Chapter 16

When the others returned, Marcus was devouring a spam sandwich that he had recently retrieved from his pack. Zane sat nearby, trying to find the limitations of his power, what he could do with it. He knew he could transform his physical appearance so he looked like somebody else. He could create moderately large objects, but they used up greater portions of his body to create. He could also completely disperse his body, create a cloud of Zane.

He held in his hands a perfect replica of the sandwich Marcus grasped. His shortened pinkie and a bit of his ring finger had sacrificed themselves to make it. He was contemplating if he would feel anything if he ate it when Daisy, Mallory, and Joseph came into view in the dim light.

They looked a little worse for wear then the last time he'd seen them. Daisy's hair was razzled and caked dirt obstructed the marvelous blue color that was underneath. Her face had a long streak of grime down from her right ear to the corner of her mouth. She was shuffling along at a slight limp and Zane anticipated she had twisted, maybe even sprained, her ankle on the tilted floor.

Mallory and Joseph were on opposite sides of Daisy, ready to support her if need-be. Mallory's hair was in worse shape than Daisy's. It seemed the humidity of the tunnel gave her an afro deserving of a circus act. Her blue nose piercing seemed to be the only spark of color between the three of them.

Joseph, though dirty, managed to look stunning as usual. He appeared to have slipped into a puddle of dirty water for his orange striped shirt was no longer orange but a uniform brown. His cream shorts were split in two, a clean, bright side and a dark, dirty side. His arms were crossed in front of him loosely, ready to dart out if Daisy wobbled. Despite his state, his face broke out in a smile when he saw Zane sitting up, showing off his replica sandwich to Marcus.

Zane rushed forward, and Joseph squeaked, pointing at his leg, and he lurched forward with his hands poised to catch Zane. He watched as Zane lifted up his pants, revealing the closed wound. "It's fine," Zane said, rubbing the newly repaired skin.

"How?" Joseph asked, bewildered. Zane noticed a line of stubble along his chin and jawbone. Coarse, tough hairs that hadn't been shaved in a long time. Joseph ran his fingers over his chin, contemplating Zane's leg.

"Magic," Zane answered, waving his hands through the air, wiggling his fingers.

Marcus was completely behind on the conversation, and Zane was tempted to call him a wombat as Daisy had. "Zane's pregnant," Marcus muttered, chuckling under his breath. Zane glared at him, but he was immensely focused on the last few bites of his sandwich. Joseph gave Zane a quizzical look, cocking his head.

Zane ignored both of them. He looped an arm around Daisy's waist, helping support her weight. She glanced at him thankfully. It was obvious she didn't like admitting she needed help. "Let's get you sat down," he said softly, lowering her to the ground.

He felt her ankle, and she winced. She had definitely sprained it. "Is it bad?" she asked, cringing.

Zane shook his head. "Just a sprain. It should not last very long. Try and keep the weight off of it for a while." She nodded, lifting it up to place it on her nearby backpack. She winced while doing so and rubbed her ankle mournfully.

Mallory and Joseph collapsed next to Zane, Joseph's hand placed protectively on Zane's leg. His palm was warm and gentle through the thin fabric. It seemed to be an involuntary movement, something he was used to, had attuned to part of his everyday life. Zane found this fact comforting.

Mallory was all business. "There's an exit further up," she said, zipping up her own backpack and patting it. "It leads to the outskirts, which you said was the safest spot." Zane nodded, confirming the fact. "As soon as Daisy feels fit to move, we'll go."

Daisy started to struggle to her feet. "I feel fit to move right now,"

Joseph glared at her and waggled a finger. "Sit your ass down, young lady," he ordered, giving her a sharp gaze and fiercely lowered eyebrows.

The response was immediate. Daisy collapsed back onto the ground, her foot still on the backpack. Her eyes were wide and her hands were folded in her lap, as if she had just been scolded by a strict teacher. But Zane couldn't miss the flash of relief in her eyes that she didn't have to move at all.

Zane's eyes slid past her and landed on the spam sandwich he had disregarded upon the metal floor. He directed his palm toward it, calling the cells back to him.

In a quick burst, the sandwich exploded into vibrant starbursts of dust-like particles. They sped toward Zane before reforming into his fingers. He wiggled them and was glad he had no desire left to eat them, no matter how delicious the sandwich had looked.

He turned back to the conversation between Joseph and Mallory. "Wawrzynski will send more soldiers. We're his property," Mallory said matter-of-factly.

"Like shit," came Joseph's response. "I am nobody's property. If Wawrzynski wants me back in that hellhole, he'll have to come get me himself." Zane had to admire Joseph's defiance. His experiences had formed a permanent mindset, a personality that he'd had for so long, but that Zane was only just developing. He was opinionated and hardheaded, traits Zane badly wanted.

