This is my 4th entry for the latest SciFi Smackdown. It is just shy of 5,400 words and I used pictures seven and ten. The sub-genre was superhuman scifi, and my quotes are in bold. I would like to thank @AngusEcrivain for the colorful language that has never graced the pages of any of my other stories. Happy reading!

The Dome

(c) SP Parish 2013

The deceptive warmth of the sun’s rays was soon forgotten as the winter winds bottlenecking through the tall grey buildings nipped at the heels of the commuters. Among the vibrant sounds of the city was the distinct clicking of sharp boots against the grey cement. Wind tickled the edges of the boot wearer’s knee-length winter coat, folding them upward, exposing the toned legs beneath. Unphased, the woman made her way down the sidewalk, seamlessly parting groups without their notice.

It was almost as if she had bewitched them.

She was tall, with stark features that stood out on her thin face. Everything about her was black—her coat, boots, hair, even her eyes. The only exception was her pale skin, stark white against the sea of dark.

Without pause, the woman in black walked up to a coffee cart. It was as if in this gigantic city, this small station was her only sole destination.

She paid for a small cup and warmed her hands around it without bringing it to her lips. The strong smell brushed against her already heightened senses. She made sure to breath in through her mouth. The taste of coffee danced on her tongue. It was as close as she could stand to get to it anymore. God help her, though, she loved it.

Her ears perked up as the echo of footsteps neared her personal space. She chose to ignore them, instead focusing her attention on the world of entertainment news in front of her.

The smell of unwashed body reached her nose long before the man settled himself into the curve of her back.

She didn’t move.

“Jesus,” the breath tickled her ear as he spoke. “Doesn’t it bother you guys?” he nodded at the magazine in front of them with his chin. “Like thousands of people want to be Paris Hilton;” she felt him shrug, “nobody wants to be Spider Man.”

The woman picked up the magazine in question, “Yeah, what’s with that?” she asked, no intonation gracing her words. “She has like no tits, at all.”

She felt the body behind her chuckle as she opened the magazine. “God, I’ve missed that mouth of yours, Lars.”

She flipped the page, “I sure wish I couldn’t smell that mouth of yours, Bear.”

Bear jerked back and raised his hand to his mouth and quickly lowered it. Lars smiled into the pictures as she waited for him to recover. He narrowed his round, brown eyes in her direction, the winter sun gleaming off his oiled face. “Now, no need to be cruel, Lars. Just here to do a little business,” Bear stepped close again, this time sliding his arms around her. “Wouldn’t want to look suspicious,” his chin found her shoulder and nestled in, “would we?”

Lars calmly placed the magazine back on the rack. Both hands safely on her drink, she turned to face her company. He was not unwelcome, no, for with Bear came Leo, and Leo was the purse strings of the operation. But Bear’s advances? Unnecessary.

Lars smiled sweetly at the man, “Tell Leo we have a target picked out,” she looked at her watch, “and acquired. We will be ready.”

Bear responded by pulling her tighter, mistaking her smile for permission to advance. It wasn’t. “I’ll tell him, but… Ah!”

Somehow, between them, Lars seemed to have lost her grip on her coffee. As the lid tumbled down, the scalding hot liquid fell on top of Bear’s thin shirt under his open coat. Yet, not a drop fell on Lars.

Lars stepped back, a shocked look upon her face, “Oh no, Bear, I’m so sorry.” she said, as he desperately tried to pull the soaked fabric away from his chest. His face was dark as he looked up at her from his crouched position.

“You did that on purpose,” he said. His chest heaved and expanded before her very eyes. A pulse of adrenaline lit through her body.

“You might want to calm down. You’re starting to look a little grisly.” Lars replied. Bear looked back at the cement and slowed his breath before straightening. He grabbed napkins from the window and pressed them to his shirt, fully under control. “Have Leo call if there are any questions. I should be going, I have a hero to check on.”

