The Rescue (Olivia Hart and the Gifted Program Book 3)

by Alana Siegel

  After learning about the Gifted community in Salt Lake City, Chelsea took on the troubles of all the Gifted in the world and spent half of her time invisibly listening in to conversations in hopes of hearing about Gifted outside Pandora. I sighed because her heartfelt care to fight for what was right was impressive, but completely unsafe.

  “Would it help us if Mrs. Wolf catches you listening and hands you over to the Meta?” I asked.

  About a week ago, we figured out that Mrs. Wolf was Gifted, a descendant of the Ikos family, and Mr. Dimon knew it. We never confronted her, but we were pretty sure they had some unspoken agreement allowing Mrs. Wolf to stay in Pandora as the school nurse.

  “It wouldn't help, but that doesn’t matter. I never get caught,” Chelsea replied, looking smug. I clicked my tongue. I was frustrated with her insistence on pushing Mr. Dimon's buttons. I loved Chelsea, but I missed my easy friendship with Helen. I reminded myself that Chelsea wasn't supposed to be filling in for her. I would find Helen.

  “You're missing the point,” she said, exasperated that I wasn't following her logic. “Mrs. Wolf has a sister.” My own frustration already building, I looked at her with slim interest.

  “A Gifted sister who lives near the Meta,” she added. My jaw dropped as the realization set in. She could tell us where our friends were being held captive.

  “Where is the Meta?” I asked her with growing interest. The bell to begin the period rang. Students were taking their seats and opening their books.

  “I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out,” Chelsea said. She was smiling, happy to have convinced me that she was doing the right thing.

  Mr. Rowling put his hands on hips in the front of the classroom. “Chelsea and Olivia, six months ago I couldn't keep you in the same room without you ripping each other's hair out. You can extend your newfound friendship in detention today after school,” he said and turned dismissively to write on the board.

  I stared at his back with disbelief. Detention was the last thing I needed. Chelsea turned to me with her eyes wide, trying to send a message without speaking out loud.

  I shook my head once. I knew she wanted me to use my Gift to convince Mr. Rowling not to give us detention.

  “Jaime wouldn't approve,” I argued.

  “And look where that got her,” Chelsea countered, harshly.

  Now it was Mr. Rowling's turn to stare in disbelief. “Girls, find your seats or you'll start your detention right now,” he scolded. Chelsea stamped her heel down on my big toe.

  “Oww...we...ahhh...,” I stuttered between clenched teeth. Mr. Rowling crossed his arms and waited for my excuse. My Gift ignited and a burst of rose perfume exuded from me. I concentrated on happy thoughts. I pictured Justin reaching for my hand in a crowd, Helen dancing on the football field at kickline practice, and Derek laughing wildly at some joke. I hoped my Gift was the happy version and not the doom and gloom it had been lately. “We were just...,” I stumbled again, but now Chelsea could smell my Gift and knew Mr. Rowling would do whatever we said.

  The victim of my charm, Mr. Rowling's eyebrows slowly rose from their narrowed position on his head. His whole face lightened.

  “We were just wondering if you could mix in some books on the reading list with strong, female characters. Catherine Earnshaw and Elizabeth Bennett are hardly characters to look up to,” Chelsea argued, saving me from my inability to speak.

  Mr. Rowling's jaw hung open. His head bobbled up and down in assent. As Chelsea spoke to him, his eyes never left my face. I looked at him from under my long lashes and held his gaze. The power and control felt wonderful, but it still didn't feel like the right thing to do.

  “Great, and since that was all we were trying to say, we no longer need to go to detention, right?”

  He nodded his head again with the exuberance of a little boy who's been told he will get ice cream for being good. Chelsea elbowed me to sit down. I released Mr. Rowling and walked to my seat.

  Someone in the back row pretended to cough into his hand and shouted, “Teacher's pet!”

  * * * *

  Chapter Five: Play Ball

  Side by side, Justin and I leaned against the rusty foul line fence at the Pandora baseball game. The unkempt field was little more than dirt with four bases positioned in a diamond. Every twenty feet or so, sparse blades of grass stood in the wrong places.

