Encender (The Enertia Trials Book 2)

by J. Kowallis

  I’m gonna be laid up for a few days. Hopefully I’ll be on my feet soon . . .

  The writing went on. Details of more fights. Struggles with the growing community that started to follow him.

  I snap the book shut and I drum it between my fingers. If I leave it here, it may get lost. Just so I can’t talk myself out of it, I shove it in the bag with everything else. Whatever else I can fit in there, while still leaving behind anything for Roy’s family, needs to be taken into consideration.

  Squints strings out a long high-pitched whimper again and scoots out, his big brown eyes looking up at me.

  “Hey,” I whisper, squatting down to massage his ear. “I wish you could come with. I know you want to see him too, but,” I don’t want to say, I might die and you’ll be alone, “I think you need to stay here, boy.”

  I stand up and whistle softly, patting my thigh. “Come on.”

  Outside, the air temperature isn’t much different. It’s a shockingly hot and humid morning considering the long streak of freezing temperatures. Even my tank top is beginning to sop up my sweat. Although the sunglasses are blocking most of the light, the sun still burns my sore eyes and I raise my arm to shield my face. The hoop of melting snow around our camp is soaking into the dead grass, creating mud puddles.

  I walk over to the nearest tree with shade, pick up Squints’ rope, and tie him up. He whimpers more and threatens to bark, so I squeeze my hand over his muzzle and look him in the eye. His dark brown eyes stare at me sadly and glance around, his sore ear dropped low on the right side. “I’ll find him. I promise. But you’ve gotta be quiet, okay?”

  I let go of him and he licks my nose.

  “You’re up early.”

  I close eyes, and drop my head. I don’t want to turn around and look at him. I wanted to be gone by now so I wouldn’t have to go through this. Estevan will never let me go alone, because he doesn’t understand.

  “Yeah,” I sigh and turn around. Estevan watches me with folded arms, his head tilted condescendingly. He’s given me this look so many times. Most of the time, I know I’ve done something wrong. However, this, this is right, and I know it.

  “Listen, I know what you’re going to say.”

  “No, you don’t.” He shakes his head and his thick arms flex, tightening the tattoos that have since begun to droop on his tanned leather skin. “You don’t know what you’re doing. So how in the world could you know what I’m going to say?”

  “I have to do this. It’s my fault they got Roy.”

  “Ransley. Perdida, you’re willing to go into The Public in order to get him out? This whole idea is foolish. You’ll die . . . or worse, you’ll end up like him.”

  The words sting my lips. “He’s my family.”

  Estevan drops his head.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Papá.”

  He shakes his head and steps closer. The smell of morning breath and tequila wisps my face. “Yes you did. Don’t you understand? We’re family. You don’t even know this man.”

  “Papá, I don’t want this to sound horrible, or ungrateful, but he’s probably the first person I do know. He . . . he understands what it’s like.”

  If the words I said bit him at all, he didn’t show it. I didn’t say them to dig at him, I didn’t even say them to create any reaction, I simply felt them.

  “For the first time in my life that I can remember, I’ve met someone who understands what it’s like to be me. To feel lost inside your own head. Roy’s the first glimpse I’ve had to suggest I have a family. A biological family.” I step closer to Estevan. “I’ll still consider you my father ‘til the day I die—whether that’s sooner or later, I don’t care to find out. But, I have to hold onto Roy as long as I can, no matter what it takes. He’s different. He’s me.”

  “Then I’m coming with.” Coming from his raspy gruff voice, the words, to anyone else, would sound more threatening than reassuring. He’s always been this way. It feels like home to me, making this so much harder.

  “No,” I shake my head. “Papá,” I pause and purse my lips. Even though I hope this isn’t the last time I see him, the reality of the situation is not lost on me. “You deserve to be the one who rests. You don’t need this in your life.”

  Though it’s not mine, I start to watch his life flash in front of me. He’s hid much from me over the years, but I’ve learned enough. I know a lot about how his life has been, and I know I didn’t make anything easier on him the day he found me.

