Page 31 of Empowereds
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C allum gave Charity and Enzo some of his parents’ dress clothes so they’d appear to be professionals. Charity had never seen herself this way—dressed in a blue ruffled shirt, black blazer, and skirt. She looked like a city woman off to an important job.
It was an odd transformation, one that reminded her of all the movies she’d watched where heroines sat in big desks with views of crisp city buildings in their windows. This was a version of who she might have been if her father hadn’t been a psychic.
At another time, she would’ve enjoyed dressing up. Now she wondered what would become of the outfit after today. Would this shirt become a happy souvenir of rescuing her father, or would she be wearing it in her mugshot?
She smoothed out the ruffles. This would work. Had to work. And the shirt would become her new favorite.
Enzo put on two pairs of pants and two shirts so that when they reached her father, he’d be able to ditch his prison jumpsuit and wear Enzo’s extra pair of clothes. Charity carried a pair of shoes for her father in an oversized purse.
The plan was for her to pretend to be an off-duty guard taking a friend in for a job interview. She was coming along to put in a good word for him.
That explanation should be enough to get them past the security guard who let vehicles into the compound and the receptionist at the front desk. When they reached the restricted third floor, things would become trickier. Callum would phone the security guard stationed by the cameras to distract him, and Enzo would pull his gun on the guard stationed on the floor and tell him to drop his weapon. Once he did that, Charity would shoot him with the tranquilizer gun.
While Enzo stood guard, Charity would release her father, then the three would return down the elevator and leave.
This scenario would only work if the officer guarding the prisoners actually dropped his gun. If he pulled his weapon and shot, they were in trouble. Enzo had already said he wouldn’t kill an innocent man, a fellow officer just doing his job.
If the guards raised an alarm before the group left the premises, the building would start lockdown procedures. All available officers would search for them, and the automatic gates would lock for all but the high-ranking officials.
This procedure existed so that the leaders could leave quickly if the building ever came under attack. All other vehicles had to go by the guard station, which meant Enzo, Charity, and her father would need to find an alternate way over the twelve-foot-tall, electrified fence.
On the drive to the building, Charity held on to her optimism. This would work. They would free her father.
They drove up to an ominously tall building. Fifteen stories, at least. Charity gave the guard at the booth her fake name. The guard ran a facial scan and waved them through without comment.
So far, so good. They parked the truck in the visitors’ parking area and walked purposely toward the front door.
Once she and Enzo stepped inside, fear began to press in on her. She’d never seen such a large lobby. It had gleaming black floors, pale gray walls, and matching chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The place didn’t look like anything had ever been broken in it. Or ever gotten dirty. The lobby was as much a sign of power as the armed officers sitting at the counter in front of them.
Charity’s pace automatically slowed. If officers captured her, she would be tortured and most likely killed. Her father loved her, but he wouldn’t trade information to help defeat the breakaway states for her safety. And that’s what the government would ask him for.
She glanced at Enzo to see if a sudden onset of nerves had also hit him. He looked calm and collected. Almost casual.
She forced herself to walk up to the counter and repeated her planned story to a female guard who spent more time than usual staring at Enzo. For a moment, Charity worried that the woman knew they were lying, that she would insist on doing a facial scan of Enzo and discover he was presumed dead. They might be caught before they ever made it to the third floor.
The woman ignored Charity and gave Enzo a too-friendly smile. “This is a great place to work. I hope you get the job.”
Enzo smiled back. “Thanks.”
She winked and let them go.
So not suspicious, just flirting. That was good, even if it seemed wrong to see a woman flirt with her husband.
They headed toward an elevator. When they were out of earshot, Charity asked, “Did that woman know you?”
“I’m not sure,” Enzo said. “I’ve met a lot of women officers over the years.”
How many of them remember him? Turned out, his looks had a downside. Their footsteps echoed across the floor. She felt like the sound alone drew too much attention to them.
They reached the elevators and got inside one. Charity pressed the button for the third floor, and the elevator scanned her face. Satisfied, it made its ascent.
As soon as the doors shut, Enzo’s casual demeanor fell away. He put his hand into the pocket that held his gun and mouthed the words, “When we leave, remember to keep behind me.”
