He flies backward about five feet and lands on his back, moaning out loud, gritting his teeth and covering his eyes with his hands, the skin of all eight of his knuckles bare and raw, like someone had burned a cigar on the mound of all of them. Then he laughs.
“Danny boy!” he yells, and in one motion, raises his legs into the air and jumps up to his feet. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
I run toward him before he has time to react, and I punch him hard in the chest once, twice, three times. He blocks the fourth punch with his left forearm and kicks me in the ribs. I stagger back a few steps and buckle over.
“Son of a bitch!” I say between clenched teeth, feeling like the whole left side of my body has been rammed over by a fire truck. “Okay, now I’m pissed.”
I run to him again, and this time send a kick to his face. He grabs me by the calf, but I slam down my elbow on his, hoping it cracks I’m so mad. He lets go at the last second, and I fall headfirst to the ground, the right side of my face digging a hole in the dry mud, pieces of leaves and twigs and worm shit filling my nostrils, mouth, and eyes. I cough, blinded, my head spinning, and feel Shane’s knee press down on the small of my back and his arm wrapping around my neck and squeezing tight.
I claw at his arm and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. I try to breathe in, a mounting pressure building inside my lungs, my head feeling like it’s about to blow up, but Shane’s grip is so tight that I can’t breathe in a single whiff of pure, oxygenated air.
“Stop it, you’re going to kill him!” I hear Piper screech.
Dark splotches appear in my field of vision, and I’m sure I’m about to pass out, but then I remember…I’ve still got my knives. I can feel the sheath and the hard sides of the blades pushing against my pelvic area, and the world slows down. In less than an eighth of a second, so fast I’m sure you’d have to videotape and use slow motion to see what I did, I reach down to the sheath and pull one of the knives out, the sharp side cutting through my jeans and shirt, missing my skin by centimeters.
Thank god I polished them this afternoon.
I contort my arm quickly but carefully enough to have it pressed against Shane’s neck before he can block me, hard enough for him to back off but controlled enough so it doesn’t seriously hurt him. Shane curses under his breath and releases my neck from his iron-tight grip, lifting his knee off my back.
I splutter and cough and breathe in large gulps of air, the sensation in my limbs slowly coming back, the dark splotches in my field of vision receding, and the pressure in my head deflating. “I beat you, you motherfucker,” is all I can manage to rasp out, and then I start to laugh.
I feel someone putting their hands below my armpits and pulling me up. I stand, and now it’s me with my hands on my knees, puking up everything I ate in the last twenty-four hours. Near asphyxiation does that to you sometimes.
-*-
When I’m done, I look up and see Piper beside me, looking pale and scared beneath the moonlight but with a small, cautious smile on her lips. “Are you okay?”
I wait until I get my breath back, and then I answer, “Never better!” I turn around to face Shane. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you beat an Immortal.” I bow, and everybody laughs nervously, the shock of seeing me almost die slowly wearing away.
Shane stares at me, fuming, but then he smiles. He walks over to me and puts his hand out, and I shake it. “Thanks for that, dude. I fought you for real.”
“I know that,” I say, caressing my neck. “Good fight.”
“My pleasure.”
I can feel the waves of adrenaline slowly pulling back like waves in the beach at low-tide, and a smug, tingly feeling replacing it.
“I want a rematch, though,” he says.
“Anytime.”
“We should be heading home now,” Shane says. “It’s getting dark out.”
So we walk back to the truck, me being the last in line, with Piper right in front of me. We walk in silence, and I can’t help the uneasy feeling at the back of my head that I’m being watched, and I knew exactly by who.
-*-
Showering the next morning was far from pleasant. I have a bruise the size of a dollar bill sprawling horizontally over the back of my neck that hurts every time I touch it, not to mention the rest of the bruises and cuts over my body. I dress as carefully as I can, holding my breath as I pull my clothes on.
I give up on brushing my hair, which is now very close to shoulder-length and very messy, and get ready to grab something to eat and then go to work. But when I open the door, I’m surprised by the sight of the mailman bending over and getting ready to push an envelope through the crack under my door.
“Oh, hello,” he says, a little startled. “This is for you.” He hands the envelope to me, but I don’t take it.
“No, there must be some mistake,” I say. “I don’t get mail.”
“It’s your address right here,” he says, getting irritated. “House number 322C Westside Street. See?”
I look down at the envelope. “That is my address.”
He opens his mouth, but before he speaks, I snatch the letter away and slam the door in his face. My hands start to sweat. Morgana’s Minneapolis address is written in plain, black ink in the upper left corner of the envelope.
I tear the envelope open, unsure of what this means, and scan the letter quickly, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I read.
Dearest Daniel,
I hope you haven’t forgotten about our little agreement. You do seem like the type of boy who would conveniently let it slip his mind—if you don’t mind me saying so, darling—so consider this a friendly reminder.
The time is coming for you to pay up. From what I gather, it’s a matter of weeks. Expect to hear from me then. I hope you’re having fun as an outcast, dear. Remember, you can hide from everyone but me.
