Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  No one argued. As awful as things were, Lola knew they could only be worse if she went to Gromlin prison. That place made Guantanamo Bay Military Prison look like Disneyland.

  Their captors led them to an armored minibus. The policewoman’s unflattering Kevlar vest and assault rifle reminded Lola of last week’s terror. She flinched as she recalled the fractured windows and Saul, her husband. How was he? She never got to say goodbye or tell him one last time that she loved him. She tried to hold back her tears as the armored bus’s rear doors opened and the line of women shuffled forward.

  Lola stood in the back parking lot as a policewoman led Shinal into the bus and chained her to the railing a few seats behind the driver. The policewoman yanked on the bindings. Then she waved to the officers outside and said, “Next.”

  Lola was nudged forward and her head forced down as she entered the bus. She tripped on the door’s seal and fell to her knees. She glared back at the policeman, almost certain that he’d helped with the momentum that drove her into the ground.

  The man smirked.

  What a dog biscuit. Lola felt her stomach – the baby appeared to be fine, so she pulled herself to her feet and crossed to the policewoman awaiting her.

  The policewoman slid a pair of handcuffs through the railing, but before the female officer secured Lola’s bindings, she loosened the cuffs and whispered, “Sorry about that. These macho guys can be a bit barbaric. You ok?”

  Lola nodded and read her nametag. “Thanks, Officer Nealey.”

  “Good.” She yanked down on the ankle chains. “Next.”

  Frenchie stepped into the back of the bus and the policeman that had just guided Lola to the floor stood at the door, holding it open as if the two of them were on a date. “All aboard,” the officer said as Frenchie stepped through the opening. Then he smacked her tight little rear-end.

  The policewoman didn’t appear to notice. But Frenchie spun around looking like she would have decked him if she weren’t wearing cuffs.

  The bus started up. Officer Nealey plopped down on the front row seat six chairs up from Frenchie and the bus left the inner part of Nashville.

  Lola hated the fact that she now had to empty her bladder more often than her grandma. They’d only been driving for 90 minutes, but the need to pee was relentless.

  “Vad fan ar det.” Frenchie’s bindings clanged against the railing and the wall of the vehicle.

  Lola flinched and turned toward Frenchie. It wasn’t everyday someone spoke in juvenile Swedish.

  “I can’t believe they are treating us like freaking military prisoners,” Frenchie continued.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Lola said in Swedish. “All Shines are terrorists.”

  “That’s enough,” Officer Nealey yelled as a billy club smashed into the seat in front of Frenchie. “Keep the talking to a minimum. And don’t let me hear anything but English.”

  A few minutes passed before Frenchie started speaking again, this time whispering in English. “How can people be so blind? It’s like they think we are X-Men; everywhere they turn they see Magneto, Wolverine, and some epic battle that’s about to destroy the earth. I’m just a young woman that happens to be damn good with a pair of scissors and a knack for hair.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shinal said. “That’s why you are here? That’s your ability? You’re good with hair?”

  “Ahw, the sphinx talks,” Frenchie quipped. “Yes, I’m fantastic with hair. That is my scary, dangerous, city tumbling Shine ability. Of course, I should be locked up.”

  “I can’t believe what is happening to me,” Shinal muttered as she glanced at the ceiling.

  “Is yours any better? What’s your ability?” Lola asked, jumping to the defense of one of the few people who’d been nice to her in weeks.

  Shinal shook her head and closed her eyes.

  “You don’t want to share? I guess that means that you probably also don’t want to help me make a run for it either?” Lola mumbled.

  “And why would I do that? We are going to Rehab, not to prison. And if we get caught, then what? Where do you think they will send us? It’ll be Gromlin Prison or worse. And there’s only one reason I’m not there already.”

  “Why’s that?” Lola asked.

  “Because I’m a celebrity. Sending me to prison without some kind of assault charge would be an absolute PR nightmare for the government. They’re just biding their time, waiting for me to screw up. Waiting for all of us to screw up.”

