“Then what’s all this about?” Angela pointed her finger at his black suit, which made her feel completely underdressed, in a grey angora sweater and a pair of jeans. “And that?” she asked, swishing her hand to the side at the dining room, where all the tables only contained couples on dates, all in suits and dresses.
Dyllon shrugged. “The food here is great.”
“This is a little above and beyond.”
“Look. We’ve been working together for…what…close to three weeks. Every night you go back to the motel, alone. I thought it’d be a nice change for you.”
“Why would you care?”
He blinked. “Because, whether you like it or not, we’re working together. Don’t you ever go out with people you work with at The Center?”
It was Angela’s turn to blink. “No,” she said, as if the fact should be obvious.
“How do you work efficiently without camaraderie?”
“Much like here. I’m head of security. When I give an order, it’s followed.”
Dyllon gave her an empty look as a different waiter came and took their orders. When they were alone again, Angela leaned forward and said, “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“I’m not getting any ideas.” He collapsed against the back of his chair. “I’m tired. You’re tired. We both needed a break. So just enjoy. I was only taking you out as a friendly gesture.”
The corner of her mouth drew back. Life away from The Center certainly was different. Time for socializing was limited back home. So, maybe…“Friends?” she said.
“That’s it.”
Angela relaxed. “I’m still Detective Petersen.”
“You can still call me Dyllon.”
She smiled. “Touché.”
“Now, since we’ve ordered, and you’re somewhat more…relaxed than usual. I have some news.” Dyllon pulled out a brown file he had hidden in his lap and handed it to Angela.
Interest piqued, she leaned forward. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Angela flipped to the first page, titled SUPPLIES, with a list of dates in one column and items in another. She glanced over office supplies, personal effects, lists of groceries, and medical necessities. “What?”
“Keep reading.”
Turning to the next page, she saw much of the same type of ordering with Davis’ signature scrawled at the bottom. “The park ranger?”
Pleased with himself, Dyllon folded his arms over his chest. “Seems he’s been doing some excessive ordering. Not much. You’ve got quite the nose, Detective. Seems Davis might be an appropriate suspect.” Dyllon held out his hand. “May I?”
Angela returned the folder and he put it sideways on the table.
“A lot of effort went into how carefully these orders were placed. An order for extra blankets, a year ago. And look here,” Dyllon said, pointing to a longer list, “an abundance of medical supplies just last month.” He flipped through to another page. “Two years ago, too.” He leaned back with a smug look.
Flabbergasted, she stared at him. “And he was never questioned?”
“Why would they? His ordering might’ve been more than needed, but not often enough to arouse suspicion. A few extra boxes of bandages, two extra bottles of aspirin. Rangers often overstock so they don’t have to drive hours into town every week. Plus, the time between each order.” He shrugged.
“I knew it,” Angela said, anger in her voice. She placed her hands on the edge of the table and pushed her seat back.
“Where are you going?”
“He needs to be questioned.”
Dyllon held up his hands. “Wait.”
“What?” she snapped.
“What do you think will happen if you question him now?”
Sighing, Angela leaned back in her chair. “Enlighten me.”
A brow rose. “He’ll lie.”
“I have ways of making people talk.”
“Do they always work?”
She wanted to say “yes,” she could be very persuasive, but the truth was that it seldom worked. It seemed the Renegades and members of the Resistance were extremely loyal. “Sometimes.”
“It’s your call, Detective, but I think we should watch him. Maybe he’ll lead us to their camp.”
Of course Dyllon was right; it’d be better to wait. Angela hoped the doctor would see things their way. She fished her cell from her bag, saying, “I have to report our progress.”
“Of course.”
Aalexis stood against the far wall in the rectangular, soundproof room, directly behind seven rifles. The long muzzles pointed toward the front of the room, but none were sighted on the black-silhouetted target hanging from a long cable. The alignments were off by a few degrees.
Dr. George Hirch held no doubt she’d be successful. Aalexis’ deadly ability lay concealed by platinum-blond hair cascading over her shoulders in beautiful ringlets and a cherub face, even if her façade remained as devoid of expression as her eyes.
