“I know it doesn’t get said a lot these days, but thank you for your service,” she said, pumping his hand vigorously.
He cocked his head, giving her a questioning look. “You’re welcome,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “Did you serve? The only time we get thanks these days is from other veterans.”
The old woman shook her head, her salt-and-pepper hair swaying back and forth. “No, but my son did, husband too. They had tattoos like yours there,” she said, pointing at the skull with a green beret on his forearm, “De oppresso liber. Brave showing that. Too many religious nuts running around, even here in New York, can’t freaking get rid of ’em.”
Her father nodded in understanding. “Thank you for your kind words, ma’am. I don’t think anyone would take the chance of doing anything in the middle of Times Square.”
The lady squeezed his arm one last time before wandering off into the crowd, muttering under her breath and fiddling with the holo-projector.
“Here, guys, this is the one,” said her aunt, projecting the image of the four of them, the Statue of Liberty in the center.
Taking one look at the hologram made Rowen want to bury her face in her hands. Her wild mane of red curls and mess of freckles made her look like a clown next to her perfect brother, not to mention her aunt, who looked like a star. She really had taken the worst from her parents.
“I look terrible,” she said with a grimace. “Edit me out of the holo, please.”
“You do look like a sweaty Muppet, actually,” laughed Jonah, deftly stepping behind her and plucking at her bra strap, giving her a terrible sting as he snapped it back.
“You better run, you miserable shithead!” she screamed, chasing after him. He was unbearable; from the moment she had put on the bra, he had gone out of his way to snap it whenever she let her guard down, laughing with glee while she howled in pain.
Watching him vanish into the crowd, she stood, shoulders hunched, fighting back tears. Seething. Rowen turned to her father, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“He’s just joking, Rowen, having a bit of fun. He doesn’t mean anything by it,” he said with a shrug, pressing his lips into a thin line.
Swearing under her breath, she turned away, staring up at the too-blue sky in frustration, hating him, her stupid brother, her mom for not being there, hating New York. She could feel heat building in her cheeks, her hands balling into fists. It wasn’t a joke to her; already she had a welt on her back. It wasn’t just today. He did things like this all the time, and it just wasn’t fair, and she wouldn’t take it anymore. Just as she was about to release the torrent of rage at her father, she felt a soft hand on her shoulder, another rubbing her back, a soothing voice in her ear cooling her temper. For a moment she was home, her mother with her, and she could almost smell the daffodils that she kept around the house wafting on the cool breeze.
She turned, almost expecting to see her mother’s beaming smile. “Your mom used to do this when you were a baby. You looked like you needed it.” Her aunt’s voice, shattering the illusion.
Rowen shuddered as her anger drained away. “Sorry. Jonah, he gets away with murder.”
Her aunt chuckled, nodding to herself. “Your dad was the same way growing up. God bless him, but he was an asshole, a firm believer in that macho boys-will-be-boys bullshit.”
Rowen smiled, dabbing at her eyes. “Yeah, neither of them really gets it.”
“Stick with me, girl, I’ll set your dad straight. I always did. He’s still afraid of me!”
Her aunt put an arm around her, bumping at her with her hip. Then, in a New York minute, everything changed. It was surreal, one minute hugging a woman she had only met as a child and barely remembered, strangely feeling that everything would be ok. Then, suddenly, feeling the hot concrete against her back, fighting to get air into her lungs and half-deaf with her ears ringing. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion, a dark shadow passing overhead as the ground shook, vague shapes of people all around her staggering about, screaming, falling. Fighting to sit up, Rowen found her hands wet, warm liquid tracing lines down her forearms and staining everything red. She screamed in horror at her aunt beside her, beautiful eyes wide and staring at nothing, a growing pool of blood seeping from beneath her, and all around them the world gone mad.