  “So why wait?” Frenchie asked. “If they can’t rehabilitate us or if another shmuck destroys one more city, they are going to neutralize us before we even get to the prison. Did you guys even read those laws Congress passed? We have no rights. If we get a chance, I’m with you, Lola.”

  An odd clicking sound was coming across the aisle from near the window.

  “And how are you guys going to get away?” Shinal whispered. “We’re bound in the back of an armored bus and surrounded by guards that are ready to shoot us on the spot. And what weapons do we have?” She gave a long look at Lola and then Frenchie. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how offering them a haircut is going to help us get out of here.”

  Frenchie squinted her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Shinal.

  “Stop your whispering, ladies,” Officer Nealey said.

  A few minutes of silence passed. Clink, clunk. The sound she’d heard earlier repeated itself. Lola did a double take at Frenchie.

  Frenchie gave a quick confined wave beneath the level of the seat. Her cuffs were off her wrists and lying across her lap.

  “Huh. How?” She looked upfront towards Officer Nealey, whose attention was still going out the front window. “How did you get loose?” she mouthed. Frenchie held up a few strands of hair. “Useless talent.” She tossed the hair to Lola.

  The hair was stiff and coarse as if it had been made out of titanium wire. The end of the hair had already been manipulated to look exactly like the universal handcuff keys that cops use.

  Lola fiddled with her bindings and within a few minutes the handcuffs fell from her hands. Then she carefully unlocked the shackles on her ankles and passed the hair key to Shinal.

  Shinal tucked the hairs underneath her thigh.

  “You’re serious?” Lola said. “You’re one of us. When the time comes, you’ve got to make a break for it.”

  Shinal shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  What was wrong with this girl? She couldn’t make up her mind and decide whether she wanted to live free or as a prisoner. The thought was inconceivable. “You won’t rat us out, will you?”

  Shinal seemed to think about the question for a long moment. Then she shook her head.

  “Good. Thanks. And remember, no matter what, you’re one of us.”

  *****

  Frenchie pulled the chains off the floor and hung them over the back of her seat so that they looked like they were still connected to her wrists. Then she collapsed her head into her arms and pretended to nap. Her eyes were squinted, focusing on the hair follicles that were nearly 15 feet away.

  This had to be flawless. She moved to the left a few inches, but she couldn’t get a clear view of the driver’s face. “Come on,” she mumbled. This had to be very specific; if she stimulated the wrong hair follicles this wasn’t going to work.

  Officer Nealey turned around and glared at each of the girls. Her gaze seemed to settle on Frenchie for a long time before she turned back around and faced the road. They were on a tree-lined two-lane highway. Very few cars were visible as a white picket fence galloped past the car and seemed to stretch on forever.

  A shadow moved near the ceiling as the driver turned to look out the driver’s side window. There it was, a rounded rearview mirror that gave the front-facing officers a view of their prisoners.

  Frenchie caught the reflection of the driver, concentrated on his face, and then moved onto the female officer riding shotgun.

  She glanced across the aisle, nodded
at Lola, and picked back up with the Swedish. “I’m ready.”

  “I told you guys English only,” the officer said as she jumped to her feet and started down the aisle. She whacked one of the front seats with her nightstick.

  Frenchie flinched, afraid to move. This was not a part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to come to the back of the bus. She hunched further over the seat and pressed down on her forearms to make sure the removed shackles were pinned into place.

  “I’m sorry,” Lola said. “It’s just that...” She looked from Frenchie to Shinal. “All of these bumps are making me have to pee.”

  The bus jolted.

  Officer Nealey grabbed hold of two seats and stabilized herself. She turned around to the front of the bus. “What the hell was that, George?”

  “Another damn pot-”

  The bus ran through a two-foot hole in the road and Frenchie’s shackles slammed to the floor as if they had fallen off the Empire State building.

