Influence (Influence Series Book 1)

by David R. Bernstein

The motorized cart transports me away from Farren, and I wonder what’s going on in his mind. I don’t need to see his face to know he must be conflicted, as he should be. The only thing that comes to my thoughts when I think of Farren is backstabber.

  I sneak a quick glance at the Hawthorne hub while we move on; its cracked and weathered exterior is enormous. It rises at least five stories, but lacks any windows. It resembles a modern castle with protruding towers on all four corners manned by security personnel on guard. We already went through one cement wall that surrounded the structure and settlement wing. Keeping one eye open, we inch closer to the main gate of Hawthorne. Metal and thick, this entrance is intimidating.

  The prominence of the Magnus Order in this sector is vast. Twenty or thirty of these hubs act like small towns that house its citizens. Each hub is ‘tamed’ by an Influencer that not only maintains order but pushes out the reach of the group as a whole. It would appear a life of altering the will of people is to become my fate as well.

  Brought through the large doors, we cross a short, dark hallway into what I can only describe as a gigantic inner courtyard. This part of the hub looks like a town’s marketplace, with merchants and citizens going about their daily routines. If it weren’t for the armed guards and the Influencers monitoring the citizens, you would almost think this is a good life for people. Surrounding this area are towering walls lined with multiple levels of what look like small living quarters that stretch up to a dark metal roof that covers the hub. I’m nearly caught while scanning the area, as one of the security personnel sitting up front turns to check on me. He just misses my wandering gaze. I need to be more careful. If I could just get my body and mind to fully work again, I would have no problem creating chaos with all these people shuffling around. I remember Farren telling me that only the Magnus personnel have the block implants. Then all I would need to do is slip out the side through one of the numerous hallways.

  The air is stale and cool as we move deeper into the hub. The towering walls that shelter this little village block the fresh pine from the surrounding evergreens. Sounds from the courtyard fade and my legs shake in nervous anticipation. I tighten my muscles, hoping to conceal my growing panic. My heart races with such aggression that I fear the pounding will burst out of my chest. Stupid heartbeat—just shut up already. We stop as one of the men pushes an intercom to ask for access. This must be where the so-called proprietor of the hub operates. I overheard Farren talking about it before I was dumped off like simple supplies. They sound more like evil overlords if you ask me.

  I hear a shrill male voice instruct the men to sit me in a chair at the other end of the room. I don’t dare open my eyes to look around, as I can feel everyone is focused on me now. My body slumps in the chair. This is no act. My limbs lack the ability to hold up my body due to the sedative. I can move my left arm a little and I feel some prickliness in my legs, but other than that, I’m lifeless. I hear the hollow sounds of fancy shoes clop closer to me. A heavy smell of flowers and chemicals fill my every breath as someone wearing way too much cologne leans over me. This person clears his throat and swallows as I feel him examining my state.

  “Hello, my dear, can you hear me? It is okay to open your eyes now,” says a man with a higher-pitched voice. “We are not going to harm you.”

  Boney fingers grab my shoulder and gently shake me. There is no way out of this now, so I decide to open my eyes and confront my fate.

  “Well, there you are,” he says with a slimy grin. “Look at those pretty blue eyes.”

  I remain quiet while studying him and my surroundings. Two men stand guard at the entry to this sterile-looking office. The man who addresses me has his hands behind his back now, leaning uncomfortably close to me. The walls are a dull gray with hanging metallic sculptures that I assume must be art. This is supposed to signify importance and status, but to me, it all just looks cold and lifeless. He wears a tight, fancy gray suit with a bright green tie. The color is so intense that I almost need to squint. He notices as I lick my dry lips and signals the guards to bring me water. His eyes never leave mine as he intently studies my every move.

  “My name is Mavis Edgeley and I am the Proprietor of the fine Hawthorne hub,” he says with gleeful pride. “We are excited to have you join our Magnus family.”

  My stomach drops at the thought of joining with this vile group. Knowing Magnus will do whatever it takes to get me to cooperate only intensifies my desire to escape. I try to gather my focus and reach out to anyone who can help, but my push ability fails yet again. I’m powerless.

