Aliya handed the microphone to Principal Buckley as an awkward applause broke through the bleachers.
Aliya’s parents wheeled her back to where she was, and Alex and Tom, the two captains of the soccer team, came to take the mic.
The cheers were immediate.
“A week ago we lost two great friends and a great mom,” Alex said once the cheers died down. “We want to dedicate this game to them.”
“Burgundy Hill is a family,” Tom added. “Every goal we score—”
“—If Tom scores any,” Alex interjected.
The crowd forced a small laugh, if only to break up the awkwardness of the moment.
“We dedicate each goal to Steph, to her mom, to Fay, to Cindy, and to Ali,” Tom concluded.
The applause increased as Principal Buckley turned the mic over to the announcers who asked for a final, sweeping round of applause. The crowd obliged. The announcers then indicated that it was time to call the two teams.
Zipper stood there, surrounded by Takers. I don’t know if an ounce of the emotion on the field or in the bleachers made it to him. His face was blank as he stood to the side, backpack now in hand, simply waiting.
I focused on making myself appear.
The energy it took would be enormous, but if I could just appear to Zipper the way I must have to Alex, if I could just let him know that I knew, that I cared, then maybe the lives of my friends would be spared.
“Help me,” I said to the Keepers floating around as I mustered all my energy.
I felt my dark energy, still full of anger and pain at my death, growing instead.
A supernatural storm circled overhead and manifested itself in storm clouds that even the spectators of the living world could see hovering over the fields.
“We’re sorry,” Belinda told me. “We have to use our energy for one purpose and one purpose only: to keep the bombs from exploding. You must face the Takers on your own. Use your strength.”
I did my best to quickly fly by and call out to Alex, to Aliya, to Zipper, to any who might see me, but it was clear that the vortex of Taker energy was too powerful.
The Takers are hungry, I said to myself.
I knew they wouldn’t be full until they were glutted on the souls of the living.
In the midst of all this chaos, the announcers started calling the soccer players to the field.
“First up, for Franklin Shore, is #5, ranked 3rd in the state, team starter Will Coldon!”
The crowd either roared or applauded politely before hearing the Burgundy Hill lineup.
“At #7,” the announcer said before the crowd went wild.
Even grown men and women were screaming wildly like Lady Gaga was before them or something.
“He is The Annihilator —”
I didn’t hear the rest of Alex’s intro over the shouting, but was struck by the irony of The Annihalator so close to his own annihilation. Over the feverish cries, I heard the Takers planning their assault right as the game geared up.
“If he blows up both sets of bleachers first,” Preggers told Crazy T, “they won’t have anywhere left to run.”
“I want to see Lisa bathe in blood,” Crazy T said. “He shoots her first.”
“She’s positioned too far away,” Rope Man told him. “Let him shoot the players first. It’ll bring more people to the field. Then he can have his way with them.”
“We should’ve waited until we had two shooters,” Burn Girl said. “It would’ve been easy to divide and conquer. But you chose a loner.”
“Just see to it that the bombs go off,” Crazy T told Burn Girl. “Use as many Takers as you need. The explosion is the only way to guarantee everyone dies. Zipper is just my entertainment. I get him to shoot who I want when I want.”
I didn’t hear any more Taker bickering. Instead, I saw legions of Takers coordinating to assault the Keepers. The Keepers vowed to keep their place by the bombs. I knew that would be the last stand of this battle.
What I didn’t know was how to take Crazy T down. The Takers were just too many and too powerful, and I could feel Zipper losing patience. He might snap at any moment.
Crazy T smirked when he saw something. Steph’s aura was also out of control. Her vaunting reds and blacks looked nearly as angry as Zipper’s aura. Now I knew why Crazy T let Aliya speak without making any effort to stop her. Steph’s anger would get the better of her.
“Drop a gun near the girl,” Crazy T said. “Then tempt her. Tempt her to shoot Aliya in the fray, to finish the job Fay started. If Zipper fails, focus on her.”
“She’s too good a girl,” Cut Girl said. “It’ll never work.”
