The Delphi Revolution (The Delphi Trilogy Book 3)

by Rysa Walker

  The driver pulls up next to one of the other vans and is about to turn the engine off when Daniel yells, “Turn the van around!” Our driver obeys and heads back toward the gate, but Maggie is struggling to keep her blocker off. She can normally hold it longer than this, but she’s exhausted.

  Maria continues broadcasting while Daniel issues commands. Apparently, Dacia left several minutes ago with one of the adepts and someone Maria calls Dacia’s ugly sex bear.

  Two guards, one male and one female, are near the guesthouse. The female guard waves for our driver to stop.

  “Keep driving!” Daniel says, but Maggie’s shaking her head. She can’t hold back the block any longer.

  My mind is veering into panic mode. The van we passed must have been Dacia. And that was three, maybe four, minutes ago.

  Our driver lowers the window, and the woman says, “Hey. Thought you got the suck assignment of staying on the island with the superfreak? How’d you talk Weaver into swapping duty?”

  The guard’s weapon isn’t out, so she must think it’s just the driver and Maggie. I motion for Maggie to get out of the van. She looks frightened but opens the door. “I want to go inside. I’m tired.” The other guard mashes out his half-finished cigarette, clearly annoyed that his break was cut short, and follows Maggie.

  Our driver is still pondering the woman’s question. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “They’re coming,” Aaron whispers. “Get ready.”

  I’m puzzled for a second, thinking he means the driver’s uncertain response has blown our cover. But he’s also picked up a vibe from four guards rushing toward us. One of them is holding Maggie, who’s struggling to get out of his grasp.

  The female guard leans forward. “Who the hell have you got back—”

  “DROP YOUR WEAPONS. HIT THE GROUND.”

  All but two of them comply with Daniel’s order. The guard holding Maggie and the guy next to him, who must also be within her blocking radius, aren’t affected. Then one of the two still standing begins firing at the van.

  “Go!” Daniel yells. “Get us out of here.” The driver accelerates, but the guard at the fence is advancing on us and reaching for his weapon.

  There’s no conscious thought in my next action, no consideration of how to respond. I simply push the guard running toward us. A piercing wail fills my head, metal on metal, like the sound that I get when a vision hits, but louder. Then the guard flies back toward the wooden slat fence, maybe fifteen yards behind him. He smacks it hard, and the fence splinters, instantly dumping him onto the dunes beyond.

  But the guard isn’t all that gets pushed. The windshield of the van shatters outward, along with both of the front windows. The driver, too, along with the headrest from his seat and the rearview mirror. Daniel and Aaron slam into the front seats. Only Jasper and Taylor, who are behind me, escape the impact.

  The metallic screech inside my head fades. I slide closer to the driver’s seat as the van decelerates, and look out the now-shattered window. The only guards now standing are the two within Maggie’s radius.

  “If you don’t want the kid hurt, get out of the van, hands behind your heads. Now.”

  Maggie screams something. It sounds like no, but it could be . . . go.

  Daniel begins yelling commands again, and I feel Maria trying to send a message, but it’s drowned out by the NNNNN sound again, painfully loud, as I pin my focus on the guard holding Maggie. Again, there’s no conscious questioning, no debating what course of action to take. Something inside me merely reaches out in the direction of the two men and squeezes. The only physical action is my hand clenching.

  Maggie wrenches free of the guy holding her, who’s now only worried about getting air through his constricted windpipe. As soon as she’s under the raised deck, four metal chairs fly off the upper level and crash into the backs of the guards still on their feet, both of whom are clawing frantically at their throats. They two men face-plant into the sand.

  The noise in my head stops as soon as I release the guards.

  “The chairs weren’t mine,” I say.

  “Good,” Aaron says. “That means Maria’s wabbits are giving us some help.”

  Taylor shoves past me, grabs the wheel, and floors it, swerving toward the deck and very nearly hitting our former driver. “Get ready to bail, guys.”

  She brakes inches from the columns that support the upper deck, and Daniel throws the door open. The guys pile out. I expect Taylor to follow suit, but she yells, “Be careful!”