***

Scott gasped for breath as the grey thickness sucked him back under. He fought against it, urging his feet to find a foothold beneath him that wasn’t there. The sludge slowed his panicked trashing to a sad, slow, dying sort of movement. His lungs were on fire. He could stand it no more—he gasped for breath, filling his mouth with the substance suspending him. The light above him pinched into darkness.

Beep… beep… beep…

Scott shot awake as he slammed his hand down on the screeching alarm clock. He bolted up, causing sweat to run down his face in thick rivulets. The motion flipped his stomach, and it was all he could do to make it to the bathroom before he lost everything.

“Man, Scott,” his roommate said from the open door, “You ok, man?”

On the floor, Scott cleared his throat and spit, flushing the murky mess of acid and partially digested food down the drain. “I’m fine,” he said breathlessly.

“Man, you don’t look fine.” He looked at Scott, head tilted to one side. “You go out without me last night?”

Scott moved to the edge of the bathtub and swiped a hand towel from the sink. He shook his head. “Came home after dinner with you last night, Dave.”

Dave whistled, “That sucks. Well, you should sue McDonalds, cause they fucked you up.”

His roommate’s humor made Scott laugh despite his physical state. Unsteadily, he made his way upright. At just under six feet, he looked taller than he was in reality. His clothes hung off him, threatening to fall off his thin frame into the sink as he washed out his mouth. Brushing his thick hair out of his face, Scott grabbed his toothbrush, “I feel better now,” he said.

“Sometimes you just gotta throw up, you know?” Scott rolled his eyes. Dave hit the door frame twice, “Kay, well, I’m out. Call me if you need anything?”

Nodding, Scott watched Dave head out the door of their small two-bedroom apartment, turned on the shower and gingerly peeled off his clothes. His muscles felt tired and achy—as if he’d just gotten over the flu. The water warmed and Scott let out a sigh of pleasure as he stepped under the spray.

Scott kept his movements slow and deliberate. The weakness associated with being sick faded as he showered. As he thought about it, except for some residual nausea, he felt fine—good even.

He had just picked up the shampoo when he heard the apartment door open. Scott’s thoughts jumped quickly to Dave—he must have forgotten something. “Dave, that you?” When there was no answer, Scott washed the soap from his hands, “Dave,” he said louder. He reached for the curtain only to have it snatched out of his hand. Scott jumped back against the shower wall as a woman jerked the curtain aside.

She was tall, with pale skin and pitch-black hair. She was dressed for business in a long coat and boots that put them eye-to-eye.

Only, her eyes were elsewhere.

“Nice,” she said. It was as if she was commenting on the weather. She stepped aside as Scott reached past her for his towel, eyes finally making it back to where they belonged. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

Scott did a double take, finally finding his voice, “Excuse me?” he asked as he wrapped the towel around his middle. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

The woman looked around the crowded space and raising her eyebrows, she shrugged. “I’ve been in worse.” With that, she turned and walked away.

“Wait—“ Scott said, hastily drying his dripping hair.

He grabbed his clothes from the floor and slung them on, following after her into the kitchen. She was opening and closing cabinets, “Don’t you have any coffee in this place?” Without second thought, Scott grabbed the tin from above the refrigerator and handed it to her. “Thanks.”

Dumbfounded, Scott stepped back. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Lars,” she said as she filled the coffee pot with water.

“Ok, Lars,” Scott crossed his arms across his chest. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Lars finished what she was doing, turned and propped on the laminate. “I’m here to offer you a job.”

Scott scoffed, “What? Who comes into someone’s house and just offers them a job?” His grey eyes widened, “Are you part of the Mafia?"

An unexpected laugh escaped her lips, “Not that mafia,” she said under her breath.

“What did you say?” Scott frantically asked, but Lars only waved him away.

“Nothing,” she said. The coffee began to percolate in the background. Lars took a small breath, relaxing into the counter. “Look, I will explain it all to you on the way, but I need you to trust me.” She looked into his eyes, “Get dressed and come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Scott asked, already moving towards his room.

