Hunted

by S W Vaughn

  She grinned at Megan. “Nice going, Girl Scout flunky."

  "Yep. Just watch out for the thorns."

  "No way I'm letting a few scratches stand in the way of food.” Grace darted down the gentle incline, headed for the thick of the patch. Megan's delighted laughter chased her as the girl descended in her wake.

  Warmth filled Grace like a light expanding from her chest to break through in the form of a smile. So this is what it feels like. She stopped, breathless with revelation, in the midst of the fragrant berries, and Megan collided with her, giggling.

  The girl snapped off a thick cluster and handed it to Grace. “To the victor go the spoils—or something like that. Anyway, you won, so ... Grace? What's wrong?"

  Grace shook herself. “Nothing. Now.” She smiled again. “You sure these aren't poison?"

  "Nope. But if you die, I'll be right behind you.” Megan snatched another bunch and stuffed a few in her mouth. “Maybe we're dead already. I bet this is what heaven tastes like."

  Grace laughed. “Just what I was thinking.” She savored a berry and kept her thoughts quiet. She didn't want Megan to overhear them ... not yet. The concept remained delicate and uncertain in her mind, an illusion that could still be shattered—but one she wanted to hold for as long as possible.

  Friend.

  * * * *

  Night crept over the woods in shades of gray, throwing shadows that blended gradually to darkness. Over miles of covered ground, no signs of civilization had presented themselves. No sounds of distant traffic or glimpses of manmade structures through the soldiering groves around them. Not even the occasional discarded bottle or rusted tin can. This was untouched wilderness.

  Grace called a halt after she nearly walked into a dusk-concealed tree. A downed oak suspended a few feet above the forest floor provided a decent bench for them to finish the blackberries they'd gathered and bundled in one of Grace's shirts.

  Tasty as they were, Grace knew they couldn't survive on berries and water for much longer. In here they faced starvation and Lord knew what other hazards: wild animals, disease, sudden acts of nature. Out there, SARET waited for them, and so did Lorin and Silver.

  Time to choose the lesser of two evils. If they returned to the world, at least Megan would have a chance to survive.

  Grace glanced at Megan. The girl was practically asleep sitting up. “Hey,” she said. “We need to talk."

  "Huh? Sorry.” Megan flashed a sheepish grin. “Not used to all this walking. What's up?"

  Grace frowned. “I think I'm going to have to move us again."

  "You mean the transporter thing?” Megan's teeth caught her lower lip. “Not that I don't trust you, but what if we end up in the middle of the ocean or something?"

  "I can control it. I think."

  "You think?"

  "The first time, I ended up right where I wanted to be. This time I didn't have a destination in mind. I just really wanted to be somewhere else."

  "So you've only done this twice. You know, you aren't exactly selling this idea."

  Grace smiled thinly. “Do you have a better one?"

  "Rabbits. Log cabin."

  "What about your band?"

  Megan's face fell. “Yeah, there's that."

  "And what do we do when our clothes wear out? Or winter comes? What happens if one of us falls and breaks a bone or accidentally eats the wrong thing?"

  "I can heal. I'm getting better at it. Look.” She pushed her sleeve up, and revealed fading scars that had been livid a few days ago. “But it wears me out. And that other stuff ... I guess you've got a point."

  "Believe me, I wish I didn't.” Grace shifted her laptop bag, which had begun to threaten her balance on the log. “The only problem is, where should we go?"

  Megan didn't reply right away. After a minute she said hesitantly, “You could come with me. To Michael's."

  Grace longed to say yes. She made herself answer no in her mind and her words. “I can't. Those people, Silver and Lorin, they're after me. Not you. I don't want to put you in danger. And besides, your friend doesn't know me. He's not going to want some stranger crashing at his house."

  "He won't mind. I know he won't.” Megan seemed almost frantic. Grace sensed her imposing false calm on herself. “Why were you going to Syracuse? You never said."

  "To look for my father,” Grace admitted softly. “I have to know."

  "Whether he's an angel?"

  "Something like that. No way my mother's the angel."

