Mutant 74

| Remember |

High above the demolished city, the wind picked up around the two mutants, blowing unwanted strands of hair across Seventy-Four's vision. She swore she could feel the fog that gathered against her skin, casting a dreary spell that made her lower lip quiver. The cause of that twitch could have been another sensation, one of the many this boy brought on: nervousness, hope...

She dared to ask, "Where are we?"

"Don't you—"

"What are we?" Seventy-Four had found her voice. She would use it.

"Easy." He lifted both his hands, his steps careful as he came to her side. "Can you tell me what you remember? I'll explain the rest, I promise."

Her brow furrowed as he placed a hand against the small of her back, leading her toward the steps.

"Ice," she replied firmly, then thought: the way he's looking at me, there must be something I'm forgetting.

"Do you remember the war?"

She looked to the city around them, the destruction, and said, "Beasts."

"Well, yes, but no." The boy chuckled behind her, guiding her down to where she couldn't see the city and was once again surrounded by the walls of the monolith. "It's a lot to explain, especially if you can't remember the war or... your name. You sure you don't have a name?"

She glowered, her thick brows knitting. "I am Seventy-Four."

"Yeah, yeah you are."

Graham was silent behind her as they stepped back out onto the cracked concrete. It infuriated her. Why isn't he saying anything? I answered his questions. She supposed her answers were a bit short, but they were answers. The only answers.

She stopped walking, turning to glare at him.

"Something wrong?"

"Tell me."

"I will, I will, but you see—it's not an easy story to tell. Not one of those 'once upon a time' type of things, and it's getting dark. I can tell you what happens when it gets dark real quick..." He reached to take ahold of her hand, easing it out of a clenched fist. "Behe—"

His features scrunched up as he quickly tore his hand away. "Geez—What did you do?"

She looked down to the hand he had taken. There was scarlet drying along the lines of her palm and fingers. Her injured hand—well, it's not really injured any more, she thought. There was no longer a cut in her skin, thanks to it healing over completely. Something tells me this isn't normal. She flexed her fingers, Graham watching her as she did.

"Good, at least you're still working right." He wiped his hand against the tan of his cargo pants. "As I was saying: Behemoths. They like the night, their eyes are better suited for it. And trust me, you don't want to run into one. It'll—"

"Eat me," she muttered, thinking of One's forearm.

"Maybe. I feel like we'd be a bit hard to swallow." He didn't reach for her hand this time, instead attempting to lead her off with a hand to her back again. "Acquired taste, maybe, after there's enough of us running around."

She debated telling him about One, and how he had been eaten, but that didn't seem helpful. She swatted at his hand instead, stepping out of reach. He can't get away with not answering my questions, she thought. I have to know.

"Please." She grabbed his hand this time, like he had hers, but tighter.

Somehow, his hazel eyes became softer as he said, "Okay, I'll compromise. I'll tell you where we are first, but you'll follow me for the rest. I'm going somewhere safe, I promise."