“What in the world?” Mrs. Whitehouse said, cementing my initial impression of her as the dim one in the group. Mr. Specter had said only those with superior intelligence witnessed the strange meteor shower and were bestowed powers, but clearly there was at least one exception.
“Alex?” Mallory said, bewildered. “What are you doing?”
The gunman who’d had the standoff with Mallory held up his gun and shot it into the air. The deafening blast echoed and Mrs. Whitehouse screamed like a girl at a haunted Halloween house. “We’re in charge now,” he yelled.
What happened next was pure reflex. I stepped in front of Mallory and shot an arc of lightning above the head of the gunman, knocking the gun out of his hand. At the same time, Jameson sent his bola flying through the air. It wrapped around the chest of the guy, trapping his arms to his side.
And then, before we could get to him, Alex pointed his gun straight at me and fired. I saw it happening, but I couldn’t react quickly enough. The bullet was faster than me. One second I was standing, the next a force like a sledge hammer knocked me to the ground. I felt a throbbing, burning sensation in my shoulder. Flat on my back, I clutched at my shoulder and felt the wetness on my hand before I saw the blood dripping off my fingers. The sky above me swayed and blurred.
“No, you idiot,” yelled the crazy-eyed gunman. “The old guy with the glasses is the target. We weren’t supposed to hurt anyone else.”
Alex stood over me, casting a long shadow. He nudged my arm with the toe of his boot. “Eh. He’ll live. I’m not sorry I did it,” he said. “I didn’t care much for this one. Thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
“Well you’re gonna be sorry.” I heard the voice of the other gunman coming like a distant radio station. “That one’s Russ Becker. The second gen.” And then more quietly. “We had specific instructions not to touch him.”
Mallory knelt down over me, fussing. “It’s okay, Russ. You’re gonna be okay.” She looked up at Alex and her voice changed to disgust. “I can’t believe you’re one of them.”
“Believe it,” Alex said. “Remember when I said you shouldn’t trust anyone? You should have listened.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nadia
When I realized I was going to throw up, I grabbed a plastic bag out of my mini-backpack, and dashed to the back of the bus. It happened to be the same bag my Lucky Man had come in. Maybe he was lucky after all. I hated throwing up. There was really nothing to recommend it. I despised the sensation of your intestines turning inside out, the gagging feeling, the horrible taste. And then, when you think you’re done, you get the aftershocks. When I finished puking, though, my stomach felt much better. I wiped my mouth as best I could, threw the bag down on the floor and made my way back up the aisle to see where everyone had gone.
I crouched down in the front, peering out the windshield to do a quick count. There were three men dressed the way you see bandits outfitted in really cheesy movies—wide brimmed hats and dark-colored cloth tied over the lower part of their faces. One of them was hustling a blind-folded Mr. Specter into the shed, a second one lay flat on his back on the ground and the last one faced Mallory with his gun pointed straight at her. I blinked, trying to process what I noticed next—Mallory was holding a gun too and had it aimed right back at them. The rest of the group stood in a cluster nearby. I heard voices, but didn’t see any movement. Why wasn’t anybody doing anything? We were teenagers with super powers, for crying out loud. Jameson should be using his telekinesis, and Russ should be shooting electricity in their direction. I knew we’d been instructed not to use our powers in public, but jeez, this had to be an exception. Do something!
I crept down the stairs of the bus. No one seemed to notice me coming out the door. I made a quick decision and went around to the back of the bus, then crossed the road. The whole time I was sure I was on the verge of getting shot. It would have been easy to pick me off at such a close range. One bullet to the heart and I’d be dead just like that. Instant Nadia corpse. These thoughts weren’t helping my anxieties. I felt my heart banging in my chest and I swear my breathing was loud enough for everyone in the group to hear even though they were forty feet away, but when I glanced in their direction, they were focused on each other.
