Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The next morning, I sleep through my alarm and rush out the door late, my head foggy after a night of bad dreams I can’t remember.
I drive to the MRF as quickly as I can, rubbing my bleary eyes and trying to calm my racing thoughts.
I pass through downtown to get there and note that the man with the doomsday sign is back again—and he’s not alone.
There is a cluster of religious folks now, regaling my car with Bible verses as I speed past.
Wail, for the day of the Lord is near…
I shake off the memories those words bring and pull up to the gate to the building, feeling frazzled and haggard.
“We’ve got an incident in the building,” says the guard checking my ID. José, I think; I’m still learning to match faces to names. “All security guards are on orders to find Barnes for further instruction.”
I blink dumbly, agree without really registering the words, and pull into the parking lot. Even aside from the warning, it’s clear something is wrong the moment I walk through the door and find the lobby full of waiting employees.
The staff never gathers here. It’s oddly quiet despite the amount of people milling around, voices hushed and tension in the air.
One lanky young man is sitting on the floor, head in his hands, blood dripping through his fingers while he holds his nose.
A couple other employees are gathered around, speaking to him in low voices.
I head straight to Barnes, who is standing near the entrance to the interior. Ellis stands near him, along with another security officer named Vince.
Barnes gives me a short nod. “We’re in a security lockdown right now,” he says. “Nobody is allowed inside until our team assesses the situation. It’s X-16. Another episode.”
A shiver courses through me, equal parts fear and an odd sense of anticipation. I know it’s wrong, but part of me always revels in the chance to actually do something meaningful, even if it’s dangerous.
“I’ll be leading a team into his room to subdue him,” Barnes says.
“One of our doctors has put together a sedative cocktail that should KO him, but I need to get close enough. The rest of you will be there to assist and take over if I become incapacitated.” He glances around at each of us, his eyes lingering on me.
“Hawkins.” My heart surges. “I want you to head to the CCTV room. Call in backup if the rest of us fall.”
I blink. Startled, then disappointed.
“Ellis, Vince, with me.”
They murmur affirmatives while I fight off a surge of bitterness. I know somebody has to be put on standby to call for backup, but why am I being singled out and left behind? Is it because of our conversation the other day?
But now isn’t the time to argue. Barnes glances at me again, and I bite my tongue and nod.
“Follow me.”
Inside, the building is quiet. There is no sign of anything amiss in the hallways we traverse, yet there’s a palpable sense of tension in the air.
I can feel it in my head, in my bones, a dread so thick it’s like physical pressure squeezing my skin.
Lights buzz and flicker overhead, the faint crackling loud in the silence.
I stay behind Barnes and the others until the hallway splits and then, at his gesture, break off to head for the CCTV room.
When I step into the room and lift my eyes to the camera feeds, I falter for a moment.
It was so quiet in the hallway. There was no sign that anything was wrong.
But the video feeds provide a glimpse of chaos within the isolated cells.
The screens blink in and out, static crackling across them in a way I’ve never seen before.
Some of the subjects are hiding in corners or under beds as if cowering from some unseen threat.
One—the Banshee, I recall—is floating in the middle of her cell, mouth open in a silent scream so loud that the camera lens has cracked.
Subject X-17, the Wolfman, is clawing at his own bed, tearing the sheets to tatters, his head thrown back in a howl.
X-16’s camera feed is turned off. I am curious, so desperately curious, but I know it isn’t safe for me to look. I settle into a chair, hands shaking in my lap with aimless adrenaline. In situations like this, doing nothing can be the hardest of all, especially for me.
I search the cameras until I find Barnes and the others proceeding through the Facility.
My head turns from one screen to the next as they turn a corner, approaching X-16’s cell.
Barnes pauses outside of the door, lifting his walkie-talkie.
Mine crackles on the desk a moment later.
There’s a delay on the cameras, but it’s only a second or two.
“Hawkins, we’re entering X-16’s cell now. If you don’t hear from me within five minutes, contact Dr. Wright. Over.”
“Understood,” I say. “Over.”
I watch with bated breath as Barnes scans his key card and ushers Vince and Ellis inside.
A tense minute passes. I hold on to my radio so tightly, my knuckles go white, my eyes on the camera feed. Again I feel the itch to turn on X-16’s camera, just to see what’s happening, but I resist.
