The Clash (The Permutation Archives Book 5) Read online

  It twisted there along with the hate that formed a solid pit in my stomach, settling uncomfortably as the darkness came to surround me again. There were lights in the tiny room. They had been on a couple of times, but never for more than a couple of minutes. I guessed it was so I didn’t go insane from being completely cut off from any stimuli. I didn’t care. The isolation would do enough damage on its own in time. I just had no idea how much time I would be spending in the black box meant to stop me from hurting anyone.

  It did what was intended. I barely felt the power stir inside when my anxiety peaked.

  Chapter

  TWO

  The stiff bench in my black prison was more cumbersome than comfortable, but somehow, I managed to fall asleep after my mind finally drifted away from the pain my phantom limb caused. The lack of light and anything to focus on made it much more difficult to think about anything else but the burning agony, and tears had burned at the corners of my eyes as I drifted off to a fractured sleep on the rough metal. I barely felt the textured ridges under my fingertips anymore.

  My stark, black surroundings were replaced with an amazing sky filled with a multitude of stars. Many more than could be seen in the city. The air smelled of damp Earth and pine – clean and refreshing. A massive change from my stifling confines that smelled more of stale sweat and waste. Pine trees stood tall and proud, perfectly green and vibrant somehow in the night. I even wore the typical blue jeans and V-neck t-shirt with sneakers. A pleasant change from what I wore outside of the illusion.

  I recognized the scene instantly, soft electric guitar playing in the background from the radio speaker of the car Cato had loved so much. Restored with his father’s blessing and assistance. Now it would rust in their home’s backyard and fall prey to neglect. I knew the memory of him would be too difficult for his parents to relive and a part of me was astonished when they didn’t flee with Cecilia and everyone else to the Fallen Paradigm. In a way, I understood it, but that didn’t stop the shock of it all. Julius’ parents hadn’t come either, as if what he was was his fault. He had done it to himself somehow, and they were ashamed. Cecilia’s willingness to leave her life behind must have struck the same chord with her family, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. She came from a strict household where disobedience and individuality were not tolerated.

  The same mentality rang true through most of our society so, if we managed to change the world, the societal shell shock would be extraordinary.

  Beautiful guitar riffs flowed through the air around me, a soft yet raw female voice joining the chorus of strings that accompanied. It was a scene I recognized. So eerily similar to the one I had dreamt of in the forest while we were on the run, Cato comparing me to an ancient goddess that lived in the Heavens.

  There was one difference, though.

  Cato was nowhere to be seen. His typical perch when we would travel to the Wall to gaze at the stars was the hood of his car, but he was absent, making me wonder just what the message would be here. When I dreamt of him, he always had something to convey, whether it be straight-forward or so cryptic I didn’t understand until hours later. The visions he sent blazing through my mind on occasion were as straight-forward as you could get. The brilliant flames and destruction that took residence within them only spoke of one thing. What remained of him – his energies – usually sent me into a tailspin trying to decipher them. Of course, the last time I had seen him in a dream, he was with my father. Both men were disappointed in me because I couldn’t stop myself from taking the revenge I craved into my own hands. It didn’t matter that it was in my head. The action I took was symbolic.

  Standing there before his car, headlights beaming more toward my feet rather than my eyes, the crickets sang. They seemed to be my only company among solitude. My eyes scanned my surroundings, seeing and hearing nothing beside the insects, the car, the music, and the cool night air that caused goosebumps to spread over my flesh.

  It was strange. I felt calm, serene. As if there was nothing to be afraid of as soon as I opened back up to the real world again. I looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled, some brighter than others, but breathtaking nonetheless.

  “It always amazed me that, when we were out here, I could never get you to look away from that sky,” Cato’s voice penetrated the atmosphere from behind me.

  I turned on my heels, nearly stumbling, but I quickly caught myself with arms stretched out to my sides to regain my balance. He looked as he always had standing just inside the line of pine trees, his brown eyes glinting in the light from the car. His flesh was blemish-free, no tears or gashes or bruises. Just as I wanted to remember seeing him in my mind. The way King had left him before I unwillingly finished the job was too much to bear. His hair was clean, clipped short, and tousled slightly with boyish charm.

  “I never thought you watched me that much,” I replied, so happy to see my friend that my heart swelled.

  Taking a step out of the tree-line, he smiled broadly. “It was hard not to. When you talked about the stars, you had this gleam in your eyes. Passion your dad introduced to you from day one.”

  Sadness overtook me, causing my shoulders to droop. I frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as if there wasn’t anything wrong with the world.

  I stood there, watching him as he walked toward me, his fingers trailing through the air as if he was playing a piano. It was a habit of his I had always found fascinating while he was alive, and I had found myself watching him sometimes, waiting for those moments. They were perfect, as if he felt the music of life and his fingers played it seamlessly while it moved through his body.

  “The world,” I paused, taking a deep breath as tears burned behind my eyes, “it’s not right.”

