X-Mans Fo’teen: Ain’t No Way Out

by D D

Cyrus names his son while Z fights to reach Jeanetta, who remains trapped in a dangerous mental landscape while the team battles ancient horrors underground.

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comedy

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49 scenes

X-MansPart Fourteen “X-boy.” Cyrus smiled down at his son. Nobody answered. The nurse held her pen above the form. Stormisha looked at Reen. Reen looked at Professor Z, as if the professor might be able to explain how a grown man had arrived at that decision. “Is that a nickname?” the nurse asked. “No. His name.” “How would you like that written?” “Capital X. Hyphen. Boy.” The baby yawned. Reen folded his arms. “Had all that damn time to think of a name, and X-boy the best you could do?” “Hey, name picking isn’t one of my strengths.” “Clearly,” Scambit muttered. Cyrus adjusted the blanket around the little boy. He had been a father for only a few hours, and already everyone seemed to have an opinion about how he was doing it. “It represents us,” he said. Stormisha leaned close to the baby. “Your mama gon’ fix this when she wake up.” A few tired laughs went around the room. Then everyone glanced toward Jeanetta, and the laughter faded. She lay beside them with her eyes closed. The monitor kept its steady rhythm. Cyrus moved his chair closer to the bed, holding their son where she would see him if she woke. “X-boy,” he repeated softly. Nobody argued again. * * * Monsta had reached the same hospital on a reinforced stretcher, still unconscious from the dart. He had not been brought to Jeanetta’s room. Security supervised the private room at the end of his corridor. One visitor at a time. For now, he was not allowed to leave it. When Z first went in, Monsta was awake, propped against the pillows. He turned from the window as the professor entered. “How are you feeling?” Z asked. “Head heavy. Better than before.” “Are they treating you well?” Monsta nodded. “Nurse explain everything before she touch mi. That help.” Z pulled his chair alongside the bed. “Good. Is there anything you need?” “Something besides that porridge.” A small smile crossed Z’s face. “I’ll ask what else you’re allowed.” Monsta glanced at the officer beyond the doorway, then back at him. “Mi know why you do it, Z. Mi was hurting people. Couldn’t stop miself.” “You needed help.” “Mi still do.” He settled against the pillows. “Glad you get mi here.” Z rested a hand on his forearm. For a while, he stayed beside his old friend, asking about his sleep and listening when Monsta found the words. * * * The days that followed were quieter, but they were not easy. Jeanetta remained unconscious. Doctors checked her, changed medications, and spoke to Cyrus in careful sentences that never included a promise. He learned to feed his son, change him, and sleep in short stretches with his head against the wall. Security checked each visitor in, and the door stayed open. Some days Monsta answered questions. Other days Z sat quietly until his allotted time ended. Elsewhere, recovery was less peaceful. Hothead complained through breathing exercises. Lady Longnails threatened anyone who touched her bad shoulder without warning. Jugga-Knot hated his crutches and broke one trying to prove he didn’t need it. Magnetrick took the Kings back to the steel factory once the hospital released them. Misty stayed close, though she no longer let his silences end every difficult conversation. “You saw what happened,” he said one evening, seated in the foreman’s office with a pillow against his ribs. “The Division is gone.” “And Noah almost got crushed by a beam you was moving.” “He was not the target.” “That don’t make him less dead if it hit him.” Magnetrick looked away. Misty stood beside the window until he looked back at her. “I’m here,” she said. “But don’t mistake that for me saying you was right.” * * * Nearly two weeks after the camp fell, Scambit found the destination hidden inside its transport records. The first files had been useless without the rest: invoice numbers, shipment weights, lists of prisoners identified by codes. He worked through them with Z while Rougie checked photographs against the people she had rescued. A repeated cargo reference finally led to a private airstrip in a faraway land. Beyond the airstrip, a maintenance invoice listed fuel deliveries to a deserted stretch of sand. The attached survey showed ruins and a narrow road that stopped well short of them. “No town,” Scambit said. “No mine. But somebody buying generator parts by the truckload.” Z studied the page. “And the prisoners?” “Same shipment codes.” Misty recognized a name among the contractors. She had heard it during her employer’s calls. “That’s one of his people.” They planned the trip around what they could afford and who could travel. Reen had healed. Stormisha could move her shoulder again, though sudden movements still hurt. Scambit’s stitches were out. Ice Tray’s burns needed covering, but he was walking without help. They were not going to storm the entire complex. Z made that clear. They were to locate the missing prisoners, establish a safe route, and report what they found. Reen looked at him. “And if they shooting?” “Then defend yourselves.” “Just making sure we got that part.” Misty volunteered to go. Nightwalka would be there, and she knew more about Apocalypto’s operation than anyone fit to travel. Magnetrick objected from his chair at the factory. “I could move the entire ruin.” “You can’t put your boots on without sitting down,” Misty said. He glanced at the boots beside him. She knelt, pulled one within his reach, and kissed him before he found a reply. “Rest. We’ll call.” * * * The plane had twenty-nine rows of economy seats. Scambit had bought six of the cheapest ones. Reen reached their row, looked at the gap between the seats, and stopped. “Where the rest of it?” “That’s your seat,” Scambit said. “My knees supposed to go in the overhead?” “Could’ve paid for more room.” “With what?” “Then sit down.” Stormisha took the aisle. Ice Tray slid into the middle seat beside her, glanced at Reen by the window, and sighed before anyone had done anything. Across the aisle, Misty watched Nightwalka shove his backpack under the seat. Scambit was reading the menu with growing irritation. “They charging for the meal?” “You bought the tickets,” Stormisha said. “I thought food came with being trapped up here.” Reen pressed the call button. “No,” she told him. “You don’t know what I’m asking.” “The same thing you asked at the gate.” He pressed it again anyway. Misty leaned toward her son. “You could’ve worn something besides that hoodie.” “It’s comfortable.” “We going to a desert.