by Patrick Wong
Every so often, Gillespie would hear a new report over the police radio, and helicopters hovered overhead, surveying the damage to the land.
Jason was still breathing, but his breath was raspy. Bishop and Ben had laid him across the seat so that he could rest in Nicole’s arms, and she stroked his hair, studying his sleeping face.
How was it that he could be under her nose all this time? Was he meant to catch the same flight as her?
Also, if the prophecy were true, how was it that the world didn’t end when they were all in the same room? Then she thought how cruel it was that, of all the people in the world, she couldn’t heal Jason.
Gillespie turned his head over his shoulder and addressed the group.
“We’re about one mile away now. We should start to see some green soon. I’m heading for the banks of the New Shenandoah River. The paramedics will meet us there.”
“Thanks.”
“No thanks needed,” Gillespie murmured, shaking his head.
As Gillespie had promised, they soon started to see the tiniest hint of green in the distance. Nicole felt her hope build as they emerged at the mouth of a river.
She watched as Jason was carried out and laid out on the grass alongside those other soldiers and agents who had tried to stop Max from entering the president’s chamber. These were the people that Nicole was unable to heal.
She stooped beside Jason and held his hand.
Nicole touched the green, lush life around her, mixed it with the swirling ripple of life from the water, and summoned it in her left palm. When she felt she had gathered enough, she opened her own hand and held Jason’s in it. She remembered his warmth, the way he had kissed her and how he’d sacrificed his safety for hers.
So now she would Balance.
She closed her eyes, but the life energy wouldn’t transfer across. Frustrated, she opened her eyes for a moment, and then tried again. But she knew it just wasn’t working. She couldn’t hurt a Taker, and she couldn’t heal a Giver.
Amy put her hand on Nicole’s shoulder.
“Nix, maybe try it on others, just in case you’re worn-down.”
“OK,” Nicole nodded. She moved to the next soldier along the line. The female soldier had her eyes clenched shut from the pain of it. Nicole laid her hand on her shoulder. “Hi?”
“Hi.”
“What’s your name?”
“Biggs.”
“Hey, Biggs. I’m going to fix your wounds, OK? Just relax.”
This was how the next half-hour passed: Biggs, Thurman, Charles, countless names, and memories passed through Nicole’s hands. One by one they had stood up, healed, observing the dying plant life, and rushing water carrying dead fish downstream; understanding that it had to be this way so they could live. Each survivor in turn saying a prayer to whatever god they believed in and thanking that spirit for putting them in the presence of Nicole.
At last, when all the others had been healed and Nicole knew her powers weren’t dwindling, she returned to Jason’s side.
She held his limp hand, and she knew then that he was near death. She could try to Balance, but she knew in her heart it would be useless.
She bowed her head and felt the loss hit her. Amy had said that she couldn’t know, but now she did. Nicole was left as helpless to watch Jason die in her arms, just as Amy had been with Drake. Why did the Giver have to be him?
His lean face was still now — his beautiful, ice-blue eyes closed forever.
“I’m sorry.”
Nicole glanced up to find Amy kneeling next to her.
“So am I.”
She felt Amy’s arms around her, and accepted the warm embrace from her best friend. The president had advised Nicole to keep the good people around her, and her circle of trust started with Amy.
“Guys?” Ben crouched next to them. He pointed at DuBois’ injured mercenary, who was trying to reconnect the tubes on his unusual-looking body armor. “If I’m right, that stuff in those tubes might be the answer we’re looking for.”
As Nicole Balanced to heal the mercenary, Ben spent some time looking over the body armor and the medical devices worn by Max’s men. He recalled from the CCTV footage that when the soldiers were wounded, they would tap buttons on their shoulder straps, and then the strange, blue liquid would dispense into their bodies from the vials at their sides.
Ben held out one of the tubes now, having dislodged it from its casing. At the end of the tube was a kind of small connector that plugged into the men’s bodies. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the tube had the letters “TSP” inscribed on it.