  Officer Nealey sprinted to the seat and brought her baton down on Frenchie’s shoulder. Frenchie crumpled into the corner retreating from the assault, fighting to keep her head above the seat.

  “What’s going on back there?” George asked.

  Frenchie could see him peering up into the mirrored dome. She focused all of her energy, met his eyes, and watched as his eyebrows swelled with over three pounds of knotted hair. The hair was so dense it forced his eyes shut and then drooped over his cheekbones and down his face.

  Again the baton came down, slapping the side of Frenchie’s head, forcing her to break eye contact with the driver.

  “How did you get your cuffs off?” Officer Nealey screeched, hitting her again.

  “Help! I can’t see anything,” the driver said. The bus made a sharp turn to the right.

  Officer Nealey stumbled backwards and fell to the ground.

  Lola jumped to her feet, but before she could attack, Shinal was on top of Nealey. Within seconds the officer was wearing the handcuffs and had been stripped of her weapons, walkie-talkie, and wallet as if the takedown had been scripted for television.

  Frenchie pulled herself off her seat. Her vision was a bit blurred and blood trickled down her auburn hair. “Lola, help the driver.”

  The bus ripped towards the right and smashed into the white picket fence.

  Lola sprinted up the aisle. “What happened?” she asked, using her best impression of Officer Nealey’s voice.

  He turned to look at her, but he may as well have had a basset hound sitting on his face.

  Lola gave a quick glance to Frenchie and then placed her hands on the steering wheel near the driver’s. “Slow down. We’re already off the road. I’ll help you guide it to a stop.”

  “Okay.”

  The van slowed but the rocks and divots in the hillside made the vehicle veer in different directions. Finally the bus came to a stop.

  “What happened back there?” the officer asked as he tried to part the matted hair off his face.

  “The girls were talking again. Scheming. I had to shut them up,” Lola said.

  The driver caught a glimpse of Lola and scrambled for his radio or a weapon from his utility belt.

  Frenchie grabbed the fire extinguisher from behind the driver’s seat and whacked the back of his head.

  “Yeow,” the driver screamed while grabbing the back of his head. His hand pulled his gun from his holster and he fired. The bullet smashed through the side window.

  Frenchie whacked his head again and he collapsed unconscious against the seat belt.

  Lola glanced down the aisle at Shinal and Officer Nealey. Then her eyes came back to Frenchie.

  “Sorry,” Frenchie said. “It always takes just one hit in the movies.”

  CHAPTER 5

  A mile up the road they found a driveway with an abandoned barn. Lola parked the short bus, while Shinal double-checked both of the officers’ bindings, and at Lola’s request, left a bottle of water for Officer Nealey. The driver was starting to roll on his seat; he would wake up within the next few minutes.

  “I’d advise you to conserve your energy,” Shinal said. “Night will fall soon and so will the temperature. We’ll call the police and give them your whereabouts after we’re safe.”

  “You girls should stop. You’re just going to make everything worse,” Officer Nealey said.

  “Worse?” Shinal smirked. “They stripped me of my Olympic medals, belittled me to my fans, and stole my money and my family in exchange for prison. Why don’t you tell me how it can get worse?”

  The officer’s eyes went to the ground.

  Shinal twisted the cap and gulped down half the bottle, then put the water back within the officer’s reach. “Get some rest, officer. Your co-workers will see you soon.”

  The inside of the old barn contained a old-dismantled tractor, farming tools, and a few bales of musty hay. There was no food and the only clothing was a jean jacket that was three sizes too big. She left the building just as Frenchie and Lola pulled the barn doors shut.

  The three girls walked down a dirt road to the highway. The fall air was colder as the sun fell. A few more weeks and the ground would be covered by snow and ice, which probably would have been better than the soggy leaves and mud currently along the edge of the highway.

  Frenchie stuck out her thumb.

  “We can’t hitch a ride,” Shinal said.

  “Why not? What else are we going to do? We don’t even know where we are, and pretty soon the police are going to send out the posse to start looking for us.”

