The Delphi Resistance (The Delphi Trilogy Book 2)

by Rysa Walker

  Despite Aaron’s desire to get out here earlier, it was nearly nine when the four of us piled into the truck and headed north. The problem wasn’t Taylor’s remote viewing. That took far less time—and far less food—than usual. Maybe it was having the sneakers or knowing a description of the area—or maybe Deo’s amp ability gave her a boost—but Taylor managed to pin down the specific building in barely an hour, fortified by only two burritos.

  Our discussion of the text message I received was pretty straightforward, as well. We all agreed that it was almost certainly from the kid they call Snoop, although I have no idea how he got hold of a phone without Cregg around. Jaden agreed that the comment about Dacia definitely sounded like Snoop—it was well known at The Warren that there was absolutely no love lost between the two of them, partly due to Dacia being jealous of Snoop’s ability. Even though she can comb a person’s mind for much more detailed information than the stray bits and pieces Snoop picks up, Dacia requires physical contact, or at the very least, close proximity in order to read someone. But Jaden also heard through the grapevine—which was exceptionally accurate in a facility full of psychics—that Dacia was pissed about something that Snoop plucked from her own head. Apparently, it’s perfectly okay for her to invade other people’s privacy, but she didn’t like the tables being turned.

  In fact, we’d have been on the road well before nightfall if not for strong differences of opinion as to exactly which of us would be going. Aaron initially planned to go by himself, but Taylor gleefully reminded him of his buddy-system rule.

  I was actually okay with the idea of Deo and me sitting this one out. I still have a low-grade headache, and while Deo’s feeling better, he’s been too sick to go tramping around the woods at night in November. Also, if the girl’s vision was correct, we’ll be walking into a house where five children were recently murdered. The four who were still drugged may have moved on. People who die in their sleep often do. But Hunter Bieler was awake and screaming. I could very easily end up with another hitcher, and that seems like a bad idea when my mental hotel is already overcrowded.

  Unfortunately, Daniel’s ability to nudge someone’s mind in a different direction is the strongest tool in our collective psychic arsenal. Aaron’s vibes can warn if trouble is coming, but they’re not very helpful in terms of getting out of trouble. So I need to be here. I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep my walls intact.

  I tried to talk Taylor into staying at the campground with Deo since she’d already done her part with the remote viewing, but both of them balked at that. Deo clearly has cabin fever after being cooped up in the RV for so long. And even though being around Deo still seems to make Aaron jumpy, having an emergency boost for his spidey sense might not be a bad thing.

  By the time we reach the lake, the clouds obliterate whatever moon there is in the sky. Aaron has just navigated through an especially deep puddle, so deep the standing water touched the rims, when he slams on the brakes. Two deer, a large doe and a smaller one, freeze on the shoulder of the road, their eyes bright yellow-green in the glare from the headlights.

  They eventually move on, and so do we. It’s too dark to actually see the lake, but I catch a whiff of it on the breeze after Aaron pulls off the main road—and yes, I’m using that term very loosely. Taylor and Aaron both have flashlights, so we pair off and make our way down the road toward a wooded path just south of the lake.

  “You feeling better?” Aaron asks.

  “Mmhmm. Advil to the rescue.”

  He picks up the pace a bit. Once we’re a little farther away from Deo and Taylor, he takes my hand and says in a low voice, “Should I apologize for being an asshat today? Or are you sick of hearing it?”

  “You weren’t an asshat. Or at least, not a total asshat. And given the stress we’re all under, a little asshattery is probably to be expected.”

  Aaron laces his fingers through mine and rubs his thumb along my palm. “I really am trying to keep things separate in my mind, Anna. But that was weird today. One minute it was you, and the next I’m seeing Daniel’s expressions on your face . . .” He huffs in annoyance. “I know he didn’t have a choice. You didn’t have a choice. But it still pisses me off that he ended up hurting you by taking control.”

  Remind my sanctimonious baby brother that I’m new to this, too. I had no idea how nudging Pruitt would affect either of us.

