“Shit!” Tyler muttered with as much emotion as Donovan had ever heard him express as the gun was knocked from the ex-CIA man’s hands. Mike struggled to get up, raising his own gun as Robin and Willie were grabbed, his mind swirling with vague, heroic notions of going down in a blaze of glory. But then something exploded behind his left ear, and the darkness of the sky and the water rose, mingled, then swallowed him whole. . . .
Water, cold and salty, splashed into Donovan’s face, making his ski mask crawl against his skin. Groggily, he tried to pull away only to discover he was being firmly held by two Visitors in guard helmets, his arms pinned behind him.
He raised his head, which ached sharply along the left side, trying to blink the water out of his eyes to see where he was. Then his head was roughly jerked back as the ski mask was yanked off his face. “Hey, pal, watch it!” he muttered as an artificial fingernail scraped his chin. “My face doesn’t come off the way yours does.”
Mike had to narrow his eyes against the sudden brightness, but after a second he could see that Robin, Ham, Maggie, and Willie were receiving similar treatment. He was inside the warehouse, which seemed very warm and stifling after the ocean air outside. Here, an acrid, sour smell permeated everything, making his nostrils sting, and even the Visitors coughed occasionally as they moved around the stacks of barrels.
“Why, Mr. Donovan!” Diana turned from a discussion with several officers and strode forward to stand in front of him, resplendent in her white dress uniform, the one she reserved for special occasions. Looking at her, Mike found it hard to believe that she was reptilian under that tight-fitting, curvaceous outfit and flawless skin—until he looked at the expression in her eyes.
“Well, well.” Ham shook his head. “The queen scaly got lucky again.”
“And the ever-charming Mr. Tyler—and Maggie Blodgett. And dear, dear Robin. I am especially glad to see you. Have you met any handsome . . . males lately?” Diana reached out to stroke her cheek; Robin jerked away and, glaring, tried to spit at her. The guard holding her saw the movement of her jaw and cuffed her wamingly.
Diana turned to the others. “What an unexpected pleasure to have you all drop in like this.”
“It was not in our plans either,” Willie mumbled honestly from Mike’s right.
“If I had known you were coming, I would have arranged for a more formal reception.” The Visitor commander smiled. “As it is, you can be special”—she looked suddenly very reptilian—“guests at my victory feast later, when we return to the Mother Ship to celebrate the removal of your poisonous bacteria from our ocean.”
“Your ocean, huh?” Maggie said stonily. “Fat chance, you leathery bitch.”
Deliberately ignoring the gibe, the dark-haired Visitor gestured to her guards. “But no doubt the real reason you came was to personally thank me for my little gift to your resistance.” Donovan saw Margie escorted up to stand beside her. “Lovely, isn’t she? And perfectly loyal to me.”
A pain worse than the physical one in his head stabbed through Mike as he gazed into the lovely, impassive face of his ex-wife. For just an instant, he thought he saw something flicker deep within her eyes, although her deadened features never changed.
Then Diana was strutting in front of him again, blocking his vision. “Maijorie just arrived a few minutes ahead of you,” she said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “It would have been sooner, but a couple of overzealous security people aboard the Mother Ship detained her until they could verify her relationship to me. But it was worth the wait. I do so love family reunions—they’re so touching. Don’t you agree, Mr. Donovan?”
Refusing to answer her taunt, Mike pushed against the arms of his captors, straining to catch Margie’s glance again. She stared at the floor, refusing to look up.
Diana’s mouth turned down in annoyance, and she went over to the blond woman, lifting Margie’s chin with her fingers. “She was just about to tell me the location of the resistance headquarters when you arrived.” She smiled. “And now, my dear—”
“First, I . . . want to know where my son is,” Margie said, making a visible effort to get the words out.
Diana’s smile turned fixed. “Why, darling, I’ve told you he’s safe and sound.”
“I want to know . . . exactly where. And I want him returned to me.” Sweat beaded her forehead as she locked gazes with Diana. “I want us to be sent somewhere where it’s . . . safe.”