  “Ah, young Kaylin, your ability will not work on me nor my staff,” he says as if he saw me try. “We are all protected due to our block implants, but you already know about this, don’t you?”

  “I am never going to join Magnus,” I say, leaning toward his smug face. “You’re just going to have to kill me.”

  He backs up. “Oh, we are not ones to waste talent. You are a smart girl; I am not going to drag this out any longer.”

  With a large hunting knife, one of the guards frees me from my restraints. He avoids eye contact. I think he’s afraid of me. I am handed a bottle of water and some food rations from the other guard. With my one working arm, I guzzle the water down, never taking my eyes off Mavis. He hovers over me while I devour the rations in just a few bites. His face lacks the imperfections the rest of us carry. His flawless, pale skin is just odd. I’m sure he’s never seen a day of hard work in his life. It’s like he is toying with me as he stands there watching me finish my snack. I get the sense I will not like what comes next.

  He grabs a small control device from his large wood desk and turns on two displays mounted in the corners of this office. The crystal-clear screens burst with color as they instantly flicker on. Quickly I recognize Amanda sitting in a room with several other people. He’s showing me the settlement wing. I watch this for a few minutes, as I am unable to take my eyes off her sitting near the front desk. Her legs stretch out and her shoulders are slumped forward like a child waiting to be punished by the shelter warden. She is alone and it’s my fault.

  One by one, the representative in the room calls people forward to her metal desk. Each of them receives a black band and some papers. They’re being placed for assignment in the Magnus network of hubs. I’m getting sick of watching. I don’t understand why they’re showing me this.

  The silence is broken as Mavis says, “You see, Kaylin, we like to assign people to places where their lives will have meaning, where they can add to the greater Magnus family.”

  I realize where this is going and hope I am wrong. I stiffen in my seat as I regain some feeling in my midsection.

  “Amanda is quite the caretaker, as you might have already known. We would love to assign her to educate and nurture children here at Hawthorne, but we may find it necessary to place her in the hard-labor division instead.”

  I can only imagine what she would be put through working twelve hours a day in what is more commonly known as the slave labor division. Knowing so much about this sector group should have been enough to keep Amanda and me away, but that’s not how the universe seems to work.

  “Don’t worry, though, the staff’s average life span is nearly forty years, so she will have a long and productive career,” he says with a soft laugh.

  Amanda doesn’t deserve this, but I should have known this is how Magnus gets people to do what they want. Even though Farren brought us to this hell, he was driven by his love for his family. Now I am facing a similar path, a life of manipulating the innocent to protect the only person I have in this world. Consciousness seems to draw in what you put the most focus on. Unfortunately, this can also bring you what you fear the most. And there’s nothing more frightening than being alone.

  “You better decide soon, she is close to being assigned,” Mavis says while looking at one of the displays.

  “You will regret this, I promise.” I lock on his beady eyes.

  “The only thing I reg
ret is not finding you sooner. Every sector group has been trying to find you for the last six years. It just so happened you stumbled upon us, rescuing one of our very own. The board will look favorably upon me for this fortunate discovery.”

  What happened on the last day at that shelter with those boys from the Southern Alliance was beyond intense for me, but I did not think it would trigger a manhunt for the last six years. Amanda and I have been much luckier than I could’ve ever dreamed. Unfortunately, my careless act of compassion toward Farren ruined everything for us.

  Furious, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “You will regret this. I will find a way to make you pay. You can’t hide behind that desk forever.”

  Wrapped up in anger, I fail to notice the familiar sting that hits my shoulder. A fresh injection of sedative enters my body. Before I drift off, Mavis crouches down to tell me one more thing.

  “You are a lucky girl.” He pauses. “You are being called up to the top. We are transporting you to Talas to work with the leadership. Your talent will help us expand faster than ever before. You will bring thousands and thousands into our fold.”

  Mavis slithers away as my vision blurs and my mind yet again drifts. When I awaken, I will be forced to manipulate the lives of countless people. My soul will gradually be lost.

