Prophet of Doom: Delphi Chronicles Book One

by D. S. Murphy

  “Is that what Meredith told you?” Jake said. “She was upset. But you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault.”

  “All of this is my fault!” I said, frustrated. “If I hadn’t shot that mod and attracted the others, Sam would still be alive.”

  Jake cupped my chin with his hand and lifted my face to meet his eyes.

  “Those mods had probably been following the mercs for miles,” he said, annunciating each word slowly. “If you hadn’t shot that mod and warned us, we could all be dead right now.”

  “Meredith has a different version of events,” I sniffed.

  “Meredith is a fighter. She’s angry at herself and she’s lashing out at you. We all deal with grief in our own way. Tamara said something once, years ago, that stuck with me. None of this is our responsibility. We didn’t fuck up the world. We didn’t create the mods. No one can change the past. All we can do is live each day the best we can, and take pleasure in the precious moments of beauty.”

  I felt a tear drip down my cheek. He leaned in and put an arm around me. My heart pounded as I felt the warmth of his skin against mine. My eyes drank in his dark, tousled hair, the contours of his sculpted, shirtless body. He was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, but they settled dangerously low on his hips. But I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. Not again. Not after what happened.

  “You’re wrong,” I said, placing my palm on his chest and pushing him away gently.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, looking sincerely mesmerized.

  I shrugged slightly, as the pink and orange flames began licking the side of my vision.

  “You don’t have to,” I said with a sad smile. I gazed at Jake’s face, trying to remember everything about him before he was consumed in the fire.

  21

  Eric drove me home in silence. I could tell he was curious, but he gave me space, and I didn’t feel like talking. The truth was, despite last night’s tragedy, I still felt a crushing disappointment to return to my own time. Sam was dead, and it was my fault. Jake was right—my naivete was dangerous. I’d thought going into the future was some big adventure, an escape from my ordinary life. But those people were real, they had lives that mattered to them. I couldn’t treat it like my own personal amusement park.

  I understood now how bad it really was, how dangerous. But at least in the future, everyone understood how much it sucked, and they were in it together. When I woke up in my room the next morning, I felt more alone than I ever had before. I’d lived through something traumatic. I felt like my soul had been scarred, and I’d returned unwhole. Fractured somehow. But nobody else could understand how I was feeling.

  My eyes drifted to a familiar red mark on the ceiling. Years ago, Chrys and I were fighting over a new lipstick shade that she wanted. I jumped on the bed, holding the lipstick up out of her reach—and ended up smudging the ceiling. I wanted to get a cloth and wipe it off, but Chrys told me to leave it as a testament of our friendship. It had always made me smile, but now it just reminded me of the gash in Sam’s stomach when he was disembowelled. It also reminded me that I hadn’t spoken to Chrys since the break-in. There was so much I wanted to tell her, but she was probably still pissed at me.

  I dragged myself out of bed when the alarm clock went off and grabbed a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt from the floor. I didn’t care if they were crumpled or dirty. It all seemed so frustratingly stupid, I wanted to scream. The only reason I even bothered going to school was to find Tracy. Today was the day of the lotto drawing, and I desperately needed an ally.

  I walked through the halls as if pulled by an invisible string. I had a newfound sense of purpose, a mission. I needed to set things in motion. I needed to change last night’s outcome. Sam didn’t have to die. Nobody did. I could save them all. But to do that, I needed Tracy on my side. After the drawing, we could start planning. He said to give Tamara both tickets this time, but I still needed his father’s help setting up all the accounts, and buying property in Defiance.

  I roamed the halls between classes, looking for him. I checked my phone every few minutes, waiting for The Powerball numbers to be announced. I wanted to be with him when it happened. I wanted to see his face when he realized I was right. At lunch I scanned the stompeding herd of students, pushing between the bodies. I spotted him and Chrys at the same time. I decided I could talk with her later, and chased after Tracy as he pushed through the front doors. He was with a couple friends; they looked like rejects from a wannabe grunge band. One of them was carrying a skateboard.

