by Rysa Walker
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. To be honest, I do feel a tiny bit annoyed. I was fully planning on getting even with Miller for this puffy lip at a later date. And it probably would have been safer to let Daniel disarm Miller first. But there’s also a part of me that’s touched that my father wanted to punish Miller, too.
Miller is curled up on his side, holding his hands up to his quite-possibly-broken nose. Sophie picks up the grocery bag that’s near his feet, peeks inside, and then hurls it at Miller. Daniel gives her a baffled look.
“It’s not soy. And the last damn thing we need is a baby with an ear infection right now.”
There’s a brief argument about what to do with Miller. As much as I’d love to toss him into one of the cells, the only chain we have was just disintegrated. And even if that weren’t the case, I know Miller was in the vision. Leaving him here isn’t an option, so Daniel pops one of the cuffs on Miller’s wrists and hauls him outside.
Something is off when I see the van. It’s navy blue, and I’m certain it’s the same one. But I definitely don’t remember that sign on the side panel.
“Why didn’t you mention the advertising?” Daniel says.
“It wasn’t in the vision. I mean, there was a sign, but it can’t remember what it said. Believe me, Tennessee Ghost Tours would have stuck in my memory.”
The others are getting into the van, but Pfeifer hangs behind, just inside the doorway. His body is rigid and shaking. The red pipes along the ceiling are also shaking now. One of them quivers itself out of its support bracket and comes crashing to the floor. Along the wall, the windows rattle once, twice, then shatter outward.
The wall catches fire.
That’s not quite right, though. It’s more like a flame sprite dances across the cement, from one mural to the next, igniting the paint as it goes. Deer and raccoons now seem to be in a hopeless race against a raging forest fire. The fish pond ripples and blackens. A column near the middle of the room that once depicted a panther climbing a boulder is peeling away, leaving only scorched concrete below.
And then the fire stops as suddenly as it began. It’s like a blowtorch is turned off, and the flames instantly extinguish.
The reek of smoke and burned chemicals hangs in the air. Few traces of the artwork remain, and most of the paint has been scorched away from the metal pipes. All of that creative effort has literally gone up in smoke.
Pfeifer’s head jerks toward me, and for a second, I’m afraid that I’m next on the to-be-incinerated list. Daniel must think so, too, because he’s yelling for him to stop.
But whichever Fury is in control simply says, “Is not a happy place. This is how they feel.”
And then Leah-Pfeifer is looking back at me.
“It was building up. Too much for me to control. They needed to vent.”
Daniel stands beside me, mouth open, as he takes in the smoking ruin.
“Good decision,” he says. “Definitely better out than in.”
NEWS ITEM FROM THE KNOXVILLE NEWS SENTINEL
April 26, 2020
Presidential candidate Senator Ronald Cregg (UA-PA) and scientists from Oak Ridge National Laboratories are among the speakers scheduled at the upcoming Shield2020 Psychic Security Conference, sponsored by Decathlon Services Group.
The conference, which will take place on Monday and Tuesday at the Knoxville Convention Center, will bring together more than 400 state and local law enforcement, military, and government leaders with the nation’s leading authorities on the Delphi Project and its potential impact on national security. Participants will share best practices and lessons learned in controlling and apprehending individuals with psychic abilities.
When the conference was first announced in January, government officials and members of the two major political parties derided it as a campaign stunt in support of Senator Cregg, who was once on the board of DSG. There was a push to boycott the event. The escalating crisis, however, has made it far more difficult for Congress and the White House to ignore the issue, since Senator Cregg, who is essentially assured as the Unify America nominee, has made the battle against psychic terrorism the cornerstone of his campaign. With state and local officials now demanding action and resources, Republican and Democratic leaders seem to have reached a tacit agreement to scrap the boycott. Instead, they will use this conference to demonstrate what they are doing to address the crisis, although some of the participants stress that their attendance is simply to address the panic over the issue, and not a confirmation that psychic terrorism actually exists.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Oliver Springs, Tennessee
April 27, 2020, 3:54 p.m.
