by Alexa Dare
“Kind of you, Nora.” Vincent’s face and eyes settled into a sly set. He sat back, arms and ankles crossed, like he lay rather than sat in the office-type chair.
“He’s looking at you the way I must’ve looked at Aunt Pearl,” Junior said. A sad ache spread through his belly.
Nora turned a knob on the black box atop a desk, and the pressure behind Junior’s eyeballs ease.
Instantly, he jarred more awake.
Nearby, a soldier knelt beside Vincent. On one knee, the ready-to-bolt man held a sketchpad and pencil as if he meant, when told to, to hand the drawing stuff to the sixteen-year-old. The edges of the paper trembled.
If they meant for the Void Master, or whatever the teenager called himself, to draw death drawings, then they intended to kill.
“Junior, I asked whether you are capable of causing a quake if we provide a map to the place that appears on the screens. Bottom line, while sitting here, can you cause the ground to quake in another place?”
Junior gnawed his lower lip. “How far?”
Nora studied the wall-screen map. “The next ridgeline or on a nearby mountain. Miles from our inner-mountain facility.”
“I’ve never reached that far.” Could he shake things at that distance? He lifted his shoulders toward his ears and dropped them so hard he bounced in his seat. “I can try.”
“I need more than try.” In sharp, quick slaps, Nora clapped. The smack of her gloves popped sharp. “If we don’t do this, the militiamen will attack and steal you all away.”
“To where?” Junior ripped a bite of jerky from the slice with his teeth and did a Hannah-type chin lift.
“I bet it’s to a better place than here.” Hannah grinned and her almost-but-not-quite purple eyes twinkled.
“Sometimes you got to do bad things, right Miss Nora?” Darcy Lynn’s blond curls swayed as nodded. “So others, like us, don’t get hurt.”
The children looked at one another. Vincent stared straight ahead, looking like he didn’t care. When Hannah’s eyes watered like she might make it rain, Abe dropped his head.
“We’ll do as you say.” Junior’s jerky-greased fingers clawed his suit’s slippery knee.
“Good. It’s show time,” Nora’s man-friend said. “We don’t have time for a test run, so we’ll have to gain a strategic advantage the best we can.”
“Lieutenant Ross is going to prompt you when to use your ability.” Nora crossed her arms and shot a look toward the still blank screens. “Hannah, because of the delicacy of the equipment to moisture, we’ll need to keep your collar adjustment higher for the present. You do understand, don’t you, dear?”
The girl twin glared so hard that if she hadn’t been under the leash of the collar, her moody mood would have caused a downpour.
In a blink, the televisions came to life. A bald man with marble-shiny eyes grinned his way into the room from a whole lot of the screens, except one above Vincent’s head, which held a map that showed rises and valleys. The man’s eyes, the color of blue forget-me-nots and as keen as a sharpened ax blade, settled over the group like the aftermath of a landslide.
Behind the bald-headed man was a log cabin wall, with a wooden door a tad off to one side.
On the map, a big red dot showed where the stranger fellow was supposed to be. Junior squinted. The spot was out near Devil’s Ridge, as the crow flew, and located above the town of Rogersville, Tennessee.
“Nora, you’ve brought an audience,” TV man said.
“Are you privy to what they are capable of?” Nora lifted her chin toward the rock ceiling.
“We’ve had them under scrutiny for quite some time, so I feel as if I know your little group already. Darcy Lynn, your nightly visits with the wind proved quite revealing. Junior, you were a hard worker in the gardens for an extremely difficult taskmaster.”
Junior grunted. He did way more than work in a garden. Gaze narrowed, he chewed another bite of dried beef in jaw-grinding bites.
“Abe and Hannah, fire and water, quite impressive with your weekly bonfire performance. Since we are hopefully going to get to know each other, please call me Yates.”
“It’s my pleasure to inform you, Mister Brockton Yates.” Nora hocked the bald man’s name like phlegm. “The children and I have discussed your offer of an alliance, and we’ve mutually agreed to decline your invitation to join the New Mountain Militiamen.”