“Just look at her aura,” Crazy T said. “Do it before she calms down. The rest of you—make sure she has a path to the girl in the wheelchair.”
The reds and blacks merged with the storm clouds. Steph was close to the edge.
I knew I had to be near, that I had to protect her. I didn’t know how. The Taker power, anger, depression, aggression, hatred, and pain filled me. I tried to keep my soul clear, to remember the ways of the Keepers, of insight, protection, and love, but I was a Taker, and the forces around me were too much.
“Stop fighting what you are,” Belinda told me. “Use your Taker impulses to your advantage.”
“No,” I said. “I’m Fay. I’m not just some Taker.”
I fought the impulses, fought to hold onto the last shreds of human life, of compassion, of what made me Fay. But as I looked at Belinda’s pleading ghostly eyes I knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“Fay died,” Belinda said. “Only a Taker remains.”
The words, felt so deeply inside my soul, hit me. I had to give in to hold out. I let the Taker energy, Taker thought, the darkness of The Flow, fill me. Crazy T’s plan became apparent. He’d kill enough to earn himself a spot in hell. First the bombs. Then the shooting. His best moment: Mrs. Walters, gunned down, along with the older brothers of Alex and Tom, star soccer players in Crazy T’s day. Steph was just a diversion to him.
I knew then that Steph and Aliya were the key. They were the two girls Crazy T hadn’t counted on, that he didn’t believe could even be persuaded to attend the game. They would be my wild cards.
If I could use their anger, their depression, their darker energies like a Taker would, I might be able to
position them in all the chaos, use them to thwart the efforts of Zipper and Crazy T while the Keepers kept the bombs and explosives at bay.
Right now I knew that Steph’s dark energy was joining with the Taker cloud. I pushed that energy towards the advancing storm clouds to start a downpour.
The Takers knew I was up to something obstructive. Their attack: a temporal one. They played with time, freezing and then propelling it forward until we were in the game. Just when I positioned myself by Steph, they moved time backward, then forward again, until I knew that it was all just one last trick. There’d have to be a moment when Zipper got up, when he whipped the detonator and gun out of his backpack. That would be what I’d watch for, no matter how much Crazy T and his legions played with time.
Time moved back to the moment the game started up. Black cumulonimbus clouds festered overhead, initially unleashing a few large drops, then steady streams of rain.
Meanwhile, the coaches looked towards where Zipper stood.
“Play the game,” Zipper said.
“Like hell, kid,” Franklin Shore’s Coach Derriza said. “Where’s Mr. Peterson?”
Zipper pulled out his phone. The coach took it, mumbled a few words, and then handed the phone back. The coach nodded.
Neither coach was willing to let the championship go, to be the first to cave. They ordered their starters to take the line. To rounds of cheers, the players took the field and positioned themselves.
It was Tom starting out against Will of Franklin Shore. Both looked a little jittery; this was the key moment that would decide the tempo of the start of the game. A whistle sounded, and the ball went to
Franklin Shore. This Will was a master of control. He maneuvered the ball away from Burgundy Hill’s defensive midfielder as he somehow managed to eye his teammates and see where the best place to send the ball was. He decided on a lanky guy, #25, last name Huele, and passed the ball to him. The whole audience felt a subdued silence as Huele passed the ball on and Will came down behind the defender to take the kick. He had such force behind the kick that the ball nearly tore through the goal post, but did not make the net. This was championship soccer, all right. It was no game for wimps.
Just then the rains hit. I kept my attention focused on Zipper’s aura. He clearly didn’t feel rushed despite the downpour.
The field got wet almost immediately. Players were sloshing along, slipping, staining their shin guards, falling in the field.
At this, Zipper smiled. It would make his prey that much easier to trap. He just sat back and let the players wear themselves out.
Will slipped, and Alex went for the ball. Alex moved slower than most of the other players but maintained his balance. Alex maneuvered closer to the goal than he had any right to be off of a single play, but waiting by the goal were #8 and #27, who drove Alex away from the goal, to the sidelines. No one else from Burgundy Hill could make it far enough in time, so Alex took a wild kick. The kick was easily caught by the goalie, #12, who kicked the ball back into play, but Alex’s daring matched Will’s tempo. In a game like this, where the kids would have a better match playing water polo, all risks were fair.