"With how desperately he wants us back, that's almost a certainty," said Mallory, cleaning dirt from beneath her fingernails. "He's relentless, dude."

Joseph's hand curled into a fist on Zane's leg. "I'll die before I go back there." Zane winced at the harsh words.

"It just may come to that," Mallory said, still intent on her fingers despite the ominous words she had spoken. The dark tunnel only helped to contribute to the deathly intonation.

Zane shivered. It truly struck him then that he could die in the next few days with Wawrzynski hounding them. It terrified him that he may not exist in a week. He shivered, leaning closer to Joseph, who felt like his only source of life in this desolate tunnel. He took comfort in the heat radiating from Joseph's solid frame. It drowned his fears, snuffed out his worries. If he could not make hard decisions himself, he trusted Joseph could make them for him.

Zane finally had a sense of who he was. With Joseph's help, he had discovered parts of himself he never knew existed, parts locked away by New Vancouver and the governors. He was witty, reserved, optimistic and brave when Joseph was around. He also found himself to be quite selfless, but in a bad way. He wasn't able to make his own decisions. He didn't know how. His entire life, he had been told what to do and never to question it.

And now he had to question everything.

Zane smiled, knowing he would be alright. If he died, he would die knowing he had regained a fraction of his potential. Knowing he was in control of his own life, free to follow any path he desired. And love anyone he wished.

"Knowing Wawrzynski, he's played us like a fiddle and will be waiting at that exit with handcuffs and rifles. We'll have to get past him," Mallory stated. Zane cursed himself for not considering this possibility. If the tunnel only went one direction, it was easy to predict where escaped experiments would end up. Wawrzynski had known this.

"Either way, I'm never going back, and I'll be glad to leave everything behind, toss it over my shoulder, bid it farewell. Wawrzynski made a mistake giving us this supposed 'unimaginable power'." Joseph's gaze was hard, but his hand had unclenched, and his palm was once again stretched over Zane's leg. Zane couldn't decipher if his statement meant he'd be glad to escape and leave it all behind, or die and have no worries. It worried him. He needed Joseph.

"Which shoulder?" Marcus piped in from where he was licking his fingers, having devoured his sandwich. He cocked an eyebrow, his cowboy hat back upon his head but slightly askew.

Joseph was understandably offput. He mimed throwing something over his shoulder. "Left, I guess," he said quizzically. As Joseph's head was turned to speak to Marcus, Zane caught sight of the small mole on the back of his neck. He recalled noticing it moments before he had turned into Joseph. It was barely discernible in the dim light, but Zane was close enough to see the subtle change in skin color.

Marcus scoffed. "Good luck," he said, chuckling underneath his breath at the joke only he understood. Zane didn't even bother trying to decipher his humor. Mallory and Joseph were both going through the actions of throwing something over their shoulders. Daisy watched, bemused.

"You guys look like idiots," she told them.

Mallory stuck her tongue out.

Joseph sighed. "It's getting late, we should get some sleep."

"I'll take the first watch," Zane volunteered immediately. He felt useless since getting shot. He felt like a burden.

Everyone else nodded assent, murmuring nonsensical queries. Daisy, bless her heart, was already snoring, still in the same position, her foot propped on the backpack, her back leaned against the curved wall. Marcus pulled a thin sleeping bag from his pack, and Zane realized he had forgotten to pack something other than food. He cringed inwardly at the thought of sleeping on the rough metal floor.

In several minutes, he was sitting alone in the dark. The light coming from the small translucent window had dimmed. It was cold, and it was damp. Not a rather pleasant combination.

Zane knew Wawrzynski would be waiting for them at the exit. He had orchestrated everything from the moment they arrived. It was possible that this was the next stage of the experiment, a variable to be marked down upon a spreadsheet or scribbled on a notepad.

Zane crossed his arms over his chest, meaning to keep in his body heat. His thin short sleeved shirt did nothing to block the chilly air. His hastily snatched shoes were comparably thin as well.

He briefly considered going back. Would Wawrzynski allow him to live if he voluntarily went back and agreed to be compliant? A small part of Zane wanted to go back so desperately, to avoid unpredictability. But the voice whispering these urges was the old Zane, the unquestionably loyal and politically uninformed and unknowing citizen. Zane knew he could never escape that voice, but it was getting quieter and quieter, fading in and out.

