Nineteen
Gage Bronson
Stonehead Prison Facility
Washington D.C.
August 18, 4010
9:30 a.m.
When the airstrip comes into view, I know that we’re in deep shit. Jenica, Blythe, and the Professor haven’t even made it to the craft yet and are ducked down behind a row of hover bikes, taking cover. I can see our hijacked government craft several hundred yards away, its guns raised and swiveling on their turrets as Dax and Sayer try to help us pick off the MPs one by one. It is an impossible task—there are too many of them. The smart thing to do is run, but I know Dax won’t leave without the others. As I weigh my options as quickly as possible, I realize that there is no way we’re getting out of this together. I start across the tarmac, gun in one hand, raising my COMM device with the other.
“Janner!” I bark as Dax as I make a beeline for a craft parked on the other end of the airstrip. With so much manpower concentrated on the others, this craft is unguarded. I’ve never piloted a hovercraft in my life and what little I do know has come from watching Jenica at the controls, but I can’t think about that now. The MPs are closing in on Blythe and the others and there is nowhere for them to run. “Do you know how to fly one of these things?”
Dax’s voice—or rather, Sergeant Barnes’ voice—crackles over the speaker. “Not that particular model, but Strom does. What are you thinking, Bronson?”
“I’m thinking you need to get out of here and get our rescued prisoners home,” I say as I reach the hovercraft and proceed to climb up toward the closed hatch, all the while praying that it is unlocked.
“That’s a negative, Bronson,” Dax answers, yelling to be heard over the sound of gunfire. “We’re not leaving without our team intact.”
“That’s not exactly an option,” I answer, trying the hatch and find it open. I quickly scramble inside. “We’re going to have to split up. Put Strom on the line and tell him I need a five-minute piloting lesson. I’m going for Jenica, the Professor, and Blythe.”
Dax hesitates for a split second before I hear his heavy sigh over the speaker. “You’d better not get them killed,” he grumbles, and I can picture him grudgingly handling the COMM device to Sayer. “Or I will seriously kick your ass.”
“If I don’t do something, we’re screwed either way,” I retort before Sayer comes on the line.
“Strom here.”
“Strom, give me the basics,” I say as I run up the hovercraft’s center aisle and find the pilot’s chair. Rows of foreign buttons, gauges and screens line the panel in front of me. I watch through the window while the space between Jenica, Blythe and the Professor and the MPs grows smaller. I don’t have much time.
“See that clear plastic box to your right near the throttle?” Sayer asks over the COMM device.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Pop it open and flip that red switch.”
I do as he says and immediately the hum of the hovercraft tells me it’s turned on. “Done.”
“There’s a series of silver switches to your left.”
I locate them. “Yeah, there are six of them.”
“Those control your elevation. Each one will lift you higher into the air. Flip the first two and that’ll get you high enough that you’re flying but still low enough to swoop down and grab Jenica, Blythe, and Professor Hinkley.”
I quickly follow his instructions and the hovercraft jolts as I flip the two switches, then it ascends, hovering several feet over the ground.
“Now what?” I ask, dropping into the pilot’s chair and fastening the harness. My hands shake as I grip the throttle.
“Fly,” Sayer answers before the connection is cut. I drop the COMM device into my life and swallow past the lump in my throat. Fly. That’s it? It sounds simple, but I know there’s more to it than simply steering. Yet, it’s all I have to go on, so I grip the throttle and accelerate forward the way I’ve seen Jenica do so effortlessly. The craft jerks and shoots off way too fast, propelling me halfway across the tarmac in one very clumsy motion. I’m thrown off balance as my hand jerks on the throttle, causing the craft to bank right, hard. My teeth gritted, I fight to get control of the massive thing, nearly going upside down as I overcompensate by jerking left and nearly plowing into another, parked aircraft.
I gain enough control to point it in the right direction and come in for a very rough landing, the nose of the craft pointed down and scraping the pavement just inches away from where Jenica is crouched behind the row of hoverbikes. After mashing the button to open the craft’s door and lowering the ladder, I leap from the pilot’s chair and climb up to the hatch on top of the craft, sticking the upper half of my body through the hole and providing cover fire as Jenica, Blythe, and the Professor scramble up the ladder one by one.
“What are you doing, Bronson—trying to kill us?” Jenica screams as she throws herself into the pilot’s chair, strapping herself in and going to work on the control panel. Blythe takes a seat at the controls beside her—taking control of the guns—and the Professor pulls up the ladder and slams the doors closed. I am barely in my seat and buckled in before Jenica has us in the air and hurtling across the airstrip, steadily rising higher and higher.
I sneak a peek out of the window just in time to watch a swarm of hover bikes take to the sky, one large hovercraft at their center like the queen bee.
“We’ve got company!” I bellow as I pop my window open and stick my gun out to take aim.