  I pulled back, not wanting to interrupt. Until that time in the cafeteria, I didn’t even know Tracy went to my school. I hadn’t had a reason to talk with the Freshman before. They paused outside by a group of trees, and I walked up to them and stood there awkwardly. They ignored me for a few moments, so I cleared my throat to get their attention. All four heads swiveled in my direction. Tracy looked immediately annoyed, but the other boys seemed intrigued. One even smiled at me.

  “Hey guys,” I said, slightly louder than I’d planned. “Do you mind if I talk to Tracy for a second… alone.”

  They stared at me for a beat too long, then grinned and backed off. One of them slapped Tracy on the back and whispered something, then sauntered away.

  “Hey,” I said when we were alone. “Um, how’s it going?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s what you want to say to me right now?”

  “Well… no, but I thought—”

  He gave me an exasperated look. “What do you want?”

  “The numbers,” I said. “Did you use them?”

  He laughed. “You mean, the numbers you gave me when you stalked me and showed up at my house to tell me you could time travel, and that the world was ending?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, those.”

  His eyes narrowed and it looked like he was about to say something, but instead, his eyes flicked to the right. Then he took off running. Seriously? Chasing him might not have been the smartest idea, but what other choice did I have? “Tracy!” I called out, sprinting after him across the parking lot. I must have looked insane, but I didn’t care. My heart was pounding, and my breathing slowed as the familiar pink aura heightened my senses. The world seemed to slow down, and I quickly closed the gap between us. When I got close enough to grab him, I lunged. He shouted as we tumbled to the ground.

  “Get off me, bitch!”

  “You really need to work on your attitude,” I said, pinning him down.

  “Are you kidding me?” He shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “You just jumped me.”

  “I just need to talk to you,” I said. “Why’d you run?”

  “All you do is talk,” he responded. “And all I hear is bat shit crazy.”

  He continued to squirm, but I held him down, trying to think of something to say that would convince him—but I had nothing. I was about to let him up when my phone buzzed. I quickly took it out of my pocket and nearly cried when I saw the screen. The Powerball numbers. I turned my screen to Tracy with a beaming smile.

  “Congrats,” I said, with a smug smile. “You just won fifty grand. Maybe you can use it to buy some manners, so you can stop being such a jerk.”

  His mouth dropped open when he saw the numbers on my screen. He started to say something, but instead clamped his mouth shut. It looked like he was grinding his teeth.

  “Get off me.” His voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear what he said.

  “Excuse me? How about a thank you?”

  “I said. Get. The fuck. Off me.” He took a swipe at my phone, knocking it out of my hand. The screen cracked against the pavement. I released my hold on him and leaned back against my heels, stunned. Tracy stood up and brushed himself off. I thought he was going to yell at me, but I must have looked so pitiful kneeling on the pavement with my busted phone, his face softened.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulder.

  Then he left me,
alone and speechless. The single thread of hope I’d been holding on to snapped, and my earlier optimism faded. He’d seen the proof. The numbers on the winning ticket were exactly the same ones I’d written on his arm. He just didn’t give a shit.

  * * *

  My body felt like it weighed an extra fifty pounds the next morning. I’d hardly slept, worrying that I’d screwed something up by pushing too hard. If Tracy wasn’t on my side, did that mean there’d be no Defiance? The same, zombie-infested hellhole but without the safe haven I’d helped Tamara create? At least I could still give Tamara the lottery tickets. Maybe Tracy didn’t believe me, but that didn’t mean nobody else would. We just had to get the word out. There were dark rings under my eyes so I put on some foundation and went downstairs. My dad stood at the toaster, staring at the bread. I yawned and he turned around.

  “Hey kiddo,” he said. “You want toast?”

  I shook my head and grabbed a mug, heading for the coffee maker.

  “Whoa, there!” He said with a laugh. He pointed to the water faucet instead.

