Created (Talented Saga)

by Sophie Davis

  I felt the intrusion immediately. Someone was in my head. Someone was scrambling my brain like an egg. Someone was manipulating my emotions, playing on my vulnerabilities. I wasn’t the only Mind Manipulator alive today, but I was the only one with enough power to control another Manipulator. Or so I’d been led to believe.

  I slammed my mental walls into place, evicting the interloper from my head. Now, more than anything, I was furious. TOXIC had just tried to beat me at my own game.

  “You have until the count of ten,” the disembodied voice informed me. This time the message was definitely not in my head.

  I met Crane’s dark gaze as he took down another of his opponents. I didn’t need to hear his order; the communication came through loud and clear in his expression: Run.

  “Ten. Nine. Eight …”

  Indecision glued my feet firmly in place. Not because I was still considering surrender, but because I didn’t want to leave Crane.

  “Talia!” a male voice screamed a second time.

  I swiveled around. A tall figure was charging towards me from behind the escape hovercraft. Henri. One of the operatives surrounding Crane turned his attention on Henri, following his movements with the barrel of his gun. Terror ripped through me, shattering the one-dimensional world that I’d been living in since I heard my name. Henri appeared blind to the threats as he sprinted to reach me, and I knew that even if I called a warning it would be too late.

  Without thinking, I summoned the gun from where it lay at my feet. My finger found the trigger as if pulled there by a magnet. I leveled it at the operative about to shoot Henri, and fired. I was too late. Henri jerked wildly as the bullet lodged into his shoulder, and he fell to the ground.

  “NO!!” I shrieked. My feet moved of their own volition. My only thought was reaching Henri. I pulled the trigger over and over again, emptying the clip into the man who had just shot my friend. The fury that I’d felt moments earlier was replaced by a blinding rage. Wind whipped my hair free from its ponytail as I knelt down beside Henri. Gusts of air swirled around where I sat, tearing nearby operatives’ weapons from their vice-like grips. The closest operative stumbled back, throwing his arm across his face like a shield. He wasn’t the only one, either. Crane’s attackers were caught in my windstorm.

  Henri had his hand pressed against the wound, blood seeping through his splayed fingers. I gently pulled his hand free to assess the damage. I gasped when I saw the jagged edges of the bullet hole. His shoulder was a bloody, fleshy mess. I wanted to look away from the grotesque sight, but I didn’t. I swallowed the rising bile, and pressed my hand to Henri’s shoulder.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I promised him, nodding vigorously as if that would somehow make the statement more true.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” Henri replied through gritted teeth. His face was ashen in the floodlights of the plane overhead. The winds spiraling around us were keeping any further attacks at bay, cocooning us in a torrent of flying dirt and rocks.

  “We need to get you to the plane,” I told him, helping him to his feet.

  Henri placed the hand of his good arm on my shoulder and pushed himself to a stand. I kept us safely ensconced in the funnel cloud as we moved towards the belly of the waiting hover. When we were only a couple of feet away, I let go of the winds. Henri stumbled forward as several people moved to help him aboard. I knew that I should go too, but I also knew that the disembodied voice from the plane overhead was right. We were outnumbered and outgunned. The likelihood of escape was diminishing by the heartbeat.

  Invigorated by the blood still boiling in my veins, I focused on Crane’s attackers. I latched onto their minds, bending and manipulating their wills to mine. The reaction was almost instantaneous. All three dropped to their knees, then crumpled to ground like robots whose plugs have been pulled.

  “Ian, come on!” I called to Crane.

  He hesitated, and I thought for a minute that he might take the opportunity to kill the operatives in cold blood. But he didn’t. He ran to join me instead.

  “Operative Lyons, we will be forced to shoot the hovercraft down if you board it,” the disembodied voice declared. I didn’t know whether they would follow through with that threat, but I wasn’t willing to gamble with so many innocent lives.

  “Come on, Talia,” Crane said, trying to drag me the last several feet to the gangplank.

  “Get on the plane, Ian,” I replied calmly.

