The Delphi Resistance (The Delphi Trilogy Book 2)

by Rysa Walker

  I hear Daniel’s exasperated sigh, but I ignore him for a second more, pressing my lips against Aaron’s neck.

  Not the time for this, Anna.

  If this doesn’t work, it will be the only time. Are you sure you can nudge this guy fast enough to keep him from shooting?

  I’m not certain of anything. But do you have a better plan?

  He knows I don’t. I pull away from Aaron ever so slightly and prepare to give Daniel control.

  Take over with Hunter, okay? Jaden’s trying, but I think he’s tone deaf.

  What?

  Daniel doesn’t respond, but I understand what he means—and also why the odd songs were running through my head—as soon as we switch places.

  Hunter lies curled up in a ball on his side, arms wrapped around his knees, silent. Unlike Jaden, he’s not bloody, maybe because the shadows hid that from me when I first saw him. I can’t even see the gunshot wound. His eyes are open, though, with the same blank stare I noticed back at the cottage. Is he still seeing the shoes of the dead girl next to him? Or does he see Dacia’s face as she promises to make it quick for him, the way she claimed she made it quick for Molly?

  Jaden is hunched down in the far corner, keeping his distance from Hunter. And Daniel’s right. He is trying, but the poor guy couldn’t carry a tune in a paper sack. He’s reached the part of the song where trouble is melting like lemon drops. At least a quarter of the notes are off-key.

  As I take over the song, Jaden gives me a grateful look.

  He chilled out a little when Daniel started singing. Might be okay to stop now, but . . .

  I shake my head, unwilling to risk it, and sit down near Hunter with my back against the newest cabinet in the room, the one labeled Molly. The other cabinets are all the same dull gray-green as the file cabinet in Kelsey’s office, the one that I stared at for hours during the weeks when Kelsey was helping me organize the chaos in my head. But for some reason, Molly’s cabinet is painted a deep purple, covered with an explosion of brightly colored musical notes.

  Without even thinking about it, I segue into Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” one of the songs Molly could play by heart. There are no words to this song that I know of, so maybe it will be less distracting to Daniel. Right now, anything that distracts him could be fatal to all of us.

  Keeping my thoughts quiet and my panic level low would probably help Daniel as well. But I can’t not look, can’t help peering through my lashes as the beam of light slices through the woods, moving closer to our hiding spot every second. The light reminds me of Molly’s dreams, of Cregg blinding her and Dacia with his flashlight each time he entered the basement. But the man definitely isn’t Graham Cregg. This guy is taller. Larger, and vaguely familiar.

  When the light passes beneath his face again, I recognize him. He’s one of the guards from The Warren. I saw him in the cafeteria once, talking to the guy who accompanied Dacia to the police department the night she interrogated me. He was armed when I saw him at The Warren, but only with a taser. Now, there’s a rifle slung over one shoulder.

  Daniel seems to notice it at the same moment I do. The string of curse words echoing in my mind makes it clear that he does not believe this is a good thing.

  Jaden’s nodding.

  Yeah, that’s him. Name’s Grady. I don’t think he was around Dacia as long as Whistler, but still long enough he might have built up some resistance. I’m guessin’ you’re gonna need to shout.

  He’s clearly talking to Daniel, so I save any questions for later, even though my mind lingers on the idea that he might have become resistant. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  I slide closer to Hunter and hum louder. The last time Daniel had to “shout,” it was like someone had turned my internal volume to eleven, and who knows how that kind of noise might affect the kid. He’s still curled up chin to knees, and aside from the vacant stare, he looks almost exactly like the picture in the file that Magda put together, the picture that’s been blasted all over the media around here for the past week.

  I reach out, wondering if it would help or hurt to touch him. Turns out it’s a moot point. His body looks as solid as anything in here, but my hand sinks straight through. I can feel a floor beneath me, I can feel the brightly colored cabinet behind me, I can even feel the mental bricks stacked behind me.

