Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5)

by Jacob Gowans

  By mid-afternoon the next day her mother and father were begging her to open the door, but Katie didn’t answer until they threatened to break it down. “Leave me alone,” Katie finally pleaded.

  Perhaps relieved that she was even speaking, her parents stopped bothering her. Katie stayed in her bed all day and stared out the window. The thought of going to school on Monday made her nauseous. And the only thing that made the sickness better were the visions of violence she saw in her mind’s eye. The gore and death stirred something in her soul, something exciting and dangerous.

  She rolled out of bed and grabbed her yearbook. Flipping through the pages, she studied the pictures, the faces. Then she closed her eyes to remember which ones had mocked her, and circled them in red marker. Katie repeated the process until she had singled out over two dozen students. A sudden wave of revulsion hit her, and she ran over to her trashcan and threw up.

  What is wrong with me? Killing people? She threw the yearbook away and crawled back into bed, tears flowing once more. This isn’t normal.

  That night, hungry and a little cabin-feverish, Katie left her room. Her mom was sitting on the floor facing the bedroom door, her back against the wall. Katie’s mother lifted her head from her arms when she heard the door open.

  “Honey …” she said, standing and pulling Katie into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” Her mother had streaks of makeup on her face. Her red eyes and mussed hair told Katie she hadn’t slept. “I hurt for you. Your father is meeting with the principal tomorrow. If you don’t want to go back, we’ll push for your transfer.”

  “You think word won’t spread, Mom? You think kids at other schools won’t know? It’s probably all over the city!”

  “You’re the prom queen, sweetie. That means you still have a lot of people who like you.”

  Again the image of Katie’s fellow students flashed in her mind. Dead, decapitated, bleeding, gutted, mashed and bashed … she pushed the vision away and hugged her mother tighter. “I need to think about it.” Then she added, “What about Priyanka?”

  “She didn’t do it,” her mom answered. “Mark did. He used a laser knife like the one I bought.”

  “Priyanka hugged me right before I went up to be crowned.”

  “Mark admitted to it, sweetie.”

  A wave of hate hit Katie so hard that she started to imagine various and painful ways to kill Mark. “She had to put him up to saying that,” Katie said. “She had to.”

  “Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter. Mark confessed and was expelled. But listen, the school wants to know by tomorrow if you’re going to transfer so they can get your files from your teachers.”

  Katie didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to go to a new school, and she didn’t want to go back to her school either. “Can I please just have some more time?”

  Katie’s mother regarded her with love and pity. “Sure, honey. I’ll talk to them and let them know what you need.”

  Her parents stuck by her, carefully and patiently boosting her confidence whenever she started to feel depressed again. Courtney and Vivian came by on Tuesday and Wednesday to cheer her up.

  “Priyanka did it,” Courtney confirmed. “I saw it—”

  “We tried to stop you,” Vivian added, “but Bobby John was blocking us from getting to you. And everybody was cheering so loud you didn’t hear us.”

  “But why did Mark get the blame?” Katie asked tearfully. “Why wasn’t Priyanka expelled?”

  “Priyanka.” Courtney practically spat the word. “You won’t believe what she promised him to get him to cover for her. She’s the slut. We gave our story to Principal Simpson, she and Mark gave theirs. It was our word against theirs, so Simpson gave Priyanka a one week suspension.”

  That’s not nearly good enough, Katie thought bitterly. She deserves …

  Death.

  Bobby John and his parents stopped by on Thursday. Bobby John hugged Katie so hard she thought she might break in half. “Bobby John loves Katie,” he repeated at least twenty times.

  Katie smiled for the first time since prom. After Bobby John’s family left the house, Katie approached her mother. “Are you feeling better, sweetie?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m so proud of how you’ve handled this. I know I’ve said it before, but seeing how great you turned out, I wish we could have had more kids just like you.”

  Katie tried to hide her grimace by smiling. “Mom, I need to tell you something, but I’m afraid it’s going to freak you out.”

