by A. P. Kensey
The plane had finally come to a rest on its left side. Haven had to put her feet down toward the other aisle as she lowered herself over the man next to her and out of her seat. She held onto the armrests as she found her footing. A few aisles in front of her, a group of people were working to open the emergency exit overhead. The door popped inward and a woman in a torn business suit pushed it to the side.
One by one, survivors exited the plane. Haven waited until it was her turn to leave. Two men and the woman in the torn business suit stood around the doorway, helping people up onto the side of the plane. Haven looked around—there were no flight attendants in sight. The cockpit door was sealed tight.
The two men by the emergency exit gave Haven a boost out. She stood on the plane and looked back at the trail of destruction left in its wake. For about a half-mile back toward the airport, a deep scar had been gouged into the ground. The first part of the scar was cut into the tarmac and was littered with wreckage from one of the broken wings. Then the scar turned into a ragged trench carved deep in the soil once the body of the plane hit the grass. Smoke billowed from the broken engines in the distance.
A large yellow ramp had inflated from the emergency exit and connected with the ground next to the plane. Haven slid down and rolled off next to the other passengers. She brushed off her hands and tried to see if there was anything she could do to help. Most of the passengers stumbled a few feet away from the plane and sat heavily on the ground. Clothes were torn, skin was cut. Parents comforted children and children clung to their parents. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Haven saw one child pointing back toward the airport, and she turned to look. The thin man was walking toward the plane. He was injured and his clothes were slightly burnt. A slender trail of smoke rose from his coat as he walked. Haven wondered what had happened to Bastian and Roku. The thin man moved slowly but deliberately, as if he knew he had all the time in the world. Haven ran. She ran away from the plane because she knew he was coming for her, but she didn’t know what he would do to the other passengers. She ran because she knew without knowing that he was the person who crashed the plane, and if he was that strong—if he could use his Conduit ability to bring down an airplane—then no one was safe while she was nearby.
The thin man watched her run and changed course. He stopped and looked up at the sky as if he heard a distant noise, then turned back toward the airport. A luggage cart sped toward the wrecked airplane. Bastian drove and Roku rode on the bench next to him, both of them staring intently ahead. A moment later, a pale yellow streak of energy erupted from Bastian’s fist and slammed into the thin man’s chest. He screamed as he was launched into the air and flew back ten feet. The plasma dissipated and he fell to the ground in a sizzling heap.
Bastian stopped the luggage cart next to Haven and got out from behind the wheel. Roku hopped out of the passenger’s seat and went around back, toward the thin man.
“You alright?” asked Bastian, looking Haven over.
“Just a few scratches. What about you?”
He and Roku both looked as if they had been fighting hard. A long cut ran down one side of Bastian’s face and one sleeve of his jacket was ripped to shreds, revealing a bloody arm beneath.
“We’ll live,” he said. “You should get out of here. Take the buggy. We’ll look after these folks.” He nodded toward the passengers.
“They’ve seen what you can do,” said Haven.
“Ay, that they have. It’s gonna cost Helix a bundle to keep them quiet.” The idea seemed to make him genuinely happy.
“I’ll stay and fight,” said Haven. She tried to go to the other side of the luggage cart but Bastian grabbed her arm.
“He can’t get his hands on you, Haven. There’s no telling what Alistair will do if he has you. Roku and I will take care of this.”
There was a sudden shift in air pressure and the breath was instantly sucked out of Haven’s chest. Her vision blurred and she became dizzy. The same thing happened to Bastian. He blinked heavily and stumbled against the luggage cart.
“Go,” he whispered. “Now.”
He moved around to the other side of the cart and there was a brilliant flash of yellow light. The thin man rolled away from the luggage cart, yellow plasma trailing after him. Haven could breathe again. She quickly got into the cart and slammed down the gas pedal. The cart wouldn’t do more than fifteen miles an hour, but it was enough to get her back to the main section of the airport. She passed several emergency vehicles on the way, sirens blaring as they sped toward the plane.
Haven stopped the cart outside of the nearest terminal. An employee in a bright orange vest ran up to her to make sure she was alright, then helped her inside the airport and called for a doctor. Most of what happened after that was a blur. Someone told her that the other passengers would be looked after. Amid the noise, she overheard a flight attendant assuring a group of people that the airline would do everything it could to make sure the passengers of the plane made it back home safely.
Haven looked out through the window across the tarmac as people buzzed around her, giving her water, cleaning her cuts, asking her questions. She watched the small bursts of pale yellow light in the distance by the crashed airplane—she watched three small figures dance around as they fought for survival.
8
Colton awoke to the sound of screaming. He sat up quickly and almost vomited from the nausea that rolled through his stomach like a wave. He was in his own bed in his own room—alone. The metal door to the corridor which led to the main dome room was sealed. Colton swung his legs slowly over the edge of the mattress and stood, waiting a moment for his head to clear. His throat was dry and he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The middle of his chest burned as he remembered the blue arc of lightning slamming him to the ground before he lost consciousness.
