Whitney Dobek

Quinn Avery held tight to her conviction, slipping through the city streets as if walking were
her only mode of transportation. It was a necessary sacrifice—keeping her feet on the ground—to avoid calling unwanted attention her way. The morning was dreary and misty, and she itched to launch into the air, feel freedom in the form of cool, damp wind on her face. Each step, the slap of her shoes hitting the wet concrete, grounded her in the decision to be unrelenting, to push forward with their pursuits. Her feet were moving in the right direction, even though some people disagreed.

Evan communicated his disagreement by refusing to speak to her today, turning a blind eye like he did every time Quinn left to meet with the group. But the conviction in her heart was unmovable. His was as well. And for once in their lives, their beliefs had their stubborn feet planted on opposing sides. If she were honest, it broke her heart. But, with so many things regarding Evan, she was not being honest with herself or anyone else.

She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt before tucking her hands deeper into the pockets as she weaved between puddles on the sidewalk. The wind swirled and eddied between the looming
buildings, currently pushing her from behind like it was nudging her toward her destination. It cut through the cotton fabric, pulling a few strands of hair loose from her hood and tossing them in front of her face.

After a glance left and right, Quinn darted across the last four lane street before the city blocks gave way to a sprawling, suburban neighborhood. A quick cut through an alleyway, and she would be at Marissa's house. Where plans were being made. Where she could be with others of likeminded beliefs--going into hiding was the last thing that they wanted to do. It was time to fight.

Just the thought made Quinn's heart thump in anticipation. She swung her legs over the short fence surrounding Marissa's property and practically skipped to the door. Four knocks delivered in perfect rhythm, and the door swung open.

"Why are you here?" Marissa's soft voice drifted from the hooded figure in the shadows behind the cracked door, requiring identification before permitting entry.

"Every Edited lost to the Opposition is another friend turned enemy." Quinn recited the secret pass phrase in her dreams. Not only had Marissa made this the code phrase, but it was their new way of life. Marissa stressed its significance at every opportunity.

Marissa opened the door wider, pushing the hood off her ash brown hair as she stepped aside to let Quinn through. The house was shrouded in darkness, save for the light that shined from the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee beckoned.

"No Kristen today?"

Quinn shrugged and waved her hand. The absence required no further explanation. Kristen
had her hands full.

"Jake will be disappointed. He's trying to hack some group he thinks could be a front for the Opposition. I'm not optimistic that he's right. Or that his hacking skills can get us access." Her brows raised. A hint of smirk graced her face as she led Quinn to the kitchen.

"I’ll set our resident computer whiz on it later. That is if she steps away from her research before I pass out for the night."

The warm kitchen had been the backdrop for so many meetings as of late—all of them huddled around the bar or using the emptied breakfast nook to practice fighting both with and without their abilities.

"Hey Jake." Quinn grabbed a mug and poured a steaming cup from the coffee pot.

He nodded hello, too engrossed in his work for words.

"Still can't get Evan here?" Marissa grabbed her own mug.

"Stubborn as a mule and swears he's reporting to bunkers Saturday."

A scalding sip of the dark roasted, bitter liquid settled Quinn’s stomach. She flopped onto a barstool, placing her feet on another. One cup of the strong stuff, then she could function. Function and pull herself out of the Evan-induced funk.

"Is Manipulation practice off the table for today?" Quinn asked. When the others in the room treated her inquiry as rhetorical, she added, “This is supposed to be our last meeting.” The words left Quinn’s lips whinier than she’d intended, but it felt justified.

"I know you hate this part." Marissa leaned against the counter beside Quinn.

She was right. Practicing with her hands and experimenting with how the ability, the same all three here today shared, allowed her to affect the world around her—that was the real utility in these meetings. These things gave her an advantage over an opponent.

"But planning and investigating leads is as valuable as physical combat. Probably more so. In fact—”

“Attacks have doubled in the last two days.” Quinn didn’t need another speech. She hid behind another sip of her coffee to avoid Marissa’s scowl.

“I am aware of the statistics.”

Quinn set her mug down with a clink. “The Opposition are privy to the government’s plans. I just know it. Three days before the Edited are set to report and attacks double?”

“I’m not arguing with you. It is highly suspect.” Marissa nodded.

“What if they’re waiting at the bunkers?” The Edited were being forced into these underground shelters for safety, but by doing so, the government was about to herd groups of Edited into one place. They could very well be painting targets on their backs.

“The Opposition movements don’t seem to indicate any plans of that nature. They’d have to split their army into more forces, and it doesn’t seem like they have.” Marissa stuck her pointer finger in Quinn’s face and waved it in small circles. “You see, this is exactly what planning and investigating gets you. The value of this information is—”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted Marissa’s lecture, startling the trio. A knock that was not the secret knock. A knock that made Quinn's hair stand on end.

