The Song of the Orphans

by Daniel Price

  “Don’t listen to her,” Gemma urged Naomi. “She’s trying to draw you out of the room.”

  Naomi lifted her goggles and squinted at Hannah. In the haze, she looked like her aunt, Fleeta Byers, the worst relative of them all. She’d once caught Naomi in a net trap and beat her bloody with a broomstick. You butchered my dog, you monster! That dog was sweet and it was loved! What are you?

  “You’re nothing,” Hannah hissed. “You’re less than nothing. You should have slit your own wrists. The world would be better off.”

  Naomi’s face quivered. Her knuckles went white around the hilt of her knife.

  Gemma raised her microphone. “No! Kill her sister! Kill the—”

  Naomi shrieked and charged after Hannah. The two of them bolted down the wooden steps, past Heath’s half-frozen form. His face was contorted in a scream. Larval globs of tempis flew slowly from his fingertips. Hannah prayed that his creatures were strong enough to protect Jonathan and the others. With everyone else either blind or dying, Heath was all that stood against the other four children. This was his war now.

  —

  “Here come the wolves,” Gemma warned her teammates. “Stay sharp. Act fast. You know what to do.”

  She leaned back in her chair, fuming. This was her ninth attempt to kill the breachers tonight. With each failed attack, she jumped back in time and readjusted her strategy. Most of the lessons were obvious in retrospect: take out David early, neutralize Theo’s foresight, keep the enemies in a blind, tight space, and don’t let the tempics attack.

  “Goddamn it, Naomi . . .”

  Gemma was tempted to rewind and start over, but screw it. Let the battle play out. The Pelletiers obviously weren’t coming, for one reason or another, which meant that she had all the time in the world to test different strategies. She was curious to see how Heath held up against the lovers on her team, her two strongest fighters.

  She leaned forward in her chair. “Come on, Squid and Suki. You can take him.”

  “You come down here and try!” Suki yelled back.

  The pretty young blonde had already obliterated four of Heath’s wolves with her solic lightning, but it certainly wasn’t easy. The beasts were faint blue shapes in her thermal vision, and they had no trouble finding her in the fog. She’d made the mistake of wearing tempic boots as a safeguard against Jonathan’s power. Heath could feel them from the other side of the room.

  Another wolf jumped at her. Squid cast a fat black tendril and caught the beast in midair.

  “Ha! Gotcha!”

  None of the Gothams knew what to make of Miguel Xavier Tam, the boy that all the children called Squid. His mortis was like nothing any of them had seen before: a dark, oily substance that corroded everything it touched. In a matter of seconds, it could reduce wood to dust, steel to rust, cats to bone. Tempis was especially vulnerable to the effect. The wolf crumpled in Squid’s grip like a hollow egg. Its death filled Heath with greasy nausea.

  Together, Squid and Suki made short work of Heath’s remaining minions. The moment they finished, they looked up to see more wolves charging at them. A new pack of fourteen.

  “Oh come on,” Squid griped.

  Gemma rolled her eyes. “Hit the boy.”

  “We’re trying! We can’t get close enough!”

  “Then wear him down. He can’t make those things forever.”

  Gemma checked on the other breachers, still lost and separated in the fog. Harold was keeping them on edge with a barrage of menacing noises—a roar here, a growl there, a hiss here, a chitter there.

  Theo lifted David with a grunt. He realized now—too little, too late—that his precognition had been hobbled. His third eye was just as blind as the other two.

  He twirled around in the fog. “Can anyone hear me? Amanda? Hannah?”

  A high voice called out to him. “Theo?”

  He turned to the left. “Carrie? Is that you?”

  “It’s me! I’m hurt! Someone cut me!”

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. I can barely see. Oh God, I’m bleeding.”

  Theo’s forehead dripped with sweat. He carried David in the direction of her voice. “Okay, I’m coming. Keep talking to me!”

  Harold crouched in a corner, with Bo at his side. As Theo shuffled toward them, they had to bite their lips to keep from laughing.