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and sat back. Hours later, it got quiet. Reen slept against the window. Stormisha rubbed her shoulder beneath her jacket. Misty studied the map on her phone until the battery warning came on. Below the plane, the ocean stretched farther than any of them could see. * * * The next morning, Cyrus left his son with a nurse and went alone to Monsta’s room. The officer checked his name before allowing him inside. Monsta glanced at Cyrus’s empty hands, a small grin showing through his beard. “Leave di dart gun home today, eh?” Cyrus gave a sheepish laugh. “I did.” Monsta chuckled and nodded toward the chair. Cyrus sat beside him. “How di little one?” “Healthy. Loud. He’s figured out I’ll pick him up if he complains long enough.” “And Jeanetta?” “Still hasn’t woken up.” Monsta lowered his eyes. His beard shifted against the loose hospital shirt. “How bad mi hurt everybody?” Cyrus hesitated. “Don’t lie.” “Some badly. They’re recovering.” “Mi remember Reen. Bits of him.” Monsta rubbed one knuckle with his thumb. “Remember you with di dart too.” “I’m sorry,” Cyrus said. “Everything irie, bredren. Mi understand.” After a while, he asked, “Jeanetta know mi catch her?” “We’ll tell her when she wakes up.” Cyrus stayed until the officer signaled from the doorway. Before leaving, he promised to bring news of them both. * * * Rougie brought the van around to the hospital entrance just before noon. It had a portable ramp now, borrowed from a rehabilitation supplier. She checked its position before Z rolled aboard and helped secure his chair. Her arm had healed enough for driving, though she still avoided lifting anything heavy with it. “You told Claudette we coming?” Rougie asked. “No. It’s been a long time. I thought I should speak to her in person.” Rougie checked the straps once more, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Claudette’s house stood behind trimmed hedges on a quiet suburban street. It was large, with pale stone around the front door and windows tall enough to show the chandelier in the entryway. A shallow ramp ran beside the steps. Rougie rang the bell. After a moment, footsteps approached from inside. Claudette opened the door and stopped when she saw Z beside her. For a moment, Z saw the woman he remembered. The same eyes. The same slight tilt of her head when she was uncertain whether to smile. Her hair was shorter now, silver at the temples, and age had softened the line of her jaw. “Zachary.” His name left her softly, with a smile that trembled before it settled. “Claudette.” He smiled back. For a moment, neither seemed to know what to do with all the years between them. Then she stepped outside, bent toward him, and took both his hands in hers. “It’s good to see you,” she said. He held her hands a little tighter. “You too.” She touched his cheek, her eyes bright, before straightening and welcoming them inside. Rougie introduced herself. Claudette offered coffee, and all three went into the sitting room. Rougie took a chair near the window, close enough to remain part of the conversation without forcing herself into it. A framed photograph stood facedown on a side table. Z did not ask about it yet. * * * The desert road ended beside the remains of a low stone wall. Their hired driver stopped the van and pointed toward three broken columns in the distance. Beyond them, sand had covered most of what remained above ground. He would wait until sunset. Scambit repeated that arrangement twice, then checked the amount on his phone before paying the deposit. “If we late, don’t leave,” he said. “If you are late, call.” Scambit held up the phone. One bar appeared and disappeared. The driver shrugged. They walked with water, flashlights, a basic medical kit, and copies of the survey tucked into their bags. Nightwalka had finally taken off his hoodie and tied it around his waist. Misty wisely said nothing. The first column bore a weathered face with a broad collar carved beneath it. Reen stopped in front of it. “Apocalicious?” Misty studied the markings. “Looks like him.” Stormisha passed them, shading her eyes. “Where the trucks go?” There were tire marks farther east, half-filled with sand. Scambit compared them with the map. The old survey showed a courtyard where the dune now rose between the columns. Nightwalka took a few steps toward it. The sand shifted under his boot. He looked down. A shallow circle sank around his foot, then widened. “Back up.” Misty reached for him as the courtyard collapsed. Stone broke beneath the sand. The ground dropped in two places, leaving a thick strip of buried masonry between them. Nightwalka caught Stormisha’s wrist. Ice Tray grabbed the back of his shirt. All three vanished down a sloping opening. On the other side, Reen lunged toward Misty. Scambit slid into him, and the three of them went down together through a second shaft. Stormisha tried to gather wind beneath herself, but the sand filled her mouth and eyes. Nightwalka could see no landing place, only darkness and tumbling bodies. They hit a steep stone passage, slid along its length, and spilled into a chamber below. Behind them, the shaft filled with falling sand. * * * Ice Tray lay on his back, coughing sand onto his own shirt. “Everybody alive?” Stormisha asked. “No,” he said. “This my ghost