Lesser Gods

by Adrian Howell

  Terry gave me an exasperated look. “You pull the pin and throw it, Hansel. Honestly...”

  Mr. Watson said, “Come on, we’re wasting time. It’ll be daybreak in an hour or so.”

  “He’s right,” Terry said to me. “Let’s go.”

  Stuffing the flashbang into my sweatpants pocket, I followed Mr. Watson and Terry off the road and into a field of tall grass that I guessed was abandoned farmland. It reminded me of the grassy field where Derrick, the Guardian dreamweaver, used to appear in my dreams during my stay at the Psionic Research Center. I suddenly wondered if Alia was awake or asleep right now.

  “He’s just beyond those trees,” said Mr. Watson as we trudged toward a long, straight line of pine trees that had probably been planted there to mark the end of the field. “Hope he’s still asleep.”

  The line of pines was only a few yards wide, and when we came out the other side, Mr. Watson and Terry both swore at the same time.

  “I was afraid of this,” said Mr. Watson, looking at an old, rectangular two-story farmhouse that was about a hundred yards away and sitting in the middle of another grassy field.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered. The farmhouse windows were all dark, so I guessed that no one was awake yet.

  “I was hoping he was just camping out,” said Mr. Watson. “There’s probably nobody living in that house. Except, of course, our Mr. Barnum. It would’ve been a lot easier if it was a tent. A house that size has plenty of places to hide in. If he’s armed as well, we’re in for a bit of a fight.”

  “Can’t you just sense which room he’s in?” I asked.

  “No,” replied Mr. Watson. “I’m strictly a long-range finder. I can’t pinpoint him. You?”

  I shook my head. I had felt the wild-born’s two destroyer powers the moment I had woken in the van, but in my case, far from being able to pinpoint his location, I couldn’t even tell which direction he was in. I could only sense the approximate distance, and that was no help at all.

  “At least we have surprise,” said Terry, and then threw me a grin. “Better than last time, anyway.”

  I grinned back at her. Not long ago, Terry, Alia and I had stormed a larger, more complex hideout where the opposition was greater in number, better prepared, and knew we were coming. I looked at the farmhouse again. Admittedly, a tent would have been easier, but this wouldn’t be the world’s greatest challenge.

  Suddenly Mr. Watson swore again. Putting a hand into his pocket, he drew out a vibrating cell phone. I remembered Mr. Baker once telling me that the Guardians didn’t usually use cell phones on missions because they could be traced by the Wolves.

  Mr. Watson whispered fiercely into the phone, “This better be a goddamn emergency!”

  It was.

  When Mr. Watson finished talking to Guardian headquarters and pocketed his phone, even in the darkness, his face seemed slightly paler.

  “Well?” asked Terry.

  “Wolves,” announced Mr. Watson. “There’s a pair of helicopters inbound. They’re only about sixty minutes away.”

  “Sixty minutes?!” I repeated aghast.

  Mr. Watson nodded. “Which means that if we had any sense, we’d be leaving two hours ago.”

  “Well, we’re already here,” said Terry. “Let’s get this guy and go.”

  “Maybe we should just go,” suggested Mr. Watson. “I mean, I could just turn invisible, but you kids–”

  “No!” Terry and I both said at the same time. I didn’t know why Terry was for saving this man, but for my part, I wasn’t about to leave a psionic, even a complete stranger, to be picked up by the Wolves if there was anything I could do about it.

  “Alright,” said Mr. Watson, “let’s make it quick, then.”

  There was no cover between the trees and the house. If our target was awake and watching from a window, even in the dark, he would probably see us coming. I looked nervously at the darkened windows facing us. A pyroid would be able to rain fire down at us without ever presenting a target.

  Correctly reading my expression, Terry whispered, “Relax, Hansel. He’s probably asleep, and even if he’s not, he can’t sense you. Come on!”