Daniel opens the van door, peels off a fifty, and hands me the debit card along with the rest of the cash he withdrew from Miller’s checking account. “I’m going to walk across to the drugstore. They should have soy formula. Hopefully burner phones, too.”
The cell signal came in on Miller’s phone as soon as we reached the main road leading out of the prison. Daniel was worried about Miller’s communications possibly being monitored, but we decided it was worth the risk to call and check on Aaron and Taylor. We’ve all had to change phones several times over the past few months, and neither of us committed their new numbers to memory. The number for Sam’s company, Quinn Investigative, is the same, however. Unfortunately, we got the answering machine, and Daniel didn’t want to leave Miller’s number, so we’re still in limbo.
“Be nice if that drugstore had a car seat,” Sophie mumbles, glancing down at Lily. The baby is crawling around on the floorboard now that I’ve stopped the van, but Sophie was holding her before that. Or trying to. The kid has a major case of the wiggles.
My father is in the seat behind Miller. He hasn’t said much, and his eyes are closed most of the time. I don’t think he’s sleeping, it’s more like meditation. Maybe he’s still trying to rein in Oksana or whichever whirlwind it was that trashed the cafeteria.
“We’ll find a car seat as soon as we get to Knoxville.” I stuff the money and debit card back into Miller’s wallet. There’s a corporate credit card in there as well, along with his driver’s license and a loyalty card from Harrah’s casinos. That was a lucky find, because it gave Daniel the idea to tell Miller this is a paid excursion to a casino in New Jersey. He was in a chipper mood after that, despite his badly swollen nose. It’s the first time I’ve seen Miller with a genuine smile.
Having Miller along may already have bought us some time, though. A text came in on his phone a few minutes after we turned onto the main highway. It was from Magda, letting him know that the Senator’s people had taken Maggie, and cautioning him to be alert for any other deviations from the agreement.
My hands shook as I sent back a simple 10-4, which seems to be Miller’s default response to most texts. Magda knows that this is a dangerous situation for Maggie. She saw firsthand how Maggie looked after a couple of days with Caleb. But it sounds more like she’s annoyed at Cregg for changing the terms of the agreement than actually concerned for Maggie’s welfare. Senator Cregg’s people could probably march in and take custody of all the adepts, and she’d stand aside as long as she gets what she wants.
Miller hasn’t given us much information beyond what we already know, however, despite Daniel’s interrogation, which was heavy on the nudge. As far as we can tell, Miller doesn’t know anything beyond the basics of the agreement that Magda made with the Senator. And he doesn’t seem to be especially easy for Daniel to manipulate. It took two tries to get the debit PIN, and I’m not sure how long any of Daniel’s suggestions are going to hold. About ten minutes ago, Miller started to look confused and angry, more like his usual abrasive self. Daniel gave him another, slightly stronger nudge, and Miller went back to telling us how much he won at blackjack last summer. I think the plastic zip cuff he’s wearing might be part of the problem. Each time he remembers his wrists are bound, it chips away at the casino cover story Daniel planted in his head.
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br /> “Yes, it’s soy,” Daniel says as he hands the bag back to Sophie. “No burner phones, though. We’ll try the Walmart in Oak Ridge.”
We’re about a mile down the road when Sophie leans forward and taps Daniel’s shoulder. “Where did you say we’re going?”
“Walmart.”
“No . . . the city. Oak Ridge. That’s the part of the name I couldn’t remember. The lab that Dacia is targeting.”
“Oak Ridge National Laboratory?” There’s a note of alarm in my dad’s voice, and I try to place the name. Something connected to World War II, I think.
“I don’t remember the National part,” Sophie says. “But yeah. It was Oak Ridge.”
My brain finally makes the connection. “The Manhattan Project.”
“When are we going to be at the casino?” Miller asks.
Daniel sighs. “I’m going to put him to sleep. If his phone rings, we’ll wake him up. Miller, go to sleep.”
“I’m not . . .” But then his eyelids droop, followed by his head.
