ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1)

by Jason R. James

  “I didn’t say I was done.” Jake stared at the guard, his eyes suddenly cold.

  He would have said more, but a little girl at the front of the crowd interrupted; she pointed down at the ground and squealed, “Look, Mommy, look! Magic!”

  Everyone in the crowd looked at where the girl was pointing. That’s when they realized the six billiard balls, the ones Jake had been juggling, never actually fell to the ground. They hovered a couple of inches off the marble floor, arranged in a perfect circle around Jake. A murmur of disbelief ran over the crowd.

  Jake touched a button on the side of his microphone headset; the soft music playing over the mall loudspeakers crackled into silence, and when he spoke again, Jake’s voice filled the mall, droning over the PA system.

  “Attention shoppers, I’d like to invite you all to the food court at this time to witness the grand finale of the Amazing Hot Shot!”

  Jake turned his hands over, so that his palms were facing the ceiling. The pool balls rose; now they were floating chest high, and they started to spin around Jake like planets orbiting the sun.

  The first guard stepped forward. “I told you once, David Copperfield, show’s over.”

  “And I told you, I’m not done.”

  “Well that’s too—”

  Before the guard could finish, Jake punched his arms straight out into the air, and the six hovering pool balls shot out in all directions. The striped nine hit the first guard in the mouth, and the lower half of his face exploded into blood and broken teeth. The red three ball hit the second guard in the throat, and he fell back to the ground, clutching at his neck, gasping for air. The black eight ball hit the man with the gray beard in the forehead, crushing his skull. The cue ball hit a teenage girl in her thigh, and Jake could hear her femur snap from across the food court. The two ball hit an older man in the side of his head. He collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. The five ball hit a woman in the chest.

  Then Jake spun around and punched his arms out again. The balls whipped back through the air, this time in opposite directions, hitting six more people. Jake punched again. The balls flew back across the food court, but now it was impossible to track who was hit. There was only running, and screaming, and chaos.

  And above it all, booming over the PA system, was the voice of Hot Shot. “Tada!”

  *****

  Jeremy grabbed Kate by the hand and started to run. They couldn’t see what was happening, but they heard the screams, and that was enough. They turned the corner, away from the food court, and sprinted to the first store on their right. The security gate was down. A girl on the other side of the gate, inside the store, was holding the metal bars with both hands, jerking her whole body back and forth, trying to move the gate to get out.

  She was sobbing and screaming. “Let me out! I want to get out!”

  Jeremy pulled on Kate’s hand, and they ran down the hall to the next store. Like the one before it, the security gate on the front of the store was already down and locked in place. A handful of people trapped on the outside banged against the bars and shook the gate, trying to get in. Jeremy looked down the corridor. At every storefront it was the same thing: a growing crowd of people desperately trying to get inside to safety.

  Jeremy pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He raised it to his ear and waited for the ring. Silence. He looked down at the screen. No service.

  “Kate, try your phone. You have bars, wifi, anything?”

  Kate pulled her phone from her purse, looked down at the screen, and shook her head. She was silently starting to cry, the tears welling up in her eyes. Jeremy reached up and put his arm around her shoulder. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he couldn’t do it. There was nothing to say; at least nothing that would be the truth.

  Then the voice came back over the speakers. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, welcome. For those of you joining our show late, allow me to introduce myself. I am your host, the amazing Hot Shot—causer of chaos, killer of mall cops, and all-around badass assassin. Now, let’s go over a couple of our ground rules. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, the doors are all locked and your phones are all blocked. In other words, we are all in this together. No one’s getting in and no one’s getting out. Let’s all take a moment and let that sink in.”

  Jeremy looked down at Kate. Her tears were falling freely now, and she was gulping in air. Jeremy understood. She looked exactly like he felt inside, and it was all he could do not to lose it alongside her.

  Jeremy reached for Kate’s other shoulder and turned her to face him; he kept his voice low, even. “I need you to stay with me, Kate, okay? We can get out of this together.”

  Kate wiped at the tears streaming down her face and tried to catch her breath.

