by Nat Kennedy
“So, you're going to charge out there and break up the cult?” Sandra asked. A woman nearby looked over at them. Indifference dashed away, Reggie struggled not to try to hide.
“My sister works for BWS.” She still hadn't called him back. He hoped she was okay.
“So, you're going to send her out there?”
He leaned forward. “It is her job. She's equipped to deal with this exact situation.”
“You're not worried that they'll capture her and kill her?” she asked. Reggie looked at her incredulously. Did she think Bethany was going to charge in there alone? “They hate women, you know. Those male Wielders. Hate them and want to see them all dead. Probably rape her first, if they caught her.”
“What sick delusions are you harboring?” He couldn't believe this drivel. His sister was not going to be raped. Her partner would die first before anyone could get close enough to touch her. “My sister will be on a team, with other Wielders. Strongly trained women with armed back-up. She's not a single-shooter sheriff taking on the local horse thief gang.”
Their food came and Sandra sliced up her waffle with long, single strokes. Reggie attacked his omelet with his fork, forcing himself to swallow down each bite, not knowing when he would next eat a relaxing meal again. He glanced at the clock. Eight thirty-five.
Relaxing. Yeah.
He was finished with his omelet before she had chewed and swallowed six bites of her waffle, smothered in strawberries and whipped cream. Dessert really. He glared at her and her slow progress, huffing like a bored child of ten. The waitress filled his water. He slurped up an ice cube and crunched it. Sandra ate bite by bite.
“My mother didn't want to tell me the location, even after she found it for me. She thought I was going out there. I told her she was delusional. I told her it was for a delusional professor with some savior complex who wanted to go out there. I had to promise to go nowhere near Steptoe. Ever. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I told you, I'm not going out there. It would be unwise for me to do anything of the sort.”
Sandra laughed, a loud belly laugh and drew the attention of everyone within the cafe. “Such bullshit! You are totally going out there. You have this total determined hero air about you that's so utterly ridiculous.” Her laughter faded, and then silenced. She wiped at her eyes and when she looked back at him she was frowning. “You care so much, you know that Professor. Too much.” She tossed him a folded up piece of paper, wiped her mouth and stood. “Thank you for breakfast. It was a lovely date.” She left him there, with directions that could lead to his death and the breakfast tab.
~~~
Reggie pulled over to take a leak. The rough gravel road had winded up higher and higher through the forest on roads meant only for four-wheel drives. His sedan's undercarriage scraped the packed dirt whenever he couldn't avoid the crater-like ruts. Recent rain had kept the dust to a minimum, but the car was still filthy. The blue had turned into a pasty gray. He'd gotten lost. The roads were not labeled, though they should have been. He wondered where the scouts were. There had to be scouts. He needed a better idea of where he was compared to the hideout. Then he needed to ditch the car and hike to the hideout, and maybe sneak in at night.
After a swallow from his bottled water, he ate a sandwich. He'd crossed two bridges, but only one was over a river. Sandra probably gave him bogus directions.
His phone was still silent. A dead fish in his pocket. No call from his sister. He'd given her the directions Sandra had given him before he left town. His anxiety would be less if he knew she had gotten his message and had his back. As it was, he was in this on his own.
Reggie took in a breath, forcing himself to relax. It wasn't like he was going to turn back. Anyway, his sister always had his back. Eventually.
The car had cooled by the time he returned to it and he cranked up the heat as he continued the rocking drive up the logging road, though there wasn't any sign of logging up here like there had been down at the foothills. The road hugged the edge of a steep slope and the sky fell away, looking poised to lay its blanket of fog down on him. After rounding a corner he saw another bridge, this one over a narrow gully with a bubbly falls freshly fed from the rain.
Did that make three rivers he'd crossed? Did Kyle say bridges or rivers? Did that count? Sandra's directions said he should have turned right onto Forest Road 9468, but he hadn't found that road—or any right branch off of this one—in a half-hour of potholed travel.