“Shit,” Blythe murmurs as she works to swivel the guns to the rear of the craft, her eyes clued to the radar screen. “There have to be at least two dozen of them, Jenica.”
“You just shoot,” Jenica answers, her jaw clenched in concentration as she increases our speed and pulls up higher. “I’m going to try to find a thick patch of forest to lose them in.”
That’s easier said than done. Maybe in some other areas of the country, where cities have been decimated by nuclear war, poverty, and famine, there are miles of woods that have overtaken civilization to hide in. But here in D.C., every square mile of trees has been mowed down to make room for gleaming skyscrapers, condos, and national monuments. The outskirts of the city are usually the best bet for the coverage of trees and foliage, but we are at least half an hour from being out D.C.
We’re pretty much screwed.
Sweat breaks out over my brow as I try my best to take aim. It’s hard in the moving craft. Plus, my weapon isn’t made for distance shooting. I’m pretty much just wasting my weapon’s charge and soon it will die and become completely useless, or overheat. Deciding to conserve power for when I might really need it, I toss the gun aside and join Blythe near the radar screen, watching as she takes out bike after bike. Yet, she doesn’t seem to be making a dent in their numbers. Then there’s the other hovercraft to deal with. It’s becoming very clear that we are going to be shot down in a matter of minutes and they are gaining on us.
Jenica must realize this, because after a while, she sets it to autopilot at top speed and unbuckles herself from the pilot’s chair.
“We’re going to have to use the escape pod and make a run for it.”
“Are you insane?” Blythe screeches, her knuckles nearly white where she’s gripping the guns’ controls. Her hair is plastered to her neck and face from sweat, her eyes wide with fear, the human eye’s pupil dilated by adrenaline. “Landing in D.C. is a death sentence!”
“We don’t have a choice,” the Professor interjects, his voice surprisingly calm. How the hell does the man do it? “We can try to lose ourselves in the crowd and find a hotel to hole up in until we can form a plan. We have to try to disguise ourselves, even you, Gage, as Jack Knightly’s face is now undoubtedly all over the news along with ours.”
Jenica reaches into one of the many pockets of her flight suit and comes out with a syringe. “Let’s do it,” she says as she pulls the cap off the syringe before jamming it into her carotid artery.
Blythe shrieks in reaction to t
he sight and I cringe. Jenica doesn’t even flinch … and then she is on her knees, groaning through clenched teeth as the familiar sound of popping bone and stretching cartilage tells me what she’s just done. She’s used the same DNA altering serum that gave me my disguise. Only her transformation isn’t nearly as dramatic and when she stands, I find myself staring into a familiar, yet unfamiliar face. The titanium plate that covers half her face like an opera mask is gone and I am now able to see what Jenica looked like before the blasts tore off a huge chunk of her face. Two dark, slanted eyes and a cute, button nose are cover by flawless, porcelain skin. My jaw drops.
“Since I have a prosthetic that is harder to hide than the others, I always carry one,” she says with a shrug. “Most people don’t remember what I looked like before the blasts anyway and it’s easier to use my own DNA than someone else’s. My genetic material holds the code for the missing parts of my face.”
I snatch off my baseball cap and hand it to the Professor, who tucks his wild curls under it and pulls the brim down low. Of the four of us, his face is the most recognizable. He takes off his glasses and hands them to Jenica, who slips them on, taking focus off her very distinctive eyes and sloping cheekbones. Blythe slides open the door to the escape pod and finds two MP uniform inside. She quickly dons one and though it is oversized, it more importantly comes with a helmet that will cover her face. I shed my pilot’s uniform and throw the other set of armor on over my flight suit, putting on the other helmet. We step into the escape pod, which barely fits the four of us. We are pressed together like sardines, with the Professor and me standing shoulder to shoulder. Blythe is in front of me, with her back pressed against my front. For a split second, I reach for her hand and clasp it tightly. She is trembling, but that stops the moment our hands touch, as if she’s drawing strength from me. I let her have as much of it as she needs, placing my other hand at her waist and pulling her close in an embrace.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as Jenica presses the button to release the pod. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
My earlier promise to her bears repeating after all that’s happened today. Things have gone horribly wrong once again and I need her to know that no matter what the cost to myself, I will stay true to my word.
“I know,” she says, even though her shaky voice says otherwise. I give her another squeeze as the pod shoots away from the hovercraft. It hurtles downward toward the city so swiftly my heart drops down into my stomach.
“Hey Jenica,” I ask conversationally, trying to detract from the dread growing in my middle. Once we hit the ground, it’s time to start running. “If you can change your face back with a simple injection of DNA and hide your titanium plate, why wouldn’t you?”
Jenica’s eyes are sharp and her voice cuts me like a knife as she shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “Because,” she says, her voice shaking with years’ worth of suppressed rage, “I shouldn’t have to.”