the car Emma and Devon had arrived by, they turned back to see thin columns of smoke rising
from the ruins of the military base.
They'd survived.
But, God help them, they knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
***************************END OF PART SEVEN***************************