The Delphi Resistance (The Delphi Trilogy Book 2)

by Rysa Walker

  He calls me a few unflattering names. Then he asks if I’m alone.

  “You know I’m not alone, Timmy. You saw the video feed. And please watch the language in front of the kids.”

  We move down one more step. “Remember how I picked up Jaden Park and his visions after Lucas shot him? And remember all those other people who were killed in Lab 1 before him—Will, Oksana, and the others? I sucked them up like a vacuum cleaner, exactly the way your boss thought I would. They’re all here with me, too. They don’t like you much. And I also picked up a girl named Sonia. She’s what they call an amp.”

  Timmons has no way of knowing how much of that is true. For all he knows, I could be carrying around an entire psychic arsenal.

  “Sonia has come in really handy. She helps me focus my powers. Which means I don’t have to set this whole place on fire. I could just start a tiny fire at the base of your brain. Or your optic nerve.”

  “Not scared of the voodoo crap, freak.”

  “Oh, I know. You think you’re protected. Such a brave man hiding in there behind little girls. But here’s the thing—I’m pretty sure my amp is more powerful than your suppressor.”

  Another step down to the bottom stair. I press my back against the cold concrete of the circular wall and glance up at Aaron, a question in my eyes. He nods. Ready.

  Daniel. Once we see them, you’re on.

  I hold up one finger, two, three, and then Aaron and I pivot around the corner.

  And . . . nothing. This is the second floor. There’s even a big 2 on the wall across from us. But the room we’ve stepped into is a ring around the wide column that encloses the stairwell. And Timmons isn’t waiting at the opening.

  Um. Anna?

  What, Maria? It’s not a good time unless you can tell me where Timmons is and what he’s thinking?

  No. Still blocked. It’s just . . . fire’s out, but we still have smoke. Ashley has kids on the floor to breathe better, but . . .

  Got it. We’ll hurry.

  Aaron motions with his head, and we work our way to the right, our backs against the center column. We stop when we spot shadows, hyperelongated so that I can’t get much info from them. And, unfortunately, we’re running out of blank wall to press against. There’s an obstruction—a metal table with a bank of computer monitors—directly ahead.

  Fortunately, the table also marks the beginning of the strip of lights that illuminates that side of the room. The strip runs parallel to the floor around the column. I pull Aaron back and signal for him to put on his night-vision goggles again. Then I take off my right glove, because if I turn to use my left hand, I’ll briefly present more of a target. Timmons might not be supposed to shoot me, but it doesn’t mean he won’t, so I’ll have to take the burn on my right hand rather than my left.

  Okay, Hunter, you’re up. And then Daniel, immediately after. Whatever you can do to incapacitate him.

  I slide back, wincing as my hand connects with the strip of lights. It’s not as quick as destroying the lamp. The small lights pop rapidly one by one like a pack of firecrackers as Hunter struggles to keep my hand in place and not cry out. It’s only a matter of seconds, but it feels much longer. Then there’s a loud crackle as the battery itself is fried, and I feel myself slink down against the wall.

  And then Hunter changes places with Daniel.

  I’m not sure whether Daniel was planning to say something different, but the pain from my palm seems to have made the decision for him.

  Your hands are on fire!

  I’m not even sure he says the words aloud, but the sound is so loud inside my head that I flinch. So does Hunter. Jaden, however, seems somewhat oblivious.

  The only light now is the glow stick that Aaron pulls from his pocket and flings toward the opposite wall as Timmons begins to scream. Then the girls start screaming, too.

  Daniel increases his volume, so loud it makes my head ring, even rattling Jaden this time.

  ON FIRE, TIMMONS. YOUR WHOLE BODY IS ON FIRE.

  It must have the desired effect on Timmons, because the scream on the other side of the room rises to a shriek, coupled with scuttling noises and a sudden loud pop. Sparks briefly light up the dim room as the keening noise continues.

  Daniel pulls my body to standing. He starts walking forward, but it’s more of a stagger.

  Get back, Daniel. I’ve got this.

  He’d like to argue. I’m certain of that. But he doesn’t have the energy. My body crumples to the ground before I can take the driver’s seat, but then I’m up again, hurtling around the bend to see what has happened.

