So it was that Samantha found herself standing awkwardly alone in front of the restaurant. The guy at the cash register asked her if he could take her order. “Uh, no,” Sam said, “I’m waiting for my friends.” He nodded. A few seconds later, he asked again and Sam repeated her answer. The third time he asked, Sam was about to say something she’d regret when Harry came forward. Grateful for the excuse to leave, Sam jumped on it. “Harry,” she said, “I’m going to go stretch my legs. Tell Lane I just want a cheeseburger and diet soda.”
Harry nodded, intent on a customer who had just walked in, a cute girl of about twenty with a smoky complexion and a snub nose. Working to keep from rolling her eyes, Sam gave him a wave and stepped out the door.
After the overly cold air conditioning inside, the dry heat outside was actually a kind of relief. The sky was a stunning shade of blue that seemed brighter for being in the desert. Walking around the lot, working out the kinks in her legs, she couldn’t help but relax in the fresh air. After twenty-four hours spent in nearly constant company, the chance to be alone was better than any elixir. The brightness of the sun reflecting off the pavement wasn’t even enough to drag her down, even though she suspected her fair skin was already beginning to turn pink with a precursor to a sunburn.
A squeal of tires and a loud yelp caught her attention. A car pulled out of the parking lot going way too fast and a keening whine filled the air. Jogging across the lot, Sam quickly found the source of the cry. A small, scraggly-looking dog crouched, half-dragging its bloody back hip. Sam let out a tight breath in sympathy.
Despite her general dislike of most people, Sam felt a genuine affection for animals. Her freshman year of high school, the family she’d lived with had two dogs. One of them was a bright, problem Jack Russell terrier. That year, Sam spent a lot of time with the dog, training him and giving him attention. When social services came around to move her again, the dog was no longer a problem and Sam felt more heartbroken leaving him behind than she had about leaving the family.
This little dog, crippled and bedraggled as it was, reminded her of that terrier. Crouching down, Sam removed her sweatshirt and approached slowly, talking softly, “Shh, shh puppy, come here.”
The dog looked at her in terror as she drew near. Before she could get close enough to touch it, it was up and scrambling, dragging itself into the bushes. Cursing, Sam followed. How was it that injured animals managed so much speed? She pushed through the heavy bushes, ignoring the scratching branches, and into the empty lot beyond. There was the dog again, whimpering near a chain link fence that bordered the property.
“Come on, now. I won’t hurt you. Stay there.” Maybe the soothing tone of voice worked, because this time the dog stayed where it was, letting her approach it. Sam put her hand on the animal’s shoulders to prevent it from running away again and gently probed the hips. She knew they didn’t have time, but maybe they could take a detour and drop him off at an animal hospital. No maybe, she decided, definitely. Lane would never dare argue with her over this. Then she noticed something. Despite the fact it was covered in blood, Sam couldn’t find a wound on the dog.
Odd. She sniffed some of the blood on her fingers and found it sickly sweet, “Corn syrup?” Aw, geez. Sam jumped to her feet, cold apprehension rolling down her spine. She’d just walked into a trap.
“I wouldn’t think about running.” A low, animal growl underscored the man’s voice. But the growl didn’t come from the small dog. Having fulfilled its traitorous duty, the terrier jumped up and ran off. Sam turned slowly. The grizzled man standing behind her had the wrinkled and leathered worn skin of a life lived outdoors. A bushy mustache hid most of his face, and his dark eyes glinted through a permanent squint. Standing on either side of him were two large—scratch that, enormous—dogs whose breed could only be described as “junk yard mutt”. One brown, the other black, both with teeth bared. Their growls reminded Sam of a threatening lawn mower.
“Now, here’s how it works. You walk quietly over to that van and climb in the back, dogs don’t hurt you.” He gestured to a van parked in the lot, about twenty feet away. Sure enough, the back door hung open, “You do anything else and they chew you to pieces.”