A nudge at his shoulder, then Mister Ross’s hand cupped his neck and shoulder blade in a quick squeeze.
In the oversized chair, Junior scooted forward. He slipped one foot from his boot, then the other. With a shrug, in the faint brush of not-real, barely pumped-in air from the overhead vents, he flattened his bare feet along the concrete.
Ross let go of him and stepped back to let Junior work.
At the red dot on the map, the man Yates no longer grinned. “Nora, whatever you’re planning, it’s a mistake for us not to join forces.”
“No mistake.” The woman smiled a close-lipped smile.
A bit funny-headed from the effects of the machine, Junior longed to place his hands against the floor, but it was best the man on the screen didn’t know what he was up to. He pressed his feet harder against concrete and reached out further through the soles.
“In other words,” Nora said, “our message to you is for you to leave us alone.”
“We have your exact location.” The many faces of the Yates man looked hateful. “We outnumber you. My men can overrun the underground Briar Patch tunnels and capture you and your soldiers within a few hours. After a great many lost lives, the children will be mine, whether you choose to cooperate or not.”
A dull ache, instead of the usual sharp throbs, flared in Junior’s shoulders, elbows, knees, and ankles. Since no bad pain hit, he liked the new collar even more.
The pictures on the monitors wobbled like Pearl’s television on a rabbit-ear antenna. Then the man teeter-tottered. His eyes stretched wide, and he grabbed hold of something, maybe a table or desktop.
In the background, someone out of sight but in the same room with Yates, yelped and yelled, “Oh, man.”
Brody! Junior glanced at the others, willing them not to tell on their friend.
Hannah gasped.
Someone, probably Darcy Lynn, clapped.
Abe breathed, “Whoa.”
Yates darted out of view. The doorframe to the log-hewn cabin tilted and rocked. The door flew open. Through the doorway view, men ran and scattered in the outdoors like chickens with a fox in their roost.
“Good job, Junior,” said the lieutenant fellow.
Junior hung his head and kept his smile to himself. He’d done good, and someone had said so. The sides of his face ached from smiling so wide.
Back at Briar Patch, the concrete shifted a tiny bit beneath Junior’s toes. A pencil-lead thin crack spread across the floor in the direction of the monitors.
No one noticed, except Junior.
Amid the warm, earthy fumes rising through the tiny floor crack, Junior lifted his feet. His teeth hurt a little, like scrubbing your knuckle on a stone while digging in the ground, but the bad pain he usually got when he quaked the earth didn’t overtake him.
The Yates fellow appeared on the TVs again. The glint in his eyes wilder than before, he tagged Nora with a glare as hard as limestone. “Well played. You continue to impress me, Nora.”
“While your return to my life is less than impressive.”
Lieutenant Ross moved to behind Abe’s chair.
Tapped on the shoulder, with a one-handed swipe, the boy twin removed his sight-blocking, dark-lens glasses. In seconds, the room warmed, then the warmth soared to that of a hot August day.
On the screen, sweat drips appeared on Yates’s upper lip and shined his baldhead like a ripe-on-the-vine, dew-glistened yellow tomato.
Dang, the air shot hot there too.
“Fire,” a man yelled from outside the open doorway behind Yates.
Buildings within Abe
’s sight through the open doorway caught fire. Crackling noises raged from Yates’s cabin. A roar whooshed, popped, and sizzled. Puffs of smoke thickened around Yates. Behind the bald man, a splash of water sloshed in an arch, then a tossed water bottle spun, turning top over bottom, whirling water as it tipped.
Men and women out of sight of Yates’s camera screamed.
Inside Briar Patch Mountain, Ross patted Abe’s shoulder.
Abe, with a one-sided quirked grin, slid his glasses back on his face.
“This isn’t over. Lots of unfinished business between us.” Yates’s jaws strained like a sweet potato outgrowing its skin. “This is not the end 0f—”
The screens blackened to a white blip, then nothing.
“Quiet.” Nora stepped toward the flickering pictures.