complaining.” Nightwalka switched on his flashlight. Stormisha sat against a block of stone, moving her shoulder carefully. Ice Tray rolled onto one elbow and spat again. From the other side of the wall came a heavy thump. “Get your knee out my back!” Nightwalka was on his feet immediately. “Reen?” “Who else you throwing down a hole?” Misty’s voice followed. “Noah!” “I’m here! Stormisha and Ice Tray too.” “Scambit?” Stormisha shouted. “I’m good. Reen broke my fall.” “Broke my damn spine,” Reen muttered. Stormisha let out a long breath. All six. Alive. Nightwalka pressed a hand to the wall. Voices carried through narrow cracks in the upper stonework, but there was no door. He shone his light along the ceiling and found blocks wider than the van that had brought them. Reen scraped a claw against the opposite face. “Thick as hell.” “Don’t cut it,” Misty told him. “Look at the ceiling.” Loose grit fell between the stones. The wall supported what remained of both chambers. Nightwalka examined the crack nearest him. “I can’t see your side well enough to jump through. Don’t know where the wall ends.” “Then don’t try,” Misty said quickly. He had already decided that, but he let her have it. They compared exits. One passage left each room, leading in roughly the same direction. Reen marked his wall with three claw lines. Stormisha tied a strip of cloth around a broken lamp bracket on theirs. “Keep calling out,” she said. “We’ll find where it joins.” For the first few yards, they could still hear each other. Then the passages turned away. * * * Claudette set her cup down without drinking. “I haven’t seen him since the escape.” Z nodded. “Has he called?” “No. I keep expecting him to. Then I’m afraid he will.” Her hands folded tightly in her lap. She wore no wedding ring, though a pale line remained where one had sat for years. “The police came. They checked the house, asked the same questions you’re asking. I gave them everything I could.” “We aren’t here to accuse you of helping him.” “I know.” She looked at him. “I still feel like I have to say it.” Rougie stayed quiet. Outside the window, a man walked a small dog past the hedge. Nothing about the street suggested that anyone living there had watched a massacre. Claudette followed Z’s glance toward the facedown photograph. “It’s him at seventeen,” she said. “I can’t look at it today.” “You don’t have to.” “He was funny then. Not always happy, but funny. He could make me laugh when I was trying to be angry with him.” Her eyes filled, though she did not let the tears fall. “I need you to know there were days before that night.” “I know there were.” She shook her head. “I left you because I was frightened of what your life had become. Then I married a man who promised me a normal one.” Z waited. “My greatest regret is leaving you, Zachary.” The words came plainly, without an attempt to make them easier for either of them. “I used to think having a mutant son was my karma. That I had run from you, and life had made sure I couldn’t run a second time.” “Claudette.” Z moved his chair a little closer. “Your son being a mutant was not a punishment.” She lowered her eyes. “What he did was terrible. You did not earn it by leaving me.” “I hurt you.” “Yes,” he said. “But I understood that you were afraid. You don’t have to keep asking to be forgiven for it.” For a while, she could not answer. Rougie handed her a tissue from the box on the table, then settled back into her chair. When Claudette spoke again, her voice was steadier. “You need to know what happened in that house.” * * * Reen’s flashlight caught the first carving at the corner of the passage. Rows of people knelt beneath a towering figure. The figure held one hand above them, palm down. Behind him, buildings burned. Beneath his feet, smaller figures carried children toward a doorway. Misty stopped beside Reen. The carved face was unmistakable. “Apocalypso got a whole wall,” Scambit said. “More than one.” Reen turned his light. The passage opened onto a balcony above an enormous hall. Columns descended into darkness below. Bridges connected upper doorways across the empty space, and carvings covered every surface their lights could reach. Some were old enough to be worn smooth. Others had sharp edges and pale dust still lodged in the cuts. One panel showed airplanes above a modern city. Another showed crowds kneeling before the same armored figure. Scambit leaned closer. “This ain’t all old.” “No,” Misty said. “Somebody’s still adding to it.” At the far end of the newest panel, the figure stood above every other person, alone beneath an enormous sun. Reen looked at the carving, then at the hall below. “That’s what he wants.” Scambit photographed the wall. His phone had no signal, but the camera still worked. A scraping sound came from beneath the balcony. All three stopped. “Nightwalka?” Misty called. Nothing answered. The sound came again, closer this time. Stone dragged against stone inside the wall beside Scambit’s shoulder. He stepped away. A hand broke through the mortar. * * * The creature pulled itself out through a narrow burial recess, tearing strips of old cloth on the jagged edges. It had once been shaped like a person. Its arms were too long now, its fingers bent into thick hooks. Dry gray skin stretched across a mouth full of uneven teeth. Its eyes followed Scambit’s retreat, and its mouth opened in a hungry grin. “Back,” Reen said. It lunged. He caught it across the chest with his claws and drove it against the opposite wall. It kept reaching for his face even as he forced it down. Misty turned at another noise. The floor cracked behind them. A second creature pushed through, followed by a third, their hands scraping at the stone as they dragged themselves into the passage. Scambit charged a card and threw it low. The blast knocked the nearest creature off its feet. He followed with another before it could rise. Reen tore free of the first attacker. Its hooked fingers had opened his cheek. The cut was closing when the second caught