Page 112 of Anarchy Missing

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE – LULU

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I ask no one in particular through the headset.

“The wind,” Thomas says, staring out the front window. Lincoln is in the pilot’s seat even though Sheila claims to be the actual pilot, and Molly is in the back with me.

But it’s not a good enough answer. “Case,” I say. “He was like… possessed. What was that?”

No one answers me this time.

“Goddammit!” I say, raising my voice. “I need more answers! How can I help if you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re not going to help,” Thomas says in that flat tone he has. “You and Molly will stay in the helicopter.”

“Fuck that,” Molly says. “I’m the one who did this to him. I know it.”

“You didn’t—” Lincoln say, his voice rising now too.

“I did,” Molly spits. “It was that lariat, I know it. It introduced something into his body that night. It’s why all this is happening.”

“She’s right,” Sheila says.

But I lose track of the conversation after that because ToyBox is suddenly there, right in front of us. The whole building is lit up red.

“What the hell?” Lincoln mutters into the headset.

What the hell is right. Because the glass exterior of ToyBox has been transformed into SmartGlass. Images are appearing, disappearing, flickering in and out of existence. And out in front of the building is Case. The ragged remnants of his torn shirt whip open from the helicopter to expose the strap of some large weapon around his shoulder. He looks at us, bares his teeth, and then aims the weapon right at us and fires.

“Incoming,” Sheila says. Then we counterattack. A small rocket streaks out in front of us and the two projectiles collide in mid-air, creating a spectacular explosion. The helicopter weaves wildly from the air turbulence, and then we are careening sideways.

“Hold on,” Lincoln says, trying his best to keep the helicopter from smashing into the ground. “Never mind!” he amends. “Jump. Everyone out, now!”

Suddenly Molly is there, unbuckling my harness, and then Thomas has the door open, and she pushes me out. We’re not that far off the ground. The real danger is the helicopter smashing into the ground and exploding. I stumble, fall forward onto my knees, and then roll. Molly lands next to me, and then she’s on her feet again, lifting me up with a firm grip on my arm. “Run!” she yells.

Thomas and Lincoln jump too, staying on their feet and coming after us.

“Keep going!” Lincoln says, grabbing onto me as he runs past.

I want to look behind me, see what’s happening with that helicopter, hope that Sheila has it under control.

But I don’t have time.

Because there is a body-tossing wave of heat and fire that pushes me forward and knocks me down.

Thomas is on top of me, holding my head down as a roaring blanket of propulsion-induced fire sucks the breath out of my lungs, like it’s on a mission to feed off every molecule of oxygen it can find.

I’m picturing burnt bodies. Skin melting. Dying. Right here, right now. On the front lawn of a madman’s corporate offices.

But then the cool night air rushes in and my nightmare recedes.

“Are you OK?” Thomas coughs, his hand over his mouth. His face is stained black. His eyebrows are singed and there is a definite smell of burning in the air.

“Molly,” I croak out past my tight, dry throat.

“I’m OK,” she says. “But Lincoln—”

“I’m fine,” his gruff voice answers back. He’s not fine. He definitely took the worst of the explosion. His jacket and shirt are nothing but a layer of ash clinging to his body.

And that’s how I find out… what he is.