Encender (The Enertia Trials Book 2)

by J. Kowallis

  A figure flies by me, knocking my shoulder forward and I watch Ransley head right for them. “NO! Ransley! Don’t!”

  She skids to her knees and places her hands right into the snow bank. The snow around her glows red and everything melts. Beneath the flowing water, dead brush and plants start smoking and then a spark of flames bursts around her hands. Ransley stands up, keeping her hands right in the center of the fire. It spreads along the entire breadth of the hill. She contains it in front of the transports, leaving the back end of the bowl clear.

  Without waiting for her cue, I cup my hands around my mouth. “To the east! Leave everything! Let’s go!” Squints, barking over and over, follows after Petey who’s trying to heard everyone away and up the hill ridge. I spin on my heel, my heart hammering in my head. Everyone hurries by me, scrambling to get up the snow bank and I turn back to look at Ransley.

  “Roy! Man, let’s go!” Petey calls.

  I wave him to keep going and, without responding, run to Ransley. Her hands engulfed by the flames cause my breath to catch in my throat. It doesn’t seem to bother her. I pull on her shoulder, trying to get her to follow me.

  “Come on!” I yell.

  “I can’t.” Her voice sounds like a whisper underneath the roar of the flames. My skin and hair singes being this close to the fire.

  “Yes, you can!” I back off slightly, pulling back on her shoulder.

  “I can’t!” she finally yells at me and turns her head. The same fire and rage around her hands reflects in the dark red of her eyes. “If I let this go, the fire dies. There’s nothing left for it to burn and the transports will keep coming. You have to go. Trust me.”

  “There’s no way I’m leaving you here!”

  Up above us, the transports hold back. Each time they try to go around the fire gliding over the ground, Ransley pushes the fire to move with them like a tidal wave, blocking them off. Before long, this firewall is going to rival Public’s wall in size and length.

  If this were any other day, I’d wonder how they found us. But with last night, I know this isn’t coincidental. This has everything to do with Caspar—with the fire at Estevan and Ransley’s apartment—and the fact that Caspar was cheated. It’s me. He knows I let Ransley live, and he saw what I did in the ring. It’s all about me. They know about my power, and now, Ransley’s a target too. If that’s the case, no matter how long Ransley holds them off, they’ll come again. They’ll come again, and again.

  I reach around to Ransley’s arms and tug them away. Flames blast against my arm and I cringe seeing the burn radiating along my skin. Just like Ransley said, the inferno dies and in an instant, the transports begin to dive down into the fishbowl.

  If they were after the entire community, at least one would go after them, but none do.

  I curse at Ransley and she hammers on me. “No! NO! You have to go!”

  “Ransley! They didn’t come for you!”

  Her eyes flash open wide and she looks over my shoulder. “You don’t know that!”

  “GO, dammit!” I yell at her. She hesitates. I shove her back with all the force I can toward the opposite ridge and she trips over herself. I cuss again. “GO!”

  She growls and walks toward me, “No, Roy!”

  The transport behind us stops. My mind extends and my vision doubles. I grab her from behind with my body double. I look over and watch myself pull her away. She kicks and screams, but I keep holding her, running and pulling her toward the opposite end of the bowl. I turn around when two guards jump out of the transport. Their power guns rise up, but before they can get a shot off, I reach out and pull on the end of the gun, flipping it around in my hands and point it at them. In two shots, I take out both guards and look back. Ransley and my double disappear over the hill. The other two transports open, and I brace myself.

  Two power shots. I feel them burn through my legs. Waves of pain knock me to the right and I can feel the warm flow of blood running down my thighs.

  “Damn sonsofbitches!” I groan and clutch at the wounds, falling to my knees. Two guards grab me from behind and I feel a tight pinch from the needle entering through the side of my neck. My focus immediately pulls back in and I know my double is no longer keeping Ransley back. I can’t feel her anymore. The pictures in front of me blur and twist like a sea of kaleidoscope images.

  I try to push myself to my feet, but the earth . . . shifts to the side, making me slide. My eyes roll . . . around and around. Blackness creeps over me and I’m dragged across the frozen ground.

  ―CARMEN―

  Strands of her long ink-black hair dropped softly to her shoulders as Carmen struggled to keep them between her fingers. On the second try, her hair went up perfectly and she held the braids in place with straight pins. She looked at herself calmly in the mirror, proud of her sharp square jaw line and wide cheekbones. Her amber mahogany eyes balanced out her face nicely, and it was something that made her unique to the other citizens of Public Four. Most had dark brown or hazel eyes. A few rare others had blue, but she was the only one she knew of with such a warm rich color with flecks—stripes almost—of gold weaving through her iris. It made her better.

  She reached forward and pressed the pad on the wall and the mirror sunk back into it and disappeared again behind the black panel. The wall, once again, was bare. After inserting her contact bud into her ear, she slipped the cross-body bag over her head and shoulder before she left her small apartment.

