Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)

by Jeremy Flagg

  “If they come for you, use your abilities as much as you can.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The girl in his arms was half his age. She clung to him, hiding her face away from the boogeymen. The girl’s senses were heightened, nearly driving her mad. For the longest time she hid away in a safe in the bank in town, the only place with walls thick enough to block out the noise.

  “Jenny.” Twenty-Seven saw one eye peak out to look at her. “If you hear anything, you tell him. Help him.”

  The girl clenched her eyes. “They’re dead.”

  Twenty-Seven didn’t need to ask. The girl was listening to the inhabitants of the town being killed one at a time. The smell of blood must be reaching her by now. Twenty-Seven wanted to shelter her, save her from this madness, but right now, she needed soldiers. “Jenny, Ryan needs you to help him. Can you do that?”

  Her eyes darted back to the boy she held tightly. She nodded.

  “Now run.” Twenty-Seven grabbed her gun and bolted out the glass doors. The synthetics stood there, motionless. She wasn’t sure if they had any way to charge their bodies again. If she had the ammunition, she’d dismantle them one at a time, but she had one round left and it was for an emergency.

  They began their trot down the road. Ryan kept looking back and forth as he passed alleys. Twenty-Seven grabbed her gun and took aim at a synthetic on the roof of a building to his side. Before she could pull the trigger, the robot’s shoulders slumped and she saw Jenny pointing. She took a deep breath and for the first time in the last hour, she thought somebody might make it out alive.

  “Now for the rest of you.”

  There were no explosions, no bloodcurdling screams, just an unusual stillness in the town. She stepped into an alley that led her across the street from the armory. She ducked behind a trashcan as two synthetics walked past the entrance. She listened for their feet to stop moving. When there was no more scuffing, she knew they’d had seen her. “Fucking infrared cameras.”

  Before they could mount the lasers on their shoulders, she fired her last shot into the synthetic on the left. The explosion was enough to send chunks of metal in every direction and knock the other to the ground. She spun around and started running. The alley was clear, a straight path to the end and then a turn to the left. She skidded around the corner as pieces of brick exploded near her head. The thumping of feet behind her picked up speed. It was hard enough to run, but even harder with the dead weight of her arm rocking in the wind.

  Across the street stood a hardware store. Inside, tucked underneath the counter was a loaded shotgun. All she had to do was make it in and she’d be armed. It was thirty feet across the street, another five to the door, and less than ten to the counter. In forty feet she’d be dangerous again.

  The synthetic jumped from the roof, landing in front of the doorway. “Stupid machines,” she hissed. She continued to build speed, running in a straight line. At the last moment, she dodged to the left, launching herself through the display window. She’d worry about the cuts later. Glass shattered as she flew through the case. She hit the ground and stumbled over the wheelbarrows, falling and skidding to a stop. She started getting to her knees as bullets flew overhead. Fertilizer and gardening chemicals rained down on her as the synthetic launched a volley of suppressing fire.

  She crawled her way to the counter, hobbling from the useless limb. Hidden only a few feet away, a gun filled with enough shells to defend herself. It would give her a fighting chance to reach the back of the store where they used to repair broken screen doors and now stored their weapons and ammo. In the backroom there were enough guns to start a war. They had been a present from Jasmine after raiding a government warehouse. If she could get there, she’d remove every the threat in the town. Victory was only a few feet away.

  She screamed as a synthetic jumped over and landed on the counter. It ripped away at the wood, and grabbed on to the weapon. The operator on the other end of the synthetic laughed. She could tell by the head tilt and slight shaking of the chest. He found her death amusing. She tried to flex her fingers on her right hand, but the limb remained dead.

  The synthetic held out its arm and a compartment opened on the forearm. The laser started to charge and she found herself trapped by the counter. She spun about so the laser would hit her shoulder, the thickest part of her enhancement.