I said a silent prayer, pleading that Russ wouldn’t get killed. And Mallory and the rest of them too, but if only one person besides me was going to survive, I’d go with Russ. I could admit that to myself, even if I couldn’t to anyone else. He and I had connected in a way I never had with anyone else. We had a history, and I was hoping (and maybe I was being delusional) that we had some kind of future as well. But if either of us died today, I would never know how it was all going to work out. And that would be a true tragedy.
I crouched down in the ditch by the side of the road, not totally obscured, but less visible. I kept low and crept along as fast as I could toward the shack. I couldn’t help the group, but maybe I could help Mr. Specter.
My stomach, now empty, fluttered with anxiety as I darted over to the shed where I’d seen the armed man take Mr. Specter. When I reached the building and was out of sight of the others, I was able to take a moment to swallow before creeping over to the window on my side of the building. The building was rickety and listed to one side. The window was only an opening, really an open square where there had once been glass. My eyes needed a moment to adjust, but when I could finally make sense of what I saw inside, I spotted Mr. Specter facing me, his arms at his side, the blindfold still covering his eyes. He was being held at gunpoint: the gunman’s back was so close to the window frame, I could have reached in and grabbed his shirt. He and Mr. Specter were speaking in Spanish, hurried, fluidly, in words that I didn’t understand, although clearly the conversation was serious.
I hated feeling so stupid and helpless. If Russ were here, he could zap this guy into unconsciousness. But me, I had super powers that weren’t really powers at all. I stared down on the ground, wishing I had a weapon, but the only thing I saw were rocks and dirt.
Rocks.
A rock could be a weapon. People used to be stoned to death. I moved slowly away from the window and picked up a large rock. I felt the weight in my hand. It was the size of a grapefruit, pitted with a sharp point on one side. A rock this size could do a lot of damage if it hit someone on the back of the head.
I snuck up quietly with the rock in hand and held my breath, wondering if I could do it. I’d have to throw it hard and straight. If it didn’t hit the mark, it would make things worse. Maybe, I thought, I was deluding myself. I was no hero. And I wasn’t in the best shape. Until recently I spent more time in my room staring at a computer than doing anything else.
Vacillating, I did nothing, but waited and watched. The gunman was speaking, but he didn’t sound menacing. Mr. Specter answered in Spanish and then pulled the blindfold off. A look of alarm crossed his face when he saw my face through the window. I gestured to the rock then threw it as hard as I could at the gunman’s back. In the distance, back by the road, I heard a gun being fired followed by a woman’s shrill scream. It coincided with the rock hitting the gunman’s neck. He stumbled forward and the gun went off, hitting Mr. Specter, whose whole body jerked before collapsing in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor.
I dropped the rock, shock and regret coursing through my veins. My hand went to my mouth in horror. By trying to help, I’d as much as killed Mr. Specter. I could have yelled to distract the guy. I could have grabbed the back of his shirt or knocked on the outside of the shed. I could have done any of these things, but I didn’t. I’d made a fatally bad decision. I should have snuck away right then, but because I was in shock, I just stared. The gunman didn’t look back to see what hit him. Instead, he walked over to Mr. Specter’s body and pushed him over with the muzzle of the gun so he was on his back. A second shot rang out from the road and I heard voices exclaiming words I couldn’t make out. I gulped and wondered if two of my friends were now dead.
The gunman was listening too, his head cocked to the side, so that he didn’t see Mr. Specter spring up off the floor and come at him full speed.
I don’t know much about martial arts, but Mr. Specter had some crazy Chuck Norris moves. He kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand, knocked him against the wall, and had him in a headlock before the guy even saw him coming. The guy’s hat flew off in the scuffle, floating gently down to the dirt floor.
And then Mr. Specter looked in my direction. “I hope you were taking notes, Nadia, because this is how it’s done.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Russ
Mallory hovered over me, blocking my shot. She seemed to think I needed comforting, and protection from that traitorous idiot Alex. He said he never liked me. Well, I never liked him either, not even when I thought he was on our side.