He wanted to use himself as a shield. She didn’t like the idea but knew he would insist no matter what she said.
Cameras sat blinking in the corners of the elevator. Later on, when the police reviewed the footage, they’d know Enzo had helped her. He would become a criminal and a fugitive like the rest of them. She’d put him in danger.
This will work , she reminded herself. Her father wouldn’t have told her to come otherwise. Although, granted, he hadn’t actually asked her. Perhaps he’d supposed Enzo would take her someplace far away. Maybe she was wrong about all of this.
She squared her shoulders. She couldn’t let her mind dwell on that possibility now.
The elevator door slid open. As they stepped outside, Enzo sent Callum the text, asking him to make the call to the guard watching the security camera.
Charity wasn’t sure what she expected to see in the hallway. Perhaps something like the old movies—rooms with bars that looked like cages. The place might have been an office hallway. A gleaming floor spread before them. White walls with windowed doors dotted the passageway.
A guard sat in a chair by the mouth of the hallway—a short, gruff-looking man who wore a bulletproof vest. His face was unprotected. A foolish oversight.
He stood when he saw Charity and Enzo, looking them up and down. His hand went to the gun in his holster. “Can I help you folks?”
Enzo drew his gun first, pointing it without breaking his pace. “I’m an officer. Drop your entire holster on the floor.”
The man hesitated, his hand still on his gun, anger warring with fear on his face.
“Don’t make me shoot you.” Enzo kept moving forward. “It will look bad on my record, and you know our supervisors hate that kind of paperwork.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed to slits. His hand tightened on his gun. “If you’re an officer, why would you shoot me?”
Enzo came even closer. “I told you I was an officer, so you’d know that my gun is loaded, and I won’t miss. I’m not asking again.”
This was taking too long. The guard doubted Enzo, probably doubted the gun was loaded. But would he risk his life on his suspicions?
“What was your score on the ACE?” the man asked.
“Thirty-six, and you’re a lot closer than two hundred meters.”
Whatever that meant, it convinced the guard that Enzo was telling the truth. He scowled, unbuckled his holster, and let it fall to the floor.
Charity pulled out the tranquilizer gun and shot him in the throat. He swatted at the dart and yanked it out. “Why did you do that? I already dropped my gun.”
She left Enzo to deal with explanations and ran down the hallway to find her father’s cell. As she passed the windowed doors, she caught sight of men and women inside the rooms. They all wore neon yellow jumpers. The small rooms looked to have nothing in them besides a bed, toilet, and sink.
Three-fourteen. Where was it?
She spotted her father before she saw the number. He paced the room, head down, somber. She’d know his silhouette anywhere.
She pushed the button to open his door. A beam of light shot out, scanning her face. When it finished, the cover over the keypad slid back. She typed in the number and the door switched open.
Her father turned to her and a startled expression replaced his frown. “You came.”
Was it surprise in his voice or worry? She couldn’t tell. He rushed to her, arms out, and she threw herself into his embrace.
She only let herself hug him for a moment. No time for more. She pulled the shoes from her purse and gave them to him. “Enzo has clothes for you to change into.”
Her father tucked the shoes under his arm and glanced down the hallway to where Enzo hovered over the semi-conscious guard. “Before we go, we have another person to rescue.”
“Another person?” Charity repeated. Getting the three of them out of the building would be hard enough. “We need to go before someone realizes a guard has been drugged.”
Her father headed up the hallway instead of toward Enzo. Charity lifted her hands in frustration, then followed him. Was he trying to get them caught? They didn’t have clothes for anyone else.
He stopped at cell number 307 and motioned for her to open the door. “This shouldn’t take long.”
Fine. The person had to be someone who could help them. Perhaps a muscled man with skills who her father had met in prison. Charity pushed the cell’s button. The facial recognition scanned her and unlocked the keypad. Her father typed in a number.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“A telekinetic.”
“A telekinetic? Aren’t they dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Great. Telekinetics were known for turning weapons against people, and they didn’t have any limitations on when they could use their powers like psychics did. Did her father really know what he was doing?
The door swished open, revealing a girl sitting on the bed. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. Her shoulder-length blue hair showed a couple of inches of black roots, and her tattooed lipstick and eyeliner looked at odds with the large yellow prison jumper.