  Megan laughed. “Sounds like your mother and my stepfather would get along great."

  "Yeah. For a few days, anyway.” Until she got bored and threw him away. Just like everyone else in her life.

  "Oh, Grace. Did she throw you away?"

  Grace flinched. For a moment she'd forgotten about their abilities. “Not exactly. Mostly she ignored me until she found out I was special. Then she wanted to turn me into a sideshow, have me tell people's fortunes and get me on television. Make her famous. Well, more famous."

  "More famous?"

  "Oh. She isn't a movie star or anything. Just rich."

  Megan gasped. “You're Grace Carrington?"

  "Unfortunately."

  "Oh my God.” Megan started swinging her legs. The log beneath them bounced gently with the rhythm. “Wow. I remember when she—you, I mean, disappeared. Everybody talked about it at school. Most of them were waiting for a body to show up, or a ransom note. They thought there would be this big showdown, you know, cops sneaking up on the kidnappers and everything. I remember ... I hated Kendra Carrington."

  Grace snorted. “You're not the only one."

  "Her face was all over the news. Always crying and begging people to bring her daughter back. It looked so fake, like she squirted Visine in her eyes before the cameras came on. I hated her because I thought, if I had a daughter, and she was missing, I'd go find her myself. I'd never stop looking.” Megan's breath left in a trembling gasp. “She didn't even try, did she? I mean, besides throwing her money around."

  "No. She didn't.” Tears stung Grace's eyes. Not for her mother, but because someone else understood. Another person in the world saw Kendra Carrington the way she truly was: greedy, selfish, and phony as a four-dollar bill.

  "I'm sorry. But I'm glad she hasn't found you."

  "Me, too.” Grace managed a smile. “I have to find my father. All I know about him is that he lives in the woods somewhere in Central New York. And I think his name is Beckett."

  "So why don't you come with me?” The earnest pleading in Megan's voice struck Grace's heart. “Webster's in Central New York, and there's plenty of woods around. You could start there. Stay for a few days at least. We can worry about long-term stuff later."

  Grace couldn't reply.

  "Come on.” Megan dropped to a whisper. “You're my friend. I want you around."

  My friend. The words lodged in her mind, an answered prayer she'd never known she wanted. “How am I supposed to say no to that?” Grace managed a laugh and ran a hand through her hair, dislodging pine needles and bits of leaves. “Well, as long as this Michael guy doesn't object, I'll at least stay long enough to get a shower."

  "Good. I know he won't mind."

  "Getting there might be a problem though. When I controlled it before, I could see the place I wanted to go in my head. I've never been to Webster."

  "Me neither.” Megan's legs scissored the air a few times. “Would you be able to do it if you saw the house? I have pictures in my email."

  "That might work. I'll find it on a map, too. I think it'll help if I have some idea where it is.” Grace slid to the ground, sat down, and got her laptop. When Megan joined her, she passed the computer over. “Here you go. Let's see the place."

  Megan opened a browser. “This is so cool. You never have to worry about losing a connection.” She signed in to a Web-based email account. Most of the messages in her box were from the same address, axegrinder1@paupersgrave.net. “Can you do this with cell phones
too?"

  "You know, I never tried it. Never had anyone to call, I guess."

  "I bet you could.” Megan clicked on a message labeled “my place” and scrolled quickly past the text. She opened the first of three images. The photo that filled the screen showed a tan bungalow with a railed porch. A young man—Michael, Grace presumed—sprawled on the steps, elbows propped behind him, a sultry half-smile on his face. Dark hair, frosted blond at the top; dark, reflective eyes. Golden brown skin. He wore jeans and nothing else. A black and red tribal tattoo formed a T across his muscled chest and down his stomach.

  "Holy hell."

  Megan grinned. “Beautiful, isn't he?"

  "Yeah. You might say that.” Grace smirked at her. “Do you have a picture of just the house? He's kind of distracting."

  "Sure.” Megan closed the image viewer and opened the next photo. The shot captured the whole house along with a few background details. Green house on the left, white one on the right. A modest front yard with a worn stone path led to the steps. Behind the house, a tree bursting with pink-tinged white blossoms extended above the roof.