“Of course, Maijorie. I always reward loyalty. One moment, while 1 confer with my senior aide on that subject.” Donovan saw Diana step across the room to a tall, dark-haired Visitor, then overheard her say, “Our subject seems to be getting ideas of her own. A dose of procorb may be in order when we return. See to it, Captain.”
Procorb was the Visitor drug that stole the human mind and will, turned its victims into pliable zombies capable of almost anything. Mike had seen his son, Sean, under its influence.
Returning to Margie’s side, Diana smiled again. “He is in the Visitor youth camp near Carmel-Monterey. And tomorrow, you will be reunited with him and given tickets to anyplace you choose, plus a generous cash settlement. I will see to it personally. Now, if you please, tell me where the resistance headquarters is located.”
Margie lowered her head as though all the fight had drained out of her. “They meet in—”
“Margie, she’s lying, she’ll kill—” Donovan’s shouted protest was cut off as a heavy gloved hand slapped his face, sending lances of pain shooting around the blurred edges of his vision.
“Mr. Donovan, it is impolite to interrupt.” Diana’s face smoothed into pleased anticipation again. “As you were starting to—”
A commotion erupted outside; there were shouts, the sound of scuffles and grunts, and the crack of a lasergun being fired.
A moment later, a side door to Mike’s right opened, and a large group of Visitor troopers entered, bearing the struggling, still-masked members of the other resistance team.
And one other person. Tight in the grip of a burly Visitor shock trooper, looking like a trapped doe, was Elizabeth Maxwell.
“Oh, no,” Robin whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Mother!” Elizabeth tried to struggle out of the hands of her captor.
“Why did you come here?” Robin moaned, her shoulders slumping. “Oh, honey . . .”
“I knew I had to come,” she said, looking at her.
“This is cozy! I wish Lydia were here to enjoy this instead of minding things back on the Mother Ship. Come here, my dear.” Diana gestured to the guard holding Elizabeth, and she was released.
She ran first to Kyle, who was closer, his face still covered by the ski mask, then to Robin. Mother and daughter shared something deep and wordless for a moment as Elizabeth gently wiped away the blood at the comer of Robin’s mouth where the guard had hit her.
“Come, come.” Diana’s beckoning gesture was impatient this time.
Slowly Elizabeth turned, her eyes large and filled with an emotion Mike had never seen in her beautiful features before.
Hate.
Smiling warmly, Diana embraced her. “I believe the human expression remains, ‘My, how you’ve grown.’ You must be so glad to be back with your own true people again.”
“Diana, we are ready. Uh . . .” The thin, nervous-looking Visitor who had hurried in from the front of the building stammered to a halt as he caught sight of the prisoners. “Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t realize you were, uh, occupied.”
“That’s all right, Bernard. These are all . . . old friends of mine. What is it?”
“We are ready to begin the dispersion of the red dust at your command.”
“Excellent, Bernard! Even a little ahead of schedule.” Laying a protective arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders, Diana gestured. “All of you must step outside so that you may
personally witness my triumph.”
* * *
As she was dragged outside the warehouse, Elizabeth struggled
again in the arms of the guard holding her but soon discovered she might as well be fighting against steel manacles. Bruised and breathless, she finally subsided, gasping in the sea-cooled night air. On either side of her marched the heavily guarded members of the resistance.
She had gotten to the waterfront before any of them, guided by the sense she knew but didn’t understand. Concealing Kyle’s bike behind an old garage, she had remained out of sight herself for almost an hour, slipping from building to barrel, watching as humans and Visitors moved past her hiding places.
Watching and waiting, although she didn’t know for what.
Then she had seen the shadow-forms of Julie, her mother, and the rest slip by. She had wanted to join them then, but the deeper wisdom inside her directed her to remain silent, to follow at a distance.
She had just gotten up to the wharf when she heard her mother scream and then saw them all captured. At that point, fear had taken over from wisdom’s caution, and she had bolted blindly forward, screaming, “Mother!” One of the troopers started for her, and she had run, twisting and turning, and almost gotten away. Then another trooper had stepped out into her path, laser rifle ready. The next instant, heavy hands had clamped on her shoulders, and she had been brought into the warehouse.
