by Ugo, Kachi
“Stop!” Stephanie yelled.
Peter turned. Stephanie stood in the pathway through the fence, panting profusely. Dom stood behind her.
“I can’t do this, Steph,” Peter said.
“Yes, you can.”
Peter shook his head. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”
Stephanie sighed. “So what, you’re just going to let us die here?”
Peter looked away, shame and regret welling up in his heart and rising up his throat for a chokehold. “Reinforcements will come.”
Stephanie took three quick steps toward him, closing the distance between them. She looked into his eyes. “No, they won’t, Pete. Every other major installation is currently under attack. We’re on our own.”
Peter glared at Stephanie. “That’s not helping your case.” He brushed her aside and unleashed another wave of power.
His power core flared, drawing blood and energy from his body. In response, the platform jumped into the air, vibrating terribly. Peter scrambled for the edge of the platform to stabilize himself. But he lost focus, and the platform crashed back to the ground.
“Don’t you see?” Stephanie said. “I shouldn’t have a case. Every Woodfolk in this facility strong enough to fight is already outside the gate waiting to fight! And they’re not half as capable as you are, but yet they are there. What the hell are you doing, running?”
“I’m running away is what I’m doing!” Peter exploded. “I’m not like them, and I will not try to change that fact.”
Peter looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, but a few drops of tears escaped nonetheless.
Peter unleashed power again, this time softly like a reel. The platform rose into the air without losing balance. But he had a hard time keeping himself steady, so he crashed into the ground again.
Peter tried one more time. He was already getting the hang of it. Although he would have to try faster because he was expending energy, and he wasn’t sure he had much energy left.
“There are children, here. Kids. Families. Brothers. Sisters… And they will all die if you do nothing but run,” Stephanie said.
Peter froze, crouching on the platform, which floated several yards above the ground. Slowly rising to full length, he said, “I don’t care about them. I only care about me.”
Stephanie scoffed. “That’s a bleeding lie and you know it.”
Peter looked at the cliff and the forest beneath. His freedom. He fought the urge to heed Stephanie’s words, yet they had roped around his heart like a rogue vine around a tree. He couldn’t divest himself from the veracity of her words.
It was all a bleeding lie. He’d always lied to himself, telling himself he didn’t care. When, in fact, all he did was care about the lives lost as a result of his inaction.
He cared what they said and thought about him. He cared deeply. He cared so much that he’d been driven to madness all those times he was away. It was this madness that made him lethargic toward the desires of others to see him rise to potential.
Peter let go of his powers, cutting off the draw of blood and allowing his body to recover. His power core ebbed.
“I’m scared,” Peter admitted to Stephanie as the platform descended to the ground.
Stephanie placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I know, Pete. I’m scared, too. So is Dom. Everyone is scared. We didn’t ask for this. But it came. All we can do now is defend ourselves. And we stand a better chance with you.”
Peter shook his head, though less vehemently. “I can’t fight. I won’t… I swore…”
Stephanie thought about this for a few seconds, then said, “All right. You don’t need to fight. Just help us get everyone into the great room. It’s made of Baobab, and most of our strong Woodfolks are at the gate. Only you are strong enough to open it up.
“After that, you can go.”
Peter glanced at Dom. The boy appeared frozen in amazement. “What’s up with him?”
Stephanie followed his gaze and shrugged.
“What’s up, Dom?” she asked.
Dom snapped out of his reverie. “It takes a Woodfolk months to master floating on a wooden platform. I just watched him do it in two minutes.”
Peter only raised an eyebrow in response.
Stephanie turned back to Peter. “So what will it be, Pete?”
“I’ll help you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
P
eter followed them back to the cluster of buildings.
Already, the herders had managed to calm the multitude and herd them inside the research complex’s subterranean level, where the great room was located. More than two hundred scared men, women, and children huddled together in the tight space before a wall of Baobab wood.
The stench of fear was thick in the dimly lit waiting room, making Peter nervous in exceeding proportions.
Someone called for a space to be made for Stephanie and Peter as they waded through the crowd. Stephanie remained in front of the crowd, while Peter took a step away from them to be by himself before the wall of Baobab wood.
Although the walls of the underground floor were made from wood, the wall before him was distinct. All he could see was a wall, but as he reached out with tendrils of his power to grasp the wood, he felt the true extent of the wall, or should he say cocoon?
The wall before him was the exposed part of an underground bunker made of five thick layers of Baobab wood. Not even a TNT detonation could get past it.
With no doors, Peter had no way of opening the bunker without damaging its structural integrity, except of course Mistification. This was the problem. Peter didn’t know how to use Mistification.
Peter turned to tell Stephanie he couldn’t open the bunker. But then he saw the two hundred and something pairs of eyes looking at him, terrified, but hopeful. He saw their dependence on him for life, and he couldn’t bring himself to dash their hopes.
How hard can it be? Peter said to himself, returning his attention to the wall.
Peter heaved in a deep breath, anticipating the struggle he was about to put himself through, and threw his hands forward, unleashing power. He grasped the wall, and almost immediately a flood of information blasted into his mind.
