“Nice to see you too, Mom. I came to get Wendi. She isn’t safe,” Jon’s tone could have frozen lava, “here.”
She sighed loudly. “Finally, someone is thinking.” She turned back to Wendi. “Honey, I know you are scared, and your Gift does extract a heavy toll. Wear the watch and save yourself.”
I stepped off to the side of the kitchen near the massive dining room table. Being in the middle of a family fight wasn’t my idea of a fun time. A photo on the refrigerator of Wendi’s parents told a story. Both Jon and Wendi got their appearance from their mother. Their father wore a Reclaimer’s unit hat over his cropped brown hair. With my luck, he had served under Powell. Mrs. Stevens was the cheetah to his rhino.
“Mom, I told you. I just need a few days to think about things,” Wendi said. “I’ll stay away from Dad. He’ll never be able to tell I’m here.”
Jon reached out and grabbed Wendi’s arm. “You heard her. We aren’t welcome here.”
Wendi tried to tug her arm free, but Jon wouldn’t let go. She reared back, and suddenly she stood next to me. Jon stared at his hand, a look of disbelief on his face. He recovered quickly, heading toward us. I moved to intercept him. I wasn’t about to let him hurt Wendi because he was angry.
“Out of my way, Tommy.”
I put my hand against his shoulder. “Jon, we will work this out. Just back off and let’s talk about it.”
He slapped my hand off his shoulder. “You can all talk about it. I’ll be outside.”
Jon stormed out the door, slamming it with a resounding crash. I was surprised the glass didn’t shatter.
“Well, that went well,” Mrs. Steven said. “Anyone want a drink? I need one.”
Jose grinned. “Si!”
Mrs. Stevens stepped over to the built-in liquor cabinet on the far wall of the kitchen and poured two glasses out of a Jack Daniels bottle. She handed one to Jose and then took a sip of hers before moving to the end of the granite island.
“Thanks,” Wendi whispered in my ear. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and returned to her seat at the kitchen island. I stayed by the door, my nerves dancing like they were at a rave.
Wendi’s mom considered me. “So, you must be the Tommy I’ve heard so much about.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stevens.” I tried to keep the shakiness out of my voice. No such luck.
“I won’t bite, Tommy.” She paused to take a drink, though her eyes never left me. “Please, call me Tracy.”
“Okay, Tracy,” I said, proud I didn’t fumble over the words.
“Mom, I’ll stay down in the cabin so no one sees me.” A small pout appeared on her face.
Mrs. Stevens took a larger drink from her glass. “Wendi, it isn’t that I don’t want you here.”
Wendi cut her off. “Forget it, Mom. Jon has been right the whole time. You dropped us as fast as you could. You never wanted us, and now you certainly don’t want us back. I guess the care packages and the visits were just to soothe your guilty conscience.”
“That’s not fair,” Mrs. Stevens implored, setting her glass on the island. “The reason I want you to leave is it isn’t safe for you here.”
Jose smacked his lips loudly, having finished off his drink. “Cariño, listen to your mama, she knows what she speaks of. She has the right of it.” He set his empty glass down with a sigh.
“Please, help yourself to another.” His face lit up as if seeing an old friend after years apart. He walked to the cabinet and refilled his glass, much higher than the original. Nothing better than having our driver drunk.
“I get it.” Wendi looked to be torn between crying and punching someone. “I’ll go back to Redemption, where it’s safe.” Her voice cracked as her pitch rose into the higher registers. “I was almost raped there, and you want me to go back?”
She burst into tears. Mrs. Stevens moved around the island and caught her in a hug. They were both crying. She stroked Wendi’s hair, speaking in the low, soothing tones moms have.
Lifting the side door window’s curtain, I looked out, wondering where Jon had gone to. His temper was the worst I had ever dealt with. He snapped at the drop of a hat. I had a clue on what some of his powers were, but not all. I needed to have Marcel research it when we got back to Dresden.
