by Jordan Dane
They had all died at the hands of these men.
Some men believed dying was the worst thing that could happen to them. Lucas believed taking another life was far worse. These men who chose to fight an enemy they’d already killed would have the unique perspective of understanding both sides of the argument.
Of those who took aim, their weapons were visibly shaking. Others dropped their rifles and ran, screaming. G.I. Joe, with his unblinking stare, barked his demands of the men who ran, oblivious to his share of the demons that had come for him.
“Stop! That’s an order,” the man yelled. “None of this is real. They’re messing with your heads. Stop!”
Lucas didn’t know anything about the powerful force that could conjure dead enemies, but he did appreciate a wicked sense of justice.
Seconds Later
“What the hell?”
O’Dell heard Boelens yelling on his comm unit. More voices and noise made his man nearly impossible to understand. His words came across as a garbled mess, nothing more than screams. Something had gone terribly wrong.
As he sat in his vehicle in the murky dark, with only moonlight coming through his windshield, his mind played tricks on him. The sounds of screams in his ear didn’t help.
“What’s happening? Talk to me,” he yelled at Boelens. “Quit screamin’ like a girl!”
He heard the panic in his voice and didn’t like the way it sounded on him. When shadows around him messed with his head, he jerked to his left. He thought he saw someone and peered through the dark. With him being alone—listening to the cries of his men, which needled his nerves—it forced him to think of peculiar things. He thought about going inside. He was armed. Maybe he could help.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered.
Hearing creepy stuff on his comm unit had jacked with his head, but when he felt something move under his sleeves, he jumped.
“Holy shit!”
He unbuttoned his cuffs, yanked back his sleeves, and stared in wide-eyed horror at what he saw. His snake tattoos glistened under the moon and something slithered out from his skin. Like a bad acid trip from hell, his tattoos had come alive. They spewed snake after snake that dropped to the floorboard of his SUV. They curled down his legs and pooled at his feet. He swatted and threw them, but they wouldn’t stop.
“No, no!” He squirmed and kicked, but they kept coming. He reached for his door, but it had locked. He yanked at the handle, ripped at the lock, but couldn’t budge it. In a panic, he reached across and tried the other doors, but none of them opened. When he cranked on the ignition to open the windows, his engine wouldn’t kick over.
Now he had snakes to his waist. They wouldn’t stop. They crawled over him, flicked their tongues and hissed. He felt the weight of them on his chest, between his legs and up his calves. In all sizes, they knotted their grotesque bodies around him, but when one large head came from the backseat and dropped next to him, O’Dell couldn’t breathe.
A python. Inch by inch, its body glided from the back with no end in sight.
O’Dell had no choice. Trapped and locked in his SUV with snakes slithering over him, he couldn’t think straight. He reached for his Glock and pulled it from his holster as the massive snake inched toward his chest. He knew how they killed. Pythons crushed their victims and ate them whole. He didn’t want to end up as snake crap.
Reptiles were O’Dell’s worst nightmare. He had tattooed snakes on his arms—the one thing he would always be deathly afraid of—as a challenge. A damned joke. He wasn’t laughing now. As the python wrapped around his leg, he took aim and pulled the trigger.
The muzzle flash blinded him and his ears went numb with the blast, but when searing pain shot through his body—O’Dell screamed like a girl.
West Hollywood
When Fiona couldn’t sleep, she gave up trying. Hours of staring at the dark ceiling of her bedroom, rehearsing a conversation she would never have with the man in charge, had finally run its course. Her anger had swelled to an unbearable boiling point. She’d been deliberately left out of a major covert operation by Alexander Reese, a man she thought counted her as his equal. O’Dell would get the privilege of abducting the Darby boy—her discovery.
It wasn’t fair.
She turned on the light on her nightstand and reached for the file she had on the new boy—the other one—and glared at his photo. A good-looking boy she wanted to meet. One day, she would. Fiona had no doubt.
“Count on it,” she whispered as she rubbed a foot against her calf when her skin tickled. Fiona stared at the enlarged surveillance photo, the best one they had of him. Scratching her leg again, she memorized every facet of his handsome face. Those eyes she would not forget.
When she heard a soft flicker of a wing, she glanced toward the lamp on her nightstand. She caught a shadow race across the light and she jerked straight up. Rolling her file, she sat up in bed and searched for the biggest bug she’d ever seen, ready to swat it.
She despised insects.
But this time, when she felt something on her ankles, she screamed and threw back her bedcovers. Roaches crawled all over her. They festered under her gown and crawled over her skin. They were everywhere. After she leaped from bed, she crunched them under her feet and slipped. They were in her hair. In unmentionable places. She couldn’t stand it.
Fiona screamed, dragged fingers through her hair and scraped her skin bloody raw. When she looked back at her bed, the sheets moved and more scuttled from under her bedding. She couldn’t take it anymore.
She stripped out of her nightgown and raced for the shower, but the vile creatures trailed after her. She couldn’t escape them. When she flung open her shower door, they slithered up through the drain. She had no place to hide.