If Wawrzynski were waiting for them, could Zane find the courage to stand up to him, or would he submit meekly to the man's demands? He found he truly didn't know. His earlier elation had left him and he felt far-off and unsure. His mind flashed back to the soldier he'd shot. That's different, he told himself. That was an accident. But he couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity between the soldier and himself. Both citizens of New Vancouver, raised to do one thing and one thing only. The soldier to protect and monitor, Zane to be protected and monitored.

He felt a warm hand on his forearm and jumped, nearly crying out in indignation. But it was only Joseph, disentangling himself from his thin sleeping bag.

"What are you doing?" Zane demanded. "I told you to get some sleep."

"I was worried about you."

"Well, don't be, I can take care of myself," Zane snapped. Joseph slipped down beside him, their shoulders touching softly. He placed his hands in his laps and appeared slightly uncomfortable. He slouched forward, his head dipped low.

"I know that," he responded. "I was worried you'd overthink everything and maybe do something reckless and impulsive." Zane sighed. Spot-on. Bingo. Joseph wins a prize.

He turned his head slightly. "Is there no mystery between us anymore?" he asked playfully, nudging the other boy. Joseph chuckled softly under his breath, wringing his fingers. He crossed his feet, starting to slide down the wall. Gravity can be a bitch, Zane thought.

Joseph must have assumed his question was rhetorical, for he asked his own. "What were you overthinking about?" He sounded bemused, almost humored.

Zane fixed his gaze on the closest solid thing he could see; Joseph's shoulder. "Going back," he whispered, wincing. How would Joseph react if he had so vehemently protested against returning?

"Oh," was all he said. "In what context?"

Joseph's shoulder rotated as his hands wrung furiously. "To escape everything. Have an easy life."

Joseph tensed. "Voluntarily?" Zane didn't have to answer. "Why would you want to go back?" His hands stilled and his head turned. His gaze focused on Zane. "Why would you purposefully put yourself back in danger?" His voice was rising. "Are you insane?"

Zane shifted away from Joseph, moving further down the tunnel. "No, I just thought it'd be easier if we-"

"Easier?" Joseph asked incredulously. "What about all of this is easy? Is it the constant threat of looming death? The expectation to become killing machines to be used at a broken society's will? To be at a psychotic man's every beck and call?" Daisy stirred and murmured, but did not wake.

Zane flinched as if Joseph had struck him. Every word hit home, and his resolve broke. The mental flow of anguish and heartbreak broke through the dam he'd constructed in his mind. Everything let loose, and he felt tears streaming down his face. Joseph's outburst was the last straw.

"I don't know, all right?" he spat, lowering his head substantially. "Everything is so confusing and I have no idea what's right or wrong, what's up or down." His voice lowered. "I don't know the difference between who they want me to be and who I want to be. I can't make choices for myself. I'm so used to obeying orders and following rules that I don't know how to think for myself. I want to feel what you feel, an undying urge to get out, leave everything behind. But there's a voice inside my head that wants me to go back, to follow orders and give up my free will. I know it's not right but I want to believe that voice." His hands shook furiously. He closed his eyes.

He heaved a deep breath, steadying his emotions and hands. He released the breath and the shaking slowed, but did not stop. A tear stung the corner of his eye and he rushed to wipe it away. He felt Joseph's gaze on him, boring through him, learning all he was.

He felt Joseph sit down beside him again. "Look, Zane, I have no way to know what you're thinking," he began, his voice lowered. "But I want to help."

"I don't think you can," Zane said, a defeated tone entering his voice. Joseph had known who he was long before going to Wawrzynski's facility. His mother had rebelled against the governors and indulged in her son's interests and hobbies. Zane's parents had been diligent rule-followers and made sure there was nothing anybody could use to differentiate Zane Morrison from any other New Vancouver citizen.

"I want to try," Joseph said. "I want to replace that voice with promises of the outside world, of real sunshine and fresh, green grass. I want to replace it with your own hopes and dreams, your feelings and thoughts. I want to replace it with visions of a life unburdened by laws, where you're free to be who you want, love who you want, do what you want. And I won't stop trying until that's what you hear in the back of your mind."

Zane looked at Joseph, surprised by his statement. All previous traces of anger and distrust were gone and replaced with admiration and determination. Zane sensed that this was a promise, one Joseph meant to keep. He smiled. Joseph smiled back. "I'll let you try," he whispered.

He leaned his head on Joseph's shoulder. An arm slipped around his torso, supporting him whilst pulling him closer. He closed his eyes blissfully. He couldn't shake these feelings, but he could quiet them, shove them to the back of his mind. He accepted Joseph's embrace gratefully and he let his body be warmed by the boy's body heat. He felt the rise and fall of Joseph's chest.

The tantalizing desire for what Joseph had promised slipped into his head, and he drifted off peacefully to the sound of Joseph's steady breathing.