  The ragged wooden stands were packed with loud spectators watching a game that was already in motion. The scoreboard showed Pandora was tied with Sparta, five to five, in the fourth inning.

  “Oh no,” Justin groaned, peering out into the field.

  “What?” I asked, nervously. Following his gaze, I stared out at the guys on the field, searching for Meta agents.

  “Cliff is panicking.” Justin sounded worried for his friend. I relaxed and tried not to show my relief that he was only concerned for his friend's well-being and not an attack from terrifying and buff agents.

  From where we stood, I couldn't make out which players were on the field, but I focused my attention at the center, knowing Cliff was standing on the pitcher's mound. He attempted to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, but new drops appeared too quickly. He angrily spit on the ground next to him, dug his left toe into the dirt, and cradled the ball in his mitt at chest level.

  The batter was a small wiry kid. With his knees bent and the bat in ready position, he was prepared to swing. Cliff wound up and awkwardly lobbed the ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Justin cringe.

  “Adams!” The coach scolded from the dugout. The catcher had to jump up and reach out to catch the ball. Cliff punched the air and kicked the dirt.

  The catcher tossed the ball back to Cliff. He went through the same preparations as the last pitch, trying to calm his nerves.

  “Come on, Cliff,” Justin muttered in encouragement.

  The ball was thrown with slightly better accuracy. CRACK. The bat connected with the ball and sent it soaring into left field. The Sparta fans cheered wildly, their eyes following the ball through the air.

  My attention was drawn in a different direction, and my eyes didn't immediately follow the ball. My body tensed up as I focused on the army green mushroom cloud that appeared in right field. Since when was someone Gifted on the school's baseball team?

  I squinted my eyes as a virile blur ran faster and jumped higher than humanly possible. He slowed down only in order to reach over the player in the left outfield position and catch the ball effortlessly. As he landed back on the ground with so much natural grace that it looked like he was posing for pictures, I recognized Graham Robert's confident grin. I felt an unexpected adrenaline rush of pleasure as the umpire called the batter out.

  “That's right, suckers!” Graham taunted the Spartan dugout before completing a victory dance.

  “Wow, impressive catch. I didn't know Graham was playing baseball for Pandora,” I said, feeling guilty that Graham had used his Gift to help the team…but it was, after all, my high school team. I turned to Justin. He wasn't wearing the same broad smile as the Pandora fans. In fact, he was scowling at Graham.

  “What's he playing at?” Justin growled. I wiped the smile off my face and silently watched the teams switch positions. I wasn't sure if he was mad at Graham for using his Gift so obviously in front of spectators, or for showing off and cleaning up Cliff's mess, or just because he didn't trust him. I remained silent as I watched Graham hop to the dugout and Cliff drag his feet.

  The Sparta pitcher was built like a gorilla. His biceps flexed as he sneered in the batter's direction. He threw the first pitch hard and straight into the catcher's mitt. Sparta's fans cheered. The second and third pitches were just as quick and flawless, and the second batter faced more of the same.

  Come on, Pandora, I cheered in my head. I was bit by the competitive bug, and I didn't want my team to lose. The next Pandora batter, wearing lucky number seven, didn't look as worried as I felt. I squinted, but couldn't make out his f
ace hidden in his helmet. He took his time approaching home base, hitting the bottom of his cleats with the end of his bat before stepping up to the plate.

  By the time the pitcher wound up to complete the throw, I knew exactly who was batting. Luca looked like a glowing purple mirage. Fans called out his name. They must have seen him up at bat before. He wiggled on the mound, pretending to adjust his stance, but I was sure he just wanted a rise out of the crowd. I started to wonder if the five other runs were his.

  The ogre who stood on the pitcher's mound let out a girly giggle. His mood was clearly affected by Lucas's Gift, and his throw wasn't much more manly. It made Luca look like a professional baseball player joking around in the minor leagues as he took his time swinging and smashing the ball into the outfield. It was a home run, and Luca ran like a winning champion around the bases. Justin let out a sound of disgust. I tried not to cheer too hard.