George pushed the intercom button. “When I give the signal.”
“Yes,
der Vater
,” Aalexis responded in a monotone.
He checked the monitors one more time, then flipped the switch. A red light inside the room flashed, right before all seven rifles fired in sequence. In a blinding flare and seven loud pops, it was over. Whiffs of smoke extended from the muzzles and dissipated, and the sound of gunfire echoed into nothingness. Clicking sounded as the target moved toward the doctor’s booth.
As expected, every shot drilled right through the head. Seven distinct punctures in a perfect circle.
Aalexis was toying with him.
George glanced at the faux angel. His daughter remained statue-like, as if the experiment bored her. As if nothing challenged her anymore.
Still, she was a sight to behold. A beautiful sight. A memory Dr. Hirch would retain of how powerful his daughter was. His mighty creation, born from his genius. No other had accomplished such feats.
He
would lead humanity to perfection.
He was just beginning to test the limits of her powers. Of all of their powers.
She needed more of a challenge.
George picked up the handset and punched in a number.
“Engineering,” a soft female voice said.
“This is Dr. Hirch. I need seven more rifles set up in room seventeen.”
“Yes, Dr. Hirch. Right away.”
He hung up and pressed the intercom. “Aalexis, I want to conduct another test. Please wait patiently.”
For the first time since they’d entered the room, Aalexis acknowledged the doctor with more than words. She faced him. Fury flashed within the depths of her eyes, before the same glazed, monotonous guise returned.
“Yes,
der Vater
,” she replied. Her attention returned to the front of the room. She placed her hands behind her back in an at-ease stance.
George watched her warily, but nothing in her demeanor changed. Still as a statue, even when he buzzed the workers in with his requested items. Three men, wearing Center orange jumpers, wheeled in a cart weighed down with rifle cases and mounts. Without a word, they began assembling the tripods.
“Be sure to sight them off the target,” he said into the intercom.
One of the men waved his arm in acknowledgement.
As the final rifle was positioned, Leland strolled into the control booth. He glanced at Aalexis. “How’d she do?”
“As expected,” George answered without looking up. “Is Micah prepared to go?”
“Yes, but once again I would like to voice my protest.”
“Duly noted,” said the doctor without even glancing up.
“Sending him to Detective Petersen could be dangerous. We’re already missing one subject.”
Dr. Hirch’s spine stiffened. Leland was grating on his nerves. “We will bring her home.”
“We haven’t even finished the extraction of the genes. Not to mention the testing.”
George faced Leland. His assistant peered at him indignantly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Once again, Leland, you overstep your bounds,” he said, his tone sharp and unyielding.
The young man’s arms fell to his sides as he glanced away. “You’ve been taking unnecessary risks lately.”
“Micah is not in any danger. I am sending him to be a…special set of eyes. If there is a traitor, he can help. Now.” George turned toward the window and pointed. “Watch this.”
The red light flashed, reflecting off the young girl’s porcelain skin. The room reverberated with gunfire and clouded with smoke.
When the air cleared, the target dangled from one clip, folding over as though waving. Dr. Hirch brought it inside. Heavy scents of gunpowder and burnt paper filled his nostrils. His nose wrinkled as he smoothed the shredded creases. Tattered and ripped, the target’s head was unrecognizable.
George couldn’t help himself. A grin spread across his face as he looked at his assistant. “Not even fourteen could stop her.”
Leland’s face held a perfect example of surprised shock, his eyes and mouth round disks.
21
Ellyssa set the borrowed copy of
Frankenstein
across her chest when Mathew, Rein, and Jordan stepped through the door. She’d heard them coming, and the whispers as Rein dismissed her current babysitter, but didn’t think much of it until she saw their faces. She needn’t read their minds to see their visit had to do with her confrontation with Candy a few days ago.
She crossed her legs and waited while Mathew grabbed the desk chair for Jordan. The older man took the offered seat. His smile didn’t mask the worry in his eyes, and the greyish cast to his skin foretold trouble.