Sam nodded to show she understood. An energy, that sense of potential—similar to what she’d felt in the diner earlier—swirled around the man. It radiated towards her like heat, slow and deep, strong and persistent. This guy obviously had some way of controlling the animals; there was no doubt in her mind they would do exactly what he wanted of them. Which left her with three questions: One, could she outrun them? Two, could she outfight them? And three, did she want to find out?
While she thought, Sam decided it was prudent to at least appear to be complying. She started towards the van, being careful not to walk too fast. She didn’t want the mutts to get the wrong impression about her being prey. Though maybe it was too late for that.
The dogs kept pace on either side, stalking her while the grizzled man walked behind in order to make sure she didn’t get any ideas.
Which, of course, was exactly what she was trying to do. Sadly, the lot was depressingly bare of any two-by-fours or crowbars, or even large sticks.
Her feet, slowly but surely, brought her closer to the van. What was it that those self-defense courses taught? Never get into the car? But what were her options? Sam’s glance slid over to Cujo 1, who looked like he was enjoying her terror. He was going to rip her apart if he caught her, and she was reasonably certain he was at least as fast as she was.
But hell, she’d have to try.
Whipping around, Sam grabbed the grizzled man by his shoulders and drove her knee into his crotch with all of her strength, following it up with a strong palm-jab into his nose. He went down with a grunt, collapsing on to a large, broken piece of concrete just big enough to hold. Fast as she could, Sam leaned down, grabbed the rock and threw it at the closest dog. As he was only a few feet away, she didn’t have much trouble nailing it in the head, and it went down with a yelp.
Spinning on her heel, Sam took off as fast as she could. She made it approximately three steps before the other dog caught up. She screamed as she felt Cujo 1’s jaw latch into her arm, a weight dragging her down. Visions of nature documentaries flashed before Sam’s eyes, pictures of wolves dragging down elk. But that wouldn’t be her. Twisting, she managed to kick the dog, but he continued to bite her, worrying her bicep like a bone. A few solid punches with her other arm made him release his grip, all right, but only so he could to go for her head. Sam screamed in fear once more, but managed to get her hands around his neck, pushing back with all of her strength. She winced at the hot breath and drool dripping on her face and prayed her arms held before she was disfigured for life. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cujo 2 getting up, ready for a second attack.
“URGGGH,” Sam grunted. She felt something sharp and hard dig into the back of her head. With a short prayer, she let go of the dog with one hand and reached back. The small piece of iron pipe wasn’t much, but it was enough. Sam brought it up and swung at the dog’s head: “GET OFF OF ME.”
The pipe connected, causing the dog to jump back with a yelp. Scrambling to a crouch, Sam waved the pipe at Cujo 2, causing him to hesitate. Sam gave a panicked laugh, adrenaline leaving her shaky.
“No!” the grizzled man yelled. One hand on his bloody nose, he was still having trouble getting to his feet. “SIC HER!” The words resonated with power.
Sam decided now would be a good time to try running again.
#
“Harry!” At the sound of Lane’s voice Harry looked over from where he sat, a dopey grin on his face, talking to a girl—wait, what? When had hell frozen over? Not that Harry wasn’t capable of attracting a cute girl—but he’d actually summoned the courage to talk to one.
“Can you come here a minute?” Harry nodded and stood up. As soon as he got close, Lane cleared his throat, “Do you happen to know where Sam is?”
Blinking, Harry
nodded, “She said she wanted some fresh air, she’s in the parking lot.”
Lane strode out to the parking lot. There was no one there. Following, Harry looked around desperately, “She was here just a minute ago!”
“She isn’t now!”
“Are you talking about your girlfriend?” The young woman followed them out. She smiled sympathetically, “I think I saw her walking that way.” She pointed to the west, down the street towards a row of clothing stores. Logically, it made sense that Sam might have taken a detour to buy clothes. But the back of Lane’s neck tingled, he took a second look at the girl; she was lying. Definitely. There was no taint of guilt, but he could feel every ounce of self-satisfaction and superiority. Along with the excitement and slight anxiousness that was always a key indicator the person was pulling a con. Lane took a slow step towards the girl, expression stormy, “Where is she really?”
