Evelyn Hope
Evvy pulled up to the gate and the guard waved her through. From outside there was no sign of trouble, but she didn’t trust that. She’d tried calling the central security office four times and gotten no answer. No answer. That never happened.
She couldn’t very well call the police either, now, could she? That wouldn’t go well at all. The police wouldn’t understand the importance of their work, of their lifelong ambitions.
That meant they were on their own.
She climbed from the car as soon as she parked and pulled out the pistol Tom insisted she carry with her. She was glad of its weight, grateful for the destructive power. If any of the subjects had gotten out, if Seven had gotten loose, especially, God help them all.
Would a bullet even stop Seven? She didn’t know and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
As she approached the security doors at the front of the large warehouse, she paused and listened. For a moment there was nothing to hear-not surprising when you considered the soundproofing they’d had installed-but after a second she could make out the faint sound of the alarms.
Fear caught at her insides and sent wintry chills lashing through her heart and stomach alike.
They had done tests, of course, but Seven was only ten years old. He wasn’t fully matured. They had no idea exactly how strong or how fast he was. He was so much more than human.
Subject Seven
Daddy was dead. He lay on the ground unmoving. Mommy would be so very angry.
Seven looked around the bloodied room and saw the front door that went out into the Other’s world and shook his head. No. He would not be in the Other’s world! He wanted his own world without the Other.
More guards were waiting for him when he left the house the way he had entered, but he barely even noticed them.
Much as part of him wanted to hurt all of the people in uniform, he had to leave. He had to get away before they could stop him with the yellow liquids. And they would. They had before.
He could not go home again. Not now, not ever.
He ignored the primal desire to hurt them and ran as fast as he could.
They barely even saw him before he was past them and pushing through to another part of the building, knocking everything he could find down behind him to add to the obstacles they would have to get over to get to him.
There were more doors to his left, to his right, but he didn’t bother with them. He knew the door he was looking for would be bigger, stronger, meant to keep him inside and maybe to keep others out.
A man stepped in front of him, wearing a guard’s uniform. He spread his arms wide as if he meant to hug Seven, but Seven knew better. He jumped and smashed into the man, knocking him backward. Both of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Before the man could try anything else, Seven used his hands and crushed the guard’s face into a new shape.
Finally, there was a door that looked like it must be there to stop him. He moved toward it, wishing with all of his might that it would open for him and let him free.
And to his surprise, it obeyed his wishes. The double doors split apart and the air temperature changed in an instant; a much colder wave of air washed into the hallway as he charged down its length and a new series of smells revealed themselves to him. Some scents were familiar and others completely alien. One of the familiar ones belonged to the woman. The woman who sometimes talked to him and other times studied him from behind thick, dark walls of glass as if he couldn’t smell her, hear her behind the shiny surface.
He hated the woman almost as much as he hated the man. But now was not the time for her. Now was the time for escape. More guards were coming for him. He could hear their footsteps past the sound of the alarms. There were so many of them, so many more than he expected.
The door and the darkness beyond it were ahead of him and so was the woman, holding something in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide and she stank of fear. Her heart beat so fast, twice, maybe three times as fast as usual. She pointed the barrel of her weapon at him, and her hateful voice called out: “Seven! Stop right now!”
He did not listen.
He charged instead, screaming his rage at her, a battle cry, a call for blood that she answered with fire.
Evelyn Hope
She’d barely opened the doors before he was there, her worst nightmare come true. Seven, broken free and coming right at her, his entire body painted in blood and gore, as if he were a wild animal. And, really, wasn’t he? Hadn’t they almost guaranteed that he would be little more?
Experiments in sensory overload, long endurance tests, food and water deprivation, tests in every sort of extreme, just to see how he would react and whether or not what he experienced would carry over.
“Oh God, Seven! Stop before I shoot you!” She barely even recognized her own voice.
Seven came at her even faster, screeching like a wounded chimpanzee. She took aim at his chest and fired again and again.
The first bullet missed him. The second grazed his calf and the third hit him in his side, plowing through flesh and bone as he came for her, his face a mask of hatred and blood.
And before a fourth bullet could escape the muzzle of her pistol, he was on her. His body burned with the heat of an oven and the stink of sweat and blood was all over him, then all over her as Seven grabbed her by her hair and hurled her aside, his body smaller than hers, his strength so far beyond what they’d expected it would ever be.
The pain of her scalp separating from her skull was staggering. Still, there was a part of her, the scientist beyond the woman who was worried about her job and projects, that rejoiced. They had succeeded! If the others were anywhere close to Seven She struck the ground and felt the skin scrape from her hand and the side of her face. Before she could recover, Seven grabbed her and lifted her up in the air. She had only a moment to gather her breath for a proper scream before the wall took that breath away and knocked her senseless.
She would wake up to find that most of her world had been destroyed by the very thing she had struggled to create. Subject Seven had killed her Tom and stolen away her Bobby and so many of her dreams.
She had done it to herself, really. She might as well have killed her husband with her own hands, and as for her son? Well, that thought was enough to leave her crying.
In time she would get stronger. She would make herself be strong. There was no other choice, not really. Someone had to carry on her dreams, Tom’s dreams. Their legacy.
Subject Seven
There was only a single fence between him and freedom. He cleared the fence with ease, only hesitating when the razor wire caught his skin. He was bleeding when he struck the grass on the other side of the fence.
He would heal. He always did.
The air smelled cold and fresh, and the night was filled with stars and a breeze that caressed his bare skin
