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part #38 of Out of the Box Series Series
“You hiding drugs?” June asked her, meta-low. Some did, though she'd have been surprised if Drusilla Cross was one of them.
“Not hiding anything,” Drusilla said. “Just kinda wanted a nap.”
Scout Cole, her cell mate, was waiting at the entry. “How was breakfast?” she asked, like she hadn't been there. Almost as thin as Drusilla, but heavily freckled with her dark hair and dark eyes, she had a mean look in her eyes that made June want to give her a wide berth.
“Sucked,” Drusilla said mildly.
June paused at the door to her cell, watching the exchange. Scout looked over at her, and her eyes narrowed. “What are you looking at, Randall?”
“A fruit cake,” June said with a shrug. “A soul sucker. The biggest asshole in the place.”
“Convenient to wrap all that up in one gorgeous package,” Scout said with a bark of a laugh, taking a small bow.
June knew she wasn't suppressed, and cut short the reply she had cooking. Stepping into her cell, June watched her disappear behind the barrier. Scout wasn't much for getting in fights, but June had a feeling she was stewing every day, maybe even making an enemies list. For that reason – and to keep from causing trouble for Drusilla – she left Cole mostly alone.
But she didn't have to like that they were cellmates. Scout Cole was the worst influence June could imagine.
Across the cell block, the massive double doors opened with a honking klaxon, and the guards started to flood in. There were dozens of them. All so they could do a quick toss of all the cells for contraband.
June sighed. It really was going to be a long morning.
The sound of so many boots against the thick metal floors were like hoof beats in the distance. June leaned against the wall of her cell, which was filled with more of that supergel. She could punch it right now and it'd only rattle a little, all the shock absorbed from the blow. She'd heard the same was true of things like eyebeams (Amanda Gustafson had those) or other energy powers.
June just had poison at her disposal. It could puff out of her hands, be spit from her mouth. It had its uses, especially in here, but brute force it was not.
The low rattle of boot steps lulled June for a moment. Closer, of course. Probably louder as they drew nearer, except...
Suddenly...it wasn't just loud.
It was...everywhere.
Something seemed to explode out in the courtyard ceiling, and June was thrown to her knees. Her face landed inches from the hole in the floor that was their toilet, and water splashed out. Drusilla screamed down the row, and other women joined in.
Smoke and the smell of burning metal flooded June's senses as someone yelled, someone cackled, and dozens more screamed.
And she stayed right there on her hands and knees. Thick, dark, chemical-smelling smoke obscured the courtyard, the ceiling, and everything more than two feet in front of her face as the world around her shook and the klaxons wailed.
June didn't know exactly what was happening, but she knew enough to keep her head down.
After all, when someone was brute-force trying to stage a prison break from this place – the strongest prison on the damned planet – only an idiot would put themselves in their path.
Chapter Three
Sienna Nealon
Franklin, Tennessee
December 22nd
8:01 A.M.
“Not that I don't love seeing your smiling faces on the videoconference screen,” I said, ensconced in our new(ish) agency office just off Interstate 65 in Franklin, TN, “but when am I going to see you all live and in person, again?” I glanced around theatrically, because the office was empty save for me and about fifty pieces of Christmas decor that had been hung from the rafters (garlands), placed upon every flat surface (tiny tinsel Christmas trees), and papered to the walls (decorative photos of such holiday mainstays as Rudolph and Santa). This had been the work of Eilish and Olivia, I just knew it. “Will you be home for Christmas? Or is that only in your dreams?”
A moment of silence fell over the videoconference, where seven faces were arranged in three different quadrants of the screen, not including my own. Angel and Eilish were coming to us live from somewhere in rural Maine, Olivia was by her lonesome (well, with Kat, who was not on the call) in Los Angeles, while the boys (Reed, Augustus, Scott, and Jamal) had sunny Miami as their backdrop, the ocean visible along with blue skies outside of their balcony.