“I knew it!” Ben announced. He scrambled to the soldier’s side.
The mercenary rubbed his torso where he had been shot, and the dried blood flaked right off. He took a deep breath. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Can you help us?” Ben asked. “We need to use this.”
“Can’t she heal?” the mercenary replied.
“Not exactly. Otherwise we wouldn’t ask,” Amy added.
“Sure, sure. Anything for her.” The mercenary got to his feet, and together they crowded around Jason. “We usually keep it at shoulder height so the top of the vial is at the same height as your heart. There’s two tubes which facilitate the movement of fluids. One tube injects the medicine before the heart, and the other tube collects the residual fluid after the heart,” he explained. “We’ve had surgical ports installed so our bodies can connect as easily as plugging in a microwave. But we do have emergency connectors as a backup if the surgical ports get clogged. We can use those on your friend. But first, we’ll have to put the vest on him.”
“Hurry,” Nicole urged.
From the distance, a caravan of vehicles emerged over the crest of the hill. While Ben and the mercenary worked to pull the armor down to Jason’s side, the others watched the black cars pull up.
The president arose from the back seat of the lead vehicle, and he gestured for calm among the crowd. He wanted no fuss; he only wished to see another miracle.
After the vest was on Jason, the mercenary pulled out some alcohol swabs and cleaned Jason’s chest, then inserted two needles — one needle above and one below Jason’s heart. When a light on the panel turned from red to yellow, the mercenary punched a code into the digital pad. Nicole watched as the tube hatch opened and the blue liquid turned to red as it oxygenized. An LED light next to the tube started flashing green.
“It’s flowing. Any moment now, and it should begin to work,” the mercenary explained.
Nicole watched for signs of life. Amy stood by her side and would not let go of her shoulder. Ben’s fingers worked the straps and tubes. It was almost too tense for Bishop and Velasquez to watch.
Jason’s body thrashed for a moment before he drew in a gasping lungful of breath and opened his eyes. He searched his surroundings confusedly, and then looked up to find Nicole staring down at him.
“Hey …” he smiled.
“Hey,” Nicole replied, stroking his hair away from his forehead.
The final piece of the puzzle was now in place.
Nicole leaned across and kissed Jason.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“Me too.”
He pulled her into an embrace. The energy was returning to his limbs, and the lifeblood flowed into him until every last drop of liquid in the vial was gone.
As Nicole felt Jason’s warmth, she sensed a peace that had been eluding her for her entire life.
Epilogue
The next day, Team Balancer started their journey home.
Nicole had thought the traffic would lessen as soon as they came off the interstate. It was mid-afternoon, so it wasn’t even close to rush hour, and yet groups of cars had slowed in what was usually a smooth stretch of road.
She also noticed that the cars weren’t the usual mix of vehicles she would find on this route. Fairfax County ranked as one of the wealthiest counties in the entire country, so it was rare to see cars in poor condition. B
ut on this day, there appeared to be more cars in need of repair than usual. And more out of state plates than she’d ever seen before. Kentucky, Ohio, Colorado, Nevada, even as far as California.
Up ahead, they saw a church bus packed full of passengers. Nicole couldn’t help but crane her neck to stare at the scene inside. People were clapping and appeared to be singing hymns at the top of their lungs, with the occasional “Amen” shouted in unison.
“Is there some concert or carnival going on?” she leaned forward to the driver and asked.
“It’s, like, crawling in traffic for a concert in Bristow, Virginia,” Amy said.
Bishop turned and glanced Velasquez’s way, then slowed down the vehicle as they approached a bridge. He let out a low whistle at the sight.
“The GPS is showing thick traffic in the direction we’re heading, but no explanation why.”
Nicole nodded and resumed sitting back. She was trying to relax and finish this chapter of her life. She hoped this would be the last time she would sit in the back of a federal vehicle. But Bishop had insisted on bringing them home himself.
