Freak of Nature (6 page)

She meant it. Something inside her recalled some
place
, and she couldn’t figure out how or why or where. It bothered her when she couldn’t understand things. She was supposed to be a superior being, and yet the littlest things made no sense to her.

But the professor—and Lucas—couldn’t know that.

She considered her words carefully. “I don’t know. Quess was telling me she grew up in Ohio. I must be from somewhere else. I have no idea where I grew up.”

The professor’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Perhaps because where you were from did not experience the drastic season changes. Summer is turning into fall, is that what you mean?”

Kaitlyn thought about his answer for a moment before replying. Her computer banks immediately began to filter through states and weather patterns. The professor had narrowed down where she was from without realizing it. “Perhaps, the change of season is what is triggering the random thought. It doesn’t matter where I am from. What matters is I am here now.”

The professor smiled, satisfied. Lucas, however, looked paler than usual.

They could use this information to narrow down the blond haired guy, and perhaps learn something about her past.

Chapter Seven

P
rofessor Adams attached the blood pressure cuff to Kaitlyn’s arm and turned away, one fist pumping the small bag and filling the cuff with air. “Don’t move,” he told her, his eyes on the gauge.

This would be a good time to roll her eyes Kaitlyn thought. As if she would have moved.

While her arm was slowly gripped tighter and tighter by the cuff, Kaitlyn sensed someone coming down the hall, but they were too far away to determine who it was. Hopefully, it was Lucas—she hadn’t seen him all day. He was probably working on the new coding, the ‘slang’ they had spoken of at dinner. The day seemed longer when he was not around. She longed to see his face and hear his familiar voice.

Instead, she had been stuck inside all day with Professor Adams running tests on her artificial heart. Thirty minutes at maximum speed on the treadmill, and then a blood pressure check. Thirty minutes of sitting still, then a blood pressure check. Boring. Monotonous.

Kaitlyn glanced at the old man. His spectacles had slid so far down his nose it was a surprise they hadn’t fallen off. Not for the first time, she thought she should have hated him for taking away her old life, but for some reason, she didn’t. She only felt indifference for the professor and the rest of the staff. They had probably programmed her that way.

Kaitlyn was tired of never knowing which thoughts were her own, and which were IFICS.

“Well done.” The professor pulled apart the velcro and released Kaitlyn from the cuff.

Like I have anything to do with my blood pressure. I don’t even have a normal heart
. With all her knowledge she couldn’t even comprehend how her body was able to function properly. A medical marvel was often thrown around in regards to her body.

The professor rolled his chair around where Kaitlyn was sitting to glance at the computer screen. It was hooked up to electrodes placed on her chest. Adams was obsessed with bio-rhythmics, and was constantly tracking all her numbers searching for any anomalies. He said it was the mathematician in him. Bio-rhythmics consisted of three cycles: physical, emotional and intellectual. It didn’t seem very scientific to her.

“Amazing.” He muttered staring at the data. “Your readings are always the same. No matter what we do to you.”

There was a knock at the door, and Frank, her firearms instructor, entered the room. “Time for the shooting range.”

Finally, something that wasn’t boring. Kaitlyn had to suppress a smile that wanted to spread across her face. After her initial training, she only spent one day a week on the range. Frank claimed she was so accurate, anymore time would just be a waste of bullets. They just wanted to keep her from getting rusty.

She was quite sure her parts could not rust, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

With haste she made her way to the arms room and grabbed her gear.

There was something calming about the feel of cold steel in her hand. It was as if the gun was an extension of her hand.

Maybe they were right. Maybe she
was
born for this. Or maybe she would never know since she couldn’t recall her life before the accident.

Kaitlyn slammed a fresh magazine into the Browning MK III. Legs planted firmly, she leaned forward just a little, arms locked, and lined up the red dot. Letting out a breath, she squeezed the trigger repeatedly in rapid succession.

She lowered the pistol and pushed the button to the right of her. The electronic carrier brought the black silhouette forward, edges of the paper waving in the breeze as it moved.

Her instructor, Frank, whistled under his breath and stared at the quarter-sized hole in the middle of the target’s bulbous forehead. “Damn girl. Forty-five meters. That’s the stuff of legends.”

“Legends?” Kaitlyn asked, staring at Frank. He was a big guy—broad shoulders, a huge, muscular torso, and a neck as thick as a tree trunk. Kaitlyn had to peer up at him he was so tall.

Frank stared at her, but didn’t reply. He ran his hand through his greying goatee and he opened his mouth about to say something, but thought better of it and clamped his mouth. He wasn’t allowed to talk to her unless it was in regards to training. He turned his back on her and jerked down the target. “Let’s try that again. Only this time, left arm only.”

Kaitlyn waited patiently as Frank attached two new targets and hit the switch to send them back down the training field. He stepped away and motioned. “Two to the chest, one to the head.”

She nodded and got in position. Frank moved the targets this time, back and forth and side to side. She calculated the distance and squeezed the trigger. As the targets continued to move, Kaitlyn’s mind kept up with them as if they were standing still. Moving targets were so much more fun than stationary.