  “You, too!” Aaron reaches forward and gives my hand a quick squeeze. And then he’s gone.

  “I thought you were staying with them,” I say to Taylor.

  “Buddy system. Strap in.”

  The guard at the gate is struggling to his feet, but he shuttles out of the way like a crab when he sees the van barreling toward the cracked section of fence. Taylor plows through, taking the van over the slight incline and onto the shore.

  I say a silent prayer that the tires didn’t hit any nails or sharp edges. If they did, we’re going to be hoofing it.

  “They’ve only got a few minutes’ head start,” Taylor asks. “Dacia may not even know which house—”

  “She knows. Maybe not the specific address, but Miller will remember where he hit my dad.”

  “Miller’s not with her, though. He’s at Bell Isle. You didn’t hear what Maria said?”

  “Not the last bit. There’s a really loud noise when they take over. It drowns out everything. My head is still ringing. And . . . I’m starving. Like, I-could-eat-the-dashboard starving.”

  “Not surprised. Welcome to my world. I’d usually have something on me, but I gave my last Snickers to Maggie.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “No,” she says. “You’ll be useless.”

  I dig around in the glove box and find an economy-sized bag of gummy bears. They’ve clearly been in the van for a while because it’s more like a solid lump of gummy. I pry the mess out of the wrapper and take an experimental bite. And then a bigger bite.

  “That’s gross,” Taylor says.

  “Tastes good.”

  “Hopefully there’s something more substantive in the storage closet when we get there. You need fuel. Maria seems to think you play a central role once the Senator and Smith arrive . . . which is soon. She didn’t want you to leave Sandalford, but I knew that wasn’t negotiable.”

  Taylor turns off the lights and parks the van two houses down.

  I don’t see headlights or a vehicle in the drive. Only the light by the front door, the one Taylor said is on a motion sensor. The air around the house is thick with dust, just like it was after Miller’s hit-and-run. I abandon stealth mode, taking off at full speed.

  Even before I see the body in the doorway, I know.

  Hunter Bieler’s face flashes in front of me, and I know there will be one bullet wound to Kelsey’s temple. I make it quick for you.

  She’s slumped forward, half in the doorway and half out. I drop to the ground and pull her into my arms, screaming her name.

  And searching.

  I knew Kelsey was dead before I rounded the corner. I knew it.

  But I can’t believe she’s also gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Carova Beach, North Carolina

  April 28, 2020, 8:42 p.m.

  I shove another handful of stale Wheat Thins into my mouth and wash them down with flat, sickly-sweet cola. My stomach churns, and for a moment, I think I’m going to have to tell Taylor to stop the van. But I fight the nausea. She says I need carbs in order to end this. I want to end this.

  And I have to focus on that. Otherwise, I will curl into a ball of anger and misery.

  A small part of me also wants to go back to the house and unleash that anger at the one person Dacia left there alive. But it would be pointless. Pfeifer is unconscious, plus I don’t think my mother would let me. And my anger at him isn’t entirely fair. Aside from his larger role in c
reating this insanity, he’s not responsible for Kelsey’s death. He’s so drugged he probably never heard them come in. The fact that he was drugged and silent is probably the only reason he’s alive. If they’d checked the place thoroughly, he’d be dead, too.

  Also, as Taylor pointed out, Sophie knew my father was in the house. She didn’t tell them. The fact that he isn’t dead tells us that she didn’t go with Dacia willingly.

  Taylor got a brief text from Deo as we were walking to the van. Sandalford is secured. A few of the guards retreated to Bell Isle, and one of the Vigilance vans is parked over there, so he’s pretty sure that’s where Dacia has gone.

  She responded simply that we were on our way back. Nothing more. I won’t let Deo learn about Kelsey from a text.

  I see the lights of Sandalford ahead, but something’s different. “What happened to the fence?”

  The slat fence surrounding Sandalford has vanished. Well, not entirely. Boards, some of them charred and smoking, lie scattered along the beach, in the dunes, and even a few in the water. One sticks up from the sand, pointing out to sea. Farther down the beach, the identical fence around Bell Isle remains standing.

