Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  “Don’t get the jitters on me.” Jonah grabbed her by the shoulders. “You reacted. I supported. We’re a team. Do not forget that.”

  He emphasized the last sentence. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time he gave the speech. Had he dealt with a new recruit before? Had they frozen on their first enemy encounter? She had so many questions about the man asking for her trust. With a deep breath, she nodded.

  “Keep my six.” He grinned. “And my twelve.”

  They entered the stairwell and headed downward. Turn. More stairs. On the second floor, the door leading into the residential area had been dented and was missing its doorknob. Jonah held up his hand in a fist. She froze. He pulled his firearm out. Click. Things were about to get bloody. He peaked inside the hallway, spinning back and forth, making sure the stretch had been cleared.

  Jonah moved swiftly, but each step seemed calculated, quiet, precise. She had seen him in simulations. He maintained a laser focus, tactical mastermind, and good at shouting instructions. He had seemed like a big kid playing cops and robbers, but now, she understood he trained for this life. The realization forced her to see the situation a bit more seriously. She followed, mirroring his movements.

  The bang from the first shot made her wince. She tried not to scream as Jonah slammed against the wall and slumped to the ratty carpet. A man with a gun stood at the end of the hallway, preparing another magazine, slamming it into position. Another shot fired. The bullet froze inches from her face. Thirty feet away, her abilities couldn’t sense the man. Jonah lay on the ground, groaning. She hoped it hit his vest.

  Another shot. She shoved the bullet to the side. Another man jumped out of a doorway near the first. Guns raised, they fired in unison. She could continue batting away their ammunitions, but she needed to check on Jonah. They approached until both terrorists entered her realm of influence. Her abilities sensed their presence like pings on radar.

  She batted one away, sending him into the wall. The second man froze, unable to step any closer. His partner continued thumping against the wall until his body went limp. With a burst of her energy, the second man sailed backward. Flipping over himself, he landed motionless on the floor.

  The moment the motion in the hallway stopped, she dropped to her knees to check Jonah.

  “So help me God,” she said angrily as she inspected his body for blood. She froze as another bang sounded close to her head. Staring at his chest, she hadn’t seen his hand move. He held out his gun, the trigger pulled tight. Down the hall, the second thug halted with his gun half raised. Just below his right eye was the red hole where Jonah’s shot pierced his skull.

  “I got your back,” he coughed.

  She helped him to his feet. Leaned against the wall for support, he knocked on his chest plate and attempted a smile.

  “The report said there were four,” Ariel said.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but froze. For a moment she thought another man startled him, but they remained the only two living beings in the hallway. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Jonah, you there?”

  When he didn’t move, she backed up. His chest continued to rise and fall, but his eyes grew distant, as if he were lost in a memory. The blank expression remained as he raised his gun, pressing it to the side of his head. Ariel grabbed at the gun, wrenching it from his grip as the shot fired.

  “What the hell, Jonah?”

  She hurled the weapon down the hallway. Jonah held his hand to his forehead, continuing to pull an imaginary trigger. Wide eyes and clenched teeth left the man looking terrified by an unseen force.

  “An empath,” Ariel mumbled to herself. The first time Penelope came to the Facility, she had been terrified. Her abilities projected emotion outward, causing an entire room of security guards to act erratically.

  She continued toward the door the men originated from, taking care to walk as quietly as possible. If she couldn’t accomplish anything else this evening, she’d at least report she managed to be stealthy.

  The closer she came to the door, the more her pulse quickened. She steadied her breathing, calming her nerves as she peaked around the corner into an apartment. She pulled back quickly. A man slumped, tied to a chair—the senator. Another man stood next to him, a gun in his right hand, the barrel touching the senator’s temple.

  “I’ll shoot,” he said. She wanted to hear him cackle or throw out a devious line like villains did the in the movies. His voice had a deep resonance to it, nothing like the bad guys in the cop dramas she watched. But unlike the villains in movies, he didn’t have a point jaw, snappy suit or sinister eyebrows. He didn’t seem nearly diabolical enough to be holding an elected official hostage.

  “Shoot him and you die.” She could hear the lie in her own voice. The terrorist backed against the far wall, just outside her field of influence. Even if she poured herself into her abilities, she wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to stop the bullet. She eyed the gun on the ground next to the dead man. With a thought, the firearm jumped into her hand. Jonah had shown her how to use a gun, but even with her training, its curves felt alien.

  “What did you do to my partner?”

  “My question for you, Ariel”—he pulled back the hammer—“why can I not do the same thing to you?”

  Ariel? He didn’t know she wielded similar abilities. Since the Culling, mentalists became scarce, the few who survived gone into hiding. Did he not realize she too was a mentalist? Her confidence started to settle in. She had to believe she could survive this.

  She had a single question for him. “First, tell me how you know my name.” Penelope described her abilities as being similar to how people smiled when others smiled, except it actually made her happy. Never had she revealed the ability to gather specific details from…

  Ariel didn’t finish the thought. She turned the corner, holding the gun toward the ceiling. She pushed the magazine release, letting it slide free. Slowly, with hands above her head, she removed the round in the chamber and let the gun clunk onto the floor.