  Katie’s mom raised her eyebrows and sat up a little straighter. “Oh?”

  “I—” Katie’s mouth went dry as she imagined herself telling her mother about the dark dreams, gruesome visions, and bedwetting.

  Tell her. She’s your mother. She’ll love you and want to help you.

  She won’t understand. Neither will your father. You’re the only child. You’re supposed to be perfect. They’ll send you to a doctor who will put you on medication.

  You need help.

  They’ll think you’re a freak for the rest of your life.

  Katie made up her mind. “I actually think everything is going to be fine.” Even as she said the words, a gnawing sickness in her gut told her she’d made the wrong choice.

  Her mother relaxed and smiled with tears in her eyes. “See?” She rubbed Katie’s shoulder affectionately. “You just amaze me.”

  That night Katie returned to the cave. As she descended the steps her body tingled with anticipation, not fear. The dark was an old friend, not a blanket of mystery and dread. Her senses seemed more acute than during previous trips. The cold froze her skin. The smell of something foul and rank now stung her nostrils. Strangely enough, however, none of it bothered her. When she reached the door, she felt it pulsing, a reverberation through her body. Her heartbeat fell in step with its throbs.

  A faint light emanated from under the door, giving enough illumination that once her eyes adjusted she could see how the door had a deep red color that reminded her of blackened blood. It twitched and rippled ever so gently with each beat of her heart. When she finally reached out and touched it with her fingertips, the surface quivered, and she jerked her hand away.

  It wasn’t made of wood. Nor metal. The texture of it reminded her of flesh. She reached for the knob but found nothing. With both hands she searched and pulled and pushed and even heaved her weight into the door, but despite its pliable nature it would not open. She tried the knife in the juncture of the door and its stone frame, but it stubbornly refused to yield. In her frustration she stabbed the door with the blade, and the dagger sank in with ease. Black hot liquid spurted out from the wound, searing her skin with an intensity that made her scream. She jerked the knife down and lengthened the wound, causing more vile fluid to gush out onto her hands and wrists. Then, with one final jerk, she rammed her shoulder into the door and came through on the other side, clean and whole, but knifeless.

  The room was sweltering, the scent of death so strong that Katie gagged and heaved, but did not vomit. The smell came from her right where logs burned in a small fireplace, glowing in flames of black and red and white. A perfect and unblemished white pot hung above the flames on a hook, its lid bouncing merrily as thick black steam trickled out from underneath and quickly vanished. The floor shone slick and cold. A moan came from Katie’s left, on the other side of the room where stones had been stacked waist high and a giant slab of rock laid on top formed a crude altar. A figure in shadow writhed on it, hands chained in irons of black and silver. When Katie took a step in her direction, the figure stopped moving.

  “Hello?” The question was muffled.

  The blaze of the fire provided scant illumination, leaving the room in a gray haze. She quietly stepped over to the figure and saw that it was a young woman in a white gown. A black hood covered her head.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Something about the scene sent a tingle through K
atie’s arms, legs, and chest. When she stopped next to the altar, she stared at the hood and licked her lips.

  Freedom. Take it from her.

  “Who are you?” Katie asked. Her voice croaked from the long trek down the steps and the sudden dryness in her throat.

  “Please help me.”

  Katie knew what she would find when she removed the hood: Priyanka. She held her breath as she yanked the cloth off her head, and almost screamed when she did. It was not Priyanka. It was herself. The two Katies stared at each other, stunned and silent.

  Take it from her. Take your freedom!

  “How?” Katie asked aloud.

  You already know.

  Katie glanced around the room for something to use. She tried to pry a rock out from under the altar, but they were cemented in place. Next she tried the fireplace. The logs crackled and glowed. She reached into the blaze and braced herself for the blistering heat, but the flames only tingled her skin like static and sent chills of energy up her arm. Even the logs wouldn’t budge. Katie opened the lid to the white pot and a plume of black smoke rose from within. When it cleared away she saw a heart beating on the bottom of the otherwise empty cauldron, huge and swollen, pumping in a steady rhythm.