  Yeah, Daniel couldn’t touch him either. Maybe . . . I mean . . . everything else here is you. We’re not permanent. And—

  Whatever else Jaden planned to say is drowned out by Daniel. “THERE’S NO ONE IN THE WOODS. IT’S JUST A DEER.”

  I don’t think Daniel actually shouts, because Aaron barely startles. In here, however, the words echo off the bricks as though they were screamed into a megaphone. Hunter flinches once, and then his body slumps again. Jaden and I both wince, our hands flying to shield our ears, even though I strongly doubt it’s doing the slightest bit of good. My stomach twists, threatening to expel the burrito I had for dinner.

  The man, Grady, also reacts. He turns straight toward us, raising the rifle to his shoulder.

  “IT’S A DEER!” Daniel repeats.

  I barely hear the shot. My ears are still ringing from Daniel yelling, and things happening on the outside seem fainter when I’m back here. Aaron’s body jerks backward, pushing me deeper into the brush—or was that the force of the bullet hitting his body?

  For a moment, everything goes in slow motion. My heart stops, and it feels like the air is sucked out of my lungs. Then I realize that the angle of the gun isn’t right and Grady isn’t looking down at us—he’s staring off into the distance a few feet above the bushes where we’re hidden.

  He watches briefly, then shakes his head, annoyed. Finally, he pulls his phone out and dials.

  “Dead end. Nothin’ but a deer. Big one, too. Ran off when I shot at it.”

  He’s too far away for the answering voice to be anything other than gibberish, but it sounds like Dacia. And she doesn’t sound happy.

  “Yeah, I shot at it.” His tone is defiant, but he stops and gives a confused look back in the direction he fired the gun. “Been hunting since I was a kid. If I see a deer, and there’s a gun in my hand, you bet your ass I shoot.”

  Another pause, and then he says, “MPs didn’t hear shit. I had the silencer on.”

  Whatever Dacia says next pisses him off. “How the hell was I supposed to know that? No. Definitely do not call the Senator. Shoot them. Have Whistler dump them in the lake. I’m on my way.”

  Grady shoves the phone into his pocket and turns toward the trail. As soon as his back is in sight, my mouth opens, and the words, “That’s not a gun you’re holding. It’s a snake!” tumble out.

  The man freezes and casts a nervous glance at the strap on his shoulder. Then he shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear it, and takes another step forward.

  “NOT A GUN! RATTLESNAKE!”

  Does Daniel actually say the words? I don’t know. The noise in my head is overwhelming, and this time, Hunter also reacts. In the middle of the chaos, I’d stopped humming, and now the kid’s keening almost, but not quite, drowns out the cursing as Grady swats frantically at the strap on his shoulder.

  Which is now very clearly a snake. I watch it writhe as Grady’s hand wraps around it, as he flings it to the ground.

  Aaron lunges forward, but we’re farther away than Grady is, and Aaron’s sudden motion seems to have triggered a part of Grady’s brain that rejects the possibility that his gun could somehow morph into a rattler. Grady’s hand lands on the gunstock just as Aaron’s lands on the barrel, and Grady, who is standing, has more leverage. It’s an uneven tug-of-war, and one that I have no doubt he’ll win.

  Daniel prepares to send another mental blast, but I scream as loudly as I can, making sure he hears me over Hunter’s wails.

  Move!

  I shove Daniel’s consciousness aside. It feels almost as if I’m diving into my body at the same time I’m propelling myself out of the bushes. My right ha
nd flies upward as I flip the safety on the canister with my thumb.

  The pepper spray spreads outward, hitting Grady square in the face. He stumbles forward, screaming, hand to his eyes. I lift my thumb, preparing to spray again, but his shoulder catches me in the stomach and slams me to the ground, pinning my left arm beneath him. He’s still making strange yelping sounds, wiping at his eyes with one hand as he twists my wrist with the other, forcing me to drop the pepper spray.

  I push against the ground, trying to get out from under him, but it’s no use. He’s too heavy, too strong, and I don’t know if he’s exhaling the stuff or if it’s just blowback, but now I’m starting to feel the effects of the pepper, too. It’s not enough to make me cry out like he is, but it sure as hell isn’t pleasant.