  “Frenchie’s right,” Lola said.

  Shinal hated that somehow the dumb blonde had been elected to be in charge, but she knew they were right. Despite the brisk weather, she unzipped her athletic jacket about halfway, turned around and walked backwards and smiled with her thumb up.

  A couple old enough to be Shinal’s great grandparents drove by in a half-empty car without so much as smiling at the girls, then a minivan rushed by and the little kids in the back waved happily. A siren sounded in the distance. Shinal froze, looking for the lights and then she saw the police choppercar cruising away from them on an adjacent road.

  Finally a black Toyota pulled up, the window was already down.

  “You girls need some help?” The man was in his thirties. His cowboy hat suggested he was from town but his speech didn’t. The guy was taut and wiry with a three o’clock shadow along his jaw-line.

  “Sure do…”

  “Can you give us a ride?” Frenchie asked, sticking her head between Shinal and the window. “Maybe just to the next town or something?”

  Shinal stared at Frenchie. She couldn’t believe the girl had cut her off. She forced herself to continue smiling at the guy and then she inched her way over, cutting Frenchie out of the picture.

  “I can give you a ride to Knoxville, after that I’m heading north,” the man said.

  “That would be great.” Shinal tried to remember where Knoxville was. She had no idea. She’d been born in Tennessee and her family had never left, but she had. In the 7th grade she’d dominated the state gymnastics championship and then Junior Nationals. From there she moved to Denver, Colorado to train with the Olympic Team and she’d been on the road ever since. Her team and coaches had been her family, and now they wanted nothing to do with her. For the last six years, they praised her ability to mimic the movements of the other athletes. And now that some new test indicated she was a Shine, she’d become a cheat, for some supposed skill that she never knew she had.

  They climbed in.

  “So, what brings you ladies all the way out here?” the man asked.

  Shinal pretended to be too interested in the landscape and cattle they were passing. She wasn’t sure how she should respond. Maybe she shouldn’t have insisted on sitting in the front seat.

  “We came out to look at a horse,” Frenchie said as she leaned into the front seat. “We found this beautiful palomino on craigslist, lined up to meet and ride her a
few miles back and the farmer never showed up. We walked around to a few houses to see if we could find them, but nothing. By the time we made it back to our ride, the car was stolen.”

  Wow, she was good. How could Frenchie make all that up with a straight face? Shinal had to literally bite her own tongue.

  “No one brought a cell phone?” the man asked.

  “Well of course we did. We just left them in the car along with money to buy the horse. How were we to know our car would get stolen?”

  The man nodded. The white picket fence made the last 20 miles look near the same as the first 20.

  “How about you? Where are you from?” Frenchie asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m Jared Bender from Poughkeepsie, New York. But now I pretty much live out of a suitcase somewhere between Chicago and New Orleans.” He took another long gander at Shinal.

  She tried to keep her eyes out the passenger’s side window, but she could feel his eyes upon her. Her mind flipped through movies and television shows trying to picture exactly how someone escaped from a psychopath while in the passenger seat. One of her hands clenched into a fist and the other grabbed the door handle as she prepared to mimic one of them.

  “I can’t help but to think that I know you,” Jared said.

  And there it was. Shinal definitely should’ve let Frenchie or Lola ride up front. She was a national figure, especially in her home state of Tennessee. And she was practically wearing her team uniform.

  “Aren’t you Shinal McGraw, the gymnast?” he asked.

  Where were Frenchie and her pathetic skills when she needed her? She could have popped her tight ponytail and given her an Afro, anything to obscure her.

  “My daughter and I watched you in the Olympics,” Jared continued. “Hell, you are the reason my daughter took gymnastics for a while.”

  Shinal felt a prick of pride, but still didn’t speak.

  A wailing police siren came from the east, in the direction they were heading. There was a two-lane road with no visible gaps in the white picket fence. The cruiser’s flashing lights were barely visible on the horizon, the sounds of the siren getting closer.