  The man didn’t speak for a moment. He studied her, his eyes moving up and down her body. She tried to hide her gasp as what appeared to be his ghost strode toward her, stepping inside her personal space.

  His eyes widened at the surprise on her face. “You have the sight? You’re a mentalist,” he whispered.

  One foot in front of the other, she approached him. The living space seemed huge. The apartment’s open concept gave him enough room to stay out of her reach. He ground the gun against the senator’s head, eliciting a moan from the unconscious man.

  She had a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. How did he continue to survive? Were there others like them in the world? She had no doubt she had been sent on the mission with Jonah to find the mentalist, most likely because of her resistance to his abilities.

  You are not alone.

  She choked. He didn’t make any movements. She focused on his face, his eyes burrowing holes through her skull. He could only be a few years older than her. His hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and he wore a t-shirt and jeans, looking like half the men she watched in movies. With a slight smile, he might be charismatic.

  Yes, I can hear your thoughts, Ariel.

  “How did you…”

  The man tapped his ear, then pointed at her shaking his head. She had forgotten her earpiece recorded everything in the room.

  Can you hear me? She felt foolish trying to think out loud.

  Yes. Who sent you?

  I belong to a research facility trying to protect mentalists.

  As his brow sloped and his eyes narrowed, she could sense the anger radiating off the man. The cops, the government, they tried to kill me. They tried to kill us all. Why—

  They are trying to understand what makes us unique. It’s not perfect, but I have a good life. Friends. Family.

  Anger continued to roll off him. She found herself gritting her teeth. His abilities weren’t so different from
Penelope’s empathy. Along with being able to make people do things, he projected his emotions too. She relaxed the muscles in her shoulders and imagined pushing his wall of anger away from her body.

  How did you do that? Ariel noted he wasn’t used to resistance.

  She hadn’t anticipated being the more talented of the two. She would have to thank Mark and Arturo when she returned. Yet what little she knew about telepathy made her wary of the man. As strong as her abilities were in the physical world, his were likely stronger in the mind.

  You know a telepath? he guessed.

  I knew an empath.

  She flinched as the world flashed. For a moment she stood in a large room filled with books and comfortable chairs. The telepath surrounded himself with several other men in beautiful suits. As fast as the image hit, it vanished, and she returned to the rundown apartment.

  You’re not the only one.

  The isolation she experienced at the Facility turned to anger. The muscles in her body tensed as she dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She wanted to yell, to scream at the men listening in. She wanted to show the military why she should be feared. These emotions, they weren’t her.

  She hurled the man backward against the wall. Drywall cracked as he slammed into the studs. She didn’t know how else to stop his emotional barrage. The man inspected the back of his head, checking for blood.

  “Ariel!” yelled Jonah.

  The door to the apartment slammed shut before he could enter. She only had seconds to make a decision that could alter her entire life. The senator mumbled, his head flopping back and forth as he started to come to.

  Run.

  She didn’t need to hear the telepath’s thoughts to decrypt the confusion on his face. Cocked head and raised eyebrow, the man didn’t immediately listen. He shambled to his feet.

  My associates won’t stop, the telepath said.

  Neither will mine.

  Jonah hurled himself against the door, forcing her to focus on holding the barrier in place. She motioned to the window.

  The telepath went to it. We will meet again.

  She nodded in agreement as he crawled out. Jonah hurled himself again, and this time the door burst open, the wooden frame flying in all directions. He grabbed Ariel, checking her for any wounds. He tapped her cheeks lightly, shaking her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes focused on his stubbly face. She willed herself to nod as her mind returned to the physical world.

  “What happened? Who?”

  “I don’t remember,” she lied.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  2033

  The red stairs served as the iconic symbol of New York’s theater district. Marking the end of Time Square, the tawdry landmark fit in among dozens of massive screens projecting the latest advertisements for beauty products. Conthan thought it odd that advertisers strived to remain relevant to the masses who hid their heads in the sand.

  The number of synthetics peppering Time Square nearly rivaled the flesh and blood attendees. Occasionally a Secret Service agent could be seen, speaking into their sleeve, attempting to remain discreet. The president had made few public appearances since stealing the office, but the Canadian Prime Minister had stirred the pot.

  “It’s absurd that a Canadian mentalist has set off the American mentalist.” Gretchen read his thoughts. “I mean, I’m not surprised. The Canadians have always been the better version of us.”

  “And the maple syrup,” Conthan added.

  “Damn, now I want pancakes.”

  The braided rope holding his hand against hers had started to chafe. As long as he continued touching her arm, the world presented itself in black and white. The high contrast of light and dark made it appear more like an old photograph than reality. As long as they remained in contact, he’d remain secluded in her invisible world.

  A black limo crawled through the crowd. Synthetics pushed people back, giving the vehicle space to approach the stairs. A nearby agent spoke into the cuff of his sleeve, continuously scanning the crowd. Multiple times the man stared directly at where he and Gretchen hid. Conthan held his breath each time, worried Gretchen’s powers had switched off.