When the screens flashed bright again, Yates, with his face sooty and with his eyes filled with a sharp glint, appeared in the pictures of a smoke-filled cabin. “Nora, there’s no coming back from this. We could have made our alliance work and gotten what we both want.” The picture grew smaller and smaller until finally it was only a postage stamp-sized square. “You’ll hear from me again soon, Nora. Next time, I expect to and intend to see my son.”
The screens went dark.
Her face flushed with scowling anger, Nora rushed to the black encased device. With a yank, she twisted the knob.
Once again, heaviness like a ton of boulders descended. Junior couldn’t hold up his head. With a grunt, Abe flopped out of his chair. Ross caught Darcy Lynn as she toppled, then the Master of Fire teenager and lowered him next to Darcy Lynn.
In Junior’s ears, voices cottoned to wha-wha noises. In rough grabs, someone yanked Junior from his chair.
“…locked away,” echoed words from someone.
What had Yates said about a son?
Unable to speak or stop them, a limp Junior was carried to… Not another box. Not the cellar. A scream—his—echoed through his head.
Chapter 23
In the facility’s control room, Nora stood in the middle of havoc. A shrill tone and the rushing thrum of her heartbeat filled her ears to block her hearing. Her legs, no, her mind, didn’t’ seem to work. Even through the tamping down of her brainwave levels, Nora stroked the smooth metal of her necklace. She tapped into the life-affirming warm tingle circling her throat.
With the touch of death in her fingertips, she gripped the collar and locked her frantic gaze on her collapsed son.
Hunched over the chair arm, his skin so pale the color leaned toward unhealthy, Vincent reached. His twitching fingers grasped along the floor for the dropped No. 2 pencil.
“Vincent, please.” Nora took an unsteady step in her son’s direction.
The earthen scent and the heavy warmth from Junior and Abe’s use of their skills smothered her. Her windpipe fought her scorched inhales like a collapsing drinking straw.
The pencil rolled beneath Vincent’s fingertips.
“Move. Get the children to the Medical Bay.” Ross’s voice boomed. “Jones, round up Hernandez, you’ve both had emergency medical training. Nurse Weems can’t assist physically, but she can guide you about their potential treatment.”
For a moment, Nora had forgotten the others were there. Yet hadn’t it always been just her and her son against the world?
His clawing fingers snatched the No. 2 pencil.
“Vincent, I realize that you’re upset.” Nora forced her feet to scoot forward on stiffened legs.
As if it were a knife, Vincent wielded the pencil. He aimed the lead point at her. “You shall tell the truth, Nora. Share all of the story.”
“Let’s get the other children the care they need.”
“Your new boyfriend must remove the young ones.” The pencil shook in her son’s tight grip. “Get everyone out. Now.”
The guard that had been in charge of drawing supplies swiped the discarded pad with his foot. The pad of paper slid with a swoosh and a flutter of pages across the floor to halt a couple of yards away from Vincent.
In downward stabs, he jabbed at the guard.
“Clear the room,” ordered Lieutenant Ross.
Soldiers carried the children out. Why did I turn the knob all the way? The guard that had overseen the drawing supplies backed away and out.
Had Vincent shoved or attacked the man to make him drop the pad and pencil?
In the computer room, where no motors or fans whirred, Nora faced her wild-eyed sixteen-year-old. “Ross, place Junior and Hannah in Vincent’s old room. Since they are the two that seem to enjoy making the most trouble, we need to ensure their powers are under control.”
“You’re certain?” Ross’s words asked so much more. “The effects of the lead-lining on their EMFs might be a problem.”
“I issued an order, Lieutenant.”
No tenderness from before reflected in the former aide’s gaze. “Yes, ma’am. Room cleared.” Ross stepped through the doorway.
The door slid home.
Instead of giving in to the strong urge to rush to the exit, Nora remained focused on her troubled son. She winced at the pastiness of his sun-deprived skin.
The targeting end of the pencil clutched in his hand trembled. “You claimed you were a single mother.”
“I was and am.” She blinked against the hotness in her eyes. Warmth closed in on her. “Brockton Yates entered my life briefly and left years ago.”
“Once he realized he sired a monster?” Those pale eyed sheened.
