Chapter Forty-Six

Caleb

I didn't move my hands away from my face until the shooters ceased fire, bathing the room in resounding silence. It was a while before I realized that I hadn't been shot—my brother had never fired his gun. That became obvious when I saw the man and woman standing in the doorway, weapons raised and surprise evident on their faces. However, rather than the two guards that had found us minutes before, the two people were Fairleigh's Pro-Inferiors, easily recognizable by the bombs strapped to their backs. One of them, the woman, was the one who nearly sent a bullet into my skull. And here we were, in a similar position once again, with her pointing a gun at my face.

But not looking at me. No, it appeared that she hadn't even noticed me. Instead, her eyes were trained downward, widened in horror at whatever she saw on the ground. My stomach clenched in fear as I followed her gaze.

I couldn't stop of strangled cry of disbelief from escaping my lips, immediately drawing the attention of the two Pro-Inferiors. They quickly became reengaged in the situation, though I saw that the woman's hands were shaking.

"C-Caleb?" she breathed, recognition dawning on her features. I was unable to respond at first, too appalled by the sight on the ground before me.

Then another voice whispered my name, but this time in a pained, wispy murmur that was probably only audible to my finely-tuned ears. "Caleb?"

It was Jeanette. My head snapped toward the source of her voice, my eyes roving the dimness until they found her, kneeling on the ground with one hand clutching her shoulder. She stared up at me with doe-like eyes, looking confused. When she saw that I was watching, she moved her hand slightly. Even with the lack of light, I was easily able to identify the dark liquid seeping like molasses from between her fingertips.

I whirled to the Pro-Inferiors.

"What have you done?" I demanded, intending a fierce snarl but only managing a pathetic screech.

The woman fumbled for her voice, but it was the man who answered coolly, as if nothing had happened. "We shot down a hostile Superior," he drawled in a light Southern accent. "He was about to kill you. No need to thank us." He shrugged amiably, almost smugly, looking for all the world like he thought he had just done me a solid.

An inferno rose in my stomach—blessed, lovely anger that forced words up my throat and tore them from my lips in a ragged scream. "That was my brother!" I stared down at Christopher's body, mangled on the floor, torn through with a dozen bullet holes that even a Superior had no hope of surviving. His gun lay where it had fallen from his hand, just out of reach of a growing pool of scarlet blood. I swiped it up in one quick motion.

The man stepped back as I advanced on him, and he sure wasn't looking so confident anymore. In fact, as he took in the height difference between us, he began to look a little bit frightened. A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry, man," the guy said, holding up his arms in a placating gesture. Through narrowed eyes, I examined him. He was young, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, with dark olive skin and inkwell eyes. Judging by the muscles bugling from beneath his shirt, he was strong—though not nearly strong enough to have a chance against me. It was obvious from the desperate expression on his face that he knew it, too.

I said nothing, simply flicked the safety off the cool iron pistol that fit snugly in my hand.

He tried again. "Hey, it was you or him. Maybe he was your brother, but I ain't got a doubt that he was gonna shoot you. Man, we were just trying to help." He reached discreetly for his own weapon, but froze when he saw the look of death on my face.

"Yes, because shooting an innocent girl in the arm is very, very helpful," I sneered mordantly.

The man's head jerked up as he glanced around, finally noticing Jeanette, who was curled into a ball, squeezing her wounded shoulder. His eyes went from slightly afraid to completely terrified in a matter of seconds. Had I not been so utterly enraged, I might have laughed.

"I-I didn't mean...," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

I scoffed. "Yeah, well, intentions and actions can be very different things. Maybe you didn't mean to hurt her, but you did. And you also killed my brother, when you could have just wounded him enough so that he wouldn't be able to shoot me." My eyes followed a slip of fabric that darted behind the man. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, lady," I snarled. "You're just as much to blame for this as your buddy is. The two of you are a little bit too trigger happy, and you're going to pay. Hasn't your leader told you how to handle a gun?"

I saw a veil descend over the man's eyes. "Oh, he taught us all right." He reached quickly over his shoulder to grab his gun and point it at me. It wasn't quick enough, though; I anticipated his movement before he even made it and was right in front of him, grasping the barrel as it was raised to my face. The cylinder disintegrated, becoming fine dust in my hand.