  “But I need coffee,” I pleaded.

  He took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and poured me a glass, then shoved a banana in my hand. “You need vitamins. And actual food.”

  “Studies have proven the many benefits of coffee,” I grumbled.

  “Write me a thirty-page report and I’ll consider it,” he said, smirking.

  I rolled my eyes and turned to leave, but he stopped me.

  “Alicia wait. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I was anxious to get to school, but I nodded anyway.

  “I can’t help but notice…” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been a little distracted lately. I don’t know what’s going on at school, but if there’s something wrong, or anything that’s troubling you, you can tell me. I promise I won’t judge.”

  As relieving as it would be to tell him the truth, I knew I couldn’t. What if he thought I was crazy? What if he sent me to get help? I shook the thought out of my head and smiled at him.

  “Thanks Dad, but I’m fine. Normal, teenage girl stuff. Boys and pop quizzes. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I don’t want to hear about you handling any boys,” he said seriously.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, smiling. “I’d have to get one to look at me first.”

  I was about to leave, but turned back on impulse.

  “Did Mom ever work at Zamonta?”

  Dad’s eyebrows arched up, but he tried to hide his surprise.

  “Why do you ask?” He opened his paper casually.

  “I was at Brett Peters’ house and I heard his dad mention something.”

  A flash of anger crossed my dad’s face, a look I’d never seen before. It scared me.

  “She never worked there,” he said shortly.

  “Really? But—”

  “She never worked there,” he repeated. His hands clutched the paper so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “Why don’t you get going?” he said. “You don’t want to be late.”

  What was he not telling me? Why keep it a secret? I tossed the banana back on the table and only took a small sip of the orange juice before rushing out the door. A small part of me was disappointed not to find Brett’s jeep parked on the curb waiting for me, but I grabbed my bike and pedalled towards school. I stopped at a convenience store on the way for a spiced mocha and two Powerball tickets. I wrote out the numbers clearly, filling in the grids.

  “You 18?” The cashier asked.

  “Buying them for my mom,” I lied. He shrugged and fed the form to a small machine that spit out the lottery ticket with my numbers on them. The winning numbers. Getting two winning tickets from the same exact place should have been a mathematical impossibility. They wouldn’t be able to ignore Tamara now. It was almost exciting enough to forget that my own father had just lied to my face.

  I got to school with a few minutes to spare. On the way to my locker, I passed the Spirit Wall— a bulletin board that school clubs and teams used to promote school activities. I had no interest in extracurriculars, but a poster for varsity volleyball tryouts caught my eye. My eyes zeroed in on the words “new members welcome.” In the future of my visions, I’d been on the volleyball team. I wondered if just refraining from playing volleyball could be enough to defy what was coming somehow, but that seemed silly. And at the moment, I was more worried about losing the future that did exist, as terrible as it was. I’d always sucked at sports, but in gym class I’d actually managed to score a point. Maybe things were different now. A shadow crossed the wall and I turned to see Courtney with her entourage.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You’re not seriously considering signing up are you? You suck at sports. You suck at everything.”

  I clenched my fists together. A few weeks ago, I’d been terrified of Courtney. But she didn’t scare me anymore. I’d faced down mods and mercs in the future. Fuck it. I grabbed the pen and wrote my name on the sign-up sheet, just to see the look on her face. I wasn’t disappointed. I felt a tinge of satisfaction from the expression of horror on her face. I couldn’t believe her identity was so fragile that it could be undermined with the simple gesture of writing my name on a piece of paper.

  Courtney narrowed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, but I stood my ground. I folded my arms and stared right back at her—almost daring her to escalate things. I was ready for a fight. Courtney muttered something to her friends before walking over to me. She looked at my name on the flyer and then leaned in close. “You are bold,” she whispered. “I’ll give you that.”

  I forced my body to relax under her scrutiny.

  “I just want to tryout.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve seen you ‘try’ and you should know that’s not what we’re looking for.”

