Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

able to do that before, though,” said Freedom. “He had most of us believing his lies for two years.”

“Until we arrived at Project Krypton,” said Stealth, “none of you had reason to doubt the beliefs he created. Once we did, most of the Unbreakables resisted his imposed perceptions within a few days. The same may be happening here. Our minds are working around the imposed images and attempting to show us the real world.”

“So, wait,” said Barry. “If we’ve already shaken off most of his voodoo, does that mean we’ve only been under for a few days?”

“There is no way to be sure,” Stealth said.

“So how do we get out of this?” asked Madelyn.

“I’m still not entirely clear how we got out of the last one,” said Freedom. “Do we just have to … not believe in the world?”

“How do you do that, though?” muttered Danielle. “It’s like the old ‘don’t think about pink elephants’ thing.”

“I believe I have a possible solution,” said Stealth. She walked over to Freedom and gestured him down to her level. She cupped her hand by his ear and whispered for a few moments.

Freedom glanced at her, stared across the room, and then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What?” said Danielle. “Are you going to share with all of us?”

“Smith’s suggestions work in a manner similar to dream states,” said Stealth. “A simple idea is planted in either the conscious or subconscious, and the brain reworks memories to accommodate this idea.”

“Okay,” said Barry. “That kind of makes sense.”

“I believe there is a simple solution,” Stealth said. “There is a common sleep disorder known as a hypnagogic jerk. It is an involuntary muscle twitch. Some biologists believe it may be a holdover from our primate ancestors, similar to the Moro reflex in infants.” She looked at St. George. “I suggested it to you yesterday.”

“You did?”

She took a quick step back. St. George heard someone move behind him. He turned and Freedom slammed a football-sized fist into his head.

It didn’t hurt, but he wasn’t ready for it and the force of the blow sent him reeling for a moment. Before he could shake his head clear Freedom had spun him around, grabbed his belt and one shoulder, and was forcing him across the room. The larger man took one step past St. George and lifted him up, the perfect position to—

He flailed, tried to stop himself, but it was too late.

Freedom hurled him at the window. St. George crashed through the blinds and felt part of the aluminum frame snap under his shoulder. All he could hear was the chime of broken glass and the rustle of the blinds tangled around him and the rush of wind in his ears.

Four stories gave him just enough time to turn and see the pavement rush at him like a speeding truck. He clenched his shoulders, his back, everything he could think of. Something would make him fly, but he couldn’t think of it in the second before he—

—woke up.

St. George opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He stared up at the distant ceiling. He could see exposed beams and catwalks, all painted black, and a few different lighting fixtures. Most of them were banks of fluorescent tubes, but some big china-hat lights hung up there, too.

His neck flared as he tried to sit up. There was a blanket between him and the concrete floor, but nothing else. His butt and elbows ached. His back and legs were sore.

A spot on his back tingled, right between his shoulder blades. He focused on it and fanned the tingle like a weak flame. It grew across his body and out, pushing down on the floor. On the world.

He rose into the air.

He relaxed his concentration and his boots tapped the concrete. He looked down at himself. Boots, jeans, and a black motorcycle jacket to replace the one Cairax destroyed. He felt his head and found a thick mass of hair that needed a shower and was a month past needing a cut.

His stomach grumbled. He was hungry. He rolled his abs and his stomach growled again. Hungry, but not starved. Maybe a little over a day without food? Two days, tops. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, touched it to his lips, and guessed the same without water.

He looked behind him and forgot food.

Stealth, Barry, and the others were all unconscious. Each of them was sprawled on a blanket. Freedom stretched off the ends of his.

St. George ran to Stealth. She was in full uniform, with her hood pushed back off her head. He grabbed her shoulders and she leaped off the floor into his arms. He was strong again. Very strong. He took a breath, remembered how to treat the fragile world, and lowered Stealth down to the blanket.

She had a pulse, and he could feel her breath through her mask, but she wouldn’t wake up. He tapped her cheek, kissed her forehead and lips, and tugged at her mask. He knew from experience that unbuttoning his shirt in the same room could wake her up. Pulling at her mask should’ve provoked a much more extreme response. Most people would lose teeth.

“Hey,” he said. His voice echoed in the empty space. He raised it to a shout. “Stealth! Karen! Wake up!”

Nothing.

He looked at the others. None of them stirred, either. Barry was wearing sweats, the kind of thing he wore just before or after a shift in the electric chair. Danielle was in street clothes, but he could see the collar of her Cerberus contact suit under her shirt. Freedom had his leather duster on over his Army uniform. Cesar and Madelyn were both in regular clothes. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. It looked like they were dusty. St. George put two fingers on her pale neck and confirmed she didn’t have a pulse. She also wasn’t breathing.

In her case, he took it as a good sign.

They’d been set out in a