As the familiar road signs began to announce that Reston was close, Nicole found she could think about the future again. She and Amy had had their souls changed, and yet there were seeds of hope — that although Nicole’s future would be different from how she’d imagined it, she could still try to live a normal life away from the violence and selfishness she’d had to endure.
The familiar stores and buildings leading up to the suburb of Reston came into view, and Nicole felt her heart lurch. They had been away just a matter of days, but so much had happened that it felt like years.
“Nearly home,” Amy whispered, feeling a lightness lift her spirit at the thought of her mom — and even Troy.
But as they turned off the main road and started to navigate through side streets, they encountered a new sight. There were dozens of families, couples, and people walking alone, and they were all heading in the same direction.
To her right, Nicole saw a soldier and his wife with a well-mannered German Shepherd at their side. They were smiling and holding hands.
In front of them, an elderly woman with a walker smiled and waved at their vehicle even though there was no way she could know who she was waving at. Despite her age and her physical limitations, her body seemed to be overflowing with pure joy.
The group in front of them consisted of a large family, including six children, with the youngest in a wheelchair.
At the corner to her neighborhood, a Fairfax County bus had stopped and released a new stream of people into the already gathering river of bodies.
A similar expression of joy and hope was written on every face.
Nicole observed them all as the SUV crawled toward her house. It was getting more difficult for the vehicle to make its way with the large number of pedestrians walking in the streets. Many of the people seemed oblivious to any street signs, wandering somewhat in a daze the way people at a concert do after the show has ended. It was mob rules. A happy mob, but a mob nonetheless. Soon the SUV came to a complete halt, the neighborhood street clogged with vehicles and people.
Bishop put the vehicle in park, unbuckled himself, and pulled himself onto the top of the vehicle through the sunroof to survey the area.
“Well this certainly changes the situation,” Bishop mumbled to Velasquez.
Velasquez was at a loss for words and simply nodded in response.
Nicole could see the distinctive white of her fence in the distance almost two blocks away. In the gardens and all along the walkways were people of all shapes and sizes and from every walk of life: blue-collar, white-collar, soldiers, students, the rich, the poor, the young, the old. Every color of human skin was represented.
“What are they all doing here?” Nicole whispered.
Though in her heart, she already knew.
Jason squeezed Nicole’s hand.
“I think they’re looking for a miracle.”
Acknowledgements
Taker is the culmination of 14 months of creative goodness compressed into book form. I thought writing the second book would be easier, but I soon learned that was an incorrect assumption. Somehow, the more I thought I knew, the more I realized I still had to learn. It was like chasing a double rainbow — all the way. Whoa.
The original Team Balancer members are all still with me, and we’ve picked up some new cohorts. Thank you all for joining me on this journey. It’s been a blast, and you all have my deepest gratitude.
To my wife Karen, and my girls, Victoria and Samantha, you are the most important people on Team Balancer: Thanks for sticking by me while I juggled the day job and the late-night writing sessions on Taker. I love you guys and couldn’t have done it without you.
To my story consultant, Jen White: She helped to perfect the storyline behind Taker, and I think readers are really going to love how it came together.
To my editor, Megan Hirt: Just wow. I could write words to describe how great she is, but I’m sure Megan would mark up the word “great” and say I’m overusing it and need to find a better word! Thank you for taking my writing to the next level.
To the cover artist, Damon Za: Like my covers? Damon’s a book-cover rock star. Find him at www.damonza.com.
To Team Balancer: Jennifer Giannini, Ron Sparks, Jeff Greene, Jessica Rockhold, Angie Juodagalvis, Susan Marquis, Monique Howley, Paul and Trish Kellermann, Tristan Setty, Oscar Shui, Josh Palmer, Facebook fans, and Twitter followers. You read Taker (sometimes more than once), you gave feedback, you supported me, and you encouraged me. I just could not have finished Taker without you all.
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Website: www.patrickwongauthor.com