  “After everything, you don’t deserve to get dragged through this too. Not you. You’ve protected me my whole life. You taught me everything.” I feel pools of water gathering behind my eyes, but I hold it back. “It’s my turn to take over, Papá. I have to do this. I have to do it alone. Please trust me.”

  Estevan’s voice breaks. “It’s not . . . you I don’t trust. It’s,” he looks off in the direction of The Public, miles away, “it’s them.”

  “What’s going on here?” Dina, one of the women with Roy’s group walks up behind us, placing a hand on Estevan’s shoulder. Her gray-streaked hair is rumpled from her sleep, but she tries to smooth it over with her other hand. Over the last couple days, she’s been talking with Estevan a lot.

  Estevan runs a hand over his nose and mouth and straightens up, pulling himself together. “Nothing.”

  Dina eyes me, her dark brown eyes searching for an indication of our conversation. She looks to Estevan, pulling up a hesitant smile. “I’ve made some biscuits for breakfast. Come have one.”

  “Gracias, Dina,” Estevan’s voice rumbles.

  Knowing he won’t say much more, Dina concedes and turns to walk away from us.

  “That’s another reason,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “Dina. Estevan, you have to stay. I can see she’s already attached to you . . .”

  “What?”

  “. . . and you to her,” I finish the sentence ignoring his cut-in. “Even with that aside, with Roy gone, these people need all the help they can get. I doubt that Petey, with his bad legs, can do much. Papá, you’re staying. I’m not going to fight you on this, and for once, I don’t want you to point out I’m wrong, or I’m being foolish. Maybe I am. But it doesn’t feel that way, and right now, it’s my only option.”

  Estevan frowns and looks up over the horizon, folding his arms once more. The chatter of the communal family starts to liven up behind us, and for a while, it’s all I listen to. The clinks of pans, and the rustle of lean-to fabric. Someone laughs.

  Estevan’s mouth keeps opening, and I think he’ll finally say something, but all he does is lick his lips and change his gaze. When he finally talks, it startles me.

  “You’re my daughter. You remember that.” He clears his throat. “You better come home. Do you hear me?” He says the whole thing without moving. His arms locked, his eyes drilling into me. It’s who he is, and I’ve never wanted to change that.

  My hand reaches forward to gently take his and our arms swing back and forth for only a few moments. My fingers begin to pull away from his rough hands, but he grips my hand harder and pulls me into a hug. Heat burns my eyes and my face and I wrap my arms tighter around his thick neck. I breathe in the pungent smell of tequila, sweat, and tobacco, never wanting to forget it.

  I squeeze tighter, and his arms bind me to his barrel chest. He buries his head in my neck and a tear trickles down my skin. I open my eyes wide enough to see the blurry form of Dina watching us from her tent.

  My eyes close again and I take another deep breath, choking.

  Estevan sniffs loudly and pushes me away. “Go,” he whispers.

  “I love you, Papá.” I wipe my hands down my face, feeling the warmth in my cheeks.

  He nods, and I know it’s all he’ll give me. I spin on my heels and dart down the hillside away from the camp. I won’t look back. I can’t, even if I want to. Squints barks loudly behind me. I can’t look back. I can’t. If I do, I might change my mind.


  I can’t leave Roy inside The Public to become one of them. I’ve heard what happens in there. With Roy, they’ve received the greatest souvenir in the world.

  I keep pressing myself forward, jumping over fallen trees, beating branches away from my face and everything that indistinctly moves in front of me. I have to get away.

  The sun’s getting hotter. Though I continue to push, Estevan’s face keeps popping up in my mind. Flashes of the childhood I’m leaving behind, fights that mean nothing to me anymore, and Los Ángeles. I’m only focused on one mission.

  Roy.

  Keep running. Farther. My boots grip fallen tree trunks and skid over dry patches of dirt and rocks.

