Whispers: The Reincarnation Series (Book 2)

by R. E. Rowe

  “You’re not serious.” I grab my backpack and follow her.

  The jet is way smaller than Mack’s jet with only two rows of big leather chairs and bench seats on two sides of a small table near the pilot’s cabin.

  “Get comfortable.” Bree pulls up the jet’s stairs, closes and locks the jet’s door, and then marches into the pilot’s cabin like she owns it. She doesn’t bother shutting the small cabin door before she sits down next to the pilot.

  Wow. “Okay then.”

  I take Richard’s device out of my backpack as the plane taxis. The green dot on the display isn’t moving.

  “Bree,” I shout. “The dot has stopped.”

  “I’m a little busy at the moment, come in here and show me,” she replies.

  The engines whine as the jet approaches the runway.

  Stumbling into the cockpit, I notice the pilot sitting with his eyes glossed over, gazing straight ahead as if he’s in some kind of trance. Bree reads a binder then pushes buttons and flips switches on the control panel.

  “You know how to fly?”

  “Just learned,” she says.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Show me the display.”

  I steady myself. “The green dot stopped moving.”

  Bree looks up from the binder. “Can you tell where it stopped?”

  I tap on the screen. A map appears and overlays the dot. “Looks like it stopped somewhere in, um, Libya? Wait.” I push on the display’s screen a few more times. “Ah, here it is, um, Tripoli. Does that sound familiar?”

  Bree frowns. “Unfortunately it’s not the safest place to go these days.” Her mood intensifies. “Captain, dial in the coordinates for Tripoli International Airport. That’s our new destination. Maintain radio silence. Fly in low and fast, below the radar.”

  “Understood,” the captain says in a baritone croak. He moves in jerky motions and says something over the radio.

  The jet’s engines whistle louder.

  “Our turn. Go buckle up,” Bree says. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

  I hesitate and watch her. How can someone so cute be such a badass? “So are you and Webb serious?”

  She ignores me and continues studying the instrument panel. Awkward.

  Why the hell did I ask such a stupid question anyway?

  I turn around embarrassed, starting out of the cockpit as the jet picks up speed down the runway.

  “Reiz?” Bree says.

  I turn back towards her. “Yeah?”

  “I think you’re cute too.”

  My face feels as if it’s been hit by a hot wind from a raging forest fire. She heard my thoughts? “You read minds?”

  “I’ll teach you that too.”

  I stumble back and fall into a seat as the plane lifts off.

  For a moment, I feel a tinge of guilt when I think of Aimee. No girl can ever replace my feelings for her. Not even Bree. I take a deep breath and watch buildings on the ground quickly get smaller.

  Aimee! Why won’t you talk to me?

  chapter twenty-one

  Cool, moist air repetitively fills and exits my lungs in the rhythm of a finely tuned steam engine. I adore the wet sand caressing my toes at sunrise as the warmth of first light stretches out from the horizon and touches my skin. In every life I’ve lived, jogging at sunrise has always helped me manage stress and work out difficult problems. I feel alone on this sunrise jog even with five nearby clones watching over me.

  Just as the orange glow of first light transitions into white light, I stop and look beyond the small waves over the calm waters of the Aegean Sea. There is nothing quite like living in a physical body with its complex mix of emotions, harmonizing with millions of singing neurons.

  Experiencing life as a biological brings such incredible joys and pleasures that aren’t possible existing only as a soul beyond the ether. I want the masses of people to be free to focus on the wonders of being alive, not on what they don’t have.

  General’s reincarnation system’s distribution bell curve was supposed to maintain balance, mixing the right number of experienced souls with the right number of inexperienced souls, allowing souls to incarnate only when their experience matches the system’s need to maintain balance.

  However, General’s bell curve is all smoke and mirrors. Inexperienced souls disrupt life for even experienced souls when they cause suffering. The inexperienced few with dominating egos have managed to entice the masses at our QCC communities to be angry and rise up against those they perceive as authority.