Much love,
Morgana
P.S: Crazy things are happening in Seattle. If you aren’t aware, pick up today’s paper. It’s good to stay informed.
I read the letter three more times before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it to the floor. I don’t know what games she’s playing at, but I resent being toyed with. And what does she mean it’s a matter of weeks until I pay up? What will be different in a few weeks that will make her want to collect her debt then and not now?
I storm out of my apartment, walk to the nearest store, and buy the Rickshaw Rant and the Billings Gazette. I start reading them while walking to work. There’s nothing in the Rickshaw Rant about what’s happening in Seattle, so I throw it away at the nearest recycling bin and start reading the Gazette. On a large column piece in the National News section, I see it.
I sit down on the curb of the road. The News Title reads: GHOST KILLER OR COINCIDENTAL DEATHS? and covers something that happened yesterday during an art exhibition at the Seattle Art Museum. Five people dropped dead from seemingly unrelated causes, all of them yelling out before collapsing to the ground.
The forensic authorities are examining the bodies to determine the cause of death, which I already know will yield nothing but the vaguest of results. In fact, medical authorities are already labeling the incident a very tragic, unfortunate coincidence. Condolences to the family of the deceased are offered, of course. Three women, one man, one child.
All dead.
Quite fittingly, the exhibition during which all of this happened was called ‘Dark Romanticism: Death through the Ages’ and featured both classic and modern works of art from both famous and unknown artists.
I crumple the newspaper between my hands. What does this mean? Did five hungry Sun-Children feed off these people at the same time? Or maybe—and a chill comes over me as I think it—maybe it wasn’t five of us at all. Maybe it was just…one.
I get up and walk toward work, my mind racing. What does this mean? What should I do? Should I go back to Seattle and…and then what? How could I even stop this from happening again
to others of my kind? How can I stop this from happening to me?
I reach Morris’s Sports Shop, and when I enter, I find Shane leaning against the counter, alone. “Daniel, you’re pale. Are you all right?”
I walk up to him and thrust the paper to his chest without a word before walking behind the counter and sitting down. He looks down at the newspaper and frowns before he starts reading. I put my arms on the counter and lean my head on them, breathing deeply.
Maybe all of this, everything that has happened so far since I ran away, is just a bad dream. Maybe I’ll wake up and find Kismet lying beside me in our room at Agartha, and realize we haven’t gone to the hospital yet and I didn’t kill that paramedic, and I didn’t have to run away, and none of this ever happened. I’m still home…still with her.
Only, I know this isn’t a dream.
It’s a fucking nightmare.
I hear Shane gasp and slam the paper on the counter. A minute later, I hear him talking to someone is a rushed, worried voice. I look up. He’s speaking on a cellphone, probably to someone from his tribe. His Immortal tribe, the one that doesn’t kill five random, innocent people in broad daylight for the whole world to see.
“Did you read about what happened in Seattle?” Shane whispers into the mouthpiece. He doesn’t say anything for a long while. “Understood.” He hits end and puts the cellphone away in his pocket.
“Well, they’ve sent a whole squad over to Seattle to track down the people who did this.”
“You mean the Sun-Children?” I ask him. My voice comes out calm. He nods.
“They told me to sit tight and continue my mission to track down the fire eaters in Billings. There’s nothing we can do.”
I sigh and put my head in my hands again. “You might want to tell your superiors that perhaps the people that they are looking for might just be one person instead.”
“What do you mean?” Shane says.
“I mean, you meatball, that maybe the evolution you and I were talking about so extensively just days ago is happening right now.”
Shane grabs my arms, lowers them, and stares hard into my face. “You mean like when you took a guy’s life without healing beforehand?” He whispers the last part of the sentence, like he’s afraid that if he says it out loud, it makes it true.
“Your deductions amaze me.”
Shane slams a fist against the counter and swears. He puts his hands on his temple and then sighs heavily. “There’s nothing we can do. For now, it’s not my concern.” He seems to be trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince me.
“You haven’t told them I’m with you, have you?”
“I can’t. They wouldn’t approve.”
“So they don’t know about our experiment the other day in Montana Prison, which means they have no idea that something like this is even possible.”
He says nothing. “Wow, Shane. That’s actually very irresponsible.”
“What was I supposed to do? Turn you in?” he says, and I sit up straight.
“Are you...protecting me?” I say. It’s a strange thought, having an Immortal protect me from his own kind.
“I’m a leader,” he says, voice hard. “I have certain liberties.”
I shake my head, saying nothing.
The backdoor of the shop opens, and Boss Morris comes out of it. “Good morning, Daniel,” he yells before walking over to his office.
I tip my head to him. “You should go,” I tell Shane. “I want some time to think about this.”
Shane sighs and nods, this time lost in his own thoughts. He walks out with his hands in his pockets, squinting up at the sun.
“Your friend doesn’t seem to be in a good mood today,” Morris says with a frown. He’s sitting down in his office chair, feet up on the desk and hands holding open the Comics section of the Rickshaw Rant. “Is something wrong?”
I shake my head and manage to give him a small smile. All the effort having been spent on the subject, he raises his newspaper until it covers his head.