Now her fear had mostly vanished, leaving only an eerie, icy calm—and her hate, a bright, sharp thing which burned away innocence and ignorance inside her.
The Visitors were gathering around her, hushed and expectant as Diana stepped up onto a makeshift platform of piled wood-slatted pallets near the conveyor belt and faced them. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have all worked very hard and are to be commended for your efforts in this, our own Operation Red Dust. Our Great Leader will hear of your contributions, and I know he will be very pleased. Most especially, I would like to personally thank Bernard, our senior botanist, for his expertise in developing the dust and leading your teams to success. Bernard, please come up here. Bernard ...”
As the gangly Visitor reluctantly joined her amid the sound of polite applause, Elizabeth looked over at the barrels lined up neatly near the end of the pier, others in a row along the conveyor belt, which protruded out past the edge of the pier over the night-dark water.
And the water seemed to start churning and boiling, turning red for an instant—
She stared, blinked, then the ocean was black and still again. Bewildered, Elizabeth glanced at her mother and the others, then at Diana, who was saying, . . know, we have some humans who are waiting to transport the dust to their designated areas, and I do not wish to delay them. But, Bernard, I wish for you to have the honor of releasing the first barrels, right off the end of this pier. . . .”
Taking the device Diana held out to him, Bernard stepped over to face the conveyor and pressed a control. The belt started up again.
To Elizabeth, it seemed as though the barrel on the end was poised on the edge of infinity, then it tipped slowly over. The loosened lid came off, and a dull red dust puffed out, turning fiery and golden in the incandescent glare of the loading dock lights, surrounding the barrel with a weird, glowing halo as it splashed into the water.
Her mind slipped sideways, and she was back in her dream again. Before her terrified, unseeing gaze, she envisioned the dust growing and expanding, turning everything red, the water into a hell-colored, bubbling poison, the whole ocean, the sky, everything turning a dull red, the color of drying blood— —and all the people in the world, including all the ones she loved, were clutching at their throats, clawing at their faces, writhing in agony as they died. Kyle—Julie—Mike— Willie . . .
Her mother . . .
“No!” Elizabeth screamed, her mind going white-blank as she thrust out her hands in a pushing-away motion, an impulse echoed within her by the abilities buried deep in her consciousness. “No!!"
Chapter 16
The Tide Turns
Everything in Juliet Parrish’s awareness seemed to turn slow motion and surreal. She heard Elizabeth scream, saw her throw up her hands, and then barrels went flying off the conveyor belt. As they clattered to the ground, they exploded, sending a fiery mixture of dust and splintered wood into the air.
One barrel crashed into the midst of those waiting to be delivered, setting off a chain reaction which sent light and sound roaring into the night. Julie suddenly felt her arms freed as her captor turned and went running for his life. Diana and Bernard leaped off the platform only an instant before it lifted into the air and ignited, sending flaming showers down on the hapless, screaming Visitors who hadn’t moved fast enough.
Throwing her arms over her head, Julie sprinted with the others toward the right outside wall of the warehouse, which looked like the safest route to take. Another violent eruption of flame scattered shrapnel around her; she felt a sudden, sharp stinging in her right calf and arm.
Something shoved her violently to the right, and Julie saw that it was the Visitor named Bernard who had thrust her out of his way. Then, as she staggered, trying to keep her feet, he stiffened, half turned, agony contorting his face. In seeming slow motion, he toppled forward, a splintered metal fragment from the conveyor belt blossoming like a grotesque parody of a cornstalk out of his back.
The screams of injured and dying Visitors, plus those of the humans in the boats below, mingled in a hideous chorus all around Julie as she ran, limping now. Acrid smoke from the fires springing up everywhere made her eyes water as it tore at her lungs. She could barely see.
