Chapter 20

The cell slash luxurious suite was exactly how Zane remembered it. Plush carpet, soft sofas, kitchen worthy of a chef. It all looked the same except for two major differences. One, the security cameras were shut off, their red blinking lights extinguished, their faces turned downward, staring at the floor. Two, the large reinforced door was swung wide open. The scuffed boot marks in and out were evidence of the coming and goings of soldiers, perhaps even Wawrzynski.

Zane heaved himself up through the metal panel last, his one remaining arm struggling to haul his weight up. Upon several failed attempts, Joseph lent a helping hand.

Zane collapsed on the familiar floor, his chest heaving and his left sleeve hanging limply. Joseph's hands became metal and he eased the panel back into place, leaving a small gap in one corner. He pointed to Zane. "Call your arm back," he ordered.

Zane, grateful to regain all his motor functions, obeyed, and he felt the steel barricade in the tunnel below explode into shimmering shards. He exhaled as the cells streamed through the small gap and began to knit themselves back together, reforming into his arm from his shoulder down to his fingertips.

Marcus had regained consciousness but had not spoken a word, and his gaze remained riveted to the ground. He knew Mallory had told everybody about his time as Wawrzynski's guinea pig and what had sparked his vicious rage of bloodlust. He seemed deeply disappointed in himself.

He pulled a Daisy and fell asleep.

When Zane's arm reformed, Joseph bent the corner of the panel shut. "I know I probably should have asked this before," he said, bemused. "But how are we supposed to get to Japan? Last time I checked, it was across the entire ocean." He offered his hand to Zane.

Zane grasped it and pulled himself up. He shook out his left arm. "Don't you think a city anticipating an attack would have some sort of evacuation method arranged, or an offensive strategy planned out?" he asked rhetorically. "I'd assume both these measures included some sort of air transport."

Joseph chuckled. "Who do you expect can fly a plane?"

Zane scoffed and swatted him. "If need be, we hijack a pilot," he said. "In case you haven't noticed, I can be persuasive."

Joseph sighed, rolling his eyes. "You sure can be," he responded, smiling. "I know that firsthand."

Anastasia whistled and raised her eyebrow, something Zane had come to recognize from Daisy. She leaned over toward her sister and said in a voice loud enough to ensure everyone could hear, "Jesus, the sexual tension between those two is insane." If possible, her eyebrow raised even higher. Daisy mimicked her.

Mallory chuckled and Zane scoffed. Joseph rolled his eyes and Marcus snored.

The room was exactly how Zane had remembered it, rows upon rows of deadly and lethal weapons lined upon racks, demanding to be utilized. The wrestling mats had been rolled to the side, but it was the only discernible difference and Zane's stomach twisted at the intense familiarity. The soldier he'd killed had been removed, and there was a faint pink stain where he had lain. Zane winced and he felt he could smell the tangy blood he'd spilled.

Zane followed the others into the central chamber, Joseph dragging Marcus's limp body across the floor. Anastasia gaped at the size of the room and remarked at the difference between her small cell and their royal prison.

"We should restock food," Zane said. In the few days in the tunnel, they had struggled to ration their food and were almost out.

"And weapons," Daisy added, looking wistfully toward the weapon room.

"If you say so,"

"I do,"

Daisy and her twin sister strode off with Mallory toward the door that had not always been there. Zane decided it was intentional on Daisy's part, to leave him and Joseph completely alone aside from their mouth-breathing cowboy on the floor.

Zane found himself in the kitchen, throwing open cupboards. Anything particularly fattening or full of protein were his first choices. They would be able to ration more efficiently and eat less to get the energy they'd need. He stuffed various bags of assorted junk food into his pack alongside some canned beans. Way to go back a couple centuries, dude, he thought as he threw can after can in, increasing the weight he'd have to carry.

Joseph came up beside him. "I've got room, let me take some of those," he said, reaching for the contents of Zane's hands.

"I've got it," Zane said. He dropped the food into his pack and turned to find Joseph's face inches from his. "I've got it," he repeated, and Joseph's sky blue eyes blinked. Zane's thoughts filled with visions of the ace of spades, the card that ceased to be a card for several minutes, and he shivered.

"It won't make me think less of you," Joseph said softly.

"I can handle it, alright?" Zane snapped, turning his head away, facing away from Joseph. He was shaking, his hands vibrating as they struggled to zip up the pack. A tear was forming in the corner of his eye, but he wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry. Not when there were more important things to do.