  “Whatever you’re considering doing, don’t.”

  “Get on the plane,” I repeated. When he still appeared hesitant, I added, “I have no intention of surrendering.” Dread bubbled up inside of me at what I was about to do. Us or them, I reminded myself. Definitely us.

  I summoned the images of Erik battered and bleeding; Erik being tortured; the horrible wound in Henri’s shoulder; Cadence lying on the cot; Randy Choi’s emaciated body. I thought about Penny and the flashbacks she’d been experiencing. Mac had damaged her mind. And then he’d taken the fragments and smashed them for good measure. All the psychological glue in the world might not make Penny’s mind whole again.

  I didn’t try to control my emotions. I let the anger and hatred engulf me, turning my emotions into physical beings.

  Fat raindrops pelted my face, plastering my hair into a helmet on my head. The wind gusts were deafening, blocking out the final countdown from above. Energy coursed through my veins until the power became too much and it broke through my skin and the suit to form a pulsing aura outlining my body. I felt wild and alive and invincible. In that instant I truly understand why Gretchen had warned me against abusing my talents. The power was addicting.

  The first bolt of lightning struck the tail of the overhead craft, and a chunk fell to earth in a smoldering heap of twisted metal. I could envision the pilot fighting for control of the spinning hoverplane. The second bolt struck the nose, and the floodlights winked out of existence like a giant beast closing his eyes. The plane dipped dangerously low on the left side until it was ninety degrees off center.

  I felt Crane’s physical presence behind me. He was smart enough not to try to force his way into my mind. His light touch on my arm barely registered through the suit, but the nervous tension he was projecting came through like a national news broadcast alert. The lives of the TOXIC operatives on the hovercraft that was plummeting at record speed were inconsequential to Crane. He preferred causalities. They sent a message: the Coalition was serious. What worried Ian Crane was how their deaths would affect me, particularly since I’d be the one responsible. After I came down from my power high, he believed I’d regret crashing the plane.

  I didn’t want to kill the operatives aboard. Well, maybe the one who’d made my head his playground, but not the others. Guilt was already starting to eat away at my gut. So many people had died in the last twenty-four hours. There was no need to add to the death total.

  “They won’t be able to chase us,” Crane said. “Let’s go before reinforcements show up.”

  The TOXIC plane sank lower and lower as I finally followed Crane up the gangplank.

  The doors were closing as we passed through, and without warning, the hoverplane launched skyward. I flew backwards into the metal doors, spine first. The sharp burst of pain made me instantly more alert. The main bay of the hoverplane came into focus. Pained whimpers and frightened ramblings met my ears. Fire and smoke, chemicals and gunpowder, blood and sickness, clogged my nostrils and I fought the bile pushing its way up my esophagus. Everywhere I looked, soldiers and civilians alike were patching bullet wounds, splinting broken limbs, and applying cooling creams to varying degrees of burns.

  “Come on, Talia,” Crane said gently as he gestured towards the front of the hoverplane.

  The craft was older than the ones I’d flown on while with TOXIC and far shabbier than the hoverplane that had brought us to Gatlinburg. Time and exposure to the elements had allowed the metal walls to rust in places, and a grayish putty-like substance had been used
to plug the holes. Loops of cracked leather served as handholds to help navigate the wide aisle between two rows of scratched benches. Many of the safety harnesses were frayed or torn and some were missing altogether.

  Turbulence and poorly-maintained equipment made the flight bumpy. Being so short, I couldn’t reach the handholds and had to use Crane to steady myself and keep from falling on the other passengers littering the aisle.

  As the anger and fury died down, I started to feel weak and shaky and in desperate need of juice to up my blood sugar. Expending more power than I had to give had exhausted me. Black spots dotted my vision, and I blinked them away.

  Just a couple more hours, I promised myself. Once we make it to the cottage, you’ll be able to rest.

  Near the cockpit I noticed Henri wedged into the small corner between the end of the bench and the wall separating the two areas of the hoverplane. His eyes were closed and his face was a sickly shade of green.