  My fingers curled into fists, but my face remained neutral.

  “What is your problem with me?” I asked suddenly.

  She paused for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t act like you haven’t been extra bitchy to me lately,” I said.

  Her eyelids were so narrow I could barely see you her eyes. “Don’t act like I don’t know about you and Brett.”

  All the air left my chest and my eyes widened. “What are you even talking about?”

  Courtney gave me a warning glare. “Oh, please! I know you guys have been spending all your time together. Every time I ask him he’s super vague about it—says he’s helping you with some assignment—but I’m not stupid, you know.”

  Are you sure about that?

  “Courtney. I don’t know what you think is going on, but whatever it is I can guarantee you you’re wrong.”

  “Whatever,” she said coldly. “Just stay away from my boyfriend.” She turned away from me, but looked back over her shoulder and snarled. “And don’t even think about showing up for tryouts.”

  She sauntered back to her friends, whipping her hair back and forth as she walked.

  I caught a glimpse of Brett down the hall, and turned away before I could see Courtney kiss him hello. Someone grabbed my arm and I practically jumped.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chrys whispered.

  I pulled my arm away.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. I wanted to say I was sorry and pull her into a hug, but I didn’t. I was tired of her treating me like an infant. I may not be as tough as she was, but I could get through one day without leaning on her for emotional support. Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. Then she shrugged and left me alone.

  The rest of the day was miserable. Brett had retreated into his shell. I passed him in the halls and he actually pretended not to see me. Cody waved at least but was acting weird. Chrys had probably told them to stay away from me because I was being moody. It was high school as usual, like we were all forgetting what we’d been through, what was at risk.

  In class, I drew pictures on th
e fresh pages of my notebook, trying to tune out the mind-numbing lessons. I had two teachers warn me about missing assignments. I promised I’d catch up but wasn’t sure I believed myself. My mind was going around in circles, trying to think of some way to get Tracy to believe me. If I couldn’t convince him, we didn’t have a shot in hell about convincing the rest of the world. Which meant our days were literally numbered. Every student, every teacher—they’d either become food for mods, or mods themselves, depending on where they bought their groceries.

  And Courtney’s challenge was still getting under my skin. I knew how inconsequential it was in the grand scheme of things, which is maybe why it bothered me so much. What did it matter if I showed up to tryouts or not? Why did I even want to be on the team? But when the last bell of the day rang, I headed straight for the gym without overthinking it. I’d always run away from conflict. Maybe it was time to start embracing it.

  Hopeful girls, mostly juniors and seniors, packed the gym with excitement and nervous energy. I slowly walked inside, watching girls stretch. Getting ready for a chance to prove their skill. I sat on one of the benches, isolated from everyone else. I recognized some of the girls from the halls, but I’d never spoken to any of them. I felt like some of them had their eyes on me—like they were talking about me before I came in—but I could have just been paranoid. A sign-in sheet floated through the crowd. When it was my turn to get the sheet, one of the girls purposely skipped me and handed it to someone else. I frowned. Perfect. I sighed heavily and stood up, patiently waiting until the girl closest to me finished writing her name. Then I gently tugged the paper out of her hand and wrote my own name down. I passed the paper to the next girl, who looked at me like I had a contagious disease. I rolled my eyes and dropped the paper in her lap.

  A whistle blew at the front of the gym. Courtney stood there with the rest of the volleyball team. She looked intimidating with her whistle, her short shorts, and her attitude, but I refused to let her get to me. Not today. Today I would focus on not totally sucking. I wasn’t even sure that I could do it, but I felt like I needed to try. Maybe this was the one thing in my life I could actually control. Part of me wanted to show Courtney a thing or two, even though I knew proving myself to her wouldn’t actually change anything. Another part of me was curious. The way I’d caught that milk carton in the lunch room. My sudden improvement in gym class. If I was developing some kind of superpowers from the phylia, I should lean in and figure out what else I was capable of.