Stepping back, the girl blinked up at him, all innocently, “I told you where she went.” She looked desperately over to Harry. But there was no help coming from him. He shifted slightly to stand behind Lane, showing that he trusted Lane, and Lane’s talents, intrinsically. Al, emerging from the restaurant, made a quick assessment of the scene and did the same.
Like all liars, when cornered, the girl continued to deny. But her hurried explanation was cut off by a scream—Sam’s scream, coming from the east. The guys took off across the parking lot towards the noise. When they reached the bushes lining the lot, it was in time to see Sam come tearing through, bleeding and disheveled and running like she had the hounds from hell on her heels. She didn’t slow as she passed them, but yelled back, “RUN! CAR! NOW! RUN!”
“What? Why?”
“GETINTHECARGETINTHECARGETINTHECAR!”
Al and Harry immediately turned and followed her. Lane paused long enough to see a massive dog, snarling, push its way through the heavy hedges, another close behind it. What do you know, Lane thought, we are being chased from the hounds of hell.
He turned to follow the others, only pausing long enough to throw a telekinetic blast strong enough to stall the dogs out. This bought everyone just enough time to climb into the car and slam the doors. Sam collapsed in the back seat, gasping for breath as Lane put the car into reverse and tore out of the lot.
“You okay?” Harry turned in his seat to look at Sam. Sam shook her head. Through her wheezing breaths, she managed to mutter something that sounded like “kill her”.
“What?” Harry looked to Lane for help when she repeated the phrase, continuing to cough and hack.
“Inhaler!” Lane said, “Get her inhaler!” For some reason, his own chest felt tight. His brain was scattered, his arm burned hot, and he couldn’t seem to find focus on anything. He ran a red light, nearly avoiding a T-bone collision and swore. He yanked the car into an alley, only slightly scraping along the bumper of a parked car, and turned onto a quieter street.
“Right,” Al said, “I think I saw it around here somewhere...”
Al and Harry found it after a fast and frantic search, lodged under the front passenger seat. Al handed it back to Sam, who took it gratefully. “Damn it,” she coughed, holding her arm, “You can’t even trust a puppy dog these days.” She faded into the seat, wincing at that small movement.
And that’s when Lane noticed the wound. Her hand had hidden the worst of it but the blood was dripping down her left arm now, through her fingers. Even in the rear-view mirror he could see the dark tone of exposed flesh, three inches long and disturbingly deep. Suddenly, the red-hot agitation he felt in his own left arm made sense.
#
The pain in her arm was pretty bad, but not enough to keep Sam from noticing that they were passing the freeway on-ramp, “Where’re we going?”
“We’re going to find a hospital,” Lane said, “You need help.”
Sam shook her head, “No. No. Bad idea.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re pretty badly hurt.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Sam shot back, “but we are running for our lives. Hospitals know to watch for anything suspicious and they keep detailed records.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be incoherent with pain right now?” Lane snapped, little beads of sweat popping up on his forehead.
“How do you know what kind of pain I’m in?” As though it weren’t obvious. Sam’s skin was an unappealing gray color, and she spoke through gritted teeth. Her right hand gripped her left shoulder, but it didn’t seem to be staunching the bleeding. But it wasn’t just appearances Lane had to deal with. Like waves crashing on the shore, Sam’s agony washed over him again and again.
Pulling over, Lane groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel, “I’m an empath, remember? And you’re projecting like a goddamned loudspeaker and I can’t take it.” Shuddering, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the driver’s seat. “Harry, I can’t think straight. You drive. Take us to the hospital.”
Lane climbed into the back seat of the car, next to Sam. She shook her head vigorously, “Don’t do it, Harry! You know they’ll find us there!”
Harry got behind the wheel but left the car in ‘Park’.
“Harry!” Lane said, “Hospital, now!”
“I hate to say it,” Harry said after a moment, “But I think she’s got a point.”
“No, no, no...” Lane groaned.