  The three of us crept across the field and up to the farmhouse. So far, so good. As Mr. Watson climbed onto the front porch, the wooden boards creaked under his ample weight. The sound probably wasn’t all that loud, but it still felt much too loud for comfort. Following Mr. Watson, Terry managed to get to the front door almost silently, and I of course levitated myself to it, avoiding the creaky boards altogether.

  I noticed the chipped and peeling once-white paint on the walls. Part of the porch’s side railing was missing. This house had probably been abandoned years ago. I wondered how long Mr. Barnum had been holed up here.

  Mr. Watson slowly turned the doorknob. “Locked,” he whispered. “You want to pick it or kick it, Rabbit?”

  “Neither,” said Terry. “There’s an open window just above us on the second floor. Hansel can levitate me in and then follow. You stay here, Switch.”

  Suddenly an explosion rang out from somewhere inside the house.

  “Down!” shouted Terry, dropping her dart rifle, grabbing me and pushing me onto the porch. Lying flat on the cold wooden surface, I found myself face to face with Mr. Watson.

  “Guess he had a gun,” I panted.

  “Sounded like a scattergun,” said Mr. Watson. “I hope he doesn’t kill himself. Sometimes they do.”

  He hadn’t yet, as both Mr. Watson and I knew because we could sense the destroyer’s powers. Another shot rang out, and then we heard the man shout hysterically, “You open that door and I’ll pump you full of lead! Get out of here!”

  Another gunshot.

  “It’s just panic fire,” said Terry. “He’s not even aiming at the door.”

  I looked up at the front door. Terry was right: not a single hole in it. Mr. Barnum was probably just punching holes in his ceiling.

  I glanced at Terry, who had moved to a crouched position next to the front door and was checking the safety on her dart rifle.

  “You’re actually happy that he’s armed, aren’t you, Rabbit?” I said.

  Terry scowled at me. “Don’t be stupid, Hansel!”

  “I want to talk to him,” I said quietly. “There’s a reason he’s running.”

  “We don’t have time for games!” hissed Terry. “Just get me in the second-floor window!”

  “No, Rabbit! We can’t just storm the place!” I argued.

  “Why not?!” said Terry. “Listen, Hansel, it might be panic fire but he does have a gun, not to mention two destroyer powers.”

  “Yeah, well, here’s another good way to get myself killed, then.”

  “That’s not funny! There’s no need to deliberately put yourself in danger. We can just tie him up for now and let the Council reps sort it out when we get him back to New Haven.”

  “I’m with Rabbit on this,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s bag this guy and get going.”

  “No! Please!” I begged. “Let me talk to him!”

  Without waiting for an answer, I tried to levitate myself up toward the open window, but Terry grabbed me and pulled me back down. Pressing her metal bar to my neck to drain me, she shouted, “You’re going to get yourself shot, Hansel!”

  Mr. Watson said in an irritated tone, “Hansel, it’s not like we’ve never taken a wild-born before.”

  Struggling under Terry’s grasp, I shot back at Mr. Watson, “Yeah, and I’ve seen how you guys take wild-borns!”

  Terry released me, but I knew she was ready to stop me if I tried to fly again.

  “Please just let me talk to him, Rabbit,” I said to her. “He’s scared! Wouldn’t you be?”

  Terry shook her head. “This is nothing compared to how scared he’s going to be when the Wolves catch up with him. You of all people–”

  “I know that, Terry!” I cut across her, once again forgetting to use her call sign. “But it has to be his choice. It just
has to!”

  “You’re still soft, Hansel!” Terry said furiously. Then she took a deep breath and said in a calmer voice, “Alright, you can talk. But we’re going in together, and if he takes a shot at us, I’m going to nail him. Agreed?”

  I nodded. Focusing my telekinetic power on Terry first, I levitated her up toward the open window. I couldn’t see inside from this far below, so I raised her slowly just in case Art Barnum was waiting in the room with his shotgun.

  “It’s alright,” said Terry, peering in through the window. “Put me in.”

  I did. Fearful that Terry might decide to break her promise and storm the house with her rifle and grenades, I quickly flew up after her. Landing softly in a large, mostly empty but very dusty room, I looked at Terry. She had her rifle aimed at the only door, but was patiently waiting for me.