  “Wow,” Taylor shakes her head in amazement. “The wabbits just blasted the holy hell out of their cage. And look . . .”

  Pieces of board are arranged on the wide expanse of sand in front of the house to form two words: WABBITS ONLY.

  I wish Kelsey could see it. She hated that fence. Hated that the children at Sandalford, even those who could control their abilities, looked out at that beach every day but were rarely allowed on it.

  Grief washes over me again. How do I tell Deo?

  But Deo is sitting on the deck stairs when we pull up. His face leaves no doubt that he knows. He’s in a house full of psychics. Of course he knows. Stan was probably monitoring six or seven paths in which Kelsey died, and the son of a bitch never bothered to tell us.

  Maggie is next to Deo. While I appreciate the thought, I really don’t care if we trigger a vision.

  Not a good idea, sweetie. We’ve got a lot more going on inside here than just the visions right now, and I’m not sure . . .

  My mother doesn’t finish the thought. Several times on the ride over, I’ve felt her hovering. Trying to decide what to say. How to console me. Scanning my colors or whatever to manipulate me into feeling better about this.

  I’m angry at her, too. I know that’s not fair. It’s not like my mom is to blame. Yes, she’s here and Kelsey isn’t, but they’re both dead, and I’m about to make sure that the Senator, the person responsible for setting this entire fiasco in motion, pays for it.

  Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re outside, because I’m going to hug my brother.

  I open the door and go to the one person in the world who I know shares the pain I’m feeling right now. Over the past eight years, I’ve held Deo many times as he cried. Many times, I felt like crying, too, but I drew my strength from the knowledge that Deo was counting on me. That he needed me to be strong.

  And now he’s the strong one. His jaw is clenched tight as he pulls me to him and my tears spill against his chest. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. My pain and his are the same.

  A voice says we need to get inside. Rifles and scopes or something, but the other words are drowned out by the humming sound of an approaching vision. It’s faint enough that I think I could move down a step and maybe the vision wouldn’t happen, probably because Maggie is here. But if I can get any information that will help us—

  nnnNNNnnn

  Deo and Aaron alone. Walking down the beach toward me. I watch and wait.

  nnnNNNnnn

  Most of the ashes are gone by the time they reach me. Deo scatters some into the water. Some more along the beach.

  nnnNNNnnn

  It rained all morning, but now there’s sun. The beach is empty. Peaceful. I’m glad they both—

  NNNnnn

  The vision was different. It kept fading in and out. Maybe interference from Maggie? And it was so short.

  When I open my eyes, Aaron is carrying me toward the service elevator. Deo must have gone up the other way. I lean my head against Aaron’s shoulder, glad that at least the vision pulled me out of a grief spiral. There will be time for grief later.

  Aaron presses his lips to my forehead and holds me tighter, but doesn’t speak. He lost his dad. Maybe he understands that words, no matter how well-intentioned, do more to soothe the person speaking than they do for the person in pain. I struggled to find the right words to say to Daniel when he told me about Sariah, but what he said then is true. There are no right words.

  The only thing that will help is time. And in this case, maybe some justice. Not revenge, not lashing out in anger, but ensuring that these kids aren’t treated as a means to an end.

  Aaron sets me on my feet. “I got a vibe from the woods out back. One of Dacia’s men must have come over from Bell Isle. That’s why we were getting everyone inside. Are you ready? Because if you need some time . . .”

  “No. I’ll have time later. What happened here after we left? Were any of the adepts injured?”

  “Two, but not seriously. One was grazed by a bullet. Another was just a stupid accident—one of the Zippos got carried away blasting down the fence and burned the arm of the kid next to him. Two guards are dead, and two ran down the beach to Bell Isle. The rest are barricaded inside the walk-in freezer. Did you get anything from the vision?”

  “No. It was weird. Everything was fuzzy, and it was really short. You and Deo are walking toward me on the beach, scattering Kelsey’s ashes—”

  I stop, realizing that the vision did give me something I needed. Nothing that will help with tactics or strategies. Nothing that says when the Senator will arrive and whether we’ll be facing another set of security guards or actual military personnel and equipment. All of those things remain unknown.