  Timmons is on the ground clutching one hand, which is burned far worse than mine. A taser lies on the floor next to him, still smoking. Bree hunches against the wall, staring at Aaron, who is pointing his gun at Timmons.

  He’s not the only one, however. A girl of around eight, who must be Maggie the Blocker, has Timmons’s gun in her hand. And the muzzle is pressed directly against the guard’s temple.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Near Lyon Mountain, New York

  December 21, 2019, 10:33 p.m.

  “I don’t have to shoot him, do I?” The girl’s voice is high, breathless, almost at the point of panic.

  Timmons has now realized that he’s burned but probably not about to spontaneously combust. He turns his eyes toward Maggie, and seems to be weighing his options.

  “No,” Aaron tells the girl. “Because if he so much as twitches a muscle, I will shoot him. Hold there for just a minute, though, okay? Can you do that?”

  Maggie nods.

  “Anna,” Aaron says, “do you have the other mask?”

  I pull the anesthesia mask he gave me earlier from my pocket and rip it open with my teeth to avoid using my singed hand. Which might be a little more than singed, judging from the pain, but I don’t have time to think about it. A whiff of orange hits my nose.

  Timmons is following Aaron’s orders and hasn’t moved. But he’s clearly planning something.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking,” Aaron says. “It won’t work. Move a single muscle, and I will shoot you, kokot.”

  He’s using the wrong one of Maria’s decidedly unaffectionate nicknames, but it reminds me that Maria and the others are still breathing in smoke. We need to hurry.

  Moving forward on my knees, I smack the mask against Timmons’s face to break the seal. I probably smack it a little harder than strictly necessary, but this is the guy who tased Deo back at The Warren. Who covered for Lucas when he came to my room planning to assault me. His eyes widen in pain, and I realize I’m pressing so hard that the jerk might not be able to breathe in the gas. I pull back the tiniest bit and watch as Timmons’s capacity for violent thought—for any thought, really—floats away on an orange-scented cloud.

  “Give me the duct tape,” Aaron says. I fish it out of my jacket pocket and toss it to him.

  “Can you take us to the door to Level 3?” I ask the girls as Aaron hastily wraps Timmons’s wrists and ankles.

  Maggie gives Aaron the gun and reaches for Bree’s hand to pull her to standing. I follow them back in the direction we came.

  “You were very brave,” I tell Maggie.

  “Bree, too,” she says. “She’s the one who blew up his taser.”

  A few steps beyond the opening to the stairwell that goes to the surface is a second metal door set into the concrete pillar. Aaron has caught up with us by then, and he shoves down on the long red handle, which groans and then clicks open. As he tugs backward on the heavy door, smoke billows out into our level.

  “Stay here,” I tell the girls and then call out, “Maria? Ashley?”

  Aaron pulls his scarf over his face and heads down the stairs. I follow, going against the surging tide of teens half carrying younger ones up to the next level. I lean against the wall, cradling my burned hand against me, to let them pass. Everyone is coughing and wiping their eyes, and soon I am, too.

  I spot Maria near the bottom. “Is that
all of them?”

  She nods just as Aaron yells, “Anna! Stay back.”

  Maria sighs. “All but Ashley and Caleb, yes.” Then she tacks on a mental message.

  Ashley won’t shoot. She’s just scared. But you know that. You see her with us in the snow in your vision.

  I bite back a curse. “Get everyone to the top floor. Keep an eye out for the other guard. There’s a backpack carrier in front of the house. Have one of the older kids bring it back down.”

  “No need for the carrier,” Ashley says. “Just get the kids moving, Maria. I’ll be taking Cregg’s van with Caleb.”

  The air is beginning to clear a bit, and I see Ashley at the bottom of the stairs. She has a cloth wrapped around her nose and mouth. A boy with wispy blond hair is asleep near her feet, and the gun she’s holding is pointed at Aaron.

  His gun is pointed right back at her. With the lower half of both their faces covered against the smoke and their guns out, this looks like a Western shoot-out between two masked bandits.

  “Pick Caleb up,” she tells me. “Carefully. I don’t want him breathing in more smoke.”