He swung the car to the left to avoid a huge crater, so close to the edge he refused to look down, and continued on at a turtle's speed. Around another blind curve and then the slope leveled out. A spur to the right jutted off into the forest. He took it.
The sun was to his right; he was heading toward the northern face of the mountain. Maybe it was time to ditch his car. He continued until the narrow road was wide enough for two cars to pass and he performed a fifteen-point turn around to get the car facing back down the mountain for his speedy get away once he'd found Kyle.
Speedy. On this road?
His dread only mounted when he thought of the idea that someone might chase them. At a racy fifteen miles per hour. In big four-wheel drives, or logging trucks. Hitting his bumper to force them off the cliff and down into the crevasse, into obscurity, where nobody would find them or even remember they existed.
He parked the car, climbed out and sucked in the cold, clear air. The fresh scent of fir trees mixed with the rain cleared his mind. Dumping his wallet in the trunk, he grabbed his pack full of food, water and clothes. Tucked within the multitude of side pockets were the contour map and compass, his compact binoculars, and some other essentials. He would hike it from here, paralleling the road. The forest was quiet, just a little bit of bird song. With one final nod to himself, he locked the car and hid the keys under a nearby basalt boulder. In case he wasn't able to get away, he could tell Kyle where they'd been stashed. He felt alone.
He hoisted the pack onto his shoulder and whimpered in pain and frustration. The backpack dropped to the ground. He couldn't do this. Even hyped up on pain killers, he could not carry that pack. Damned Sandra. He dumped almost everything back into the car. With only a little food and water in the pack, his suffering shoulder kept most of its complaints to itself. He wrapped his jacket around his waist.
The forest was old; the evergreen canopy spread wide above him and there was little undergrowth. The going was easy until he was forced to traverse rocky areas. A squirrel sat up in a tree and scolded him with a long series of chatter as he marched up the hill.
His breath clouded before him even as sweat slid over the scaly skin on his back. It itched.
Time blurred and lost most cohesion during his trek, but within the trees, under their thick canopy, light barely penetrated. He stumbled over rocks and went down hard on one knee. His shoulder throbbed. Exhaustion weakened his muscles.
“Hey there, partner. You going light for a backpacker.”
Immediately, Reggie shored up his Mind Shield, focusing on letting his chosen thoughts through without the real truth. Reggie searched the forest, looking for the man who spoke. A big guy in jeans and a thick wool sweater stepped out from behind a boulder. From his vantage, the man could have been watching Reggie during his entire trek up this expanse of mountain.
“Hi,” Reggie said, panting a bit. He swallowed, and forged himself with his plan. “Are you a Wielder? Have I made it?”
“Whoa-ho there, partner. What you looking for?”
Reggie heaved a big breath. “Ah, other Wielders. People like me.”
“Prove your creds.”
For a moment, Reggie wondered if the man wanted to see his ID. Then he realized what he really wanted and his stomach sank. His one wild card was them not knowing his immobilization power. He'd have to reveal his untangling power, which was subtle and unique. This man might not buy it as a mental discipline.
“Well, I've got a unique mind power. One I've never heard any
one else having. And it's not... showy.” He ran his hand through his hair, dropped the pack to the ground. “I can manipulate the Nerve in Wielders and untangle men's Taint.”
The stranger looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst out laughing. He hollered loud enough to alert the entire mountain. “You have got ta be kiddin' me. Seriously? You come up here, looking for skells and you spin up that bullpucky.”
“No, it's true,” Reggie said quietly. “If you've Taint, I can try to show you, but you might not feel it. You see, I just want to help people. And be somewhere where I don't have to hide.” Thinking of Kyle trapped with these cultists, Reggie swallowed down every ounce of pride and untucked his shirt.
The man hoisted his gun. “Whatcha got there?”
Reggie lifted this shirt and turned to show the man his Corruption.
The man studied Reggie's back, then pulled a walkie-talkie out of his back pocket. Reggie stuffed his shirt back into his jeans.
“Chance, got a hopeful. Says he's got a unique mental. Wanna come down and check him out?”