  “It’s never been right, Mila.”

  I shook my head, closed my eyes, and dropped my head into my hands with grief. I grieved for Cato. I grieved for my deceased mother. I grieved for my sister. I grieved for Ryder, and for Julius. For Cecilia. For Caius, who had had so much taken away from him. For me. I may never know a life of peace after all of this. Most of all, I grieved for the world who, in its open state of mind, still couldn’t accept the differences in others.

  Heavy hands came to rest on my shoulders, and when I looked up, Cato stood right before me. He smelled of the forest and of the Earth, his expression peaceful – tranquil.

  “But you can make it right,” he insisted.

  Sniffling, I looked deep into his deep brown eyes and let the tears that pricked my eyes fall, sobbing, “I don’t know how.”

  “You do.”

  “But I don’t, Cato. I can’t do this. King has me locked in a lead box…”

  A grin spread over his face, his bright white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Like Pandora’s. Oh, the wrath that will greet him when he opens it.”

  Again, with the references to mythology. He had always done that, especially in this new state deep within the recesses of my brain. Cryptic, but a small part of me understood it.

  “I don’t get you sometimes,” I breathed.

  His smile only grew.

  “You’re not meant to. Not all the time.”

  I laughed lightly, raising one hand to his full head of dark hair that hung slightly across his forehead. My fingers grazed the strands, and as I looked up at him, my heart broke all over again at how the world had lost such a magnificent human being. How, in a matter of moments, his presence was snuffed from the world. And I had done it – pressured by a madman with an agenda.

  “I miss you.”

  His expression turned pained and his brow furrowed, his eyes shimmering as moisture built within them. Raising one hand, he caressed my hair, and then pushed a stray strand behind my ear as only a brother would.

  “I’m not gone, Mila,” he assured me. His fingers than trailed across my fo
rehead as if piano keys resided there. “I’m in here, and like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

  I chuckled at the thought, “You promise?”

  “Promise,” he said with a soft smile.

  “Forever?” I asked, making certain our eyes met.

  “Forever.”

  Just like that, my mind pulled me from unconsciousness and into the world outside my mind where Cato lived. When my eyes opened, all I saw was darkness. All I felt was the scratchy heaviness of my metal cage. Somehow, I felt strangely at peace. I embraced one of the few moments in my short life where my heart didn’t race, and my mind was at ease – my body at rest after what felt like ages of running.

  My fingertips played over the rough texture of the bench in a steady, sing-song rhythm, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  Chapter

  THREE

  There was only so much one could do locked in a sealed metal box with no windows. All I could do was think, and my mind continued to take me down depressingly dark paths, causing me to believe this was the beginning of insanity. I guess it really didn’t matter. It really made no difference. The spark of insanity had begun long ago, brought to life the moment I was forced to kill one of my best friends to save the rest of our lives.

  That death sparked a revolution.

  Dreams where Cato and I spoke always seemed to change something within me when I felt hopeless. Like he grounded me from the inside out, literally. He was there, inside the deepest parts of my mind, just like he said. I had known it from the moment he had transferred a portion of himself into me, even if I didn’t recognize it. The moment our foreheads touched in that glaringly bright room, observed by Doctor Aserov and Ryder, everything had changed. I had met so many important people since that moment, and wouldn’t take any of it back. I just wished it were under better circumstances. Out of all of them, Ryder was the best to have ever come out of the death and violence that resulted from my actions.

  Cecilia.

  Poor Cecilia. Unsuspecting Cecilia, who I was certain had no inclination of what all her friends were. Secrets that we hid from her. I felt that she must have believed we didn’t trust her after we went missing, my mother confirming what had happened. How could she not say anything to any of us when we were finally reunited? Was it the hectic atmosphere of our meeting that caused her not to mention it? Or was this just a product of my own mind because of the lack of something to concentrate on?

  Running my fingers through my hair, I leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees. My prosthetic leaned on the bench next to me, touching my knee just enough so I didn’t lose it in the dark. I pushed a heavy breath from my lungs in an attempt to slow my growing paranoia.

  I needed something. I needed to get out. I needed the light. I needed something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and pushed it out slowly through pursed lips. My heart slowed, but not enough so that I couldn’t feel it beating rapidly against my ribcage – threatening to break free.

  My mind instantly jumped to something I hadn’t put much thought into once it was revealed. Ryder had only told a half-truth when it came to the loss he suffered when we sat alone in my hospital room after he and Doctor Aserov told me about the Harvest -- King’s pet project that had condemned many to a life of disability, servitude, or coma. Ryder had stated that his family had died in an accident with a transfer truck, but that was only half of the story. The rest came when I had inquired about it after my mother told me he had a much darker past than I believed. His brother hadn’t died in the same accident that claimed his parents. He had killed him to prove himself to King’s military regime.

  Forced.

