Beyond The Sea Blue Light

One Final Fight, For This Tonight

There's a lightbulb flickering in the distance as I walk down the hallway. Concrete walls stretch around me, the walls emitting a musty smell. The quiet sound of water dripping fills my ears as I walk, my sneakers not making a sound. Claustrophobia grips me for a moment as I think about the layers and layers of concrete surrounding me, trapping me far below the surface. The darkness seems to close like a vice, gripping me with cold, clammy hands, threatening to drag me backward.

It's just a dream, I tell myself. It's just a vision. It's not real. I'm not actually here. Any moment, I'll be waking up and Vic will be there. I'm okay. I force myself to keep moving as I near the light.

There's a single figure down here, standing beside a slab of concrete, his back to me. As I circle around him, I realize it's Andy, a few years younger than he is now, maybe around my age, eighteen or so. His eyes are closed, his lips moving as he whispers something. I can hear the faint sound of voices, several voices in fact, cheering and shouting something.

Andy's eyes fly open and he sets down a flyer on the concrete beside him. I glance over at it curiously, a shiver running through me as I see what it says. People against Freaks! It reads. Join here on November 3rd to fight for our rights as humans. It's the date of the Attack, the one that was the catalyst for the Facilities.

"We're freaks," Andy mutters to himself, the sudden sound making me jump. "We're all freaks, aren't we? I guess it's time to become who we truly are."

He rolls up his sleeves, holding his hands out in front of them. The way he stares at them, in awe and disgust makes a chill run down my spine.

"For my people, huh?" Andy says. "Well, Dad, you always said that this would happen. That something would be the catalyst to set everything in motion." He laughs, the haunting sound ringing through the empty basement. "Doubt you ever thought it would be me." His lip curls. "Doubt you thought your son would be a freak, a terrorist, a monster. Ironic, isn't it? The thing you love the most, just happens to be the thing you despise."

He suddenly moves, not toward the stairs, but deeper into the basement, near the walls of cement. "Too long spent hiding," he whispers. "I'm done with this life. I'm done with all of this."

I suddenly realize his plan as he places his hands against the cold, damp concrete. Andy was the one who started the Attack, the one that we were all punished for. The one that killed Mr. Styles' son, setting the whole plan into motion. He's going to destroy the place, and accidentally cause everything that we've been fighting against. But I can't stop him—I'm not actually here. The only thing I can do is just watch in horror as Andy's hands start to glow, the concrete trembling with energy. Cracks appear along the walls, spreading toward the ceiling as the entire building starts to shake, glowing with energy. I hear the sound of screaming before bits of plaster and concrete rain down around us. I look away just as it collapses, closing my eyes so I don't have to see the death and destruction as he dooms us all.

---

I'm on fire. Or at least it feels like I am. My whole body feels uncomfortably warm and heavy as I struggle to open my eyes. There's painful warmth spreading through my chest as I take in a breath, regretting as I do so. Agony flares through my chest as I nearly scream, but no sound comes out. I desperately want to drift back into the darkness, but something stops me, a voice saying something.

"Kellin! Kellin, wake up. I know you can hear me. Please, Kells."

I finally manage to open my eyes to see Vic kneeling over me, shaking me. When he sees I'm awake, he lets out a relieved sigh, his body relaxing. I blink a few times, trying to get myself oriented. I'm back at the house, lying in our shared bedroom. There are a few portable heaters set up around the bed, not to mention Vic, who practically counts as one. The room seems to be at least a thousand degrees. I'm sweating just lying here in the bed.

"Ow," I mutter, sitting up. My head spins and I would have pitched forward if Vic hadn't caught me. "Is Jack—"

"He's fine, thanks to you," Vic reassures me. He hands me a water bottle. "Drink."

I take it from him gratefully, not realizing how parched my throat was. I drain the entire thing, crushing the flimsy plastic in an attempt to get the last few drops.

"How do you feel?" Vic asks.

"Better," I say. I look down at my hands, relieved to see they look normal, not covered in ice. "What happened?"

"How much do you remember?"

I shrug. "Trying to heal Jack. Then I passed out and—" I look at him quizzically, unsure of what happened next.

"I thought you were dead," Vic sighs. "We found both you and Jack were covered in blood. Both of you were completely unharmed, but you were nearly dead. You were muttering something, but you were as cold as ice. When we drove back here, I thought your heart stopped a few times."

"Did something happen?" As I look at Vic, it seems as if the question has answered itself. Vic looks exhausted, tense lines drawn across his face, dark circles under his eyes. It looks like he hasn't had time to clean up, dirt and grime still smeared across his face, dried blood still crusted beneath his fingernails.

Vic swallows, looking at me. "Something happened to Gerard," he says, his voice shaking. "Kells, they have him."