  General believes I don’t understand why the three rules exist. But he’s wrong. I take in a long breath of cool salt air and let my mind continue to wander.

  I reach down, grasping a handful of wet sand below a crashing wave, and then raise my hand and allow the grains to run through my fingers. General’s rules don’t work today. Humankind has pushed the experience bell curve out of balance. Rather than battling predators, humans battle each other. They repress each other. Take from one another. If the rules are not changed soon, biological humans will destroy each other forever.

  An electronic crackle tickles my ear, followed by a familiar voice. “Carmina?”

  I wipe the sweat from my face and neck. “Yes, Chien?”

  “I know you are enjoying your morning ritual, but we need you back here at the bunker as soon as possible. We have an emergency.”

  “Oh? Is Bree in trouble?”

  Two ATVs with tractor treads pull up beside me. One vehicle is full with four of my clones. One of my clones drives a second ATV and waits for me to get into the passenger seat.

  “Please get in,” Chien says through my earpiece. “When you get back to the bunker, I will explain.”

  “Chien, tell me now. Is it Bree?”

  “Bree is fine. But she walked into a trap. The enforcer named Mack is still missing. She is tracking those responsible for the recent bombings. But, I’m afraid there is more.”

  Just as I sit in the ATV, my clone gives it full power, throwing me back against my seat. I raise my voice as wind slams into my face. “What else?”

  “The camps. Unrest has turned to riots. Masses of people have assembled inside and around the outer fences of each of our QCC communities. The media is demanding a statement from QCC Corp. They want to hear from you, Carmina. Shall I have the troublemakers eliminated and force the masses to disperse?”

  It would be easy to say yes, but I must allow events to unfold naturally to prove biological humans can choose to live without suffering. “I need to learn exactly why the communities are not working. It’s the only way. Set up an interview with Goodwin in one hour. We will use WWBN again for another exclusive. Also, get word to Dennis. I want to talk with him after the interview.”

  “Understood,” Chien says, followed by static.

  chapter twenty-two

  We land at busy Tripoli International and park near buildings with silver roofs and white beams framing large panes of glass. Off in the distance, a flat brown desert looks anything but inviting.

  Military officials quickly approach our jacked jet, obviously surprised by the unannounced arrival and Bree’s radio silence. She opens the jet door and releases the stairs.

  Bree turns to me. “Okay, Reiz, time for your first official lesson. When they come aboard, picture them approving our arrival and returning to the terminal. Second lesson, if they don’t respond...” She narrows her eyes. “Yell. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Right, like they’ll just listen to us?”

  “Not really. More like listen to our entangled bracelets, but I don’t have time to go over the details now. Just trust me. Here they come,” she says with urgency. “I’ll stay in the cockpit with the pilot and arrange for a car.”

  “But—”

  “You can do this.”

  One of the military officials walks into the jet speaking in a language I don’t understand. I rub my bracelet and the bumpy embedded jewels for luck, close my eyes, and vi
sualize the custom officials approving our entry into Libya.

  I say the words to myself without moving my lips, “Approved. Sign the paperwork and tell the others we are clear.”

  The military official’s face instantly goes blank. He does exactly what I will him to do, and then turns around with the group of other officials.

  From the jet’s small window, I watch them blissfully stroll back to the terminal.

  “It worked,” I shout.

  “Of course it did,” replies Bree.

  A black sports car screeches to a stop alongside the jet’s stairs. A military man in a tan uniform with a black brim hat scampers from the sports car, tossing the keys onto the front seat. He leaves the driver’s door open and jogs towards the terminal until he reaches the group of military officials.

  “Transportation has arrived,” I say to Bree.

  She bolts out of the cockpit. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

  Just as I sit in the passenger seat and reach for the seat belt, Bree slams her foot to the floor, peeling out, and throwing me hard against the seat. “You always drive like this—?”