Reggie knew this would happen, though he'd hoped showing off his Corruption would be his golden ticket. He let his Shield slip a little, not wanting to appear too strong. Part of the lessons his sister had taught him. Sometimes a rock hard Shield only showed them you were good at hiding things. Revealing chinks in your armor could convince them you had lesser skill. Purposefully letting some information out while keeping the important things hidden, that was true finesse. And a skill he had trained at for years. One of the reasons why his ability to Wield was still unknown to university faculty.
“I'm Reg,” he said, holding his hand out.
The other man looked at it, then shook it. “Introductions after you've been interviewed.”
“Yeah, okay.” Reggie stared up into the trees. Patches of gray sky peeked between the tops of the giant conifers. Hemlock, maybe, or firs. He wasn't an outdoorsy person.
Silent as a deer, another man stepped out from the same rock outcropping that his guard had. He was stout, a good foot shorter than the man in the sweater. One of his eyes was wider than the other, both bulged like a pug's. At the edge of his hairline, little nubbins protruded from his skin. Corruption. This man couldn't live in normal society. Nobody would serve him. Nobody would hire him. Nobody would talk to him, as if his Corruption was catching. Reggie didn't blame him for seeking out the cults. It could be a place, at some point, where Reggie would have to turn.
“Oi, there, drop the Shield. Let me poke around.”
Reggie gave him an incredulous look. “Poke around? Can't you just lie detect?” Usually most mind-readers could ask questions and get a solid sense if you were lying or not. Most people couldn't control a Mind Shield that well.
“I don't want to just lie detect, I want to poke around.” He spat. “Drop 'em.”
Reggie heard the grinding noise of the man's Tracer at the same time he felt a sledge hammer hit his Shield. He stumbled and held his head. He struggled with the Shield's upkeep, no longer toying with finesse. To hide his intentions and to hide Kyle and his sister. Another slam and Reggie fell to his knees.
“He's a tough nut. Good shields. He's a wielder all right. Two powers. He's here to find someone, though I can't find out who. On some crusade to help Taints. Professor at the university. Gay boy. Found us through some woman. Samantha, maybe? Want me to keep at it?”
“Don't juice him. We'll let Terry at him later, to work out the finer points. Blindfold him.”
A bag cut off all of Reggie's sight, and they tied up his hands behind him, wrenching his shoulder. He yelped in pain. They pushed him forward; he stumbled. Oh crap. Oh bloody hell. This was not going well. His body screamed out, a collection of pain, of despair. Though he heard no more grinding, he didn't think of his goal. Didn't think of anything but the pain and how he would get himself free.
Chapter 11
Whoops and hollers rolled out as the men dragged Reggie to the cult's hideout. Mara Murda. A cult that killed people. He had to get Kyle out. Poor kid was fresh meat for these animals, a clean slate they would taint with their madness.
The road he was lugged down evened out. He stumbled less. “Step up,” said the first man he'd met, whose name he still didn't know. He stepped up. His foot echoed on wood. He banged his toe on something. A step. He tripped his way up until he learned their cadence. By then he had reached the top. His shoulder screamed.
“Welcome to camp,” the man said.
“Who's that?” a quiet voice asked. Then a loud, brash, “Are they gonna kill him?” More mumbles merged together into a soft buzz. A small mob gathered here—more than five, maybe ten. How many men did they have in this cult?
“You missed dinner,” said another voice, level and unadorned with shock or mockery. “You want me to set you up in the dining room?”
“Later. We need to talk to Redstoke.”
“He's not in, or I would have sent you there immediately. Dinner?”
Reggie stood still and made no sudden movements. He tried to pull one voice from the next. Tried to hear if Kyle was here. Just to make sure he was safe. The scents of a fireplace and stew masked the subtler odors of sweat and old wood.
“Yeah, fine. I'm taking this guy's hood off. Anyone don't wanna be seen, skedat.” Reggie heard some footsteps and a chair or two scraping.
