Chapter 146: The Scream [11]

“Ugghnn…” A low groan escaped my lips as consciousness slowly crept back into my battered mind like sunlight filtering through thick storm clouds.

My eyes fluttered open, immediately assaulted by an overwhelming brightness that seemed to pierce directly through my skull and into my brain. The light was warm, golden, and completely wrong for the cold, sterile environment where I should have been imprisoned. I snapped my eyes fully open, blinking rapidly as my vision adjusted to surroundings that defied every expectation I had about my current situation.

“What is this place?” I whispered, my voice echoing strangely in the vast space around me.

Wait. This couldn’t be real.

I looked around in profound shock, my enhanced senses taking in details that made no logical sense given what I remembered about my circumstances. The familiar skyline of Manhattan stretched before me in all directions, its towering glass and steel monuments catching the afternoon sunlight and reflecting it back in brilliant patterns that painted the city in shades of gold and amber I hadn’t seen since before the outbreak.

This was New York City—not the skeletal, infected-ravaged wasteland we’d fled months ago, but the vibrant, living metropolis it had been in the time before everything went wrong. Cars moved through streets in orderly patterns, their horns creating the familiar urban symphony I’d grown up with. People walked along sidewalks with purpose and energy, their faces showing the kind of casual contentment that only existed in a world where survival was guaranteed rather than fought for every single day.

I looked down at my hands with growing confusion and saw smooth, unmarked skin that bore none of the scars and calluses I’d accumulated over just two months in a world of Infected. M

Then I noticed what I was wearing, and my confusion deepened into something approaching disbelief. I was dressed in the blue and gray uniform of my old middle school—the same uncomfortable polyester blazer, the same poorly fitting khaki pants, the same white shirt with the school crest embroidered over the left breast pocket. Everything fit exactly as it had when I was thirteen years old, down to the slightly too-tight collar that had always made me feel like I was being slowly strangled throughout the school day.

“What is happening to me?” I muttered, running my hands through hair that felt different, younger, less weighed down by the constant stress and responsibility that had become my normal existence.

This had to be a dream, or some kind of hallucination brought on by the trauma I’d sustained during my captivity. I remembered having some kind of encounter with the White Lady, though the details were becoming fuzzy as this new experience overwhelmed my conscious memory. That hadn’t felt like a normal dream—it had carried the weight of genuine communication, of information being transmitted from one consciousness to another across impossible distances.

But this… this felt like a genuine dream, complete with the strange logical inconsistencies and emotional resonances that characterized subconscious processing of traumatic memories. I couldn’t remember exactly when this was supposed to be, but something about the light and the season suggested it was sometime in early spring, when New York briefly emerged from winter’s grip and became beautiful again.

I found myself walking forward almost without conscious decision, hoping that movement might trigger whatever mechanism would end this bizarre experience and return me to the harsh reality I needed to deal with. I had to get back to the others, had to find some way to escape my captivity and warn everyone about the dangers that were approaching. Every moment I spent trapped in this nostalgic fantasy was time that Jason could be using to touch Sydney and the others…

“Ha…” A weak sound escaped my throat as I stopped dead in my tracks, my eyes widening in shock as a memory clicked into place with devastating clarity.

I remembered this day now. I remembered it with the kind of perfect, painful detail that only came with experiences so traumatic they burned themselves permanently into your consciousness.

I was walking through one of Manhattan’s commercial districts, probably on my way home from school, when I saw a family emerging from an upscale clothing store. They moved with the kind of easy happiness that spoke to people who had never had to worry about money or safety or any of the thousand small fears that defined most people’s daily existence.

There were four of them: a beautiful woman in her thirties with perfectly styled blonde hair and two young girls who were clearly her daughters. Both girls had their mother’s blonde hair and bright smiles, and they were chattering excitedly about whatever purchases they’d just made.

But my gaze was drawn inexorably toward the tall man with dark hair who walked beside them, his arm wrapped protectively around the woman’s shoulders while he listened with obvious affection to the girls’ animated conversation.

I remembered this damned day with crystal clarity now. It was the first time I had seen my father with his new family.

The family he’d chosen to build after abandoning my mother and me.

How had I reacted back then? What had I felt seeing him smile at his stepdaughters with the kind of warmth and attention he had never shown me? Watching him look at his new wife with the kind of love and devotion that had been completely absent from his relationship with my mother?

I remembered now. I had run away.

I had turned and fled without confronting him, without demanding explanations or apologies, without even letting him know that I’d seen him and his perfect replacement family. I’d been thirteen years old, confused and hurt and angry in ways I didn’t have words for, and running had seemed like the only option that wouldn’t result in complete emotional breakdown.

But now, standing in this dream-recreation of that moment with the benefit of years of experience and the hardened perspective that came from surviving the end of the world, all I felt was hate.

Pure, focused, burning hatred for a man who had walked away from his responsibilities and built a new life without looking back. My mother had always told me not to waste emotional energy on him, had insisted that his choices reflected his failures rather than any deficiency on my part. But now that she was gone, now that the world had ended and survival had stripped away all the polite lies we told ourselves about forgiveness and moving on, I couldn’t maintain that philosophical detachment.