  5

  IN THE THICK OF IT

  THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT this sedative that makes me aware I am dreaming. I know I’m knocked out on the way to the Magnus headquarters, but my mind is yet again taken back to my early childhood. This time, I catch on a little earlier to the delusion.

  It’s some sort of overgrown playground where the slides and swing sets are rusted and the grass and bushes hide most of its youthful appearance. I am playing in a dirty sandbox on a small patch of clean sand. There is a sense of complete happiness that is unfamiliar to me. Two grownups are sitting on a nearby bench. One of them is leaning on the other; their gazes locked on each other. It is my parents, I just know it. I try to call out to them, but each time I speak they become blurry and more distant. My memories of what they look like are far too buried for me to recall. I wish I could see their faces so I could have something of my family to hold on to.

  An unfocused entity walks up to me, the face covered by that frustrating haze. Outstretched arms reach for me. My whole body is excited to see this being. I open myself up to embrace this illusion when I hear a distorted boy’s voice say, “You need to go now.”

  I am thrown off by the words, as this person feels important to me. I want to stay here, in this moment. Stiff hands grip my shoulders and he shouts, “NOW.”

  Thrust back to the real world, I find myself trapped in a van with my hands tied in the familiar plastic wrap. Somehow, the intensity of the dream forced me out of my paralyzed state. Alone in the rear of this transport vehicle, I find myself able to move and search for a way out. The quiet hum of the electric motor makes it hard to move around undetected with the two men in the front cabin. Looking out the smudged and cracked windows, I see two other beat-up vehicles following us. Magnus has built up quite the stockpile of these cars and trucks. I need to find a way out of this prison on wheels if I will have any chance of escaping. Next, I’ll have to figure out a way to rescue Amanda.

  My thoughts jump from thinking of a way to break free, to what my mind is trying to show me with these drug-induced dreams. Why did my subconscious force me to wake at this very moment? Then the answer comes to me.

  Suddenly, a massive explosion rattles the vehicle behind ours. It teeters on two wheels before slamming into a washed-out ditch. The shockwave of this blast rocks our van and the driver loses control. A tire pops, suddenly dropping us down. We run off the road into a small, dried-up gulley. The intense impact throws me around the cargo hold just before launching me out a side window. I land several yards from the road in a grove of ferns. Blood flows down my face and arms. The glass from the van’s window has left a large gash on the crown of my head. My arms are covered in cuts. I lay back. The pain from my injuries has yet to sink in; the trees above spin and I can see double of everything now.

  A minute or two passes and my vision begins to clear. Sounds of gunfire circle where I lay. I realize that someone has attacked our convoy, and now the Magnus personnel are trying to fight them off. Lifting my head, I see two uniformed men pinned down behind the third car that brought up the rear of our group. They are shooting blindly into the woods. One of the men grabs a small communication device from his side pocket and begins relaying the apparent situation to someone.

  “We have been ambushed by the Vernon Society,” the man shouts over the echoing cracks and hisses from bullets. “They are after the cargo.”

  Am I the cargo? Are they after me?

  The Vernon Society is the sector group that controls most of the Pacific Northwest of the country. They have been at war with the Magnus Order for as long as I can remember. They both rely heavily on Influencers to expand their territories.

  In spite of a painful throbbing that pulsates through my head and shoulders, the urgency to take advantage of this chaos and make my escape comes to the forefront. Blood trickles down my arms as I stagger to prop myself up against the nearest tree. The bark of the tree digs into my cuts and forces out a muffled cry. Some broken glass from the crash helps me free my hands from the restraints. Dark red blood stings my eyes as the head wound continues to gush and make its way down the contours of my face. There is no time to take care of myself, I need to run now, but my mind and legs are not on the same page. I can’t find the willpower to move from this tree.

  Fate steps in when an immense blast booms from the woods where the Vernon Society gunmen are firing. This blast is from a far more powerful weapon than the usual sector pistols and rifles. This is some new tech that I have not come across. A second bang erupts and my resting spot is shattered a few feet above my head. Nearly severed, this thick tree trunk begins to fall. I move just in time as the huge tree rattles the ground.