  The voice of Hot Shot boomed over the speakers. “Now that we all understand exactly what kind of mess we’re in, let me explain one last thing. I honestly don’t want to hurt any of you—at least not any more of you. I am here for one purpose, which is to say I am here for just one person. The sooner he steps into the food court, the sooner the rest of you can all go about your business. So then, without further ado, will Jeremy Cross come on down.”

  Jeremy’s name hung in the air, echoing in his ears, and he felt his stomach turn to water. He choked back the sudden urge to vomit.

  Kate’s reaction seemed to be the same; all the color drained from her face and her eyes went wide. “Jeremy! That’s—”

  Another chorus of screams echoed over the PA system, and Hot Shot said, “That’s three, four, maybe five—I count five more bodies. Basically, Jeremy, everyone who’s dead so far, that’s all on your tab. The longer you make me wait, the higher the body count gets. You have thirty seconds, and then it happens again.”

  “Kate.” Jeremy struggled now to keep his own voice calm. “I want you to stay here. Get down as low to the ground as you can, and stay here.”

  Kate reached up and took hold of Jeremy’s hand. “No! Jeremy, don’t—please.”

  Jeremy steadied himself and closed his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m just going to take a look. I want you to stay here.”

  Jeremy let go of Kate’s hand and darted back across the hallway. As he reached the far wall, he edged himself to the corner, dropped to his knee, and peered around the edge of the wall.

  He could see the man who was talking, this “Hot Shot,” standing at the far corner of the food court. He had dark brown hair and wore a white sweater, and both his sweater and his face were stained by a spray of crimson.

  As the man walked between the tables of the food court, Jeremy could see six. . . what were they? Billiard balls? Whatever they were, they floated around his body, whipping up and down, back and forth, circling the man in half a dozen different directions.

  Across the floor Jeremy could see the bodies sprawled out dead on the marble, lying in dark red pools. Others still writhed in pain, whimpering or crying or screaming against the floor.

  Hot Shot turned his eyes left and then right as he moved among them, admiring his own work. Then he glanced down at his wristwatch. “Ten more seconds, Jeremy!”

  “I’m here! Don’t—please, don’t do anything. I’m Jeremy.”

  The voice came from the other side of the food court. Jeremy looked over, and he could see an older man with thin gray hair and glasses walking forward in the direction of Hot Shot.

  The old man’s arms were raised high over his head, “Please. Please, don’t hurt anyone else. I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m Jeremy.”

  Hot Shot turned and looked; then he started laughing. “Nice try, old man.” Hot Shot punched his arm straight out, and one of the pool balls shot away from his body, hitting the old man squarely in his face.

  Then Hot Shot turned away, yelling back into his microphone, “That’s another body on you, Jeremy. Seemed like a nice guy, too. Stupid, maybe, but nice. Ten more seconds and we go again.”

  Then Jeremy was on his feet, walking into the food court, hi
s eyes fixed on Hot Shot. “That’s enough!”

  Hot Shot stood 40 yards away. He was still next to the body of the old man. Jeremy had stood up and called out, all without thinking—but now…now his brain caught up to his body. He could see the old man was dead on the floor. He wasn’t moving—wasn’t breathing—there was no saving him. He also knew Hot Shot intended the same for him, and he knew he should be scared.

  “You’re Jeremy? The real Jeremy this time? It’s nice to meet you, I think. Could you—I mean, would you mind waiting right there? I just need to be sure. You understand how it is.”

  Hot Shot reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He opened it up, glanced at it, and then looked back at Jeremy. His eyes went back to the paper, and then flicked back up to Jeremy.

  “You’re close enough, I guess.” He refolded the paper and stuck it back in his pocket. “Okay, Jeremy Cross, I know it’s cliché, but still, nothing personal.”

  “It’s about to be.” Jeremy closed his fists.

  “I like that. I do. The whole attitude thing. Oh well.” Then Hot Shot punched his arm forward at Jeremy. The eight ball, circling up over his shoulder, immediately shot out, whistling as it cut through the air.