“Is it still a nuclear facility?” I ask Pfeifer.
“Yes. Although a lot of other research goes on there now as well. Security is pretty tight at those places, though. They wouldn’t be able to just land a helicopter there.”
“Maybe not.” Daniel grabs Miller’s phone and begins dialing. “But I could probably talk my way past the guard. From what Sophie said, Dacia’s got at least one adept who can be persuasive.”
“Are you trying Sam’s again?” I ask.
“No. I’m calling Baker. Someone needs to raise the alarm.”
But Baker isn’t on duty, and Daniel can’t remember his personal number. We debate calling the police on Miller’s phone, but we’re close enough now that it seems wise to wait for a burner phone that can’t be traced.
Twenty minutes later, Daniel is able to place a brief, anonymous 911 call in the shopping center parking lot while my dad—or more accurately, my mother—and I try to figure out how to safely install Lily’s new car seat. We’re the only ones with any experience at all in that regard, but Leah’s is at least fifteen years out of date and mine is a vague hitcher memory.
Sophie paces around the parking lot as we wrestle with straps and hooks. I’d expected her to tell Daniel to buy a specific type of car seat, since she was particular about the type of baby formula. But she had no idea, and she’s totally clueless about installing it or getting Sophie strapped in. I can tell this really bothers her, and I realize for the first time that Sophie has never cared for Lily in the outside world. All of her experience with parenting has been at The Warren or at the Senator’s facility in Nevada. All of her experience as an adult, for that matter, has been inside an institution of some sort. She can’t drive. She’s never had a job. While she’s definitely smart, the educational program at The Warren wasn’t exactly top notch. No wonder she was willing to cash in on her blocking ability. That’s probably Sophie’s only marketable skill, and she has a daughter to support.
I turn my attention back to the car seat, which now seems to be correctly secured. Sophie heads back once we have Lily situated, carrying two large blue-and-white rectangles over her arm. Her expression is a little less miserable than it was a moment ago, and when she reaches the van, she slaps a rectangle over the Tennessee Ghost Tours logos on either side of the van. A bit of the T still shows, but the rest of it is neatly covered by a navy-and-white Coldwell Banker sign.
“Problem solved,” she says. “But we should probably get out of here. Otherwise we may have an angry realtor chasing us.”
One of the new phones rings just as Daniel pulls back onto the main road. It’s Porter. I put him on speaker.
“Thank God, Anna. Are the others with you?”
Daniel frowns. “I’m with her. We’ve also got Pfeifer and another adept. Have you heard from Taylor and Aaron?”
There’s a long pause before Porter answers. “Last I heard, Sam had turned the truck around and was heading back up to that cabin in West Virginia. Had one of his hunches. That would’ve been around seven thirty last night. I left two messages already, but was hopin’ maybe his phone’s just got bad reception. Mine never works worth a damn in the mountains. What—”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Daniel says. “Right now, you need to contact someone and tell them to increase security at the Oak Ridge National Lab. Baker, if you can reach him. I don’t have his home number. I made a call about twenty minutes ago to the local police, but I couldn’t give them any identification. They may have thought it was a prank.”
“On it.” Porter ends the call.
“It’s too late,” Pfeifer says. “Look over there, to the right.”
A massive plume of smoke is rising in the woods behind a Bojangles’ and a storage facility. As we watch, it seems to get another burst of fuel, and the cloud rises higher.
“Are you sure that’s the lab?” Sophie asks.
“No,” Daniel says. “But it’s sure as hell in that direction.”
He nods toward the sign we’re approaching, which directs us to turn right for Oak Ridge National Lab.
We do not turn right. The light ahead is yellow, and it’s clearly going to change to red before we get there, but Daniel floors it.
Just as we clear the intersection, we hear another explosion.
It’s loud. Loud enough that we feel it. Still, it’s not nuclear loud.
My dad echoes my thoughts. “They blew something up, but that wasn’t a nuclear detonation. Not even close.”
