Copyright © 1999 by Ryan Heilig All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

He scoured the group for the markings of an officer but couldn’t find one. Finally he just went to the closest person. “Corporal, whose in charge of this clean up?” He tried to act like a marine, thinking that this guy would be more likely to speak to a fellow leatherneck than to an ex-Army ranger. 

“Sir,” the man said with a pleasant Virginia twang in his voice, “The Colonel took direct command of this mission. He’d just happened to be at Fort Douglas when we got your report, sir” 

“Shit. Just my luck.” Derian pulled a pack of Marlboro’s from his jacket and offered the corporal one. The man took one with a wide grin. 

“ You can’t get these on base any more. Ever since the Surgeon General made her big to-do about cigarette smoke last year, all they’ll sell to us are those non-nicotine things. They taste like they came out of the southern end of Big Foot.” 

Derian flicked his lighter and lit his own cigarette, then handed the Bic to the other man. 

“ No, I’ve never held with those kind of cigarettes either. My grand father smoked Marlboros, so did my father, I'm not gonna be the one to break the tradition.” His New England accent was a sharp contrast to the corporals southern. 

“Well, if you could, would you happen to be able to tell me where the Colonel is? I couldn’t find him in this crowd.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” The corporal took a deep drag then pointed in the direction of the cabin, “He insisted on seeing the scene before it was disturbed in any way.” 

Derian turned to say thanks but the corporal was already going on with what he was doing, taking pictures of the cabin from every possible angle. Deciding that the corporal obviously didn’t care about such pleasantries, he turned and started across the lawn towards the cabin, cursing to himself “This day just gets better and better” 
 
 

In side the cabin Derian was brought back to last night with cold harshness. The rourshack like shapes of the splattered blood on the wall told him that they hadn’t started cleaning yet, they were still collecting evidence for his court martial. He scanned the main room of the cabin and didn’t see the Colonel, so he stepped over the decapitated body of Marcie Douglas, one of the unfortunate people who came home to find three people in the midst of a very strange fight, in the middle of their living room. The door to the master bed room was closed so Derian knocked then opened it. He walked in to find Colonel Peintad bent over the body of Juan DeLacas, Derian’s now ex-partner. 

“Son, please record cause of death to be four, what appear to be, hollow point wounds to the chest and one to the forehead” as he said this the Colonel put his gloved finger in to the head wound. “this wasn’t a standard bullet wound but we’ll see to that in the autopsy” 

Derian chose this moment to make his presence in the room known. “I’ll save you the trouble, sir. The chest wounds were standard hollow points, but I shot him in the head with a Beryllium cased exploding slug. Had to make sure he wouldn’t get up. And don’t forget the shot to the knee.” 

Peintad stood up, his face beginning to flush with anger. “Are you aware, Major Palmer, that you have just confessed to the murder of your partner and fellow officer. I caution you to weigh your next answer. It is my responsibility to tell you that you are now the Prime suspect, and therefore subject to any backlash this action may have.” 

Now Derian felt the blood rising in him, “Oh, get off it, Reed. This isn’t my fault. When you guys sent Juan and me after this nut job you told us that he was a level one telepath with minor abilities. That man….” He said, pointing into the main room of the cabin, near yelling, “…Got into my partner’s head and made him come after me. If I didn’t kill Juan he would’ve killed me then probably would’ve been forced to turn the gun on him-self. I killed Juan in self defense.” 

Colonel Peitad looked at Derian mercilessly, “ And I suppose you’re gonna tell me that he did the same with all of those people out there, sent them after you I mean. He was a level one telepath, The Shop tested him, he had the ability to read minds, but not to influence them. The abilities you’re talking about would only be able to be done by a third level telepath. That kind of thing would be noticed during the testing.” 

“What if he didn’t want it noticed. Don’t you think a third level telepath would be able to alter test scores, to make himself look weaker so that The Shop wouldn’t take as much notice of him? Besides, I was there, I saw those people go from scared to blood thirsty in seconds. They walked in on the fight just after I killed Juan and were scared stiff, then when Mr. Benton looked at them they turned towards me trying to kill me. I killed them, but when I got up Benton was already gone.” Derian sat on the bed, finally the fatigue from the nights actions was catching up with him. 