  When she reached the Public Four street, the sounds of humming transports and garbled talking filled the air. Rain from the previous night had left a wide road of mud and debris over the cracking pavement and it sucked at her boots with each step. The smell of the moist city assaulted her nose. Public Four was still under construction in many ways. Since it was still being built over a destroyed metropolis, there was the remaining tang of ruin. The vision of what Public Four would someday be was what motivated her to contribute each day.

  In her ear, the daily forecast, news, and Public announcements played, spoken by a bland male voice. “. . . to the east. Public Four asks all citizens to be aware of upcoming changes to curfew hours, and requests all citizens to comply. A new Public Four District Act will provide newly updated buildings to sectors three and six. These updates will include . . .”

  Carmen passed two female guards chatting on her left. Their hands were planted firmly on their power guns resting on their hips. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the Public guards never felt right to her. It could be the fact that none of them had been through the Nexis, or perhaps because they showed more emotion at times than she would consider particularly admirable. Neither guard paid her any attention.

  She jogged to meet up with the Public city glide car and leapt up to grab onto a bar. The chrome antique-designed trolley slowed down long enough for each passenger to jump on. Her left leg hung loose as she let the car carry her and the other fifty occupants to the Chrysalis building. The building’s egg-like branch structure rose toward them. She tapped her contact bud to shut off the announcements. With one more leap, she left the car and hurried toward the front entrance of the building.

  The wide doors of the West tendril dissolved in front, allowing her and ten others to walk through. Clouds and smog covered any rays of the early morning sun, and the unnatural light of the white fluorescents lit the lobby. Her co-workers and other Public Four employees formally greeted her and she hurried to the elevators.

  Once inside her station, she took the cross-body bag off from her shoulders and placed it in the compartment in the wall. The panel slid closed, concealing it from view. The room was much darker than the outer hallways, and Carmen preferred it. The low lighting allowed her to focus better. The privacy, soundproof walls, and extra space allowed her to do her job to perfection. With no distractions and no other movements, each modification was perfect.

  Carmen placed the control glove around her fingers and took her seat. She’d only had a few moments to prepare h
er station and download the day’s files before her station door swished open.

  “Carmen.”

  She turned around from the consol and met the eyes of Doctor Folland. “Yes?”

  “We need to talk. We received news that will . . . change our focus.”

  “What do you mean? Does this have anything to do with the new curfew hours?” Carmen slipped off the strap glove and gently placed it on the station before turning fully.

  Dr. Folland took a deep breath and folded his arms in front of his narrow chest. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “We received news this morning. Public One has been compromised.”

  Carmen’s eyes began to sting from the harsh air, her lids opened wide. “What? How is that possible?”

  “Faulty system from within, I suspect. We haven’t been able to get many details, but like I said, it’s going to mean changes for us. We can’t let the Nexis operation become lax. Security will be tightened throughout the entire Public.”

  She nodded. “Of course, I’d expect as much. Do we know what happened?”

  Dr. Folland shook his head. “Like I said, I have very little information. Their program failed from the inside out, and with the interference of Nomads from the outlying provinces, they’ve taken quite a blow. But, I’ve been promised the failure is only temporary. As we speak, the government is attempting to repair the damage and build the system back up again. It wasn’t fatal.”

  “That’s a relief.” She nodded. “I know they’ve stressed how important each operation is to The Public as a whole.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Folland agreed, some hidden emotion showing on his face. It intrigued Carmen, but it wasn’t worth addressing. “But because of this, I need you to know about some new procedures. From now on, no Public employee is allowed into the Pod area without an accompanying co-worker. Identification cards will be required to enter any area of the Chrysalis building, and even throughout the city, your hand prints will be scanned for identification upon entering any structure, including residences and apartment buildings.”

  “I understand.”

  Dr. Folland sighed and narrowed his eyes on Carmen. “There will be other changes, and I know this will make your work a little more difficult, but we need you to know it’s for your own good. For the good of The Public.”

  “Yes. I’m well aware that freedom is not necessary. Our safety and our security should be top priority. Anything to keep us safe, Doctor. I agree.”

  Dr. Folland smiled. The corners of his mouth pushed his cheeks into crinkles. “I knew you would. And,” he added a side note, reaching for his personal control glove, “I have a treat for you.”

  “How so, Doctor?”

  He smiled even deeper. “I’m entrusting you with the most important subject yet. Days ago, we were able to rescue a subject living a nomadic life. I’ve been admonished we shouldn’t amplify him yet, but I do want to show you the subject’s profile.”

  His hand slipped into the control and brought up a new profile that hadn’t been loaded yet. A multitude of data immediately sprung up with a large image of the subject. It was male, extremely well-built, lean, and hard. Proportionally the subject was ideal with a tall height, broad shoulders, and a well-developed muscle structure.

  “The subject’s physicality is ideal according to Public standards.” She turned to face the doctor again. “Exceptionally so. But I don’t understand what makes this subject different from any other.”

  Dr. Folland tipped his head toward the screen. “Look closer.”

  Carmen’s eyes searched over the rest of the information. She could feel Dr. Folland watching her, waiting for some sort of reaction. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was waiting for until she saw it with her own eyes.