The man whimpered.

I grinned.

At that moment, I felt stronger than ever before in my life—or at least, what I remembered of it. My bloodstream was laced with adrenaline, spiking anticipation in my brain and sending a low buzz of energy through my body. I knew what I was capable of: I could tear these people to pieces, if I wanted to. I could crush their skulls in my bare hands, peel the skin from their bodies with my teeth, break their legs without so much as a blink—they were completely at my mercy.

I was invincible.

I wanted more than anything to punish the two Pro-Inferiors: to make them feel pain so intense that they would beg to die, make them pay for what they had done to my brother. But I didn't just want revenge on them for what they had done; I wanted revenge on them for what everyone had done. On Leary, for changing my body and wiping my mind; on Fairleigh, for planning to blow up the entire city; on Christopher, Charisma, and Miracle, for conspiring against me when I thought I had won. I wanted to torture the two of them for every crime that had been committed against me, their own or otherwise.

But first, I needed some information. Because I didn't want to run out of time.

My face twisting into a snarl, I reached forward and picked up the man by the front of his shirt. It was ridiculously easy, like he weighed no more than a feather. He squirmed and struggled, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

"What's your name?" I snapped.

A sudden defiance came into his eyes, and he turned up his chin.

"Hell if I'll tell y—" Before he could finish, I shook him hard. His head smacked against his neck, cracking a bone, and he howled. "Joel! It's Joel, it's Joel! Please, please put me down!"

I ignored his cries and continued to my next question. "Well, Joel," I growled, "do you know when your leader is beginning his fireworks show?"

"I don't know," Joel blubbered. But he glanced away for a moment before answering, and I saw his fingers twitch.

"You're lying." My voice was deadly.

"I'm not, I—" I shook him again. "Two o'clock, two! Now please! Put me down! Please!"

A quick look at the watch on my wrist told me that it was one-sixteen. I had time, but it would undoubtedly pass quickly.

I set Joel back on the ground and released his shirt.

"Are you letting me go?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

I smiled a cold, predatory smile. "Of course not. Didn't I say you were going to pay?"

His eyes wide, Joel reached slowly behind him, edging his partner out of the way as he grasped blindly for the doorknob. But just as his fingers closed around the metal sphere, I sprung forward, closing my hand around his wrist and squeezing as hard as I could.

He cried out in pain, cursing and shrieking and begging me to release him. I didn't listen. Something dark had taken over my mind, and it wouldn't let me stop. It wasn't until the man's yells melted into desperate sobs that I finally let go. He stumbled to the wall, clutching his ruined wrist. It was as if his hand had detached from the rest of of his arm, and it hung weakly from a flap of skin that seemed devoid of bones.

"I'm not done yet," I growled, advancing on the man once again. Before he could make a sound, I had slapped a hand over his mouth and whirled him into a headlock. He squirmed and tried to bite my hand, but I just tightened my hold around his neck. My vision was smeared with red, distorting everything in sight.

"Stop, please!" someone cried, and I felt a slight tug at my shoulder. With a low hiss, I shrugged the pressure off.

Looking down, I saw that Joel's eyes were bugging out of his head and rolling back into his skull, so that only the whites were showing. The man's face had turned a bright, eggplant-like purple, with his swollen tongue lolling out of his open, gasping mouth

"You're killing him!" the woman shrieked. She grabbed my arm and pulled at it with all her strength. It barely fazed me, but I let go anyway. Joel dropped to the ground, clawing at his throat and gasping for air.

I expected his face to fade back to its normal color, but it stayed violet. If anything, the shade got darker. He convulsed on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, his movements gradually getting slower and less erratic. I didn't realize what was happening until the man stopped moving completely, and his friend began to scream at me.

"You killed him!" she shouted, her voice shrill. "He's dead!" Terrified tears were tracing tracks down her cheeks as she stumbled away from me, staring down at Joel. I looked down too, taking in the man's rolled-back eyes, open mouth, and bent neck mottled with bruises.

