“Are you #83?”
The girl blinked up into the strobe light of the fire alarm. The hospital was going into lockdown. Squinting, she tried to make out the face looming over her.
“Are you #83?” The person insisted once more as another figure tore the IV from the girl’s arm.
The girl nodded mutely, the sleeping aid burning through her veins slowly wearing off. She could hear the machine monitoring her heart rate crank up the beeping as she sat up. She had no time to ask questions as stranger whipped her from the bed, the stickers ripping off her chest and the heart monitor blinking out to a stale tone. A white robe was thrown over her bare shoulders and they were running.
In the dark hospital hallway, one of the figures ahead of her kicked in an emergency exit. They silently nodded them into the back stairwell. The girl peeked over her shoulder as a herd of nurses and doctors rounded the corner behind them.
“There they are!” Someone hollered, “Quick they are getting away!”
They slammed the emergency door shut and jammed it closed. The alarm echoed with the relentless screeching of a banshee as the three of them bolted down the stairs. The girl’s bare toes caught the last step and she tumbled forward onto the concrete. Wordlessly, one of her rescuers hitched her onto their back and held her arms around their neck as they ran towards the chain link fence around the brick behemoth of a building.
They paused as a spotlight swooped down around them, missing their frozen figures. Once it moved on, they bolted for the fence. It clanged obnoxiously as they climbed up and over. The girl screamed as there was the harsh pop of a semi-automatic spraying the dirt behind them. She fell over onto the other side of freedom and nailed her head on a rock.
It was nearly dawn when she awoke. #83 glanced around at the clearing in the wood. The spring foliage was thick enough to give them some cover. There was an old train tunnel where a small fire burned with two figures huddled around it. Hitching the worn blanket higher onto her thin shoulders, the petite girl moved fluidly over to the fire.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence!” A female voice cawed as a woman stood in greeting, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You look well.”
#83 blinked at the strange figure. The woman was medium height wearing a black leather vest, her toned arms rippling as she gestured to a tattered lawn chair. She grinned, showing a gold front tooth.
“Won’t you have a seat?” She offered, “I’ll get you some coffee. You look like you need it.”
With a faint smile, #83 stumbled over to the fire. She sank heavily into the chair, glaring at the snapping flames with slanted, almond eyes the color of copper. Running a trembling hand over the bare skin of her smooth scalp, #83 nodded her thanks as the woman handed her a tin cup.
“Sleeping Beauty fits you, don’t it!” The woman exclaimed, “You’re a real looker, #83.”
She shrugged, tugging the blanket around her against the early morning chill. As she brought the cup to her lips, #83 gazed once more at the woman. The spikes of her electric blue Mohawk fanned out stiffly from her head, the roots showing her to be a natural blonde. The woman took out a cigar and lit it, puffing it to life.
“I’m Rella,” she winked at her, “Leader of this little cohort of ours. You have me to thank for rescuing you.”
“Rella?”
“Yeah,” she smirked out a trail of smoke, “My step-mother called me more interesting names, that’s for sure. But I prefer Rella. It’s what the woman who took me in called me, taught me how to use one of these,” she patted her semi-automatic resting against her thigh like a faithful dog, “She was something of a fairy god-mother that woman, pure magic.”
#83 glanced over at the other woman beside her. She was dead silent, barely acknowledging #83 as she stripped the bark from a piece of wood with a deadly sharp knife. Jet black, natural curls fizzed out from behind her camo bandana, hovering over her dark brown shoulders like sea foam.
“Does she talk?” #83 asked tentatively, sipping her strong coffee.
“Her?” Rella grinned, her gold tooth flashing, “Mer? Mer don’t have much to say. She does most her talking with those knives of hers. Picked that girl up on the coast in a beat up sushi bar. Mer makes a mean Maki roll, let me tell you.”
#83 shifted uncomfortably as Mer lifted her startlingly harsh eyes and let them rest on #83. #83 swallowed and attempted a grin. In response, Mer lifted the knife and threw it expertly over #83’s head. It sank into the bark of a tree growing in the tunnel behind her. Mer cocked an eyebrow and retrieved another knife from her combat boot.
“Mer is recovering from a bad relationship. She saved the boy’s life, gave up her family to go and live with him and he marries a little skinny bitch from the former Republic of Kansas,” Rella scoffed as she drew the cigar from her lips, “Men. Figures. So what’s your story, Beauty?”
#83 coughed, “Well, I guess they just thought I was too dangerous to be kept with the general public. I’ve been locked in this hospital and sedated for most of my life.”
“How dangerous we talking?”
With a sigh, #83 set down the tin cup. Closing her eyes tightly, she visualized the rusted out Toyota Camry behind her. She heard the metal groan as she telepathically lifted it from the mud, rubber from the tires hanging as it was suspended midair. She broke the connection and it crashed to the ground.
Rella let out a whoop and slapped her knee, “Hot damn, girl! I think we got what we need in you.”
#83 opened her eyes and stared at her rescuer tentatively, “What do you need me for?”
Rella gnawed on the end of her cigar, “Well, Princess, we are going to go skin ourselves a witch. You up for the task?”
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