Peintad moved across the room towards the bathroom, “Well, you want to know what I think happened?” 

“No, but you’re probably gonna tell me any way, so get on with it” 

“Fine. Yes, I think that you and Captain DeLacas found Benton in this cabin, but when you got here you and Mr. Benton killed your partner and killed the civilians when they walked in. Then you arranged for Benton to escape before you called in for support from the base.” 

“Can you smell what you’re shoveling colonel? What proof do you have that I could‘ve done any thing like that?” Derian jumped to a standing position, to defend himself if necessary. 

“Well, lets just think of your history.” A splash of water could be heard as the colonel washed his hands in the bathroom, “ The Lot 6 program was a disaster, every participant had to be terminated. Later, that the same thing happened in Lot 7, except one subject was allowed to live, you. Now we’re discovering that Lot 8 is just as defective and we have to terminate the subjects. I think that you felt sympathy for Benton’s plight and you decided, as a fellow mutant, you would help him escape. We all know that thanks to the Lot 7 program, you have second level telepathic abilities along with telekinetic powers. You decided that you would play the great emancipator and free your fellow freak. Am I far from the mark, Major?” 

“I’m no traitor Colonel. Juan and I came here under orders to terminate, we tried to the best of our ability to do so, but due to undisclosed information, we were defeated and Juan was killed. Do you really think that I’d kill my partner of twelve years to free a criminal test subject, simply because we share origins of our genetic material? If you do, you seriously under estimate me.” With that Derian turned and walked out of the master bedroom, through the main chamber, this time not caring weather or not he stepped on poor Mrs. Douglas. He pushed past some one carrying equipment out of the house, knocking some of the stuff on the floor, the man grumbled something about Derian’s mother’s relationship to a female dog, then began to pick up what had been dropped. 

Once outside Derian was able to control his temper. He started to calm down and as he did he saw how perfect Peintad’s story was. This whole thing could be pinned on him. He started realizing that a screw up such as this doesn’t go with out a fall man, and he was going to be thier fall man. He looked at his watch, 10:15 AM. The day wasn’t even half over and it was already one of the worst he’d ever had. 
 
 

 She looked at her watch, 10:15 AM. “Jesus, Ruthie. This day isn’t even half over and already it’s one of the worst I’ve ever had.” Beth rubbed the back of her neck. Granted she had only been at work for a half-hour, but she was three hours late. When she finally got through the doors of A&D Bakery at 9:45 her life had already gone through the wringer. When she awoke at 6:30, an hour late waking up, she found her house torn to shreds. Stepping very carefully through the maelstrom, she found her dog on the couch happily chewing on a pillow. After yelling at Maggie for ten minutes about the wrongs of destroying the house she finally got dressed and headed out side to find her car missing. She hailed a cab and went to the police station to fill out an auto-theft report, which took another hour. With all the necessary paper work filled out and the promise of the desk Sargent that they’d do their best, she hailed another cab to work. Bursting through the back entrance she found Abbey Phelps, the A in A&D Bakery, giving her the evil eye all the way from the punch clock to the dressing room. Abbey cornered her coming out of the dressing room. 

 “Young Lady, with work habits such as this you will never find your self in management or any other form of reputable work, you will always be a drone. I’m not saying this to be mean, just to let you know where you’re letting your future head.” 

 Beth bowed her head, “Yes, ma’am” 

 “Now run along poor Ruth has been covering both your work load and hers, I don’t want her to have a stress related heart attack and sue us.” 

 At twenty-three Beth wasn’t sure she was letting her future head anywhere except to work each day, but at Fifty-three and carrying two work loads, Ruthie was very sure to have a stress-related heart attack. Putting on her gloves and getting a reassuring smile from Ruthie, Beth looked at her watch, made her comment about her day and set to work. The process was very mindless, and Beth took comfort in the routine. Mix the bread, roll the bread, bake the bread, set the bread in the large case so that on the other side people could reach in and select their choice. This cycle went over and over until one o’clock PM, when Ruthie and she got a break while Abbey and her husband David took over the process for an hour. David was a good man, strong, not particularly smart, but with a good heart. His only problem, Beth decided was that he was stuck with the wrong woman. Abbey was meticulous and cruel, and had long ago broken David of his spirit. 