  “You get three minutes, Hansel,” said Terry. “Start talking.”

  I stepped forward and, with Terry behind me and holding the rifle over my shoulder, I telekinetically pulled the door open. Cautiously stepping through the doorframe, I found myself in an almost pitch-black hallway. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I saw that the hallway led to a staircase descending back down to the first floor. Where was Mr. Barnum? His third gunshot seemed like ages ago, but I could still sense his powers somewhere in the house.

  “Mr. Barnum?” I called out. “Mr. Art Barnum?”

  Silence. I knew he could hear me. I was speaking loud enough to be heard outside the house.

  “Mr. Barnum?!” I called again. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  “Go away!” I heard the man shout. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like it was coming from the foot of the stairs.

  “I’m unarmed,” I said as calmly as I could.

  I could feel the burning impatience radiating from Terry. If she had her way, she would have tossed one of her flashbang grenades down there and by now we’d probably be marching a handcuffed Mr. Barnum back to the van.

  I was feeling the pressure too, of course. Every second brought the Wolves closer, and in a secluded spot like this, they would be free to come at us full force. I didn’t know how far away the nearest town was, but we would have to get there before the Wolves were onto us. They wouldn’t risk exposing psionics to the world by attacking us in a populated area.

  Mr. Barnum shouted, “What do you want with me?!”

  Now I was certain that he was at the bottom of the staircase, just out of sight.

  “Nothing,” I called back. “We’re here to help you.”

  “You can’t help me! Don’t come near me!”

  Another shot rang out, and I saw bits of the wall at the top of the stairs break off. Mr. Watson had been right about it being a shotgun.

  “I’m going to give you a few seconds to reload if you need to, Mr. Barnum,” I called down. “Then I’m going to step into your line of fire. If you want to kill me, all you have to do is pull the trigger.”

  Terry hissed into my good ear, “What the hell are you doing?!”

  “Giving him time to reload,” I replied matter-of-factly as I counted thirty seconds off in my head.

  “You’re insane, Hansel!”

  I put my right hand on the barrel of Terry’s fishing rifle and gently forced it down. “Stay here,” I said quietly. “Please, just trust me, Rabbit.”

  Then I called to Mr. Barnum, “I’m coming down now. I’m unarmed, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I took a deep breath and slowly made my way forward one small step at a time until I was standing in front of the wall that Mr. Barnum had just emptied his shotgun into. I peered down the stairs, and could just barely make out the shape of a man holding a double-barreled shotgun in both hands. He was aiming it straight at me.

  Even if I had wanted to, I probably wouldn’t have been able to knock the gun out of his hands at this distance – more likely it would go off before the barrels were sufficiently pointing away from me. If I could see his trigger finger, I might be able to lock it in place so he couldn’t fire, but that would require a good deal of concentration that I didn’t have the capacity for at the moment.

  “Mr. Barnum?” I said as I took my first step down the stairs. “I’m Adrian. Please don’t shoot me yet. Let’s just talk for a moment, okay?”

  The man remained motionless, and I took a few more steps down toward him. His eyes widened as he finally saw me clearly enough to say, “You’re just a kid...”

  “Thanks for noticing,” I said, feeling a bit braver in front of his shotgun.

  “Don’t come any closer!”

  “I know what happened to your son, Mr. Barnum,” I said quietly, “and I’m sorry.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  There was no easy way to answer that, so I instead said, “I know how scared you are. I know how confusing this is.”

  Mr. Barnum slowly lowered his shotgun, but still kept both hands on it. I could see that the psionic draining effect caused by touching the metal barrel did not greatly affect his physical strength. I felt a bit envious.

  “I killed my own son,” he said, his voice shaking horribly. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

  “No, sir, I do not,” I said slowly, taking another step down. “But I do know what it feels like to lose family. I know what it’s like to be lost and alone. And I know, Mr. Barnum, that you do not want to end like this. Please let us help you.”

  Mr. Barnum just stared back at me. I wondered how many more seconds Terry would wait before dropping a flashbang our way.