I almost set them straight when they said I was a second gen. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this term in reference to me. The Associates believed I had superior powers because I was the second generation in my family to be exposed to the light particles, but that wasn’t true. Neither of my parents were the right age to have been exposed to the every-sixteen-year event, and I had no reason to think that either of them ever had super powers. When I’d had trouble sleeping at night, they assumed my insomnia was stress related, not supernatural. I wasn’t a second gen, but if these guys wanted to think I was, it was nothing to me. In fact, it seemed to give me a certain value in their eyes.
They’d tried to pick up the gun I zapped, but it was smoking and hot. In the confusion of me getting shot, they’d managed to unwrap and confiscate Jameson’s bola. Alex still had the gun aimed right at me, not that I could do much at this point, anyway. So much for the power of telekinesis, or shooting electricity for that matter.
Mallory pressed her palm against my wound, trying to suppress the flow of blood, but frankly, she was just in the way. I could heal myself, I’d done it before, but I needed to have access to the wound.
“Move aside,” I said, trying to get the words out.
“What?” She lowered her ear to my mouth.
“Get away from me.” When she pulled away from me I saw the hurt in her eyes. She took it as rejection. “Please,” I added.
She obediently scooted back a foot or so, holding her hand, dripping with my blood, away from her body. I placed my fingertips over my shoulder and concentrated on healing the flesh. I felt the bullet fragments gravitate to the surface, very slowly. It hurt, but not too badly. Like pulling off an old Band-Aid.
“You gotta be kidding!” the guy with the Southern accent said, looking over to the side of the road.
Coming out of the shack was their friend with his hands raised, followed by Mr. Specter who was aiming a gun at his back. The guy’s hat was gone, and his bandanna was down around his neck. He looked less intimidating now that he’d lost the accessories. My eye caught another figure trailing behind. Nadia. How did she get there? I sat up in alarm, propping myself up on the side that didn’t hurt, and ignoring the stinging in my shoulder.
“Take the shot,” Southern boy said, directing Alex. “While you have a chance.”
“But that’s not the plan. Besides, Mingo’s right in front of him,” Alex said, gesturing to Mr. Specter’s prisoner.
“We’ve gotta get this under control. Do it.” He illustrated with a shooting gesture.
“I can’t. Mingo’s in the way,” Alex said, sounding frantic.
Southern boy gave him a disgusted look. “Now.”
Alex slowly shook his head. “That’s not the plan.”
“Wimp!” Southern boy grabbed the gun out of Alex’s hand and while I watched horrified, he aimed it at the approaching group. Nadia looked so vulnerable and sweet, walking with her hood up and hands in her pockets. Sweet Nadia, hiding from the world, but totally exposed to danger. I didn’t have time to aim carefully, or control what came out of me. A river of electricity, a veritable spark storm flew out of my hand and traveled straight at the gunman.
Alarmed, Mallory moved away from me, and Jameson, seeing what was happening, jumped back as well, but the gunman’s attention was on Nadia, Mingo, and Mr. Specter. My surge hit him at the same moment he pulled the trigger. The gun went off, the electricity hit with a vengeance and both he and Mingo fell to the ground and died at the same moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nadia
A flash of lightning, a deafening boom, and smoke. After that, a lot of hollering and the reverberation of gunshots. The man Mr. Specter had held at gunpoint dropped to the ground. Within seconds I saw blood on his shirt spreading outwards from a gunshot to his heart. After the ringing in my ears ceased, I heard a shrill screaming. This turned out to be Mrs. Whitehouse, not surprisingly.
We left the dead man right where he’d dropped. Mr. Specter pushed me behind him and charged forward, ready to shoot if necessary, although we soon found out it wouldn’t be necessary. The one remaining bandit was unarmed, and had his arms up in the air, as did Alex. The third bandit was face down on the ground still holding a smoking gun. Not too far away, another gun—blackened, burned, and slightly bent—lay on the ground. Wrecked.
