I’d say I felt flustered. Was he asking me on a date? “Okay, sure. We could meet at—”
He waved goodbye, then turned toward the stairwell and disappeared.
In spite of feeling shell-shocked by our brisk encounter, I found myself looking forward to seeing him again. I’d never met another Kinetic, though I’d heard about them from folks passing through town on their way to anywhere but where they’d been. Everyone was looking for the ideal place to set down roots, yet rarely seemed to find it. I wondered if the same went for Ian Matthews. I allowed myself a small smile. He was a freak like me. Maybe I wasn’t such an odd duck, after all.
I should try to sleep, but I wasn’t tired. I never slept well anyway, especially not in this heat, and I was too hopped up on adrenaline from the storm to relax. It always took me a while to come down from the high. Once I did, anticipation for the next storm would string me out like an addict jonesing for her next fix. Not only did I want to chase a storm, I had to.
My connection to the sun took its toll in hours spent on the road chasing storms, but the kinetic energy I absorbed made up for it. I had a love-hate relationship with my ability: forecasting and chasing sun storms gave me a rush, but it also depressed me because of how dangerous they were for others. People died; I lived.
I wondered how Ian handled his own kinetic ability, and what that ability was. Could he control fire? Turn water to ice? Or maybe he had the ability to move objects or read minds. A traveler once told me about a Kinetic he’d met who could alter his physical form and become any animal he wished. Was Ian a shape-shifter? That would be freaky. Whatever he was, we shared a connection to the malevolent sun responsible for our change.
My dad lay supine on the bed, his skin still red from overheating. I wiped a damp washcloth over his face, remembering what he’d been like back when weather patterns were normal. Ever since I was a child I had an uncanny talent for predicting severe weather, which had encouraged both my parents to get in the business of chasing storms. Usually tornadoes, sometimes thunderstorms, even a few hurricanes. My dad had loved the thrill and adventure of tracking killer storms, and he’d charged people money to take them along in his storm-proof SUV on what he called storm-chasing tours. Our storm-chasing days were over now, but my ability to forecast the weather was not. Only now the type of weather I predicted went beyond the boundaries of Earth’s atmosphere.
I didn’t get a chance to contemplate when the next storm would happen because the sun was already sending me that message. Bracing myself against the foot of my father’s bed, I let the premonition overtake me. My body heated up, my tongue like lava hot enough to melt the fillings in my teeth. I clenched my jaw as power surged through my veins, my eyes burning. A mental map formed in my mind. I wouldn’t have far to go to chase this storm, either. It would strike in two hours, in downtown Denver. And I would make sure to be there when it happened.
I was lucky to still have my father’s old storm-proof SUV. It looked like a bucket of bolts, its body dented and blotched with primer, but it was still a serviceable vehicle. I kept it in the hospital ambulance bay that had become an emergency vehicle graveyard. Old Stormy no longer ran on combustible fuel. It was solar power all the way.
The Storm Trooper sat slightly lopsided, which was probably due to having uneven tires. To prepare the Trooper for today’s trip to Denver, I’d have to replace the solar battery with the one recharging out in the sun. But first I examined the vehicle for possible damage done by any attempted break-ins. There was always someone trying to steal it, and I wasn’t surprised to see a crowbar lying on the ground nearby. A few new dents had been added to the severely dimpled door, but the modified SUV was solid as a tank. If it could withstand a tornado, it had no problem repelling the most persistent thief.
I opened the back hatch and replenished my supply of bottled water, adding a box of stale energy bars that were over a year past their expiration date. I didn’t care. Food was food, and scarce as it was, I knew better than to be particular.
Now for the battery. I hated this part.
I wouldn’t exactly call myself petite, but the strength required to lift the solar battery that weighed almost as much as I did was more than my spindly girl arms could muster. However, I’d devised a system using a dolly and a jack that enabled me to get the job done.
Wincing at the clock on the dashboard, I realized I was cutting it close. It would take me a half hour to get the recharged battery installed and hooked up properly. I slid the dolly under the battery and started wheeling it over to the Trooper.