“To the Dome.”

***

Scott shook his head as the cold, winter winds slapped at his face. He was surprised to find himself outside, and startled when he spotted Lars beside him. “What the..?" 

Lars chuckled, but they kept walking, away from the city, away from Scott’s apartment. “You’re a good one, Scott Monroe. That brain of yours is sharp.” They kept walking as Lars patiently waited for him to gather his words.

“Lars, what is going on? I don’t remember leaving the apartment.” he finally spoke, his voice artificially calm.

“Scott, do you remember last night?” In a blink, his face washed out. He looked at Lars side-eyed. She continued, “Have any dreams?”

Scott’s hand shot towards Lars as if to grab her arm. Lars attempted to intercept it, using more than normal strength, but Scott kept coming despite the hit. He acted as if she hadn’t even tried. “Lars, what did you do to me?”

The couple had stopped on the sidewalk. Lars looked pointedly at his hand on her arm and back up to his eyes. Scott had sense enough to release her. He even looked a bit ashamed.

Lars began walking, “You’re different now Scott, better. We changed you.” She turned, stepping up the stoop to an old building, sliding a card across a reader disguised as a brick.

Scott followed her through the door, into a white elevator. “Who’s we?”

Lars pressed a sequence of buttons on the wall, and they began to move. “You’re about to find out.”

The elevator doors opened into an open, airy building. Lars unbuttoned her coat and slung it over her arm, Scott followed suit. The air was warm, summery. Scott looked at the lush greenery surrounding the house. His gaze stretched up, “So,” he said, turning his gaze to Lars. “This is what’s inside the Dome?” The oddity had been built in the ‘80s—a mammoth structure of steel and glass, the activity inside was a mystery still. The Dome’s proprietor, Leo Donaldson, pulled heavily on the purse strings of the politicians so few questions were asked. They paid their taxes, their bills and their congressmen. In return, they were allowed to stay.

There was a twinkle to Lars’ eyes as the corner of her mouth tipped up in a smile. “Sort-of,” she said. “There’s more.” She gestured her head to the buildings that shot up in the middle of the dome until they brushed the top. As if that weren’t enough, hundreds of feet in the air was an open-air bridge connecting them. It was breathtaking, and Scott was completely in awe of it all. Suddenly, he noticed what looked like ants scurrying up the tallest building. He gasped.

“What are they doing?” he asked, bending at the waist and squinting towards the city structures as if to see it better. 

“Deciding who has kitchen duty knowing those two,” she replied.

Scott balked, “You mean they’re racing? Up a building?” he shook his head, turning away from Lars again. “What gear are they using? They’re booking it.”

“Their hands,” Lars replied, full out smile on her face.

“No way.” Scott whispered.

“Yes way.” She smiled again before glancing in the direction of the bridge. Scott eyes followed.

In the far distance, a shadow in the shape of a man stepped up to the side rail. With careful precision and no hesitation, he stepped off into open air.

Scott looked frantically from the falling man to Lars and back again. Her stare never wavered.

Midway to the ground, the falling man extended a pair of sleek tawny wings. Without pause, they caught the warm breeze, suspending him in the air before pushing down, shooting him in their direction.

Scott stood, mouth open as the man grew in size, cutting the distance between them within seconds.

“67-42, meet Butch,” Lars said as the winged man drew within earshot. “Butch, meet 67-42.”

Scott looked at Lars, confused. “Lars?”

Butch let out a deep laugh that struck Scott as out of place. He was built like a runner, tall with sinewy muscle wrapped over his long bones. His voice, however, matched his laugh, “67, she not tell you the rules?”

Scott shook his head, “She hasn’t told me much of anything.”

Butch laughed again, “Yeah, well, that’s our Lars. Lesson one: whoever you were? Forget it. You can start by forgetting your old name. When you come to the Dome, you get a number. Until you pick your new name, you’re 67-42.”