Marissa's bright blue eyes darted between Quinn and Jake.

"Were we expecting another?" Her voice was a barely audible whisper. Both shook their heads. Marissa nodded. "Lay low. I'll check it out."

Flipping her hood back over her head, she moved down the hall without making a sound.

As Marissa reached the entryway, the sound of glass shattering came from the living room.

The windows. The front door crashed open. Shouts and scuffles brought Quinn and Jake out of the kitchen.

Seconds after the windows burst open, Quinn reached the front door. Marissa hunched over a male intruder. He laid motionless on the living room floor.

Blood covered the entryway, trickling down the cracks in the tile floor. Marissa slumped back against the wall. Even through the dim lighting, there was no doubt that it was Marissa’s blood soaking the front of her black, now torn, sweatshirt.

She coughed, and more streamed from an abdominal injury, adding to the pool of blood on the floor. The light faded from her eyes as she slipped from consciousness.

Marissa. Quinn might have screamed it aloud or maybe the cry only echoed between her ears. She couldn't lose Marissa.

Quinn rushed to Marissa's side without a second thought, but there were still more intruders in the house. Another man shoved Quinn from behind, slamming her into the opposite wall. Jake rolled the man away from her, but he was leveled by the man--Opposition with an obvious Strength ability.

A female intruder stood over Marissa with something in her hand. Quinn had yet to see the device in person, but she knew what it was from all the news reports and what Evan had described from his encounter. It was the chip placement device. This slender black tool was responsible for the hurt and fear that had washed over the lives of every last Edited. It was the reason they were being sent to the bunkers.

"Just get them chipped, and let's go," the man said, as he dragged an unconscious Jake next to where Marissa lay bleeding.

Shock dulled Quinn’s reaction time. Jake fell victim to the chipping device in front of her eyes, but she would not let Marissa suffer the same fate.

Flinging her hands out in desperation, she directed some energy at the device which flew out of the woman's hand and shattered into pieces on the floor with Quinn's forceful blow.

"You bitch." She spat at Quinn, a hateful flame burned in her stare.

"Leave her, let's go!" The man was already carrying Jake and Marissa out the door.

"Our orders were to get everyone," the woman argued.

"Someone has to carry Mr. Unconscious over there, and I have my hands full."

"Dammit!" The woman stomped over to the initial male intruder, still sprawled on the living room floor, swinging him over her shoulder before using her Speed ability to exit the house without looking back.

Quinn ran to the doorway. Her mind raced to come up with a plan. Her heart forced more adrenaline through her body with every quickening beat.

This man. This man was carrying both her friends, and he was not leaving. She could not allow it. Not without one last attempt to thwart his mission. Quinn raised her hands.

"Freeze," the man shouted, holding Marissa over his shoulder and supporting Jake with one of his large, muscular arms. His other arm was outstretched toward Quinn. "Or you won't take another breath."

Quinn stopped in her tracks. This intruder had another ability. And she had no idea what was behind that open palm pointed directly at her heart.

Time stood still. Marissa's voice echoed in her mind, reminding her to think of her own safety before she attempted anything. So, Quinn watched. She watched as her friends were taken away by the man. She watched them disappear to join the ranks of the Opposition. That is, if they even lived to see another day.

And then, they were gone. Quinn collapsed to her knees in disbelief. Gone. Grief swelled inside, overwhelming to the point that she was unable to release the emotion. Not a single tear would come.

Where did she go from here? Every trace of plans or actions were gone. Her mind was blank save for the replay of the last few minutes. Marissa hunched in a pool of her own blood. Marissa and Jake in the arms of a man-made killing machine. It was a looping highlight reel of trauma that ended each time with Quinn, sitting alone in the driveway.

After what felt like a lifetime, her training took over. Reality came crashing in quicker than her panicked inhales. Somewhere safe. She needed security. And there was only one place left on this Earth where she could find it.

Quinn launched into flight and returned home to the apartment that she shared with Kristen and Evan, stumbling through the door and into Evan's arms, a shaking, sobbing mess.

***

Hope pulled her out of bed. Early that Saturday following Marissa’s capture, Quinn had not yet recovered from her encounter with the Opposition. Not that she had expected to. She held on tight to the hope that Marissa would be found alive. Even if she were Opposition, if that chip eventually got placed, Quinn just wanted her to be breathing.

Before the sun rose, Quinn, Evan, and Kristen had packed—well, Evan and Kristen had packed while Quinn watched in a semi-catatonic state. Marissa had mentored them all at some point in the development of their abilities, but their opinions on how to help her were vastly different.