  Jeremy crossed his arms in front of his face. He closed his eyes. He was ready for this—ready to die. A second later the eight ball hit square against his left forearm. He felt it, a dull thud like someone throwing a punch, but there was no pain—no broken bone. Jeremy opened his eyes and looked around. It was the eight ball that was broken. He could see a handful of the jagged black and white shards scattered on the ground by his feet.

  Hot Shot smiled. “That’s interesting.” Then he punched his arms forward again, and the other five balls went flying, but now Jeremy was moving too, sprinting forward to close the distance between them.

  The nine ball reached him first. Jeremy sidestepped it. Then he saw the cue ball. It glanced off his shoulder. He didn’t feel it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow down. The three ball came at him chest high. Jeremy swatted it away with his left hand, never losing a step. The two ball was aimed at his head. Jeremy caught it with his right hand. Then he ducked under the five, stood up, and threw the two ball back at Hot Shot.

  The assassin spun out of the way of the missile, but now Jeremy was on top of him. He threw an overhand right at Hot Shot’s face, but Hot Shot was waiting for it. He grabbed the cue stick off the table, swung it up, and turned the punch to the side. Then Hot Shot swung the stick down, catching the front of Jeremy’s ankle, sending him to the ground.

  Jeremy landed face-first on the marble floor. Something whipped hard across his back, but not hard enough to hurt. He scrambled back to his feet and turned to face Hot Shot. That’s when he saw the splintered half of the cue stick.

  Jeremy stepped up and punched again with his right. Hot Shot rolled over one of the tables, out of the way of Jeremy’s fist.

  “Too slow, Jeremy. Try again.” Hot Shot slapped his hand down hard on the table, and then he chopped his arm out at Jeremy. The table followed, jumping up into the air and spinning for Jeremy’s head.

  Jeremy dropped to the floor. He rolled under the flying table, and then he was back on his feet. He looked up. Another table was spinning through the air. Jeremy turned away to the left. The table just missed, crashing instead against the metal railing around the edge of the food court. Then a third table was in the air. It flipped on its side, spinning down, aimed right at Jeremy’s center. There was no time left to think and nowhere else to go. Jeremy grabbed the railing behind him and vaulted over just as the table slammed down into the floor.

  Then, for a second, he was falling. Jeremy braced himself, ready to land hard on the first floor of the mall, only he didn’t. He didn’t land anywhere. Jeremy had stopped himself, mid-air, still three feet off the ground. He was floating. It lasted for less than a second, just long enough to stop his momentum, and then he was falling again. He landed feet-first in the basin of water around the fountain. Then he looked up toward the food court.

  Hot Shot walked to the railing and looked down at him. “That’s not bad, Jeremy. Now try and dodge this.”

  Hot Shot reached out and touched the side of the smoothie stand. Then he raised both of his arms over his head, and slowly the stand lifted up into the air. Hot Shot pushed his arms forward, and the smoothie stand tipped back against the metal railing. He was breathing heavy now, straining, his arms starting to shake, but then he pushed against the air, and the bottom of the stand swung up. For a second the whole thing seemed perfectly balanced on top of the railing. Then it tipped over.

  Jeremy threw his arms up over his head trying to protect himself—too late. The whole stand crashed down on top of him, splintering into a thousand pieces, filling the pool with wood and plastic debris.

  Hot Shot stepped away from the railing, back toward the food court. The first thing he did was retrieve his pea coat. He slipped it on. Then he walked over to his messenger bag, still lying on the table. He pulled the brown leather strap over his head and turned around one last time to see what he had wrought. Then he walked across the food court and stepped onto the down escalator.

  The ride to the first floor of the mall was silent. Now there were no footsteps echoing off the marble floors. No voices droning in the air. Hot Shot started to whistle.

  As he reached the bottom of the escalator, he stepped off and walked toward the fountain. At the base of the fountain and in the water itself there was a tangled mass of wood and plastic. Hot Shot rose up on his toes, craning his neck and peering through the debris, looking for a body. Nothing. He stepped to his right, crouched down, and looked again into the rubble, looking for a hand or foot or blood. Nothing.