  “Get me a first aid kit,” I said to Crane. He nodded and left to find one without comment.

  I sank down on my knees in front of Henri, and smoothed his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. “How ya doing?” I asked, even though I knew it was a stupid question. Talking was always a good distraction.

  A ghost of a smile flitted across his dry, cracked lips, but he didn’t speak. The hand he was using to apply pressure to his wound was streaked brown and red with blood and dirt. I feared an infection was in his future. I looked down at my own hands, which were also caked with grime. Better not add to the risk, I thought. Instead, I summoned energy from my nearly-tapped reserves and absorbed as much of Henri’s pain as I could bear.

  “Did they get Erik out?” he asked, his lips barely parting as he spoke.

  “He was one of the first people evacuated,” I replied and relaxed a little with the knowledge. At least Erik was safe, unless of course that plane had been shot down. I didn’t let myself dwell on the thought; I had to remain optimistic – the only thing keeping me together was the belief that at least Erik was out of TOXIC’s reach.

  “Good,” Henri whispered.

  “Have you seen Frederick?” I asked tentatively. I glanced around the plane’s cargo bay, but I couldn’t find Frederick’s angelic face among the crowd.

  Henri went rigid and I instantly regretted asking. He was a strong Projector anyway, but his resistance to my talents was further weakened by his physical condition, and I read the remorse etched in his mind. Henri hadn’t seen Frederick since their fight earlier. He had just resolved to go talk to him when the attacked started.

  Crane cleared his throat behind me. When I looked up, he held out a small white box with a red cross painted on the top. “The medical supplies on the plane are limited, but there should be stuff in here to get him cleaned up.”

  “Thanks,” I said, gratefully accepting the kit.

  “I’m going to check on the status of the other planes, make sure they got off okay,” Crane told me. “I’ll be back when I know more.” He squeezed my shoulder once and was gone.

  Inside the medical kit, I found towels, scalpels, gauze, thread, needles, sanitizing creams, burn ointments, and several bottles of distilled water. I used the water to clean the filth off of my hands the best I could. Next, I gently pried Henri’s hand away from the bullet wound. Even though I’d already seen it, the gruesome sight made me blanch.

  “I’m sure I can hang on until someone else is free,” Henri said. He’d opened his eyes, and seen my reaction.

  I swallowed hard. I could do this. I had to do this. Everyone else on the plane was busy tending to themselves or to the other injured; I had no choice.

  “What, don’t you trust me?” I tried to joke to lighten his mood.

  “With my life, Tal,” he whispered.

  “Good, then be quiet so I can concentrate.”

  I found the sharpest scalpel and used it to cut away the fabric surrounding the entry wound; it was sticky and I had to peel the material away from his skin. He winced, and I drew a little more of his pain into me.

  “Don’t, Tal,” Henri muttered. “You need your wits about you right now.”

  He was right, but I hated that without me dulling his sensations, he would feel every move my clumsy fingers made. I took a deep breath and released his mind.

  I wet one of the towels with the distilled water and dabbed at the blood and dirt surrounding the wound. Henri grimaced but didn’t complain. Once his shirt and the excess blood were out of the way, I was able to tell that the bullet had gone clean through his shoulder. The metal had left the space close to his armpit a mess of torn flesh and tendons. I swallowed my revulsion, not wanting him to see how hard this was for me. If I thought seeing the injury was bad, I couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. Actually, I could. Yeah, I definitely had the better end of the deal.

  “This is probably going to hurt,” I said as a disclaimer. Then without giving him time to respond, I poured the sterilizing serum over his injury.

  Henri jerked back, slamming his head against the bench. A solitary tear leaked out from beneath one closed lid. I let him rest for several long seconds before gently easing him forward and repeating the process on the exit wound. His hand shot out and gripped my thigh so tightly that I thought he might actually break the skin. I kept my face expressionless. If I couldn’t use my talents to lessen his pain, letting him use my leg like a stress-reliever was the least I could do.