The woman screamed a sob.

"Wake up!" I shouted at the crumpled man. "Get up!" I kicked at his lifeless body, inexplicably angry that he wasn't listening to me.

"He's not going to get up! He's dead! You killed him."

"No!" I yelled back, staring at the motionless figure crumpled on the ground next to my brother. "I didn't!"

The woman threw her arms down, shrieking in rage and disbelief. There were thick creases pressed between her eyebrows. "Yes you did!" she cried, then lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

I stood with my fists clenched by my side for a long moment, staring at the woman and becoming more and more angry when she didn't look away.

"You shut up," I muttered finally, advancing on her and smiling when she withdrew.

"No," she countered, her voice shaking. "You killed Joel."

I smirked wryly. "An eye for an eye."

"And a tooth for a tooth," she finished quietly, matching my gaze even as she trembled. Then she looked down, at the wall, and finally back up to my face.

"But Caleb," she whispered, "when you fight fire with fire, all you do is burn."

And suddenly her gun was in my face, her finger on the trigger, already pressing it down. I swiped it away as quickly as possible, but two of the three shots she fired lodged themselves in my abdomen. I screamed, more in rage than agony, and shoved the gun away, sending it clattering to the ground. The woman, whose name I still did not know, shook with defiance.

I pressed one hand against the wound on my stomach and used the other to lift the woman by her chin.

"You witch," I shrilled, squeezing her face until light bruises formed on her cheeks. Before she could respond, I swung her body over my shoulder, then whirled it around and threw her into the far wall. She smacked against it face first before sliding to the ground. I waited a moment to make sure sure she wasn't moving. Them, smiling in satisfaction, I turned back to my own problems.

That is, the bullets that were currently occupying the left side of my abdominal cavity.

Grunting, I lifted my white t-shirt, which had a spherical blood stain already forming. Upon inspection, I saw that the bullets had not been buried deeply; their back ends were still protruding slightly from my body.

The flesh around the wounds was red, bloodied, and torn, and now that my energized state had begun to wore off, every move I made sent pain zipping through my body. The worst part, though, occurred when I gripped the bullets between my thumb and forefinger and ripped them out. They made a sucking sound and stung a little, but the sensation was gone before I had tossed the stained pellets over my shoulder.

I continued to stare at the two adjacent holes in my stomach, fascinated now, because I could see that the skin was already beginning to reform itself. It was slow, slightly painful, and would clearly take a while, but I assumed that it'd take a normal human much longer to recover.

I was grinning as I turned and tore a strip from Joel's black shirt and wrapped it around my lower torso, binding it tightly to stave off any further bleeding. Overall, despite the slight setback of being shot, I felt pretty powerful. I had just killed two enemies with my bare hands, and they hadn't stood a ghost of a chance. I smirked back at their unmoving bodies, silently basking in my own egotistic glory.

It was then that I heard the whimper from a few feet beside me, reminding me that I was not alone. I turned to Jeanette, who was staring at me agape from her place on the floor. She still clutched her hurt arm with one hand.

"Sorry," I murmured, self-consciously lowering my shirt over the makeshift bandage. Jeanette didn't respond, just shuddered, her face ashen. Worried about how much blood she had lost, I took a step toward her. Her eyes took on a look of terror as she scooted back.

"Hey, it's okay," I said. "Let me just check your arm."

Slowly, reluctantly, she moved her hand and allowed me to lean closer, close enough to see the damage. It wasn't bad. The bullet hadn't stayed in her arm, but it had left a deep scratch about four inches long that was still seeping blood. She wiped blood off her hand on her loose gray pants, leaving a dark stain.

"All right, that's not too big a deal," I assured, already ripping off the right sleeve of my t-shirt. "Here, let me just—"

"Don't touch me," Jeanette snarled, throwing herself backwards as I held out my hand. "I'll do it myself." Keeping her eye on me, she crawled toward Joel, leaving a wide arc of space between us, and ripped off a piece of his shirt.

"You're going to need help with—"

"I'll do it myself," she repeated, with even more malice. Surprised by her anger, I didn't argue, and watched as she wound the cloth around her arm and tightened it with her teeth. Then she stood up, looked me in the eye, and stalked toward the door. I got there before her and stood in front of it, blocking it.