  I sigh, and Daniel adds:

  Fine. I’ll go to my corner. I’m tired, anyway.

  “I’m okay now, Aaron. Really.” I’m tempted to tell him that Daniel is feeling the impact, too. But then I recall the chaste little forehead kiss I received last night. Frequent reminders that I’m tethered to Daniel probably won’t improve that situation.

  The path from Overhills Lake to the area that locals once called The Hill is barely visible on Taylor’s GPS app, and even though this is the more direct route, it’s soon apparent that it won’t be the quickest. A fallen tree blocks the path. Most of its roots have been yanked from the earth, and several of them point upward. Dozens of smaller obstacles block our progress, and on several occasions we have to veer off the path into the woods in order to move forward. And there’s mud, lots and lots of mud, including one patch so viscous that it nearly sucks off my sneaker.

  About five minutes in, Aaron’s flashlight picks up the battered ruin of a building. A barn, or maybe a stable. Something startles and skitters off into the woods.

  “What the hell was that?” Taylor says from behind us.

  “Raccoon, probably.” Aaron’s words are followed by a series of howls off in the distance that don’t sound even faintly raccoonish.

  I shudder, thinking back to the image of Nikki Clary’s body. “We should have waited to interview the Pruitt woman and come out here earlier. I hate the idea of those kids’ bodies being mauled by the various creatures of the night, but I also don’t like the idea of those creatures mauling us.”

  Aaron nods. “Yeah. Those noises are making me reconsider our leave-the-gun-at-home decision.”

  “Nope,” Taylor says. “That was still a good call.”

  The one thing that all of us—even Aaron—agreed on was that the gun had to remain at the camper. You need a special permit to bring a gun on post. If we encounter the military police, the fishing gear and permit in the truck will back up our excuse—well, at least for Aaron. The rest of us can say we came along to goof around and watch him fish.

  I pull my pepper spray out of my pocket. “I have this if we need it.”

  Deo pats the front pocket of the backpack he’s carrying over one shoulder. “I’m armed, too.” I snort, knowing that he’s referring to the kneesock full of pennies he carries in his bag. Although, to be fair, it came to my rescue one night when we were on the streets, and I’m pretty sure it could take out—or at least seriously discourage—whatever that was that took off through the woods.

  Taylor waves her tiny pink flashlight, which is about the size of a lipstick, in a wide arc in front of her. “Don’t tell the Howling Raccoons, but this little beauty doubles as a stun gun. Popsy gave it to me the first time I went out on a date. So, you don’t need your pistol, Aaron. We’ll protect you.”

  She snickers as she says it, and Aaron tells her exactly where she can shove her teeny-tiny stun gun.

  “Fine, then. If something leaps out of the bushes, you’ll have to make do with Anna’s pathetic pepper spray.” She drops back a few paces to chat with Deo, and I hear him laugh a moment later.

  “Well, they certainly seem to be getting along better.”

  “True.” Aaron lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’ll deny it if you ever tell Taylor I said this, but she’s actually got a good heart. Daniel’s accident hit her hard, and . . . she tends to lash out when she’s hurting. She usually regrets it later, but . . .”

  Personally, I think that Aaron should tell Taylor every single word of what he just said to me. Maybe she’d learn to avoid ripping into the people around her anytime she
’s in pain. But Taylor is his sister, so I keep that opinion to myself.

  The trees thin out ahead, and we see a narrow road that winds around several houses. Even though the moon is barely visible, the clearing appears almost eerily bright after our trek through the forest primeval. We stick to the tree line rather than taking the shorter path along the clearing—and my eyes dart around, constantly looking for movement.

  Apparently, it’s just me, though. Aaron, our personal First Alert system, is relaxed. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air or the exercise, but he actually seems more at ease than he’s been in the past few days. Maybe it’s just my overactive imagination, combined with how much this place reminds me of the abandoned campus Deo and I ran through to escape from The Warren. Like the Tome campus, the buildings clustered around this circle are in various states of disrepair. One is little more than a burned-out husk. A brick chimney stands out against the night sky like a defiant middle finger, but the rest of the house is now mostly obscured by bushes and vines.