  Much like I had been with Cato in the Spartan Compound. I hadn’t been angry with him for lying. It made a lot of what we went through easier somehow. Not admitting to the blood coating our hands. It was easier than looking down at them to see the crimson staining your skin, even if it was no longer physically present. Now that I thought about it, he had lied so that I would trust him. Not a horrid move on his end, but still a lie. Sitting there, trapped by King and in the dark with my paranoia, I still couldn’t bring myself to be livid with him for it.

  Reaching down beside me, I laid my hand on the metal prosthetic resting lazily against the stump of my leg, the sleeve still compressing it to help with the pain that still radiated through it. I hadn’t been in this level of pain the entire time I had been with the Fallen Paradigm. Was that because it was in constant use? Or because I had so much happening around me that I couldn’t focus on it, forcing me to tune it out completely? In my current state, there was nothing to keep my mind occupied beside my racing thoughts. A part of me believed that this was King’s intention. To drive me stark, raving mad.

  It was working.

  “Get your shit together, Mila,” I huffed to myself.

  I took the prosthetic in my hands and placed it at the end of my leg, feeling the familiar click and hiss of it as it latched on. Standing up, I began to pace, the metal of the prosthetic limb clanking against the metal of my prison loudly in the steady rhythm of my footsteps. The rubber soles of my boots did nothing to silence it, but the sound was oddly comforting after hours of sitting in complete, deafening quiet.

  “This is what he wants. Maybe, if you go crazy enough, you’ll go over to his side. Make it easier on him. You just have to hold it together,” I lectured, running my hands through my hair and attempting to avoid hitting a wall.

  “Talking to yourself, in there, old friend?” an all-too-familiar voice came over the speakers, causing me to freeze mid-step.

  I would have turned toward the voice if it hadn’t come from everywhere, echoing off the walls. My bad ear rang at the grating sound. I wasn’t certain if it was because I hated him, but his voice hadn’t been that annoying before he betrayed us to King.

  “What do you want, Nero?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he replied.

  I heard the sound of the computer and then saw cool blue light hit the wall in front of me. I turned, looking over my shoulder to find Nero scrutinizing me through the clear barrier King liked to observe me through.

  “Just wanted to watch you squirm.”

  He smiled, and those words took me back to the moments in the room I had killed Cato in. He had zapped all the air from the room, nearly suffocating us all to make certain King could escape. If it weren’t for his ability, I would’ve slaughtered them both.

  “You remember what happened the last time you said that?”

  “Ah,” he reached up and tapped the barrier between us, “but last time we didn’t have this handy cage. You’re useless until we want otherwise.”

  “You’re an asshole. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  He made a face as if I had hurt his feelings — his mouth turned into a mock ‘O’ with a hoot of sound as he pulled air in.

  “Ouch,” he hissed. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you if you didn’t have anything nice to say, not to say it at all? Words hurt, you know?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, effectively closing myself off to him, I turned to face him for the first time since he had killed my mother. If it was possible, he looked more capable than he had before. More muscle and less wire as if he had been hefting weight around. For all I knew, he had carried his weight in guns and ammo since he joined King’s forces. His body was completely sheathed in gray. Even down to his heavy combat boots. His gunmetal eyes were cold, no hint of the man I had known before glinting under the surface. Cato’s death had changed him. Everything since had solidified the change. Pounded it into him. His face had even changed. His clean-shaven jaw was now littered with stubble, and his brow seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. His hair looked the same as it always had. A little longer than Julius’, but lightened slightly by the sun.

  “I can’t say I’m ex
actly worried about that these days. Plus,” I smirked, tilting my head slightly in a condescending manner, “my mother never said anything about being nice to traitors.”

  He was silent for a moment as an angry frown crossed over his features, causing his eyes to darken just enough for me to notice. His breathing picked up. I heard it through the barrier that separated us, but I wouldn’t take the words back. He was a traitor. It hadn’t mattered what I had done under duress. It mattered that he had betrayed us in moments we should have stayed together.

  “I think it’s funny how you keep throwing that word around. Like you didn’t do anything wrong,” he sneered.

  The smile that crossed my lips came out of frustration. He couldn’t see the difference between the two of us. He had yet to realize that things weren’t black and white, but all the events that led up to this very moment were in shades of gray – sometimes indecipherable shades. A few people in the distance behind him, people I hadn’t noticed when we began the conversation, glanced in our direction with worried expressions.

  “I have blood on my hands. I won’t lie about that. But at least I didn’t sell out the only people that cared about me…”

  “You don’t just have blood on your hands, Mila,” he interrupted, shouting over the beep and whir of computers and plane engines. “You have Cato’s blood on your hands, and countless others.”

  “And you don’t?”

  My eyes met his, and I was greeted with defiant silence. Crossing his arms, his gray eyes shifted from emotion to emotion, ranging from anger to disbelief to grief. Like I didn’t still feel the same raging emotions. I did, and they were part of what drove my actions toward the inevitable.