It must be easy to be him, a blind, self-serving human. He fears nothing major except his own mortality. There’s not a special thought in his head, nor a different type of emotion in his heart than the standard set of feelings experienced by billions of other self-serving, blind humans like him. Happy. Sad. Angry. Hungry. Bored.
There’s nothing extreme inside of him, like the urge to fight or kill or hunt or save.
No despair.
I feel numb, in a stupor, outside myself, and so I just sit there and stare at the wall for I don’t know how long. Then the shock of the news wears away, like everything does, and is replaced with a sort of quiet determination. I know Rafael is responsible for this. He evolved. He has turned into a monster, and he consciously did that to three women, one man, and a child.
That, or some poor freak like myself just got his throat slit.
Rafael’s responsible either way, for not knowing how to handle this, for desiring power above all costs. And he’s going to pay for what he’s done to me, for what he’s done to all of us. Yes, he’s the real target of my hate.
I’ll kill him.
That’s a promise.
The Night Before
Night falls, and the kids, Shane, and I take our training back to the forest. My oath sits at the back of my mind, making me train harder, work more on my own skills as well as those of the kids.
Brandon is turning more ruthless and less afraid to hurt his opponents while fighting. It worries me that every time he hurts someone, a savage little grin spreads over his face. He’s now almost an entirely different boy than the one I had met on the football field. His eyes are wild, his hair disheveled, his face hard. Shane encourages it, edging him to go further, push harder, attack more aggressively.
Kyle has a tired and gaunt look permanently etched on his face, and Alesha cries constantly, little tears that she wipes away quickly, not wanting anyone to see.
“They think I’m doing this to myself.” Kyle murmurs to himself, his mind elsewhere.
We focus on speed, teaching them how to run up tree trunks using nothing but the strength of their legs. “Remember, use your strength to propel you forward, and keep them going, even if you start feeling wobbly or out of control,” Shane instructs them. “The worst thing that can happen to you is to fall,” He can’t hide a smile as he continues, “Like Brandon and Piper so constantly demostrate.” And you can tell, too, by the massive scratches running up their arms and legs.
It’s different from the way my kind runs, which is more natural. None of them can ever be faster than me by relying on their strength alone, and I prove it.
“Show-off,” Piper winks, catching up to me at the end of a drill.
Kyle got it last, per usual. Out of all of us, he’s the most bruised. It’s no surprise his parents think he’s hurting himself.
“All right, let’s focus, Alesha,” I tell her. “I want you to run up that tree at the left, the tallest one.” To her credit, she concentrates. The cheerleader spirit pushing her to do the best she can. Finally she goes for it, running straight up from branch to branch.
We cheer.
“Good job,” Shane says. “Kyle and Alesha, keep running up trees until you’re comfortable with it.”
Alesha flips her hair and smiles. A nice change from the tears.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say to Shane as we walk away together.
“The closer we get to a mission, the more electrified things become.” He says.
“I understanding exactly what you mean.” I say. But did I?
Piper walks up to me the same moment Shane moves away to Brandon. She hands me my two knives. “Want to play?”
I smile and grab one of the knives.
Piper goes first, throwing her blade through the air. It circles and hits a tree bark twenty feet away. There’s no denying she’s good. I juggle my knife up and down in the air a few times before throwing it in one sharp movement. It lands right
next to hers.
She claps. “You’re excellent.”
I rub the back of my head and avoid her gaze, walking over to the tree. I dislodge the knives and flip one around before handing it over, with the handle pointing her way. “Not too bad yourself,” I say, turning around to throw my knife into another tree that is around thirty feet away from us.
Nice.
Piper’s eyes beam. “I hope I can make it.”
“You’ll do great,” I say, “I know it.”
She blushes and looks down at the earth with a cute little smile. Then she takes two steps back and throws it, letting out a faint gasp. The handle hits against the bark and topples to the ground.
“So close.” I say.
She smiles. “Let’s do it again.”
I laugh, and run to get the knives.
-*-
A few hours later, the shades of the trees grow deeper as the sun sets, shadows descending upon us.
“Let’s wrap it up!” Shane yells. We gather around him.
“You guys are getting good,” he says. “I’m very proud.”
My eyes turn to Piper. She smiles and looks down at the ground modestly. For some reason I start comparing her to Kismet. They’re both delicate. Kismet was deadly, but she never felt the need to prove her strength to others.
At the thought of her my throat and chest constrict. I force myself to stop. It’s gotten so easy to shove her out of my mind, it’s almost like a reflex instinct. Slowly the muscles relax again.
“Which is a good thing, considering we’ll soon be fighting against uncontrolled, rabid devil-spawn.” Brandon laughs out loud. I narrow my eyes at him, uneasy. “But anyone with a cool head and a basic level of training, like all of you, should handle it just fine.”
I’m not so sure about that, but then again, I’ve never seen a fire eater. Maybe they aren’t as bad as I imagine. “Just don’t lose your shit, and you’ll be fine,” I say, and they all laugh now.
The Sun Child (The Sun Child Saga Book 1) Page 20