They were rescuing a child. Could the girl help them, or did her father just feel sorry for her?
She glowered at them with cold, hateful eyes. “What do you want?”
Charity’s father smiled calmly. “We’re breaking out. Come with us.”
The girl didn’t move. “Come with you where?”
“To the breakaway states, or we’ll drop you off in the city.”
The girl chuffed in disbelief. “Right. I’m supposed to trust you, old man?”
Seriously? Not only was she a teenager, she was a teenager with an attitude. They didn’t have time for this.
“As soon as we leave your room,” her father said, “the door will shut, and your opportunity will vanish. I suggest you come outside and think about your options.” He stood aside, making way for her.
She slunk apprehensively toward them, then hesitated in the doorway.
“We’re in a hurry,” Charity said.
“Fine.” The girl stepped into the hallway.
Charity wasn’t waiting around for her decision. She headed to Enzo. The guard had finally lost consciousness and lay face down on the ground. Enzo pulled off the extra shirt he wore to give to her father. The pants already sat crumpled on the floor. He looked past Charity, and his head jolted in surprise, incredulous at the new addition.
“My dad wants her to come with us,” Charity said.
“Why?”
She shrugged. What else could she do? “Maybe she’s going to be helpful. She’s a telekinetic.”
Enzo winced and pulled off his extra shirt with too much force. “You did not just tell me we’re breaking out a telekinetic.”
“She’s a kid,” Charity said.
Charity’s father and the girl reached them. They’d clearly heard the conversation. The girl glared at Enzo. “I’m not a telekinetic. They just think I am.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Enzo tossed the extra clothes at Charity’s father. “And truth serum is only devised to make you give false confessions. She needs to lose her jumpsuit.”
Charity pulled off her blazer. “If you button this up…”
“It’ll look like I’m not wearing pants,” the girl said.
“Miniskirts are in.” Charity thrust the blazer at her.
The girl pursed her lips. “You want me to, like, strip out here in the hallway?”
“Just do it,” Enzo said. “We won’t look.” His phone buzzed. Must have been a message from Callum. Enzo turned and shot the camera perched at the top of the hallway. “We’ve got three minutes max to get out of here.”
The girl didn’t move. “People will notice that I don’t have shoes.”
“Take the guard’s boots.” Charity kneeled beside him. “It won’t be a great outfit, but it’s better than a bright yellow one that screams I’m an escaping prisoner.”
Charity’s father, who had no compunction about undressing in the hallway, had already taken off his jumpsuit and was pulling on his pants. “Her feet won’t matter. We can’t go across the lobby. We have to go down the laundry chute.”
Enzo ignored the guard’s boots and undid his bulletproof vest. “Where’s the laundry chute?”
Her father’s eyebrows raised in question. “You don’t know? Didn’t you look over the building’s plans before you came?”
“Yes,” Enzo said, “But we hadn’t planned on doing laundry here.”
The girl, back turned to them, changed clothes. “So far, this is a great escape. I wonder how long they’ll starve me once we’re all caught.”
Enzo handed Charity the guard’s bulletproof vest. “Put this on.”
“You ought to be the one wearing it,” she said.
He gave a curt shake of his head that said he wasn’t going to argue about it.
She slipped it on and asked her father, “What did you see around the laundry chute?”
He stepped into his shoes while buttoning up his shirt. “A cart full of laundry and shelves with cleaning supplies.”
“It’s in a supply closet, then.” Enzo scooped the guard’s holster from the floor. “We just have to find it.” He handed his old gun to Charity and headed down the hallway, strapping the guard’s holster on. She strode beside him, nearly running as she searched the hallway for something that looked like a supply closet. Her father trailed behind them. They passed door after door, all of them prison cells.
The girl ran to catch up. “We’re on the third floor,” she whispered. “Won’t falling that far down a laundry chute break every bone in our bodies?”
“Hopefully not,” Charity said.
The girl glanced over her shoulder. “Um, why don’t we take the elevator? It does the same thing without killing you in the process. I think I could make the guard’s boots work with this outfit.”
Charity noticed a door with no number. “Found something.” She hurried to it and pressed the button. After a facial recognition scan, the door opened. No code needed this time.
