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“You want to be saved, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes!” the crowd roared.
“You want to be safe in the arms of the Earth Mother when the apocalypse comes, don’t you?”
“Yes!!”
“And you, your children, and your children’s children will be safe, will be saved forever, because of the choices you make today,” said the girl, turning serious. Then she smiled and walked to the other side. “And what’s the way to the future?”
“The One Light!” the crowd roared. They were practically hysterical with excitement, and I wondered if they’d been given some type of drug. I couldn’t tell. All I saw were beaming faces, fists raised in the air, people waving signs, “Kill the Humans” T-shirts.
T minus five and a half minutes. Let’s get this show on the road.
I aimed down at the stage, and the girl caught sight of me. “Look, everyone!” she shouted into the microphone. “That’s the future of the human race! Enhanced is where it’s at! That’s the promise of the One Light!”
The crowd cheered and applauded for my enhanced self.
I continued flying at full speed, and the girl’s expression went from delight to confusion to concern in a matter of seconds as I streaked toward her. I buzzed her close enough to mess up her hair, then grabbed the cordless mic out of her hand.
“Everyone! There are bombs under this plaza!” I shouted with no preamble. “You have minutes, maybe seconds to save yourselves! Everyone get out of here as fast as possible! There are bombs and poison gas under the plaza!”
I glanced at the girl. Where I’d expected to see outrage, anger, excuses thrown out at the audience to keep them there, there was… nothing. Just smiling, serene, calm. She’d known about the impending disaster awaiting the crowd, awaiting her, and she’d just accepted it.
Her tranquil smile tore at my heart like long, icy fingers. It was terrifying.
Scanning the faces of the crowd was even worse. I’d banked on screaming people swarming the exits like frightened cattle, knocking down the metal barricades. Or at the very least, some vague murmurs of alarm. Instead, they were nodding at me like puppets on strings, smiles painted into place.
The icy feeling within me was growing. They wanted to die. Every last one of them.
“This is a trap!” I bellowed at them, frantic. “There are bombs under this plaza! Bombs and poison gas! Don’t you get it? Get out of here! Scram! Save yourselves!”
“Save the planet! Kill the humans!” they chanted. “Support the future of enhanced society!”
Dylan swooped beside me and grabbed the microphone. “How are you going to get enhanced if you’re all blown up into little pieces?” he yelled.
They actually cheered.
Every ounce of energy seemed to leak out of me, and I felt like giving up right then. If everyone wanted to go up in one big firework, who was I to snuff out the spark? But then I glanced over and saw the determined look on Dylan’s face as Nudge and Iggy dropped onstage for backup, and I remembered who I was and what I was here for.
These freaks might have thought they were saving the world, but that was my job, and they were going to play by my rules. Which didn’t involve any of that “Kill the Humans” crap.
Fight time!
74
THEN A SORT of riot broke out, but it wasn’t the outraged, we-don’t-want-to-die kind we’d hoped for. A bunch of the One Lighters jumped onstage and made a beeline for us, mumbling about “merging with the promise of enhancement.”
Truly horrific.
Nudge and Iggy were going all Fight Club on some of the DG guards, who were heavily muscled, as if they’d already received enhancements. But it wasn’t those dudes that were giving them trouble. My flock were pros. A roundhouse kick here, a karate chop there, and the guards were toast. It really was just like riding a bicycle.
No, it was the kids—the culties—who were the real problem. Picture Michael Jackson in that “Thriller” video, surrounded by flesh-craving zombies closing in. That was us, but our dead-eyed suicidal zombies all had angelic grins pasted on their faces as they pawed at our wings. It was like they wanted to claim us. Ick.
The mob was a living, breathing sponge, hundreds of kids deep. And after spending my developmental years in a cage… Claustrophobia? I has it. They were clutching at us, pulling on our feathers, touching our arms and our faces. How do you fight a swarm of sickos who want to die and don’t mind taking you with them?
And all this while the countdown to D-day continued.
I was panicking, really panicking, for the first time in… at least a few days. And as I glanced around, the overwhelmed faces of Dylan, Iggy, and Nudge were not the least bit reassuring.