  Gretchen yanked on his arm, pulling him away from the sidewalk. A pedestrian passed, holding a camera up in the air, trying to capture the moment. Sheltered in an alcove next to a theater’s ticket-taker window, they only had to avoid bumping into the occasional tourist. With the curfew set so early, the majority of Broadway had been boarded up, yet another industry killed.

  “Did you ever see a Broadway show?” Conthan asked.

  Gretchen shot him confused look. “Of course. My parents were determined to give me some culture.”

  “My foster mom had enough difficulty putting food on the table. We could barely afford to see plays put on by my school.” He hadn’t thought about his foster mom in months. He’d returned to her apartment shortly after joining Vanessa. She had cleared out their former home, not like she moved, but any signs of her had been cleared away. The sterility of the apartment provided more unanswered questions.

  “What are you thinking about?” Gretchen asked.

  “Lizzy.” He said the name as if Gretchen would know what it meant. The perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised high on her forehead gave away her confusion. “My foster mom. I think she knew I was a Child.”

  “Moms have a way of knowing these things first.” From less than a foot away, she forced her smirk flat, trying to hide it. The tattoo crawling up her neck and along her jaw, covering her cheek, danced as she broke into a laugh at her whimsical poke at his sexuality.

  “You’re an ass.” Her laughter had a contagious factor, and he found himself smiling. On the far side of Times Square, the number of New Yorkers gathering around stairs doubled, while the news vans parked off to the side. Reporters stood in front of cameras, rattling off some guesses at what the president might say before the entire world.

  “Have I mentioned how much I loathe Manhattan?” Gretchen, the girl whose family had more money than they knew what to do with, hated the most well-to-do area of New York.

  “They’re such poseurs.” He beat her to the statement.

  She nodded in agreement. “Remember how we used to sit around the warehouse, slug back cheap beer and talk about ‘the establishment’ and how much it sucked?”

  “What I wouldn’t give to be there again.” The two artists exchanged of moment of silence. They didn’t mention their friends or how they were killed as co-conspirators. Her hand gripped his, squeezing tightly, removing the need to discuss it any further.

  The synthetics lined the front of the stairs while Jacob waved to the crowd, working his way to the podium. The crowd neither cheered nor booed, instead growing quiet at his presence. Conthan hoped the bystanders would rally, but among New York’s elite, he knew he’d be disappointed. The rich and influential followed the smell of power, and there was no doubt Jacob reeked of status.

  “Remind me why you’re not opening a small black hole in the man’s chest?”

  From a hundred yards, the slightest effort would open the portal. The rest of the world would believe their president had a heart attack as he gripped his chest.

  “He’ll jump to another body.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve killed him. Twice.” For a moment Conthan recalled standing on the transport a year ago, staring down the sight of a gun, pulling the trigger. The Warden’s body went limp as brains smeared the side of the plane.

  “Point made.”

  “I’ll kill him again. Eventually.” The words were charged with emotion. If not for Vanessa or Dav5d, then for Sarah. One way or another, he’d find a way to kill the man. If he possessed another body, Conthan would continue until the Warden ran out of hosts.

  “It’s starting,” Gretchen said, pulling him forward several feet.

  “Thank you for joining me today. The world around us is changing quickly. Our values are being
threatened by a militant force once promised to protect the citizens of the United States. I am here to assure the safety of American citizens as this act of domestic terrorism is put to rest.”

  High above the heads of the attendees, jumbo monitors went black. One screen flashed, displaying an enlarged Jacob. Each of the nearby screens followed suit until the small man speckled the side of buildings.

  “It is my duty as your president, the President of the United States of America, to close this divide in our nation.” The crowd started a light cheer. “To you, good citizens of New York, I owe my success. You are the pulse of America, and for you to live in fear of a tyrant who has hijacked the military is not acceptable. You will live without oppression.”

  “Jesus,” Gretchen said as the crowd grew louder.

  “No longer will this war be waged on our doorstep. We will take this battle to them. I swear to you, my fellow Americans, we will march from the east, secure the Midwest, and push these traitors into the Pacific.” More cheers. “We will restore America to its rightful place as a free, prosperous nation.”

  The once-timid crowd roared in approval. Conthan had to wonder if it was due to the rhetoric Jacob spouted or the man’s uncanny ability to manipulate humans. Conthan again imagined staring down the sight of a gun, this time at Jacob. Pulling the trigger had never been easier.

  The screens changed, hushing the crowd. They showed several large airships lowering toward a street in a dense city. Jacob had already begun his invasion.

  “Our threat is not only from a tyrant to the west. Canada has allowed a mentalist to enter the political arena. America has understood the dangers of mentalists for nearly four decades and yet Canada persists in providing safe refuge for these menaces. In the last four decades, they have isolated themselves from the world. While I hope to continue peaceful talks with the current Prime Minister, we will be establishing stricter security along our borders for the protection of the American people.”