Chapter 4: Divinity Corps
July 2075
Arthur traced a finger along his belly, surprised to find the skin smooth and unbroken. Every time he closed his eyes, he drifted back to that moment, the strange blue liquid moving like a snake from its container, crawling across his skin before suddenly tearing into his stomach like a predator. He didn’t know pain could be like that. He had screamed until his throat was raw, until he gratefully passed to blissful darkness. He awakened to more pain each time, the blue liquid covering him from head to toe. He felt like he was being turned inside out, like he was drowning in acid. Then, finally, he opened his eyes and the pain stopped, suddenly replaced by a blur of Reverend Carmichael’s mad-dash visits, poking and prodding him with all sorts of weird devices, injecting him with frightening needles longer than his arm. The greasy-haired man rarely spoke, constantly muttering under his breath as he observed the now-familiar holo-projection of Arthur’s vitals that floated above the spartan room. Arthur had begun to think he would spend the rest of his life in the tiny clinical room, a permanent science experiment, until earlier today the reverend had given him a clean bill of health, along with that yellow-toothed smile. Major Bishop O’Connell came for him then, assuring him the worst had passed.
“What happens now?” asked Arthur, his short legs pumping hard to keep up with the old man’s brisk stride as they raced down a series wide, windowless corridors filled with evenly spaced doors of every color.
“Now, as always, you do as you’re told, and right now you need to be quiet,” he said, frowning over his shoulder.
“But you said I could call my parents afterward,” Arthur whispered under his breath, curious to know where they were headed.
“I said, quiet, boy!” he said, and they continued in silence, the only sound coming from the major bishop’s hard-soled boots, before stopping abruptly in front of a red door, causing Arthur to stumble face-first into his bony backside, drawing another harsh frown from him. “There are urgent matters that need my attention. These are your quarters for now. I have had a few things brought here that you might need. You will remain here until I come for you.”
Before Arthur could say another word, the major bishop shoved him bodily into a darkened room, eyeing him up and down while wrinkling his nose. “Take a shower, boy, and put on something other than those rags, understood!” Arthur was about to protest that his clothes were fine, that this was his normal smell, when the door slammed shut with a hollow thud, leaving him alone in the dark, anxiety bubbling in his belly. When the lights suddenly flickered to life, he gasped, his mouth falling open. The brightly lit room was something out of a fantasy, filled with luxuries he had only seen on the holo-net. Heavy wooden furniture trimmed with gold, dominated by a sleigh bed so big that a whole family could have slept in it, and a writing desk and end tables all covered in gilded frames and expensive-looking knickknacks. In the corner a holo-projector magically floated on its own, covered in the telltale microscopic lenses, clearly superior to the one back home. Bounding onto the bed, he laughed with glee at the softness, breathing in deep the fragrance of clean, scented sheets and blankets. Exploring the space, he gasped in awe when he came to the closet, finding it overflowing with more clothes than he had ever seen in one place. Arthur hesitated for a moment before nervously running his hands through shirts of every color and material, jeans, dress pants, and even shorts for summer, most of them with the labels still attached. Arthur’s brow narrowed at the sudden realization that everything was his size—it was all for him!
Arthur pulled back his hand, his eyes going wide. He could dress half the kids on his street with what was in the closet, and if he was
smart, he could trade it all to dress his entire neighborhood!
He began pacing back and forth, wringing his hands, wondering if it was some sort of test, positive that the old man had shoved him in here by accident and was planning to put him somewhere more appropriate. He was sure of it! Steepling his hands, he decided that he should at least try and do as the old man ordered. Crossing the room, he buried his toes in plush carpet before blinking in wonder at the size of the bathroom, sure that it was bigger than the basement squat he shared with his parents. Quickly undressing, he turned on the water, having to contort his slim form to avoid burning off his flesh, fiddling for an eternity with the silver-plated knobs, trying to get the water to the lukewarm temperatures he was used to.
Later, standing naked in front of the closet, Arthur decided it would be best to find the simplest piece of clothing he could, not daring to wear anything with a price tag still attached. He was about to give up hope when, buried near the back, he found a faded army service uniform, olive green with a high collar. He quickly dressed, slipping his feet into a smart-looking pair of calf-high, leather boots mired among the dizzying array of fancy shoes and slippers.
