In my home world.
But here? Here is another matter entirely. Apparently, my regeneration process is still active. I'm nine months deep in the year-long journey of the biological clock of my body ticking backward. The entire method mimics a second adolescence.
I whip my head to look at Jeffrey. His exhale of relief is muffled through the gag.
He nods.
Fear never rules me. It never has. But now, terror makes my lips grow numb. My fingertips tingle with the familiar beginnings of adrenaline so powerful that bile rises in my stomach.
“Gramps?” Jade says in a voice of pure panic.
Must be getting some leakage. I know anyone who is remotely sensitive would be tuning up for what I was about to do.
My last glance is at Deedie.
Sorry, Deedie. Gramps is getting his groove on.
Then I go Atomic. Not like my great-granddaughter.
A new thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Deegan
Everyone discounts the old.
Not me.
I watch the entire sequence of looks that pass between our Jeffrey Parker and Gramps.
I see when Gramps seems to understand Jeff's silent message.
I feel Gramps when he finds his ability. It is so much like when Pax uses AftD around me that I know instantly when Gramps is using black-hole mojo.
He sweeps past me. A blur of denim and finely checkered old-guy button-down shirt whirls beside me, lifting the fine tendrils of hair beside my temples. His pack of cigarettes floats out of his front pocket as he surges by, and I reach up into his tailwind, grabbing them out of air so stagnate, it feels stale.
The remaining bots are beginning to open their mouths. I'm pretty sure they don't know what it is Gramps has. They just know it's a Bad Paranormal Skill.
I slap my hands over my ears.
Whatever he's doing, it's a form of Atomic.
But what is he doing? I don't know.
Pax's head turns in my direction. It takes him ten seconds to turn.
Our eyes lock.
Dee, blink.
Yes, comes my slowed telepathic reply.
We blink at the same time.
What did the Reflectives call it? Oh, yeah—a primary ability. An ability that remains no matter where you blink to. That's their theory, anyway.
Second eyelids sweep over our eyeballs. And I sigh. Suddenly, Pax and I can move at normal speed.
Gramps turns, zipping his ceramic blade through Jeff's binds. He begins to float to the ground.
Pax easily catches him before he lands.
Jeff raises his eyes. “Keep hold of me, and I can move at normal speed.”
“How'd you know, Jeff?” Pax asks in wonder.
“Later. For now, just know I intuit everyonesʼ abilities on this world. It's an ability in and of itself.”
Oh.
Jeff's eyes find mine. He sucks in a painful inhale. “Zap the cyborgs, Deegan.”
My palms develop fine sweat. My fingers tremble. And I voice my deepest uncertainty. “What if I get one of us by accident?”
Mitchell is suddenly there. He blinked, and now he can move like Pax and me. He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers.
In my periphery, I see Brad making slow gestures. Actually, he's trying to move toward me. He can borrow my abilities in our world.
What can he do here?
Jeff's hand swims toward mine, and I grasp it. I hold my zombie in one hand and my Dad's mentor in the other.
Ah. I see what he's trying to do.
He gasps. “I'll facilitate with your finesse. It's short range, but it'll get rid of this group.”
Jeff is going to steer the paranormal helm, so to speak. That way, I don't take out everyone at the knees.
“No!”
Gramps’s atomic mass manipulation swallows Kim's scream. Her yell is twenty seconds long and sounds like it's coming toward us like a train through a tunnel.
I look at Harry, her brother the bot. “She doesn't want me to make Harry—” Go wherever I put things I zap.
Mitchell draws me back against him, and my fingers stay laced with Jeff's.
Jeff's wounds are so severe, I can barely see his expression past the injuries.
I suck in a breath and tighten my hand on his. I feel his crushed finger and remember my own from this world.
A bot has made it all the way to a meter in front of me. I'm so scared, I taste metal in my mouth. “Mitchell.”
“Right here, baby. Make these fuckers disappear, Deegan.”
Hot tears cascade down my face. I nod, but it's hardly more than a jerk of my chin.