Another explosion sent heat pushing against her back like a demon hand, then the pier rocked beneath her, throwing her off balance. She fell to her knees, painfully dragged herself up again as two Visitors behind her were pitched into the ocean, flaming now like an oil slick. Run, she told herself, just . . . keep running. . . .
Ahead of her, she glimpsed long-legged jeans and a black jacket running hell-bent-for-leather beside the wall. For an instant, she experienced a sharp, bright stab of relief that Mike was okay. Then getting closer, she saw it was Elias instead. Willie, Robin, and Elizabeth were close beside him.
At least they were still safe. But Mike—?
As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw another barrel go up, sending debris in a flaming arc through the wall of the warehouse. Almost instantly, sheets of fire were visible through the windows, licking up the old wooden scaffolding within, reaching for the huge stack of barrels in the back, the ones that hadn’t yet been loaded onto the conveyor belt—and the vats of red dust that hadn’t been packed. . . .
Julie put on a burst of speed, dragging it up from a reservoir she didn’t know she had, and she was passing the far corner of the building. She saw most of the others ahead of her as wraiths through the smoke, running for the shore and safety.
“It’s gonna blow!” Ham Tyler yelled from somewhere ahead of her. “Move it!”
A fountain of flame sprang from the building’s roof, along with the thunderclaps of more explosions. Julie felt as though her feet had left the ground. She was no longer running—she was flying to get away from the ticking bomb that was now the warehouse.
Then it went up, and even facing away from the explosion, she was blinded. The warehouse had become a sun-bright ball of light. The heat and noise hit her a second later—hit her with a terrible, final concussion, sending her forward and down into dark, dark, dark. . . .
Robin Maxwell’s universe had shrunk down, narrowing to one person—her daughter, Elizabeth—and nothing, not even death itself, seemed as important to her.
Immediately after Elizabeth’s powers had pushed the barrel off the conveyor, starting the chain reaction of explosions, a glazed look of horror had stamped itself into her daughter’s features as she stared at the escalating destruction she had begun. Elizabeth had even taken a step forward toward the fire at the end of the pier, like a moth drawn to flame, and Robin had had to grab her by the hand and forcibly drag her away toward the outside wall of the warehouse.
Eighteen years old, going on eight ... or
eighteen months. Snatches of words from her conversation with Kyle earlier that evening came drifting into her head as she ran for the safety of the shore. In so many ways, Elizabeth was only a child. They all tended to forget that and expected so much of her sometimes—but she had so much potential.
And Robin loved her so much.
When the big explosions came behind them, sending first a column of fire into the sky, then a fireball that swallowed the world in impossible noise and brightness, Robin did the only thing she could. Pushing Elizabeth to the ground, she fell on top of her, shielding her with her body. She would gladly die, if her daughter could live. . . .
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Elizabeth stared numbly at the barrels as they tumbled into one another and blew up, sending Visitors running for their lives or jumping into the flame-infested waters. It really wasn’t supposed to.
Over and over, the litany sounded in her head. She wanted to stay back to fix things somehow, make it all better, but her mother grabbed her hand, pulling her along with a grip strong as metal, away from the death screams which followed her accusingly.
They all had been right—she didn’t know how to use or control her powers, and now she had endangered everyone she loved. But she had had to stop the red dust from contaminating the water. That was the biggest certainty of all. Otherwise, her nightmare world of red dust growing, expanding to destroy hundreds, thousands of people, would have turned terrifyingly real.
Elizabeth sensed the final explosion building behind them an instant before the blast. She began a formless thought of protection, then her mother pushed her down and sprawled on top her, slamming them onto the old wooden planks near the end of the pier just as the building blew up behind them, sending heat and a rush of wind past them.
An instant later, it was over, the building crumpling into ruin as debris rained down into the water, the fires now burning steadily all over the damaged pier.
“Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth, honey, are you all right?” Her mother’s voice finally got past the ringing in her ears and the crackle-burning sounds of the fire. Rising to her elbows, Elizabeth looked up into her mother’s face, then reached out a hand to brush at the tears that streaked down her dirty face.
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