Storm Forged

by Patrick Dugan

  “Good morning, class,” Waxenby said with a laugh. “I wanted to discuss some of the changes you’ve been going through.”

  We glanced at each other, hoping this wasn’t a sex talk. We all squirmed in our seats, not sure where he was headed.

  “Most Gifted go through manifestation slowly. They grow faster than their peer group, being more athletic or, like Marcel, learn at an accelerated pace. You’ve all compressed that into a few weeks. As with most things, there are good parts and bad parts. You know the things your Gifts allow you to do, but there is a price for using those Gifts.”

  “A price?” Wendi asked, her voice shaking a bit.

  Waxenby nodded. “Yes, a price. The price is dependent on your particular Gift, and the degree is tied to how strong it is.”

  “How do you gauge how strong you are?” Marcel said.

  “There isn’t a measurement, and what we are talking about is never discussed amongst the Gifted. If you know the drawbacks to someone’s Gift, you could find a way to exploit it.”

  “Like with the Grim Reaper?” Abby said as she peeked over her shoulder toward the door as if she expected him to appear.

  “Exactly,” Waxenby nodded. “I will take each of you aside and explain what I know about your Gift and the drawbacks, if I know any.”

  He signaled Marcel, who had a box sitting next to his feet. He stood up and gave us each a silver watch. Marcel didn’t have one on, so I wondered why he gave us each one.

  “The watches Marcel built will act the same way the collars used to. If you wear them long enough, the changes you have seen will recede.” Waxenby glanced at Abby, who, in turn, gave him a slight nod as she fastened the watch to her wrist. She shot a smile at Waxenby.

  Marcel jumped into the silence surrounding the announcement. “I put a switch on the side to dampen your Gift like the bracelets Blaze gave us. You can still access your Gift if needed.”

  “Thank you, Marcel,” Waxenby said. “If you inhibit your Gift, it will take some time to restore it after the watch has been removed. Any questions?”

  We all shook our heads. Since I still didn’t know what my Gift was, I shoved the watch in my pocket.

  “When you’re ready, find me, and I’ll tell you what I know and answer any other questions.”

  I noticed Wendi walked off with Waxenby. Abby stared at the watch on her arm. I wondered why she so readily put it on. Some things were better left unasked. I returned to watching anime.

  I woke with a start, having drifted off in the recliner in the zero-G position.

  “What the hell did you tell her?” Jon yelled, bearing down on Waxenby, who stood by the coffee table. A front row seat for Jon’s big mouth, wonderful. “She left in the middle of the night. I found this note on her bed.”

  “I told her the truth, Jon,” he said in a calm voice. If there was ever a time for a shield in the mouth, now would be a great time. “She needed to understand the powers and liabilities of her Gift.”

  Jon paced back and forth like a caged animal, the note crumbled in his hand. “She’s fragile. We were fine until we got mixed up with you freaks. What exactly did you tell her?”

  “A person’s Gift is private.” He sat down on the table. “If she had wanted to tell you, she would have.”

  “She’s aging,” Marcel said from the hallway door. “The price for speed is aging. Every time she uses her Gift, she will age around five times as fast. Most speeders die in their twenties. Not a big deal if you use it for five minutes, but it adds up.”

  Jon turned on him. “And just how do you know that, Geek?”

  Marcel adjusted his glasses; he had a smirk on his face. Geek was a compliment to him. “Hers is the one Gift that has been studied due to the negative effect being overtly visible. The computer library is full of data on it. You would have realized that if you could read.”

  “Well, I’m going after her.” Jon threw the note on the floor, heading for the door.

  A blue shield sprang up in front of him. “Let her cool off and see if she comes back. We can’t chance a lot of people coming and going if everyone else is going to stay safe.”

  Jon stared daggers at Waxenby. I thought it would get ugly, but Jon huffed and backed down. Waxenby dropped the shield.

  I started to chime in that I wanted to go as well, but given Jon’s feelings about me, it might make it worse.