  By the time I stop running, the sun is midway through the sky. I lean up against a tree, ducking into the shade and fall to my rear, gulping in air. My tank top is soaked. I hiss, bringing my arm up and look at the inside of my bicep. I have two identical rashes, one on each arm where they pumped back and forth across the straps of my backpack. Claw marks from jutting twigs and tall dead weeds run up my arms.

  There’s a slight breeze, washing away the heat continually waving over my face, forcing new streams of sweat to trickle down. I run my fingers through my short hair and enjoy the feeling of the cool wind.

  The closest people to me are now at least four miles back. I’m alone. I knew I would be eventually, and I’ve never truly realized it ‘til now, but I think I’ve always felt this way. It’s heavy on me—the loneliness. If I can get to Roy, I won’t have to carry this alone. Never again. If he’s still Roy when I find him, I’ll have my family back. I won’t be so alone and so lost.

  From inside my backpack I pull out Roy’s journal again. The leather cover with worn edges and a leaf imprint on the side; scratches here and there. There’s so much about him I want to know—so much I didn’t get to ask him. As much as I want to open it, to learn more about the man who is so similar to me, I can’t bring myself to do it. I shake my head and toss it back in the bag. It’s not right. I want him to tell me about it. I know if I can get him out of this, he will. I need to find him.

  I push myself up, my legs wobbling slightly. I get control of them and hike in the direction of the highway. I know I’ll need to follow it, but stay out of sight. Although I’m not afraid of many things, a large group of Nomads is another issue. I can’t afford to be seen by anyone. Especially the closer I get to The Public. No one goes there willingly. Everyone, even Nomads who prey on Public evaders, won’t even get close enough to drink from the water lines going into the city. No one dares.

  The sun rears its bright and overbearing head over the cloud cover. If it’s possible, it’s gotten hotter.

  I don’t know how I’m going to do this. Get Roy back and actually live. All I know, is I have to.

  ―ROYDON―

  I pace back and forth away from the one-way glass at the other end of the room. Even if I projected right now, there would be two of me walking around in this damn room. What good would that do?

  I look over to the flat metal bed—if you can call it that, more like a frickin’ torture table—complete with cuffs to hold down wrists and ankles. They must’ve realized it’d be pointless to try and lock me in, or else they would have tried putting me there. Sitting against the wall are also two aluminum chairs, and although they look cold, hard, and horribly uncomfortable, my unending pacing is irritating me more. I need to sit. I drag one chair a few inches away from the wall, sit down, and lean the chair back on its legs.

  The door to the light blue-green-lit room opens up and I freeze in place. A man walks in, grinning like he’s my best friend.

  “Good morning, I’m Doctor Folland.” The man walks up to me, holding out his hand like he thinks I’ll actually shake it.

  Dick.

  “O-kay,” he smiles, pulling his hand back, “I understand.”

  I shake my head, rolling my eyes.

  “You’ve been here for eighteen hours and no one’s been able to get a name from you,” the doctor says, pulling up the second chair and sitting next to me. His short, curly, blonde and gray hair is slicked back, revealing a large mole at his hairline near the temple. A robotic eyeball in his left socket “blinks” on its own after the doctor blinks his own eyelids.

  I don’t answer him. I don’t want to. For all I care, all these Jimmies can go to hell.

  “We’ve heard some interesting things about you.”

  From Caspar, no doubt. Not that I care at this point. Whether I get out, or whether I don’t, The Public will renege any deal they made with him anyway. He’s as good as dead.

  “Heard you can . . . duplicate yourself?” the doctor continues to press.

  I smile at him. “Really? Wow. Now that would be a trick. Did you also hear I can roll my eyelids inside out because not many people can these days.”

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “I’m laughing,” I smile at him. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I think you’re confusing me with those little microscopic . . . what are they called? Amoeba?”

  Dr. Folland smiles. “You’re funny.”

  I pretend to tip my hat. “You’re welcome.”

  The good doctor’s pleasant smile falters for a moment, clearly detailed with irritation, but he picks it right back up. “Your name’s Roydon, correct?”

