The Final Freedom Chapter 5: Phenomenon
"No, really. What can you do, Sixteen?" Claes momentarily blinds you with her flashlight. "Sorry."
You suck on your lip, then look at the double doors. The flashlight is still pointed at you, just lower. You're sure everyone can see you, including Claes. However, you're not as afraid of disappointing her after this.
"Nineteen already told you, Gun-girl-"
The pool of light sweeps over to illuminate Eighteen. "It's Claes. Not Gun-girl. Claes. There are no such thing as ghosts, so stop playing around. We need to know what she can do so we can pool your… your… your powers to do something about that thing out there."
You can't see Claes, but her voice is missing that reserve, that assurance. You don't miss it. You're not afraid to say it. "I don't know, Claes. I really don't-"
"They must have zapped you good last time, didn't they?" In the light, you see her look you over. "They used to make you do it. They'd make the collar-"
"Collar? What do you …"
The remainder of Claes' question is drowned out by the onrush of memories. Not just images, but sounds, smells. Sensation! You remember the searing agony as they worked on you while lashed to that table. You remember the dull, persistent aches at the incision sites keeping you awake. The fever, the nausea when an experiment had an "unfavourable reaction".
Most of all, you remember the collar, the white hot pain at the sides of your neck. For resisting them. For talking in the cages. For trying to use your abilities when you weren't supposed to, or for not using them when they demanded. For … everything.
"They… the collars hurt us if we didn't do what they say. Uh, said. They only turned the collar off when they made us use our powers. But mine, it didn't hurt if I used a little bit of my power, even back in my… my dorm." The underlying evil such that would call those cells "dormitories" angers you.
"If I could have done that, I would have…" A little ball of fire no bigger than a fingertip appears in Eighteen's palm.
"They would have just zapped you when they saw that. Now this, this might have gotten us out earlier." Nineteen points her finger at a closet. The handle wiggles, but doesn't turn. "Locked, right?" Her lip twitches to the right as her hand wavers in the air. The door opens. "Ta-dah!"
"Show off." The tiny fireball flickers out.
Nineteen blows a kiss at her friend. "Just because you don't got it don't mean-"
"Uh, guys? How gently can you close that door, Nineteen?" Claes' voice is softer, breathier than you've ever heard.
A chill shoots through you; the circle of light around the open closet is minutely shaking.
"Why?" The other girls ask in unison.
"See that aluminum container? See the label? It says Sairn."
"What's that?"
"It's a nerve agent. If you don't get treated with atropine or pralidoxime within… It's a poison gas. A very nasty one."
"Will that kill Doc Ugly?"
"A canister that size? It will kill all of us, probably thousands of times over. Can we close the door? Gently? And lock it? Please?"
The door closes.
Ξ§§§Ξ
At Claes' suggestion, all of you retreat into the first hallway, the one from which you initially entered the operating room. Upon a fire cabinet, Claes suddenly stopped, her left hand upraised at the elbow, hand closed. The three of you step out of way as she opens it and retrieves the fire ax. "This might work."
"Yeah! Taking off his head like they do in the movies! That'll do it!" Eighteen slaps her fist.
"No, no." Claes shakes her head with her eyes shut. "Eighteen, do you remember how you got here? How you first ended up here?"
"Uh, no. First thing I remember was being on the table."
"Nineteen? Sixteen, you already told me you didn't. Well, I fell through a trap door."
"Yes, you said you fell down two or three stories." Your eyes meet Claes'.
"Right, but it wasn't a single fall. I fell onto a metal ramp. It went this way." With her index finger, she makes a downward slash to her right. "Then, I landed on another one, and it went that way." She swiped her finger downward the other way. "There were six or seven of them. It's rather ingenious. It disorients most people, but doesn't hurt them too badly. It blocks light from entering, and sound from escaping."
Nineteen's cough interrupted Claes' thoughts. "Right, but what does this have to do with the ax?"
"Well, I can jump pretty high, so I could reach the lowest ramp, but I couldn't keep from slipping off it when I tried to climb back up. With the spike end of that…"
"We could get out of here!" "Yeah!" "Finally!"
You hear a crashing sound in the operating theater.
"Run!" Claes points the gun at the double doors.
As you run for the stairwell, you hear Eighteen arguing with her. "You said you already tried shooting him, right?"
"Yes, but maybe if I-"
"We know fire will stop him. Get going!"
You hold the stairwell door open. Claes runs by, ax in hand. As she mounts the stairs, the remainder of you are left in darkness.
Eighteen cups a fireball, a small one. Its glow reassures you as she backs up to the door.
As she is about to enter, she's thrown to one side.
Her hand grips the doorframe.
Sizzling noises fill the air as her flames and his liquid sheen mix.
She screams in pain.
You grab her wrist.
You pull, but to no avail.
Nineteen grabs you and pulls.
Eighteen gasps.
Her fingers slip from the frame.
You tighten your grip on her wrist.
Within your grasp, you feel it shrinking.
"Help me… Please, help me. Don't let him-"
Tears fill your eyes.
Eighteen's arm is but skin over bone.
Nineteen tightens her arms wrapped around your belly.
She pulls.
You pull harder.
Eighteen's wrist tears from her arm.
You both fall back into the stairwell.
The door closes.
In the darkness, you grope for your bearings.
You find Nineteen leaning against the door.
"Is he coming?" you ask.
"One second, almost … there!"
The door handle rattles, and you heart freezes. It rattles again, but doesn't move. You lean against the door, but feel nothing fighting against it.
You hear the sound of a deep breath being exhaled. "Okay, we're safe now."
"Are you sure?"
"I jammed the door handle from the inside. I've picked locks open before, but this is the first time I had to keep one from working."
On your hands and knees you start patting the floor. "I found the stairs," you say.
"Okay, I'm right behind you."
You feel a hand land on your heel, then feel it lift.
"Don't worry, that's just me."
As you climb the stairs on all fours, the adrenaline relaxes its grasp on your nerves. By the time you reach the landing between floors, you are shaking. Patting the walls, you find the corner. You collapse into it and draw your knees to your chest.
"Sixteen? Are you all right?"
Between gasps, you try to speak. Sobs emerge instead.
You feel arms pat you, wrap around you. Nineteen's head gently weighs upon your shoulder.
"Don't cry. Don't cry."
You try not to, but the tears still well.
"Do you want to hear my favourite memory of Eighteen? Would that help?"
You nod, your hair brushing against her curly locks.
"I was in the room back there. They just finished testing me, and they told me to go back into the cage. I think they zapped me for no reason, too. Anyhow, I'm locked up. They let Eighteen out of the cage and switched her collar off. Eleven threw up in her cage while they were testing Eighteen. The Doctor told the soldiers to take her out and wash her."
You nod, memories of the hose, the spray of cold water mixed with the merciless laughter making you shiver.
"So it was just the three of us: me, The Doctor and Eighteen. No soldiers, no guns pointed at us. Do you know what Eighteen did? She did that fireball thing, but it was brighter than even Claes' light. That's pretty bright, right? I mean, I almost couldn't look at it. There was this pop, then it went out. When I could see straight again, Eighteen had her collar in her hand. The ends still smoking. She had a fireball in her other hand, and she was smiling."
That image makes you try to smile, but your cheeks ache too much. "That's a good memory."
A door opens.
Panicking, you stand up immediately and crouch, tensed and ready.
The flashlight blinds you.
"I know I said the next time you fell be-Oh my god!"
You look around frantically.
Nineteen is standing three steps away from you, her hand outstretched, finger pointed at your torso.
You look down.
Next to your hip, your hand is cupping a fireball.