  The crowd didn't lose its fervor, even though the next batter didn't have Luca's skill, and the pitcher seemed to have regained his masculinity. Three fast outs later, Pandora was picking up their mitts for the field.

  “Adams!” Halfway to the mound, Cliff turned around to the coach. “You’re out for the rest of the game. Roberts's taking over.”

  Cliff's anger was palpable as he stamped off the field. Justin hurried after him.

  * * * *

  Chapter Six: Who's Your Leader?

  “So, what's the plan?” Graham pressed. He was leaning forward on a rusted metal chair with his elbows braced on his knees in the basement of the school. He showed little restraint in general, but he didn't hold back his Gifted qualities at all when he was in the presence of only Gifted: his foot tapped against the floor at an unbelievable speed causing tufts of army green swirls to billow from under his shoes.

  I took an uneven breath from my claustrophobic position. I was sandwiched between Justin and Chelsea on the ragged and dusty couch. With Cliff sulking in the far right corner avoiding Graham's line of vision, and Luca stuffed in the other, trying not to watch me and Justin, we were definitely over the limit of people that could comfortably fit in the room. I blinked a few times, still not used to the fact that they all looked to me for answers. “Umm...I'm not sure...”

  “I think we should storm the Meta,” Graham concluded without skipping a beat, as if we were in a war room instead of the prop closet.

  “And where do you suggest we go storming, genius? We don't know where the Meta is,” Chelsea pointed out. She shot off the couch and began pacing in the small amount of space that didn't contain a glittery sign, costume petticoats, or a human body. The scent of vanilla was left in her wake. She shook out her left hand, which had a habit of disappearing when she was frustrated.

  “Calm down, Chelsea. Don't blame Graham,” Luca defended. Everyone's Gift was stuck on high; even the air around Luca was slightly purple.

  “He's impulsive, like Max and Ms. Magos, and see what happened to them,” Chelsea complained.

  “Okay, Graham wants to take action, but Max and Ms. Magos are different. They were deceitful,” Luca explained.

  “That's one thing we can agree on. Max is worthless,” Justin chimed in through gritted teeth. With his arm slung over the couch behind me, he sat very still. If you didn't know where to look, he appeared calm, but I saw his hands clenched into fists, his jaw stiff, and of course, he couldn't hide the blue cloud that appeared when he spoke about Max.

  “Personally, I don't care if we leave Max at the Meta to rot in prison,” Chelsea shouted. She threw her hands in the air like it was easily decided. Justin and Luca nodded their heads in agreement.

  I jumped to my feet, shocked at the ability of the group to make our friend the scapegoat. “Max should not be the target of our anger. He's an important member of this Gifted Program!”

  I looked around the crowded room. Choosing the basement for our Gifted Program had been a thoughtful and premeditated decision. The long, steep staircase, dark halls, creaky door, and collection of mismatched props conjured up emotions every time I stepped inside. It was once my escape from the prying eyes of gossipy students, and then a refuge to feel the magic between Justin and me. Then it was a place of anger and sadness when Justin lied and said he didn't love me.

  The energy and emotion that I felt inside the four walls fueled me with power, and was why I suggested we use it as a safe haven.

  “We need to remember who is on our side. Mr. Dimon is the enemy, not Max and his sister,” I announced. Everyone's eyes were focused on me, and for once, that made me feel stronger, not uncomfortable.

  “Why does Mr. Dimon get to shoulder all the blame?” Lynn’s voice cut through the tense room. I glared at the empty space it came from. Her body slowly came into focus, beginning with her head, and then her loud red shirt, and finally her hands and feet. The smell of apples wafted past her, overpowering all other smells in the room.

  Since she had kept her distance from all of us since we arrived in Pandora, I hadn't exactly invited her to the meeting. I should have figured she would have overheard and come anyway.

  “Shouldn't Prometheus get his fair piece of the bad-guy pie?” she pushed.

  “Prometheus isn't bad. He taught us to take pride in being Gifted and not cower at a Meta agent's puny orders,” Graham argued. The army color at his feet began to swirl faster.

