Invader: Book Seven in the Enhanced Series

by T. C. Edge

  Bran is still breathing heavily, gulping down air.

  “Calm down, Brandon,” I order. “Lift your chin. Look right at me.”

  His eyes slowly appear, his shivering frame all bunched up and awkward.

  I guide myself into his mind, and actively calm him. When I withdraw, he’s gone placid once more.

  Then, he looks at me in amazement.

  “You’re…like him,” he whispers. “You can manipulate people…”

  “What do you mean, like him?” I ask sternly, stepping forward.

  His eyes flutter, and lips quiver.

  My patience is too short.

  I dart straight back into his head, and see the thoughts playing out right now in his mind. See this man, this leader of the Voiceless, capable of turning kids’ minds to his will. A Mind-Manipulator of crude ability, his powers undeveloped and weak, but just enough to work on the immature and innocent.

  I turn to Kira.

  “It’s a Mind-Manipulator,” I say. “Not a powerful one. Just an Unenhanced with some old Savant blood…”

  “Right,” says Kira. “So that’s what he does. Gets little kids to do his bidding for him, then lives off their labour. Nothing but a leech.”

  I can see she’s just an incensed as I am. We turn back to Brandon together.

  “So, he made you lead his men to the academy to loot the place? And take the kids.”

  Behind me, the poor things shudder.

  Brandon does too.

  “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean any of it…”

  “It’s OK, calm down. Do you know where the others are?” I ask quickly. “From the academy?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I…I don’t know. They only took a few. The rest…I don’t know, maybe the shelters. I’ve heard of shelters in the south where people are hiding from the war.”

  Again, I look at Kira.

  “That’s’ true,” she says. “There’s a major shelter in the southern quarter. An old concern hall, I think. They might have gone there.”

  “Well then, that’s where we’re going next I guess.”

  Brandon continues to stutter as we speak, babbling away about how it’s not his fault.

  “I didn’t mean it, Brie…I swear, none of it. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. Nate, he…”

  I turn on him, my heart hammering.

  “Nate?! Did you say Nate?!”

  He can barely look at me.

  “Brandon, tell me what you mean. Tell me NOW! Has something happened to Nate?!”

  He’s still incoherent, his words rambling. I reach out and grab his face, and drag his eyes to mine. Then I rush straight back inside, and search for his recent memory of the little boy from the academy.

  And then, I see him. Lying down on a medical bed, his chest covered in bandages, his eyes shut and body still. The room looks similar to this one, the brickwork the same, the proportions identical.

  And then I realise, it’s the same building. The same floor.

  The weak pulse that Kira could barely feel.

  It belongs to Nate.

  11

  I launch myself straight to my feet and turn straight to the door.

  “What are you doing?!” calls Kira. “What did you see?”

  I turn back to her as I grip the door handle.

  “The kid with the weak pulse…which room was he in?” I demand.

  She shuts her eyes once more, activates the Sight. Then, they open up and she speaks.

  “Outside the door, straight down the corridor, second door on the left. I…I can’t feel anything anymore.”

  My chest clenches.

  “Stay here with them,” I croak, swivelling and darting off through the door.

  I’m down the passage in a flash, passing the stairs we came down and turning into the second door on the left. I skid to a halt, and the door trickles shut behind me.

  The room is bare but for a small medical bed. There’s a smell of antiseptic, of the healing lotions I’ve used so often in recent weeks. I hover in place for a moment, just staring at the little frame lying face up, at the red that soaks the white bandages on his chest.

  I step forward tentatively, reaching out with my hand. I touch Nate’s neck and feel cold skin. I press harder, searching for a heartbeat, for a sign of life, but feel nothing. Nothing but the faintest thud, like a distant call away across the wilderness.

  I look to his little face and see blood smeared across his cheeks. His eyes are shut, his face peaceful. I keep my finger to his neck, hoping for something more.

  Nothing.