his arm. Misty seized a fallen length of bronze railing and drove it across the creature’s throat. Together, she and Reen forced it back over the balcony. They heard it strike something far below. Then they heard more movement. A lot more. Scambit shone his light through the gap in the wall. Empty recesses extended past the beam. Farther in, eyes opened. “Time to go.” They ran along the balcony. Behind them, stone covers shifted one after another. * * * “John won an award that night,” Claudette said. “We all went to the ceremony. Devin sat beside me.” She stared at the coffee table. Z listened without entering her thoughts. “His father had helped organize a mutant quarantine proposal. Separate facilities. Restricted movement. They kept calling it protection. Every politician on that stage stood up and applauded him.” “Did John know about Devin?” Rougie asked. “He knew enough. Strange things happened when people were alone with our son. John never wanted to call it what it was.” Her fingers tightened around the tissue. “Devin watched him accept an award for locking people like him away.” Afterward, the donors and politicians came back to the house. John put the heavy glass award on the bedroom dresser before going downstairs to greet them. Devin followed him through the party without speaking. When John finally went upstairs, his son went after him. Claudette heard the argument from the landing. “You stood up there talking about us like we was a disease.” “Keep your voice down.” “You putting me in one of them places too?” “If that’s what it takes.” Claudette reached the bedroom door before either said anything else. John stood beside the dresser. Devin turned toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to cry. Instead, he took her arm. “Get in here, Ma.” He pushed her into the bedroom closet and turned the key. Through the wooden slats, she could see the bed, part of the dresser, and the open doorway beyond them. She pulled at the handle. “Devin. Open this door.” “Stay quiet.” John reached for his son. Purple light spread over Devin’s hands. John stopped. He stared through the bedroom door toward the landing. “Who let them in?” Music drifted up from the party. A guest laughed downstairs. “John?” Claudette called. Her husband opened the bedside drawer and took out his pistol. “They’re in the house.” There was nobody in the doorway. Devin stood near the wall, watching his father, his face disappearing beneath that purple glow. Claudette struck the closet door with her palm. “John, put it down!” He moved onto the landing. Devin followed only as far as the bedroom threshold, keeping him in sight. The upstairs gallery overlooked the reception hall. John stood there alone, aiming over the railing at the people who had applauded him less than an hour before. “Get away from her!” he shouted. Claudette could not see the guests from the closet. She heard someone call John’s name, surprised rather than frightened. Then the first shot came. The music stopped beneath the screaming. John fired again. Guests pleaded with him, naming themselves, begging him to look. He shouted about mutants, about things crawling over the walls. Then his footsteps moved toward the stairs. Devin left the bedroom threshold and followed him. Through the closet slats, Claudette saw the purple light pass out onto the landing. It washed over the stairwell as he descended behind his father. John went all the way down. “John, it’s us!” a woman cried. Another shot answered her. From the closet, Claudette could no longer see either man. She heard John crossing the reception hall, firing as guests fled into the adjoining rooms. Chairs scraped across the floor. Glass shattered. Someone called for an ambulance before another burst of shots drowned out the voice. Devin stopped partway down the stairwell. From there, he watched his father through the open hall, keeping him in sight as John turned his weapon on the people he had welcomed home. Claudette kept calling to her husband until her voice broke. For a moment, the shooting stopped. She heard a magazine strike the floor, then John shouting again. A man begged him to put the gun down. The next shot cut the plea short. At last, no voices answered him. Footsteps climbed the stairs. Claudette pressed her face close to the slats and saw John reach the landing, the pistol hanging in his hand. Purple light followed him up from the stairwell. He backed into the bedroom. His eyes moved wildly between the door and the bed. Devin followed him inside. John tried to raise the pistol again. Devin caught his wrist and drove it against the dresser. The gun fell. John stumbled beside the bed, reaching for something Claudette could not see. “Get them off me.” Devin picked up the award. Claudette screamed her son’s name. The purple figure struck John with the glass. John fell against the bed, and Devin struck him again. And again. And again. Then his father lay still on the bedroom floor. For a moment, Devin stood over him. The bloody trophy hung from one glowing hand. Claudette pressed both hands over her mouth. He set it on the dresser beneath the photograph of their family. Then he walked toward the closet. She stopped breathing. Up close, the light hid the familiar brown of his skin. Purple shone through the slats and across her fingers. He stood there long enough for her to understand that he knew exactly where she was. Then the color began to dissolve. It faded from his hands, receded along his neck, and drained slowly from his face. Her son emerged from it, looking straight into her eyes through the wooden slats. Neither spoke. He turned the key and walked away. Claudette did not open the door until she could no longer hear his footsteps. * * * Rougie sat very still. Z waited until Claudette could speak again. “John shot the guests,” she said. “But Devin made him see something that wasn’t there. And I watched him kill his father.” “Did you tell the police?” Z asked. “Not everything at first. I said John had lost his mind.” She