Ruthie and Beth had always taken their lunch in a small park across from the bakery. Sitting under the trees in the pleasant, spring sun one couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast between the open beautiful park and the cramped hot bakery kitchen. Once settled and eating, Beth related to Ruthie the events of this morning. Ruthie, a woman who’s great years obviously gave her insight into such things, simply shrugged as she chewed on her sandwich, she swallowed and said, 
 “So your pooch gobbled a few things and some one is stripping down your car for parts, who cares? You have insurance on the car and your house was just full of knick-knacks, don’t lie to me they were knick-knacks, I’ve seen them. Be happy for what you have. What if you had woken up to discover that a burglar made the mess and he was still there to see what he could do to you? You’d be in the hospital now, not here whining to me. Like I said, child, be happy for what you have. You have your life, your health, shelter, a demeaning but paying job, and a healthy, be it rambunctious, puppy. Your life is fine, enjoy what you have while you have it.” 

 “God, you sound like my mom,” Beth laid back in the grass letting the memories drift back to her. “ She always had to find the bright side to things, she said ‘If your life ever gets you down, just imagine it with out the things you still have, you’ll sing a different tune.’ She was great. I suppose she learned that from being an orphan, her mom died when she was about six, and her dad died when she was seven. She had to go live with a friend of the family. She was tough.” 

Thinking of her mother so much made Beth cry, not because she missed her mom, though she did terribly, but because her mom was her pillar, nothing could make Charlene McGee back down. The woman was able to move mountains in Beth’s eyes, but every kid thinks that about their parents when they’re young. When her mom died, Beth was broken, she was sent to an orphanage and because of her young age found adoptive parents fast, but she would never be the same, never be as strong or be able to love as deeply. She felt for her adoptive parents, but she could never come to say she loved them. They were just supplied replacements for the mother that had died. Beth never knew her father, her mom always said that he was one of those few great men who die before they have a chance to prove it. In the story her mom told her, Beth’s father had died when the apartment building they were living in at the time burned down. However, Beth suspected something more, because when her mom told the story and got to the part about the building catching on fire because a woman in room 3 C fell asleep smoking, her eyes would drift away and become full of tears. Beth had always figured that having her husband killed by fire was the reason that her mom had always cautioned her of fire. She had many books about different kinds of fire and how to put them out, such as standard combustible fire, chemical fire, or electrical fire. From an early age Beth was taught how to light campfires carefully, keeping ashes and burning material inside the rock circle, and for some reason, in the winter time Beth found her mom staring at the flames in the fire place, seeming to be amused or extremely interested. Once, Beth remembered, when her mom was cooking she… 

 “…BETH, WAKE UP.” 

 Ruthie shook Beth lightly until she got a response, “Nap times over child, back to the grease pit. This gets harder to leave every day, I think that when I win the lottery I’m gonna buy a park, put up a hammock, and just nap from May to September.” 

 ‘Not a bad notion’ Beth thought. Though winning the lottery seemed unlikely, but it couldn’t hurt to dream of a future where one had a lot of money and could lounge around all day. ‘That would make Ruthie happy, but not me’ Beth was always a fighter at heart, she wasn’t happy if things came easily. ‘The struggle is ¾ of the experience’, her mom had always said. Picking up her empty lunch bag and tossing it into the nearest trash can, Beth made her way across the street to the bakery, around back and through the rear entrance mere steps behind Ruthie. Once back into the mindless work, Beth quickly slipped back to memories of her mother, but mostly the odd things this time. Her queer obsession with fire, the mysterious loss of her husband/Beth’s father, also an odd reverence for men who worked for the government. Beth remembered how any time a Department of Treasury person would call with their little surveys or any time she would encounter a police officer, her mother would simply give them one word answers and an arctic cold attitude until they left her alone. Her mother was no revolutionary, but she couldn’t trust the government for some reason. “Beth,” Her mother had said, “ Never trust someone who says that they’re there to help and serve you, but obviously doesn’t care of your opinion in the matter.” Charlene McGee was an incredibly smart woman and Beth took everything she had ever told her to heart and in times like this, she was glad she did, otherwise she’d have no mind set to fall back on. 