“Need help?” asked a voice from behind me.
I let go of the dolly, and the battery slid off. “Shit!” My heart pounded in my ears.
“I’ll get it.” Ian stepped out of the shadows and crouched down to reseat the battery on the dolly’s flat metal platform. He stood and effortlessly rolled it toward the Trooper. “Is this where you want it?”
“Yeah,” I said, shaken by his surprise visit. I hadn’t even heard him coming. Maybe he was an auditory Kinetic with the ability to control sound. It made me surprisingly happy to see him again so soon. “Thanks for getting the doctor for my dad.”
“No problem. This your rig?”
I nodded. “It’s actually my dad’s. He built it from two retrofitted pickup trucks.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
Smiling, I said, “He used to be quite the mechanic. And an incredible storm chaser.”
Ian arched his eyebrows. “Storm chasing, huh?”
“It was the family business.”
“I just found out your kinetic ability is predicting storms, so the connection makes sense.” His gaze darted around the garage as if he looked for someone.
“We’re alone.” And I wasn’t so sure I liked that he was concerned about that. Did I want to be alone with this man? Part of me said yes, oh, yes. He made my insides go all warm and melty, or maybe it was his kinetic energy that did that. Also, how could I not like the man who had saved my father’s life? But despite my desire to touch the broad muscles bunched beneath his thin tank undershirt, the reality was that Ian was a stranger. He seemed harmless on the outside, and God knew my mother had always preached the importance of seeing the good in people, but no one could be too careful. I’d encountered too many desperate people since the Bell Ringer, and desperate people did desperate things. I needed to know what kind of man he really was.
“Going somewhere?” He eyed the vehicle.
“As a matter of fact, I am. Another storm is coming, to downtown Denver this time, and I’m kind of in a hurry to get there before it hits.”
He scowled, his delicious brown eyes getting lost in his squint. “That’s dangerous.”
“Not for me. But it could be for the people in Denver if I don’t arrive in time to warn them.” I flipped up the Storm Trooper’s hood and angled my jack under the battery to lift it from the ground. The higher I could get it, the less distance I’d have to carry it.
“Let me do that.” He crouched down, scooped up the battery with a grunt, and carried it the rest of the way to the vehicle. I was about to explain where it needed to go, but there was no need. He plunked it precisely in place and began hooking up the cables.
“How did you know—?”
“Your dad and I have something in common.” He hunkered over the engine, checking lines and pistons and electrical cords. Ian knew his way around a solar-powered car. “I was a mechanic in Boston. That’s where I’m from.”
He seemed too good to be true, which spiked my suspicion meter. I seriously liked this guy, so why did I resist trusting him?
“All set,” he said, as he wiped his hands on his scrub pants. “Ready to go?”
I frowned. “Are you inviting yourself to come with me?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He smiled and I had to admit his charm was disarming. There was real heart in that smile. His eyes had a genuine twinkle, but they also hinted at what remained unspoken. I sensed his disco
mfort, which made me uncomfortable, too. About him.
I couldn’t think of a better way to find out more about him than to take him along, but only on one condition. “Before you hop in, I need you to answer a question for me.”
His smile faded to a barely discernible grin. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“What kind of Kinetic are you?”
His grin broadened to the snarly one I liked so much. “I’m the weatherman.”
Ian controlled weather. I chased weather. The combination was uncanny. I thought about the good he could do for farmers and their dying crops. Hardly anyone grew fruits and vegetables anymore, unless it was in a controlled terrarium or greenhouse. The yields were rare and precious, and only available to the wealthy.
Now that we were both buckled into our seats and on our way out of town, I decided to ask more about what he could do. “If you can make it rain, you have the power to change the world.”
He squinted as if that would help him see me better. “Not really. To make rain I need a water source to draw from, so I’m more like a human sprinkler system.”
“Oh.” I’m sure he must have heard the disappointment in my voice. “What about wind? Lightning and thunder?”
“Wind, yes. The lightning and thunder falls outside my jurisdiction. That would be electro kinesis.”