A few Keepers kept working over the coaches. Takers went to intercept, but the light of the Keepers kept them at bay.
Suddenly, Burgundy Hill’s Coach Ryan called out to Franklin Shore’s Coach Derriza.
Zipper’s face turned even paler than usual.
“Miguel,” Coach Ryan said. “What do you say we call it? Neither set of boys is going to get a decent shot today.”
Coach Derriza had played pro futbol down in South America, over in Europe, and was the best living player to come out of the area since Coach Ryan played for the last championship Burgundy Hill team. Coach Derriza had played in all kinds of weather, but even he wondered if this was the real way to win a championship.
Coach Derriza looked up and examined the cloud cover. Takers fluttered everywhere, trying to reflect as much sunlight as they could.
“Just give them the first half,” Coach Derriza said. “It looks like the clouds are breaking up.”
At those words, the Takers stole my play and concentrated on the rain. Puddles started forming over the field and quickly turned to little bogs.
Not one player complained, though, and the crowds cheered them towards the wettest championship soccer game in Burgundy Hill’s history. Just then thunder roared and lightning took the sky. Hail began falling, and part of the crowd grew restless.
Zipper saw his cue. He quietly unzipped his bag and took out both the detonator and an assault rifle.
Crazy T personally protected his protege so that it was dark out and people were busying themselves covering up from the hail. Many of their auras showed that they were ready to bolt from the bleachers. Zipper waited one more second while Alex tripped in a puddle and fell. The rain, thunder, hail, and lightning made visibility low. Zipper was ready to aim his rifle right for Alex without anyone seeing him quickly enough. I stood in front of Alex, trying to protect him. I tried to appear one last time before Zipper, to change his course, but his mind was made up. Takers swarmed around him, ready to swoop in for the dead as Zipper aimed right for Alex’s head and shot. I did what I could to use whatever control of energy I had to make Alex slip. He did, just as the bullet went in his left leg.
The starters and midfielders concentrated on the ball, but Tom was able to signal to Coach Ryan that Alex wasn’t getting up. A few Burgundy Hill players huddled around their fallen captain.
Just then a blinding light came from the bleachers. I knew why. I turned around and saw the Keepers under attack from swarms of Takers. Several Keepers were hauled away by the dark ghosts, but like a Roman legion in the history books, the Keepers bunkered down. Their light grew to blind the Takers, but one person wasn’t so moved.
“Now,” Crazy T yelled to Zipper.
Zipper held the detonator in his hand. He paused a moment. I could feel his conflict. Still, the good in him had eroded too far away. Preggers took advantage of the situation and used her fury to conjure the lightning. It started striking down. Zipper, the opportunist, pressed down on the detonator. The left bleachers exploded and came toppling down just as the lightning struck.
The Keepers held their line, though, and contained as much of the explosion as they could.
Only a few people broke anything, but at least forty people were buried under debris and were crying and screaming.
“One more explosion,” I said to myself, “and the whole school will blow away, fields included.”
Coach Ryan focused on Alex, but I used a glimmer of light to distract him long enough for the coach to see a second chunk of bleachers fall.
“Lightning struck the bleachers,” Coach Ryan called out. “Get everyone off the field!”
Coach Derriza joined him, signaling his players with a wave of his arms. “Game’s over,” he called to the Franklin Shore boys. “Help get the people out of the debris!”
Lightning still struck down on the poles as the Takers and Keepers took to all-out war in the skies. Takers collided mid-air with the Keepers, many of whom used their light to go right through the Takers and tear them apart. Wisps of mist and light fell back into The Flow, which now hovered like a giant funnel above the fields.
Burn Girl and Cut Girl used their energy to fuel the larger explosion, but Belinda took both Takers out before they could cause more than one tiny dud of a bomb to blow. If anything, Burn Girl and Cut Girl did the crowd a favor as they began to piece together that this wasn’t simply a lightning strike. Both Takers burned in their own fiery mists and fell to The Flow.