I release the power in a relieved sigh of exhaustion.
Jeff's body tenses, and he narrows my ability like a beam of light. In this case, it's a swath of darkness as though a knife slices pieces from the air. Carving space and time.
The first bot is eaten from where it stood.
Everything around it is there one moment, and in the next, the air sucks inside itself, making a popping sound. The spot on the floor where the bot stood has vanished, leaving a gaping hole instead, and I get a glimpse of the apartment below.
The group behind that initial bot is easier.
They're yawning mouths are first to go. Disappearing like black measles appearing in the middle of their silver, slightly glowing, and opaque faces. The silence is big where their horrible mechanical screaming was before.
Gramps collapses beside me, his hand grabbing my knee. “Tired,” he manages.
Yeah, welcome to the club. Rearranging mass at the atomic level takes a lot out of someone.
He sped himself up, and Pax and I blinked so we could move within the altered environment he'd made.
Brad lies on the floor, knocked out cold by Gramps. A swelling eggplant-colored bruise competes with his Adam's apple.
But the other Jeff's been busy.
Zombies, in various states of decomposition, fill the doorway. But they're bright like the now-defunct copper pennies. Ready.
The false Parker smiles. He can't move fast, but he's called reinforcements.
I cast one more net of zapping juice, winking out the last of the bots within the apartment, because they're the biggest threat.
Except Kim's brother.
Then Grampsʼs ability fizzles away, righting the mass of the room back to normal.
Before I can get the enemy zombies.
Mitchell's grip intensifies as I experience vertigo that I would have collapsed from. But Mitchell is here.
Holding me.
“Impressive, Mac. But not enough.” The fake Parker nods, and the zombies press through the doorway, stumbling over Brad's still form.
“Not on my watch, Parker,” the real Jeff says from the ground.
“Outta juice, Deedie,” Gramps says at my feet.
I pry myself away from Mitchell, searching for Pax, Grampsʼs hand at my calf.
Pax has Mom and Dad. “Pax,” I yell, “blink us!”
The zombies come. Hungry. Their appetite beats at me with small clubs, making my head ache.
They know Pax and I are AftD—Tiff too.
They just don't care.
The Parker of this world is a five-point squared.
Gramps provided a distraction. But that's all. That's the way it goes with a new ability. It was great that he could even use it with any kind of finesse.
I pivot slowly, taking in the group. “If anyone has anything, now is the time to use it.” Please, I pray.
My ability has made me sick. I'm scooped out. A muscle I've been effectively trained out of using.
Sophie comes forward. “It might not be enough.”
It.
“Doesn't matter,” I say as Mitchell jerks me away from the nearest zombie's outstretched fingers.
Use whatever it is, I silently bellow at Sophie.
She jerks like she heard me.
The grasp of the fingertips of the nearest corpse slides through my h
air, latching on.
The tug is hard, and I get yanked backward.
Mitchell grips the zombie's arm, twisting the limb viciously.
The zombie clutches my hair tighter. I instinctively shriek from the pain.
“Deegan!” Sophie yells.
“Do it!” I scream back.
I feel the shift of her power from deep inside, and my stomach bucks from yet another physical scramble.
The apartment melts away.
Mist covers us, and we're like tea leaves steeping in foggy water. Then we land—all of us.
Right on top of the grid.
The sun rises as Pax and I automatically retract our eyelids.
Oh… no.
Mitchell tries to keep his open, but they won't stay in the descended position. It's just like looking at the sun. A person can, but self-preservation eventually kicks in. Just like you can stop from blinking several times a minute—but we can't keep our second eyelids down when natural sunlight makes an appearance.
The bots will come, but the zombies aren't close anymore.
I take a shaky breath.
“Sweet, baby,” Jonesy says to Sophie, clearly impressed.
She bursts into tears. “All you fat asses! That's as far as I could teleport you.”
I laugh and can't stop until I cry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gramps
Right out of the frying pan and right into the fire.
I need a vacation. From my life.