  Then his hand moves to my throat, and I’d be happy to pull in any breath at all, even one laced with chemicals.

  Even with my eyes watering, I can still see clearly enough to recognize the barrel of the gun as it advances, stopping mere inches from Grady’s temple. The rifle fires once, and Grady collapses, his head falling to my chest. A warm, wet flood begins to wash over my skin.

  “Are you okay?” Aaron asks.

  I nod, although I can barely hear his words over Hunter’s screams in my head. I’d thought the boy was at peak volume before, but the sight of another gun so close seems to have pushed him over the edge. And while Jaden and Daniel probably wouldn’t admit it, based on their recent fatal or nearly fatal encounters with guns, I suspect they’re shaken up as well.

  As much as I hate to wall Daniel and Jaden inside right now, I don’t have a choice. My head is already beginning to throb again, and it’s likely to get worse based on my experience this afternoon. So I close my eyes and begin stacking the mental bricks as Aaron lodges one foot under Grady’s abdomen and shoves the man’s limp body off of me.

  Aaron stares down at the body. There’s disgust, anger, and something I can’t identify in his expression. And then music blares from the man’s jacket—an upbeat song called “Happy” that played incessantly a few years back. I don’t know if it’s the shock of the past few minutes or the total incongruity of the music, but I laugh nervously.

  He grabs Grady’s phone and checks the screen, then stashes it in his pocket as it falls silent.

  “Probably Dacia calling back. We need to get going.”

  I nod, trying to sit up. That movement, combined with the vertigo that comes with moving back and forth inside my head and the sight of Grady’s blood on my shirt—please please please let it be just his blood and not his brains—is the final straw for my stomach.

  Aaron steps aside, and I’m grateful to him for giving me that modicum of privacy. When I finish retching, he helps me up. From the look on his face, he’s pretty close to hurling, himself.

  “I’ve carried a gun for two years now,” he says gruffly, retrieving the pepper spray and Grady’s flashlight from the bushes where they rolled during the struggle. “First time I’ve ever used one on somebody, though.”

  Aaron’s still favoring his injured left ankle, but he’s able to put a bit of weight on it. Our ability to move as a team is apparently cursed, however, because now my eyes burn so badly that I can barely keep them open. When we’re a few feet away from both Grady’s remains and the remains of my dinner, I run smack into a bottlebrush pine about a foot shorter than I am.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I will be. Give me a sec.” It might help if I could wipe my face, but when I look down, every inch of my clothing is either muddy, bloody, or possibly contaminated from the spray. I unzip my hoodie and toss it on the ground, but even my T-shirt is drenched.

  Aaron puts the gun down and removes his windbreaker.

  “Here. Put this on.”

  I add my drenched tee to the pile on the ground and slip my arms into Aaron’s jacket. It’s not exactly clean, but the inside is dry and still warm from his body.

  He uses the hem of his sweatshirt to quickly wipe the area around my eyes. It helps—a little—and I start moving back toward the trail.

  “Wait,” Aaron says, crouching down to turn my ruined hoodie inside out.

  “Don’t bother. It’s old. We need to go. You heard him. He said shoot them.”

  “Can’t leave it. Evidence. DNA.” He quickly rolls the hoodie up, then ties the sleeves together, forming a loose ball. “And maybe Dacia wasn’t talking about Taylor and Deo. Maybe . . .”

  But he doesn’t have another logical interpretation for what Grady said, and neither do I. Maybe they brought more kids out here to kill and dump? As much as I want Deo and Taylor to be safe, I can’t bring myself to hope for that option either.

  I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. My touchscreen is now covered in a spiderweb of cracks, but the phone still works. I tap one of the icons, and a map opens. “Find Deo,” I say as we begin pushing our way back to the trail.

  Aaron gives me a questioning look over his shoulder.