"Move," she snapped, her eyes flickering.

I knit my eyebrows. "No."

"Get out of my way." She moved to duck under my arm, but I grabbed her shoulder. She jumped back as if I had burned her.

"What?" I demanded exasperatedly.

"I told you not to touch me," she breathed, looking scared again.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step back, into the door. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Just don't touch me."

"Jeanette...," I warned.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, then heaved a resigned sigh. Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "Did you see what you did just now?"

"I..." I turned to the bodies. "They would have killed us."

"I don't think they would have. But you were so blinded by fury that you didn't give them a chance to show you that. And do you know what the worst part was?" I didn't ask, just waited for her to answer her own question. "The worst part was, you looked like you were having fun."

I didn't say anything, didn't deny it or try to defend myself, because I wasn't sure if I could. Was she right? Had I been enjoying myself? I'd been too caught up in the exhilaration of the moment to tell.

"I shouldn't have sneaked out in the first place," she muttered when I didn't respond.

A shock of anger ran through me. "Then why did you? You could have gone back when Chris and I told you to, but nooo. You were adamant."

"Whatever. Would you just get out of my way so I can leave?"

"And go where?" I shot back.

Jeanette looked me in the eye, her expression hateful. "Anywhere away from you," she spat.

Pulsing with rage, I leaned into her face, saying, "I swear to god, Jeanette, you're going to stay right here, or else—"

"Or else what?" she mocked. "You'll choke me until my lungs collapse in on themselves then hurl me into a wall?"

There was so much distaste in her words that it sapped the anger right out of me. I slid out of the way, giving her space to open the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"I obviously don't know you well enough to judge you, Caleb," she said. "But you don't seem like a bad guy. Freakishly symmetrical, maybe, but not bad." I realized with a start that I was no longer wearing my sunglasses (when had they fallen off?) and mentally commended Jeanette for not being surprised by my appearance.

Jeanette was wrinkling her nose, already continuing. "I don't understand Superiority," she admitted, "and I won't pretend to. But from what you and your brother have said, combined with some things I saw in this video online, they're cruel. I don't think you're cruel. Which makes it harder for me to understand why you did...that." Her hand swept toward the bodies. "I want to say that I know you feel remorse for your actions, but I can tell that you don't. So I guess you're no different from the rest of the Superiors."

She gave me a wry smile. "But like I said: I don't know you well enough to judge you."

She opened the door and stepped back into the hall, leaving me with a weird feeling of discomfort. "Don't follow me," she said, her voice returning to its steely tone. She stalked away.

Before leaving myself, I cast one last glance at the bodies on the ground. Both of them dead, because of me. As I slipped out into the hall, a lightning bolt of anger jolted from my head to my toes, all of it directed at myself. Because Jeanette was right: when I looked at the bodies of the two people I had just murdered, I felt no remorse, no regret, no sadness. In fact, I felt nothing at all.

○●○●○●○

Jeanette was just a few feet down the hall when I eased the door shut behind me. She didn't look back, though I'm sure she must have heard me.

"Jeanette," I said quietly, "you can't go around alone."

"Says you," she replied in a normal tone. "I'll do what I want."

I hurried after her. "Keep your voice down!"

She whirled on me, her gaze shrewd, and practically shouted, "I thought I told you not to follow me!"

"Stop that, you'll—"

I didn't get to finish, because just then, the sound of shouts came from our left, followed by quick, pattering footsteps. Acting automatically, I grabbed Jeanette by the arm and whisked her around the corner. She shook off my grip as soon as we came to a crouched stop, but I could see uncertainty in her expression.

"They must be in here!" shouted a man's voice, followed by the sound of a door being thrown open. A round of gunfire echoed through the air.

"See what you've done?" I hissed icily.

The man yelled, "What the hell? Ana, come here!" More footsteps, then a horrified gasp.

"We have about fifteen seconds before they find us," I murmured, wincing as a shock lanced through my abdomen. "You can go on your own, or come with me. I'll do my best to keep you safe."