“Sun storms?” I asked, feeling hopeful.
He took a long pause before finally saying, “I doubt it. My powers aren’t that strong.”
Of all the weather to control, sun storms were the only storms that made a difference. Stopping them could potentially save the planet. “You’re kidding, right? You should give it a try. The only weather we have anymore are sun—”
“Does the air conditioner work?” Ian tapped the vents where cool air should be pouring out. A hot breeze blew from them instead.
I frowned at his sudden change of subject. If he didn’t want to talk about his ability, I could respect that. Maybe he’d open up once he got to know me better. I let the subject go for now.
I shifted gears as the highway opened up, but I kept my speed low. Road hazards were plentiful, and you never knew what, or who, you might run into. “Air conditioner?” I asked, lacing my tone with exaggerated wonder. “What’s that?”
He gave me a horrified look, and I laughed.
“I’m kidding. No, the air conditioner does not work.”
“I could fix it for you,” he said. “I can’t make coolant, but I know where to find it.”
I looked at him sideways. “Okay, you’re on.”
He paused before asking, “Mind if I grab a bottle of water from the back?”
“Help yourself.”
Ian reached between the seats to take a bottle of water from a box on the floor. Water was rationed, but I knew my quota and had no problem sharing. After screwing off the tops of two bottles, he handed me one and kept the other for himself. My eyes followed him as he took a long, deep swallow. I couldn’t help watching his lips move as they sucked in the water. The corners of his mouth glistened with moisture as he set the bottle down between his legs. He smacked his lips and released a loud ah of satisfaction.
I blinked and shifted my focus back to the road. Another distraction like that and I’d roll the Trooper.
I checked the sky, and the sun looked its usual ugly orange self, no brighter and no dimmer than normal. The storm was at least forty-five minutes away, and we’d be in the city within a half hour.
The on-ramp to the Interstate looked like ruins after a bombing and that probably wasn’t far from the truth. It’s what a lot of angry, bitter people were prone to do these days. So many had lost everything and everyone they’d ever loved. Desperation and depression combined with unstable energy created by the storms tended to mess with neurons in the brain. The people affected most became more animal than human, acting purely on the heat of their emotions. We had a name for them: Berserkers.
If he didn’t want to talk about kinetic abilities, I had other questions I could ask. “So tell me, Ian, what brought you to Lodgepole?”
He shrugged. “I’ve traveled all over the country. Lodgepole seems like a pleasant little town that’s not too badly ravaged by the storms.”
I was about to ask him how the conditions were in the other places he’d seen, when a loud pop like a gunshot rang out, and I lost control of the SUV.
Chapter Three
Gripping the steering wheel with everything I had, I couldn’t hold it steady, and the vehicle seemed to have a mind of its own. It swerved off the highway and sideswiped what was left of a chain-link fence. We rumbled over the ground as if it were made of boulders rather than cracked asphalt, and my head bumped against the ceiling a half dozen times before the Trooper came to a complete stop.
Dazed, Ian and I both sat staring out the filthy tinted window. I saw the city skyline ahead of us, too far to walk to and arrive in time to warn its residents of what was coming. If anyone got caught out in the open, they were doomed. And it would be my fault.
I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. “Damn it!”
“You blew a tire,” Ian said. “I’ll change it for you.”
“I used my only spare last week.” Tears stung my eyes, and I slapped the steering wheel two more times just to feel my palms hurt. It helped mute the pain inside my heart. People were going to die, and I’d miss my fix. No one had to tell me which was worse, but my body and mind leveled both as equally tragic. I felt guilty as hell about it, too.
“I’ll take care of it.” Ian opened the car door and climbed out to stand within the blaze of daylight.
I joined him, happy to fry in the heat. I could call it poetic justice for any lives lost today because of me. “You can’t replace it in time, Ian. And, besides, where would you find a tire?”
He pointed down the hill to a truck turned over on its side. “One of those should do fine. And you’re right, we won’t make it to the city in time. You can’t stop the storm, so don’t beat yourself up about it. Let it go.” He trudged down the hill toward the abandoned truck.