  Her teeth clenched tightly in anticipation of the burn. Seconds passed and she opened her eyes to see the laser silently pulsing against an invisible shield between her and the robot. Twenty-Seven let out a sigh of relief. In the last year, there were many times she had been saved in a similar fashion, her guardian angel watching over her.

  The synthetic’s head cocked to the side. Neither the artificial intelligence nor the human operating the machine had any idea what was happening. As Twenty-Seven stood, she started to laugh. “You fucked with the wrong town.”

  A single screw loosened from its neck, hovering in midair. A moment later every moving part separated, suspended like a complex jigsaw puzzle. The machine parts fell to the ground in a pile of scrap. She turned around just in time to watch a synthetic from the alley be torn in half. An elderly woman stepped through the front door.

  “About damned time,” Twenty-Seven said.

  “Let’s be done with this.”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  Some of the Barren running through the streets were his own creations. The assassins were younger, more virile, and by far more destructive than their elder counterparts. Decades ago the Society forced its members to surrender their firstborn as an offering. Then, drugs mixed with the minor nudging of the resident telepath created empty vessels, the group’s very own subservient army.

  The ritual vanished for a time as Eleanor refused to partake in such brutal methods. His mentor restored the tradition and now Jacob continued. Instead of firstborns, he sought out the dredges of society, picking male prostitutes, criminals, and homeless off the street, subjecting them to the same brainwashing. Those who resisted he’d experiment on, testing the limits of his abilities. Those on which they worked became part of the Barren, a mindless group of people waiting for a mentalist to give them purpose.

  Jacob’s vision shifted, seeing through the eyes of one Barren and then on to the next. He experienced the world through each body he inhabited. Each time they brought down their signature razor blades, he could feel the resistance of their victim’s skin. It allowed himself the pleasure of his bloodlust within the security of his own home.

  Jacob sat quietly in his study, a glass of scotch in hand. His eyes remained closed as his body jumped again. He smiled as one of his men slaughtered a couple, murdering them without regard. The Barren were nothing more than mindless drones, but their tenacity for killing continued to prove useful.

  As he hopped to another, he watched a woman with a robotic arm grapple his host. They struggled and she snapped his hand, crushing it with her enhancements and delivering a solid punch into his chest, collapsing his ribcage. Jacob left his dying husk and touched the mind of the woman. A wall surrounded her, preventing him from entering her thoughts. How did a human keep him at bay?

  “A mentalist?”

  He growled. If he were stronger, he might be capable of raping her mind. Compared to Lillian or Dikeledi, he was the weakest mentalist, capable of only minor tricks. His mentor had been exceptional, and showed Jacob a world where their kind took what they wanted. For now, he relied on those around him, needing to play a game of intrigue, using his cunning to further his goals.

  A Barren waited for a synthetic to finish shooting a defenseless woman in her pajamas. The President of the United States controlled the synthetics his company created. His relationship with her was less than healthy. Knowing the Warden was a mentalist, he wondered if she put him there as part of a bigger conspiracy. She kept his company well-funded. In return the Genesis Division worked directly with her. For now, their relationship remained mutually parasitic.


  Another Barren had his hands wrapped around the neck of a young man, his grip determined to squeeze the life out of the Child. Jacob smiled at the sensation beneath his fingertips, the pressure building as the man struggled to get free. He grasped at the assassin’s fingers. A moment later his body went limp and the Barren grabbed its switchblade from the ground and folded it back into his jacket pocket. As his vessel started walking down the road, toward screams, Jacob forced the body to stand motionless, staring at a dark shadow standing in the middle of the street.

  Abandoned storefronts stood dark. At one time they had housed a vibrant community, but now they remained vacated. The shadow should have been faint, diminished by a street lamp hanging above, but the thick darkness resisted the light.

  Jacob started to speak but realized his host had wandered down the street in pursuit of new victims. Jacob projected his thoughts, touching the darkness, trying to wrap his head around what it might be.

  “It’s alive,” he said aloud in his study.