  But no matter how blurry and choppy it was, the vision gave me the one bit of knowledge I needed desperately after having a chunk of my heart ripped out tonight. The two remaining pieces of my heart were there, on that beach with me.

  Losing Aaron or Deo after losing Kelsey would absolutely end me. I don’t know what else happens tonight, but I know that they will be on this beach sometime in the near future. That’s the most powerful weapon the vision could have given me. It gives me hope. It gives me the freedom to protect these kids in a way that would make Kelsey proud.

  It makes me fearless.

  “I got something,” I tell Aaron. “It won’t make sense to anyone except me, but . . . let’s go.”

  My initial reaction when we enter the great room is that it looks basically the same as before. Fewer knickknacks on the shelves, and one of the couches is now out on the deck. It’s only when you feel the cool ocean breeze coming in that you realize this room is now a large, open-air patio.

  The entire Warren seems to be gathered in the adjoining dining room, seated at the tables arranged in four long rows. Mostly empty platters of sandwiches and crumpled chip and cookie bags are scattered in front of them. They’re quiet. Subdued. It’s not just that they’ve worn themselves out fighting the guards and wrecking the fence. It’s Kelsey. She wasn’t a wabbit, but she was part of The Warren nevertheless. They’re mourning her, too.

  Behind the wall in my head, I feel the hitchers move forward, scanning the tables, looking for people they know. The Furies were also part of this family.

  “Where is Ein?” I ask Aaron. Normally, he’d be hanging out near one of the tables, begging for crusts. But I don’t see him.

  “He’s in the rec room with the two injured kids. Miranda has Peyton and TJ back there, plus a couple others who are still a little young to be . . . useful.”

  The older adepts cluster at one table—Maria and her friend Pavla, Stan with a guy who must be his brother, Harv. Taylor, Daniel, and Deo are there, too, seated a little away from the others.

  They all look up when we enter. In
this house with no secrets, they must know I have an entire chorus in my head right now. Not only their former friends but also Graham Cregg. At least a few of them have known that for months. Certainly Maria did. Any shred of doubt I had on that point is erased when Maria’s eyes dart toward me, then quickly back down to the table, as soon as the thought enters my head.

  Maria and Stan probably knew there was a good chance Ashley and Kelsey would die. It just didn’t serve the greater purpose of The Paths to tell me. A hot coal of anger builds inside me, but I fight it back. Not the time.

  “Do we know when the Senator arrives?” I ask. “And how many people are at Bell Isle, total?”

  Stan says, “Our best guess is that Cregg will arrive in about twenty minutes. The paths—” He jumps, and looks toward Maria. I think she kicked him. She knows I don’t want to hear about his damn paths right now.

  “Four guards,” Maria says, “including Miller. He plays like he is not working for Senator, but Dacia knows. Her guys took his weapons. Dacia is also there now. Sophie, Lily, Caleb, and one other adept. The girl Dacia brought who can push minds like sexy Fudd over there. Magda and her daughters. The nurses, Dr. Batra. So . . . fewer than we fought here, and not so many guns.”

  “For now.” I start to tell her about the picture vision I got earlier, but she holds up one hand.

  “I already tell them. Your walls are flimsy now. I pick this bit up from earlier, before you and Taylor go . . .” Maria stops, looking like she’s about to cry. “Our two Fivers see them, too. Jeeps. Soldiers.”

  A couple of boys at the table across from us exchange a look. One of them is the kid who asked the question at Maria’s meeting last week about whether any of the adepts were forced to come here. “Okay, I get that this Senator is crazy. But I don’t believe soldiers are actually going to hurt us. Most of our parents served in the Army.”

  “Maybe they got orders,” one of the girls says. “They have to follow orders.”

  “Not illegal orders. And killing a bunch of civilians, even ones like us who are different, is an illegal order. Most soldiers won’t do it. My father wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t give that order to his men, either.”