  “Come with us,” I said.

  Mr. Barnum shook his head.

  “We won’t force you,” I lied. “That is not our way. But I must warn you that even as we speak, you are being hunted by powers you do not understand.”

  “You’re one of the hunters yourself,” Mr. Barnum pointed out.

  “I won’t deny that,” I said. “But please believe me when I say that I am not your enemy. There are those who want you dead. Others want to study you, or enslave you. We merely want you to be given the choice. You do not have to join us. At least let us help you the make the decision yourself.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  I smiled to myself as I remembered that I had once said those same words to Cindy.

  “I can’t make you trust me,” I replied patiently. “But you are not going to survive on your own much longer. Surely you know that by now. We can’t bring your son back, Mr. Barnum, but we can help you learn to control your power so that you never hurt anyone with it again.”

  The shotgun fell from his hands with a loud clatter, and Mr. Barnum collapsed onto the floor, kneeling with his head in his hands.

  I walked down the rest of the stairs and put my hands on his quivering shoulders. “You’re going to be okay, Mr. Barnum,” I said gently. “But we don’t have much time. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in captivity, we have to leave right now.”

  Terry had materialized at my side, and the two of us stood Mr. Barnum up. The front door was only a few yards away.

  “We’re coming out, Switch,” called Terry.

  Terry unlocked the door and then we helped Mr. Barnum, whose legs had gone wobbly, out of the farmhouse.

  Mr. Watson’s clothes were lying on the porch and his eyeballs were floating nearby.

  “Coward,” said Terry.

  “Can’t be too careful,” said Mr. Watson, quickly putting his clothes back on before returning his body to a visible state.

  Mr. Barnum looked surprised but didn’t comment. I suspected his world was still spinning too fast to be bothered by something like that.

  “What took you so damn long?” demanded Mr. Watson as we hurried back across the field. Mr. Barnum seemed to find his feet once we were outside, and kept pace with us as we broke through the line of pine trees and kept jogging.

  “Hansel wanted to play hero!” Terry said savagely.

  I grinned at her. “You’re just
cranky because you couldn’t shoot anyone today, Rabbit.”

  Terry jabbed me again with her bar and then turned to Mr. Watson, asking, “Want me to drive?”

  “No, I’m awake,” replied Mr. Watson.

  Without even bothering to remove the branches we had leaned against the front of the van, Mr. Watson jumped into the driver’s seat and Terry sat beside him. I slid open the side door and, letting Mr. Barnum in first, I sat next to him on the middle seat. Doors slamming, we pulled out of the trees and back onto the gravel road.

  The sky was getting brighter, and the Wolves closer. It was up to Mr. Watson now to get us to safety. I had little choice but to resign myself to a “whatever happens, happens” attitude now that the fate of the mission was out of my hands. Mr. Watson was driving dangerously fast on the narrow gravel strip, and I could see that the tension in the van was making Mr. Barnum uptight again.

  “What kind of work did you do before all this happened?” I asked the man, hoping to start a friendly conversation.

  Staring out of the window, Mr. Barnum answered almost inaudibly, “I was a fireman.”

  Life is full of ironies.

  Chapter 4: The Big One

  Successfully evading the Wolves, the four of us arrived back in New Haven before lunchtime the same day.

  Stepping out of the van in the basement parking lot, I turned to Mr. Barnum, who had unhesitatingly followed me out.

  “Welcome to New Haven,” I said, smiling. “I think you’ll like it here.”

  “Thank you, Adrian,” he replied. He didn’t smile back, but I could tell that he was feeling secure for the first time in far too long.

  Mr. Watson led Mr. Barnum off the elevator on the first floor to register him with the lobby security, and Terry and I bid them goodbye from the elevator car.

  “Good luck,” I called as the doors closed, and Mr. Barnum gave me a little wave.

  As Terry and I rode the elevator up toward the penthouse, Terry grinned slyly at me and said, “Wait till I tell Cindy how you told that man to reload before stepping in front of his shotgun.”