Since I'm not pals with the boss of this little journey, I figure I’ve got to show up and do my job. Sort of a work-without-pay program. Didn't sign up for that.
Since I'm not one for crying in my Wheaties, I'll keep on keeping on.
For the third time in days, I'm parked on my old ass. I do a quick ground search for Kim (keeping tabs on Kim seems to be my new priority), and a speedy head count.
We got everybody. A miracle.
Sophie even managed the body dump with Jeff tagging along.
“Pax,” I say, hiking my butt off the ground with a palm-to-knee shove-off. I pat the grass and debris off my keister.
Grandkid turns to me, looking better. Funny what about three thousand calories will do for the twenty-year-old male of the species. And a Body to boot. All sugar and carbs. Snack of champions.
“Yeah, Gramps.”
“Fix Jeff up—looking a bit shaky.” Maybe that's an understatement.
Jeff is gulping air through his ruined nose like a swimmer doing a shitty version of the crawl stroke in a swimming pool. Looks like most of his fingers are definitely broken.
They sure have a thing for breaking fingers in the bot world.
Pax winces, jogging to Jeff. “How did you even—wow, how did you help Deegan with the mess you're in?” Even as he asks the question, Pax covers Jeff's nose. The glaring injury is among the worst ones.
Looks like he's suffocating him without the benefit of a pillow.
Jeff's eyes widen, but Pax presses down harder.
Jeff grabs his wrists, tears sliding out his eyes. That guy isn't sad. He's tougher than nails.
The tears are simply an off pouring of agony.
Slowly, Pax begins to lift his hand millimeter by millimeter, and Parker's nose appears to regrow, shaping back into an appendage to assist airflow instead of a discarded flapjack of blood and cartilage.
“Thanks,” Jeff says without gurgling, dropping his hands to his sides in an exhausted flop.
Pax's large hand hovers over Jeff's neck. “Bruised esophagus,” Pax comments in a mild, dreamy voice. His long fingers wrap Jeffrey's throat.
Ten seconds slide by—then twenty.
Jeff coughs, grimaces from obvious pain, and sits up, using his damaged hands. He shouts in agony, clutching one broken set of fingers with the other.
In my periphery, Deegan covers her mouth. I'm certain she's remembering her little go with the Brad Thompson of this world before we were able to get to her. And end him.
She told me her fingers still ache when it rains. There's just some ways fingers aren't meant to be bent.
I hate these guys here.
“Hey, give me a sec, Jeff.”
Jeffrey Parker's bright-hazel eyeball blinks slowly, and he jerks his head in a miserable nod of assent, eyes shiny.
Pax presses a finger to his distended eyeball. The slit widens. The swelling recedes like a wave pulling away from a red shore. Pax lifts his finger and gives a hard look to his dad, John, and Jonesy. They walk over, each one using their body weight to pin down Jeff's limbs.
Shit's about to get real.
Our two zombies stand guard. One is a soup of rot, and the other is like a fresh daisy. The women look on in stunned horror. Except Tiff. She's a hard-charging bitch on wheels.
Wouldn't have her any other way. She has my heart in her hands; she always has. I look at all the kids, technically grown now. Pieces of Mac reside in each one of these precious people. Once kids, they’re now more adult than they ought to be.
Pax takes Jeffrey's dominant right hand in his own, and Jeff breathes through his mouth like he's in a Lamaze birthing class.
Pax re-breaks Jeff's pointer finger with a snapping sound that reminds me of things better not remembered.
Jeff passes out on number four.
His mouth hangs agape, and Pax continues with his grim work of breaking and mending.
Tears fill Kim's eyes. “God have mercy,” she says on a hot breath.
Yes, that sounds about right.
“Your family did this,” Caleb say, voice disgusted.
Ron the Null scoots back, attempting to avoid the verbal line of fire.
Have fun with that.
I shoot Caleb a glare. “Listen, son—I think we've established the fact that Kim is escaping this fun little place, eh? She's not digginʼ the family dynamic much.” I lift my eyebrows, hitting the breast pocket of my shirt with a tap of my fingertips and finding it empty.