His illness concerned her. Over the last few days, she’d grown used to the dark man and come to cherish the stories he’d shared. The war tales his parents had passed down varied greatly from the history books and had given her a different side to ponder.
“What is going on?” she asked, as Rein and Mathew sat on the cot closest to hers. The question was meant for all of them, but she was looking at Rein. He ran nervous fingers through his messy locks while his eyes darted to Jordan. Hesitantly, she followed his gaze.
The old man patted her hand. “Ellyssa, tell us who you really are.” His drawl was slower than usual, tired.
“I have told you.”
“But there is more. Right?”
His unsettled gaze pierced her, and she felt…guilty, like
Subject 20
. So much to explain and no idea where to begin.
She inhaled deeply. “Everyone is going to die,” she stated, matter-of-factly. Starting with Jordan, she looked from one male to the next, stopping at Rein. No glint of understanding surfaced. Rein, like the others, watched her, waiting for more.
“You do not understand. There will be complete genocide. Not like before, when only those of races lacking the required characteristics were murdered.” She paused. Murder—it was the first time she’d described the extermination for what it truly was. The visionaries of her society had murdered millions of innocents. She swallowed the lump of realization. “But one where every human will be killed and replaced.”
Jordan chuckled. “How can they possibly kill everyone? There will be survivors. Just like my folks survived.”
She shook her head. “Not this time. They are perfecting the ultimate soldier.”
The laugh died on the leader’s full lips. “What does that mean?”
She glanced at Rein and Mathew. Both males looked skeptical.
“Yes, some of your ancestors survived because of their ability to hide; others did because of their genetic codes. But the type of soldier that is coming will be far beyond human understanding. Superior above
all
.”
As usual, Rein responded by crossing his arms. She watched as his shirt stretched over his taut muscles, and a small flame ignited in her midsection. She felt the warmth reach her cheeks.
“I told you,” she said directly to Rein, “I was created. Specific genes were joined together. Superior genes. I am not the only one. I have brothers and a sister.”
She picked up the book the doctor had loaned her and showed it to Mathew. “It is funny that you chose this to be one of the fictional books you wanted me to read. It hits so close to home.” Fingering the leather binding, she said, “Only, it is my siblings and I who are the monsters. It is not fiction at all.”
A strong hand squeezed her shoulders. She looked up and met Rein’s eyes. His expression was soft and empathetic. “You’re not a monster.”
A single tear squeezed from the corner of her eye, followed by another. She tried to command them to stop, but her body finally had a will of its own.
A wet trail coasted over the contour of her cheek, before disappearing with a swipe of Rein’s thumb. Surprised, she blinked as Rein’s palm cupped the side of her face. Never had anyone touched her face with gentleness and warmth. No impulse to pull away surged through her body. No urge to fight. Amazed by her own reaction, her desire, she reached up and grasped his hand. The tenderness of the gesture felt alien…and wonderful.
“That is true,” she said as Rein leaned back. Instantly, she missed the heat of his skin. “What you need to know is that we were bred as prototypes. I have one sister and three brothers. Each of us was bred to be a perfect soldier. We are stronger, more intelligent, faster, emotionless, and have studied combat and weapons since we were toddlers.”
“Emotionless?” Doc asked.
“Emotions are not allowed in the makeup of a soldier,” she recited the well-known words. “Emotions show weakness, and with weakness comes hesitation, and with hesitation comes death. Our job is not to die, but to be the bringers of a new world.
“Something went wrong with my programming, though. Although most of the sensations I feel are…rudimentary, I have always been able to feel emotion, unlike the others.”
“Like what?”
“Hatred and anger have been approved for survival and soldiering purposes. But, I also have felt the pleasure of doing a job well done, and sorrow or shock at things I have seen.”
“What’d your father think?”
“Nothing, because I masked them.”
“And he never suspected?”
“I would not be here if he had.” Ignoring shock on their faces, she continued, “You witnessed my ability to heal. You have seen how fast I can move. I have other talents, as well.”
Ellyssa stopped, unsure how to proceed. The time had come for her to reveal her deepest secret, and she feared their responses.