  Waxenby stepped closer to where Jon stood. “Jose will be back soon, and we’ll discuss it. Once it’s dark, we’ll decide on the best course of action. I promise.”

  “Fine,” Jon snapped. He turned to leave. “I let you stop me for now. Once it’s dark, I’m going, and no one is stopping me. Understood?”

  Waxenby nodded. Jon stomped off.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Marcel quipped.

  I laughed a bit nervously. “You’ve got a strange sense of what’s fun.”

  “If you thought that was fun, wait until we tell him he can’t go,” Waxenby said with a grimace.

  Oh joy, just what I always wanted, to be locked with a raving lunatic. It was going to be a long day.

  22

  The day dragged. I packed my backpack three times trying to keep my mind off things. A tap on the door frame roused me from my organizational obsession. Abby stood there, a crumpled piece of paper in her hand.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but can I come in?”

  “Sure thing.” I stepped to the side to let her in. We all stayed in the “recruit” wing according to Marcel. The rooms were fairly Spartan in comparison with the rest of the place, but the bed was large and comfortable with a dresser and desk. The bathroom was self-cleaning, and the shower had about ten spray heads. There were League of Patriot rooms on the lower levels of the silo, but they were coded shut, and Waxenby forbid Marcel from cracking them open.

  Abby took a seat on the bed. She cocked her head to the side, bent over, and picked up an envelope off the floor. “You should read this since it’s addressed to you.” She twisted her watch around her wrist, something obviously bothering her.

  I took the envelope, but the expression on her face caught my attention. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Something bothered her, and I doubted it was Wendi leaving.

  “You okay?”

  She stared down at her hands, not looking at me. “Can I talk to you?” she said, her voice small.

  “Of course.”

  She sat there for a few minutes, and I flopped down next her and waited. I could almost hear the struggle in her head over what she needed to talk about.

  “I guess you are wondering about why I put the watch on yesterday,” she said.

  I had wondered but had been so caught up in being left out I hadn’t even given a second thought about why she would give up her Gift after just getting it. “I didn’t want to pry,” I said.

  She sighed. “I should have told you and Marcel about this before, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be my friend if you knew.”

  I punched her softly in the shoulder since I wasn’t sure how to handle Abby not being Abby. “We’ll always be friends.”

  She smiled a sad smile. “You should probably hear my story before you say that.”

  I sat back against the headboard to listen.

  She shifted uncomfortably before she spoke. “I was born in Boston to Norm parents, but we had quite a few Gifted in our family. After the war, when the Protectorate started testing people for Gifts, my parents left the US for Argentina. They told me if I wasn’t Gifted, we would move back someday.”

  I nodded. Her voice trembled a bit, but she kept going.

  “We lived in a small town so we could duck the soldiers when they came to test. There were a lot of Gifted in the area, so we expected to be safe. The townspeople treated us like family, and they hid us while the soldiers tested people,” she said, a look of longing in her eyes.

  “Just after my twelfth birthday, I changed. I grew taller and stronger, but I had a hard time controlling myself. I would be g
one for days on end. I hunted in the jungle, killing to eat. I became an animal. Slowly, I got control of myself, but the people were freaked out. There were rumors I’d become a werewolf or some sort of demon. We moved around, but the rumors followed us. Finally, my parents gave up.”

  She glanced over at me. I’m sure she expected to see a mask of horror on my face, but all I felt was bad for her.

  She continued. “I had been home for a week. I had things under control, so we went to town to get supplies. As we entered the town square, the soldiers came out, rifles pointed at me. I tried to fight, dropping a couple of soldiers in the process, but they got the collar on me. My strength was gone. I pleaded with my parents to help me, but they wouldn’t even look at me. Two of the soldiers pulled me to my feet and moved me away from my parents.”

  “They betrayed you?” I blurted out. I could imagine a parent turning their own child in.

  She shook her head slightly. “No, not exactly. The captain approached my parents, who were smiling at him. My father extended his hand, but the captain slapped his face instead. His men moved up and pushed to their knees in front of the store we were going to shop in. Other soldiers lined up, readying their rifles.