  Waves of anger washed off the figure. He poked and prodded with his telepathy, trying to sort through the overwhelming emotions radiating from the darkness. The Society had suspected there might be mentalists hiding among the Children. At one point he thought he might be the last telepath. In two days he discovered the Warden, and now this thing. Despite trying, he couldn’t penetrate the figure’s mind.

  Who are you?

  He thought about getting the others. Lily and Salvador wouldn’t be of much use, but Dikeledi was adept with her abilities. She would be able to see through his eyes and read the figure’s emotional state. Of the four of them, she was by far the most powerful, a banner she kept hidden away. Jacob gritted his teeth; he hated that he wasn’t nearly as capable as his former mentor. His jaw began to ache, the anger tightening his chest.

  Tell me. Who are you?

  Between blinks, the shadow vanished. He spun about, trying to see the rest of the town. Without the eyes of the Barren the town became fuzzy, his anchor beginning to disappear. He let his mind drift until he found another Barren, this one knocking open the door of a small store. Jacob gave a simple suggestion and the Barren turned around, heading back to the spot he had been standing earlier.

  “Fuck,” he said in his study. The shadow had vanished and now all that remained were synthetics systematically going through the town looking for survivors.

  Who are you?

  Jacob jumped out of his chair, scanning his study for the voice. A fire burned in the archaic-looking fireplace, causing shadows to dance about the room. There were well over a thousand books, many he had read. Even under his mentor’s tutelage, he found himself alone, and the only comfort was that of dead authors. He spent time reading through classics, absorbing their symbolism, and when he finished those, he began studying the history of the Society. He had learned there was power in knowledge, and if his measly gifts wouldn’t give him the power he wanted, he would find another way.

  “Who’s there?”

  He didn’t see it at first, at least not with his eyes. A wisp of anger touched his mind, telling him he wasn’t alone. Jacob gathered his thoughts, leaving behind the massacre in Troy. He didn’t need his senses to know he detected the same person from the street only seconds earlier. Distance meant nothing to a mentalist, and he assumed the figure tracked him from the slaughter.

  Who are you?

  “Jacob Griffin,” he answered. It would only take the briefest thought and the others would be alerted to the intruder. While he might not be strong enough alone, between the four of them, this stranger couldn’t persevere. It would only take a shout, and they’d come to his aid.

  It infuriates you to rely on them.

  Jacob knew his defenses were crumbling. The figure barely put in effort, hardly exerting itself, and already Jacob needed to play defense. If it had been an assailant, he could reach for the knife-shaped letter opener or the poker next to the fireplace. However, whatever this figure wanted, their confrontation would be played out in a mental battlefield.

  What if I could give you everything you wanted?

  Jacob had been given a similar offer by the president of the Society decades prior. The man said that under their guidance, he’d become a force to be reckoned with. He had offered him more money than he could imagine and a position in life beyond that of his parent’s trailer park. Jacob had given up his entire life at the promise, and now that he had obtained his reward, he wondered what more could be given to him.

  The shadows collected, merging until a solid figure appeared. Standing next to the books on economics and politics, the wisps seemed sentient, alive. The light from the fireplace didn’t diminish the depths of darkness, instead giving them an almost eerie setting to call home. Whoever the shadow belonged to, Jacob couldn’t deny the person’s abilities. Underneath a tightly woven shield, there was a sense of power, more than he ever sensed from his mentor.

  What do you want?

  The figure moved closer, each step leaving wisps of smoke in its wake. Jacob couldn’t help but tense up as it passed through the booze-hiding globe and the high back chair. Jacob knew he couldn’t run, couldn’t hide, and couldn’t defeat the adversary. He should call for the others, cry out for help, but something in his chest prevented him.

  The figure stopped, its head tilting slightly to one side as if confused by something in the room. Jacob found himself able to move, but had no desire to step away from the figure. An intoxicating sensation coursed through his veins from standing so close to such a powerful mentalist. Jacob thrust his hand into the figure and found there was nothing in the air. With a single thought, the mass vanished. Jacob inspected his hand, looking for any remains, but not even traces of the smoke remained.