  Hot Shot was still focused on the pile of debris when Jeremy edged out from behind the escalator, and in a flash, he was on him. Jeremy threw a quick right cross into the side of Hot Shot’s head, and the assassin went reeling back. Jeremy stepped up and slashed out with his left. Hot Shot raised his arm and blocked it.

  Then the world flipped over and Jeremy’s heels were above his head. The next thing he knew he was flat on his back against the marble, and Hot Shot’s knee was pressed into his chest. Jeremy tried to punch again from the floor, but Hot Shot pinned his arm.

  “Not bad, kid. I really mean that.” Hot Shot reached up with his free hand and touched the side of his mouth; then he looked down at his fingers, checking for blood. “You did better than most, but that’s not saying much. Know what I mean? At the end of the day, dead is still dead.”

  Hot Shot slapped his hand hard against the side of Jeremy’s face. “I’ll see ya, Jeremy Cross.” Then Hot Shot stood up, releasing his hold, but before Jeremy could scramble to his feet, Hot Shot punched both of his fists into the air, and Jeremy went flying back.

  It felt like he was being pushed in the chest and pulled by his collar all at the same time, and he was falling back and flying up into the air, his arms and legs flailing helplessly. Jeremy’s back smashed against the metal railing surrounding the second floor of the mall, and then the pushing stopped and he was falling again. No—it was more than falling. He felt the pressure against his back as if someone was pushing him to the ground, and this time there was no stopping. He hit flat against the marble floor on the far side of the fountain.

  The impact knocked the wind out of him, but before he could gather himself, Jeremy was up again, being pushed straight up into the air this time. He slammed against the vaulted glass ceiling of the mall, and the window panes shattered as he hit. Shards of glass rained down to the first floor. Then Jeremy followed, falling again. This time, as he hit the marble, the tiled floor cracked beneath him. He could feel his mouth filling with blood, and he still couldn’t catch his breath. Then Hot Shot punched into the air again.

  Jeremy reached both of his arms back toward the ground, fighting to keep himself down, desperate to take hold of anything to keep him on the ground, only there was nothing to grab. He coul
d feel himself rising back up into the air like before, but then, suddenly, he was falling. Only this wasn’t like before. He wasn’t being thrown down. He was falling under his own weight. He twisted around in the air and landed heavy on his feet, his knees buckling beneath him.

  Hot Shot punched both of his fists out again, and Jeremy could feel himself start to rise, pulled and pushed back up into the air. Jeremy reached for the ground again, and then, just as his feet lifted off the floor, he could feel himself drop. Whatever Hot Shot was doing before—throwing him into the air—it wasn’t working now. Jeremy started to walk forward.

  Hot Shot punched again into the air. Jeremy braced himself. This time there was nothing. He felt the pressure pushing back against his whole body, trying to lift him into the air, but it didn’t matter. Jeremy didn’t move until he started forward again. Hot Shot pushed back through the air, harder than before. It didn’t matter. Jeremy kept coming.

  It wasn’t easy. He felt like he was walking to shore against the pull of a wave trying to race back out to sea, only it felt as if his whole body was underwater and every inch of him was being pulled back.

  Hot Shot pushed again.

  Jeremy managed another step. This time, as his foot touched down on the floor, the marble under him cracked into a wide spider-web, crushed by his own weight.

  Hot Shot punched his fists out again, and Jeremy could see the man was struggling now. His chest was heaving in and out, gulping in as much air as he could. His face was turning bright red, and his arms, held straight out from his body, were violently shaking up and down. A thin trickle of pale blood started running from his nose.

  Hot Shot pulled his arms back and punched both of his fists out again. Another wave crashed over Jeremy, trying to drag him back to sea, but it wasn’t enough. He kept fighting forward. Ten feet away now. Six. Three feet.

  Suddenly Hot Shot dropped his hands. He stopped pushing, and instead, he threw a weak right punch at the side of Jeremy’s head. Jeremy blocked it and countered with a right hook. He caught Hot Shot on the side of the jaw. The assassin spun around once as he fell to the ground, knocked out cold.