Gods of Anthem (9 page)

Joelle appears an inch away, and I shove hard at her chest—at the blur of her chest, anyway. It only sets her back a foot or two, and my body shakes violently at the threat she imposes.

It’s too late. My neck twists, trying to relieve the tension as my body runs both hot and cold. The monster within roars to life, but not before the chill turns into liquid fire that surges through my spinal column. That pain, I’m used to. But fear—no, pure horror at what Joelle’s attempting to do, savages my brain. She’ll kill herself.

I grab my head, shaking it from side to side, though I know the fight’s useless. Inside, a savage shift begins, and curses spew from between my teeth as the tendons in my neck tense beyond what a normal human body can withstand. When this happens, it reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of poor bastards drawn and quartered. Only, with me, there are no ropes, and I somehow make it out alive.

I glance up at the cause of my pain.

Joelle gasps, black eyes shining above where my blood’s smeared across her cheek and jaw; a morbid little china doll with razor sharp teeth, animated and deadly. But even she’s no match for what’s coming.

“
Awwhhhhhrrr!
”

My body rebels against the torturous stage where I double, then quadruple, in size.

Joelle has the good sense to step back. The monster called to heel springs loose, and I see her excitement mix with awe as she watches my sudden loss of control.

But soon she’ll be screaming. They always scream.

I lunge forward—at nothing, at everything. I want to tear the buildings from their foundations, and soon, I’ll be able to.

My reason slips, and along with it, a dropping sensation in my stomach both familiar and terrifying at the same time.

I’m falling—as if I’ve stepped away from myself and jumped from the highest building. Then, from some distant place, I’ll watch the monster’s swift punishment, unable to stop the evils he’ll commit.

My body finishes transitioning, and I’m now in that place, helpless.

Joelle’s holding her own so far as he reaches for her. Quick, like a wraith, she dodges the large fists and legs that swing with crushing strength. The monster, a distorted version of me, lunges closer each time with more cunning.

She jumps out of the way—once, twice. Then, he anticipates her next move, his wheezing laugh filling the night air.

On my mental island, sensations bleed back to me; sometimes I’ll be the beast’s eyes and ears. Except for the babbling fountain, though, there is silence.

A small white arm comes into my peripheral; it’s pulled at an impossible angle, shoulder twisting clear of the socket.

The shock of this forces me from the connection and into the shadows, ears buzzing like a swarm of bees—no, wait, not bees. Screaming. Frustrated pants of exhaustion mixed with frantic peals of terror make my ears hurt. The beast recoils from the high-pitched wail, and I recoil with him.

Images are fed through the darkness in flashes of black and white—a frightened expression swims into my line of vision. A small face appears pleading for me to do something.

Joelle’s on the ground, clutching my leg with a super strength that’s flagging. Her knee is beneath my foot—his foot—and we’re slowly crushing it into powder.

From inside my prison, I struggle with him, but the beast only smiles, reaching down to grab Joelle by the throat.

“Stop.”

I freeze, and the beast freezes with me, hackles rising.

Like thunder, that one word is spoken from beyond, and it blinds me to everything but the immense phenomena of his quiet order. A single utterance filled with such power, and like a shoe of cataclysmic proportions dropped, the world pauses. We stop moving like a strange game of red light, green light.

I take in large breaths as the monster recedes in reaction, my sanity returning with each gulp. Removing my foot, I watch in fascination as the tiny knee knits together, making itself whole again, like air pumped into a balloon.

Joelle stares into my eyes, wonderment etched on her perfect visage. I glare back, half myself and half … something else.

I draw in another shaky breath while she pulls her arm back into place. The grind of bone and tendon sickens me as it settles.

Joelle moves to stand alongside me, and we both turn toward our visitor: Simon.

He waits in a spot of moonlight, murky eyes of coal so black, they’re almost invisible in the dark. He’s been gone too long this time, and there are whispers about him losing more of his humanity with each travel.

This particular return speaks of change. I’m not sure what, but whenever Simon comes back to base, plans are made. And here he is.

“Joelle.” Her name echoes beyond reason, the voices layering and projecting louder as they go, growing.

It’s like Joelle’s laughter had sounded before, though with much more strength.

Joelle straightens into an innocent again; all at once, her thirteen-year-old body is demure and bendy, obedient.

Simon has her strings, it occurs to me. I need to get me some of those.

Then, he says, “Tom,” with equal force, and my lips peel back in reaction to the ripple of power.
Can’t help it
, I say with my eyes. The deranged thing inside is stretching, ready to make a run for it. I look at Joelle, then back to Simon in explanation, even as I waver between being me and not me.

“Tom,” he repeats, more firmly, and the beast backs down.

With a nod of approval, he turns to leave.

And we follow. As always.

“Promise me, you
little vamp.” I point a finger in Joelle’s face and fight the urge to withdraw from her sharp teeth when she opens her mouth to answer.

“Don’t use the V-word!” she cries. Her voice has returned to its usual teenage defiance.

I lean back with a sigh, and Joelle pushes out her bottom lip at me.

“Well, you deserve it,” I say. “I mean it. No more. Swear it.”

I can’t have her forcing my transformation. It’s too risky, and next time I could really hurt her, or other people.

Joelle looks away and hunches over.

She only does that when she’s hiding something.

Then, it dawns on me. “Did Simon ask you do this?”

She avoids my eyes.

“Tell me.”

Joelle spins around and blurts out the confession. “We want to help Tommy, Joelle. That’s what he said! Help you control it! I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad. Please!”

The thought of them putting her at risk almost undoes me.

We both are the old Specials, the reckless ones, and the few taken on missions to test things out away from the regular enlisted.

Silence falls as the vehicle lumbers onward to the new place that will be our home until … whenever. The base is large, newly erected.

The driver opens the window. “Welcome to Armistead, folks.”

Joelle and I share a look.

“Both of you have been assigned to the new unit.”

We move to the back portion of the truck to watch the gates close behind us.

The barracks are the largest I’ve ever seen. This used to be a highway road with six lanes, and on either side, they’ve hastily constructed apartments for soldiers.

The soldiers salute the truck behind ours, knowing Simon’s inside.

Joelle looks at me and lowers her voice. “What if this place is worse?”

“What can be worse than the labs?”

She shrugs before whispering, “How come only you and I became monsters, Tommy?”

“What?”

“Some people became good. They have good things. Are we evil?”

I don’t tell her that mine is because of my anger. I remember clearly being furious at life after leaving the US, after having to walk away from my own home. And later, when they’d experimented, my own fury fed whatever it was so that it sprang to life.

It’s hard to imagine what gave Joelle this new reality she bears, so I simply say, “No, Jo-Jo, we’re not evil.”