Were they still alive somewhere? Were they still happy and comfortable in some safe refuge while I fought every day to protect people who had become my real family? The irony was bitter beyond words—the man who had abandoned his actual son living in safety while that son was stuck in a desperate situation and with his mother dead…

I clenched my fists, feeling rage build in my chest.

“Huuh!” I gasped as my eyes snapped open and I found myself back in the technical operations room where I’d been imprisoned.

The dream shattered like glass, taking with it the warmth and light of that recreated New York afternoon and replacing it with the cold, sterile reality of my current situation. The familiar weight of the barbed wire restraints bit into my wrists and ankles.

It was still dark outside, the middle of the night based on the complete absence of natural light filtering through the few windows in the radio station. Not much time seemed to have passed since I’d lost consciousness, which was fortunate—every minute I remained trapped here was time that Jason had to carry out his mission against the people I cared about.

However, as my vision adjusted to the dim lighting, I realized that my situation had not improved during my unconsciousness. I was still firmly bound by the cruel barbed wire restraints that would cause severe injury if I tried to force my way free, and through the pitch darkness I could spot the enhanced infected standing just a few feet away, its pale eyes fixed on me with obvious hostile attention.

That damn creature was still guarding me, still ensuring that I couldn’t escape or attempt any kind of rescue mission. Its presence meant that any attempt to free myself would need to be conducted with absolute stealth and precision, or it would intervene with the kind of brutality it showed me.

I have to get away from here, I thought desperately. I have to find some way to reach the others before Jason can carry out whatever plans the Starakians have given him.

I have to…

My thoughts ground to a halt as my gaze fell on something that made my heart clench with grief so intense it was almost physically painful.

Drops of blood on the concrete floor, dark and still wet in the artificial lighting.

Jasmine’s blood, spilled when the infected creature had bitten her neck and begun the viral transformation that destroyed everything she had been.

I fell silent, feeling a lump form in my throat that made it difficult to breathe. The reality of what had happened, what I had failed to prevent, crashed over me like a tidal wave of guilt and grief and helpless rage once again.

“J…Jasmine…” I whispered her name.

I lowered my head, clenching my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional agony of knowing that someone who had trusted me, someone rare who had declared her love to me, was gone forever because I hadn’t been strong enough or smart enough or fast enough to protect her.

I felt my breathing quicken dangerously as her face flashed through my memory again and again—her shy smile, her tears, her fear. The images came faster and faster, building into a cascade of guilt and grief that threatened to overwhelm my ability to think rationally.

I felt like I was having a panic attack, my chest tightening and my vision blurring as the weight of failure pressed down on me like a physical force.

Why did this have to happen? Why did innocent people have to suffer for conflicts they had nothing to do with? Jasmine had done nothing wrong, had no connection to the Dullahan symbiotic or that race or the alien conflicts that had brought devastation to our world. She was just a girl in her late teens…

Humans had nothing to do with the ancient war between the Starakians and the symbiotic races, so why did so many people have to die for the ambitions and hatred of alien intelligences that viewed us as nothing more than tools or obstacles?

I gritted my teeth, fighting to prevent tears from falling from my eyes. Crying wouldn’t help anyone, wouldn’t bring Jasmine back, wouldn’t change the reality of what I had to do next.

I could cry later, after I’d escaped from this place and warned the others about the danger that was approaching them. Right now, I had to focus on the practical problem of getting free from these restraints and finding some way to fight back against enemies that seemed to possess every possible advantage.

But my hands were firmly secured by the barbed wire restraints, and any attempt to force my way free would cause severe lacerations that would weaken me for the battles ahead. I would have to use my enhanced abilities carefully and precisely to cut through the metal bonds without alerting the enhanced infected to what I was doing.

I began focusing my Dullahan powers into my right arm, preparing to channel wind blade energy in controlled bursts that would slice through the barbed wire while minimizing the damage to my own tissue. The technique would require enormous precision and careful timing, but it was my only chance of escaping before Jason could reach them.

Just as I began to gather the energy for my first attempt at freedom, I felt a shadow looming above me and realized with sinking heart that my situation was even worse than I’d thought.

I raised my gaze and saw the enhanced infected standing directly in front of me, its massive frame blocking out what little light existed in the technical room. Its pale eyes were fixed on my face and I realized that it had been watching me closely enough to detect even the subtle signs of preparation for enhanced ability use.

Are you kidding me?

This thing won’t let me make any moves toward escape.

The creature was watching me with the kind of focused attention that suggested it understood exactly what I was capable of and was prepared to intervene at the first sign of resistance. A single suspicious movement, any indication that I was trying to free myself or use my abilities, and it would beat me into unconsciousness again before I could make any meaningful progress toward escape. Even freezing time for ten seconds won’t be enough to get myself out of this situation. I would get caught and without the Time Freeze for another ten long minutes.

Am I trapped?

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