Her chest was heaving and one hand was clasped onto her shirt. Then, with the same hatred that Scythe felt, she raised a menacing pair of eyes to stare at Tiburon who had been smart enough to stand a safe distance away.
“Summer!” Scythe yelled, trying to get her attention. “Don’t move!”
She threw herself at him and was shot instantly by both of Tiburon’s guards. A short cry escaped from her as she was thrown back by the impacts. Against the wall again, this time she eased down it until she was huddled on the floor.
He was burning. His whole body was shaking and his nails were cutting into his palms. His ragged breath sheared through his teeth, huffing out and then sucking in the taste of Summer’s blood; the scent filled the air and everything around him was suddenly washed in red. The virus, which he had long learned to manage so that it sat harmlessly in his veins like a defused bomb, was becoming active.
He jerked in his seat violently, trying to loosen his bonds or get even one limb free, but, aside from getting a pair of guns aimed at him, it did nothing. Heavy breathing grew into a low growling moan, “Tiburon…” You are dead. He wanted him dead and the guards, too. All of them. And he wanted to do it himself. He knew lots of ways it could be done...
“I see I wasn’t too overcautious with your restraints, as some thought. Again, over-planning is the key.” He stepped up to the table and picked up the metal rod, flicked a switch that caused familiar humming and cracking sounds, and jabbed Scythe in the chest with it.
The surge of electricity made him jump in his seat, and in addition to the pain it gave him, every injury in his body shrieked at him with each tiny movement. One short dose shook him, but didn’t keep Scythe from staring aggressively up at Tiburon and calling him several nasty names. So Tiburon, who was thrilled at how well things were going, turned and made a few adjustments to the machine behind him and then gave Scythe all his attention for a while.
When it was over, Scythe’s head hung down and breathing erratically was the only thing he was capable of doing. Inside, the virus raged impotently, urging his weak, helpless limbs to move, damn it, and his teeth to bite.
“Now. Don’t you wish you had just obeyed?” Tiburon asked conversationally.
Scythe ignored him, but Tiburon didn’t care. He had made his point. He dropped the rod on the table carelessly and strode to the door.
“Now this man will be tortured, because you couldn’t bring yourself to help us. Later, I’ll be back with another offer. I am assuming this will still be in your memories when you make your next decision.
“You,” he ordered one of the two guards, “Bring Erich. You, stay here until she dies. Then, you can leave the body for him to think about overnight. Tomorrow, you’ll take care of disposing of it so there aren’t any problems, got it?” He left without waiting for an answer. He knew he had been heard, and he knew he’d be obeyed.
“Please,” Scythe managed to plead to first one and then the second guard. “She doesn’t have to die. Get her help. Take her out…take her to a hospital.”
They didn’t even look at him. One ushered a completely terrified and probably very cooperative Erich out of the cell, and the other stood by the door and waited.
It was a second agony to have the will to fight bound in a body that couldn’t do anything. Slowly, the symptoms of the virus began to subside, but not without fitfully spitting angry wads of flame at him periodically that seared him and made him spasm in his seat.
“Scythe?” her voice was soft and high pitched, like a little girl’s.
“I’m here.” Horrible. Horrible. Horrible waste. As the last of the adrenaline left him, he started shaking again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Summer, so am I.” His chest was being pierced by something invisible, and he squeezed his eyes closed, spilling hot tears down his face. Why hadn't he just obeyed? Why hadn't he seen it coming? Were his ideals, his pride, really that important to him? More important than her life?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
Scythe let the tears come. There was no reason not to. Besides, he needed some water, because inside was flame: white hot flame that had no outlet, so it burned him.
“Scythe.” His name was a hollow whisper in the cell.
“Summer.”
“It wasn’ you.”
“No.”
“’m glad.”
He nodded.
“You never tol’ me.”
“I...I left before I had a chance. I’m so sorry.” He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have left it at that. He shouldn’t have let her suffer until she shattered. Why...why did he do that?
“Heh,” she barked a laugh. “Don’ worry ‘bout that.”
Huh?
“Worry ‘bout livin…t’s gettin’ col’.” She started speaking slower and slower.
“Just take it easy.”
“Worr’ ‘bou’ livin’ well, s’ you can...die withou’ regret. ‘S what I wan'd…’s all I wan’d. R‘venge, s’ I c'd die easy...but….’t din...turn out...like I tht.”
Summer coughed up a lot of blood, curled up into a ball and started to shiver.
Then she stopped.
Chapter 15
Scythe lay on the hammock, letting his leg hang over so he could rock back and forth a little bit. He planned on reading his book, but for just a minute he wanted to relax.
A slow deep breath brought in the scents from the garden: the recently turned soil, the vegetables, the sap that had oozed between the cracks of the tree bark. There was so much here to explore: the musty smell of a handful of small animals, the bitter smell of the dry twigs in the birds’ nest in the space beneath the roof, and the distinct smell of the birds themselves. The scents of each one of them, wafting through the door, mixed in with the marvelous odor of dinner cooking: a beef stew with carrots, celery, onions and potatoes.