Activating the holo-mirror on the closet, he adjusted the uniform to his size, his smile widening at how sharp he looked. Almost like a real soldier, hopefully one who could make a difference.
Once fully dressed, Arthur poked around the room, fascinated at the detail covering the furniture and walls but disappointed that the holo-projector wasn’t connected to the web, and therefore useless. Finally going to the door, he ran his hands along the grain of the wood, examining it in hopes that it would open and he could sneak out and have some fun exploring, only to have his hopes dashed by an electronic lock that would be impossible to open without a code.
Arthur was about to turn away when he felt a strange pulse, almost like a heartbeat, through his fingertips. Leaving his hand lightly on the door, he felt it grow stronger, like an itch. Curious, he pressed his palm fully against the door, feeling the smooth grain of the wood, its warmth, the locking mechanism that controlled his freedom, the tiny processor that controlled it all.
Placing both hands against the barrier made the feeling stronger. He stood there, absorbed with the new sensation, slowly running his palms across the door, strangely able to see it all in his mind’s eye: the circuit, the tumblers that controlled the lock and bolt. He could “see” the flow of current was halted, incomplete. Not knowing how, Arthur focused on the lock, sending energy coursing through it like a river breaking a dam. When he heard the heavy bolt turn, he jumped back with a start, opening his eyes wide in surprise to find the door open, the empty corridor beyond.
Looking back and forth between the open door and his palms, Arthur frowned, wondering if it was just dumb luck or something more. In one of his ramblings, the greasy-haired reverend had told him to expect “things,” but said it would take months, not days. Arthur shrugged, stepping out into the corridor with a wry smile, his mind swirling with thoughts of adventure. Taking note of his room number, he set off, enjoying the sense of newness, each turn of heel that brought him somewhere he had never been. He was surprised to find the place so spartan compared to the room the major bishop had given him, confirming once again that it had all been a mistake of some kind. Arthur spent the next while wandering empty halls, finding little, wondering where everyone was. Finally, he heard the sound of people talking up ahead, and was about to turn back when a hand lightly touched his shoulder from behind. He spun to see a slender man with pale-blue eyes dressed in a long, red leather coat, watching him through hooded eyes. For a moment he was sure the major bishop had found him, only to blink in confusion, realizing the man had a long thin mustache and almond-shaped eyes.
Before Arthur could speak, the stranger began, “You should not be out of your rooms, Arthur. This is a very dangerous time for you.”
“How do you know who I am?” asked Arthur, frowning, wondering if he’d met him somewhere before and forgotten.
“I am Asahi, your commanding officer. I was given your file the moment you set foot on this base,” he said in a rasping voice that was barely a whisper, forcing Arthur to lean in close. “Again, how did you get out of your rooms?”
“I’m not really sure,” said Arthur, pursing his lips. “It just sort of opened, and I thought that it was some sort of mistake that I was in the room, so I—”
Before Arthur could finish, the lights overhead shut off, plunging the hall into darkness, emergency lighting snapping into place moments later and painting the corridor in a dull red glow.
“Brownout,” said Asahi, seeing Arthur’s questioning look. “Power rationing. Come, it’s time to return you to your room. This is a dangerous time, and you shouldn’t be wandering.” Turning to lead the way, he raised his hand, and the hall was suddenly awash with an orange glow, shadows flickering on the wall as a naked flame appeared above his palm.
“The fire, doesn’t it hurt? How come you don’t...you know, just burn up?” asked Arthur, his jaw hanging open.
Asahi smiled over his shoulder. “I am like you, or maybe you are like me—it depends on your perspective. But to answer your question, the fire is part of me. I am its master.”
Arthur stared at the flame, thoughts of the door to his room suddenly opening. “So will I be like that?” he began, falling in behind the man in red. “How will I know what I can do, when—”
“By the grace of God, you will be able to do remarkable things such as this and much more, but it takes time, weeks, perhaps months,” said Asahi, the flame in his palm growing larger, the corridor brighter. “Everything will come with time.”