In utter desperation, she ran from her house—naked and screaming as the day she’d been born. Dogs barked. Security lights flicked on. One man taking out his garbage, dressed in his pajamas, stared as she ran screaming down the hill, racing toward him. He did nothing to help her. He only raised his cell phone and shot video of her degradation.
Fiona would trend and go viral on YouTube. Except for the great shape of her Pilates butt, it would not be her finest hour.
Downtown L.A.
Boelens felt his brain fraying at the edges. Fear took over and he couldn’t stop it. A blinding light in the tunnel stabbed his eyes as vicious growls grew louder. He didn’t know what was real or only a hallucination when he caught glimpses of pit bulls as they crossed the light. Their heads were bloodied and their teeth bared as if they’d already been in a fight. He prayed they weren’t real, but he couldn’t afford to be wrong.
He grabbed his assault rifle and took aim at the rabid dogs, but before he could get a round off, he heard his name. A raspy whisper brushed his ear. He swatted at it and jerked his head toward the sound. No one was there. When he heard his name again, he spun on his heels, ready to shoot.
What he saw stole his breath.
Faces of the dead stared back. They accused him with their sightless eyes. Their bodies were brutalized, wounds he’d inflicted. Head shots, gaping throats and mutilations he would never forget. These were men he had killed. He remembered every one—how they died, the sound of their last breaths, their eyes. He had never told anyone before, but these faces haunted his nights.
They were his penance for breathing.
No one knew about his recurring nightmares—his darkest fears—but Kendra Walker had wormed her way into his head once before. He’d been her victim and would never forget that violation. Having her in his head had made him stronger. It pissed him off. He didn’t need permission to annihilate her ass. O’Dell only really wanted Skywalker. The Princess had gone too far this time. He didn’t care what the church wanted when it came to that girl. She wasn’t human.
“None of this is real,” he said. “Only Skywalker and the Princess.”
Boelens shifted his rifle and took aim at Kendra Walker. He knew he couldn’t kill the dead, b
ut he could get payback from the living.
Chapter 19
Howling winds in the tunnel made it hard to concentrate as Boelens saw his mission come unraveled. His men had deserted him. The unconscious bodies of head cases ready to harvest lay at his feet. They each were worth a bounty to him, but some things, like payback, were more important to him than money. Although Boelens was still plagued by the nightmarish demons of the men he had killed, he didn’t care. He had a feeling his torment would end with one kill shot, and he had Kendra Walker in his sights.
But something made Boelens stop. Movement in the corner of his eye.
“Drop your weapon...or I’ll shoot.” A small voice tried to sound fierce.
Boelens peered into the dark. A girl stepped into the moonlight. Her hair and clothes were whipped by the wind and her hands shook as she held a handgun pointed at him.
He smiled.
“You don’t even have the safety off,” he yelled, loud enough for her to hear him above the wind. “Put the gun down before you hurt someone.”
The girl blinked and swallowed, hard.
“Rayne, what are you doing here?” the Darby kid called out to the girl. “I told you not to look for me.”
In an instant, Boelens knew who she was.
“I couldn’t do that, Luke.” The girl gripped the weapon and kept her eyes on Boelens.
“Who is she?” Kendra asked.
“She’s my sister and she’s not like me. Please don’t hurt her.” The kid pleaded with him for his sister’s life. Real touching.
In a sudden rush, the fierce, hot winds died and an eerie stillness left his ears ringing. Boelens turned to see his demons vanish one by one, before his eyes. What the hell? From a distance, he heard footsteps in the dark. As they echoed and got louder, he gripped his rifle and pointed it into the shadows.
A tall boy dressed in jeans, hiking boots and a black Dead Gone Wrong T-shirt emerged from the dark. With long dark hair, he could have passed for a rock star on the streets of L.A., except he had the face of a choirboy. His eyes were intense. He used them like weapons.
“Hello,” the boy said.
The kid glanced at the Walker girl and the Darby kid. They had a moment—a geek stare fest—before he shifted his focus back to him and smiled.
“Out for a stroll, are we?” Boelens laughed. The guy had balls, he’d give him that. “You’re gonna wish you never took this shortcut.”
“On the contrary, I’m exactly where I want to be. Can you say the same?”
The kid had the accent of a Brit, but that wasn’t what got his attention. The control in the kid’s voice surprised him. Boelens narrowed his eyes.
“So are you a freak like them?” he asked.
“A freak? No. Haven’t you heard? We’re the new normal. You’re the one in the minority here. Does that bother you? It should.” The boy didn’t expect an answer. Instead, he shifted his attention to the girl. “Rayne, please do me a favor and put down the gun. We won’t need it.”
“But...” she stammered, and fixed her gaze on him. “A little insurance?”
“I thought you trusted me.”
The girl swallowed hard before she did what he told her. She bent down and set the gun on the ground and stepped toward rocker boy. Cocky bastard. Boelens grinned. Things were getting interesting. He felt like a lucky man.
“As long as you’re being so obliging, why don’t you come with us?” Boelens asked. “I have people who would love to get their hands on you. There’s room in the truck. What do you say? We can make it a party.”