  “A tracker app. Taylor installed it right after Porter bought these phones. She put it on your phone, too. Might not help if one of us gets nabbed again, but we’d be dumb not to at least try. There could be one on Grady’s phone too. You should turn it off.”

  “That’s his name?”

  “Yeah. Daniel and Jaden both recognized him. A guard at The Warren, mostly worked with Dacia.”

  Aaron huffs. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful for Daniel pulling our asses out of the fire, but why bother making the man see a deer? Why not just say that about the snake to begin with?”

  “I don’t know. But this is hard on Daniel, at least when he has to work through me. It’s a lot easier to make someone believe there’s a deer in the woods than to convince him his gun has morphed into a rattlesnake.”

  The location app is taking longer than usual, maybe because of the cloudy night, or maybe the phone really is screwed up. I’m about to get Aaron to pull it up on his phone instead when the voice finally says, “Locating Deo.”

  I keep one stinging, watery eye on the uneven ground below me and the other on the screen, almost too scared to look, terrified that the location pin will show that Deo is now in Overhills Lake. But when the pin eventually appears, it shows he’s about a quarter mile south of us, near the house where we found the bodies. A wave of relief rushes through me, and I flip the screen around to show Aaron.

  “Thank God,” he says. “But why would Taylor go back there? They were supposed to get the hell out of . . . here.”

  I can tell from Aaron’s expression that the thought hits him at the same instant it hits me. Maybe Dacia just decided it would be easier to go back to the house and leave Deo and Taylor’s bodies with the others, rather than dumping them into the lake.

  As soon as our feet are on the other side of the fallen tree, we start running. I hold back, torn between keeping pace with Aaron, since he’s the one with the gun and the flashlight, and knowing that I could move faster.

  Aaron clearly realizes it, too. He grabs my arm and pushes the gun toward me.

  “Go. You can shoot, right?”

  I give him an incredulous look. “Aaron, my eyes are streaming like Niagara Falls. Even if I did know how to use a gun, which I don’t, I’d be more likely to kill them accidentally than save them!”

  “Okay, then. Back to plan A.” He takes the rifle from me and keeps going, even though he looks like he’s going to keel over every time he lands on the sore ankle.

  When we’re a few yards away from the dilapidated stable, the roar of an engine coming from the road ahead stops us cold.

  “Holy mother of God,” Aaron says. “How did they make it back around so fast?”

  My phone begins to vibrate, signaling an incoming text. Under the circumstances, any sane person would ignore it, especially when it could be another quote from Cregg. But something—either habit or instinct—makes me pull the phone from my pocket.

  Deo’s name flashes on the screen. The text is short
:

  can u make it to stable?

  Aaron and I exchange a look as the noise of tires spinning in mud reaches us.

  It might be Deo. But it might also be Dacia with Deo’s phone.

  “I could ask him something I don’t think she’d know, but . . .”

  He understands as well as I do how pointless that would be. Dacia has pulled information from Deo’s mind at least twice. I have no idea what she knows and what she doesn’t.

  “Text back yes. If it’s Dacia, she may not expect us to have the rifle.”

  I send the message and then catch up with Aaron, who is now shining Grady’s flashlight into the abandoned building. Turning back to look at the trail, I see a faint glow to the south, with fragments of brighter light filtering through the brush.

  We duck into the building, and something scurries along the wall into the corner. I manage to stifle a shriek, but it’s a close call. With everything that has happened today, my nerves are frayed down to a few thin strings.

  The two of us crouch low, Aaron in front so that he can keep watch around the doorframe and shoot if necessary. I rest my hand on his back and feel his muscles twitching beneath the fabric of his shirt, like they were earlier when he was reading Grady’s thoughts.

  Now that I’ve stopped moving, the clatter in my brain returns. It’s muffled by the wall but still there. Hunter has calmed down a bit. Someone—I think it’s Jaden—is humming again.

  I get a quick glimpse of a no-longer-white truck through the trees as it approaches the stable. A wave of relief comes over me before I remember that this means nothing. Dacia could have shot Taylor and snatched the truck keys from her hand.