  Katie snatched it from the pot. The huge muscle filled her hand, still beating. But each step she took toward the altar, the pulsing grew wilder until it twitched and thumped so fast that Katie could hardly keep a hand on it.

  The copy of herself on the altar stared at the heart in Katie’s hand, uncomprehending. “Please. Please, don’t.”

  Katie raised it high above her head, closed her eyes, and brought it down as hard she could on the other girl’s face. Over and over and over and over. Black and red fluid splattered the altar, the floor, the walls, Katie’s face. When she looked down again at the stone, the girl was gone. Nothing remained but crushed pieces of the fleshy heart.

  You are free.

  A sense of power filled her body and transformed her soul. She was apart from the world now. She could sense that.

  Katie turned to leave the cave, but the door had sealed shut behind her. She put her shoulder against it and pushed with all her strength but it would not yield. No matter how hard she beat on it, clawed at it, even ran at it, it held fast. Finally Katie gave up and fell to her knees laughing as tears ran down her face. Even as her laughter turned to screams, power continued to infuse her.

  Back in her bed, Katie woke dry as bone. Dashing out of bed, she examined herself in the mirror. She felt so different, yet nothing had changed.

  “Katie!” her mother called from the kitchen. “Get ready for school or you’ll miss first period again!”

  “Come on, Queen,” her father added. “Listen to your mom.”

  Katie stayed at her mirror, grinning widely.

  I’m free.

  She glanced at the calendar. Friday the Thirteenth. Today is going to be a special day.

  * * * * *

  Sunday, November 9, 2087

  Brickert and Natalia sat in a parked car in downtown D.C. sipping coffee from thermoses at 0400. Brickert rubbed his eyes and put the binoculars back to his face. A team of workers were putting up a fence and pouring concrete to create a barricade of steel and stone. Aegis supervised the workers, directed the foreman, and oversaw the placement of tanks and other armored vehicles. The longer Brickert watched, the more nervous he became.

  “What do you see, Brickert?” Justice asked from the back seat.

  “Just a second,” Brickert answered. “You got anything to report?” he asked Natalia, who scanned the skies with her own pair of scopes. If anyone could spot people in hard to see places, it was Brickert’s girlfriend.

  She leaned over him to peer out the windows, giving him a good smell of her perfume mingled with the scent of a stale body stuck in a car for almost eight hours. Brickert didn’t mind it much, especially since he smelled worse. Her black hair brushed his nose, making him sniff and itch. She’d dyed it black after Li died. It was her way of dealing with the loss. Kawai, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken a word since the bombing. No tears. No words. Nothing. She had completely shut down. Brickert wasn’t sure if she blamed him or Sammy, or everyone. She wouldn’t say.

  “Yeah,” Natalia said. “I see—I see two sniper nests up on the roofs southwest and northwest of the blockade corners. No one in them, though. Drone gun mounts and cover towers have been set up. I’m tagging the locations for you.”

  “This blockade looks legit, I tell you,” Brickert said into his com. “Concrete molds are three … four meters high. Rifle towers, I’d guess. Armored cars and tanks going thirty to forty meters back. Not necessarily a run and gun situation. It would take a huge offensive on foot to break through it. Swarms of bodies … Normandy style. If we can’t dismantle their defenses before the masses reach the blockades, thousands of people will die trying to get to the White House and Capitol Building.”

  “I’m seeing the same thing over here,” said Lorenzo Winters, an older man who’d journeyed with Sammy and Kawai through the Amazon jungles several months ago. “These bastards aren’t playing nice at all.”

  “Any sign of anti-aircraft towers in your area, Brickert?” Thomas asked.