Damn.
Deedie laughs, holding up crushed cigarettes in her palm.
But one remains whole and sound.
I stride over there—being in motion feels good. I pluck the cancer stick out of her hand, briefly mourning the others as so much pulverized tobacco.
Oh well.
I dig through the front pocket of my slacks and scoop out a pack of matches. The sulfur strip is screwed six ways to Sunday, so I use the tread of my boot to light up.
I puff away.
Sublime.
“Now what?” Ron asks, his eyes bouncing around everyone.
I squint through my smoke at him. “You're along for the ride, Null Master. The girls have vouched for ya, but I remain unconvinced.”
“Jury is still out,” Clyde remarks, but it comes out so sloppy, I'm pretty sure only people familiar with the turn of phrase could translate it. I look at our good zombie friend and relative. Better I don't get a good look. Even through the veil of my smoke, Clyde looks terrible.
“I'm not soft in my evaluations,” Tiff says, eyeing Ron up.
I nod. That's true. Tiff Weller's a ball buster.
“And for the record, I think it blows you keep cropping up with smokes and I'm dryer than a popcorn fart.” Tiff waggles her thumb and pinky toward her open mouth in a seesaw motion.
John slaps his forehead.
“Can't have you seven sheets to the wind, Tiff,” I comment.
She snorts.
“Besides, you want to be this baby-maker. You can't drink while you're pregnant.” I shrug.
“Yeah, get sauced after the baby's born,” Jonesy recommends instantly.
I sigh.
“That's why I want to stay here and take my chances.”
“Are you listening, Tiff?” Jonesy asks. “Look around. This baby-murdering, finger-breaking, Torture World with these creeper bots is a no-go. I don't care if Terran can inseminate you with octuplets. I wanna go home.”
Tiff scowls stubbornly. “Then go, bird brain. Pax can blink b
ack here and round up us chicks after we've done the deed.”
“Don't you have one hundred and ten nieces and nephews?” Jonesy asks, flipping his palms up.
“Bite me, Jones.”
Jonesy laughs, shaking his head.
Deegan groans, and I laugh, too. Can't help it. Tiff tickles me pink—when she's not drunk.
“Honey. Tiff…” John says, trying for reason.
I smirk when she throws up a warding hand. “The zombies are still milling around at Kim's place. Sophie dumped us into the grid, so we should be expecting Bot Reinforcements any second.” She looks around for dissenters, and of course, there aren't any, because she's right as rain.
“Tiff, you know that as women of our world, we should be doing some kind of”—Jade's palm waffles back and forth—“obligatory ʻdutyʼ for humankind.”
“Hell, yeah,” Jonesy says, nodding enthusiastically.
I scrub a palm over my face, rasping my two days of stubble in an irritated swipe.
Sophie gives him the bird.
Jade glares at Jones and he grins, unrepentant.
“But we can't be mothers if we're all dead.” Jade looks at the other girls.
I think of Ali and how much less my life would mean without her in it. And that wonderful daughter of mine gave me Caleb—and the kids who do these extraordinary things. My chest swells, tight with an emotion I'll never vent. The feeling sits there nonetheless, reminding me that my family is my greatest weakness—my greatest strength.
I would do anything for them.
Tiff sulks. “Can't Sophie just pop us into like—a hotel or something.”
Hmmm. I give Kim what I hope is a covert glance.
She smiles back. Nope. Not so covert.
I dip my chin, trying to hide my grin at getting caught ruminating about sex.
Sophie pegs a hand at her hip. “I totally would if I think I could manage it, but there's so many of you.” She blows a stray spiral curl out of her face, sees me looking, and self-consciously tucks the errant lock behind her ear. “No product here,” she mutters as the piece of hair stubbornly springs back.
“The bots will come,” Ron says.
What a wet blanket, I think, puffing away.
Jeffrey finally comes around to the land of the living and graces Pax with a sluggish smile.
Pax grins. “Good to have you back, Jeff.”
Death Series 08 - Death Blinks Page 17