A large supply closet met them, complete with a laundry cart, industrial floor cleaning machine, a sink, and shelves. The group shuffled inside. A square metal chute sat in the back wall, a couple of feet wide.
Enzo scooted by the cart and flung open the chute’s door. “It’s straight down several floors. We’ll need some sort of ladder or a rope.”
They glanced around the room at the bottles, brooms, and boxes. Nothing useful. Charity’s father moved stacks of things on the shelves to see what was behind them.
Enzo leaned into the chute. “Plan B. It’s small enough that we’ll be able to press our legs against one wall and our backs against the other and scoot down that way. It will take longer but is doable.”
The girl lifted her hands in frustration. “Did you really not think this through? You just broke into a building where they keep federal prisoners without an exit strategy?”
Her continued outbursts weren’t helping. “What’s your name?” Charity asked with strained patience.
“Blue.”
That probably wasn’t her name, but whatever. “Ok, look, Blue. My dad is a psychic, so his instructions are our best bet for evading capture.”
Blue huffed. “No offense, but they already captured him once.”
Charity didn’t respond. She’d spotted the solution. “The floor cleaning machine. We’ll use the cord for a rope.”
She unwrapped it. The cord was extra-long. Maybe forty feet.
Her father tugged a length of cord. “Will it be strong enough to hold us?”
Enzo was doing the same sort of evaluations. “Maybe not the two of us, but Blue and Charity should be fine. If the cord breaks while you’re going down, put your legs and hands on the chute wall. At the very least, it will slow your fall.”
Enzo took a stack of cleaning cloths from the shelves. “Use these to hold onto the cord so you don’t get rope burn on your hands.”
Her father tossed the end of the cord through the chute. Enzo handed Blue two cloths. “You’re the lightest. Do you want to go first?”
She eyed the group and didn’t take Enzo’s offering. “Is this some sort of experiment? Are you really police officers, and you’re just putting me in situations to see how I’ll respond?”
“I’m not going to answer that.” Enzo gave Charity a couple cloths. “Your turn. Once you’re down, shine your phone’s light up here so we know it’s fine to throw Blue in.”
He was probably joking about that.
Charity took the tranquilizer gun from her purse, gave it to her father, and tossed the purse in the corner. She took hold of the cord and climbed into the chute.
“You’ve got this,” Enzo told her. He clearly had more faith in her abilities than she did.
Her weight immediately pulled her downward. The metal sides of the chute flew by. She gripped the cord tighter and pressed her lips together so no startled exclamations popped out.
Her descent slowed a bit, but the pieces of cloth smoked from the friction. In a few seconds, they’d either be torn to shreds or become so hot she’d have to let go. She couldn’t see how far left she had.
The plug at the end of the cord dug into her hands, breaking her grip. Two seconds later she landed with a thud onto an enormous pile of laundry. She pitched backward and lay there among the dirty sheets for a second, catching her breath. Her hands stung, but nothing seemed to be broken.
Some industrial-sized washers and dryers lined the room, several chugging noisily along. Tables were arranged for sorting with empty carts nearby. A set of double doors stood across the room. No one stood in the laundry room. That might not last long.
She climbed out of what turned out to be a huge laundry bin, pulled her phone from her pocket, and shined a light up the chute.
A zipping sound came from the chute and Blue dropped into the bin with an “Ooof!” She lay, splayed out like a paper doll, then picked herself up, wiped a stray sock out of her hair, and climbed out of the bin.
“Wow,” she whispered. “We escaped into a laundry room. This is a much better tactical position.”
Charity shined the light up the chute to let the others know the way was clear. “Instead of complaining, you could do something helpful. You could tie some of the sheets together and use your powers to send them up in case the cord breaks.”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “I keep telling you people that I’m not a telekinetic. I think it’s suspicious that you’re asking me to use my powers to help with,” she made air quotes, “our so-called escape.”
“Didn’t the government give you truth serum? Don’t they already know you’re a telekinetic?”
“Truth serum doesn’t work on me. There are always people who are immune to any given drug.”
Must be nice. “Okay, don’t help. But if Enzo or my father end up breaking their necks because that cord snapped, you’ll be finding your own way out of this place.”