  “But did he tell you that he was going to send you to die of normal-life boredom in a small town?” Lynn’s hands were planted on her hips as she glared down at Graham. I shivered because the whole room smelled suddenly like a chilly autumn night.

  “He had no choice. The Meta was going to take all of us to prison!” The rest of the room sat still as the two of them volleyed arguments back and forth.

  “Prometheus is who created each of you. He was the mastermind behind every delivery of Gifted jewelry in Pandora, every attack on your friends, and every single heartbreak,” she said with annoying confidence and surety. She flickered from view, emphasizing each word with the intensity of her Gift.

  “Is that true? That's impossible,” I said.

  “There's a reason he's in control, and it's not because he has any Gift,” she replied, slinking onto the couch in my spot.

  “Prometheus doesn't have a Gift?!?” Chelsea’s voice ended in a shriek in her shock and astonishment.

  “Only if you count being cunning as a Gift,” Lynn told her.

  “How did he get so powerful?” I asked.

  “Prometheus was the Meta employee who discovered a way to control the Gifted: mulberry juice is the one thing that turns off a Gift,” she said, looking me in the eye. My frustration with Lynn's takeover of my meeting disappeared and was replaced with fear. It was entirely possible that Prometheus spent years orchestrating the mess we were in.

  “Prometheus knew the Meta would use it against the Gifted. To this day, the mulberry elixir is a heavily guarded secret, allowing the Meta to prove its prowess and gain approval from the other governments who fear the Gifted. Prometheus believes sharing the secret of the mulberry elixir with the Gifted gives us a chance to defend ourselves, just like the immortal Titan god Prometheus giving fire to humans, and so he claims the name,” Lynn explained. Her face twisted in a disgusted sneer.

  I went numb as a memory washed over me of the red liquid Prometheus sprayed when we were at Fort Bliss. The moment it hit everyone Gifted, they lost their powers. “He doesn't need a Gift when he has complete power over everyone who is Gifted,” I whispered, awestruck by the sudden realization.

  “Almost everyone,” Luca reminded me. “The mulberry elixir doesn't work on a female Elste.”

  “Why would he give Olivia an Elste necklace if she would be able to rebel against him?” Cliff spoke up for the first time.

  “I have no clue,” Lynn snapped. “It's almost as strange as the fact that he told us he was rebelling against the very same government he used to create weapons for.” Lynn looked at her manicure as if the important details were nothing more than
an afterthought.

  Graham jumped out of his seat and his green storm cloud followed. The metal legs of the chair screeched against the floor. “That's not fair, Lynn! Don't change the details of the story so you can blame someone else for the things that you did,” he yelled. “Prometheus wasn't a killer, he was a chemist for the Meta, and they exiled him. He hates the Meta just as much as we do.”

  Graham leaned forward with his hands raised, ready to pounce on Lynn. She vanished from thin air before he grabbed her. Graham stood breathing heavily in the middle of the tiny room.

  “You fight like a girl!” he shouted while looking around. A collection of hats and a box of costume jewelry flew across the room and smashed into the back of his head. For a split second, Graham was only a blur across the room. When he reappeared, so did Lynn. He held her arms behind her back.

  “Say you give in,” he barked in her ear. She struggled against his hold, but it was no use.

  “Fine! I give in,” she yelled back. Graham gave an evil grin.

  “Say Prometheus is always right,” he commanded. Instead, she elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted and released his grip. Lynn went back to her seat on the couch.

  We were silent as they glared at each other from across the room. I took a long look at each face around the room, and it dawned on me: Only Chelsea and Cliff were as surprised as I was to find out Prometheus used to work for the Meta. Everyone else had known. Justin's jaw was unclenched; a sign the news wasn't jarring. Luca was well prepared to comfort me because he knew I would be thrown by the fact that Prometheus created a female Elste. And Graham and Lynn shared an entire past with the man.

  “No one thought it would be wise to share this information with me a week ago?” I asked. The room remained silent as everyone found somewhere to look other than my face. I sighed. “Meeting dismissed.”