  I scoop him into my arms, being careful to avoid my injured hand. The boy is slack, totally out, and feels heavier than he looks.

  “Upstairs. Both of you.”

  We comply, and when we reach the second level, Ashley tells me to put the boy down next to her.

  I back away after placing him on the floor. Ashley shifts her aim briefly toward me and then back to Aaron, making it clear that she doesn’t trust either of us. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” she says. “But I obviously can’t leave here with you. I’ve got a responsibility to Caleb. I can’t end up in jail.”

  Aaron shoots me a confused look, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing I am. Neither of us had even considered turning Ashley over to the police. It’s entirely possible that Taylor has the authorities on speed dial, waiting for us to get back to the RV, but it’s not something we’ve discussed with her, and she’s smart enough to know it would be hard to hand Ashley over to them without drawing attention to ourselves.

  I shake my head. “Put the gun away, Ashley. We’re not planning to turn you in.”

  “Maybe you aren’t. But this guy came down the stairs pointing that gun directly at me.”

  “Because I knew you had the gun out! That you’re trying to muster enough anger to use it if you have to. You can’t leave in Cregg’s van, Ashley. It’s totally snowed in. There’s probably eighteen inches out there.” Aaron stops, looking around. “Where’s the other guard?”

  “Locked on Level 5 in Caleb’s room,” she says. “He won’t get out until someone lets him out. Did you take care of the other two?”

  “Temporarily. I’d say twenty minutes for Timmons. Maybe fifteen for the other guy . . .”

  “Then you need to go now. Get those kids to safety. I’ll use the snowblower and . . .” Her lower lip starts to quiver, and I’m pretty sure she’s realizing that her only path out of here is with us.

  “Maria thinks Cregg could be back by 11:15,” I tell her. “You won’t have time.”

  Daniel moves forward, his voice weak but insistent.

  Let me talk to her.

  Do you really think that will make things better? Right now, she’s assuming she’s wanted for attempted murder. If she knows you’re in here . . .

  I’ll explain, Anna. Just let me talk to her.

  I tap Aaron’s arm. “Swapping places for a sec.”

  “Okay . . . but we don’t really have much time.”

  “I know.”

  When I slide back, the first thing I see is Hunter, sitting against Molly’s file cabinet. His fists are clenched. Seeing Bree and not being able to say anything to her seems to have just about pushed him over the limit. I flash him a sympathetic smile—not much longer, be patient—but I need to keep my focus on what’s happening on the outside.

  “Where is Sariah?” Daniel asks. “Did he . . . did he kill her anyway?”

  Her eyes narrow, and the gun is definitely pointed at me now. She’s pretty much forgotten Aaron is even in the room.

  “Ashley, it’s me. It’s Daniel. I’m not dead. I don’t even know if I’m really in a coma. It’s . . . complicated. Sariah’s favorite song is ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” Daniel continues. “The two of you always do a truly horrible duet when it comes on the radio. She eats deviled ham out of the can, which is disgusting. You told her that it leaves her with cat food breath.”

  “You’re not Daniel. You just have his memories. I know you pick up ghosts—do you think I don’t remember that?”

  “Hey, um . . .” A tall boy is standing two stairs up holding the kid carrier. He glances at the guns and says, “I’m just gonna leave this here and . . . go.”

  “It’s okay,” Ashley says in her nurse voice. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  The boy nods, but he doesn’t turn his back to us as he retreats up the stairs.

  Once he’s gone, Daniel says, “Okay, you’re right. I can’t prove it. But, damn it, Ashley, you need to listen. Sariah ended up in this mess because she tried to save the kid on her own. It’s not a job for one person. That kid requires a team. He may require an entire village. You need us. And the other kids, plus the ones we have back in North Carolina, could use your help. So give me the damn gun, and let’s get out of here before that son of a bitch comes back and we all die in this hole.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “I know you were acting on Cregg’s orders. That you were trying to protect Sariah. And if she’s not here with you, he double-crossed you. He killed her anyway.”

  Again, Daniel’s emotions flood in as he speaks. There’s still a splash of the red-orange of his fear, but behind that is the deep black of grief. Despair.