  The seconds seemed to freeze. Looking past his hand, he saw the flames on the fire move as if they were in slow motion. He was familiar with the sensation; his mind was adrift, removed from his body, and in this state it worked faster than the world around him.

  A hissing sound started to one side. He spun about. The room remained empty. The hissing grew louder until he recognized it as a faint whisper, the thoughts of a person nearby. Another began, and then another. Seconds passed and he listened to the voices of hundreds of people. His mind scanned more thoughts than his abilities had ever been capable of. Every time he had attempted to read this many people, he’d find himself on the floor, straining to push them away once the floodgates opened.

  Something clicked in his head. A sealed door, hiding away untapped power, was thrown open, causing his spine to bow. The voices shouted at him as more and more filled his head. He grabbed his temples, trying to focus as the thoughts echoed throughout his skull. He screamed out, wailing at the pain.

  “Stop.”

  He was perfectly aware of a dozen people. A dozen people heard his telepathic command, freezing in place. A woman holding her child stopped moving, a man on a treadmill slowed to a stop, and a couple having sex ceased their carnal activities. Jacob panted, trying to catch his breath at the strain ripping through his mind. It was the first time he had ever controlled a person with his telepathy, let alone a dozen. His nails bit into his palms, but he couldn’t ignore the thralls of ecstasy.

  This is power.

  Chapter 7

  1993

  Mark watched through the glass into Ariel’s testing area. She sat in a chair, with little stickers attached to wires connecting to a machine used to read her brainwave activity. Ivan calibrated the machine while she read her junior detective novel. She devoured books, a trait Mark fostered. His chest swelled with pride.

  Neither she nor Ivan seemed to pay any attention to the other. She didn’t like him, but she continued to be a trooper while he ran his tests. Mark had his reservations about Ivan He wondered if Ivan had a soul or if it was only science that drove him. In the months since he had joined his research team, Mark hadn’t heard the lanky man talk about his family, his home life, or even his past. He was incredibly guarded
and rarely let personal factoids slip.

  The scientist turned, staring directly at Mark through mirrored glass. Mark froze, unsure if Ivan was checking his reflection or if he knew he had an observer. There was something unnerving about Ivan. Mark had learned to control his feeling, but it taxed him at times, not letting his lead researcher know he found him to be incredibly creepy.

  “Are you ready, Ariel?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a polite voice. She slid a bookmark into her novel and set it down on the table. She straightened herself in the chair. She had confessed to Mark that Ivan scared her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about him made her skin crawl. She had described their encounters to him each time they met, “He’s looking at me, but not.”

  Mark was unsettled by her fear. With no effort, she had singlehandedly disarmed his entire security detail. She was the only person in the complex Goddard feared and somehow, the researcher gave her alarm. Mark had taken to watching the tests to make sure everything was being done above the board. Ivan hadn’t held back his data, giving some early results, including that he had isolated the area of the brain responsible for her abilities. It was the first time the President of the United States had been pleased with him.

  “I want you to lift this pencil for me, Ariel.”

  Her eyes didn’t leave his, but the pencil jumped up in the air and hovered several inches above the table. Mark was well aware that her abilities allowed her to move far more than a pencil. With such a small object, she’d have nearly perfect mastery.

  “Can you write your name in cursive on the paper?”

  She didn’t budge as the pencil lowered itself to the paper and scribbled out her name. She cleared her throat. “What are you looking for, sir?”

  “I’m looking for how skilled you are with the fine motor control aspect of your abilities.”

  She huffed at his remark. The smile spread across Mark’s face as the Rubik’s cube on the table lifted into the air. The blocks twisted back and forth and within seconds she solved the cube. She lifted several bent metal puzzles and with quick shifts in direction each of them fell apart, solved without any effort on her behalf.