I did a mental inventory of the rest of our group. Kevin, Mrs. Whitehouse, Mallory, and Jameson stood in a cluster opposite Alex and the other bandit. Only Russ was on the ground, and he was wounded. He sat in the dirt, legs extended in front of him, his shirt stained dark red with blood. I rushed to his side and knelt down beside him. In my hurry, my hood had slipped down to my shoulders, but I didn’t bother fixing it.
“You got shot?” I said and then could have bit my tongue for stating the obvious. Duh, Nadia. So stupid. But when I rested my hand on his forearm, a surge of emotion came off him; it was so strong it brought tears to my eyes. He was grateful that I was fine, and relieved to have gotten through the ordeal himself. He’d been afraid and now he was embarrassed to have been afraid, even though no one could tell. And the strongest thing I felt was the sensation of being sucked down into a black tidal pool of horror—his horror at having killed another human being. For the first time, I sensed, his abilities brought him shame and revulsion. He wished he could undo it all. Rewind his life and change it so he didn’t go out the night he saw the light particles fall from the sky. He wished he could be a normal teenager again, ignorant of the Associates and the Praetorian Guard, unable to channel electricity and healing. He wanted to wash himself of his abilities. It was too much responsibility. It was overwhelming, in fact. I felt his pain, but I didn’t share his wish. I wouldn’t have undone this experience for anything. It had given me a life.
“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Specter asked.
“It’s not too bad,” Russ said. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll have it fixed in a minute.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on sending energy to the wound. I experienced it secondhand, the way the metal shimmied to the surface leaving behind damaged tissue that didn’t stay damaged for long, because it was healing itself almost instantaneously. I was occupying Russ’s consciousness; I felt his cells divide and multiply. The feeling was indescribable. Nothing short of miraculous.
While Russ concentrated on healing himself, the adults discussed our next plan of action. “What are we supposed to do now?” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Take them prisoner?” Her hands fluttered anxiously. “Or kill them too?”
“Russ didn’t mean to kill anyone,” Mallory said defensively. “He was protecting me.” Mallory had a habit of changing the details of the story even before it had unfolded. And the details that she changed, I noticed, always made her look good. I didn’t contradict her though; I was still immersed in how Russ was regenerating cells through the warmth and power of his hands.
I only half-listened to what was going on with the rest of the group. I did pick up on the fact that Alex was an Associate who’d somehow convinced the Guard he was on their side. “Et tu, Alex?” is what Mr. Specter said and then something about betrayal. Alex was a plant. A pretende
r. His name probably wasn’t even Alex. And here Mallory thought he was falling in love with her.
From there the discussion shifted to more immediate concerns. While Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse nattered away offering lame suggestions, Mr. Specter took charge, having our two prisoners drag the bodies to the shack so that, as he said, “The animals won’t get to them.” He followed behind them, his gun trained on them all the way. Reality was setting in for all of us, the enormity of the fact that death had been so close it could have claimed any of us, if things had gone differently.
The moment between Russ and me ended when Jameson interrupted, offering him a hand up. Russ opened his eyes and upon seeing Jameson’s outstretched hand, said, “I’ve got this, but thanks.” He struggled to his feet and gave his hand a shake. I saw a bloody lump drop to the ground.
“Is that the bullet?” I asked, leaning over to look.
“Yep.” He nudged it with the tip of his shoe. “Funny. It doesn’t look like much. But it could have killed me if it were any closer to my heart.”
When Mr. Specter walked back from the shack, he was alone. “Does everyone have everything they need? Because if so, we’re heading out.” He pointed to the direction of the bus and led the way.
“What about those two men?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked, trotting along beside him. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“If they’re good at following directions they’ll count to one hundred and then call for someone to pick them up,” Mr. Specter said. “Or who knows, maybe their ride is already on the way. The Associates have eyes everywhere.” He stopped in front of the bus door and ushered us inside. I noticed he still had the gun in his hand, although now he held it loosely at his side.
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 40