  Taylor kicks a chunk of brick off the path and snaps a quick photo of the building in front of us. “Hard to believe this place used to be a vacation resort.”

  It is a bit hard to believe, given the current state of disrepair, but members of the Rockefeller family and various government leaders once vacationed at Overhills. During its heyday, according to the article Taylor found online, the complex stretched over forty thousand acres. In the 1910s and 1920s, wealthy Northeastern families traveled to Overhills to hunt, to play polo, tennis, and golf, and to swim in the lake and indoor pool. A railroad line was built to transport people and goods to the area. Some built houses here, and others stayed at the country club. But then the Great Depression hit. Even the elite had to cut corners, and the club was closed. After that, the place remained a family vacation retreat for the Rockefellers and a few of their friends until they sold it to the government in the early 1990s.

  “Well, at least people are still getting some enjoyment out of the golf course.” Deo nods to the open area off to the right. “Did you notice the circles on the map?”

  Taylor shows us the map, and sure enough, there are dozens of overlapping circles on the green. “What are they? Crop circles?” Taylor asks, and I can’t help thinking that between this and the foil hat, she and Bruno would have gotten along quite well.

  “No,” Deo says with a laugh. “People use the area for mudding. You mean, your mom owns a Jeep and you’ve never gone mudding?”

  Aaron and I both snort at the mental image of Michele Quinn’s lavender Jeep spinning out in the mud.

  “Mom would freak,” Taylor says. “But honestly, a mud bath might improve the aesthetic.”

  Taylor’s phone beeps softly, indicating that we’re approaching Croatan Cottage. The glass is missing from most of the windows on the top two floors, and the ones on the bottom floor have been boarded up, though the door has been unboarded. Several plywood sheets and planks are scattered among the pinecones on the front lawn.

  Aaron shines his flashlight through the doorway into a large open room. It’s empty, and the four of us slip inside. The beam glints off broken glass, either from the windows or from beer bottles. On the far side of the room, someone has placed part of a foam mattress in front of the fireplace.

  “Still not my idea of romantic,” Deo whispers. “But it’s actually an improvement over the make-out room at the Tome School.”

  “Not sure this is a make-out pit so much as a site for military field exercises.” Aaron nods down at several discarded brown plastic packets, shining his light on the label: MEAL Ready-to-Eat Individual Chili with Macaroni.

  “Yum,” I say. “So . . . do we make noise to scare away any potential critters or keep quiet in case the authorities are patrolling the area?”

  “Stealth mode. I’m not sensing anything human, but no need to take chances. And if a bobcat jumps us, Taylor can zap it with her Hello Kitty stun gun.” Aaron pulls Taylor’s sketch of the building from his pocket and unfolds it.

  “Staircase is that way,” Taylor says, pointing down a narrow hallway. “Third floor.”

  “Of course,” Aaron says with a sigh. “Three-story house, so naturally the room we’re looking for is all the way at the damned top. And we need to check every room on the first two floors before we go up those stairs. I have no intention of getting trapped up there.”

  “I thought you weren’t picking up any vibes,” Deo says.

  “I’m not. But we’ve just found out you’re an amp. How do we know the Delphi people haven’t created someone who acts as a suppressor?”

  That thought hadn’t occurred to me at all, and judging from the look on the others’ faces, it hadn’t occurred to them either. So we don’t argue the point. We just work our way past the piles of assorted debris and start searching the house, with Aaron taking the lead and Taylor and Deo bringing up the rear.

  The first floor is clear of everything aside from trash and a thriving ecosystem of insect life. We also discover a truly horrifying rat’s nest in one of the closets on the second floor. The tiny ratlings squeal, and when two of them scurry across Deo’s boot, it’s all I can do not to shriek.