Another zipping sound came from the chute. This time, her father landed in the bin. His feet buckled under him, and he fell forward. Charity rushed over.
He waved her away. “I’m fine.” He dragged himself off the laundry. “I’m just too old for this.”
Charity shined the light up the chute again. “What do your visions say we should do next?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The one about going down the chute was the last one about the building.”
What did that mean? Surely, they were still in danger. Or were they? Maybe it would be easy from here. Maybe all they had to do was find an exit and walk back to their truck.
Blue padded toward the doors. “What’s outside these?”
Charity’s father went with her. “Let’s see.”
Enzo dropped from the chute. He landed on his feet and absorbed the impact by lowering to a crouch. In one smooth motion, he leapt from the bin, assessed the room, and whipped out his gun. He moved toward the door. “Is the way clear?”
Her father opened the door a crack. “It’s an empty hallway.”
Enzo nodded to Charity. “You’ve got the rear. If anyone comes up behind us, bluff until your father can shoot them with the tranquilizer gun. Worst case, if you have to shoot someone, aim at their feet.”
Her father pulled the tranquilizer gun from his pocket. “Let’s go.”
“Do I get a weapon?” Blue asked.
“No,” Enzo said. “We’re not arming a child. And so help me, if you try to take control of any of our weapons, the other two of us will shoot you.”
Blue’s eyes narrowed again. “You think I’ll do that, don’t you? I bet none of the weapons are even loaded. This is all some test to see if I’m really a telekinetic.”
“I’ll go out first,” Enzo said, ignoring her accusation. “Wait for my signal.”
“If you’re going first,” Charity said, “you should wear the bulletproof vest.”
He made no indication that he heard her. He opened the door, peered outside, and waved for the rest to follow him. The group slipped down the hallway. The overhead lighting glowed bright and harsh. Scuff marks marred the walls near the bottom.
They approached a corner. Enzo motioned for them to stand next to the wall. He pressed himself to the edge of the corner and checked the other side. He waved to them to continue. “There’s an exit.”
An exit. They could pull this off. They would get away. Charity rounded the corner. About fifty yards down the hallway, an exit sign glowed above a door. The group ran toward it, their footsteps pounding in a noisy rhythm. She could make out a sign near the door that read, “Parking garage entrance.”
Halfway to the door, an alarm sounded, reverberating in the hallway. A long tone was followed by the words, “Prisoner outbreak. High alert.”
Charity’s stomach clenched. They hadn’t been fast enough. The exit gates would shut to all but top-ranking officers. Still, there was nowhere else to go, nowhere to hide. A whole building full of people would be on the lookout for them. They’d have to find some way over the fence.
They ran all the faster toward the door. “What now?” Enzo called to Charity’s father.
“I’ve no idea,” he said. “There should still be a way to escape. We just have to find it.”
Was there? A nagging voice inside Charity’s head insisted that they could’ve made it out, but they’d been too slow. Now maybe no safe options existed.
“Milo’s truck is in the visitors’ parking lot,” Enzo said. “Let’s head there. Maybe we can take one of the gate guards hostage and get out that way.”
A thin hope. The guards would be watching for them.
They reached the door. Charity pressed the button and stood panting, nerves humming, waiting to see if her facial recognition still worked to unlock it. The light scanned her. The door swung open.
The officials must not have realized yet that the prisoners had an accomplice in the system helping them.
The group rushed outside into the musty garage and its rows of empty vehicles. The alarm was only a low buzz out here.
A car pulled into the reserved parking nearest to the door. It wasn’t an armored police vehicle, not troops being sent to secure the location, just someone who’d been in the parking garage when the alarm went off. Better yet, the car wasn’t a regular civilian vehicle. It was long, sleek, and black, without the dents and scratches typical to most of the cars in the city.
“Change of plans,” Enzo said. “Stay here until I call for you.” Without waiting for a reply, he made a beeline toward the car.
A portly, middle-aged man with receding hair sat in the driver’s seat. He looked serious and important in his dark suit. He glanced at Enzo with surprise but without any alarm. He turned off his car and opened his door.
As the man stepped from the car, Enzo pulled out his gun. “Drop your keys and your weapons.”