 At three O’clock Beth was happy to be sent home. The next shift had arrived and even though Beth hadn’t worked all of her hours today, they didn’t need her. She said good-bye to Ruthie and went out side. For a second she was confused as to where she parked, then she remembered the fate of her car. Barely catching a bus, she was able to ride over to the corner of Bellmont Avenue and Perkins Street. There she would pick up a few things at the little market on the corner, then walk the couple of blocks home. She got off at the corner in front of the shop and almost tripped on the curb. Inside she just got a few essentials for the night, a case of Coca-Cola, a T.V. Dinner, Vanilla ice cream with whipped cream, and Hershey Kisses to go on top. Walking the few blocks home was no trouble on a day like this, once home she decided the day shouldn’t be wasted and took Maggie for a nice walk around town. 

 Beth got back at six and popped the T.V. dinner in the oven. She loved T.V. dinners, probably because she spent so much time baking at work, that a short seven minutes, with four minutes to cool down, was an acceptable amount of time to cook a dinner. After her eleven minutes of cooking time, Beth sat down in front of the T.V. and clicked play on the remote for the VCR. As she watched some movie about a weird guy who solves missing pet cases, she leafed through the today’s paper. Titles such as ‘Gov. Jackson puts forth new concealed weapons bill’ and ‘Construction on new Barton Dawes Highway begins Saturday’ graced the front page, but it wasn’t until she got to page four that she felt a lump build in the pit of her stomach. Her hands all of the sudden got clammy and she felt déjà vu for no reason she could discern. All the memories of her mom’s description of the apartment building burning down started coming back. Beth put down the paper and tried to think why anything in the paper would give her a reaction like that. At the top of page four was a story titled ‘Five die in tragic cabin fire in Port Clyde’ 
 
 

‘Five die in tragic cabin fire in Port Clyde’; Derian couldn’t believe his eyes, they gave this completely stupid and unbelievable cover story, and the public was just eating it up. Five people were brutally gunned down and then set on fire to cover the evidence, and the Port Clyde police simply believed it was a house fire. He refolded the paper and set it on the table in the middle of the waiting room, looked at his watch, 11:54 am. His meeting with General Andersen was at 11:30 but of course the general was busy. When he inquired as to how much longer the general was going to be, the secretary curtly told him that the general was in a very important meeting and asked not to be disturbed. Derian kept thinking back to the fight with Benton the previous week. 

He and Juan tracked Benton to the cabin, they were very careful to enter the cabin undetected, they had no way of knowing weather or not they owners of the cabin had been home when Benton came knocking on their door. With out any knowledge of hostages Derian had to use his mental powers to see if he could sense any one ahead in the cabin. Even though using his powers sapped his strength greatly he had to know what they were facing in this place. When he sensed no one but Benton at home, Derian gave Juan the signal that it was safe to proceed. The entered the main room of the cabin and found Benton kneeling on the floor in front of the fire place, apparently he was trying to start a fire. They advanced slowly on him, making as little noise as possible, but Juan stepped on a squeaky floorboard. At the sound Benton whirled around. He had a gun in his hand, but hadn’t yet brought it up to fire. Juan ran towards him to catch him off balance, but stopped dead in his tracks half way between himself and Benton. The criminal stood up and started to grin and chuckle ominously. Derian called to his partner, but got no response. Finally he decided he would apprehend Benton and deal with Juan afterwards. Derian brought his weapon up and was about to give Benton his Miranda warning when Juan turned to face him. There was nothing in Juan’s eyes, Derian felt like he was staring at a zombie. Juan jumped on him knocking the gun out of his hands. Once on the ground Juan proceeded to beat him. Having just used his powers to scan the cabin, Derian was still weak, he couldn’t fight back. He tried using his powers to reach into Juan’s mind to snap him out of what ever trance Benton had put him in, but he was also too weak to even do that. Juan took a swing but missed his mark by a couple of inches, punching the floor with a solid thud. Derian took his chance and heaved Juan off of him. Getting up, Derian ran to the bedroom to give himself some time to regroup. Just as he got through the doorway he stepped on something and tripped. Rolling quickly he look over to what he fell over, his gun. Juan was walking with a weird limp, making him look like a even more like a zombie, possibly out of that George Romero movie, Night of the Living Dead. The slow gate that Juan took gave Derian time to pick up his gun and stand up. Trying one last time to reach into Juan’s mind to bring him back, Derian felt his knees get weak with the fatigue of the mental effort. Now there was no other option, Derian shot his partner in the knee. The shot blew out Juan’s knee but he kept coming, while under Benton’s mental control Juan obviously didn’t feel pain. Derian put three more shots in Juan’s chest, no effect. Behind Juan, Derian saw Benton making for the door. There was no more time left to just stop Juan from coming, Derian had to put him down. Backing up, Derian pulled the magazine out of his gun, pulled a different one off of his belt. Chambering the first bullet, Derian then aimed and shot Juan in the head. The force of the specially made exploding bullet blew Juan back, landing on his side at the foot of the bed, His face being pretty much all that remained of his head. 

