Outbreak (3 page)

Seven glanced around his new room, smaller than his quarters in the compound. This place was more like a warehouse, and his room more like a prison cell.

All of the survivors, the few that were left after the vicious attack at the lab, had settled here a few days after the events. Considered nothing more than temporary housing, the facility still looked like the abandoned warehouse it was when they found it over a month ago. Nothing felt like home to any of them, least of all Seven.

He walked to the small mirror that lined the back of his door. His eyes still held the fire, the passion, from before the attack. But there was less naiveté now. Less hubris. Or superiority.

Memories of the attack filled Seven’s mind. The girl that caused the chaos and took the Architect’s life. The boy that fought like a samurai and threatened Seven’s world. The fire that spread through every room, killing many of the recruits, his friends. Seven was not as prepared as he thought; not as strong. He should have been able to stop the two from escaping. If he had—

Seven couldn’t finish the thought. It bothered him to think that his failures were directly responsible for the destruction of the compound. The Creator never blamed Seven, nor had any members of the Order. They didn’t have to—Seven carried the guilt anyway. It powered his motivation, gave him focus.

He noted the scar that stretched across his forehead, over his brow line. It hadn’t existed before that night. Now it served as a reminder, something his guilt could cling to whenever he began to release it.

Why are you still in your quarters?

The Creator’s impatience pulled Seven from his thoughts.
Sorry, Master. I’m coming.
He closed his eyes and refocused. There was no time for him to wallow, no time to wonder about the past. There was only now, and his need to prove to the Order—to himself—that he was a worthy heir to the Creator.

The walk to his Master’s office seemed longer than usual. Seven’s heavy footfalls on the hard concrete ground sent tremors up his legs, which settled in his torso. Each step brought a new trepidation. Seven again refocused. He couldn’t be in the presence of the Creator in this state. He had to settle his fears and be the disciplined warrior once more.

Voices emanated from behind the closed doors of the office. The Creator’s and more. Seven stopped and stared. Centering his mind, he pushed his thoughts through the heavy, metal door. The Creator’s office came into view. Sterile, stern, unyielding—just like the Creator himself. On the wall projected five pictures, each with one filled with a different member of the Order. Seven looked at his Master, noting the concern etched on his face. As quickly as he’d seen his Master’s emotions, Seven was thrown from the room and back into his own thoughts. He tried again to push into the space but was blocked. Whatever was happening, it was clear the Creator wasn’t about to allow Seven into his inner sanctum. Seven would have to be content to simply listen through the door.

Seven leaned in closer, struggling to make out the muffled sounds. He closed his eyes and focused hard.

“You have failed us for the last time, LeMercier.” The voice was deep, male. And clearly angry.

“What do you mean, failed? Nothing is lost. The experiments can continue.” The Creator spoke in measured tones. “We have everything we need.”

“And what of the Assassin,” a new voice questioned. “You promised she wouldn’t be a problem. She was supposed to have joined you, completed the mission. Instead she is on the loose, out there somewhere.”

Seven had heard this voice before. She had visited the lab once. The Creator had been agitated when she left.

Just like now.

“I am well aware of the Assassin’s whereabouts,” the Creator said. “She poses no threat. When the time is right, she will return to me of her own choice.”

“Can you be sure? Were you not just as certain last time?”

Seven pictured the same frustration on the Creator’s face. “Last time, I—”

The voices quieted, blurred. Seven pressed hard against the door, unable to hear another word. The harder he tried, the less he was able to make out. Only a few strangled words:

“Apprentice . . .”

“. . . will not fail . . .”

“. . . destiny . . . success . . .”

The voices faded completely and Seven edged back from the heavy door, his mind deep in thought.

“Come,” the Creator said, both aloud and through Seven’s thoughts.

Seven straightened, settling his mind before facing the Creator. “Yes, Master. What is my next assignment?” he asked, pretending he’d heard none of his Master’s concerns with the Order.

“You have questions,” the Creator asked. Clearly Seven needed to practice his blocking skills.

“No, Master.”

“You wonder why I am concerned, wonder if you should be concerned as well.”

Yes, Seven needed a lot more practice. “No, Master.”

The Creator scrutinized Seven, touching his thoughts. Seven stilled his body, his mind, everything. He waited until he could feel the Creator withdraw.

The Creator smiled. “Return to your quarters. We will talk tomorrow. This is not the time.”

Before Seven could object, the Creator turned his back, sealing his feelings and thoughts away from the young apprentice.

“Tomorrow,” the Creator said with finality.

“Yes, Master.” Seven returned to his room, a mixture of confusion and apprehension dripping from every pour. Whatever was happening, Seven knew he had to align himself cautiously, had to choose the right side of the impending storm. His survival likely depended on it.

But which side was the
right
side?

The Solomon Experiments 3.0

The Order

Dr. Benjamin LeMercier’s Personal Journal -

February 15, 2014:

I’m so close. My prodigy can’t stay hidden for much longer. Christyn shouldn’t have tried to conceal her – conceal any of them. I will reclaim what is mine. The Order expects nothing less from me. I expect nothing less. It’s time for a new experiment to begin. It’s time to bring my Assassin home. Finally.

The Architect has offered herself to me and the Order, willing to do anything I need. She’ll prove valuable in the days, weeks, months to come. Her training and abilities will allow me to get close to each of them. Through her, the recruits will discover the price of their deception, even if Christyn was the one to blame. None will be spared, none except my Assassin.