  My other hand glides gently to his chest, to the dressings that cover him. They’re loose, not wrapped tight, the blood and wound fresh. I bite back the tears as I draw the bandages away, and see the long, thin gash cut right across his heart.

  My chin fastens tight, refusing to quiver. I stare for a moment at the stab wound before slowly drawing the dressings back. From the corners of my eyes, stinging tears claw their way out as I look back at Nate’s little, innocent face, at the soft skin and pre-teen features.

  And still, I feel nothing in his neck.

  I know he’s dead.

  For a few moments, I stand there looking at him. Tears begin sliding from my eyes, marching, one after another, down my cheeks and into the corner of my mouth. I want to scream, to let out a roar, but hold it all in and turn it to anger.

  To rage.

  To the only thing that I can give Nate now.

  Revenge.

  I remove the jacket that covers me, that of the City Guard, and lay it over his body. Leaning in, I set my lips to his cheek and feel the cold, lifeless skin.

  “Goodbye, Nathan,” I whisper, tears choking me.

  I lean back and drag the jacket up and over his face, covering him in darkness forever.

  For a second, I stand there motionless, my blood boiling. Then, with a sudden step, I march back to the door, my hand leaving a print of Nate’s blood on the handle as I open it up. I move down the corridor, and back to where Kira and the kids await.

  Stepping in, Kira turns to me in pity. She knows what happened. She heard it. She felt it.

  My eyes look to Brandon.

  “Who did it?” I ask, my voice a strange calm, quiet in the silent room.

  He gulps.

  “The...boss. Nate...he...he couldn’t be controlled by him,” he stutters. “He spat in his face when…he tried to…get in his head. The boss…he…stabbed him,” he sniffs, shutting his eyes tight.

  My eyes are blank as two stones now, my voice flat as I ask: “Where is he?”

  Brandon lifts his shivering hand, and points it towards the rear of the basement floor.

  I look to Kira.

  “Stay here,” I tell her again.

  “They’re armed, Brie,” she says. “And there’s not much space. There are two guards…”

  “Stay here,” I repeat, stepping back out of the door.

  It shuts behind me. A silence falls.

  I walk a few paces on, greeting the intersection down here where the passage heads in various directions. I turn my eyes down the one I intend to walk, and see a door at the end.

  I walk towards it, slowly, methodically. My pulse rifle stays locked to my back. My pistol remains fastened to its holster.

  My fingers take a grip instead of my knife, six inches long, razor sharp. I hold it firmly in my hand as I approach the door. I listen, and hear voices. Voices of men.

  I knock, and the voices stop.

  Then one lifts again.

  “Who the hell is it,” growls a man.

  I don’t answer. I knock again.

  “Who’s there, goddammit?!

  I don’t answer. I knock again.

  “Karl, see who this joker is…”

  I stand motionless, right in the middle of the frame. I wait, my heart-rate steady, my breaching calm. My eyes refuse to blink, narrow and staring, still wet with the memory of Nate’s dea
th.

  The door opens up slowly, and a large man stands before me. I’ve met far larger.

  “Who the hell are you?!” growls the voice. “Hey boss, it’s just a girl…”

  “A girl? One of ours?” comes the voice from behind.

  “Nah, too old. Who the hell are you?” asks the guard called Karl.

  My hand hovers to my side, the knife just hidden. I stare at the man, blocking my view ahead, and don’t answer.

  “Karl, get out of the way,” says the boss. “I wanna see what she looks like...”

  Karl steps to the side, leaving the door wide open. I look ahead and see another guard, off to the right by the side of a desk, his hands holding a pulse rifle.

  Behind the desk, however, is where my eyes hold firm. They stare into the face of a middle-aged man, his hair receding and thin, his cheeks drooping and jowls showing. Folds of unpleasant, fatty skin roll about on his neck, and his small, beady eyes stare from deep-set sockets.

  A smile changes the shape of his face. It grows even more grotesque.