Seeing his time was about up Benton reached for the doorknob to make his escape, but before he could open it the door swung open striking him. A man walked in, arms full of luggage. These had to be vacationers renting the cabin for the spring season. Surprised to see two men, both with guns, in his vacation home, the man started to say something that sounded like a protest, but before he could finish his jaw went limp. He turned to Derian with those same soulless eyes that Juan had had. Derian knew the only solution and shot the man in the head. As the man fell back the rest of the family entered, arms full of luggage. The two grown women started to scream and the two small boys looked between Benton and Derian with confused expressions on their faces. Before Derian could even think to tell them to get out, they all stopped what they were doing and turned to Derian. Benton ran out the open door while Derian was deciding what to do. Derian was torn, he had no time to waste. He had to chase that criminal and catch him, but he didn’t want to kill a whole family when maybe he could get out be fore they turned. Maybe with Benton out of the house his hold over the family would diminish. 

Derian tried to push past the people, but just as he got to them they started to reach for him. One of the women grabbed him and out of instinct Derian struck her in the face with the butt of his weapon, she didn’t even wince at the hit. All four of them reached for him so he made his decision with the will of the trained Army Ranger that he was. He shot the women first, being larger they were more of a threat. He waited to shoot the boys thinking that maybe as Benton moved farther a way his grip would release, but they kept coming. Derian took aim, grimaced, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The boy on the right went down like an anvil in those old roadrunner cartoons. Derian could almost see the word “thump” appear as the boy hit the ground. Shooting the second boy came easier but was no less painful. Derian stood up looked around at what he had done and threw up on the spot. Once he had collected himself, he made his way to the telephone and called the base to ask for a clean up crew. Derian gave the operator the address and slammed the receiver down. Stumbling out to the front yard Derian breathed in a large breath of fresh air, and vomited again. He removed the clip from his gun and threw both the clip and the gun back into the house through the front door. Finding a bench near the edge of the forest, Derian slumped into it to wait for the clean up crew to arrive. For a while he just sat, wordlessly and thoughtlessly resting. Then with a flash of memory he saw the first boy hit the ground again. He was over come by the urge to throw up again but fought it. What kind of agent had he become? Derian Palmer had joined the Army, then Lot 8, because he believed he could help people, either through his actions as an officer or through scientific study as a guinea pig for Lot 8. Could he still believe he was helping people after he had just killed a whole family in cold blood? The image of the boys dead on the floor came back to him again, then the image of their eyes as they attacked him. It was the only way! It was him or them and he chose to survive, It was the only way! As the clean up crew arrived he vomited again. He watched as they set up and couldn’t help thinking that in his efforts to stop a murderer he had, in fact become a murderer himself. 

“Major Palmer… Major Palmer? MAJOR PALMER!” 

Derian woke up with a jolt to the secretary’s yelling voice, “Yea, sorry.” Feeling very stupid, he looked at his watch, 12:54 p.m.! He had been asleep for an hour! The secretary cleared her throat and said: 

“The General will see you now.” 

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