His room was a small compartment off the main dormitory hallway next to the Grove. It looked more like a room in a submarine than actual living quarters, with its rust-covered metal walls and a porthole-type door set two feet off the ground. A big metal wheel with a horizontal locking mechanism was bolted to the middle of the heavy door.
Colton grabbed the wheel and used what little strength was in him to try and open the door. It was useless—locked from the outside. When he let go of the wheel it felt like he had just sprinted ten miles. He sank to the ground, breathing heavily from what should have only been minor exertion. He held out his hands. Faint black lines ran beneath his skin. He pulled up the cuffs of his pant legs and looked at his shins and calves—the thin black veins were very dim beneath his skin, but they were there, creeping higher up his legs.
He sat on the floor, trying to catch his breath, when the wheel on the door clanked to one side. Colton quickly stood and backed away as the door swung open. He was careful to slow his breathing and hide his exhaustion.
A big man wearing a full set of black body armor stepped into the room. He wore a black, streamlined gas mask that hugged his face tightly, almost like an ultra-thin motorcycle helmet. Instead of a single visor as a face-shield, the mask had two faceted oval patches for eyes, like the eyes of a giant hornet.
The mouth of the mask protruded slightly from the sleek material around it and hissed menacingly as the soldier approached. Some kind of rebreather apparatus, thought Colton—protection from poisonous gas. A small black tube ran from the bottom of the mask to the soldier’s back, where a slender black box rested between his shoulders. The rest of his armor was Kevlar plating, separated into flexible chunks that shifted fluidly with his movements to offer maximum coverage at all times. He wore a bullet-proof vest over the armor for added protection.
The soldier carried a heavy automatic rifle with a high-capacity magazine in his thick hands, held casually at his waist as if he was completely sure Colton wouldn’t give him any trouble.
If he could have, he would have.
Colton’s ability was almost completely nullified. He had been trying to pull in
some energy to try and offset his exhaustion, but it was impossible. He was able to draw in a small amount, but he could not store it for future use. The energy he absorbed from the air around him seeped out through his skin against his will—it was as if the imaginary battery in his chest would not hold a charge. Whatever they did to Colton, it stripped him of his Conduit ability and left him broken.
The guard stood perfectly still, staring at him with cold calmness. The multifaceted eye patches in his helmet reflected Colton’s face in a thousand tiny pieces. A moment later, the guard stepped aside to reveal someone else standing directly behind him—the young woman who had descended through the dome room ceiling with blue lightning.
Colton took a deep breath and straightened his back. He lifted his chin and stared straight into her eyes. She returned his stare with the same detached quality of the guard, then her eyes drifted around the room, inspecting the bed, the sink, the desk, the chair, and all of Colton’s personal effects. She touched the guard’s shoulder and he promptly turned and left the room. The door remained open. Colton looked at it for a moment, then back at the woman.
“What did you say your name was again?” he asked. He tried to inject his voice with as much confidence as he could muster, even though his knees felt like jelly. Colton had never been so tired in his life.
“Kamiko,” she answered quietly, still studying the room. “Masura.”
Her feet made no sound as she walked around his small apartment. She picked up a frame with a picture of Colton’s mother inside, inspected it for a moment, then set it down exactly where she found it. Next to the picture frame was a small jewelry box. She picked it up and Colton took a step forward.
“Leave it alone,” he said. He could feel his face getting hot.
She looked at him, then opened the box and held up the slender silver chain contained within. At the end of the chain was a small diamond star set in silver. It glinted in the dull glow of an overhead light as it spun slowly from her hand. Colton was going to give it to Haven for her eighteenth birthday. A light twinkle shone in Kamiko’s dark eyes as she watched the necklace spin.
“Girlfriend?” she asked with a mocking smile.
Colton was too weak to answer. He blinked heavily and sat on the bed, no longer able to stand.
“The weakness will pass,” said Kamiko. She set down the box and continued her slow circuit around the room. She lifted a stack of papers, inspected them, and returned them to their place. “You will soon find your strength returning, though it will be a false strength. There is no cure for your disease.”
“What did you do to us?” asked Colton. He rubbed the burning spot on his chest.
“I want to see if you can figure it out,” she said. Her face was emotionless but Colton thought he detected a hint of amusement. “The last group never did. Most of them died screaming.”
And then she smiled.
9
Haven stepped off the plane at sunset, three hours after the airline found her backpack in the wreckage and put her on a private flight home. The doctors at the airport in Chicago cleared her for travel and she had waited in a daze while planes were rerouted for the passengers of the crashed flight. No one else was going to Bozeman, so Haven had the whole plane to herself.
Gallatin Field Airport was only a short drive from the Dome. It was a connecting airport that was perfect for private jets and small propeller planes—she remembered with a twinge of sadness that her mother used to call them “puddlejumpers”. The airport was mostly used to connect passengers to a larger hub where they hopped on giant airbuses which took them across the country and beyond.
No one Haven knew was waiting for her when she got off the plane. She hadn’t been expecting anyone—of course they didn’t know when she was getting back or any other details about her impromptu trip—yet she still felt slightly disappointed. If the Dome had a phone she would have called. Strict security definitely had its downsides.