The sounds of crying had stopped, so I let the curtain fall back into place and turned around. Wendi, her face still blotchy and red from crying, cleaned up the tears with a napkin. Jose leaned against the wall by the dining room, clearly enjoying his drink. There wasn’t any liquor at Dresden.
“Tommy, do you have a safe place to take my kids?” Mrs. Stevens asked, her look a silent appeal for help. “It really isn’t safe for any of you here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll make sure they get there, Tracy,” Jose said, sliding his glass across the island toward her. He nudged me on his way out. “I’ll be at the car. Don’t be too long.”
I nodded to him. “I’ll bring her when she’s ready.”
She smiled at me and resumed talking to Wendi in a low voice. I examined the pictures hanging on the refrigerator and in frames on the walls. They were all of her husband, an avid hunter and fisherman based on the photos. The crunching gravel announced Jose pulling the car into the driveway, faster than I expected after the walk in, but maybe the moon had come out since we arrived. I stood for another minute so the girls would notice, but they were still talking. Jose and Jon would be pissed if they had to wait.
“I think we should be going.” I heard a faint click behind me and tried to turn, but the feel of cold metal against the back of my neck changed my mind.
Someone was behind me with what felt like a double-barreled shotgun. “You aren’t going anywhere boy,” the iron hard voice said. “Look, my daughter the Mongrel is back, and I’m not letting you go again.”
Daddy’s home!
24
I slowly raised my hands. From all the pictures, Mr. Stevens knew how to use the gun he held.
Wendi screamed.
“Hank, put the gun down,” Mrs. Stevens said, jumping in front of Wendi.
“He’ll lower the gun, or I’ll gut him like a pig,” I heard Jon say from behind us both.
The pressure eased from the back of my head. I backed away from the awkward family reunion. Jon’s combat knife pressed against the side of his father’s neck. Hank Stevens stood rock still, the shotgun pointing at the ground.
“I didn’t even hear you come up on me.” Even with a knife at his throat, the man’s admiration stood out on his face. “I’d never suspected you’d have it in you.”
“I can do a lot of things I didn’t use to.” Jon grabbed the shotgun and shoved his father into the kitchen.
Hank caught himself on the island from the overly aggressive blow Jon delivered. He moved with an easy grace to stand straight and face the four of us.
He smiled. “I’ll be turning the bunch of you into the Reclaimers. Tracy, you should have called as soon as they showed up.”
Jon raised the shotgun, aiming for Hank’s head. “I’m not going back to Redemption, even if I have to kill you to do it.”
“Boy, you aren’t going back to school.” He barked a harsh laugh. “You’ll be going to The Block and maybe even be center stage for Saturday Night Showdown after they give Cyclone Ranger what he deserves. They’ve not killed him yet, but they will.”
The hammers click back into place. Mrs. Stevens stepped between them, putting her hand on the gun barrel. “Jon, I’ll take care of this.”
“No, Mom.” Jon’s voice cracked with intensity like I had never experienced before. He sounded excited. “He’s a Reclaimer and an abuser, and it ends here.”
“No, put down the gun,” Mrs. Stevens said forcefully.
Amazingly, the gun lowered. She reached over and took it out of Jon’s limp hands. She turned to face her husband, who reached for the gun.
“Good job, Trace. I’ll cover them while you call…”
“Hank, listen to me.
” Her tone held the same forcefulness she used on Jon. “You will forget anyone was here. We had a fight, and you hit me. You will go to the Brass Spittoon and tell your damn war stories for the rest of the night. Go home with Marlene, and don’t come back until Sunday. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” Mr. Stevens looked like a zombie, slack-jawed and unfocused.
“Go get in the truck and drive.”
“Get in truck.” He shambled to the door, opened it, and left. The truck started up in the driveway and pulled out.
“How did you do that?” Wendi said in awe.
“You aren’t the only Gifted in the family, dear. Jon, close the door. We need to talk.”
Jon hesitated. “Should we get Jose?”
“No, I slipped a sleeping agent into his drink. He should have made it to the car before falling asleep.”