He heard Joseph shuffle his feet behind him, and he knew without looking that the boy's hands were completely still at his side. For some reason, this just made Zane shake more. "Z, you can't keep beating yourself up. It's not your fault. Nothing is your fault."

Zane exploded, the image of the card lingering behind his eyelids. "Yes, it is!" Zane yelled furiously, spinning around faster than he could blink. He shoved Joseph. Hard. The other boy fell against the counter. "It's all my fault, Joseph!" he screamed, tears running freely down his face. His voice was shaking. "I could have prevented everything that happened in that tunnel, everything you had to do to keep me safe!" A look of hurt was plastered on Joseph's face, and Zane hated himself for causing it. "We could be outside of New Vancouver right now if I could have just forced myself to do what needed to be done. If it weren't for me, you'd be free right now!"

Joseph pushed off from the counter, moving to say something, but Zane cut him off. "I'm a wreck, Joseph. Why do you think Wawrzynski picked me for the experiment? I had zero shreds of rebellion or prejudice in me, yet he picked me. Why?" he asked viciously, not really expecting an answer. "I was the mediator, Joseph. He knew exactly how to play me to his wishes." He stopped for a second. "You were unpredictable, so he gave you a model citizen to make you see reason. I'm nothing but an accessory! He knew I was loyal to New Vancouver, and you weren't. Combined, we were the perfect blend of obedience and rebellion. The perfect experiment." As soon as he spoke these words, he knew them to be true. The realization was not comforting.

"Zane," Joseph whispered. He reached forward. "I don't understand how you could have changed anything."

"Give me your hand," Zane whispered, the tears still falling, pooling on his chin. His voice was more confident now, less shaky.

Joseph grasped his hand tightly.

Zane started by disintegrating his own hand. Joseph's hand held less and less of his hand until the boy's hand was a fist, clenching on empty air.

And then Joseph's hand began to slip off, twirling in the still air. "Woah," he breathed as his fingers slowly disappeared, mingling with Zane's in between their bodies. Joseph stood mystified, watching the events unfold.

Soon, Zane had deprived them each of a hand, leaving smooth wrist stubs. He whispered, "That's how it's my fault."

Joseph put his free hand on Zane's arm, pressing lightly. He smiled, marvelling at the absence of his hand. He shook his head in disbelief. "It's not your fault," he said once again.

"How is it not? I could have used this power to escape any number of times."

"Because," Joseph said steadily. "You weren't ready." He moved closer. "I know the feeling. I never thought I could bring myself to leave New Vancouver, but now I want more than anything to get out of here once and for all."

"It's easier for you,"

"Maybe so," Joseph said, lifting his startling eyes to Zane's. "But I did promise to eliminate that voice. And I shall do so." He kissed Zane on the forehead and turned around to stuff food into his backpack.

Zane found himself smiling as he watched Joseph sift through the food. Zane rubbed his forehead, outlining the spot where Joseph's lips had touched.

Marcus snored.

The trail left by Anastasia's devastating power was evident in the hallway. The walls were charred black, the soot reaching for the roof. Bleached skeletons littered the floor, arranged at odd angles. Anastasia looked away and Zane lost his lunch.

But they forged on.

Daisy seemed to be unbothered by the immense air of death surrounding them all. "Does anybody know what time it is?" she asked conversationally.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Marcus, now awake, asked. He was holding a hand over his nose, closing it off from the smell of burned flesh. His cowboy hat was back on his head, tilted slightly from the lift of his shoulder. He'd awoken fresh, and the episode of anger could have been nothing but a dream.

"Like," Daisy said. "Is it morning? Is it afternoon? Is it midnight?"

Zane mulled over this. He knew he'd have the least idea because he'd been out for several days, but the thought of not knowing what time of day it was sparked a pinch of fear.

"It's morning," Marcus said with a hint of finality.

"Are you kidding?" Joseph demanded. "It's obviously late afternoon."

"How on earth is it late afternoon?"

"Does it not feel like a late afternoon?"

Zane let the conversation slip into silence, knowing he had no place in it. Instead he thought of what awaited him once he was outside this horrible laboratory that housed humans like insects. He was slightly disappointed that he would only be met with artificial sunlight and wind, not the real thing. But he let himself look further, look beyond, to see what awaited him outside the enclosed city. The beautiful blue sky that could never compare to Joseph's eyes, the ocean that came a little closer, and the grass and leaves that matched his own.

He assumed New Vancouver would be exactly how he'd left it. Normal. Regular. Uneventful. He pictured his parents going about their daily life, back and forth between their jobs, not wondering what happened to their only son because they were not legally allowed to. The governors will have told them Zane had either been transferred to an industry on the far side of the city or, the more disturbing possibility, that he had died in a freak accident. If so, they would receive a small amount of government compensation and told to never speak of him again.