looked toward the facedown photograph. “Then they asked about the bedroom. About the award. I couldn’t keep saying I didn’t know.” She had returned to the station and given another statement. She described the locked closet, the purple light, and her son’s face as he stood outside the door. “I told them Devin used his powers. That he caused the shootings. They wrote it all down, and I signed it.” “Did he ever speak to you about it afterward?” “No.” She rubbed the damp tissue between her palms. “He let me live. Then I was the one who told them what he was.” “You told them what you witnessed,” Z said. Claudette looked at him, but whatever comfort he meant to offer did not reach her. “I know what I told them. I don’t know what he thinks I did.” Z glanced at the photograph and left it facedown. * * * Nightwalka heard the first explosion through the ceiling. He stopped beneath a painted arch. “Scambit.” Stormisha listened. Another dull impact followed, too far away to place. “At least they still moving,” she said. Their passage had taken them down two flights of broad steps into a room lined with newer lights. Electrical cables ran over ancient carvings, fixed to the stone with shiny brackets. Ice Tray followed one cable with his flashlight. “Somebody got a light bill down here.” Beyond a steel door, a man coughed. Nightwalka moved toward the sound. “Hello?” A face appeared behind the narrow window. A Native American man in his forties stood inside, his dark hair pulled back from a tired face. His shirt was torn at one shoulder, and a strip of cloth wrapped his right hand. “Who’s there?” the man asked. “We came from the camp,” Stormisha said. “We’re getting people out.” The man’s gaze moved to the ceiling above them. “Hurry.” There were three cells. In the second, a woman sat against the wall with her hands tucked beneath her arms. A younger man occupied the third. Parts of his neck and jaw looked rough and gray, like stone. Nightwalka could see enough of the first cell through the window to enter safely. He vanished, appeared beside the prisoner, and brought him back into the corridor. He repeated the trip for the others while Stormisha watched the passage. Ice Tray offered the first man a bottle of water. “What they call you?” “Gorge.” He reached for the bottle. A faint clicking came from the box above the cells. Gorge’s hand stopped. His face tightened. The woman lifted her head abruptly. The younger man’s skin began to harden. “Get back,” Gorge said. Then he hit Ice Tray with the bottle and drove him into the wall. * * * The woman thrust both palms toward Stormisha. A burst of pressure knocked Stormisha through the open doorway behind her. Nightwalka disappeared before the stone-skinned man caught him. He reappeared beside Ice Tray, who was wrestling with Gorge over a length of cable. “They ain’t grateful!” Ice Tray shouted. Gorge looped the cable around a bracket, ripped a battery from the emergency lamp, and pushed two exposed ends against it. The work took seconds. He understood every part before Nightwalka could understand what he was building. A bright spark jumped between two metal prongs. Nightwalka grabbed Ice Tray and teleported both of them out of its path. The discharge scorched the wall where they had stood. Stormisha returned through the doorway, wind pushing the woman backward. She kept the gust low enough to slide her across the floor rather than throw her into stone. “Stop! We’re trying to help you!” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. Her hands rose again anyway. Nightwalka ducked beneath the stone-skinned man’s arm and vanished behind him. He caught the collar of his shirt to turn him away from Ice Tray. At the base of the man’s skull, a small metal plate sat beneath irritated skin. A pinprick of red light flashed at its center. The same light blinked through Gorge’s hair when he bent over his weapon. “Back of their heads!” Nightwalka shouted. “They got something in them!” Ice Tray blew a narrow stream of cold against Gorge’s improvised weapon. Frost spread over the battery casing. Gorge tried to pull it free, but the cable snapped against its bracket. The emergency lights flickered. All three prisoners faltered. Gorge dropped to one knee. His mouth worked before the words came out. “Black box. Above the doors. Break it.” Then he lunged for the broken cable again. Stormisha looked up. She tore a loose steel panel from the floor with a gust and drove it into the box. The casing broke. Sparks scattered over the doorway. Gorge stopped moving. The woman collapsed onto her hands. The stone on the young man’s face receded, leaving ordinary skin beneath it. For several seconds, nobody trusted the silence. Then Gorge pushed the damaged weapon away from himself. “Don’t let me touch that.” * * * Reen, Misty, and Scambit reached the bottom of a narrow staircase with four creatures still behind them. Reen turned on the lowest step. “Keep going.” Misty pulled Scambit through the doorway ahead. He was limping harder now, and she had noticed him pressing a hand over the place where his stitches had been. “It open?” she asked. “No. Just hurts.” Behind them, Reen met the first creature with both claws. He shoved its body into the next, forcing the pair back up the stairs. The other two climbed over them without hesitation. Scambit charged a card until its edges glowed, then placed it beneath a cracked stair support. “Reen. Move.” Reen threw himself through the doorway. The blast brought the upper steps down, burying the creatures beneath heavy stone. Dust rolled over all three of them. Scambit waited until he could hear again. “You good?” Reen pulled a piece of broken claw from the flesh of his forearm. It did not belong to him. “I miss the plane.” They found themselves in a room full of equipment. Steel shelves held batteries, replacement components, and sealed medical packages. A workbench stood beneath a bank of dead monitors. Misty moved between the shelves. A tray held small implants, each shaped like the end of a finger. Beside them lay diagrams showing where they fitted beneath the skin at the back of a person’s head. “Scambit.” He photographed the tray and the diagrams. One page showed a relay box connected to a row of holding cells. Reen opened the door on the far side. A voice called down the corridor. “Don’t come any closer!” Stormisha. He stepped into view with his hands raised. “Been trying to find y’all all damn day.” Nightwalka appeared beside him in a curl of smoke, then turned and shouted back that it was them. Misty came through the doorway and took her son by both shoulders before he could disappear again. She checked his face, his arms, and the tear in his shirt. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’m looking.” She let go only when she was satisfied. * * * They gathered in the equipment room while Gorge inspected the implant diagrams. The other prisoners introduced themselves as Nessa and Ellis. Nessa could strike with concentrated bursts of pressure. Ellis could harden his skin, though the effort left him shaking after too long. Both had been transferred from the Division’s facilities. Neither knew how long they had been underground. Gorge touched the back of his neck. “The box tells it when to activate,” he said. “Once it does, you can see everything. You know what you’re doing. You just can’t stop.” Reen looked at the diagram. “Can we pull them out?” “No.” Gorge said it firmly. “Not here. Not without hurting us.” Scambit showed him the photographs from the transport records. Gorge recognized two faces immediately. He touched one image and shook his head before anyone asked. “What were they making you build?” Stormisha asked. Gorge looked around the room. “Most of this. Control equipment. Power systems. Whatever he brought me, I understood how it worked and how to make it do what he wanted.” He picked up two components from the workbench, fitted them together, then reached for a wire without searching for the correct drawer. “Apocalips?” Reen asked. “Apocalypto.” “Yeah. Him.” Gorge set a battery beside the components. His hands moved with purpose now that they belonged to him again. “There are more relays deeper in. Break one and you get a room. Break the main controller and you get the whole network.” “We find that, then leave,” Stormisha said. “You know a way out?” “Freight platform on the lower level. It goes to the surface. I worked on its motor.” Something scratched against the collapsed staircase behind them. Ellis looked toward it. “They’re coming.” Misty examined the back of his neck, then glanced at the door. “The things in the walls. They have these too?” “No,” Gorge said. “They don’t need orders to hurt you.” Nessa stood. Her hands trembled, but she held them ready. “They’ve been down here longer than the lights.” * * * Z and Rougie stayed with Claudette until she had answered what she could. She knew nothing about the escape beyond what the authorities had told her. Devin had not sent messages, asked for money, or used the house. She gave Z an old photograph and permission to contact her if they learned anything. At the front door, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming yourself.” “I should have come sooner.” Neither tried to make that into a promise about the future. Rougie helped him down the ramp and into the van. She stayed beside him until the chair was secured, then folded the ramp and took the driver’s seat. Claudette watched from the front window as they pulled away. Across the street, behind a parked delivery truck, Devin stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wore a durag and the thin mustache Stormisha would have recognized. There was no purple light on his skin. His eyes followed the van until it turned the corner. Then he looked back at the house. Claudette was still at the window, but the reflection of the trees hid him from her. She let the curtain fall and moved away. Devin stayed where he was. * * * Gorge’s device fit inside a small maintenance case. He looped its strap over his shoulder and switched it on. A quiet vibration came through the casing. “It interrupts the relay signal around us,” he said. “Stay close. If it stops, get away from me.” Reen looked at the others. “Nobody letting that stop.” They followed Gorge down a wide corridor where the old carvings continued beneath exposed pipes. The hall seemed to go on forever. Side passages opened every few yards, some lit by electricity, others black beyond their doorways. Scambit’s flashlight crossed another image of Apocalypto above a crowd of kneeling people. This one showed the same figure on a throne, surrounded by chained mutants. “Man really like his own face,” Ice Tray said. A fingernail scraped against stone beside him. He stopped. The carved face cracked down the middle. A creature pushed through it, showering him with fragments. Ice Tray blew a hard burst of cold into its open mouth. Frost sealed its jaw. Before it could reach him, Reen drove it sideways into the wall. Then the floor broke open behind Nessa. She turned and struck with both palms. The creature flew backward into the hole it had climbed from. More hands appeared along the corridor. “Keep moving!” Gorge shouted. They ran toward a broad chamber where six columns stood around a sunken floor. Halfway across, Ellis stopped beneath a falling slab and hardened his body. The stone struck his shoulders. He held it long enough for Scambit and Misty to pass. Nightwalka grabbed his sleeve and teleported him clear before the slab dropped. Creatures crawled from beneath the lower steps. Others pulled loose stones from the walls and forced their bodies through the gaps. Some wore scraps of old cloth. Others had only scarred skin stretched over heavy bone. One stopped beside a wounded creature and shoved it out of the way to reach Nessa. There was no pleading in their faces. No sign of the struggle the prisoners had shown. They came at the living with open mouths and reaching hands. Stormisha drew air through the high chamber and sent it down