  Grace stared at the image for several minutes, until she could close her eyes and see it in her head. “Okay. Can you save this to the desktop? I'm going to check a map, and look at it one more time. Then we'll try getting there."

  "Sweet.” Megan saved the picture, logged out, and passed the laptop over.

  Grace located a satellite map and flagged Webster. The town lay just off Lake Ontario, fifteen miles or so east of a city called Rochester that seemed a decent size. At least it wasn't near the ocean. She closed the map, opened the image of the house. “You should look, too,” she told Megan. “It might help if we both thought about the place."

  At last, Grace shut things down and stowed the computer. “All right. Let's do this.” She stood and offered a hand to Megan. “Do we have everything?"

  "Think so."

  Grace squeezed her hand. “Don't let go."

  Megan nodded.

  Grace closed her eyes and pictured the house. She willed herself to be there with Megan. A weightless feeling enfolded her and stole her breath. She gripped the hand in hers tighter, almost bone-crushing hard. Her feet suddenly encountered something solid.

  "Whoa.” Megan's voice was small, shocked.

  Grace looked. There was the house, the porch lit against the night with a single amber bulb. White petals from the tree behind it littered the slope of the roof and gathered in drifts near the gutters. An intoxicating flowery scent permeated the air, weaving among the sounds of population: distant conversations, a rumbling engine, dogs barking.

  "You did it!” Megan squealed and threw her arms around Grace. “Oh, I can't wait to see him and have him meet you. Come on!” She bounded toward the porch.

  Grace wavered on her feet. So tired. She suspected the amount of effort she expended during these moves had some relation to the distance she covered. They must have come a long way. Putting one foot in front of the other required all of her concentration.

  Megan turned and ran back to her. “Oh, no. I forgot how tired this makes you.” She wedged herself under Grace's arm. “Lean on me. You can just go right to sleep when we get in, okay?"

  Grace nodded, unable to summon enough energy to speak. They made it up the steps, and Megan rang the bell twice in rapid succession. A minute passed, then two. Finally, the front door opened. The Michael that greeted them appeared far less easygoing than the Michael in the photo. “Megan,” he said stiffly. “I was expecting you sooner. And who's this?"

  "Uh,” Megan stammered. “Hi. She's my friend, I met her on the way here. She doesn't have a place to stay, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind..."

  A smile broke across his face. “Geez, I'm sorry. Don't know what came over me. Come on in, both of you. Of course I don't mind.” He stepped back and held the door open.

  Grace felt Megan relax. When the girl started inside, she held back. Megan gave her a puzzled look.

  I don't like this. He's acting weird.

  Megan smiled. He just wasn't expecting you. It's cool. Come on!

  Grace followed hesitantly. No lights were on in the room they entered, but a soft glow spilled from a short hallway on the other side. Michael headed for the light. “I was just going to fix something to eat. Are you girls hungry?"

  "Starving!” Megan glanced at Grace, inclined her head toward the retreating figure.

  When they reached the hallway, Grace stopped. Megan ... I can't read his thoughts.

  Megan frowned. You're tired. That's probably why.

  Michael popped his head out from the lit doorway on the left, presumably the kitchen. “Coming? I've got sandwich stuff, and frozen pizza, some bagels..."

  "Let's get something to eat, okay?” Megan put an arm around Grace and drew her toward the kitchen. If there's anything weird going on, we'll just leave later. You need rest.

  Grace capitulated. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stay on her feet. Leaning on Megan, she reached the doorway—and her heart rose in her throat.

  Two men at the table with jeans and button-down shirts. And guns. Kyle and Lou.

  "I'm so sorry.” Michael backed against the opposite wall and stared at Megan. “I had to bring you to us somehow. To keep you safe. It's the only way..."

  Kyle aimed his piece at Grace. “We only wanted her. We'll take you too, but if you try anything dumb, you're expendable. Get it?"

  Megan moaned. Her arm tightened around Grace. “Oh my God. Should have listened..."

  Watch out!