“You’re a med student,” Al said, “You can take care of her.”
“It’s not that simple,” Lane said, somewhat desperately. What had happened to loyalty among friends? “I haven’t even started my residency yet. Hell, I don’t even know if I passed my final exams.”
“Oh, man up,” Sam muttered, “I’m about to pass out anyways.” If looks could kill, Sam would have been toast. Fortunately, she was as good as her word on passing out, which was a blessing to Lane. The pain he felt due to his powers wasn’t local or specific. In fact, calling it ‘pain’ was misleading. Rather, he experienced the emotions that went hand in hand with the experience: fear, adrenaline, and something deep and primal and dark that made his stomach churn. But now that Sam wasn’t projecting (it was hard to emote clearly when you weren’t conscious), Lane could successfully block out those stray emotions and get a hold of himself. He took a deep, steady breath, his mind welcoming the break from the simulated agony he’d been feeling.
“What do you want to do?” It was Harry. Apparently, without Sam bossing him around, he was willing to take guidance again. Lane pulled his shirt off, pressing it against Samantha’s wound. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking.
“Find a drugstore. We’re going to need supplies.”
#
In an act of perversity on the part of the universe, Sam woke up just as Lane inserted the needle for the first stitch. Unfortunately, she had good reflexes, and her first instinct was to punch her “attacker” in the face. Luckily, as she was still groggy from blood loss, the blow didn’t hurt as much as it might have otherwise. Once Sam realized what was going on, she calmed down and grimly held still through the ordeal. The over-the-counter painkillers they had would do little for an immediate wound like this, so she just had to bear it. It wasn’t a clean wound, but it wasn’t as deep as Lane had first feared. He tried to do a good job, not wanting to leave a scar, but he was afraid that might be a lost cause.
“Oh well,” Sam said, reading his expression, “It’ll match my nose.” Lane couldn’t help but shudder. He’d noticed the little kink that indicated a bad mend, and mentally cursed the doctor who couldn’t waste the time to set a child’s nose straight.
“Sometimes you just have to do the best with what you have,” she said lightly. Whether she was talking about the scar or the nose Lane didn’t know but he didn’t answer, intent on doing his work and trying to block her pain at the same time. He swore to God she was better at tuning out her own pain than he was. Finally, he finished the last stitch and leaned back with relief. His color started to return.
“You know,” Sam said, inspecting the stitches with clinical interest, “if you experience another person’s pain this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t become a doctor. I understand that you want to help people, but there are practical limits.”
“First of all, I’m going to be a research specialist. I won’t have to deal with patients in pain. Second of all, I don’t experience other people’s pain this strongly.” Lane covered the stitches with protective cloth tape and wrapped a bandage around Sam’s arm and shoulder. “Just yours. You’re the first person I’ve met that I couldn’t block effectively. It hasn’t been an issue up until now because, I think, you’re subconsciously preventing yourself from projecting. But I guess when you’re in pain the wall goes down.”
“Oh,” Sam pursed her lips and tilted her head in thought, an expression Lane found simultaneously cute and infuriating, “That’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Pain causing our mental defenses to drop is normal.”
“No, I mean, you not being able to block me.”
“Uh.” Lane thought about denying it, but realized there wasn’t much point. Her powers were not developing along the same lines of other Talents. She was going to find out sooner or later: “Yes.”
Finished with the bandaging, he carefully packed away all of their shiny new first-aid supplies. Then he handed Sam a fresh T-shirt Al had thoughtfully retrieved for her and helped her pull it on, careful not to pull her stitched arm. Lastly, Lane poured out a capful of cough syrup and gave it to Samantha, who downed it dutifully along with the second capful. “What’s the cough syrup for?” she asked.
“To put you to sleep,” Lane replied, “Since you don’t like me to use my mojo.”
“That,” Sam said, “is totally unfair, why, I should...I should...” Sam never managed to finish her sentence, her voice trailing off as she drifted to sleep. And, having finally completed his task, Lane sat back in the seat and passed out himself.
Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) Page 8