Another minute goes by, slow as a drip of honey.
There’s a burst of static on the radio. Unintelligible words in a voice that sounds like Barnes, but distorted.
“Barnes, repeat? Over.”
Nothing but static.
“Barnes, if you’re talking, I can’t hear you. Please respond. Over.”
The radio flickers on again. It’s a different voice this time, speaking in a frantic whisper. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—”
“Ellis?” I try. “Is that you?”
“—deliver us from— Oh, God. Deliver us from evil—”
The radio goes dead again.
All at once, the lights flicker and die. The security cameras turn to pure static.
I’m on my feet immediately, eyes roving over the now-useless screens. Some of the tech in the room is still on, one of the computers blue screening but still lit, so it doesn’t seem like a total power failure. I grab my radio.
“This is Officer Hawkins. I’ve lost security cameras, what’s going on out there? Over.”
My only response is a screech of feedback. But there’s another noise beneath it—a distorted whisper that sends ice creeping up the back of my neck.
“Wail, for the day of the Lord is near.”
Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the air. Taste it on the back of my tongue. Like the hushed tension before a storm.
I wait, but there’s still no response from the radio. Just a high-pitched buzzing sound.
I try my radio again. “Anyone…respond. Please. Over.”
There’s nothing.
Fuck. It hasn’t been five minutes yet, but this merits calling for backup.
I grab the other radio. The emergency one.
“Dr. Wright, this is security officer Willow Hawkins,” I say.
“I’ve lost contact with Officer Barnes and the rest of the security team.
It seems to be an emergency with X-16. Please advise, over. ”
I wait. There’s another strange burst of feedback. If anyone is talking, I can’t make out the words. I can’t even be sure my message reached the outside world; the technology is all on the fritz.
I’m torn as I stand, staring at the useless camera feeds and trying to think through the rush of fear.
I can’t bear the thought of walking away without knowing if Barnes, Ellis, and Vince are safe.
But I also know that the important thing right now is calling in backup.
That’s my job; I’m the last line of defense.
So, even though every instinct screams that it’s wrong, I leave the CCTV room and race away from X-16’s cell where the others are. I sprint to the front lobby where the rest of the MRF employees are still waiting and fling the door open.
“We have an emergency with X-16,” I say. “Somebody call in Dr. Wright and request backup. Now.”
Before anyone can ask any questions, I turn and run back, straight to X-16’s cell.
I’m halfway there when the lights turn back on. The emergency generator must have activated. Still, everything is quiet. Weirdly quiet. There are no signs of the other security guards.
The dread in my stomach intensifies, cold seeping into my limbs.
I’m gasping for air by the time I round the hallway that leads to Room 16.
Not just because I’ve been running, but because of pressure in my chest, buzzing in my head.
I haven’t strained myself much, yet I’m in a cold sweat, almost dizzy.
I skid to a stop as I see the body. A form slumped face-down, halfway out the door, keeping it propped open. Vince.
I pause to check his pulse, but the moment I flip him over and see the ruin of his face, I know not to bother. A blood-drenched baton is gripped in his hand; I suspect he did this to himself. Swallowing my terror, I step over him, into the room.
Inside, the lights are flickering. On and off, on and off, a rapid flashing that makes the scene in front of me play out in slow motion, like I’m flipping through a picture book.
Ellis is standing in the corner, facing the wall. He leans in to thump his head against it, again and again, hard enough to produce an audible thud each time. He’s still whispering, like I heard over the radio, a stream of stuttered prayers, punctuated by the drip of his blood on the floor.
Hunter is the closest to X-16, down on one knee, teeth gritted, body shaking with the effort of resisting whatever impulse has gripped Ellis. Blood streams from his nose, splattering against the tile. He shouts something, but the sound is drowned out by X-16’s screaming.
X-16 himself is standing against the far wall of the room, shoulders bowed as if under a great weight, both hands gripping his face. Blood drips down over his fingers, down his arms. The furniture is all pushed into the corners away from him, as though it’s been blown back.
It feels like I’m pushing through a heavy wind. Every fiber of my being rebels against the idea of being any closer to X-16, but I force myself to step forward. Again.