  Another man who'd been standing to the right of the doorway stepped toward Megan and grabbed her arm before Grace could verbalize the warning. Megan shrieked once, paled, and stared at her captor.

  "No...” Megan whispered. “You can't be here."

  "I'm sorry, Megan,” the man said. “I truly am. You don't believe it, I know, but I'm doing this for your own good."

  Megan jerked in his grasp, but the man held fast. She slipped her arm out from under Grace and shoved her back through the doorway, into the hall.

  He's my stepfather! Run, Grace!

  Without Megan's support, Grace dropped to her knees. She watched, helpless, as the man plunged a syringe into Megan's upper arm and injected her with a dark liquid. Megan's eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the floor.

  An instant later, Grace joined her in oblivion.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 17

  A soft beep, a hiss of air. Stale silence. Something was wrong with the world beyond her closed eyes. Grace floated in a fog, searching for the splinter of warning lodged in her mind.

  Stepfather. Thugs. Megan in trouble.

  She fluttered awake. A bright blur seared her eyes. She squinted, tried to sit up, but her body refused to raise more than a few inches. Straining did not change her position. She let herself relax and fell back on something springy and firm. A mattress? Her eyes acclimated slowly to the light. Above her, a tiled white ceiling. To her right, a blank wall and a bed rail with a hand cuffed to it. Her hand. For the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

  So quiet. Like cotton stuffed in her ears. The same muffled oddity applied to her vision, as though someone had washed the world in hot water and the color had bled from everything. In fact, all of her senses seemed diminished.

  "Grace?"

  The voice came from her left. It wasn't Megan.

  "Grace, are you awake?"

  She didn't want to hear that voice. It belonged far away from her, in California with the party boys and snooty tabloid fodder. She rotated her head and stared dully, unable to tap into the fury building inside. “Kendra."

  "Oh, Grace! I've been so worried about you.” Her mother's hand-wringing antics choreographed like a bad camp movie. “Didn't you see all the posters? The interviews? I wanted you back."

  "You're with them. SARET.” Her numb lips barely cooperated. “You bitch."

  Kendra recoiled, paling bene
ath her perfect salon tan. “How did you know about them?"

  "Where's Megan?” Though she still felt deficient in the hearing and vision department, Grace's emotional state experienced a sharp rise.

  "Who?"

  "Megan. The girl I was with. What did you people do to her?"

  "Really, Grace. You people?” Kendra sighed and affected a wounded look. “This is actually a wonderful, beneficial group. They're going to help you."

  "You haven't answered my question, Kendra.” Grace jerked at her cuffed hand. It didn't budge. The other hand had been similarly restrained; her ankles too. “Where is she?"

  "She's safe. In another room, with her father."

  "Stepfather."

  Grace attempted to read her mother's thoughts. Nothing happened. She couldn't even remember how she'd done it before. At last her murky mind noticed the needle in the back of her left hand, held in place with white tape. Black liquid filled a line leading to a pole stand. The stuff Megan's stepfather gave her to suppress her abilities. She tried to influence the IV controls. Nothing.

  "Why?” Grace whispered. “Why are you with them? What's in it for you?"

  "Not a thing, except the chance to help my daughter.” Kendra put on her media-darling smile. “I donated the camp and all the Adirondack land to them, and I didn't tell a soul. Not even to claim the tax break."

  "How benevolent of you,” Grace said through gritted teeth. “Do you even know what they think? What they do to people like me?"

  "Of course I do. They're going to help you live a normal life. Isn't that marvelous?"

  "I don't want to be normal. I want to be left alone.” Grace twisted her left hand, trying to dislodge the needle. “And they're not going to help me. They're going to slice me open and try to harvest whatever it is I have."

  Kendra laughed, a hollow saccharine sound. “Ridiculous. It's strictly research and rehabilitation."

  Grace stared at her mother. Either the woman had been brainwashed by this cult, or she knew exactly what they intended to do—and condoned it. Would Kendra Carrington actually be willing to sacrifice her own daughter for the vague promise of “alien” power? Grace wouldn't put it past her. However, without the ability to read her thoughts, she couldn't tell for sure.