Scott’s head was spinning. Forgetting his old life? He thought about what already felt like a lifetime ago. He had his apartment, Dave, a scattering of other friends and school. It didn’t sound like much, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it up. He was even less sure he wanted it taken from him.

Scott decided to keep his opinion to himself for now. Between the ripped man with wings and the woman who he suspected wiped his mind somehow earlier, Scott was out of his league.

He pushed the thought to the back of his brain for later and cocked an eyebrow in the direction of the new guy. “So you picked Butch?”

Lars laughed beside him, but Butch only shrugged. “Beats the hell out of ‘bird-guy’.”

“Hate to break this up, boys but I have to be going.” she turned to Scott, “Butch will take you from here. I will see you tonight."

With that, Lars turned and Scott watched his one connection to the outside walk away, her sharp heels clicking on the stone path. Butch slapped him on the arm only to quickly retract his hand, “Damn 67!” he said, shaking it out, “Should have known better than to touch a newbie.” Butch rubbed his hand as he folded his wings in. Scott had barely blinked in the time they disappeared, camouflaged against his skin. “You’re hard as steel, man.”

Scott examined his arm as Butch led him through the paths of the Dome. After a few moments of what he considered extensive investigation, he found nothing. “I don’t feel any different,” he remarked.

“Of course you don’t,” Butch looked him up and down, turning right. The greenery began to wane, “But you are. Don’t worry, they’ll figure out how. After that, the fun begins.”

After a few hours, Scott was certain he and Butch had a different definition of the word “fun”. Butch had dropped him off at the base of one of the buildings with a promise to pick him up for lunch. Scott spent the next grueling hours sitting through tests of all kinds—blood tests, inkblots, more math problems than he’d ever care to see again, hypotheticals, sequencing.

There was even one where they put him in a room, blindfolded. He’d sat there, in silence for what felt like half an hour. How long it really was, who knew.

Sometime during the morning, a sphere of pressure had built up between his eyes that, by the time Butch got him, was a full-blown headache. Scott’s stomach growled as he made his way down the sleek, modern steps out front.

“How’d it go?” Butch asked. He had put on a thin, navy shirt since Scott had last seen him. It was too hot for much else.

Scott followed him onto the sidewalk. It was crowded with people—men and women, mostly young with a few who could have been his parent’s ages—stood in front of food trucks lining the streets. They joined a line in front of one advertising gyros.

Scott shrugged, “It went well, I guess. Kind of boring.” Butch broke out in smile, “What? Does that mean something?”

The birdman rolled his eyes, “Yes it means something, Scott. It means you’re not a cog! I knew it!”

They shuffled forward. Scott looked at Butch, brows furrowed over his nose. “What’s a cog?”

“A cognitive,” Butch said as if that explained everything. Scott waited as he placed the lunch order, “Scary as hell, but still snap like a twig if you get your hands on them.” He reached over and tapped the side of Scott’s head. “It means your powers aren’t up there. You’re a kin—a kinesthetic.” He handed Scott a bundle of foil, hastily unwrapping his own. He took a big bite, speaking around the pita, “You’ve got physical powers, like Superman or the Hulk. Well, not exactly the Hulk, but you get the picture.” Scott unwrapped his own lunch. Warm goodness filled his mouth, the slight bitterness of tzasiki on his tongue. He groaned. “Good, ain’t it?” Butch asked.  

“Best I’ve ever had.” Scott replied, taking another bite.

“Yeah,” Butch said, nodding back to the truck. “Crow’s power is cooking.”

Scott stopped, “You mean his super power?”

Butch looked back at him, a grin on his face, “Yep. Come on,” he said with a jerk of his shoulder, “I’ve gotta get you to the hub.”

Scott caught up with him, “Butch, is cooking a cognitive power?” he asked, worry lacing his words.