The man stared back at him. No fear marred his expression, only gathering anger. He gripped his keys in one hand. “What are you doing, Vasquez?”
The man knew Enzo. That’s why he hadn’t grown suspicious when Enzo approached the car.
“You heard me.” Enzo’s voice was breathy from running. “Drop your keys and gun on the ground.”
This was the solution they needed. The exit gates would still open for a car of a high-ranking official.
“What’s wrong with you?” The man glanced over and saw Charity and the others. He let out a derisive laugh. “Don’t tell me you fell for her. You ought to know better than that.” He shook his head like a scolding parent. “Kitra’s mother will be so disappointed. Or if you’d rather I didn’t tell her, you can put down your gun, come to your senses, and we’ll forget about this nervous breakdown you seem to be having.”
Enzo’s jaw muscle pulsed. He took a step closer to the man. “Look me in the eye, Schmitt, and tell me you don’t plan on hurting Charity in the hopes of getting visions from Ben.”
Schmitt raised his hands, not in surrender but in a gesture of explanation. “Wars have casualties. Sometimes casualties we don’t like. Every day that the breakaway states fight us, our list of casualties grows. People are dying. I’m trying to stop that. I thought you were too.”
“Not like this,” Enzo said. “I’m not going to ask for your keys another time. Drop them.”
Schmitt scowled and tossed them on the ground several feet away from Enzo.
Enzo didn’t take his gaze from the man. “Now take your gun out using two fingers. If you reach for the trigger, I’ll shoot.”
Schmitt threaded his fingers together. “You’re really going to shoot me—a friend of your mother’s, the man who got you your job? I have a hard time believing that. You’re an officer of the law who’s vowed to protect the innocent.”
“You’re not one of the innocent.”
Enzo was bluffing. Charity held her breath, waiting to see if Schmitt fell for it.
“Fine,” Schmitt said. “I’m getting out my gun.” He slowly reached into his front suit pocket. “You’ve apparently forgotten what it means to sacrifice for your country, but I haven’t.” He pulled out the gun and lifted it. “I won’t let you take two Empowereds.”
He’d fire on Enzo. Charity could see Enzo’s hesitation, see him decide not to shoot first. He rushed the man to tackle him instead. It should’ve been an easy fight to win, except Schmitt still clutched his gun.
The world seemed to stop. The barrel moved in slow motion, turning until it pointed in her direction.
A blast. A flash of light. She felt no pain. Not even the impact of a bullet hitting her vest.
Enzo plowed into Schmitt. They both went flying into the side of the car and nearly as quickly broke apart. The man was stronger than he looked. He hadn’t dropped his gun in the scuffle.
He would shoot Enzo and wouldn’t miss at that range.
Almost without thinking, Charity pointed her gun at Schmitt’s chest. Enzo had told her once that she wasn’t a killer. Turned out, he was wrong.
She pulled the trigger. The blast echoed in the garage. Schmitt stumbled backward. This time he dropped his gun.
Enzo’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Charity. With anger? Revulsion? He thought less of her now. The look stunned her. He grabbed Schmitt’s gun from the ground. “Get in the car,” he yelled.
She ran, trembling, toward the car. Enzo had refused to shoot Schmitt, but she’d done it. Would he be angry at her for that? The man wasn’t dead, at least not yet. He lay on the ground, curling in on himself and groaning. Someone would find him. Someone must have heard the thunderously loud shots.
She climbed into the passenger side. Only then did she look around to check on the others. Her father stood several feet away, his face pale with shock. She wanted to tell him, “I didn’t have a choice.”
Blue picked up the car keys. “Who’s that?” she asked Enzo.
“My boss.” With a last look at the man, Enzo headed to the car. “Or at least he used to be. I’m pretty sure this counts as a resignation.”
Blue frowned and opened the car’s back door. “You’re a police officer?”
“There are worse things to be.”
Blue slipped inside and turned to Charity. “Did you know this guy is a police officer?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
Why wasn’t everyone being faster? They needed to leave. Her father neared the car, not walking, she realized, staggering. He dragged one leg. A spot of blood had formed through his pants on his upper leg.
Enzo’s boss hadn’t missed after all. He’d shot her father.