One scent was getting stronger, bringing with it the soft tapping of bare feet on a wooden floor. Then she was pushing open the screen and running towards him; behind her the door was left open again, despite repeated warnings from her father.
“Hey! Make room!”
“You left the door open.”
“Oh,” she was already halfway on the hammock, and she looked back at the door which, for her was a distance of about five hundred miles. It took her longer to decide than it would have to run and shut it. “I’ll get it later.”
“Now,” he said, pushing her in the right direction.
“Aww! Ok, fine.” She ran to the door and slammed it so hard that it bounced back open a crack. Then she was climbing up onto his perch, stretching her legs out as far as she could and checking to see how they matched up. Her feet were still way short of his. She didn’t think twice about leaning up against him, or about pulling most of the pillow over for her head. She was grinning madly with excitement.
“You know, some people like their space.”
“I know,” she said simply. Something in the way he was looking at her made her giggle mischievously.
Little devil. She knew what he liked.
She sat up suddenly. “Hey! Want me to push you?”
“No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Aww. Well, at least rock a little.” She pushed on his knee with both hands and he held his foot in place on the ground so that the force swung the hammock to the side. They began to swing back and forth, his foot lifting off the ground when the motion carried them past it. She smiled and pushed harder, enjoying her role as operator of the ride. They rocked for a while until it started to make him a little sick.
On the backswing, he slammed his foot into the earth and held it there. The hammock jerked to a halt immediately, and Mercy screeched on her way down toward the ground from what seemed to her to be a deadly height. Scythe put out his hands, catching her easily and holding her suspended in air. She laughed and held out her hands like she was flying. Then he lifted his leg off the ground and the hammock returned to its normal po
sition.
“That was awesome! Let’s do it again!”
“No. I’m reading.” He pulled his book out from under his hip and held it up as proof.
“No way! Come on, Uncle Scythe, one more time!”
He flipped through his book until he found his page.
“PLEASE?” Mercy leaned forward, laid a hand on the top of the book, and peered over it at him. Her appeal was so sincere that he seriously considered it, even though he really didn’t want to upset his stomach further.
Seeing his determination waver, she started to smile triumphantly.
Fortunately, he was saved by the arrival of Lena.
“Hey! You were supposed to set the table, Young lady.” Lena never got tired of that joke. She stood with her hands on her hips and stared at them through the screen door. It was weird to see her out of her normal border patrol field uniform; she looked totally different dressed in worn jeans and a beat up T-shirt. Her brown hair, thick and wavy like Mercy’s, was pulled back and covered by a red headscarf.
“Aww! I’m playing with Uncle Scythe.”
“What did I tell you?” As usual, her voice was sharp and harsh, but somehow entirely affectionate at the same time. Scythe couldn’t figure out how she did it. “Move it, slacker.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder.
Mercy sighed, and, before he could react, leaned over, hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Scythe, for the ride.” She turned and wriggled her way off the hammock and ran past Lena, who smacked her lightly on the bottom.
“Hey!”
“Yeah, that’s right. Move along. And don’t give me that green mug. I know you did that on purpose last time. Give it to your dad.”
Mercy disappeared into the house, leaving her laughter behind to visit with them for a few more precious seconds before it too scampered off.
Lena grinned. “You should see your face.”
“What?”
“You look like you just saw a ghost. Why are you so spooked?”
“I’m not.” He didn’t feel spooked, but he did feel something...
“Okay, whatever. Dinner’s about ready.”
“I’ll come help,” he said immediately, bringing his feet around to the side of the hammock and sitting up.
“That would be nice. You could contribute around here more. You can start by...no, wait. Everything’s done. Good job, genius. You waited until there was nothing to do before you offered to lift a finger to help out.” It used to be so hard for him to understand her because, when she was in a good mood, almost everything she said was a lie. She loved to joke around; it was something he was still getting used to.
But, every now and then he had a breakthrough.
“I learned from the best,” he said, following her into the house.
“What?!” She turned around and smacked him on the arm, and not softly like she had done for Mercy. “Watch it, mister!”
He was watching. He always watched them. Like a kid outside a candy store.
-----------
“Beginning the first day of the first month of the second season, all bordertown residents who are Human or at least one eighth Human will be required to register with the Department for the Preservation of Human Rights, and specify if they are powered or not. All powered Humans will declare the nature of their abilities, in detail. Further, all Humans with a family history of at least one powered individual will submit their lineage, delineating which family members were powered. Any Humans who either refuse to register, or register falsely will be detained indefinitely, without recourse, pending a formal hearing.”
Mercy tried not to stare at the poster that hung beside the train station’s ticket window, because she didn’t want to look too interested. Only a few other people took notice of it, perhaps because it was date stamped from about a month before, plenty of time for most frequent travelers to have already seen it, but nearly all reacted the same way. As soon as they identified the topic, they stiffened up, looked around and found something else to look at.