  Crackling twigs and rustling sounds of brush drown out my heavy breathing as I tear through the forest as fast as I can. Pure adrenaline propels me forward even as my injuries sap my body. The gun blasts and sounds of the battle begin to fade the deeper I go into the wilderness.

  Thirty minutes or so pass and my legs give out, forcing me to the ground. The idea to just lay here and give up is very tempting, but I have to look out for Amanda, just like she has for me. Several minutes have passed now and the urge to move on kicks in. Wobbly, weak legs make running impossible now, so I drag my body from tree to tree, leaning on each one for a few seconds before I continue on to the next. I’m surrounded by forest so thick the canopy blots out the sun. Has anyone ever been here? Within seconds, I find a cavern at the base of one of the overgrown trees. Sliding down a moss-covered slope, I crouch inside the shallow opening. I’m confident I can stay hidden—but how do I get out of here?

  It must be one or two o’clock in the afternoon now, based on where the sun is in the sky. It’s been an hour since my escape and my feet slowly drag through vegetation as I inch my way forward. Step after step appears directionless until I stumble across a faint but definite dirt road. Hope pushes back some of the pain and exhaustion; I frantically look in all directions for signs of civilization. Finally, out of the corner of my eye, about three hundred yards north, I spot a small structure at the end of this neglected road. Walking closer, the structure becomes clearer and an abandoned ranger outpost reveals itself to me. I make my way to the front of this weathered-looking gray building that is no more than ten feet across in each direction. The rusty metal handle fails to unlatch. Without hesitation, I grab a large rock and smash a hole in the window near the entrance. Wow, that was loud. The dire situation pushes any fear of being found far out of my mind.

  Reaching through the window, I find the deadbolt on the inner latch and with all my remaining strength I dislodge the stiff lock. The door creaks open to reveal a cramped room with a small cot on one side, a wood
oven on the other wall, and a tall cabinet in the middle propped up against the back. My guess is that no one has been here for years, as dust and dirt cover every inch of the room. Breathing heavily, my eyes narrow in on the cabinet in the hope that there’s something of use inside. Pulling on the latch jars it open and desperation turns into relief; it is still packed with supplies.

  It’s time to address my wounds or there will be nothing at all to worry about anymore. This cabinet has several useful items inside. The first thing that I recognize is a HypoPatch kit, and hope becomes a possibility again. This kit works by spraying some sort of antiseptic bonding agent on the wound and then applying a skin-like, elastic wrap bandage to seal everything. I spray it on the cuts on my arms and instantly I feel the gashes pull together as a tingling sensation crawls over my limbs. I wrap the bandages on my arms and the pain is nearly gone. These wraps have a cooling sensation that is very soothing. Now I need to deal with the more serious injury on my head. Inside the cabinet hangs a small mirror on the door, I lean in to have a peek and cringe at the large gash that has spilled out over the crown of my head. Luckily, it has clotted up a bit and the blood flow is not as intense. Weak and lacking focus from the blood loss, I find it hard to concentrate on what I need to do. I know from the nurse at my last shelter that the HypoPatch will not work on this big a wound, so I scan the contents of the cabinet. Stuffed in the top corner, I find a stem-cell ointment applicator that is about five years past its shelf life.

  I remember years ago when Amanda nearly lost her arm while goofing around on a roof and fell on an intake fan. There was a gruesome tear that looked like her forearm was just dangling from her elbow. Somehow, our shelter approved the nurse to use this precious ointment on her. Days later, her arm was good as new.

  This treatment is supposed to reconstruct your cells around the wound and regenerate what is damaged. I can only hope this expired treatment will still work. Poured generously, the slimy, orange gel starts to fuse with my open gash. A fizzling sound starts and while looking in the mirror I watch a lighter foam-like substance form over the top of my head. A smell of rotten flowers tickles my nose. The medicine is overtaking the wound and sealing it while it does its magic. I find some food rations hiding in the back and take them to the cot. I flop down on the poorly padded bed and a huge plume of dust floats up a few feet in the air. I’m in desperate need of rest, and I know this ointment requires some time to do its work.