“Yeah, well, there are nukes in the vicinity,” Daniel says. “We’re not waiting around for the fire to spread.”
He gets no argument. We drive in silence for the next few minutes, except for Lily, who is not used to a car seat and probably frightened by the explosion.
Once we’re well clear of Oak Ridge, I lean toward Daniel and ask, “Can Caleb do that?”
“Caleb’s not even three. I don’t know what he can do. He’s definitely telekinetic. And while I was at The Warren, we had one incident that . . .” He shrugs. “He could be a Zippo, yeah. Or there could have just been a short in the equipment that he moved, and that’s what started the fire. But I don’t think that was Caleb. It’s much more likely that Dacia and her bears pulled a conventional attack. Not nuclear, not psychic. That sounded a lot like an IED. They may not still be around here. I just wish I knew where they were going.”
“I don’t know about Dacia,” Sophie says, “but the Senator is at the terrorism conference. He’s giving that speech tonight. Follow the Senator, and eventually you’ll find Dacia and Caleb, because he’s definitely going to make sure Dacia did as she was ordered. Like I said before, they’ve got trust issues. Oh, and can you give this guy back here another push? He’s moving again.”
Daniel curses softly and says, “Go to sleep, Miller.”
Sophie doesn’t know where the convention is taking place, so I google it and learn that the Shield2020 conference, hosted by Decathlon Services Group, is being held at the Knoxville Convention Center downtown.
The website declares that hundreds of officials and law enforcement officers will be there to share best practices and lessons learned for controlling and apprehending Delphi psychics. That sounds like the last place we need to be. But since we have no other ideas on how to find Dacia, I guess we’ll have to stroll into the lion’s den.
“Traffic’s probably going to get worse,” Daniel says, “once the situation at Oak Ridge hits the news. I’m guessing that, even if they don’t officially evacuate the area, a whole lot of people are going to decide it’s a good night to go for a long drive. Just to be on the safe side.”
Porter calls back a few minutes later. By the time he reached Baker, reports of an explosion near Oak Ridge were already coming in. Daniel brings Porter up to speed on everything and asks him to forward Sam’s cell number and any others he might have.
“I’m headed to West Virginia now. Your mama was ready to get into the car herself when I
talked to her, but I told her it might best to . . .” He falls silent, and his unspoken words drive a stake of fear straight through me. Porter didn’t want Michele Quinn to go because he’s scared. He thinks he may find them dead.
“Anyway,” Porter says. “Gonna take a while to get out of DC this time of day, so I don’t know when I’ll get there. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can.”
We’re about to end the call when Porter says, “Oh, one more thing. I got an odd call from someone I know over at Montgomery County Child Welfare. They remembered me asking around about Anna last year when . . . um . . . when I . . .”
“When you thought I was a scam artist. It’s okay, Porter. What did they want?”
“Well, they had a call from someone who wanted to track down a girl who was abandoned at Laurel Mall in 2004. Said that she knew the girl had been adopted, but that she’d be an adult now and graduating from high school next month. Thought she might need money for college. At first, I thought it was one of Senator Cregg’s people . . . only they know where Anna is. And then they tell me the person’s name. Leah Johnson. Seems she adopted her sister’s identity. She’s living in Colorado. Runs a small art gallery in a resort town.”
“Manitou Springs,” Pfeifer says. “I told you, Scott. I told you she wouldn’t . . .”
The last part trails off, but my father’s face goes blank again, so I suspect the conversation has just shifted to internal mode.
“Um . . . yeah,” Porter says, obviously confused by the dialogue. “Right near Pikes Peak. I’ll text the number when I stop for gas.”
All of this sort of floats over me, because my mind is still on the words that Porter left unsaid. I pull up the map again and start typing in a new route.
“What are you doing?” Daniel asks.
“Finding the quickest route back to West Virginia.”
“Anna.” He reaches over and grabs my hand. “We’re at least six hours away. Maybe more. Porter will be there in three hours, tops. There’s nothing we can do. But maybe we can find a way to help Caleb and Maggie.”