As far as she could tell, no one in the waiting area was paying attention to who was reading the sign, but since most people acted like they didn’t want to be singled out, she decided to follow their lead and try to remain inconspicuous.
“Two to Rein Flats, please,” she told the man in the booth.
“Fifty-two fifty, and fill these out.” He handed her a pair of one-sided information cards.
“What is this?”
“New policy. Fifty-two fifty.”
“Since when?”
“Same time as everything else. Where you been?”
“Oh, well, I haven’t been traveling.”
“Look, we got a line here. Just fill these out and pay when you’re ready. Next.”
Mercy brought the cards over to where Cord was sitting and munching on his second hot dog. He raised his eyebrows at her.
“What’s up?”
“Look at this,” she said, holding up one of the cards for him to see. “A new policy. Did you see the sign?”
“Yeah, gonna make for some work later, but right now we don’t have to sweat it. These,” he nodded at the card, “we can take care of with our seconds.” They always carried second and third ID’s, in case their originals, Reese and Karin, couldn’t be used. Since they had detoured from the route Karin would have taken for her family emergency, they had already started utilizing their second set, which would hopefully take them all the way home.
“I know. I was just surprised. There wasn’t a mention of this in the city.”
“That’s the way it always is,” he shrugged, taking another bite and looking around. “Bordertowners are always the first to feel the whip. Better get those filled out. Train’s due in fifteen.”
She nodded and sat down on the bench, pulling out her ID from her backpack. After a moment, she said, “It’s asking for parent names. We don’t have that.”
“Just put whatever.”
Within a few minutes, she was back in line, ignoring the poster.
“I’m not sure of the spelling...my dad wasn’t around much,” she started off when she made it to the front again.”
“Doesn’t matter now, but you better get it straightened before the deadline. Fifty-two fifty.” He took the cash she offered him and handed her the two tickets and a receipt. Platform seven. Better get over there.”
“Thank you,” she said. She stepped aside and pretended that she was putting away her things while she watched him scan the cards before tossing them in a bin. There was a small beep for each card, but he tapped a key with the smooth, thoughtless rhythm that indicated he had done it a thousand times before, and then addressed the next person in line. Mercy turned and, averting her eyes and keeping a neutral face to dissuade the man behind her who was smiling at her, she crossed back to Cord.
“They are inputting the information right away.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that. If our cards get flagged, we’ll deal with it then, but I doubt they’d be organized enough to have anything in place already. Usually takes a couple of months before anything that involved gets enforced. Let’s go.”
She handed him his ticket. “Platform seven.”
The train was already in place and they boarded immediately, taking their two seats in the passenger car. Cord stowed his bag in the overhead bin, but Mercy dropped her backpack in front of her and pulled out her tablet.
“Can I talk to you? I’ve been meaning to show you something.” She extended her power in a thin ribbon toward him so that he would know that she wanted it to be private. Usually, she wouldn’t offer, because it irritated him to connect with her, but it was important.
He reacted predictably, frowning at her and crossing his arms. He kept his power steady, preventing her from touching him. “About what?”
“Here, let me show you.” She activated the computer and quickly navigated to the folder she wanted. “This is something I have never heard of, have
you?”
“Teris? It’s a game,” he said, obstinately and purposefully misunderstanding about the title of the folder, one designed to hide its contents from a casual search. Despite his joke, he tipped his head to look at the files inside.
“No, would you stop messing around?” She swiped the document to enlarge it. “This.”
He didn’t move, which was how she knew he understood what was in front of him. Sometimes, a person immediately jumped back from things that surprised the hell out of him; it was an instinctive flight reflex. Or, if he was someone like flight’s testy cousin, he might move in, and grit his teeth or grip the seat with his fingers. However, there were times when even instinct could fail, and leave a person standing there in the road, staring at two lights bearing down on him, wishing he was not made of soft flesh but of the stone that he resembled.
Cord had gone from not moving to something stiller. She tried to reach him again, and this time he permitted her ribbon to touch him.
In front of them was the type of mass communication that was common practice among most Humans. The short messages were usually addressed to multiple recipients, each one in turn who would then send it forward to their contacts, making it possible for one piece of information to conceivably reach tens of thousands within a day or two. They were small enough that they could be sent rapidly to even the most basic of devices attached to the network, and so were limited to one or two pictures at the most to keep the file size down. Although typically humorous, they were used for everything from advertising to fraudulent schemes to the sharing of sentimental messages.
Reflecting the Human tendency to seek distraction, rarely did these quick messages pertain to anything significant. This one was a rare exception.
At the top of the electronic flyer was the headline: “Kin Fight Back Against Human Powers!” Below was the one picture on the sheet: a Human man on all fours, his hair covering his face as he stared down at the ground, shoulders stiff and back arched. Latched to his wrist and ankle were two manacles, each with their own thick cords that snaked along the floor and out of the picture. The caption read, “Electric cables send signals that nullify powers.”
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