the steps, knocking the nearest row backward. Ice Tray froze the floor beneath their feet. The creatures fell over one another, clawing at the ice. Misty changed into a smaller shape to slip beneath an attacker, returned to herself behind it, and drove a broken spear into its back. Scambit’s charged cards burst along the far side of the chamber, clearing the doorway Gorge pointed toward. Reen stayed near the rear, cutting down anything that reached the prisoners. A creature caught Nessa’s ankle. She fell hard. The next one was already climbing over the first to get at her face. Ellis seized it by the neck with stone-covered hands and threw it into a column. Nightwalka brought Nessa across the chamber in a burst of smoke. She landed beside Gorge, gasping. His case struck the floor. The vibration stopped. * * * Gorge’s head jerked backward. Ellis froze halfway through a step. Nessa’s palms began to rise toward Nightwalka. “Case!” Gorge forced out. Scambit dropped beside it. A battery had come loose from its bracket. He pushed it back into place and held it with both hands while Gorge fought to keep his own fingers away from Scambit’s throat. The vibration returned. Nessa lowered her hands and nearly folded in half with relief. Misty tore a strip from her sleeve and tied the battery firmly into its bracket. Gorge tested the connection, then pulled the strap across his chest instead of leaving it on one shoulder. “Thanks.” “Thank me outside,” Scambit said. Reen backed through the doorway, blood running down his wrist. “Outside sounding good.” They reached the machinery room at the end of the hall. Gorge pointed to a black cabinet mounted above the generator controls. “Main controller.” Stormisha looked at the live cables. “What can we break without bringing everything down?” “Those two red lines. Then the box. Leave the lower panel alone.” Reen cut the lines. Scambit placed a charged card against the cabinet and pulled everyone back. The explosion tore it from the wall. The lights dimmed, then steadied. Gorge slowly switched off his portable device. Nessa held her hands in front of her face. They stayed still. Ellis took one step, then another, because he chose to. Gorge let out a long breath. “Gone,” he said. “The signal’s gone.” From the hall behind them came the scrape of claws on stone. Reen turned toward it. “Now the other problem.” * * * The freight platform sat at the bottom of a shaft wide enough for a truck. Sand dusted its surface. Thick cables rose into darkness overhead. Beside it, a control panel showed a single amber light. Gorge opened the panel and frowned. “What?” Stormisha asked. “Safety lock. They cut power to the upper release when the courtyard fell.” “You can fix it?” He was already taking the panel apart. Behind them, the first creature reached the machinery-room door. Reen met it before it could enter. Ice Tray froze the narrow space around its legs, pinning it long enough for Reen to finish the fight. Another climbed over its body. Then two more. Nessa stood beside Stormisha. Together, they drove the attackers back down the corridor, pressure and wind striking in short bursts so they could catch their breath between them. Misty guided Ellis onto the platform. He tried to turn back toward the fight, but his skin had begun to crack where the stone armor formed. “You did enough,” she told him. “Stay standing.” Scambit searched the shelves beside the shaft for anything Gorge could use. Gorge asked for a coil of copper, a small wrench, and the battery from his ruined control blocker. Scambit handed them over without comment. Nightwalka appeared beside his mother with a fresh cut above his eyebrow. “How many left?” she asked. He shook his head. “Passage full. More coming behind those.” Misty looked toward the ancient walls around the shaft. Far beyond the nearest chamber, they could hear the creatures breaking through other stone covers. They had fought only a small part of what lived down there. The platform lurched. Gorge held a wire against the new connection. “Everybody on.” Stormisha stepped backward, keeping the wind aimed through the doorway. Nessa joined her. Ice Tray froze a thick barrier across the entrance, but cracks appeared almost immediately beneath the blows from the other side. Reen was last. He jumped onto the platform as Gorge closed the circuit. The motor groaned. Cables tightened overhead. Slowly, the platform began to rise. A creature broke through the ice and caught the edge. Misty stamped on its fingers. It reached with the other hand, trying to hook her ankle. Reen crouched beside her and cut it loose. They rose past the doorway. For several seconds, the walls hid everything below. Then something struck the underside of the platform. Nightwalka looked over the edge. A creature clung to one of the support braces. He grabbed a loose bolt from the floor, vanished, and reappeared on the far side of the platform where he could see its hand. He brought his boot down on its knuckles. The creature fell into the dark. Misty caught the back of his shirt as he stepped away from the edge. “I saw it,” he said. “So did I.” This time, he let her keep hold of him. * * * The roof above them split along a straight seam. Two heavy doors opened outward, shedding sand into the shaft. Evening light fell across the platform. Ice Tray lifted his face toward it. “If anybody say they wanna go sightseeing, I’m leaving you.” The platform stopped inside a low stone enclosure well east of the collapsed courtyard. Beyond it, the desert stretched quiet and empty. The broken columns they had approached earlier were small shapes in the distance. Stormisha took out her phone and climbed onto a block of stone. After several attempts, the call connected. Their driver was still waiting. “We got three more people,” she told him. “And we need somewhere they can get medical help.” She listened, then closed her eyes with relief. “Yeah. We can meet you at the road.” Gorge stepped off the platform last. He looked back at the open shaft. “Those