  “The subject has a duality in consciousness? What does that mean?”

  Dr. Folland continued grinning and raised his eyebrows.

  Carmen shook her head. “I don’t understand. Duality in consciousness could mean a gateway for bi-dimensional thinking, or even at the most, could mean his consciousness can tap into multi-cellular division. Doctor, are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

  “I think you know already.”

  She turned back to look into the face of the subject. His straight face looked back, almost telling her the same thing the doctor had. “He can physically divide himself? It’s not possible.”

  “That’s what we thought so too. We ran multiple scans. It wasn’t confirmed until Public President Lobb was contacted. He’s coming to see the subject for himself.”

  “But Doctor, duality in consciousness? With multiple scans . . .” she continued to try and process the possibility. “I’ve never seen abilities like that in a subject before. Is it possible he’s somehow already gone through the Nexis amplification process? Maybe another monitor worked on him already? But even then . . . . ”

  “I told you it was an important subject. You think you can make the necessary improvements?”

  Carmen shook her head in disbelief. She could hardly make sense of how a being like this existed, let alone if she could manipulate the contents of the subject. “Doctor, I don’t even know how a . . . unique functionality like Corporeal Fission is configured, let alone how I would even begin to modify it.” She rested her fingertips on her lips, trying to digest what she was looking at. “But I’ll do my best.”

  “Well,” Dr. Folland slipped his control glove away and began to move for the door, “if there’s anyone’s ‘best’ I trust, it’s yours. We’ll keep you updated, Carmen, when we’re ready to proceed with the Nexis program.”

  “Yes, Doctor. Thank you.”

  “I’ve included some files in your assignments,” the doctor’s mechanical eye shifted slightly and he motioned toward the large screens, “for you to work on today. I’m not worried about your work, so let me know when you have each subject approved and enhanced and I’ll double check the information in the Pod lab.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, still in awe at what she had seen.

  Dr. Folland smiled again and slipped out of her control room. Her eyes went back to the projected information in the air in front of her. It shouldn’t be. That much she knew. Subjects were never naturally this gifted. Never. She could guarantee the moment she had a chance to begin working on his characteristics, there would be the familiar Nexis signature in his mapping. It was the only explanation. Nothing in nature existed like this. Yet here it was—a subject that wasn’t bound by the natural laws of biology or psychology.

  She sat down in front of the screen again and let her eyes span the information. Judging by the formation of the skeletal frame, it put the subject in his mid-twenties. She wouldn’t know his exact age until she started to explore the mental facilities.

  This would be a deeply involved project, and one she’d learn a lot from. The timing of everything between Public One, and this new subject was either extraordinarily coincidental, which was not entirely logical, or the events accumulating were greater than she could grasp yet. What it all meant was still a mystery.

  Public One, the first and most progressed, had been compromised by faulty interior organization. Carmen felt well aware of the debate among government officials on whether Public One required internal monitoring and security like the other three publics. She’d been informed of that fact years ago in her studies on how The Public system had been organized. Yet, none of the officials had believed it necessarily made the city weaker—they’d debated on its efficiency and its rate to produce results.

  Twice in one day. Two impossible events. Then again, if Public Four wasn’t too concerned, she knew she had no reason to be. The moment there was something to report, they’d let them know, and that set her at ease.

  ―RANSLEY―

  A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead and I shove a second jacket into my backpack. Roy’s tent smells of musty canvas soaking in lake water, and has the bitter savor of dirt. Squints whimpers at my feet, laying underneath the dark cot. I w
ipe away the warm trickle of snot from my nose and stand to grab a few more loose foodstuffs to go into the backpack.

  A thick brown book falls to the ground from between a set of blankets and I lean down to pick it up. The cover is leather, worn and rubbed at the edges. The binding is starting to unravel, and even a few pages are starting to pull out. I carefully turn the cover over and find Roy’s handwriting littering the pages. They’re his own personal thoughts—weekly actions and movements of the community.

  From behind a pair of dark sunglasses, I glance out into the early morning and check to make sure no one is watching me. Slowly, I sit down on the cot, tugging the loose blanket out from under me and begin to read the first page. It was written six years ago. It wasn’t Roy’s handwriting. Some woman named Alessandra curls her Ss and loops her Ms around the page. It’s her sixteenth birthday and she got a new journal. She promises to write every day. She misses her father who’s fighting in the central gulf.

  Then, after the first entry, she disappears and Roy’s writing takes over. He recalls how he found the book, beaten and trapped beneath a roof beam in a destroyed home—how he can’t bring himself to take out the page of the previous owner.

  I don’t know how many more years I have in me. Fighting has been the only thing keeping me and Petey from starving, but it’ll probably be what kills me. I just hurt so bad. I hope I didn’t get tetanus from that dipshit last night. The fighter had a screwdriver shoved up his sleeve. When I got him pinned to the ground, he shoved it into my lower hip, nearly piercing my ballsack. More importantly, it missed my artery. I should have seen it beforehand, but I still managed to get back on my feet. Completely kicked his ass. Shoved the screwdriver through the guy’s head.