“The Church of Spiritual Freedom would be quite happy to see me, I assure you.” When rocker boy said that, the Darby kid and Kendra did a double take and exchanged looks. Boelens had been shocked to hear the name of the church, too.
“But I have no intention of going with you...or letting you take these kids. So you see, unless we can negotiate something, you will not leave here a happy man.”
“That supposed to scare me?”
“It should, but that would depend on how smart you are, wouldn’t it?”
Boelens gritted his teeth and clutched his M4. It wouldn’t take much for him to pull the trigger.
“You won’t need that rifle,” the boy said. “Please put it down.”
Boelens snorted a laugh, but when his hands started to burn like acid, he looked down to see his M4 glowed molten red.
“Shit!” He tossed it and glared at the kid. “I don’t need a weapon to take you out.”
The rocker didn’t flinch. “I don’t need one, either.”
That made Boelens stop.
“Your men are nowhere in sight,” the kid said. “You’re without your rifle and you’re not leaving here with our family, but you don’t have to go away empty-handed.”
The Darby kid and the Walker girl stood at his side. The sister, too. Boelens faced a wall of attitude.
“I’m listening.”
“What if I had something that you’d pay dearly for, in exchange for our freedom? You’d simply walk away and leave us alone. A temporary truce.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, actually, no. Thank you for asking. I also need you to deliver a message, but we can talk about that later. I’m quite sure you won’t mind.”
Boelens shook his head.
“What do you have that I could possibly want, smart-ass?”
“I sense something in you.” The kid stepped closer, not taking his eyes off him. “No amount of bonus money can buy you peace of mind. Would you agree?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was asked by a very sweet and smart girl if I could change my life, would I do it. I pose that question to you. What would you give for a good night’s sleep?”
Boelens glared at the kid who talked in riddles, until he figured out what he meant.
“You. You were the one,” he spat. “How did you do it? I never told anyone about my nightmares. You’re one cruel bastard.”
“Come on.” The kid grinned. “I only gave you a taste. I’ve seen plenty of Wes Craven movies, and Saw 3D is classic. I could conjure far worse, believe me.” Before Boelens opened his mouth, the rocker said, “I could wipe the slate clean, literally. You wouldn’t remember the horrors you committed for God and country and the almighty dollar. I could give you a fresh start. What would that mean to you?”
Boelens didn’t say yes, but he didn’t exactly say no, either.
“The next guy you kill will be on you, though.” The kid shrugged. “I don’t warranty my work.”
Boelens had found another kid he could truly hate. “Guess I’d be a fool to turn your offer down.”
“Now, that we can agree on.”
“But that’s exactly what I’m doing. No deal.” He expected the kid to be surprised by his sudden turnabout, but that didn’t happen.
“I’m sorry. Did I give you the impression that I asked your permission?” The kid grinned. “My bad.”
When the mind freaks came toward him, Boelens reached for his knife but found he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink.
* * *
It shocked Rayne to see what Gabriel did to a man who would have scared the hell out of her if she had to face him alone. But to watch as Lucas helped without any of them talking about it, that freaked her out. It was like they knew what the other was thinking. It reminded her that she wasn’t like them and never would be.
She could imagine a future of human beings like Gabriel and Lucas. That seemed very cool, but what if others would come behind them with not-so-good intentions, yet with the same powers? She had to admit that scared her even more.
After Gabriel had worked his mojo on the guy with the rifle—and given him a message to deliver—Kendra went with Gabe to make sure the man left without taking the truck and the keys. That left her alone with Lucas.
Given her supervised hospital visits, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had him to herself without the meds that fogged his b
rain.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” he said.
When Rayne heard him say that, a knot wedged in her throat. He looked tired, but he had a fire in his eyes that she’d never seen. She liked it. She wanted to explain, to apologize, to pour everything out of her heart in that moment. She finally had her brother in front of her, but Luke never let her speak. Rushing to her, he grabbed her in his arms and pulled her off the ground. He spun her until she got dizzy. She shut her eyes and held him tight, blocking out all the times she’d visited him in the hospital and he didn’t recognize her—when drugs had robbed her of her baby brother.
Rayne couldn’t help it. She cried. He did, too. She felt his quiet sobs and knew they came from a lifetime of regrets and grief that they shared.
“I love you, Luke.”
“Never doubted it.”
Their future had plenty of uncertainty. Whatever they’d had, it was gone, but they would have a precious do-over. They had each other.
It would be a start.
An Hour Later—Dawn
In the aftermath of the attack, the sun came up as usual and bathed its early-morning light on Kendra’s garden. She took no joy in that. It only reminded her that life went on, despite her world—their world—being torn apart.
Those who had survived gathered in the commons, watching her as she sat in silence. No one spoke. They waited. Every sniffle, every sob stabbed her heart. Whenever a noise came from the tunnels, every kid turned to see who would be there. She did, too, but as time went on, she felt hope drain from her soul.
She felt the hole where Raphael had been. The damage to the hive—and everything she had tried to build with him—made her soul ache and compounded her misery. She couldn’t fathom a future without him. Seeing the survivors had been her only comfort.