  “I’m here!” the tiger yelled in Carrie’s voice. “Hurry!”

  Gemma shook her head in dark wonder. All it took was a little bit of solis to expose the great “messiah” for the sucker that he was.

  “He’s coming, Dunk. You better be ready.”

  Duncan Rall crouched behind a box, his freckled face filled with unease. He hated the vicious glee that Gemma took in these murders. He hated working with nutters like Harold and Naomi. Most of all, he hated the fact that Carrie Bloom got caught up in the violence. She was a kinsman, not a breacher. This whole mission felt wrong.

  “They’re worldkillers,” Gemma impatiently reminded him. “If even one of them lives, we die.”

  Dunk peered through the mist at Theo. “But what if we’re wrong? What if he really is the savior?”

  “Listen to me. My aunt gave her life to save people like you. You think she would have done that if she was only half sure?”

  Dunk lowered his head guiltily. “No.”

  “If you’re not man enough to help me—”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then do your job and drop them.”

  Twelve feet away, Amanda was lost in her own quandary. She kneeled on the floor between Jonathan and Carrie, struggling to tear her sweatpants into tourniquets. Even in the fog, she could see the severity of their wounds, the blood that gushed from multiple cuts. They didn’t have time for old-school triage. If Amanda wanted to save them both, she’d have to get creative.

  She closed her eyes in concentration. Four spindly white arms grew out of her rib cage and ripped through the cloth of her T-shirt. She guided them over Jonathan and Carrie, then pressed down on their skin. Her two patients winced as cool tempis oozed into their wounds, clamping veins, sealing gashes.

  Carrie writhed on the floor. A jet of blood sprayed Amanda’s arm. She held her down with a fifth tempic appendage. “Carrie, listen to me. Listen. You’re going to be okay but you have to stay still.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I know.”

  “Please! I don’t want to die!”

  “You won’t die. I won’t let you.”

  A loud, eerie clacking sound filled the area, like the mandibles of a giant insect. Carrie raised her head. “What is that?”

  Amanda held her still. “It’s just an illusion. It can’t hurt us.”

  “It’s cover,” Jonathan said. He took a feeble grip of Amanda’s wrist. “Get out of here.”

  His voice came out in a raspy croak. Amanda could feel the weakness of his pulse. Carrie had every chance of surviving her wounds, but Jonathan was slipping fast. Even with the tempis, he had minutes at best before his organs shut down.

  “I’ll hold them off,” he told Amanda. “Just take Carrie and go. Save the others.”

  Amanda bandaged his hand, her mind hissing curses at Future Mia. She had no idea why the girl had sent that warning about Jonathan. It couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Forget it,” she told him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “But Heath—”

  “Heath’s fine. I can feel his wolves. They’re protecting him.”

  “And Hannah?”

  Amanda’s heart skipped. Just moments before, she’d caught a lightning-quick glimpse of her sister confronting someone. Hannah was battling another speedster, the most vicious one yet.

  “She’ll make it,” Amanda assured Jonathan. “She always finds a way.”

  F
ar above in the Sunder house, Gemma switched her view to the stairwell cameras. The swifter chase had ended four seconds after it started. The results were horrific.

  —

  For Hannah, the downward spiral began on a string of ugly truths. They hit her like punches as she fled down the wooden steps.

  She’s faster than you.

  You can’t outrun her.

  You can’t disarm her.

  She’ll cut you open before you can touch her.

  Then she’ll run right back upstairs and—

  For the twentieth time, her mind replayed the image of Naomi stabbing Jonathan, the fat beads of blood that flew out of him in slow motion. They split apart in mid-trajectory, like the liquid globs in those retro novelty lamps. What were those things called again?

  She’s faster than you.

  Lava lamps. That was it. His death looked like a lava lamp.

  He’s not dead, a calmer voice insisted. Amanda will find him. She’ll find him and she’ll save him. Because she’s Amanda and that’s what she does.