  I’m still keeping a wary eye out for the rats as we climb the final flight of stairs. There are fewer rooms up here, since it’s the attic level. Two of the doors are wide open. A third door hangs at an odd angle, and has been pulled to, but not quite shut.

  “My money’s on that one,” Aaron says. He gives the other rooms a cursory check, then shoves the final door with his foot. It doesn’t resist at all, but the rusty hinges screech like banshees in the silence.

  And sure enough, the flashlight picks up paintings on the wall. Two dogs playing on a sandy hill. A chained pup howling up at the hook that holds him captive. The most surreal is the giant face of an English bulldog surveying the room from its triangular nook near the roof.

  The light also picks up a hastily scrawled message on the wall, near the open door to the children’s bath on the far side of the room.

  WE DO IT FOR YOU

  “Looks like it’s written in blood,” Taylor says, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Leave the bodies in a creepy place—check. Scrawl a crazy message in blood—check. Someone clearly studied his copy of Serial Killing for Dummies.”

  “Yeah,” Deo says. “What do you think the message means?”

  “I don’t know,” Aaron replies. “But I think it’s pretty clear we’ve found the right place.”

  Taylor reaches into her pocket and pulls out the specimen tubes, handing several of them to Aaron. “At least we won’t need the needles to get Magda’s samples.”

  Even though she’s trying really hard to sound tough, I notice the little catch in her voice. They move forward into the bedroom, and I follow at first but stop just inside the doorway, sensing . . . something. A presence. That sounds hokey, like something that Erik Bell would say on Breaking the Veil, but it’s the best description I have. It’s a fainter version of what I felt when I picked up Jaden’s spirit in the testing room at The Warren, a sense of something—someone—nearby. In pain. And I shouldn’t be sensing anything at all. My walls are up, fully fortified. I’m pumping every bit of effort I can muster into keeping them intact.

  Aaron’s flashlight reflects off a chunk of porcelain on the floor and then illuminates several small bodies slumped against each other, their backs against what’s left of the bathtub. Only three of them are visible at all from this angle, and the shadows obscure their faces. But I’m pretty sure the kid closest to the door is Hunter Bieler.

  The feeling we’re not alone grows as I step inside. I avert my eyes to avoid seeing the blood and the bodies inside the bathroom, but it doesn’t help.

  I have to get out of this room.

  Moving back, I accidentally brush against Deo. The NNNN sound that I keep getting just before one of Jaden’s visions begins, along with what sounds like someone crying. I jump away, nearly tripping over the threshold, but as soon
as Deo and I are no longer touching, the humming noise ends. The cries end too, after a moment.

  “You okay?” Deo asks.

  “Yeah. I just . . . Move a little closer, okay? Not touching, just closer. I need to check something.”

  He inches a bit closer to me, and sure enough, I hear the voice again. And yeah, it’s definitely someone crying. Pretty sure it’s a kid, and it’s almost certainly Hunter, since he’s the only one who didn’t die in his sleep.

  When I back away from Deo, the sound fades away. But not before I hear the kid calling for his mom.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it.

  “What’s wrong?” Deo asks.

  “I need to stay back. Go with them. Or wait on the stairway. I think your amp is messing with my mental walls. Either that, or this kid is really strong.”

  Or maybe you don’t really want to keep your walls up? The voice asking that question is my own, not one of my hitchers, but there’s a hint of Kelsey in there as well.

  Deo gives me a hesitant look but then joins Aaron and Taylor on the other side of the room.

  I lean back against the doorframe and breathe deep, focusing on every trick Kelsey taught me to keep hitchers at bay. The Hotel Anna is currently overbooked, and there really isn’t room for another guest. The Molly dreams are finally tapering off now. Do I really want to pull in another kid who was murdered when I’m only just now beginning to get some sleep?

  All good arguments for leaving him here. Only . . . I can still hear him. It’s so faint that I’m not sure if it’s real or an echo of my conscience. I already left one kid behind. Daniel said there was no way we could help the kid in Room 81 back at The Warren, but—