Jeanette looked uncertain. Her eyes flickered to a spot past me, no doubt looking for our pursuers, but never lit on my face. I grabbed both of her wrists.

"Jeanette, you have to choose now."

"The Superior was definitely here," a woman's voice said grimly. "Probably took the girl and went this way."

"Jeanette," I said between clenched teeth. "Now."

Two footsteps closer. Three.

Jeanette looked at me and nodded, just barely, just enough to show me that she was on my side. I grabbed her hand. The footsteps rounded the corner.

"Hey!" the man and woman, Leary's guards, cried in unison.

I hauled Jeanette to her feet. "Run."

And we ran.

I don't know how far we ran, but the footsteps pursued us the whole way. Eventually, fed up with Jeanette's speed—or lack thereof—I simply picked her up and slung her over my shoulder. She screamed in protest, but didn't struggle. With that solved, we picked up speed quickly, staying well ahead of Leary's guards. They were fast, but I was faster.

After a while, we came to a staircase, and I pounded down it without hesitation. One, two, three flights later, I burst out through a door, Jeanette's head banging against my back, and found myself in a brightly lit corridor. I skidded to a stop, barely breathing hard, and tipped my head to listen.

There were no sounds from behind us, but that didn't mean the guards were gone. Sighing, I set Jeanette back on her feet.

"You okay to walk for a while?"

She smoothed the front of her floral shirt and nodded. "What about you? Your stomach?"

Surprised, I looked down at my shirt, still stained with blood. It still hurt quite a bit, but I had a feeling that if I were to look, it would have healed even more.

I grinned sheepishly. "Honestly, I kind of forgot about it."

It took a moment, but Jeanette finally cracked a smile.

"Let's go," I beckoned, starting forward again. "Wouldn't want the goons to catch up."

We had only walked about thirty feet before the hallway we were in cut into another. Turning, right, we continued. I quickly got the feeling that I'd been there before, somehow, but the weird déjà vudidn't make sense until the corridor ended abruptly in a metal sliding door. The memory returned to me, of Perfecta slipping a key card through the cavity between the door and wall to make it open, sneaking me inside with the promise that what I would see would change my mind about everything.

We had found our way to Dr. Leary's laboratory.

We only had two choices: either we turned and went back the way we'd come, or go inside. I was less than eager to enter Leary's lair. But backtracking would waste precious time.

"Are we going in?" Jeanette was looking at me expectantly.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard footsteps in the distance.

"Yes," I affirmed quickly.

I fumbled frantically for the key card to my room and mimicked what I'd seen Perfecta do. A moment of worried breath-holding later, the door quietly slid open.

"In here," I whispered to Jeanette, pushing her ahead of me. After a quick glance around, I stepped inside as well, and the door closed automatically behind us.

"What is this place?" Jeanette asked softly, turning in a slow circle as she moved further into the room.

"Dr. Leary's laboratory," I answered. "I don't think you met him, but you know those people chasing us? They belong to him."

Jeanette nodded absently, but was already venturing toward the horrors that lay deeper in the laboratory.

"Oh my god."

I came up beside her as she stared at the countless bodies suspended in liquid-filled vats, lifeless and still. "Leary's experiments," I explained. The sight was no less disturbing to me, despite having seen it before.

With a shudder, Jeanette turned again, her eyes narrowing. She was focusing on something across the room.

"What's that, over there?" she asked, pointing. I followed her finger to a glass wall leading to another adjoining room. Inside were three chairs, and two of them were occupied by struggling figures.

"What the hell?" I muttered to myself, ducking around some equipment to get a better look. Jeanette trailed after me.

As I stared at the two people—a boy and a girl, both teenagers—they caught sight of me as well. Shock dawned on both their faces, and they began to throw themselves against the bonds that secured them to their chairs, hollering for help. And then, as I squinted and moved closer still, two things came to my attention. The first was that both teens looked achingly familiar, though I couldn't place where I'd seen them before.

And the second thing, I realized with a start, was that they weren't calling for help.

They were screaming my name.

A/N: So what do you think of Caleb NOW? ;) Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for the last one...