  Hannah jumped the last step, then hurried onto the marble staircase. Naomi’s aura was getting hotter. The girl was closing the gap with each fractured second.

  You can’t outrun her. You won’t make it to the bottom.

  THEN WHAT DO I DO? her inner self screamed. Hannah was a neophyte swifter in bare feet, at least fifty pounds heavier than the sleek young cheetah behind her. But if she had just one second to overpower the girl, one second to—

  (kill her)

  —snap her leg, then she wouldn’t be a threat to anyone.

  Yes. That was it. There was a reason Hannah kept beating the more experienced swifters who came after her. It wasn’t because she was smarter or more powerful than them. She simply did things they didn’t expect.

  And what was the last thing that little beast expected?

  For me to get behind her.

  As Hannah neared the second floor, she prepared for the most dangerous trick of her life. Ten months of swifting had taught her a lot about the mechanics of her talent. She knew that if she pushed her temporis to the limit, she’d have one second of speed advantage over Naomi, one second before her engine died and threw her out of blueshift. She’d have to use that second just right or she was dead.

  The moment the pair reached the landing, Hannah opened the floodgates of her power. Her vision turned a muddy gray. Icicles of pain stabbed her skin, her eyes, her every thought. Was this the world that horrid girl lived in? Was this all she knew?

  The clock was ticking. Hannah positioned herself for a 150-degree hook spin. It was a move she’d learned in college, under the tutelage of a particularly mean dance instructor. You’ll never get it right, he’d said after her fifth flub. You’re too fleshy. Too imbalanced.

  Though she nearly broke her ankle doing it, Hannah eventually proved him wrong. She went on to use the maneuver as Velma Kelly in a community production of Chicago. Even now, she couldn’t plot her steps without hearing the music.

  First I’d . . .

  She threw all her weight onto her right foot, then made a rubber-band reversal on the landing. She bounced past Naomi in a windy dash.

  Then she’d . . .

  Naomi looked over her shoulder, her eyes round with surprise. From out of nowhere, this soft, clumsy woman got quick. Hannah had just been in front of her. How did she get behind her?

  Then we’d . . .

  Hannah paused for the briefest of moments as Naomi skidded to a halt. The girl flailed awkwardly at the edge of the landing. Hannah could tell in an instant that she’d regain her balance. Gravity wanted her to fall so badly. But I can’t do it alone.

  A cold, sick dread washed over Hannah. She knew exactly what would happen if she pushed Naomi, and what would happen if she didn’t.

  Hannah thought of Jonathan. She charged at Naomi with her last gasp of speed.

  And she pushed.

  The child flew down the steps at an external velocity of 119 miles an hour. Her first impact broke her hip. Her second one snapped her arm in two places. Her third one cracked her head and drove a skull fragment into her frontal lobe. Everything after that was immaterial, just meat and bone in limp kinesis. She crashed into the wall at the base of the steps, then lay eerily still.

  Winded, Hannah joined her on the ground floor and studied the mangled body at her feet. A small eternity seemed to pass before an inner voice dared to state the obvious.

  She’s dead. You killed her.

  A hysterical scream lodged itself in Hannah’s throat. She swallowed it down to the deepest depths of her psyche, her nether Neverland. That scream would never, never see the light of day. And it would never, never die.

  Hannah straightened her shirt with trembling fingers. She took a last look at Naomi, then started her long, slow journey back up the stairs.

  —

  Theo’s shoulders throbbed with pain as he carried David across the clock chamber. The boy was a lot heavier than he looked. He also looked worse than he did two minutes ago. Theo could guess now why their enemies took him out first. David would have seen right through the fake Liam and Olga. He could have cleared this fog in a—

  Stop.

  —heartbeat.

  The solis was wearing off. Theo’s foresight pricked at him from the corners of his consciousness. He caught a glimpse of the whole tower toppling from his perspective. It was spinning and spinning and . . .

  No, not the tower. Him. He was about to fall a very long distance if he didn’t—

  STOP!