“Get the kids out of here! It’s a bomb,” I yelled again and again, until one soccer mom intuitively heard me and took to the chant.
Unfortunately, two Takers, Rope Man and Preggers, attacked me just after the alarm sounded.
“Keep her from me,” Crazy T called out.
I used whatever powers I had to flip and twirl, kicking at Rope Man, then dangling the end of his noose and hanging him to a tree. Two Keepers then took Rope Man out.
“Leave her to me,” Preggers told Crazy T.
“Cindy,” I said. “Rethink this. These are your friends. Help me to help them!”
“I told you—I won’t be the only one whose life is cut short.”
Her eyes were volcanic red, unnaturally evil. She jumped up and whirled her body around, creating massive waves of anger that fed the other Takers, who swooped in and ripped a score of the Keepers in half.
“I could beat you senseless when we were alive,” I told Preggers, “and I can do the same now that we’re dead.”
“Try it.”
I formed my own violent ball of mist, which emanated intuitively from my own anger. Takers swirled around it, attempting to have their fill, before I hurled it into Preggers. She braced herself in mid-air, fighting to absorb the ball of darkness, but it was too dark for even her deformed ghostly body to contain. It blew right through her.
“Bitch,” she said.
She used what she could of the Taker mists around her and formed black lightning bolts, which she hurled at me as if she was some deranged Zeus from on high.
I weaved in and out of the fellow Takers. Each bolt that hit its target turned the Taker into a mist that was swallowed whole by The Flow. The abyss opened up before me. I could see that the funnel was feeding souls to hell.
As I bobbed and weaved for my supernatural life, Zipper was in full assault mode. He shot at both sets of players, who scrambled for cover. Tom was the boldest. He dove over Alex, trying to protect him. Zipper caught Tom’s face in his sites and shot. Fighting as I wa
s, I couldn’t make it in time. The bullet hit Tom’s face and he went down by Alex, who screamed. Zipper laughed, eerily, sounding more like Crazy T. I saw why. Crazy T entered his body and possessed him. Zipper shot down as many players as he could before Coach Ryan tackled him. Coach Ryan trembled as he saw the red in Zipper’s eyes, and the Takers protected their master by helping him hurl Coach Ryan towards the bleachers. Coach Derizza also fought, but was gunned down by Zipper before the coach could restrain him. The soccer players froze for a moment. Then a group of Franklin Shore and Burgundy Hill players broke off. The Franklin Shore guys distracted Crazy T, putting their lives on the line, while the Burgundy Hill players came around, seeking the element of surprise.
“Jocks never do get any smarter,” Crazy T said through Zipper.
Zipper turned and shot down the squad that approached from the side before shooting down the Franklin Shore players who put their lives at risk. The bullets didn’t kill them all yet, though. Crazy T, who was now clearly in control, enjoyed hearing the cries and screams of pain. He shot into the players, into the crowd, taking special pleasure in bringing a begging Sue to her knees only to shoot her dead.
Jessica, who cowered by the fallen bleachers, tried not to scream. At the behest of the Keepers, she took out her phone and dialed police. They protected her as she then played dead.
Crazy T was too focused on his prize to notice or care, for just then, Zipper had turned and faced Mrs. Walters as well as Tom’s and Alex’s brothers. The young men were fighting to get across the field to their wounded siblings. It was clear what Crazy T was having Zipper do. He was using Tom and Alex as bait so that Crazy T could finish the job he started over a decade ago. The storm now raged in full. The brothers, along with some concerned parents, slid in the mud and hail as they ran after their siblings and children. Zipper shot every last one.
The sight infuriated me. Preggers sent a bolt my way, but I had grown too full of fury to be subject to her depression and rage. I held my hand out and grabbed the bolt she sent flying at me. She sent another. I grabbed it, then flew, like some samurai from an old movie, towards her, shrieking in the way only a Taker can. I cut her ghostly form to pieces with both bolts until what was left of Preggers, her mass of mist, came apart, sucked into The Flow.
Spree (YA Paranormal) Page 14