She remains necessary. She is the only one who can sabotage these new experiments. She is the one who can convince the Order to continue funding the experiments.

I must persuade the Architect to bring her to me. But I must also keep the true nature of the plan a secret. From them, from the Order. There can be no betrayal. No one can know the true goal. Not yet.

Yes.

This will work. This
must
work.

My Assassin will come home. She will stand beside me and continue the mission. She will help me. She will help all of us.

Or I will have no choice but to kill her myself. . .

The day passes in a peaceful blur. I’m more relaxed than I have been in months. David continues to convince me that we should go to dinner. In truth, I do want to go. It would be fun to escape our self-imposed seclusion, if only for a little while. So I agree to let David surprise me and celebrate my birthday like a normal adult. That is, if being on the run and fighting back urges to murder people with your psychic abilities is in any way
normal
.

David picks a place in Lahaina, away from the main strip. Nestled on top of a hill overlooking the harbor, Asian House is the pride of the locals. I still can’t believe he brought me here. When he said he was taking me out this isn’t what I expected. I figured we’d go somewhere obscure, hidden. Not the most popular restaurant on this side of the island.

The wait for our table doesn’t last long. In my head, I formulate everything I want to say to David, exactly how to tell him that I love him. I’m ready to take a risk and move forward. I want nothing to do with the Solomon experiments, my psychic abilities, or the ever-present threats. If acting like we have nothing to hide can stop this insanity, I’m willing to do it.

Maybe
.

David places his hand on the small of my back and guides me to our table. The tiny restaurant is crowded, typical for a Friday night.

“What are you thinking about?” David asks as we reach the table, his mouth close to my ear.

“Nothing important.” I don’t want him to know how afraid I am, how nervous. “This is just nice, being here with you.”

“I thought you needed a night out. Something that resembles normal.” David pulls out my chair, kisses my cheek and takes the seat across from me. “We both do.”

I smile and ignore the apprehension that threatens to overcrowd my thoughts.

Dinner is filled with great food and nice conversation. Normal. All of it. I can almost believe we have nothing to be afraid of anymore, no reason to hide. Again I think of the words I need to say to David. I try several times to tell him how much I love him, how much I want to move forward and carve a life with only him. But each time I attempt to form the words, they turn to ash in my mouth and I shift the topic to something less . . . personal.

After dinner, David surprises me again with a walk on the beach in the crowded seaside town. The streets are lined with tourists winding down from their day of sightseeing and fun. The noise in my thoughts grows with each step. Snippets of conversations best left unheard. I put up my own shield to block the sounds, one of the few
gifts
I’m willing to use. Anything to keep the noise from invading my head. I wish I could keep everything out. And everyone.

We arrive at a small cafe nestled between crowded bars on Main Street. Noting the passing tourists and what must be a strange, pained look on my face, David guides us to a small table in the back, overlooking the bay. A lazy tide laps against the shoreline as he orders coffee and dessert for us.

“You look like you needed to get off the street.” David takes my hands in his. “Do you hear them still? The people? Their thoughts?”

“Yes.” I expel a deep breath. “I’m not as good as you at blocking it out.”

David comes closer and whispers. “Maybe you shouldn’t try.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, somewhat shocked.

“Maybe you need to just accept the noise. I think you need to start embracing your gifts and everything that comes with them instead of wishing they were gone.”

“Embrace them, are you kidding? I was an assassin. I am not about to embrace that.”

“I’m not saying you should use your gifts in the same way as
he
did. I’m saying that maybe being psychic isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe you just need to learn more control, learn to use your abilities when you want to and not be a victim to them.”

I chew on his words. In some respects I agree. There is a part of me that wants to embrace everything being physic means. But each time I entertain the idea of honing my skills my mind fills with thoughts of death, the murders I’ve committed. “What if I can’t control myself, David? What then?”

“You aren’t a killer. You never have been. Not really. You did what you were ordered to do, what you had to do. You survived.”

“I can’t distinguish my actions in that way. I had a choice, even then. Maya was right. I should have walked away. I didn’t have to kill her father.”

“You were five.”

“And I should have known better.”

The impasse comes quickly tonight, just like it does every time we try to have this particular conversation. David doesn’t understand what I’m going through, he can’t. He isn’t bothered by his abilities. He likes the weapons he can manipulate with his body and his mind. He likes playing the role of Samurai warrior. He isn’t plagued with the thoughts, barely memories, I carry—the death and pain. He can’t relate to what I’m feeling, or the visions I can’t ignore.

I won’t use my full psychic abilities, won’t succumb to them. Not now, not ever. I can’t trust myself with them.

David takes my hands in his, pulling me out of my fears. I look at him, his eyes meeting mine in an instant. He leans across the table and whispers, “You know I love you, right.”

“I know”. Despite my mental rehearsal, I still can’t say the words.

He moves closer, the smell of his skin igniting a familiar fire. “I just don’t want your past to consume you, us. Not anymore.”

Before I can protest, before I can continue the argument, his lips crush mine. The intensity of his kiss wipes away my thoughts before I can resist. I lose myself in his love for me, hoping, praying his faith in me is not misplaced.

David pulls away and I open my eyes. In my hands is a small silver band. I look from the ring to David.

“It was my mom’s.”

“No, I can’t . . .” I don’t know how to respond.

“It’s only a promise—my promise—to you. I won’t ever leave you, Dakota. I won’t leave again. We’ll figure out how to live with your abilities, but you have to trust me. Trust in us.”