Butch thought about it, “I’m not sure what it is, really. Alls I know is I’m thankful for it.” He waded up the foil and rang the trashcan at the door of the new building. “Don’t look so worried, 67. Yours won’t be cooking.”

“How do you know?” Scott asked, tossing the remains of his lunch in the can after Butch’s.

Butch smirked at him over his shoulder as he pushed the glass door open. “I just got this feeling.”

***

Sweat ran down Scott’s face, “Come on 67,” the proctor encouraged, “this should be no problem for you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Scott replied through gritted teeth.

“Concentrate!” he barked.

“Then Shut Up,” Scott replied. The proctor smiled behind his hand. Grey at his temples, Rand was the senior proctor at the hub. In all his years, he’d never seen anything so… interesting.

Scott took off for his next lap around the track. Thirty minutes in, and he was still going top speed. Twenty minutes in, Rand put in an order for obstacles. Hurdles, walls, pits, trees—nothing stopped 67-42.

It wasn’t that he was quick, no. He wasn’t any faster than any other hero.

They literally didn’t stop him.

Rand watched as the kid ran right through them. Finally, after pieces of cement littered his track, Rand called Scott to a stop.

Scott walked over to him, hands on his head, exposing his scarecrow-sized midriff. He was sucking wind, but not near enough to account for what he had just done. There wasn’t a scratch on him.

Rand looked him over, “It’s like you’re made of steel, boy.” He looked over at the sidelines, “Light, come here.” A dark man at least a foot taller than Scott walked over to them, stepping over the debris. “How would you like to run through a wall?” Rand asked him.

Light looked from Rand to Scott, confusion evident on his face. “He has transference, sir?”

Rand nodded, “That’s what we’re about to find out.” He looked down at Scott, “Don’t run too fast. We don’t want Light to lose any teeth if this doesn’t work.” With a nod at the track, he turned and walked away.

Scott asked Light, “So how do we do this?”

Holding out his hand, Scott awkwardly grabbed it. “Let’s run,” Light said. So they did.

Rounding the corner, they approached their first hurdle. It was a waist-high brick wall. Scott prepped to jump it, yet Light stayed on the ground. Cringing, Scott braced himself for his partner to bust his shins up good.

Brick dust hit him in the face as Light busted through the hurdle, laughing. “Come on, man! That was fun!” He shouted as he pulled Scott further down the track.

They busted through everything the proctors threw at them. After a few minutes of crowding the track with all kinds of debris, Rand finally called them to a stop.

Light’s smiled spanned from one ear to another. “Rand, I’m not even tired. I could do that forever,” he said, gesturing back towards the track that now bore a close resemblance a war zone. He turned to Scott, holding out his hand, “Anytime, man. Thanks for sharing.”

Scott shook, Light’s contagious enthusiasm seeping into him. “Sure thing, Light. Anytime.”

Light joined the others as Rand typed something into his tablet. “Ok, 67, now that we know how hard you can run, let’s see how long.”

“Hold on, Rand.” A female voice chimed in from somewhere behind him. “I have a theory.”

Lars walked out of the shadows, her business dress and heels had been exchanged for clothes more suited for the gym. Her hair was pulled back in a fierce bun, enhancing her already sharp features.

“Lars,” Rand said, “So nice to see you on my floor. What can I do for you?”

Lars ignored the subtle jibe. She looked up and nodded. “67?” Scott raised his eyebrows, “Touch the ceiling.”

He scoffed, “Lars, that’s at least fifty feet.”

She looked up, examining it as if she was seeing it for the first time, “Oh, really? I thought it was more like seventy-five.” She blinked slowly, training her black eyes on him. Scott shuddered and stepped back, bent his knees and jumped.

Scott waited for the familiar feeling of coming back down, but it never came. Instead, he found himself rising at the same speed as before—up, up, and up until he reached the ceiling.