Comingled with the searing pain surging in his chest, threatening to rip out his heart, Peter tethered on the edge of the deep end. But this was not his first rodeo, and he remembered how he’d done it the first time.
Peter stifled the information flow, throwing it to the back of his mind, and pushing stronger with his power, subvocalizing his struggle. A surge of power washed through him with the attendant drain of energy from his body.
With this wash of power, he zoomed in on the wood’s individual molecules and yanked them apart.
The wall immediately crumbled to a pile of dust.
He thrust into the pile and pushed apart, causing the pile to divide, thereby making a way into the great room.
Slowly, he reeled his power in, feeling slightly dizzy. Another five minutes and he might have blacked out. He turned around and saw everyone looking, astonished, at him.
“Uh, get in?” he muttered.
Stephanie shook out of her shock and snapped, “Everybody in!”
The herders immediately recovered and began shepherding everyone inside. While they were doing that, Stephanie pulled Peter aside and said, “Impressive!” She looked tense, her forehead moist.
Peter knew where she was going with her complement. “I know what you’re going to say next, and my answer is still no.”
“Your brother could get hurt outside there, or worse, die,” she said, frustrated. “This isn’t a game, Peter. A lot of people, including your brother, might die out there. Your powers could level the playing field.”
“What powers?” Peter shot back. “I’m a Woodfolk, same as everyone in that bunker.”
Stephanie gave Peter a look of absolute incredulity. “You know as well as I do that that’s not entirel
y correct. Julian told me everything…”
Peter, feeling a little invaded, said, “Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have told you anything.”
Peter left Stephanie in the deserted waiting room and strode into the great room, waiting just by the threshold so he could seal the bunker as soon as she came in.
The bunker was a Spartan wooden container without air vents or natural light. It had an oxygen generator in the back and wooden standing fans that were rotated by Levitation. It smelled of sweat and fear and was filled with whispers.
As soon as Stephanie walked in, Peter worked his power. The piles of wood disintegrated into tiny particles and then aggregated to fill the opening. Before long they were sealed in.
Just then, a terrible earthquake rocked the bunker, sending everyone crashing to the ground.
“The log trap just came down,” Stephanie said, pure trepidation lacing her voice. “The battle has begun…”
Peter swallowed hard, gazing hard at the wall of the bunker. Oddly, he wasn’t thinking about whether the fence would hold back a Metallic assault. He was thinking about Julian.
It was something Stephanie had said about this not being a game. Julian could actually die out there. Was he willing to take that risk?
He had lost Cynthia to Metallics. Now that he could do something about it, why was he too damn scared to try and save his brother? He might not have used his power in the last five years, but he could not deny that his power core had expanded greatly during that time.
Yet, Peter’s fear kept him paralyzed on the floor as others rose to their feet.
Stephanie came out of nowhere and grabbed at a fistful of his shirt. “Peter! Snap out of it and get out there and help Julian!” she said in a shrill and deadly low voice.
Stephanie’s voice jolted him. He glanced at the sealed door. He wanted to help his brother, but images of metal shrapnel flying around at supersonic speed and punching through the hearts of the thirty-something Woodfolks out there kept him right there on the floor.
It could be him dying out there. But then, it could be his brother…
Peter was considerably more powerful. He could be the deciding factor. Or the battle could be the deciding factor in his death…
“Peter!” Stephanie screamed and then began to cry.
Peter leaped to his feet, completely seized by the spirit of rage, and without thinking, he dashed through the wall. The wall Mistified momentarily as he bounded through. But he did not come out empty-handed, nor did he pause for a moment.
A thick mist of wooden particles had separated from the bunker as he’d passed and was now solidifying into a smooth long staff in Peter’s right grip.
As soon as he broke out of the research complex into the sweltering heat, his ears were besieged by screams of pain. For a moment, terror gripped Peter’s body, and he stood paralyzed. Thoughts of escaping the carnage grappled for control of his mind and his will.
But then, Peter heard the cry of his brother, and his mind went into overdrive. He barreled for the main entrance, covering the distance in a matter of seconds. With an anticipatory roar, Peter grabbed a hold of a small section of the fence with all the might of his powers.
His body shuddered reflexively, blood boiling into his power core, energy draining out of his body swiftly.
With the tendrils of his power firmly gripping this door-sized portion of the fence, Peter pushed, hard. The section ripped out of the fence, spinning outside. Peter followed, his training of years past coming back to him with spot-on precision.
Within seconds, Peter accessed the situation, his CIA training coming to the fore. Out of the twelve Metallics, nine were already dead, including the one who had been crushed by his spinning door section. That left two in play.
About thirty or so Woodfolks lay dead. About twenty lay bleeding and dying. Only a handful of Woodfolks remained in the fight, including Julian and surprisingly Dom. One or two aeronauts zipped around, shooting wooden spikes at the other two, who deflected easily with the many iron parts scattering the road.
They had not yet noticed him. He still had the element of surprise.