  “Well, what do we have here?” oozes his voice. “You looking for work, girl. A pretty girl like you…we’ll find you work, don’t you worry.”

  Karl and the other guard laugh sycophantically. I just stare forward, impassive.

  “Well come on, girl, don’t you speak?!” asks the boss. “How did you get down here anyway? And why…why are you wearing those clothes?”

  I’m no longer wearing my City Guard jacket. That’s now covering the body of my friend. I’m standing in such a position that my pulse rifle is hidden on my back, and my pistol hidden in the holster on my hip. Even the knife, still gripped tight to my hand, is out of view, these horrible men looking only at my face and what lies just beneath it.

  But now, they know something’s up. They know it from the dark grey colours of the City Guard that adorn me. That know it from the fact that I’m not speaking. They know it by the look in my eyes: staring, unblinking, burning with a suppressed hatred.

  I move for the first time, taking a step over the threshold.

  The man with the pulse rifle aims it right at me. Karl, the other guard, draws up his own pistol and points it at my head.

  “Stop right there,” growls the boss. “Now tell us, why are you dressed as a City Guard? You’re not a City Guard!”

  I inch forward.

  “I said hold it! One more step and we’ll blow that pretty face of yours right off,” says the boss.

  I stop.

  “Good, that’s it. The girl knows how to obey. Now, come on and tell us who you are…”

  I’m not listening to him. Not anymore. My eyes are shutting slowly, and my mind is filling with the sight of Nate’s lifeless face once more.

  I feel a river of hate pour through me, gushing down every channel, the blood in my veins and arteries simmering to the boil.

  As the man continues to speak, I draw in a long breath.

  And then, I unleash…

  I move so fast they can’t see me.

  I explode like a nuclear bomb in that small office, ransacking these men as they did my academy. I move right first, surging at the man with the most potent weapon, bringing forward the dagger in my hand and slicing it straight across his throat.

  He spins with the motion of the blade, and his head tips back as his neck opens up, letting out a waterfall of blood that begins to spray over the desk and the boss sitting behind it in spurts of dark red.

  I leave the man standing there like a human fountain, and move left before Karl can react. I’m at his side, looking up into his face, and bringing the knife right along with me. I guide it straight up from under his chin, the full six inches cutting right through and into his tiny brain.

  He goes still like he’s been zapped with an immobiliser, his eyes caught in a sudden agony.

  Paralysed.

  Dead.

  I whip around behind the boss now, my Dasher powers still flowing through me with more purpose than they ever have. Reaching the back of the overweight, despicable creature, his face now sprinkled in the blood of his guard, I slow my body once more, and the passage of time returns to normal.

  Both men to his left and right hit the ground as one. The human fountain drops to his knees, and the brain-dead oaf collapses to the floor. The boss barely seems to know where I am before my knife appears in front of his neck from behind him.

  “Please…please don’t,” he begs, whimpering.

  I see a pistol in his hand.

  “Throw away the gun,” I say.

  He does so immediately, tossing it to the floor.

  “Don’t…kill me. Please, don’t kill me. Who…who are you?!”

  I enjoy his begging. I feast on it, wolf down every little morsel.

  For Nate.

  “Stand up,” I say.

  I pull the knife away from his neck and step back. He stands from his desk, shivering, still begging.

  I cut him off and say: “Turn around.”

  He does so, slowly, perhaps thinking that by following his orders I’ll spare him.

  He’s wrong.

  “Who are you?! Why…are you doing this?” he stammers, tears falling from his pathetic eyes.

  Eyes that I don’t want to look at, but must. I stare right at him for a long moment, and his gaze falls away.

  “LOOK AT ME,” my voice comes, deeper and more penetrative than ever, filling every inch of the room.

  He looks up tentatively again with eyes of terror so afraid to look upon me. His quivering lips threaten to speak, to beg, again. I don’t allow it.

  I stare into his mind, and show him who I am.