“Come over here and let’s work a few different drills.” Frank walked away, not bothering to check if she was following. Shaking his head, he shot back over his shoulder, “Before long you will be teaching me drills I’ve never heard of.”

Kaitlyn slid the pistol into its holster and followed behind her firearms instructor to the shooting box.

Across the field was a set of six steel plates in the shape of human heads, each about 8 inches in diameter and arranged side by side on a supporting stand.

“Okay, load and make ready.”

Automatically, Kaitlyn removed her pistol from its holster and locked the slide to the rear. She quickly checked the chamber to ensure it was empty, then removed a full magazine from her magazine carrier on her left hip and inserted the magazine into the pistol, the motion so smooth and practiced it felt natural. With a flick of her thumb, the slide slammed forward, loading a round into the chamber of the pistol. She then conducted a ‘press check,’ reaching underneath the pistol, pinching the slide, and moving it to the rear just enough to see that a round was actually in the chamber. Seeing the brass, she released the slide and holstered her weapon.

Standing in the shooter’s box, she faced the steel plates, hands at her sides and waited. Without turning, she knew Lucas was near. Sometimes he came to observe her during target practice. He never mentioned it, but she always knew when he was near. She liked knowing he was close by.

The instructor moved to her right rear, reset his shot timer and said,

“Shooter ready?”

Kaitlyn nodded her head once, affirming that she was ready.

“Stand by…” and then there was a loud “BEEP” from the timer.

Kaitlyn immediately drew her pistol and punched it straight out, arms extended in what was known as position four. She already had the sights lined up and on the left-most target before her arms were even straight. As she reached full extension, she pressed the trigger and then moved the pistol to the second target, using both the momentum of the pistol’s recoil and her own muscle movement. As soon as the sights were on the second target, she fired again, repeating the process a total of six times with a metallic “ping” punctuating every gunshot.

Once she was done, Frank barked, “Unload and show clear.”

Kaitlyn complied, movements quick. Reflexive.

“Holster.”

She shoved the gun into position and let her hands dangle at her sides expectantly. In the back of her mind wondered what Lucas was doing. She could sense he was approximately fifty yards behind her to the left. It gave her a slight thrill knowing he was watching her when she was in her element.

Looking down at the timer, the instructor raised an eyebrow and said, “Two-point-three-five seconds. Lets do that again, this time from right to left.” He reset the targets, and then went through the same series of instructions for her to ‘Load and make ready’ and ‘Standby.’ The timer went off, and Kaitlyn repeated her performance.

“Two-point-three-seven.” Frank eyed her as if he wanted to say something else, but shook his head instead. “Alright then, let’s move over to the next apparatus.”

They walked to another shooting box in front of three steel targets that were twelve inches square, three meters apart from each other, and ten meters down range. Kaitlyn stole a glance back at Lucas. He lifted his hand and waved. She felt her fake heart flutter.

“This drill is called ‘El Presidente.’ I want you to have two magazines of six rounds each. Face ‘up range,’ back to targets, hands at your sides. On the buzzer, you’ll turn, draw, and engage each target with two rounds before indexing to the next target. Upon slide lock, conduct a magazine change, then re-engage targets in the opposite direction, again with two rounds each. Any questions?”

Having none, Kaitlyn didn’t say anything as she started setting up her magazines per instructions. Once that was done, the instructor went through the range commands again, and then the buzzer sounded.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM… click click, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM.

“Unload and show clear. Holster. Three-point-nine-five seconds. That’s…” he paused to self-censor himself, ”… unheard of. Let’s try that strong-hand only.”

She continued to shoot the various drills the instructor set-up and explained. Each time, unknown to Kaitlyn, she performed at a world class level, something that took competition shooters years of practice and hundreds of thousands of rounds. She did it all without question, without hesitation, and with near-perfect precision.

As they finished, the instructor said. “Maybe I can get the docs to wire me up….” He grinned and shook his head.

Kaitlyn stared at him expressionless.

“Okay, we’re done here.” Frank took off his ear protection. “Clean your piece and put it in the safe.”

She nodded and broke down the gun. She turned to the left and watched as Lucas walked back towards the lab without a word to her—as usual.

Chapter Eight

T
he next day the door to the lab opened, and Quess peeked around the corner. Kaitlyn had never seen Quess in the lab. “Gramps, can Kaitlyn come out with me? Please?”

Professor Adams glanced at the clock on the wall. “You know you’re not supposed to come in here, Quess.”

Professor Adams had strict rules about who could be in the lab and for what reasons. Kaitlyn knew whatever had brought her young friend there must have been important.

Quess shrugged and entered the room. “I’m bored, and it’s your lunch time, anyway. I already ate with Nanny. She wanted me to bring you the leftovers.” She handed him a plate that was covered in foil.

“Fine, we’re done for now. But make sure she’s back in an hour.” The professor’s wrinkled face softened into a smile. Anyone else would have been thrown out for stepping foot into his sacred space without asking, but his granddaughter had always been an exception.

The professor peeled off the bio-rhythmic cuff and released Kaitlyn’s arm from the monitor. She stood, happy to have a reason to leave the stuffy room.

Quess pulled her sweater tight over her chest and looked Kaitlyn over. “It’s cold outside.”