  He froze where he stood. The illusive Carrie called at him through the mist. “Theo, where are you? I need help!”

  His thoughts churned in frantic dilemma. He’d never forgive himself if he let Carrie die, but he couldn’t shake his sense of dread. He and David would both fall to their deaths if he took another step.

  Gemma squinted at his image on her monitor. “What are you waiting for? Do it!”

  Dunk shook his head, quivering. “I-I can’t, Gemma. I just . . .”

  “Fucking coward! You’re no good to anyone!”

  She heard a high cry through her speakers. At long last, Heath was succumbing to strain. His tempic wolves had become crude, primitive objects, like tribal carvings. Squid and Suki were able to swat them away with ease. With each victory, they closed the gap on Heath, until they had him backed against a wall.

  Suki raised her goggles and sneered at him. “He’s finally out of doggies.”

  “About time,” Squid said. “You want to do the honors?”

  “No, babe. We should do it together.”

  Gemma palmed her face. “For the love of God, will somebody please kill someone?”

  “On three,” said Suki. “One—”

  Heath thrust his arm and shot four snowball-size globs at her. She was right about Heath being all out of wolves. Unfortunately for her, he had just enough tempis left for a more intimate attack.

  Suki looked down to find four large rats clinging tightly to her body, their eyes as white as their teeth. They climbed her shirt on hooked claws. One of them bit her hard enough to draw blood.

  The girl shrieked and flailed in mindless panic. Squid reach out to help her. “Suki!”

  They’d only been a couple for nine days, though one could hardly tell from their gooey devotion to each other. On hindsight, Gemma should have seen it coming. No other girl wanted to touch Squid and his icky mortis. No other boy wanted to risk an electric kiss from Suki. The two of them had come to believe, in the drippy way of children, that their love was pure destiny.

  But if Squid had known Suki better, he would have realized that approaching her during a power tantrum was the worst possible thing to do. He’d just reached her side when her body erupted in a six-foot globe of crackling electricity. Residual solis spilled in all
directions, killing the nearest lumic cameras and clearing the local fog.

  While half the people in the clock chamber got their vision back, Gemma lost her view of Suki and Squid. She shook her computer screen. “No, no, no. What’s happening? Talk to me!”

  The lightning storm subsided. Suki checked her body for rats, then shot a murderous glare at Heath.

  “You little bastard! You . . .”

  Her left foot brushed against something soft. She looked down to see Squid sprawled on the floor, his eyes wide and unblinking. His handsome face was charred with electrical burns. The tips of his hair still smoldered.

  Suki uttered a noise that fell somewhere between a gasp and a scream. “M-Miguel?”

  Heath processed the boy’s demise, then began a creeping retreat along the wall. Suki turned her crying eyes on him. “You!”

  A sizzling bolt shot out of her palm and struck Heath in the stomach. He fell to the floor with a cry.

  “You killed him!” She shocked Heath again. “You killed him!”

  In the diminished haze, Jonathan had a clear view of Suki. He raised his bleeding hand at the catwalk bridge, then dropped it at both edges. A pair of one-inch slivers passed intangibly through the floor. Everything in between came down as hard, solid steel.

  By the time Suki looked up, it was already too late. The catwalk drove her down to the floor with enough force to shatter half her bones. Only Heath could see her face beneath the wreckage. The impact had torn off her wig and one of her synthetic eyebrows. In death, the girl had become something different—a broken doll, a bad dream, a Martian crashed to Earth.

  Amanda looked to the debris. “Jonathan, what—”

  A beam of light struck her eyes, burning her corneas. Before Jonathan could react, his head was engulfed in an orb of screaming noise. His eardrums ruptured. He fell unconscious to the floor.

  Now it was Harold Herrick’s turn to throw a power tantrum. He’d been promised glory and honor, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove his worth to the clan.

  But Gemma was wrong. She lied. Everything was coming undone.

  As always, Bo was there to voice the boy’s cruelest thoughts. The tiger circled Harold, its ethercal nails clacking against the floorboards.