There was, however, one man waiting for her whom she did not know. He stood holding a sign with her name on it near baggage claim. He was short, with a small mustache and a large diamond earring in his left ear that seemed really out of place. He wore a dark suit and sunglasses, with a hat too small for his head. Haven shouldered her backpack and walked over to the driver.
“That’s me,” she said, smiling. The effort made her head hurt—she had bumped it inside the plane during the crash, although she couldn’t remember the exact circumstances of the injury. She hadn’t even noticed the goose egg behind her left temple until well after she got on the plane which took her to Gallatin. She had parted her hair in the bathroom mirror to see a swollen lump of purple flesh on her scalp. It still throbbed with her heartbeat.
The driver from the airline bobbed his head and led her out of the airport to a long limousine in the parking lot. Haven stopped for a moment before getting in. “How much did this thing cost?”
“Not a thing, Madame. It is complimentary. For your trouble.”
Madame, huh? thought Haven. I can get used to this.
“Still going to the parking garage downtown?” asked the driver.
“That’s the one.”
“Excellent, Madame. Excellent.”
Haven tossed her backpack into the limo and climbed in after it. Sweet, cool air pushed her hair back and she closed her eyes to relish the sensation. She reached up to tilt all of the air vents directly onto her aching head. The driver closed the door, sealing her inside the dark compartment. The windows of the stretch limo were so tinted that Haven couldn’t see him walk to the front of the car and get in. A moment later, the front door closed and the engine purred to life.
The passenger area of the limo was long, lined with bulging leather seats. Two mini-bars, one on each side, boasted an array of hard liquor and bottled waters. Haven grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the top. The limo rolled slowly out of the parking lot and picked up speed on the highway as the driver headed toward downtown Bozeman. The Dome was outside of town, but—as much as she wanted to—Haven couldn’t very well tell the driver to drop her off at her own front door. Besides, she couldn’t return to the Dome without Dormer’s black sedan, which was in the parking garage. He was forgiving to a point, but never with the car.
A thick sheet of black glass separated the limo’s rear compartment from the driver’s. Haven pressed a small button in a console near her seat and the glass lowered.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The driver looked at her in the rear-view mirror and smiled. “Augustus,” he said. “My friends call me Oggie.”
“What’s new, Oggie?”
“Nothing is new, Madame. The sun is hot, the ground is dry, and no one has figured out how to fix the world’s problems. It’s a real mess.”
“I know what you mean,” said Haven. “Hey Oggie, thanks for the lift.”
“Of course, Madame.”
Haven sank back into her seat. She could barely make out the setting sun through the tinted windows. It dropped beneath two distant mountains, sinking quickly, inch by inch, until the tip of it shone out with rapid brilliance before disappearing completely.
Haven sighed. Sudden comfort swept over her because she knew she was going home. It had taken her months to get used to the fact that she and Noah would be living at the Dome for the foreseeable future. She had resisted the idea at first, telling herself that it was temporary until—until what? Her parents weren’t coming back. They had been murdered by Bernam’s henchmen, leaving Haven and Noah alone in a world that would persecute them if it learned the truth about their abilities. As months in the Dome passed, that aching for her old life slowly faded. Haven came to realize she had a new home; a new family that needed her. She devoted her attention to Noah’s education and happiness, and saw to her own in the precious little free time she managed to steal amidst the chaos of her busy new life.
Haven opened her eyes and realized she had fallen asleep. Oggie had already pulled off
the main highway and was entering a parking garage in Bozeman—she had slept almost the entire trip. She yawned and stretched her back as Oggie parked on the first level of the parking garage, cut the engine, and came back to open her door.
“Your destination, Madame. How are you feeling?”
“Much better, Oggie. Like I left all of my troubles behind.” She grabbed her backpack and stepped out of the limo. She looked around the parking structure, then up and down the dusky street outside. They were alone.
“Most excellent, Madame. Most excellent.”
“Thanks a lot, Oggie,” she said, and shook his hand.
“Will there be anything else, Madame?”
“Should there be?”
“Not usually, no.”
She snapped her fingers and swung her backpack around to her front, then unzipped it and rummaged through its contents. The airport may have been footing the bill for her trip to Bozeman, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t tip the driver. She pulled out her half-eaten bag of gummy bears and handed them to Oggie. “Spent my last few bucks in the airport,” she said. The next best thing after money was food, and sometimes the other way around—or so her father always said. “They might be a little smooshed from the crash.”
“I assure you, Madame, it’s not necessary,” said Oggie. He smiled genuinely at her offer and held up his hand to resist.
“They’re really good,” she teased.
“Wellll…” he said, glancing at the candy from the corner of his eye. His diamond earring glinted as he looked around cautiously.
“It’ll be our secret,” she said, and handed him the bag. He took it and quickly tucked it away into his inner jacket pocket.
“Thank you, Madame.” Oggie nodded formally and gave a slight bow. “It has been my pleasure.”
“Drive safe,” she said. “Lotta crazies out there.” He seemed truly amused by that notion as he got back into the limo and drove away.