  “Show me the display,” Bree demands.

  I turn the display of the device towards her. “Where to now?”

  “The green dot,” she replies.

  My fingernails dig into the dashboard.

  Bree turns right, and then left while picking up speed. She smirks, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. “You don’t trust my driving?”

  I ignore her and dig through the glove box. I find a map and compare it to the map on the metal box display, trying to get a closer look at the position of the green dot.

  “We’re close, um, maybe a few miles away, at the most. Turn right at the next intersection.”

  Bree turns right.

  “Now left.” She listens.

  In the distance, a lone building with nothing by desert around it comes into view. Blown-up sections of wall and rubble piles surround it. Bree parks the car a hundred yards away behind a large rubble pile that might have been a house before a blast remodeled it.

  We stand in front of the car and regroup.

  “It looks like the dot is inside that house.” I point to the building.

  “Follow me,” Bree says.

  I jog with her to the blown-up wall surrounding the building. It took serious firepower to mess up the thick wall. “This is nuts.”

  “Just remember,” says Bree. “Stay behind me. They probably have guns.”

  “Right. You’re going to protect me from bullets? You sound like a superhero.”

  “Please, Reizo. Shut up and listen,” she whispers. “Stay close and keep your head down.”

  We jog in a crouched position to the tattered building and stop.

  Bree points upward. “One guard with a weapon on the top balcony,” she whispers. I look up and see that the guard looks maybe a year or two older than I do. He’s wearing a flimsy long sleeve white shirt and matching thin white pants.

  Bree closes her eyes.

  Nothing happens.

  “He must have a bracelet on under that sleeve.” Bree cups her palm, and then throws her open hand forward in his direction as if she’s boxing.

  With a sudden burst of air, a bright white flash shoots from her gold bracelet, hitting the person square in the chest. He tumbles off the balcony and lands with a thump directly in front of us.

  “What the hell?” I jump back. At first, it brings back bad memories of Zeke and JT shooting similar blasts at me the same day Aimee was killed, but I stay focused. “How’d you do that?”

  “Stay close.” Bree runs to the front door with me one step behind her. She barely touches the door with two open palms. It explodes backwards in another flash of white light. It’s hard to believe what I’m seeing.

  When we get inside, there are cafeteria-style tables in a room where furniture should have been. The tables are all loaded up, reminding me of Zeke’s assembly line of drugs and weapons in the basement of Willowgate Psychiatric Hospital back home in Franklinville. Three men in clothes similar to the guard’s point automatic weapons at us, but they’re too slow.

  In a blur, Bree sends bursts of light at them. Flashes hit both men and send them flying backward.

  I try to imitate Bree by pointing my bracelet at a fourth guy racing down stairs toward us. I give a little grunt, but nothing happens. I feel like an idiot.

  The guy smiles and shakes his head. Before I can run, he raises his assault rifle and points it at me.

  Bree releases a flash of energy at him, sending the guy into a wall.

  “I must be dreaming.”

  Bree is kicking butt. I try to keep up with her as she searches the house one room at a time. I recognize gold pieces from the Malta construction site on a table, but no Mack or red beryl.

  We make our way up to the second level. This floor is completely empty of furniture except for fold-up tables loaded with stacks of money, watches, jewelry, and what appears to be drugs packaged in plastic just like I saw months ago in Willowgate Psychiatric Hospital’s basement, but no sign of Mack.

  I meet up with Bree at the front door.

  “Mack isn’t here,” she says, taking out a cell phone and placing it against her ear. “Prepare for coordinates.”

  Bree taps on her cell phone, and then talks into it without emotion. “Need sanitizer A.S.A.P. High priority value-pack.”

  “I thought you said we didn’t have back up here in Libya?”

  “We don’t. The assets I called in do recovery and damage control. They’ll pick up everything here before the locals arrive and analyze it for Intel. The place will be spotless before any officials arrive.”