“No, when he understood how much of one I became.” Nora wrung her hands, then stopped herself because the gesture likely made her look weak. “You’re old enough to understand, Vincent. But most men can’t love a woman they can’t touch.”
“You were unable to hold me.”
“Things are different between men and women.” Nora kept the location of the sketchpad in the outer rim of her vision.
“Therefore, he abandoned us?”
“He just vanished,” Nora said, her voice choked hoarse by regret. “He seemed to care so much. I didn’t know what might have happened. I was young. Scared. I had no clue what to do. Then the project took over every aspect of our lives. From then on, they controlled everything, even our entire future.”
“After all this time, why would he want to see me?”
“You’re his son.” The words scalded her tongue. Dare she offer her son hope where none might truly exist? An ache squeezed tight under the left side of her ribcage.
“Does he know? What I am? Of my ability?”
“Since he knows about the project,” a queasiness rose from her upper stomach into the back of her throat, “I suppose so.”
“Yet he wants to interact with me.”
To use you.
“Who wouldn’t want to meet a fine young man such as you?” she asked. Her smile no doubt contorted the lower half of her face, so she forced herself to relax and to wipe her expression clean. Many years of practice made the transition to blankness far too easy.
“This militia of the mountains possesses guns and destroys their enemies, correct?”
“I don’t know. When we met, Yates showed up out of nowhere.” Nora’s throat squeezed off her words. “Back then, I thought ours was a chance meeting. You must try to understand. I was only a bit older than you are now.”
“Father and I possess a considerable amount in common. The two of us, as individuals, deal in death.” He stabbed the pencil in long-arching, downward jabs before him.
“There is good in you, Vincent.” Another half step closer. “Please, let’s stop this bantering.”
“Don’t. Stop. Enough.” Vincent eased to the edge of his chair seat. “Do you not tire of saying those things? For I truly grow eternally weary of hearing such negative jargon.”
“Vincent…”
“Shall I draw us a picture, Nora?” He lunged. “Perhaps of your precious children.”
Arm outstretched, Nora bolted toward the sketchpad. “Don’t, Vincent. They
are only children. You can’t be so cruel.”
“Why would I not be? I am your offspring.” Vincent grabbed the sketchpad before she could and stood upright. He held the pencil high out of Nora’s reach. “And his.”
“Vincent, I won’t risk hurting you.” She stepped back.
“Therefore, you will not risk harming me any more than you already have?” His gaze, eyes so like his father’s, pleaded.
She slid her gaze to the crumpled pages hugged against his chest. Something ached and broke under the left curve of her ribs. “I’ve never been able to give you what you need, have I?”
“What is it you think I want?”
“A normal life and family.”
“In all these years, never once did you ask what I might want.” Vincent slashed his pencil across the paper.
Rips tore.
Bits of jagged paper fell like dirty snow.
With a howl, he tossed both pad and pencil aside. “I want to be myself. The harbinger of death.” Vincent stomped the sketchpad. He slid, clawed the wall to stay upright on the ripping sheets of paper. He ground his foot on the pencil. Wood snapped. Charcoal and orange wood splinters smeared the concrete. “I am the Master of the Void.”
“Listen, please. You need to remain calm. I understand how difficult that is when you get like this.”
“Stop telling me what I need.” Raw gut-wrenching rage grated his voice.
If only a mother could take her child’s misery upon herself.
“Not once did I yearn to be normal. Never. Who would spurn the true power of life and death within your artistic endeavors?” Grappling with scattered pages, he grimaced and tore the sheets to tiny bits. “Normal. I despise normalcy as much as I detest you.”
With a trembling hand, Nora reached out. Uncertain, she brushed her leather-tipped fingertips against the loose sleeve fabric of his military-issue olive green t-shirt. The cotton cloth shifted beneath the gentle pressure of her fingers, then she drew back her hand.
Vincent spun to face her. Clawing, he grabbed at her gloves as if to rip the pliable tan leather from her hands.
“What are you doing? Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Touch me.” So young, so lost, he pounded his chest. “The way I saw him touch you.”