Suddenly freaked out, Scott reached for an exposed pipe and held on, dangling far above everyone’s heads. He was seven stories high and he felt like he was about to lose his gyro.

“Scott!” Lars shouted from below. “You’re doing great. Just let go. You’ll be fine!”

“Easy for you to say!” he shouted back and jumped at a rustling noise behind him. He turned his head just enough to see a girl walking on one of the pipes.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” Scott responded. “Can I help you?”

She tilted her head in his direction, “I’ve never met you.”

“That’s because I’m new,” he said patiently. He felt his hands start to slip, and tried desperately to readjust.

“Ahh,” she said as she made her was closer. “Well, I’m Rachel. It’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

“Um,” Scott said, “I’d shake, but I can’t right now.”

“Afraid to let go?”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” Rachel said, jumping from one set of pipes to another over open air. Scott cringed. “What comes up, must come down. Except for you. Gravity doesn’t apply to you.” She stopped, “Actually, you break all the laws.”

Scott wiggled on his pole, “What laws, Rachel?”

Rachel snapped back from her thoughts and giggled. “Oh, sorry. Relativity,” she jumped over to Scott’s pipe and crouched down. “The laws of relativity, that is.” She stood, “You’ll be fine, you know. All you have to do is let go.”

Scott looked down, “I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Oh,” she stood. “Let me help, then.”

“No, Rachel, that’s ok. I’ll just…” but it was too late. Rachel lifted her foot and stepped on his fingers.

Scott felt himself falling. The wind tossed his hair back off his face and blew his clothes tight against his body. Suddenly, he hit the ground, hard, and went rolling across the track floor.

“67! Are you ok?” Lars asked, flipping him to his back.

Scott looked up to see three faces staring down at him—a very concerned Rand, curious Lars and behind them, the small, smirking face of the girl who made him fall. Scott glared at her from his place on the floor as he did a mental run through of his body. The preliminary check came up clean. He stood, dusting himself off.

Rachel’s smirk turned into an all out smile. “Nice job, Newton.” she said before slinking back into the shadows.

Lars looked from Rachel to Scott a small crease between her brows, “Newton?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, mulling it over. “Newton.”

***

That night, Scott collapsed in his bed, exhausted. After the pipe incident with Rachel, Rand and Lars had ran him through whatever they could come up with, with no protocol that Scott could see. He had swung bats through walls, walked on air, and taken punches with no repercussions, without so much as a scratch. Lars had been excited to continue, but Rand insisted on calling it a night when she started talking about running Scott over with a Mac truck to see if it would hurt him.

Scott was thankful for the intervention.

But, he wasn’t Scott anymore, was he?

No, now he was Newton—the boy who defies gravity.

In the span of a day, his entire life had changed. Out with the old, in with the new. This was better—he was better.

Right?

Since sleep was playing reluctant friend, Scott slid on his shoes and coat and headed outside.

The night sky was the darkest of blues with the bright lights of the city gleaming off it from the distance. The waves of the glass panes above him glinted in the artificial light. All was quiet inside the Dome.

Scott walked around the buildings, through them, up the stairs, with no destination in mind.

Finally, he found himself in a courtyard of sorts—thick green grass and wide trees surrounded him.

Scott wandered around for a while before settling on the grass. His long coat, even though unnecessary, for the night was still warm, protected him from the moisture on the ground. Lying there, he allowed himself to sort through the thoughts from earlier. One at a time, he sifted through them—investigating each thoroughly before moving on the next, establishing solid conclusions based on facts.

He had lost track of time as the moon glinted off the glass directly above his head. He startled as its clear light highlighted a thick power line spanning across the courtyard. Without a second thought, Scott jumped. Birds kicked up in surprise as he swung his legs over the wire, settling his weight softly on their perch.

Couldn’t sleep?

Scott frantically shook his head.

Out of all the things that had happened today, a voice in his head was the least of his concerns. Maybe he was going crazy.