  “What’s a high priority value-pack?”

  “Code for money, weapons, and other valuables.”

  We quickly run back to the black sports car and drive away from the scene.

  “How do you do that light flash, superhero thing with your bracelet?”

  She turns the wheel hard, screeching around a corner, and accelerating. “No time to explain. I’ll teach you later.”

  Later? It feels like later will never come, but the idea of shooting light is ridiculously cool. I’ll keep asking until later arrives. “They had machine guns.”

  “M27s to be exact, lightweight, magazine-fed 5.56mm weapons. Mostly used by U.S. Marines,” Bree says. “Impressive weapons.”

  “Used by U.S. Marines?”

  She nods. “They must have jacked a shipment of M27s.”

  “Still not as impressive as that energy-light-show thing you do,” I say, shaking my head, not wanting to let that go.

  Bree tries not to grin.

  “Where to now?”

  “I’ll check with Richard. He just sent me a text. They moved him to the 86th Airlift Wing.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Ramstein Air Base in Germany,” Bree says. “But there’s a problem.”

  “Of course there is. What now?”

  “He believes there’s a mole.”

  “A mole? As in a good guy who’s actually bad?”

  “That’s what I said, a mole.” Bree turns the sports car in the direction of the airfield. “Richard wants us to communicate with him on a secure satellite phone. We need to use that device he gave you to call him.”

  “He told you all that in a text message?”

  “It was coded. A code in a code,” she says. “We have hundreds of codes. Put them together and it becomes a message. We’ll get back to Malta and communicate with Richard from there.”

  “Why don’t we just meet him in Germany?”

  “He’s worried about our safety. As of this moment, everyone that knew the two of us are involved died in the Malta firefight. Except for five people and us.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Mack, Richard, Harris, Tano, and Curtis.”

  “But—”

  “Someone must be monitoring us.”

  “How?”

  “No idea. Th
at’s why we need to talk with Richard.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, rubbing my chin. “How do we get back to Malta?”

  “Same way we got here.” Bree grins. “Jets are leaving all the time.”

  I shake my head. She’s unbelievable. “The only way to fly.”

  “Yes, Reiz,” Bree says calmly, keeping her eyes focused on the road. “The only way to fly.”

  When we arrive at the airport, I notice Bree’s eyes close briefly as we approach a group of military guards at an airport checkpoint. They casually let us through the checkpoint and onto the tarmac. She targets an idling jet and parks.

  When we step into the jet, it’s empty except for a pilot waiting in a trance at the jet’s controls. A minute later, we’re in the air flying back to Malta.

  chapter twenty-three

  While we sit in the bunker under my island, Chien configures a video stream to transform the green walls around me into background images from a live video feed of my New York City penthouse atrium.

  I straighten my dark suit jacket, sit up straight, and moisten my lips.

  Chien uses his fingers to count down. When he reaches one, he mouths silently, “You are live.”

  Mr. Goodwin appears on the display screen in front of me. “Good morning, Miss Cee. Thank you for joining us on WWBN for this interview regarding the unrest at QCC communities across the United States.”

  “Good morning Mr. Goodwin,” I say with confidence. “Thank you for having me.”

  Using Goodwin to battle public opinion makes me sick to my stomach, but I have no choice. His worldwide audience will assure my version of the truth goes viral.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to the questions people are asking at QCC communities across the country.”

  “Not at all. Please, Mr. Goodwin, ask me anything.”

  “Thank you. As the audience knows, there has been a great deal of unrest at QCC’s exclusive communities. Rioting. Violence. Twenty-five people have died and another two hundred people have been injured. We are being told inhabitants are not happy with living conditions or the pay they are receiving. Some say access restrictions are even prison-like. Guests are only allowed inside the barbed wire fences with special approval. Some even call QCC security force thugs with guns. There are even rumors that QCC has been offered assistance from the National Guard. What is going on, Miss Cee?”