Static crackled through every channel but one.
“Mass fires have broken out throughout the city, devouring homes, business and offices. At last count, over three hundred men, women and children have been admitted to hospitals throughout the Southern Interior of BC. Several hundred more have gone missing. Authorities have yet to uncover the cause of this unnatural outbreak, but have confirmed they believe it to be act of terrorism. At this time, no demands have been made from those responsible.”
I smacked the radio off.
“Everything was fine five months ago,” I said, shaking my head. “How did it get so bad in such a short time?”
“Or maybe it was a slow brewing war and we’re only feeling it now,” Archer supplied. “Nothing ever happens overnight. Destruction like this takes careful planning and a twisted mind.”
“Should I ask where you were five months ago?”
I knew I was being ridiculous. Five months ago, he was with us in Luxuria, but I was still angry over what had happened at the diner. I didn’t think I would ever forgive him for that.
Beneath the gleam of the sun slicing off his glasses, his mouth quirked. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t my style.”
“Guys, please!” Isaiah interrupted loudly. “We still have a whole lot of driving between now and when we reach Quebec and I’m not a saint. So can we just not talk until we can part ways?”
Isaiah wasn’t kidding. The drive was excruciating. The further east we went, the heavier the forest became. Dry pavement whitened with snow and the rolling flatlands speared up into mountains. Four hours of driving in complete silence except for the roar of the engine and splash of slush beneath tires was enough to make any one edgy. But by the time we rolled through Golden and headed east on Highway 1, it was evident that something was terribly wrong.
Armored military transport vehicles rumbled past us, carting soldiers armed to the teeth. Troops marched on foot from dome-shaped shelters. Highway 1 was a barricade of stalled cars and angry pedestrians. Horns blared under aggravated fists. Voices rose over the howling winds. I looked to Isaiah and got a shrug of uncertainty.
The sudden rap on the driver’s side window had us all jumping in our seats. A soldier, face heavily concealed behind googles and a facemask, peered back at us. He motioned with a gloved hand for us to roll down the window. Isaiah did, letting in a blast of icicle spiked air.
“Where are you headed?” came the muffled question.
“We’re just on our way to Alberta,” Isaiah explained.
The soldier shifted. It wasn’t a threatening motion, but it wasn’t comforting either. He was on high alert and it made me wonder what exactly he was waiting to happen.
“You are aware that all transportation in and out of the province is prohibited?”
Isaiah shook his head. “No, we weren’t aware.”
“What’s in Alberta?”
“Just visiting family.”
“Whereabouts?”
Isaiah shrugged. “Red Deer area.”
The soldier said nothing for several disturbing minutes. Meanwhile, I tried to keep my face neutrally blank. But I had no idea what neutral looked like. If I smiled, I might look guilty. If I scowled, I might appear hostile. If I sat there looking vacant, he might think I was a lunatic. Then I had to worry about my hands, do I fold them, let them sit flat in my lap, do I stuff them between my knees so he wouldn’t see them trembling? Having been so lost in what I should and shouldn’t do to appear not guilty, I started when he spoke again.
“Why don’t you three pull up over there?” He jabbed the end of his gun in the direction of a makeshift parking area. There were other cars there, being searched by soldiers and dogs.
“Shit.” I heard Archer mutter from the backseat as Isaiah rolled up the window and eased out of line.
“It’s fine. Just be cool!” I turned in my seat and I saw his face. He was chalky with a green tinge. “What?” I demanded.
“Dogs,” he muttered, his white lips barely moving. “I hate dogs.”
“Seriously?”
He shifted in his seat, dragging his long hands down the length of his thighs. “Yeah, sorry, Princess, but I can’t be here when they let Cujo loose.”
Before I could ask him what the hell he was doing, he had torn his rawel from his pocket and was cutting a gash across his palm with the tip.
“Are you crazy?” I hissed. “Stop that! The guy saw you. He’s going to—”
The rawel was speared into the floor of the car. A blue light erupted, bright like a camera flash and then he was gone. He was gone and we were suddenly surrounded by no less than two dozen soldiers with tactical rifles aimed at our heads.
“Put your hands up on the dash!” someone shouted.
I cast Isaiah a terrified glance before raising my trembling hands and resting them lightly on the warm dash. Isaiah did the same.
“It’s going to be okay,” he told me, barely moving his lips. “Don’t resist. Just do what they say.”
Duh! I wanted to snap, but my words had turned to paste at the back of my throat. I was so scared I was sure I was about to embarrass myself all over the leather seat.
“It’s okay,” he said again. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
Did that also include not letting them throw me into a maximum prison for women? I never got the chance to ask when the doors were yanked open and we were forcibly dragged from the car.
Muddy slush cushioned my fall, it also made itself home up my nostril and down my top as I was shoved face down onto the ground. Scarred boots took up my line of vision as voices shouted for me to stay down and put my hands behind my head. It was both amusing and mortifying just how badly I wanted to cry, which was kind of funny considering I’d been through worse. Yet somehow being captured by Garrison and nearly killed several times hadn’t felt as real as getting arrested by people I had been raised all my life to fear and respect. Plus I had seen enough terrorist movies to know nothing we were about to say would make a difference. Not when the entire country was under attack. Not when they were suspecting everyone of being a threat and definitely not when they just saw a mysterious flash of light come from our car. We’d be lucky to even get a trial. They might even make us disappear entirely in some high end prison no one knew about.