The cacophony of noise died down as everyone realized they'd spoken at once, and Reed was the first to speak into the new silence. “I think everyone will agree with me,” my brother said, looking a little haggard in spite of his beautiful backdrop, “that I will be happy to put this particular case behind me...as soon as we can actually arrest the villains.”
Jamal's eyelid twitched, his face barely squeezed into the frame next to Scott's. “Which requires us to find them first.”
“Same here,” Angel said, and she and Eilish flickered in their quadrant of my computer screen. Their reception, wherever they were, was not the best. I had no idea where exactly in Maine they were, only that Canada was not far and the nearest major airport was. “We're hurrying, but I think we're going to actually have to comb through a big section of national forest later today.” Her brown face did a twitch of its own. “Not looking forward to it.”
“I'll be speaking loudly through a bullhorn,” Eilish said in her Irish lilt with a twinkle in her eye, “imploring our dastardly villain to give himself up nicely. That ought to shave some time off our struggle.”
“And cause every male rescuer to come up to you with his hands extended, ready to be cuffed,” I said.
Eilish smiled. “I mean...whatever it takes, right?”
“Ugh, you guys. If I'm opening up my Christmas presents alone on the twenty-fifth I'm gonna be so bummed,” I said, and shifted my attention to Olivia, alone with some sort of piece of modern art in the background. “What about you? You coming back anytime soon?”
“Kat says we're going to be a bit,” Olivia looked into the camera with a surprising dearth of enthusiasm. “Our bad guy seems to be bad guys, and possibly part of a gang.” Her voice was hushed. “They found another couple bodies this morning. We think it's connected.”
“Damn,” I said glumly, looking at the whole screen picture. “You really are going to leave me all alone for Christmas, aren't you?”
“Somehow you'll survive,” Reed said, a little sharply. “How goes the TBI work? Is West Tennessee clean enough to eat off of yet?”
“Crime's in free fall, I'm told,” I said. “As to eating...let me just say that the barbecue in the restaurants I've been frequenting in Memphis?” I brought my fingers to my face and made a chef's kiss noise. “It is the greatest.”
“I know you did not just trash talk my Atlanta barbecue joints,” Augustus said, finally cutting in. “With your sweet heat sauces and inadequate rubs.”
“Don't be hateful because Georgia has no barbecue identity of its own, Augustus,” I said with an impish smile.
Outrage, immediate and ireful, spread across his face. “Take that back. Right now.”
I shrugged. “It hurts because it's true. Carolina has the vinegar. Texas has the heat. Memphis has the sweet, Alabama has white sauce, and St. Louis has...tomatoes or something. What does Georgia have? Nothing, that's what.”
“Somebody hold me back from fighting this girl,” Augustus said shaking his head. “And her terrible food takes.”
“Common sense ought to hold you back,” Jamal said, “because Lord knows none of the rest of us are gonna bother.”
“Are we having a meeting or a bullshit fest?” Scott Byerly chipped in. “It's hard to tell sometimes, especially when our business manager goes all in on defending mediocre Georgia barbecue.”
“Et tu, Scotty?” Augustus looked daggers at the blond man sitting beside him. “Seeing you covered in fake blood back when Sienna thought we were all dead is the only thing fortifying me in this moment of trial.” He put his chin up, closed his eyes like he was praying, and said, “Lord, guide me through this valley of the shadow of these heathens, for they know not what they say–”
An angry buzzing on the desktop in front of me distracted me, made me sweep up my phone. I realized immediately it wasn't a call or a text, just a simple news alert. I started to put it back down, but–
The headline caught my eye.
REPORT: Minnesota Metahuman Prison 'The Cube' Is Experiencing a Riot
I clicked the story without realizing that no one was speaking until Reed asked, “Is anyone else seeing this thing about the Cube?”
When I clicked through the story it was blank; just the headline and the word, “BREAKING.”