  I continue to lean back and fold my arms, watching him carefully. How the hell would he know that? “Actually, it’s Ben. As in, Ben Doverankissit.”

  He ignores me. “I already think I know who you are. The truth is, we could work on you with a name or without. It’s not me who wants to know.” Dr. Folland stands up from the chair and slides it away from him when he steps back. “All I want to know is if it’s true. Since we’ve brought you in here, we haven’t once seen you try to Duplicate. I’m beginning to think we were lied to.”

  “By who?” I ask. “Caspar Ronaldo? That douche has had it out for me for years. In fact, the only other person he hates just about as much as me . . . is you guys. I’m beginning to think he saw an opportunity to screw us both over.”

  Dr. Folland’s lip twitches and I can’t help but smirk at him. He’s starting to think it. That Caspar screwed them. All they have on their hands is a nobody fighter. That won’t keep them from working me over anyway. I was dead the moment those transports rounded the edge of the bowl. However, if I can mess with their minds enough before I become a shell . . . I’ll take it.

  The door to the room they’re holding me in opens again and the doctor walks out, leaving me alone.

  My thoughts go to Ransley. I’m not sure why. I keep seeing the look on her face when I dragged her away. She was so pissed at me. So scared. Even when I try to remember talking to her, I keep seeing the flashes of fear. There’s no doubt I did the right thing. I hate seeing it over and over. I may not know much about her, but I know enough to understand that if they get their hands on her, she’ll be in deep shit. Like me.

  My head rests against the back of the wall and my chest collapses in exhale.

  I think about her and how comfortable it was to talk with her. Her smile, despite the injuries, lit up her face. Estevan had taught her well, but I wonder how much the fighter lifestyle ruined her. Ruined isn’t the right word. Scarred. Maybe it made her better—stronger. I relax, and my whole body melts through the chair. I feel like the holding room is dissolving around me.

  I just hope she stays safe.

  “Roy?”

  My eyes fly open and I spin around. I’m standing in the forest somewhere. Heaven knows where. Rain falls heavily all around me, soaking my hair and my clothes. Tucked away underneath a tree is a makeshift lean-to. A small fire inside creates smoke puffing and trailing up through the small hole at the top. Standing outside it with a hood over her eyes, Ransley stares at me with wide eyes, hunching near the lean-to in the dark twilight.

  “Wha . . . what’s happening?” she sputters. “Roy? How in the world are you here? Are y
ou projecting outside The Public walls?”

  Lightning and thunder crash in the distance, rumbling over the forest. I feel my mouth hanging wide open.

  “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

  My focus splits between my duplicates, like it always is when I project, but somehow I’ve cast more of my focus to my projection than my body. Quiet, like a hollow whisper, I can hear an echo of the empty holding room I’m being kept in, and nothing else except the sounds of the forest.

  I’m still in Public Four, so what the hell is going on? I’ve never projected through walls before, into other rooms, let alone outside of a city.

  Ransley stands up and slowly treads over, tripping over the ground while keeping her solid focus on me. Her feet slip over the muddy terrain. I shake with confusion but I step closer to her, mud clinging to my old boots. “Ransley, I’m not dreaming am I? This is real?”

  “I hope it is,” she reaches out to touch my arm and fingers the fabric of my shirt. “This means you’re still okay. What’s happened? What are they doing?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ransley looks up at me, her face is pale and drenched in rain, but her eyes still blaze red and dilated. “How did you do this?”

  “I don’t know.” My voice feels disconnected and gruff. I now realize Ransley’s alone. The community is gone. Not even Estevan is with her. “Ransley, where is Estevan?”

  She looks at the ground and another round of thunder claps in the sky. Her lips purse. “He’s back with the community. I left them behind. Roy, I’m coming for you.”

  I push her away. “Like hell you are. Are you insane? You’re coming toward Public Four?” I shake my head and point behind her. “I didn’t pull you away to have you run in after me. So, pack up your shit and get back to Estevan. I’m going to be fine. If they get their hands on you, we’re all dead.”