disrepair and demolition. Several of the broken brick walls had been spray-painted with elaborate works of graffiti art. Others had been tagged with simple spray paint letters or left alone. As Cliff crossed the last patch of overgrown grass and dirt between him and the river, he took one last look around to make sure that no one was following him.
Once he was sure he was alone, Cliff headed down the riverbank and stood at the edge of the river. After looking around for a few moments, he found the graffiti he was looking for: a large, irregular, red letter “A” at the center of a lopsided red circle.
Cliff instinctively reached for his cell phone, then remembered that he had thrown it away yesterday. Glancing down at his cheap new watch, he realized that he was twenty minutes early.
“Hey.”
Cliff twitched slightly in surprise. He turned to see a young woman crouching on top of one of the neighboring metal pylons. She slid over the edge, lowering herself down and letting go in one smooth and silent motion. She dropped a full story, landed softly on her feet, and walked over to Cliff, extending a gloved palm to shake his hand.
“You must be Cliff. I'm Linda.”
Linda was a short, plump woman in her early thirties with sharp blue eyes, black cargo pants, a black leather jacket, and shoulder-length brown hair.
“Hi. Um...” He paused, fumbling for words. “Thanks for meeting up with me.”
“No problem.” She looked around for a moment, then looked back at Cliff. “Let's go.”
Linda turned away and started walking briskly up the riverbank. Cliff followed a few feet behind her at first, struggling to keep up until they made it back to level ground. Then, he caught up to her and walked alongside her.
For a minute or two, they walked in silence across the patches of grass, weaving their way around clumps of broken bricks and machinery. As they walked through the footprint of a mostly demolished building, it was Linda who broke the silence.
“So when did you figure it out?”
Cliff looked at her quizzically. She smirked, shaking her head.
“Anomalous, Cliff. When did you figure out you were a freak?”
She chuckled, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him jump a bit.
“No offense, we're all freaks here.”
Cliff looked around nervously.
“Well, I always felt different.”
He sighed, shaking his head slowly.
“I always liked playing with rocks and minerals. That's why I became a geology major. I've always felt an affinity for stones, and I actually found diamonds over at Crater of Diamonds State Park. But last Tuesday...”
He paused, holding his breath for several seconds and sighing again before continuing.
“I'm sorry, it still sounds crazy to say it out loud.”
Linda laughed. “Trust me, I've seen crazier shit in the past three years than you've seen in your entire life.”
Cliff stopped, fumbling through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a jagged hunk of unfinished ore. Linda stopped next to him, examining the stone for a moment before looking back up at him.
“Is that hematite?”
“Yes.” Cliff smiled and nodded. “Now watch this.”
He held the hematite in his left palm and raised his right palm a few inches over it. His brow furrowed and his breathing grew heavier as he stared intently at the stone. After a few moments, the stone started shifting shape with a faint popping noise like the sound of knuckles cracking. Soon, the hematite had taken on the rough shape of a cube. The sides of the cube still had an unfinished look, but they were smoother than they had been before the transformation.
Linda nodded, a broad smile spreading across her lips.
“Nice. I'll admit that's gotta be in my top ten.”
She started walking again. Cliff tucked the hematite back in his pocket and followed close by her side.
“I'm a healer, and my healing helps me step up my martial arts and parkour. I'm thinking of writing a how-to manual about that, honestly. And I'm a little clairvoyant too. Not much though. And the Order has these little black boxes that interfere with psychic abilities.”
“The Order? I think I read about them on your website. Are they the ones who tried to arrest me?”
“Yeah. Well, probably.” Linda smirked. “You never know, there's also some rich guy who hunts Anomalies. God only knows what he does with us when he catches us. He's got a lot of nicknames, but around here we call him the Bogeyman.”
As they reached the edge of the industrial park, they climbed through a break in the fence and started walking down an empty street. Linda studied their surroundings carefully as they continued walking and talking.
“Okay, so Anomalous Revolution is a decentralized network that probably has cells in every country on the planet. I say probably because we really are decentralized. Nobody knows exactly how many cells are out there. There are at least two cells here in St. Louis, but there might be more.”