“I should leave.” Having drugged Jose, she obviously didn’t want spectators for the family meeting.
“No, Tommy. You need to hear what I have to say, so please sit down.”
I dropped onto the stool. Wendi sat on the stool next to me. Jon closed the door, went to the dining room, and moved a chair in front of the window overlooking the driveway. He had the knife back in the sheath, but I noticed it wasn’t snapped in.
Mrs. Stevens took a large slug from her glass. She sighed heavily. “Sorry, using my Gift drains me.”
We sat at the island quietly while she gathered herself. The stools probably cost more than our house. Wendi’s hand slid into my mine. I gave it a quick squeeze and her a reassuring smile.
Jon decided to break the silence. “So how are you Gifted and not living with us in Redemption?” He paused then added, “Mom.”
She rubbed her forehead. “The test they use doesn’t work on mental powers from what I can tell. I passed the initial test while I was pregnant with both of you. When you were tested, you both failed, but I couldn’t admit I was Gifted.”
“Why not?” Jon asked, his voice harsh. He squatted on the chair, the predator waiting to pounce.
She shook her head. “You weren’t there. If I admitted to being Gifted, they would have killed me as well as knowing they had missed Gifted in their testing.” Her hands shook as she picked up the empty glass, considering it. “Not all of us were crime fighters or working for the government. Before the tests, people would accuse their neighbors of being Gifted. Someone accused a friend, Heather Wilkins, of being Gifted. A group of ‘concerned citizens’ dragged her and her entire family out into the street, beat them to death, and then burnt their bodies. I found the charred remains of a pacifier the next day.” She crossed the room, filled her glass again, taking a large swallow before returning.
Wendi gasped. “Couldn’t you have used your Gift to stop them?”
Her laugh sounded cruel, self-mocking. “Gifts have limits. An angry mob isn’t listening. I would have been killed as well, being a sympathizer and all.”
Jon snorted from where he was. “So instead you just hid?”
“Where better to hide than with the Reclaimer’s chief enforcer? He paraded me around like a trophy, the status of purity. Meanwhile he was killing innocent people who didn’t even have Gifts.” Another long pull from her drink. I wondered if self-medication helped deal with the memories.
“But that wouldn’t stop you from staying in Redemption with us,” Wendi said. “We were alone, we needed you.”
Tears chased each other down Mrs. Stevens’s cheeks. “I know.” Her voice was barely audible. “I tried to shield you from the test, but I failed. Your father doesn’t even realize I visit. I am so sorry. I love you both, but I didn’t have a choice. If I did anything, they would have killed me.”
Wendi stood up and walked past Jon to the door. “Well, I guess we’ll be dead to you now, won’t we? I’d rather die than abandon people I love.” She left the house, slamming the door on the way out.
Jon didn’t say a word; he just followed her out the door. I sat, unsure what to do. “I’m sorry.”
“Tommy, please, when she calms down, tell her I still love her, but,” she stared down at her drink, “I’m a coward.” Glancing up, Mrs. Stevens shattered eyes implored, begged forgiveness. “Please.”
I left the house, the answer unspoken.
I slept until mid-afternoon after our trip back from the Stevens’s farm. My worldview had been turned upside down. Hidden Gifted still lived outside The Blocks. Freed of the collar, you could have a normal life, especially if you lived off the beaten track.
The pre-show for Saturday Night Showdown came on, and I promptly hit the mute button. I dropped into one of the video chairs across from the ones Abby and Marcel sat in. It was bad enough listening during the live show. From the looks of it, Dad hadn’t had to use his lightning yet, relying on brains and wind to see him through. The network must be fuming.
I thought back to how Mom had said he deserted us. I wondered if he rated a coward as Tracy Stevens thought herself or heroic for turning himself in and not letting us be caught. Until the test had come around, even suspected Gifted were killed. Would my dad have stood out, drawn attention to his wife and infant son? Could we have hid until the worst had passed, ducking the Reclaimers as they purified the country? I wish I had an answer, but every question just brought more questions, never answers.