Evan insisted Marissa wouldn’t want them risking themselves to find her. Kristen said they needed more time to plan. And Quinn, she wanted to act. Every bone in her body begged for her to act. But ultimately, Evan and Kristen were right. Marissa had stressed that they stay safe, only taking risks that were smart ones, and they couldn’t take smart risks without a plan. All semblance of a plan dissolved with the attack on their group.

And so, too defeated to put up any more of a fight, Quinn allowed the others to pack her bags and trailed along as they left for the bunker entrance.

The letter that held the instructions, the one that had been individualized and sent to each Edited, was crumpled as Quinn pulled it out to glance at the directions again. They were in the right location, but the morning sun still gracing her face made it clear this was not the bunker itself.

Buses, all black with tinted windows, lined the field behind a massive building that resembled an empty airplane hangar. The location bustled with people, each with a backpack or duffel bag or two, scanning the area for where they were supposed to go, joining the lines of other Edited that wound through the building. The property, a private airfield maybe, was surrounded by a fence guarded by men and women in military uniform.

Where was the fight in these people? Everyone was doing as they were told, seemingly without concern for their fellow Edited, those being subjected to the horror the Opposition wielded.

These people only cared about keeping themselves safe. Though, who was Quinn to talk anymore?

Each person in line was subjected to digital identification methods, a multitude of scans for themselves and their baggage, and a last final check by what looked like a hand-held metal detector.

Kristen leaned in with a hushed excitement. “That’s my chip scanner.” Her lab had been granted the task of examining the microchip the Opposition was using—hoping to deliver the antidote, or whatever you'd call the cure to the small piece of metal that ended self-awareness and control. But nullifying those effects had proved more difficult than expected. Detection was as far as they'd gotten.

Quinn took a long look back at the man scanning the other Edited as they entered. They were taking every possible precaution to protect everyone that had arrived. It seemed like it was out of a movie—a science fiction movie at that, about an Armageddon or even an alien threat—rather than something she was living.

How was this the best solution? How was hiding the best idea the government could conjure up? Sure, the Edited were becoming soldiers for the Opposition at an unthinkable pace, but some of them had useful abilities. They could be hidden amongst the military, prepared, armed, given the chance to fight for their freedom.

Quinn trudged along with the others in a daze. Theories about their future floated around on a nonexistent breeze, whispers following as they were shuttled about. A stuffy bus with blackened windows. Bunker #16. A cramped holding room. Fingerprints verified again. A cramped hallway. A microchip scan again.

The nerves and anxiety in the bunker were palpable. Eyes darted, feet tapped, hands wrung, some talked in a hush at warp speed and others not at all.

“Great,” Kristen leaned in to whisper. “Our bunker looks darker and drearier than our middle school. We barely survived that place.”

“Just give it a chance,” Evan said looking around once they were in the hall. “It does have that vibe though.”

“I feel like I might be sent to the principal’s office,” Kristen joked.

“When were you ever in the principal’s office?” Quinn asked, breaking her extended silence with a raised eyebrow.

Kristen crossed her arms. “There was the one time the computer team hacked into the principal’s personal laptop.”

“Oh no,” Quinn said, her voice riddled with sarcasm, “you and those other computer team delinquents.”

The trio laughed. Even if the giggle had to be mostly stifled, it felt good to laugh.

After their busload was cleared for the second time, they were herded to a large gymnasium with chairs assembled in front of a small podium. People were already seated in the space, likely having arrived on the bus prior. While they waited for whatever it was they were waiting for, conversation spread throughout the gym. Speculations on where they were, what they were going to do every day, how long they would be here, and other related topics filled the air.

It wasn’t long before all the chairs were occupied, and a hush fell over the gym. A gentleman, probably approaching or just into his seventies, trudged toward the podium. His lips pressed into a frown, the only crack in his otherwise stony expression. Edgar.

Quinn had known Edgar for years. Since they graduated high school, Kristen had worked for him in his lab, her biology passion and Computation abilities making her the perfect fit for his scientific interests. Edgar was a genomics and biotech researcher, one of the few still living, and definitely one of the few still working, that had worked on the initial human embryo editing project.

And that little feat had landed him a supervisory role in a bunker.

It wasn't only his intelligence and history with the Edited that landed him the role. Soft spoken for a leader, Edgar had this commanding presence that captured attention like no one else. He held the attention of everyone present, simply by entering the room, the light tap on the microphone unnecessary.

“Welcome all to Bunker #16. My name is Edgar Lee, and myself and my crew here will be your points of contact with any concerns or issues. We hope that you will feel comfortable here, but we also understand how strange this all is. We too have left our homes. Look at us.” Edgar waved his arm to present the few other individuals who sat in chairs facing the audience, all of whom had been a part of leading the groups during entry. “And look around you. You are not alone. As you read in your notices, the situation in the world above us has grown concerning, to say the least."