Let it go? He made it sound so simple. “You don’t understand,” I yelled down to him. “Chasing storms is what I have to do. There’s no choice involved. The storm’s victims aren’t the only ones who suffer if I don’t reach them in time.” If I didn’t chase the storms I predicted, I’d be left empty inside. It was like jonesing for heroin, and the withdrawals left me weak and shaking until the next storm.
Ian had found a crowbar and jack in the bed of the truck and was already removing the lug nuts. “You can’t save the world, Sarah. You can’t be everywhere at once.”
I gritted my teeth against the emotion that clogged my throat. Of course I couldn’t save the world, but I was compelled to try.
Ian rolled the tire up the hill, avoiding my eyes the whole time. He made an effort not to look at me, his brows furled over squinted eyes that hid from the sun. I wanted him to see me, to acknowledge the need in my eyes so that he would understand, but he wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know me, at least not yet. I hoped to change that.
I gazed at the sky over Denver. It was as bright as a high-wattage light bulb, and it shone down on a glittering wave of sun sparks that hovered over the city. So beautiful. Like Christmas. And deadly as hell. The sparks fluttered toward the ground like millions of flaming fireflies, and all I could do was watch.
A hand curled over my shoulder, and I jerked at the sudden contact.
“You have a gift, but you can only do so much,” Ian said softly as he draped his arm around my shoulders. His fingers felt so warm on my skin, and his voice, with that subtle edge of gravel, sounded smooth as velvet in my ears. “Don’t blame yourself for what you can’t control.”
He was right, but needing the storms was wrong and that’s where my guilt came from. Yet I knew another storm would come along, and another after that. I leaned into Ian, and he held me close, comforting me. His firm touch infused me with a sudden burst of st
rength. It was unexpected and made me a little light-headed. The longer our bodies stayed in contact, the more intense the energy became. It reminded me of what I got from the sun, only to a lesser degree.
“Do you feel that?” I asked him.
He let go and shot me a puzzled look. “Yeah. What was it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” But I felt better. Whatever had happened between us had diluted my sense of loss at having missed the storm. I wasn’t feeling sick, either.
I gazed at the skyline again, which was now clear of sun sparks. The danger had passed, but a few casualties might have been left behind.
“The tire’s changed. Ready to go back?” Ian asked.
“No.” I slid onto the driver’s seat, my back stinging from exposing my skin to the sun for too long. “We need to go into the city.”
Ian plopped onto the seat beside me. His eyes filled with concern, he said, “You’ll only torture yourself, Sarah. You can’t undo what’s been done, and you can’t heal whoever got infected.”
He thought I should let it go. But that was impossible. “Exposure knocks people out, and if they can’t get out of the heat, the sun will cook them alive.”
“Maybe that would be a more merciful death than slowly wasting away from fever,” Ian said, the shadows beneath his eyes making him look more tortured than tired. He obviously knew something about what the fever was like. Had he lost friends or family to the disease? I made myself a mental note to ask him later.
I turned the key in the ignition, and the Trooper hummed to life. I prayed the frame hadn’t been bent by the accident. Rolling the vehicle forward, the ride felt smooth and even. Ian had done a good job with that tire. “We’re going in,” I told him. “It’s not up for debate.”
He remained quiet but tense for the rest of the drive. His gaze darted side to side as we drove through desolate streets flanked by charred trees and a variety of refuse, from gutted cars to dented Dumpsters. He jerked in his seat a few times, his lip curled and eyes feral. He was on the alert for something, and based on his angry scowl, it wasn’t storm victims. I inched along, peering up and down each street as we got closer to the State Capitol. What had once been an emerald carpet of perfectly manicured lawn in Civic Center Park was now a vast field of abandoned cars and hollowed-out fire pits dotted with mounds of trash and partially burned furniture. I spotted a few tents, too. If they hadn’t been zipped tight to keep out the sparks, the occupants were goners.
’Til the World Ends Page 21