Wendi slid in beside me. Close, but not touching. It was a big step forward, but I still had to restrain myself from reaching out. When she felt ready, she would let me know. Like at her parents, when she put her hand in mine. I noticed the watch strapped to her wrist. No early death. I knew the price she’d paid, though both roads had their costs. More and more questions.
“Why are you watching this?” Wendi said. “I would think under the circumstances this would be the last show you would want to watch.”
I hesitated. I longed to tell her, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the last promise I made to my mom. Wendi and Marcel, maybe Abby, were safe, but not Jon and never Jose. Reformed or not, the Grim Reaper’s history did not lend itself to sharing secrets. “I wish Cyclone Ranger could make it through the Gauntlet. He’s the strongest of the Gifted; it would give us hope.”
“Hope is for losers,” Jon said as he strolled across the room to the chair he preferred. “The game is rigged, they’ll off him in the last episode regardless to keep us in our place.”
“If anyone can beat the game, it is Cyclone Ranger,” Marcel said as he pulled open a bag of chips he passed to Abby. “I’ve found some files in the database. He could pump out more megawatts than some power plants.”
“As long as he kicks some ass this time,” Abby said, dumping some chips into a bowl and returning the bag to Marcel. She shoved a handful in her mouth while trying to complete her thought. “Hrmph hrumph hurmp.”
“Was that English?” Marcel asked, a big smile on his face.
She finished chewing. “I’m tired of him running.”
I grinned. “Oh, I thought you said Marcel looked cute tonight.” That got a good laugh from everyone but Marcel.
“Hey, some girls find my geek skills quite charming.”
Abby winked at him. “Only if they’re nerds.”
I hit the unmute button to break up where this one was headed. Desmond Roberts’s voice boomed into the room. “Folks, we’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” The camera zoomed in on him. He held a coil of metallic rope in his hands. “Tonight, we at Saturday Night Showdown are unveiling a twist to the Gauntlet. This will add excitement to the game. We are calling it the Lightning Rod.”
The crowd cheered, mindless in their anticipation of a better match than the previous five weeks.
“Here’s how it works.” Desmond uncoiled the rope as he spoke. “At twenty feet long, one end will be fastened around the waist of Cyclone Ranger, and the other will be fastened to another Dissident. The goal of the game is for Cyclone Ranger to keep his partner alive through three rounds.”
“Wow,” Marcel said. “The
tether stops him from flying and reduces his mobility. He’s in trouble.”
It did indeed, but more importantly, it kept Dad from refusing to fight again. Now he was responsible for another’s safety.
“And here is our dynamic duo for this match,” Desmond shouted, and the crowd booed and screamed as they entered the arena. “Cyclone Ranger and…”
“Fireworks Farley!” we all said in unison.
“That’s right! One of our favorites, Fireworks Farley!” Desmond practically sang out his name. “He’s been on the show many times, and he’s back to face the Gauntlet with Cyclone Ranger.”
I groaned. It would have been one thing to be paired with Steamroller or Major Chaos, Gifted who could actually fight, but Farley was a waste they used to fill in between real matches, more court jester than a Gifted warrior.
Farley ran out to stand next to Dad. They couldn’t have been more opposite if they tried. Where Cyclone Ranger stood tall, muscular, and dressed in a black combat suit with electric blue lightning bolts up his legs, Farley was short and chunky. He wore a purple and gold combat suit with a mask over his face, where Dad wore a helmet, his face hidden by the dark faceplate.
“Folks, this is a show you will not want to miss,” Desmond said in his best used car salesman voice. “And we’ve got a lot more twists coming up in the second half of the Gauntlet. Don’t make plans for the next few weeks. These will be shows you’ll tell your grandkids about.”
The Protectorate couldn’t let Dad win—it would expose the lie of living past the end of the Gauntlet. The Reclaimers couldn’t let him win, or it would show they could be beaten. If there was ever going to be a chance for the Gifted of the world to live free, Cyclone Ranger had to escape. I knew what I had to do.
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