  I project an image of Nate, lying dead on that slab. I protect other pictures of the boy, just an innocent child at the academy, doing his duty, living his life.

  I show him Nate laughing, smiling, joyful. I show him images that will probably mean nothing to such a vile creature, images of the boy across the years, a shy kid, an orphan, made vulnerable by this war.

  I project them all, and show him who Nate was. And when I’m done, I see the face of the man stare, mumblings dripping from his fat lips.

  “I’m sorry about the boy…I didn’t mean it…”

  I don’t care what he has to say. He’s said his last…

  It takes nothing but a thought to paralyse him.

  I enter his mind, and deactivate his muscles and limbs. I show him what a real Mind-Manipulator can do, and see his eyes widen at the thought of what I really am.

  And then, as he stands there before me, I lift up the knife and aim it right where he stabbed my friend.

  I see the fear, the utter terror. But he can no longer beg, he can no longer speak. He can do nothing but await the metal as it inches towards his flesh.

  I lean forward, and whisper quietly: “For Nate.”

  And plunge the dagger straight through his black heart.

  12

  “Oh my…what have you done?”

  Kira stares at me as I step back into the dorm room, my body dripping with blood, splashed across my chest and face as I withdrew the knife from the boss’s heart.

  I look to the children in the room, and see fear. Even those from the academy, those who know me, look cowed by my appearance, by the blood that drips and the fire that burns behind my eyes.

  “The Voiceless are finished,” I growl, looking from one kid to the next. “All of you are coming with us.”

  Brandon, head low, still sits back on the bed with the other two members of the gang. His eyes lift to mine, afraid of what I might do to him, afraid of what I’m capable of now.

  “Kira,” I say. “Take them to the van. I have one more thing to do.”

  She’s the leader of this operation, but defers to me right now. She can sense it all going on inside me. The turmoil, the grief, the rage. Nodding, she begins gathering up the kids and moving them off down the corridor.

  Only when they’re gone do I reach behind my back and take a grip of my pulse ri
fle. Turning it on, I adjust it to the correct setting, aim at the bunk bed in the far corner of the room, and pull the trigger.

  The blue blaze connects with the mattress and sets it on fire. Immediately, the flame begins to spread, working around the room, building to an inferno. I turn, and move down the corridor, walking slowly towards the steps and back up into the main station above.

  The fire follows me as I go, working down the basement passages, filling the place with smoke. It will soon reach Nate’s room and engulf him too, cremate his little body and send it on to the next life.

  But it will serve another purpose, destroy this entire building, eat away at this criminal gang who prey on the young and the innocent, forcing children to do terrible things.

  I march through the hall, and see the adults here who we disabled earlier. I look at them, bundled in their states of paralysis, and keep on walking.

  I don’t release them from their bonds. I don’t free them from this place. I leave them there to be taken by the fire as well, these men who are not innocent. These men who chose to be here, chose to take advantage of these children.

  These men who will die today, not casualties of war like so many others, but of their own cruelty and greed. None, in my mind, deserve to live.

  When I reach the outside of the station, the smoke is already beginning to pour from its doors. I walk towards the van as Kira drives it over to me, and turn to see the fire licking its way up from the basement and towards the ground floor.

  I take one final look, and step into the passenger seat.

  Kira is staring at the sight too.

  “Good riddance,” she growls, her state of thinking just like my own. “The kids are in the back. We should head back to HQ.”

  I turn to her with a scowl, and she quickly adds: “I know, I know, you want to go to the southern quarter and get the rest of your friends. We will, but we should get these kids back first. I’m on your side here, Brie. We’ll take them straight to the western gate, and head back out.”

  “Thank you, Kira,” I say, quickly thawing.

  She offers a consoling smile.

  “No problem. I know what it’s like losing people.”

  She revs up the engine, and the van begins moving off again, this time heading straight back towards the western gate. I stay quiet for a time, my mind consumed by the sight of Nate’s lifeless body, by the things I’ve just done to avenge him.