Linda noticed a group of five well-dressed teenagers walking together on the other side of the street. They were lost in boisterous conversation and seemed oblivious to Linda and Cliff's presence, but she paused for a few moments until they were well past the teens.
“I'm taking you to a safe house that one of the cells set up for strays like you. They'll get you a fake ID and a new job.” She smirked. “You think you can handle retail?”
Cliff chuckled. “I guess it beats getting dissected.”
“Yeah, I know, right?” Linda laughed. “Once they get to know you, they'll find something better.”
Linda suddenly slowed to a stop, holding out a hand to stop Cliff in place.
“Something's wrong.”
The blood drained from her face as she looked around in every direction, carefully studying her surroundings. After a few quick glances up and down the street, she pulled Cliff into the alley that they had just walked past and started walking briskly, her hand still clenching his upper arm.
“What is it?” He looked up and down the alley, then looked over at Linda. “Did you see something?”
“No. And that's the problem.” She shook her head, her face and fists clenching in anger. “I can't see the safe house. I can't see anything. I'm pretty sure—”
Linda and Cliff both froze as a lone figure stepped out in front of them. He was a man in his mid-twenties in a cheap blue business suit. The man was walking slowly down the sidewalk at the end of the alley twenty feet away, staring down at a somewhat crumpled map. After a moment or two, he paused in mid-step and looked down the alley.
“Excuse me.” He looked their way and took a tentative step forward, a confused look on his face. “I'm looking for—”
Linda turned to Cliff, letting go of his arm.
“Run.”
Without another word, she burst down the alley at full speed, running away from the man in the business suit. For a moment, Cliff hesitated. But when the man threw down his map and glared at Linda, Cliff followed her down the alley.
“This way!”
Linda sprinted across the street at an impossible speed, leaping over a waist-high fence before Cliff had even made it into the alley. As she made it to the far side of the parking lot behind the fence, she paused, waiting for Cliff to catch up. But just as Cliff put his hands on the fence, he felt a sharp sting in the middle of his back.
“Shit. Sorry Cliff, I'm really sorry.”
Linda leapt over the next fence, and Cliff struggled to climb over the first fence to follow her. But suddenly, his arms and legs felt very heavy, and he felt very tired. As he collapsed onto the sidewalk, the man in the business suit descended upon him with gun drawn.
“Stay down! Stay down!”
Cliff struggled to move, but his body refused to respond and his mind was growing foggy. Soon, everything faded to black.
“Clifford Barry Johnson.”
Cliff opened his eyes, blinking and squinting in response to the harsh fluorescent ligh
ts overhead. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted to the light, and he was able to examine his surroundings.
He was in a windowless rectangular room, ten feet by twenty feet, with smooth white walls, a bare steel table, a steel door, and several sets of fluorescent lights embedded into the office tile ceiling. He was sitting at the table in a steel chair with steel cuffs around his wrists and ankles. A man in an expensive black business suit was standing on the other side of the table with clipboard in hand, glancing back and forth between Cliff and the clipboard.
“There we go. Clifford Barry Johnson. Are you awake now?”
Cliff nodded slowly. His throat was dry, and he his whole body ached, especially his head. As the memory of his capture returned to him, he lowered his head with a sigh.
“Now, now, Mr. Johnson. Don't look so glum.” The man in the suit smirked at Cliff for a moment, then his expression grew more serious. “I take it you know why you're here?”
Cliff nodded. The man continued.
“You're a very lucky man, Mr. Johnson. Our tests confirm that your anomalous condition poses very little threat to the general public. Therefore, you are eligible for Section A.”
Cliff stared at him blankly for a moment.
“Section A?”
“Yes.”
He took a sheet of paper from his clipboard, sliding it across the table in front of Cliff.
“Section A is our outpatient program. I like to call it 'tag and release'. You receive a monthly stipend to help with living expenses, as well weekly visits with a social worker trained in dealing with the challenges faced by people with your condition. In return, you agree to maintain a current address with