Walking behind his new commander, Arthur bowed his head, sure now that the door had been just a fluke. If Asahi was right, he had a long road ahead of him. Looking up at the emergency lighting gave him an odd sensation, a prickling on his skin like ants were crawling up and down his arms. “We had lots of brownouts in Cherry Hill; that’s where I’m from, didn’t think they would happen here?”
“Times are difficult everywhere,” said Asahi, stopping and turning to face him. “But do not worry, things will get better soon. You are part of a new vanguard of recruits. With your help, and the help of others like you, the tide of the war will soon turn.”
Looking at him, Arthur began to scratch at his arms. “But I’m thirteen! How can I do anything?”
Asahi nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile before he resumed walking. “We all start somewhere. I was your age when I joined the program and look at me now. O’Connell says you have great potential. Given time, your Ascension will make you stronger, tougher. You will be able to do things men only dream of.”
The talk of the major bishop made Arthur narrow his eyes, something about the way Asahi looked and talked. “Are you family; I mean, are you related? You and the major bishop, you look alike.”
The older man turned on him, fury in his pale eyes. “I may look like him, but I am nothing like that monster!” he said through clenched teeth, his rasping voice strained, the flame above his palm flaring a bright white, forcing Arthur to shield his eyes and look away. “That waste of flesh has no honor, and I will be glad when his—”
Asahi heaved, his words catching in his throat as he suddenly fought for breath. Blistering heat rolling off the older man in waves, growing more intense with each ragged cough, forcing Arthur back. In a heartbeat the flames grew to engulf the older man completely, browning the corridor walls, touching the ceiling. He fell to his knees, his hands fumbling through his pockets, hunting for something, before finally pulling out a red stoppered vial, trembling with a palsied hand as he tried to open the cap. Without thinking, Arthur moved to help, wincing in pain as the flames washed over him, blistering his skin and singeing his uniform. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he kneeled beside the older man, the pungent smell of burning hair filling his nostrils. Arthur took the vial from his shaking hand, uncorking it and pouring it down the man’s throat. Asahi
greedily swallowed its contents, a shudder running through his thin frame. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply as the flames vanished, plunging the corridor into darkness once again.
Without missing a beat, Asahi stood to his full height as if nothing were amiss, his clothes untouched by the flames. Arthur was not so lucky; the simple uniform he had worn was little more than charred rags, his curly hair singed at the tips. Narrowing his eyes, he smiled in wonder, shocked to find his skin with a few blisters that were quickly vanishing, slightly reddened but whole, like he had spent the day in the sun and not standing next to a man on fire.
“You are brave; that is good,” said Asahi, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. “Apologies for my temper.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, still confused. “How am I not—how did I not get burned?” he asked, noticing the tingle along his arms had stopped.
Asahi frowned at him, cocking his head. “Your abilities are developing rapidly. You will be a great asset in the days to come. Perhaps I will take you into the field with me next time,” he said as the lights overhead suddenly returned to life.
“But—”
“Enough for today,” he said, interrupting. Removing his red coat, he draped it over Arthur’s shoulders, giving him a brief nod before motioning for him to follow. “I will see that a new uniform is sent to your room, one befitting your station and not like those old rags you were wearing. In the meantime, get some rest. We have a great deal to do.”
Arthur stood stock-still, grateful for the kindness. Pulling tight the overly large coat, he raced after his commanding officer, more confused than ever.
Chapter 5: A Cold Night in Ann Arbor
November 2075
“Fuck you, asshole!” she screamed, tumbling hard onto the icy winter pavement. Gwen had been only halfway out of the car before the driver sped off into the night, the closing door knocking her from her feet. She lay there, motionless, breathing hard and waiting for the pain to subside, cold seeping into her bones. “Fucking idiot,” she muttered, not sure if she was talking about the driver or herself. With a sigh, she struggled to her feet, her legs twisting and shaking like a newborn foal, cursing herself for wearing heels despite the weather. It was late November. The grip of winter had come early to Ann Arbor, the trees lining the boulevard already dusted white. A glacial wind blew through her skimpy denim jacket and skirt, making her wish she’d worn something warmer.
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 5