You’re not crazy. I’m really here.

Who are you? Scott thought back, assuming she could hear him.

Newton—Scott felt his seat shake. To his left was Rachel—one foot on the wire. Her tiny body blended in seamlessly with the night sky behind her. As she pushed her wind whipped heir back from her face, Scott noticed a sleek quiver strapped to her back.

“Rachel, what are you…” he started.

Stop, she cut him off. Only like this. It’s safer this way.

Scott stood up, Rachel, I thought you were a kin. How are you doing this? He gestured from his head to hers and back again.

I’m a hybrid, she explained. There aren’t many of us. Usually, we just go crazy. Scott thought back to the loopy girl who had stepped on his fingers earlier. Rachel’s laugh flitted through his head. Yeah, it’s easier like that. Plus, I don’t get shipped out if they think I’m nuts. Something about being unstable scares them.

Scott tilted his head to the side, What do you mean, shipped out?

Why do you think you’re here, Newton? he followed her gaze around the Dome. Powers like yours? They’ll have you gone within the week.

Scott felt adrenaline light through his system. What do you mean? Shipped to where?

China, Iraq, Yemen—does it matter? Rachel’s face grew sad, What did you think you were here for, Newton?

Don’t call me that. Scott said as he turned away from her, walking to the opposite building. Why are you still here then?

She laughed, humorlessly and tapped her head, I’m crazy, remember? Suddenly the look of the Rachel who he had met earlier crossed her features. It disappeared as fast as it came, replaced by the look of a woman with a purpose. I’ve been waiting for you… she trailed off.

Scott, he provided. My name is Scott.

She smiled, Scott.

Why have you been waiting for me? he asked.

Wistfully, Rachel looked up. Once we’re in, Scott, there’s no getting out unless you’re shipped. She looked at him standing across the way. They mind wipe you to keep you under control, use you, and return whatever’s left.

Scott’s thoughts spun to Lars and the chunk of time he’d lost just that morning. Rachel nodded. Lars? She..? SHE..? Scott clenched his fists and ran them over his head. He had the urge to hit something.

Scott, don’t. Rachel pushed through his anger. Let’s get out of here.

Scott’s head popped up, I thought you said we can’t?

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, the corner of her mouth tipped upwards, Have you ever shot a bow, Scott? He shook his head, Come here. With a single leap, Scott crossed over the courtyard. Rachel slapped a compound bow into his hand followed by a sleek, lethal looking arrow.

Scott stared at the weapon in his hands, and up at the sprawling glass and steel suspended above his head. What am I supposed to do? he asked.

Notch, aim and shoot, Rachel replied. As if it was as simple as that, Scott thought.

It is, Rachel continued. Your powers will transfer to the arrow—it will keep going, with your strength behind it, taking out everything in its path, until it decides to stop.

An arrow can’t decide when to stop, Scott remarked.

Exactly.

Scott examined the Dome, Anywhere? he asked.

Rachel pointed to a seam slightly to the right of the Dome’s pinnacle where the moonlight shined brightest. See that space? It’s actually about the size of a football field. Just aim for the light.

Scott shook his head. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

You’ll do great, just notch, aim and shoot, Scott notched the arrow on the side of the bow, moving it around, shaking his shoulders to get a feel for it. You’ve got this, Rachel encouraged.

Scott righted the bow, Right, he added, sparing a glance her way.

Rachel smiled, Better clench up, Legolas, she said. Scott shook his head, training his gaze on his target. You’re about to take down the Dome.

Scott aimed as thoughts tore through his mind. He sucked in a breath and held it there.

It’s your choice, he thought to himself, and that’s worth something. Decide.

So he did.

The arrow sang softly as it flew through the air, headed directly for its target and never slowing down.

Scott lowered the bow. The arrow was further than he could see. He had no idea if it hit its mark or…

A giant crack split through the pane as the sound of glass breaking reached their ears.

The Dome, was falling.