cells were only one section.” Scambit touched the phone in his pocket, full of photographs. “We got your routes. We got the records. We ain’t forgetting it.” Misty stared toward the buried temple. Somewhere beneath it were whole rooms they had never seen, machinery still running, and enough creatures to fill every passage they had crossed. They had found Apocalypto’s stronghold. They had not found him. Reen wiped his claws in the sand before withdrawing them. “Next time,” he said, “we need more than six cheap plane tickets.” * * * By the time Rougie and Z returned to the hospital, Cyrus had learned that his son could fall asleep while being held and wake immediately upon being put down. He stood beside Jeanetta’s bed, rocking gently, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the wall. “How long?” Rougie asked. “Forty minutes.” “You want me to take him?” Cyrus hesitated, then carefully passed the baby over. X-boy settled against her almost at once. Cyrus stared. “Don’t take it personal,” she told him. “I’m trying not to.” Z checked Jeanetta’s chart with the nurse. There had been no significant change. Leaving Cyrus and Rougie with the baby, he went alone to Monsta’s corridor. The security officer outside Monsta’s room recognized him now. He checked that the room had no other visitor, then stepped aside. He remained outside the open door. Monsta sat beside the window in a hospital shirt that barely closed across his chest. His beard was still heavy, his dreadlocks gathered loosely behind his head. Someone had brought him a radio with a cracked casing. He had taken the back off and arranged the screws in a neat row on the table. “Working again?” Z asked. “Trying.” Z looked at the pieces. “On the radio?” Monsta glanced at him. “That too.” Z moved his chair alongside the table. Monsta set a loose screw safely out of the way before making room for him. For a while, they talked about small things. Food. The room. Whether the window could be opened. Monsta’s answers came more easily than they had during his first visits, though sometimes he stopped and needed a moment to find a word. Then he set the screwdriver down. “Mi remember him.” Z waited. “Di purple one. Not just what him make mi see. Before it start.” “Devin?” Monsta frowned. “Don’t know that name.” “He called himself Frank when he came to the house. His real name is Devin McTagg.” Monsta shook his head slowly. “Apocalicious call him something else.” Z leaned closer. Monsta looked toward the open door, making sure the hallway was still there. “Broteus.” He said it carefully, then again with more certainty. “Broteus. Him protégé. That what him say.” Z kept his expression calm, though the new name seemed to make the memory harder for Monsta to bear. “The man on di screen tell mi. Then mi back home, before mi leave Jamaica. Mi know it couldn’t be real. Still couldn’t get out.” “You’re out now.” Monsta pressed his palms against his knees. “Some nights mi don’t believe that.” “Then call us. We’ll remind you.” A nurse appeared in the doorway to check on him. Monsta looked up and gave her a small nod before she entered. Z noticed. He did not make a speech about it. * * * Stormisha’s call reached Rougie while she was settling the baby into his bassinet. The connection broke twice. On the third attempt, Rougie put the phone on speaker so Z and Cyrus could hear. “All six of us,” Stormisha said. “We’re out. Three prisoners with us. They need doctors.” Z closed his eyes briefly. “Did you find him?” “No. We found where he keeps people. And some ugly shit living under the floor.” Reen’s voice came from farther away. “Tell him bring a bulldozer next time.” Stormisha ignored him. She explained the implants, Gorge’s work, and the transport shaft. Scambit would send the photographs as soon as they had a stable connection. “Find a safe place together,” Z told her. “Get the prisoners treated. We’ll discuss the rest after you’ve rested.” “And Jeanetta?” He looked toward the bed. “Still unconscious.” Stormisha was quiet for a moment. “Tell her we coming back.” “I will.” The call ended. Cyrus checked his sleeping son, then took the chair beside Jeanetta. Rougie remained near the door. For the first time all day, nobody was asking Z a question. He looked at Jeanetta’s face. Earlier attempts to reach her had found only brief impressions: fear, pain, a flash of red light. Now something felt different. Not stronger, exactly. Closer. He moved beside the bed. “I’m going to try again.” Cyrus sat straighter. “Can she hear you?” “I hope so.” Z rested his hand beside hers and closed his eyes. * * * He found her in a quiet hallway. There were no hospital machines there, no visitors, no sounds from the street. Doors stood along both sides, all closed. At the far end, Jeanetta sat on the floor with her knees drawn toward her chest. She lifted her head when he approached. “Professor?” He stopped a few feet away so she could see him clearly. “Yes.” “Is this really you?” “It is.” She stood, then caught his hand as though she expected him to disappear. “My baby.” “He’s safe.” “Is he okay?” “He’s doing well. Cyrus is with him.” Her face crumpled with relief. She turned away for a moment, breathing until she could speak again. “I keep trying to wake up. Sometimes I hear y’all. Then it’s gone.” “We know you’re still here now. That matters.” “Did he see him? Cyrus?” “He knows he’s the father.” She looked back at him, anxious and embarrassed all at once. “How’d he take it?” Z smiled. “He’s very happy. And very tired.” Jeanetta gave a small, shaky laugh. “He also chose a name.” Her expression sharpened. “What name?” “X-boy.” She stared at him. Z waited. Jeanetta rubbed her forehead. “I’m not even gonna address that right now. I got bigger issues.” The irritation in her voice was familiar. The fear beneath it was not. “What is it, Jeanetta?” She looked past his shoulder toward the closed doors. “I don’t think I’m alone in here.”

X-Mans Fo’teen: Ain’t No Way Out

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