Peter ran toward the nearest Metallic, a heavyset thug dressed in black jeans and a white vest that barely covered his belly. Peter yanked back on the door, aiming it at his prey, who smartly dodged, throwing his hands in Peter’s direction.
Peter fell to a crouch and made himself a very small target, while still bringing the door between himself and the Metallic. Some metal spikes hit the door, others flew by, missing him.
Peter pushed on the door and it cascaded outward. Peter immediately surged forward after it.
The Metallic crashed an engine part from their truck into the door, deflecting it. But he had nothing to defend against Peter’s quick reflexes.
Peter’s first strike with his staff was the man’s nerve plexus, which instantly disoriented him, shutting down his Levitation momentarily. Peter then jabbed the edge of the staff into the man’s abdomen, forcing the air out of the man’s lungs and sending him to his knees.
Then he struck again on the man’s neck and he blacked out.
“Peter!” Julian shrilled. “Look out!”
Peter looked up to see that he had caught the attention of the last surviving Metallic. He froze, watching the series of five darts fly toward his chest. But a wooden shield leaped into the way, catching the darts as it fell away.
Peter snapped out of his shock and threw his staff at the Metallic. Peter twisted his right palm, causing the edge of the staff to chaff off into a solid sharp point, pushing speed into the object.
The staff-turned-long-stake struck the man in his chest, punching through his heart and killing him instantly.
Peter yanked back and the staff thrust out of the man’s chest, spewing splashes of blood around. The staff sailed across the road into his hand. He caught it and used it as support even as he fell to his knees.
He shut his eyes, letting go of his power.
His heart hammered in his chest. His breath was shallow, almost ceasing. His chest was ablaze with pain.
I’m having a heart attack, he thought to himself.
Peter could feel himself slipping. He’d used too much of his power for too long.
I need to rest, he said to himself, everything hollowing out around him.
“Peter!” said a voice.
It was Stephanie. Peter opened his eyes.
Bodies littered the road. Bodies, logs of wood, two trucks shattered to their chasses by Metal Levitation, and more bodies. Woodfolk bodies.
Julian and the remaining survivors were already tending to the dying, seeking to save some. Stephanie and a group of people from the great room had come to help.
Peter remained where he was, steadying himself on his staff. Stephanie knelt by him. “Oh, Pete!” she said, grabbing him and pulling him into a hug. “I need a power drink! Now!”
Someone ran to her and handed her something. She put it against his lips. It was a cup.
“Drink this,” she said. “You’ve used up your body’s supply of ATP and probably hemoglobin. This should restore some of it, at least so you don’t die of exhaustion.”
Peter opened his mouth and drank. It was a cold, but very thick, chocolatey drink. After drinking the cold liquid, he felt a little relief. He opened his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“It is okay, Pete,” Steph reassured him. “You did good today.”
Peter’s body trembled, sweat pouring out of his pores. He looked around, seeing the bodies of his brethren strewn around in odd angles with shafts of metal thrust through them. Some of them had been stabbed to death with multiple blades.
When the Metallics killed, they killed with utter savagery. There were no hearts in their bodies, neither did they have souls in the metal casings of their cores.
Anger raged unbridled in Peter’s mind.
Then a thought occurred to Peter. “The bunker,” he whisp
ered. “How did you get out…?”
“I opened it,” Stephanie said. She paused and added, “I lied to you, Pete. When I said you were the only one strong enough to open the bunker, I lied.”
There was silence.
“Are you mad at me for lying?”
“No,” Peter croaked. “If you hadn’t, Julian might have died today.”
Stephanie helped Peter to a log of wood out of the way and sat him down there. Then she went to help.
Woodfolks who were still alive were being helped down the road where ambulances waited to take them to the hospital. A couple of special research Woodfolks treated those in critical condition, stabilizing them before having them moved to the hospital.
Under Julian’s direction, the chaotic scene was being stage-managed for the cops. They were going for a freak accident, which claimed the lives of forty Woodfolks and twelve Metallics.
Every now and then, someone would stop to look at Peter. He had managed to kill three Metallics in less than three minutes. They thought him a hero, but he was no hero. Regardless, news of his feat would spread through the community.
Before long, Metallics and Earthlings would learn of him and want him dead, if only to keep Woodfolks in subjugation. He was their spark of hope, and there was no better way to suppress a people than to kill their fire.
So much for keeping a low profile, Peter thought. Now more than ever, he needed to disappear, otherwise, he’d be dead in five days.
Marcus Stane wasn’t going to take this defeat sitting down. He would strike again, and this time he would make it hurt.
Soon, the battle scene truly resembled an accident. The trucks had been burned to ashes along with a bunch of logs to sell the story of a brake failure and an explosion.
Stephanie returned to his side after all the wounded had been moved. “How are you feeling?”
“As if I’ve been hit by a truck,” Peter replied. “But thanks to your drink, I don’t think I’ll die today.”
Stephanie smiled. It was weak and tired, but a smile nonetheless.
“Thanks, Peter Crawford.”
“We lost thirty-five people,” Peter muttered. “I can’t help but think about how many I could have saved had I come earlier.”