  “‘We brought her here for you,’ my father begged. My mother sobbed uncontrollably next to him, clutching his arm. ‘You promised us that you could help her.’

  “‘The harboring of a Dissident is a capital offense. You are both guilty under the Protectorate and I, a duly appointed enforcement officer, am carrying out the sentence.’

  “‘Abby, I’m sorry,’ my mother wailed. ‘We love you.’”

  I gasped. No wonder Powell had brought up the penalty for harboring a Gifted her first day at school.

  “Anything else they would have said ended with the sounds of gunfire. Their bodies jerked as the bullets slammed them against the stone wall, blood smearing down the wall as they slid, lifeless to the ground. The soldiers dragged me away. I tried to run to my parents to say goodbye, but they put me in a truck and sent me to Redemption.”

  Tears were sliding down her cheeks as she finished her story. “So now you know. You are friends with a monster.”

  “If there is a monster in your story, it’s the Protectorate, Abby.” Anger and grief mixed in my brain. These are the same people who took my dad from me, who shackled me and let Brunner and Powell almost kill me. I needed to hit something. “They lied to your parents about helping you, then killed them.”

  She gaped at me. “Did you not listen to my story? I lived in the jungle, killing animals. I became a savage.”

  I shook my head. “If the Protectorate hadn’t forced you into hiding, you would have had help. Abby, none of this was your fault.”

  She cried. I moved next to her, and she hugged me. I think she broke a couple of ribs in the process.

  “Like I told you before, we are always friends,” I said between gasps for air. “Unless you crush me to death.”

  Abby left to talk to Marcel, buoyed by my taking her side. Though she never skipped, I saw a spring to her step. I noticed she didn’t spin the watch either. It must be a huge relief to not be carrying around such a secret, as I knew from personal experience.

  I closed the bedroom door and flopped on the bed. I opened up the crumbled note, trying to smooth out the wrinkles the best I could. I had already read it twice, maybe third time was a charm.

  Tommy,

  I’m sorry to have left without saying goodbye. After talking with Mr. Waxenby, I need some time to think. My Gift gives me great speed, but the price is more than I might be willing to pay. I know I should use Marcel’s watch to stop the effects, but I’d feel dead now that I know what having my Gift feels like. I need to be away from everyone and think. I’ll be back when I know what to do.

  I love you,

  Wendi

  I laid there, thoughts rampaging through my head. Thanks to Marcel, I knew she’d aged due to her Gift. I wondered if she would live longer since she was fifteen when her powers kicked in. I couldn’t bear to think of my beautiful Wendi dying as an old lady at twenty.

  I paced my room for a long time. Wendi needed time to think. Hadn’t I run away from Mom to do the same? Who was I to drag her back here? She had the watch. She could live out her life away from us and the need to use her Gifts. I decided I’d put my backpack in the ready room until I figured out what the plan was. At least I’d stop repacking it.

  “Where are you going, Tommy?”

  “Putting my backpack in the ready room. Figure if we go to get Wendi, I’ll be prepared.”

  Jon stood, stepping in front of the door. “You should go back to your room. Nothing you can do.” His eyes flickered to one area of the room.

  I followed his glance. Jose sat in the corner where Jon had looked. Something was going on, and I’m not sure I liked it. Just what I needed, more bonding time with a pissed-off jerk. “You aren’t going anywhere without me,” I said.

  Jose chuckled. “Hombre, I told you he’d not be left.”

  “Fine.” Jon gave an exasperated sigh.

  “We’d better get going if we want to find her. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Jon laughed. The sound had all the warmth of being plunged into ice water while holding a block of ice. “We can’t get there by morning on foot.”

  “It’s only been about twelve hours,” I said, doing the math in my head. “She couldn’t have gone more than twenty miles if she walked all day.”

  Jon shook his head. “Man, you are stupid. She can run faster than a car. We are less than three hours from our farm. She’s been there all day.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She left a note on her bed.” He pulled out a sheet similar to the one I had read earlier. “She went home, wanting to talk to our mom. She probably thinks she’ll treat her like your mom treats her.”