“Goddamn, Adam, just lock him in the basement until Red shows up.”
“What a nice welcome for a potential new brother,” Adam, Reggie's once nameless guide, said.
“Well, why not roll out the red carpet and give him a cup of tea. And some fancy cookies. What a production.” What a production indeed, Reggie thought.
“Stay or go,” Adam said and slipped off Reggie's hood.
He had to blink for a while, but the lodge wasn't terribly bright. And it was a lodge, with a huge stuffed moose head and solid timber rafters. It looked like it could be the retreat of some minor noble, if America had minor nobles, complete with a huge fireplace and hanging lights decked out with antlers, and skins and western themed paintings hanging from the wall. A seating area surrounded the stone fireplace and some of those seats still had occupants. He saw Kyle, shocked, without any makeup on, in jeans and a light jacket standing next to a tall bald man of mixed African and European heritage. Another man, with a pot belly in the brewing, hovered between them. They formed a small huddle, a coterie. Reggie hoped Kyle had found people to look after him instead of falling for the first friendly face.
“Hungry?” the man Adam had been talking to asked. Reggie faced Adam, his rugged jaw and broad shoulders placed him perfectly in the hunting lodge. He was the only one who fit. Reggie guessed this place was his. The speaker looked more Portman everyday-business casual in jeans with a button-down.
Reggie nodded. “Yeah.”
“Hope you're not a bleeding heart vegetarian or anything,” Adam said as he led Reggie to the kitchen.
“Screw you!” the black guy next to Kyle called.
“Ah, I can eat anything. It's not a problem.” Things were so natural here, it made the entire situation surreal. Adam and the other guy, Jeremy he was told, poured coffee for themselves and talked about the everyday goings on at the lodge. Last week they held a cribbage challenge. Everyone pitched in to keep the place nice. Dinner was on a rotation, though stew seemed a regular menu item. He was offered a seat at a long picnic style table and given a bowl of said stew and a hunk of crusty bread. It was passably good.
“So, you can really stop Taint, Reg?” Adam asked. Jeremy's eyes narrowed and he simply looked between the two.
Chewing in earnest to swallow down his mouthful, Reggie nodded. “Yeah. I can sense the Nerve and how it gets tangled for men. I can untangle it. As well as teach them to untangle it for themselves.”
“Tangled? So, that's what haunts us?” Jeremy stared into his cup of coffee, a distant look. This man hated his own Taint, they all did. Reggie knew Jeremy was considering what Reggie had just said.
“Never heard of it,” Adam said and took a gulp of the coffee. Must not be freshly brewed.
“Never met anyone else who can do it,” Reggie said. “Not that men advertise or anything. Can't touch Corruption, though. It's... physical. It's not like a tangled Nerve, it's something...” He shrugged. He didn't know exactly what it was. He wished he knew. His own scaly skin had been claiming more of his body's surface area since he'd been working with Kyle.
Jeremy stood. “I'll see if Red's back.” With a nod to the others, he left the kitchen.
Adam swallowed down another mouthful of coffee. The man's jacket pocket moved on its own. Reggie stared, pointed, and stuttered when a mouse head popped out.
“Goddamn it,” Adam muttered, and he pulled a pill bottle from his pocket and studied the hole in the end. “How the hell did he chew through that?” He climbed over the table's bench seat and walked off, gripping the squirming mouse tight in his hands.
Before he left the dining area, he turned on Reggie and asked, “Who you looking for?”
Reggie choked on his stew, a huge chunk of potato lodged in his throat. He hacked until he could find his breath. He stared up at Adam, at the hard look, the unhappy resignation.
“Nobody. Well, you guys. I want to help, be a part of —”
“Bullshit. You, with your styled hair and Mind Shield of iron. No, you're here for something else. Must be one of the new guys.” He crunched his face up in thought. “We'll have to question them. See which one knows you. The kid, or the black guy. One was recruited, the other joined us.” He pressed his lips together. The mouse squirmed and he had to snatch it up with his other hand. “The kid.”