  I feel his energy fade even more, but he pulls in a shaky breath and says, “If you don’t come voluntarily, Ashley, I’ll have to nudge you. Or at least try. I’m not sure I have another push left in me after Timmons. I think that might end any chance I have of getting back to my body, and I’ll be dead just like Sariah.”

  “I don’t know if she’s dead,” Ashley says. “Probably. When he learned that I failed . . . he didn’t call me back. And his assistant won’t return my calls.”

  Aaron looks over toward me, clearly feeling as confused as I am. Daniel is confused, too, and I feel my mouth form a soundless what.

  Another second passes before Daniel says, “But Cregg was here, right? You could have talked to him . . .”

  “Graham Cregg, yes. But it’s Ronald Cregg who had Sariah. He’s the one I was talking to at the hospital.”

  For a moment, we just stand there trying to process what she’s just told us. And then Aaron snaps us out of it. “We need to get moving.”

  Daniel doesn’t argue for once. He slides back without a word, and I find myself staring at Ashley’s pistol with my undamaged hand stretched out toward her. She grimaces like this decision is the bitterest pill she’s ever had to swallow and gives me the gun.

  While Ashley and Aaron get Caleb into the carrier, I take a minute to apply the burn bandage. After a few seconds, the hydrogel starts to take the edge off the pain. I hastily wrap the gauze around my hand and then help Ashley grab blankets from a supply closet.

  When we reach the top level, I do a quick head count. Then I call Taylor to make sure the path is clear for the RV and to fill her in on Cregg’s change of plans.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I didn’t make the last snowplow run. There was a truck parked out by the road, and I didn’t want to raise any suspicions.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Magda’s security team?”

  “Not unless the entire team is in a dirty white truck. Anyway, Magda says the security team is delayed. An eighteen-wheeler tipped over on Route 3 just out of Plattsburgh. The new ETA for the security team is, oh . . . about twenty minutes from now. She wants you guys to call ASAP.”

  “Is Deo—”

  �
�Yes. Deo is okay. He ate some soup. Fever is down to 102. Both of our fevers are down.”

  “Good. Stay put. I’m guessing fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes.”

  I glance at my phone—it’s 10:52 already. I’m really hoping we haven’t cut things too close. Cregg’s chances of locating us once we’re out on the highway are slim. But if they see us struggling to make it out of a nearby snow-covered private drive as their helicopter is coming in for a landing? And then find three Fudds knocked out and the wabbits missing? I’m guessing they’ll call in an anonymous tip to the local police to be on the lookout for an RV full of missing children.

  Maria has already sent someone ahead to grab the backpack with the winter gear, and kids are rummaging through it. Bree found the BB-8 jacket, but it’s a little tight, and she’s having a tough time zipping it. I help as best I can with my one working hand. Aaron is helping one of the others bundle up.

  I tell Aaron what Taylor just said. “Do you want to call Magda, or shall I?”

  “I’ll do it,” he says. “But let’s get out of here first.”

  Once we’re outside, Ashley piles the extra blankets on the other guard, Weeks. Part of me wonders if leaving the guards alive is doing them any favors. Cregg doesn’t strike me as a compassionate boss, and the three of them have just failed miserably.

  Then we start trudging through the snow, up the hill toward the tree line. I follow behind Aaron, who is now on the phone with Magda, and tug Bree along in my wake, trying to create enough of a path that she and the other kids can follow.

  Hunter lurks at the front of my head, to the point where it’s hard to focus on where we’re going. If he was in charge right now, we’d probably trip and fall, because he’d keep my eyes pinned on his sister. She looks a lot like him. Her hair is longer, and she’s taller, but then my mental image of Hunter is based on a photo that’s probably a year old.

  Bree’s eyes are wary, though, like there are questions she wants to ask but doesn’t think she should. She’s one of the only second-gen adepts who hasn’t asked if they’re going home. The older ones are mostly first-gen like Maria, and so far, none of them have asked. That makes me wonder how much they know about the current political climate for our kind. I doubt they’ve been reading or watching the news, but who knows how much Maria has managed to pluck from the minds of the guards.