  “Breathe,” I coaxed him. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.” We both knew that while the sharp bite of the sterilizing serum would pass, the worst was yet to come.

  Once his skin was clean and sterile, I threaded the needle and prepared to stitch his wounds. During my time with the Hunters, I’d learned how to stitch wounds, but this would be the first time I’d actually done it.

  “Ready?” I asked when his breathing evened out. “I’ll be quick,” I added when he nodded.

  “Don’t be too fast. I don’t want to have a scar,” he replied through tightly clenched teeth.

  I smiled at his attempt at a joke. We both knew he was going to have a nasty scar. He’d be lucky if his shoulder ever worked right again. TOXIC doctors, and probably Coalition doctors, too, would be able to reattach any torn tendons and muscles, but with my limited medical training, he’d be lucky if the stitches were remotely straight.

  The task of pulling the skin on either side of his injuries closed was much harder than I’d anticipated. He ground his back teeth together while I worked, but remained otherwise stoic. When I was finally finished, I clumsily wrapped gauze around his chest and shoulder to keep the stitches clean.

  “Thanks, Tal,” he muttered.

  “You did this for me once,” I replied. It was Henri who had stitched a knife wound on my side when I was a Pledge. Only his steady hand had produced a perfectly sewn line that would’ve left a small scar had TOXIC not used lasers to remove it.

  Henri settled back, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible on the hard floor. I looked around the cabin, thinking that I should try to help the others with their injuries. But the critically injured outnumbered the relatively healthy, and I didn’t know where to begin.

  A small boy with blonde hair and pale skin caught my eye. He was sitting in his mother’s lap, and she was cradling wet towels to one of his small arms. When I looked closer, I noticed blackened holes in his clothing, exposing reddened flesh beneath.

  I quickly rose, and carefully staggered my way to where he sat.

  “Did he get burned?” I asked his mother.

  She met my gaze with hollow brown eyes. There was a deep gash just above her right eyebrow, causing rivulets of blood to snake down one side of her face like a morbid tattoo.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad, too,” the woman replied dully.

  She’s in shock, I thought.

  I gently tried to remove the towels, but the fabric clung to the boy’s skin. I was afraid of tearing it and causing him further damage. The anger from earlier res
urfaced, scalding me from the inside out. He was too young to be exposed to such atrocities. It wasn’t fair. He should be playing with his friends, coloring, making those weird noodle pictures like Alex had done for me when we were in D.C.

  Alex. Another little boy whose innocence and youth had been stolen.

  Don’t think about him now, I told myself. He’s safe with Erik’s father and brothers. That’s all that matters.

  Returning my attention to the here and now, I steeled my nerves and slowly began separating fabric from flesh. The skin underneath the towel was raw and blistered, and the temperature of my own skin soared as I absorbed the child’s pain. Compartmentalization had always been one of my strengths, and I did just that now. I shoved the boy’s suffering into the deepest recess of my mind and locked the door. Tension left my shoulders, and the ache at the base of my skull lessened as I began to slather burn cream over his arm.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled when I was finished.

  I gave him a small smile and willed him to sleep. I couldn’t hold onto his pain for him, but at least I could put him out of his misery for a little while.

  “Talia?” Crane said, tapping me on the shoulder. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me, and I jumped a little at the contact. “I have news about the others.”

  I nodded, following Crane back through the maze of injured people to the pilot’s cabin. There were four hard plastic chairs behind the cockpit, and I sank gratefully into an empty one. Part of me felt bad for not staying to help tend to the injured, but I was also relieved to put some distance between me and their suffering. I hadn’t even realized how much their emotions were impacting mine until I was separated from them.

  “Is Erik safe?” I asked, as soon as Crane took the seat next to me.

  “Yes. The first plane got out shortly after the attack began. He and the other critical patients are en route to the cottage. He’s had several transfusions, and so far, his body has accepted the blood. He’s still unconscious, but that’s to be expected.”

  I sighed, disappointed that the news wasn’t better. But really, what had I expected? The fact that he’d gotten out safely was the best-case scenario.