“No one's filed an actual report yet,” Jamal said, his eyes flashing lightning in that completely unnerving way that his girlfriend had taught him to surf the net. Creepy and haunting all in one, it was a lose-lose proposition for those of us watching. “Looks like it might just be rumors. Or it could be they've got something going on and are working to tamp it down.” He shrugged, his eyes losing the lightning and returning to normal. “Probably nothing. You know how these news stories are.”
“Couldn't you,” I said, trying to be a little careful about what I was going to suggest, “maybe dip a toe into their systems and take a peek around?”
He shook his head. “Bureau of Prisons got a clue and upgraded to Cassidy's software. They're basically hack-proof now.”
“Bummer,” I said, waiting for something, anything, to pop up other than just the single word in the body of the story. For something to break, if you will. Still, I closed the screen and tossed the phone back on my desk. “I mean, not for the Bureau of Prisons, obviously. But for us nosy folks curious about what's going on.”
“I'm sure it'll all come out fine,” Reed said, putting on the brave face. “And it's not like Minnesota's going to call us in, anyway, so...” He looked at Augustus with great significance.
“Think we blazed through the updates already, unless anyone's got anything else to share?” Augustus asked, checking his stylish watch. Nobody said anything for a few seconds, and he went on. “I'm with Sienna on this. Christmas is three days away and I'd like to get all this wrapped up before then so I can buy you all a big bowl of eggnog.” He seemed to glance at my position on the screen, and his eyebrows shot up. “Uh, non-alcoholic in some cases, but still...eggnog. Take care, y'all. Be safe out there.”
They logged off one by one, and my screen went dark quadrant by quadrant.
With a sigh I stood and stretched in the empty office, Christmas decorations my only company. I glanced at my phone, hoping an update would pop through.
But it didn't. So I wandered off to the kitchenette, carrying my phone in one hand and my coffee mug in the other, seeking an alternate form of satisfaction while I waited to hear something, anything, about what was going on at the Cube.
Chapter Four
Ariadne
IDS Center
Downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota
December 22nd
9:57 A.M.
It wasn't a corner office, because there were few enough of those around and while important, Ariadne knew she wasn't that important to her company. Maybe in a few years she would be. She lived alone now. Hadn't had a proper date in over a year. Didn't have any close family.
Work was really all she had at this point.
And it was enough...most days.
With a sigh, she put her pen down, dropping it on the yellow legal pad on her desk. Giving her chair a quick half-spin, she turned to look out the window.
It was a decent enough view. She was in the IDS tower, in the heart of downtown. St. Paul's snow-laced skyline glistened in the distance, a misty ten miles away. The mighty Mississippi was right there, ice floes on its banks, just blocks from where she sat and thirty stories down. The flat suburban sprawl that separated the Twin Cities was her view. Cold radiated in from the windows, and the state capitol was right there, visible, as was the industrial district just across the river. The Witch's Tower popped out on the hillside not far from the U of M campus.
Not bad, as views went. Most days she didn't even look at it.
Her phone buzzed at the desk behind her and Ariadne turned, frowning. If it was work-related, it'd have been an email. This buzz indicated a text, and when she turned the screen over, she saw one waiting:
How are you doing?
It was from Sienna, to her surprise. Not like they'd lost contact when she'd moved away, but still, Ariadne expected to hear from her mostly in the evenings and on weekends. A workhorse herself, getting a text from Sienna during normal business hours was...odd, to say the least.
Still, she replied: Doing fine. At work right now. Need something?
The reply was quick: No. Just saw the Cube thing on the news and figured I'd check in on you. Glad you're all right.
Ariadne frowned, her nose wrinkling as she did so. Cube what?
Before she could even process that and reply, something rippled out the window to her left. She rolled her seat a step forward and almost ejected herself out of it into the window, stopping just in time. She caught her balance and thrust herself forward, trying to see.