  Brickert looked to Natalia, who shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “So we’ve got major blockades going up at six points around the government sector and the Mall,” Justice said, making marks on the map projected from his holo-tablet. “Armed explosives on the bridges crossing the Potomac. Smaller choke points with drone guns set up around the narrower streets.”

  “It’s a war zone,” Thomas muttered over the com. He was back in Hagerstown with the remaining members of the resistance who had survived the bio-bomb. “D.C. has become a battlefield.”

  “And we need a battle plan,” Justice said. “If Sammy and Commander Byron don’t come through—if they’re delayed even a half hour—it’s going to get ugly.”

  “We can’t win with a ragtag team of a few hundred,” Thomas said, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.”

  “People will come,” Natalia said. “I believe it.”

  “So do I,” said Thomas, “But how many? Sitting here watching the news … it doesn’t look good. They’re scaring people away. Warning after warning about lethal responses to any signs of uprising, mayhem, or disorder. Polls and experts showing the movement has no support. Constant reminders that the resistance is decimated.”

  “They’re lies,” Justice spat. “Don’t believe it.”

  “What if they aren’t?” Thomas asked.

  “Then it will be a short battle,” Justice said grimly. “What’s the final word on our firepower? How much were we able to recover from our stores?”

  “Four or five hundred kilos of Class A and B explosives. Enough to level a few city blocks.”

  “How many cars do we have at our disposal?”

  “I’m not sure about that … three or four dozen.”

  “Any convertibles?” Justice asked.

  “I’d have to look,” Brickert remarked. “Sounds like you have some ideas.”

  “That I do. A real wild one if I may say so myself. We use the cars as battering rams. Pack ‘em full of explosives and drive them at the barricades. If we do it in a coordinated manner, we can obliterate their defenses. Ultras can take out the snipers while Psions man the hoods of the cars using blast shields to make sure nothing sets off the explosives early. They can use jump-blasts to bail out of the cars before the boom.”

  “NWG’s cruisers can provide air support,” Thomas suggested.

  “They’re going to have their hands full,” Brickert said. “Less than a hundred cruisers is all they have left. The CAG has five times that.”

  “Think big, gentlemen,” Justice said. “If people turn out, we’ll send them over water, through buildings, and any other way we can to get them to the White House and the Capitol Building.

  “The CAG will be laid low,” Thomas said. “The President,
Congress, Supreme Court … all of it.”

  “You don’t honestly think the President and other elected officials are going to be anywhere near D.C., do you?” Justice asked. “They’ll be hiding underground or far away. Probably evacuated days ago. Right after your speech.”

  “Taking the White House will be a symbol,” Brickert said. “The Capitol Building, the Supreme Court … all of them will be overrun.”

  “Why don’t we destroy them?” Natalia asked.

  “The goal is to incite change, not anarchy,” Thomas said. “If we’re successful, we’ll follow the manifesto posted on the website. Return power to the people. Amend the laws. Repair the damage done from years of apathy through a process to be determined by the people.”

  “And then we’ll ride unicorns into the sunset on a road paved with rainbows,” Justice concluded.

  “Why do you say that?” Thomas asked.

  “Because you’re living a dream if you think things change so easily. The people who will determine the manner and depth of change in the CAG are those with money and influence. They’ll insert themselves into the process to shape the events in ways that benefit them.”

  “Then we will maintain a presence to insure that doesn’t happen,” Thomas said.

  Justice merely gave a long, “Mmm hmm,” and said no more.

  * * * * *

  The Queen drove her motorcycle past the neighborhood sign that read “Maple Squares,” an appropriate name for a gated community of two and three story homes surrounded by lush maple and oak trees. The trees were especially beautiful in the autumn, explosions of orange, red, and yellow everywhere she looked, and the heavy, earthy scent of fall in the evening was thick and sweet. The Queen couldn’t remember the last time she’d pondered on such things or even appreciated the atmosphere around her. Her com told her she was almost at her destination. This has to be the place. It has to be.