“It’s going to be okay.” I heard Isaiah’s voice murmur quietly into my mind.
It wasn’t okay. We were about to get arrested. Then, when they learned about what happened at the park and at the diner, we would go away for life.
“Fallon, shh. I won’t let that happen.”
A sob melted into the snow beneath my cheek.
Bruising hands grabbed my arms. They were wrenched brutally behind my back and restrained by plastic zip ties. I was hauled to my feet and slammed into the hood of the car. The air left me and I lay slumped over, working hard to catch my breath. Across from me, Isaiah was doing the same, except breathing hard. He was calm. His blue eyes met mine. Behind him, no less than four soldiers stood with their weapons trained on his back. I was sure there were men behind me as well, but I couldn’t bring myself to look.
“Check the car!” someone said and footsteps moved to do as was commanded. “Find that light.”
Doors were wrenched open and our stuff was thrown out onto the ground. Our duffles were turned inside out, the articles ransacked. Someone popped the trunk and stuff I had no idea was back there was tossed out. I tried to see what it was, but one of the soldiers took that moment to grab Isaiah by the back of the neck and jerk him up.
“What’s all this?”
Dear God, please don’t let it be drugs. Please don’t let it be drugs. I prayed. Why hadn’t we thought to check back there?
“Looks like camping gear,” Isaiah answered simply.
“Looks like,” the soldier said. “Thinking of doing some camping?”
Isaiah glanced at him. “Is that a crime?”
The soldier gave Isaiah
a shove that sent him staggering a step. “Are you being cute with me?”
“No ID, sir,” someone from behind me said. “No registration for the car either.”
The man holding Isaiah grabbed him and spun him around. “You have some explaining to do, son.” He let Isaiah go and stepped back. “Take them inside. Keep them separate.”
Gloved hands snatched at me, dragging me away from the car and shoving me toward the makeshift shelters. I prayed to God it was somewhere warm. I didn’t have a jacket and what clothes I was wearing were wet, which didn’t help with my trembling.
The inside consisted of a small, square table, two chairs and nothing else. I wondered if Isaiah’s interrogation dome was the same. There were two windows on either side of the door, but they had their drapes shut.
A female soldier stepped in after us and told me to stand at the table and part my legs. I did as I was told and stood stock still as she patted me down. My phone, rawel and debit card were taken from me before I was stuffed into one of the chairs and left alone. At least it was semi warm.
“You okay?”
I was being held in a military camp as a possible terrorist. No. Okay was definitely not the word I would use.
“They aren’t going to hurt you. Just answer their questions.”
Right like lying was even an option at this point.
It was undetermined how long they made me sit there. I was practically asleep in my chair by the time the door hinges gave an unflattering squeal and three figures stomped inside.
The first was an older man with gray hair and blue eyes. His face was lined and weather worn. He wore the same camo uniform as the other soldiers, but his suit was decorated with patches. I didn’t understand the military so I didn’t even try to guess what they all stood for. He held a folder in his hand.
The other two were younger, surly and desperate to prove themselves to the first guy. They flanked either side of the door as the man crossed over to me.
“Hello,” he said, drawing out the seat across from me and lowering himself into it. “I am Lieutenant Wilber Montgomery. I am Commanding Officer here at this camp. What’s your name?”
Even though I had never done a single crime in my life, except maybe running away when my school caught on fire and cremating my mother in a motel room, my mind raced with all the things he could uncover by searching my name.
“Your name?” he said again.
I moistened my lips. “Fallon Braeden.”
He set the folder down between us and opened it. “Where are you and your friend headed, Fallon?”
“Alberta,” I answered. “Red Deer.”
“To camp?”
I shrugged. “And visit family.”
Those pale eyes bore into mine. “Where is your other friend? The one that drove up with you?”
I shook my head. “There was no one else. It was just the two of us.”
“The two of you?” He folded his hands over his papers. “You and your friend. What was his name?”
“Isaiah.”
“Right.” He tilted his head. “What’s Isaiah’s last name?”
I faltered. I had no idea.
“Dennison,” came Isaiah’s voice in my head.
I recognized the name from Amalie’s diary.
“Dennison,” I repeated to the Lieutenant.
Lieutenant Montgomery sighed and looked down at the folder. “You realize what a difficult time this is for all of us don’t you? Our country is under siege and we are left with no choice but to fight back. I’m sure what you’re telling me is the truth and you’re completely innocent, but I have seen things, impossible things that make me question my thirty-five years on the force.” He raised his hand and motioned for one of the soldiers by the door to step forward. “Now, I need you to be perfectly honest with me.”
My phone, rawel and debit card were removed from the soldier’s pocket and placed in a neat row next to Lieutenant Montgomery’s elbow.
“These are yours, is that correct?”
I nodded.
“Can you tell me what they are?”
I looked at the items. They looked fairly straight forward. No explanation required. Yet, I responded, “Phone, pen and debit card.”