The whole building shook, almost ripping her legs out from beneath her, and tiny spiderwebs cracked their way through the glass. Ariadne hit her knees and heard screams out the door and in the hallways behind her.
Trying to get as close to her window as she could without risking her life by pressing against the cracked glass, she craned her neck. There was something going on out there, just to her left, just out of view.
“Ohmygosh,” someone's voice reached her from outside, from down the hall, closer to where whatever it was had happened... “the Wells Fargo Center.”
Ariadne snatched up her phone and slid out from behind her desk. Heavy footfalls down the hall told her others were coming, now, too, from all over the offices. A buzz of activity and frightened chatter overcame her senses as she stepped into the flow of humanity pushing its way forward.
The main office area with all its cubicles faced north, toward the...whatever had happened. Ariadne tried to see over the shoulders of taller people, shoving her way through. “Excuse me,” she said, unfailingly polite, Minnesota nice, even, but desperate to put eyes on whatever catastrophe had just befallen the city.
And soon enough...she made it far enough through the crowd that she could.
For where the Wells Fargo tower had been only this morning when she'd driven into town was instead a ruin; the tower had fallen to the east, and was laid across the block beside it, crushing the smaller buildings beneath. A cloud of dust and rubble filled the air, already thinning but not near clear.
Ariadne stared at the destruction, her phone clutched in hand...
And all she could think to do was snap a picture and try to send it, along with the message, On second thought, I might not be all right.
Her phone buzzed, and she held it up as another thundering rumble down in the city caused her to stagger back, and the glass windows in front of her shattered, raining shards down on people and prompting a fresh round of screams. She hit her knees as a sharp pain ran through her arm and warm blood spilled down to her wrist.
A gash ran from mid-shoulder to almost her elbow, a clean shredding through her blazer jacket. Not too deep, but it hurt a lot.
“Is everyone okay?” someone called.
Ariadne didn't have it in her to answer with some of the others. Not two feet away she could see a young guy from marketing who wasn't going to be able to answer at all. He was breathing his last, shards sticking out of his neck and blood slackening its pace out with the last pumps of his heart.
It stopped, and he was still, and Ariadne remembered the phone in her hand. Raising it, she went to check the progress of her message and found:
Message Did Not Send. Try Again?
She did, and then hit the button to bring up the contact for Sienna. Pushing through the carnage back toward her office, past the screams of the wounded, the crying, the scent of dust and blood, she listened for that ringing that would herald help just on the other end of the line. Her head was swimming, and she was already stripping off her jacket to bandage her wound with a ripped-off sleeve if need be.
“We are sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed,” a mechanical voice greeted her over the line. “All circuits are currently busy in your location. Please hang up and try again.”
Ariadne blinked, staggering back into her office as someone screamed and ran past at a sprint, barely missing her. Another scream and something else rocked the whole building; another rumble shook the building and knocked her feet out from beneath her.
The sunlight through her cracked windows gave her the same view as moments before, but it was different somehow.
Tying her jacket sleeve around her arm, Ariadne looked out upon the icy, snowy cityscape. Lifting her phone, she hit the button to call again.
“We are sorry...” the voice came again.
And again.
And again.
And on the fifth try, Ariadne Fraser started to get the feeling that genuinely, this time, something was so wrong that it might not be able to be fixed.
Chapter Five
Sienna
Franklin, Tennessee
December 22nd
10:37 A.M.
It was hard to concentrate while waiting for updates from the Cube, but I managed to make it through a whole three sheets of paperwork in the course of forty minutes, so I felt a little like a champion. After the initial report, the news apps on my phone had gone quiet, and so I'd put my phone aside, put my head down, and plowed through those pages with the speed of a highly intoxicated snail. Booyah.
When I'd reached the fourth page of an arrest report from one of my recent misadventures tracking a felonious car thief in Jackson, Tennessee, I realized that I was going to have to write more than succinct sentences and check boxes, and I groaned loud enough they could probably hear me in the insurance office next door.