However much Zane wanted to see them, he knew he couldn't. Their relationship had never truly been of love or trust, but of necessity. They had been required to have a child. They had never loved him, and never would, but they were the closest he'd come to a family.

He knew that that wasn't the case anymore. With Joseph and the others, he had something his parents had never been able to give him. Love, Trust. Companionship. Friendship. He felt like an integral part of the group, no matter if he didn't break them out earlier.

He snapped from his reverie as the others halted next to a large steel door with an ornate name plaque hung upon the metal. The conversation had been silenced.

Zane stepped closer, trying to make out the name upon the plaque. Only when he got close enough to read it did he realize he'd been there before, several weeks ago. When he'd only had Joseph for company. The plaque had a single, long name scrawled across it in cursive font; Wawrzynski. Zane shivered, recalling the conversation he'd had inside this office.

"Do you think he's in there?" Anastasia asked, trembling like a blade of grass in the wind. Her voice was shaky, her lilted vowels becoming almost unrecognizable.

Zane gestured to the carnage around them. "If he is, he is one sick man." He stepped forward and tried the handle. Locked. Naturally.

"What are you doing?" Marcus asked curiously, craning his head around Mallory to see. His freckles stood out under the sharp fluorescent lights.

Zane pounded his fist against the door, reinforcing the fact that nobody was inside. "There might be something useful," he answered.

"Like what?" said Joseph.

"Experiment results, legal papers, government documents," Zane listed. He placed his hand on the door, palm against the cold steel. "We might find some answers."

Zane began to feel around the edges of the door, the same method he'd used to enter the weapons room the first time. He located a small gap and smiled softly to himself. Nothing could keep him out. Not even an enforced metal door designed to keep out even liquid magma.

"Answers to what?" Joseph's arms were crossed across his chest, his artificial sun tan completely faded over the span of three weeks.

"Wawrzynski lies to us about everything," Zane said cautiously. "There may be no war. We might not be biological weapons, but simply a freak circus attraction. We can find out what's true and what's not in here. Wawrzynski has no reason to lie to himself or the governors."

With that, Zane disintegrated, slipped through the gap in a million pieces, and reformed on the other side, leaving his friends stranded outside the locked door. He turned around, but the door was locked from the inside as well, a special key needed to get both in and out.

Not wasting any time, he rushed to Wawrzynski's desk. It was the same as he'd remembered it, papers strewn in places only an insane man would put them; rolled up in the stationary holder, taped to the wall, tied to file cabinet handles. Zane examined these papers first, assuming they may be important.

He was wrong.

The paper in the stationary holder was a grocery list, written in scrawled handwriting. The documents taped to the wall were love notes from what could only be construed as children. The paper tied to the handle was the cover for a memoir about Governor Andrews, the man who performed the choosing ceremony. Completely useless to Zane.

The drawers of the desk were filled with useless junk such as hundreds of irrelevant pencils and erasers from a time when they were useful, and a drawer full of apples. What is this guy's problem? Zane wondered, laughing softly to himself.

The only other plausible location for important files was the stack of filing cabinets in the corner. Zane tore them open, flipping through labels upon labels listing nothing but old experiments from many years before.

Finally, he found a file with the name Subject A3 - Marcus Brown. Behind it were the other names of the people waiting in the hall for Zane, including his own. He lifted them from the cabinet as well as an enormous one labelled Email correspondence between New Vancouver and Outside World. He set these on the desk and also heisted one called International Affairs.

He grabbed these files and stood in front of the door, the imposing metal door that seemed to hold him in a staring contest. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the papers in his hands and the gap between the door and the wall.

The papers sloughed away, followed by his hands, arms, torso, legs, feet, head. He directed everything through the gap, and saw his friends through a million eyes. Joseph had the frayed rubber ball back out and was bouncing it off the burnt walls. The others were talking in hushed tones to each other.

Zane regained his body in the middle of the hallway.

The particles from the paper still floated around in the air. He exhaled the breath he'd held to transform and the particles whizzed into his hands, forming the files he'd stolen from Wawrzynski.

Nobody asked questions as he shoved them in his pack alongside the barbaric canned beans and zipped it back up.

"Off we go," he said, heading in the direction of the exit, which Wawrzynski's office had given him bearings to. The others followed.

They walked toward freedom and sunshine.

But they also walked toward responsibility and Japan, less desirable destinations.