“You carry a phone, a pen and a debit card, but no ID. How can I trust you are who you say you are?” He raised thick eyebrows in question. “Your friend has no ID either and your car doesn’t seem to exist on any registry even though it’s a ’92. You have no cash, a duffle bag of clothes and a bunch of camping gear. What am I to believe? For all I know, you’re not even legal to drive, or that car has been stolen and stripped. You could be felons. I could of course fingerprint you, send snapshots of your face to every law enforcement agency in the country, but that could take days and I am not a patient man. I need answers now.”
I shook my head. “We’re not criminals.”
“Which is exactly what a criminal would say. Care to try again?”
I was speechless, not because the guy had some great charisma, but because I had no idea. I never got my driver’s license and any ID I might have had was left behind in my mom’s Impala back in Manitoba. I could let him run my name. I was sure all the schools across Canada had me in their system, only that would raise more questions like why there were so many and why I never stayed long at them. Then of course they would come across Lady Clare’s and the fire. I wasn’t sure they blamed me for that, but after I didn’t show up, they either thought I was dead or on the run. However, even that wasn’t too bad. I was more worried about being asked where my mom was. I had no way of explaining that at all.
“Ms. Braeden,” he said in a tone that suggested he was beginning to lose patience. “This whole process can go one of two ways. You cooperate. We settle this problem and you and your friend can leave. You remain defiant. I book you and spend the next week, or however long the paperwork to identify you takes to go through, interrogating you. I assure you, option two will not be pleasant.”
I rocked my head quickly from side to side. “I’m not being defiant!”
“Then who are you, Ms. Braeden? Where are you from? What do you do? Where are your parents?”
There was a cyclone of words in my head, jumbled and incoherent. I knew that if I started talking, they would pour out like that across the table between us. I hated that I was so nervous. I hated that this of all things had the power to scare the living shit out of me. How was that even possible?
“Okay, look, I—”
My explanation was consumed by a deafening boom that shook the ground and sent the bells in my ears ringing.
The Lieutenant was instantly on his feet and turning to the door. He barked something to the guards before exiting the shelter with one soldier right on his heels. The other remained behind, gun in hand, wide eyes focused on me like he expected me to do something stupid.
“Isaiah? Was that you?”
A moment passed, then, “No. Stay put.”
Another resounding bang detonated somewhere close by. The stench of smoke and gas impregnated the air.
“What’s going on?” I asked the guard.
“Quiet!” he barked back, tightening his hold on the weapon.
I dropped my gaze to the table, to the open folder and the chicken scribble on the pages. They looked like military forms, probably forms to detain us. I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t paying attention. Instead, my gaze was fixed on the rawel and I wondered how I could get my hands on it.
“Fallon, don’t!” But I had to try.
Pushing out of my chair, I made as though I were moving to the window. The gun was instantly swung up and aimed straight for my face.
“Sit down!” the soldier bellowed.
I halted. “I just want to see—”
“Sit!”
I stumbled backward and deliberately bumped into the table. I staggered. My fingers fumbled around the rawel and I nearly dropped it. I breathed a sigh of relief when I had it fisted tight in my sweaty grasp.
I hurried back into my seat, hoping he wouldn’t notice the missing item.
Outside, people screamed. A car horn blared. Something popped. It was followed by several more pops. Someone shouted orders. I cursed inwardly. I hated not knowing.
Behind my back, the plastic tie burned into the skin of my wrists as I tried to figure out how to work the device in my hand. If I flipped the switch, it would extend, but then what? The soldier would see it and take it. It seemed like such a useless thing, and to think I risked my life for it. I should have gone for the cell phone. I could have called Ashton and he could have come and got us out of this mess.
Damn it!
The sharp end jabbed me. I jumped at the unexpected poke. Something warm trickled down the side of my hand, slickening my hold on the rawel. I was in the process of wondering just how badly I’d cut myself when the thing in my hand grew warmer. Then it was vibrating soundlessly.
Tightening my grip, I twisted it around my fingers until the pointy end touched the plastic bracelet cutting off blood flow to my hands. My initial thought was to use it to saw at the bindings. But the moment the tip met plastic, the restraints snapped off like I’d taken a pair of scissors to them. They dropped harmlessly down the back of my chair and my hands were free.
My moment of awed giddiness was short lived when the commotion outside escalated. Dogs were barking madly. Explosion after explosion rocked the ground. Car alarms screamed over the din, over the screams of men and women not government trained.
“Where are you?” I asked Isaiah in my head.
“Don’t worry about me. Get out.”
I rolled my eyes. He really needed to stop thinking I’d just leave him behind.
“Can you please just see what’s happening out there?” I begged, trying to look scared and helpless, which wasn’t entirely too hard to do. “I’m worried about my friend. Just … please? You don’t even have to leave, just look out the window. Please?”
It didn’t take much convincing. He must have been as curious as I was, because he twisted his torso and drew back the blinds.
I leapt into action.
It was as though my mind and body were parts of two different entities. Each had different ideas of what needed to be done. But even with my mind’s refusal to act so recklessly, my body was already moving into combat position.
Touching Fire (Touch Saga) Page 26