  The bitterness lacing his last sentence was an open window into Jon. He seethed, not just at me, but at what his parents had done to him. How they had left him and Wendi at the Institute instead of staying with them. I felt for him; I had seen the same thing with Marcel over the years. Not for the first time, I was extremely thankful for my mom.

  “Well, I guess we have a long walk then,” I said, trying to be a bit friendlier. “We should get started.”

  “You boys not going on foot.” Jose stood, tossing his car keys in the air as he came toward us. “Since you boys aren’t allowed to drive, I’ll take you to get the señorita. It’ll be fun.”

  I followed them out. Me, a psychopathic killer, and a hot head. What could possibly go wrong?

  23

  The drive took a little over three hours, listening to thrash metal the whole time. Who knew screaming could be considered music? We broke once for food at a burrito joint Jose liked. I don’t think the health inspector had ever seen this place, or maybe he didn’t make it out again. After eating, we filled up the car and headed out. Around ten, Jose slowed the car to pull off the road into some trees near the entrance of the Sleepy S Ranch.

  We were in the country, and the crickets and whip-poor-will night songs sounded like a mix by a crazed DJ, but better than the trash metal. The scent of cow pies carried on the breeze, definitely letting you appreciate that cattle were around somewhere. Lights shone through the trees from the farmhouse.

  Jon moved to the split-rail fence that ran across the front of the property. A tall, white farmhouse stood at the end of the gravel drive. Jose and I stumbled along behind him. A SUV sat parked next to the house, but other than that, it could have been the frontier days in Iowa.

  The three of us quietly got out of the car, shouldered our bags, and crept to the fence for a better look. Jon set down his backpack, fishing around in it. Finally, he produced a large knife with a tie-on sheath. He strapped it to his thigh.

  “What the heck is that for?” Last I knew we were getting Wendi, not launching an attack on a fortified position.

  “You never know when you’ll need a goo
d knife.” Jose nodded his approval.

  Jon hopped over the fence, leading the way to the house. Jose and I had to actually climb over the rails, Jose swearing in Spanish the whole time. A few scrapes and minor injuries to my pride later, I was over the fence crouched between Jon and Jose.

  “Well, she’s here,” Jon said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I can smell her perfume.”

  Wendi wore a lavender perfume, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t smell it. A look of disbelief affixed itself to my face. It was pitch black, so I figured I was safe.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I can smell her perfume,” Jon remarked somewhat absent-mindedly. “Let’s get a bit closer. I think she is in the kitchen.”

  Following the best we could, we stumbled through the trees toward the side of the farmhouse. “If you two didn’t make so much noise, I think I could hear what they are talking about,” Jon said, moving a bit toward the house.

  We waited. I tried not to breathe so as to not make too much noise. I felt as if we were stalking prey instead of going in to get my girlfriend.

  “They are arguing over Wendi showing up.” Jon sounded pissed. “Let’s go. We should get this over with.”

  “Why?” slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “He hates Slags.”

  Great, I had to ask.

  We spent what seemed like hours of tripping over rocks, sliding into divots, and generally making a mess of our stealth entry, but we made it to the house. Jon paused at the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went into the kitchen, Jose and me in tow.

  We slipped in through the door into a mud room. The far wall held coat hooks and a bench with a lot of work boots scattered around it. Jon moved to the left and into the kitchen. It wasn’t what I expected, more palatial palace than rural farmhouse. Our kitchen would have curled up and died of embarrassment. I could lay down on the granite island and still not reach the sides.

  The same could be said about Wendi’s mother. Her appearance had nothing in common with the stereotypical farmer’s wife. Long, frosted-tip blond hair drawn back in a ponytail showed off her dangling earrings. The red jacket and form-fitting black capris belonged in a big city, not in the middle of nowhere Iowa. Her face distorted with anger as we stepped into view. “And what in the name of all that is holy are you doing here, Jon?” she said, throwing her hands into the air.