Acacia
8:35 p.m. (Western time)
Las Vegas, NV
There were two police officers were talking as she made it to the top of the stairs. They didn’t expect to see a scared hooker running into the station at this time of night. Both men reached towards their holsters, not on the side with the guns, but for their pepper spray.
“Guns!” she shouted. There wasn’t anything else to say, using the word guns should move their attention off of her and onto the monster at the door. There was more to say, but words couldn’t come out through the exhaustion of sprinting several blocks.
Their eyes shifted behind her. Their reaction felt like a kick to Acacia’s stomach; fear, disgust, confusion, and more fear. It was the same reaction as Big Bo, they were frozen. As their eyes were transfixed at the door, Acacia ran passed them, and hoped to find another emergency exit.
She slipped behind one of the large white pillars to catch her breath. She needed a few extra seconds to figure out her next steps.
The police officers began shouting, men were again trying to reason with someone who wasn’t even alive. Acacia looked back to see the mammoth standing close to the two officers with their guns pointed at him. “Shoot him!”
The sound of her voice caused one officer to look back.
Pop. Pop.
The other shot Hadley in the chest.
The force of the bullet caused Hadley to step back.
“Hadley!” the officer cried.
Pop.
Only one officer pulled his trigger, but he was doing his best to make sure Hadley went down. Hadley staggered for balance, his large body swayed as he fell to one knee.
“Shoot him in the head,” Acacia yelled.
From behind, she heard another man shout, “Hadley, stand down!” Hadley pushed his hand off the ground and stood again. He stared at the man behind her. It was the chief of police, Chief Jackson, the one who took bribes and sold out Hadley’s partner. She was supposed to be happy to see more help, but the idea of this monster being the savior made her even more afraid. Despite Hadley’s mangled face being expressionless, Acacia saw anger in his eyes.
Pop. Pop.
The number of shots stood out to her, five. All to the chest and neck. They caused Hadley to fall over onto his back. She wanted to beg them to keep shooting, but the officers stood over him like a roadkill.
His stomach rose and fell with each fading breath. The chief rushed passed Acacia, nearly running her over.
An officer asked, “Is he dead?”
Chief Jackson was standing over Hadley’s breathless body, still holding his gun. Acacia wanted to tell him to shoot again, there weren’t enough bullets to put him down. Hadley should already be dead. Instead, the chief kicked his leg and kneeled down.
“His face.” the other officer said. Acacia rolled her eyes; these men were awfully dumb to be police officers. But it wasn’t as if she could properly explain to them why she thought they were stupid. They weren’t going to believe her, especially not Chief Jackson. The last time she was near him, he treated her worse than Hadley.
“Shh” The chief interrupted. He leaned in close, but didn’t whisper, Acacia looked down and pointed her ear to hear better. “I warned you, Detective, and you didn’t listen. I’m so—”
Chief Jackson stopped speaking and began screaming, “Ahhh! Ah! Ahhhh!”
Hadley’s massive hand gripped the back of the chief’s head as he bit into the chief’s cheek.
Three rapid sparks blinked between the chief and Hadley.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The other officers stood with their guns drawn, confused. They watched the chief squirm under Hadley’s grip, with faint clicks of an empty gun drowned through the yelling.
Acacia was yelling as well, screaming at the officers to “kill him!” but her words were drawn out by the craziness. They were too transfixed by the colossal beast laying on his back, chewing into their chief’s face.
Finally, they dropped down and attempted to pry the chief from Hadley. Acacia could see Hadley’s strained arms being slowly pulled apart by each officer. The chief frantically pushed himself off of Hadley’s chest, and flopped backwards against the closest officer. The only soldier continued pulling against Hadley’s left arm.
“Run!” Acacia screamed. She didn’t know if she was yelling at any particular officer, or if she was only talking to herself. Running was the only thing she could think about.
The right half of his face was a ridged mixture of red flesh and white bone. Even further away, Acacia could see where his lips ended and where Hadley was able to bite in the deepest, his cheek was only a few red strands of torn skin.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. The chief looked confused and in pain, but he was silent, despite the room still being filled with cries of pain.
The other officer was screaming.
Acacia turned from the chief and saw Hadley straddled over the other officer, pushing his weight onto his head.
“Run!” Acacia shouted again. “Ru—”
Plop.
Her orders were muted by the popping sound of the officer’s skull.
This time, she listened to herself and ran.
Hadley was massacring three men at the only entrance she knew, so she moved back towards the cubicles and the chief’s office.
There were no exit signs.
Pop. Pop.
Another cry of pain.
Noises Acacia never heard.
Acacia didn’t turn back.
Hadley was going to kill them.
He was going to kill her, too.
Unless, she found an exit.
Only door was closed.
No bathrooms.
She opened the one door, it was the interrogation room.
She was going to die in the police station. Murdered by the man she killed.
Pop.
No more cries. No more sound.
Other than his faint breathing.
She closed her eyes.
There was an odor. Not death. Not booze. Not Hadley. It was rancid, but not painful in her nose.
An open window to her left.
Acacia sprinted across the room and blindly dived out the window.
Flashes of stars spun through her vision, before a hard cracking noise came inside her head.
Then, it was only darkness.
********
Greg/Seth
11:45 p.m. (Eastern time)
Mill Creek Hollow, PA
Chapman has gained weight since Greg last watched him on television. Greg’s memory may be distorted, but he thought Chapman was a thin, square-jawed, above average looking guy. Instead, he walked into McClain’s bar with his neck and jaw blended together in a thick batch of fat. Since he was no longer in front of a camera, he must have let himself go.
Greg did enough research to appreciate Chapman’s lack of employment; the willingness to speak his mind was his lone respectable quality. He was a rebel, and that was admirable. If he would have played the long game against Aviant Media instead of publicly condemning them, he could have changed the system without losing his career. There was potential, though, and Greg was hopeful.
He made a calculated risk of bringing Chapman and Conrad together. Adam’s plan involved both men, but Adam never stated if both men were required to work together. Greg decided to kill two birds with one stone despite their mutual distaste. The soldier’s blind loyalty to the same President of whom Chapman constantly spoke against. Their tension was petty, but it was tension all the same.
“Of all people, I didn’t expect to see you,” Chapman said, offering to shake Conrad’s hand.
Conrad remained sitting at the bar, unwilling to even turn and face him.“Why is that?”
“Shouldn’t you be hunting the President’s assassinator?”
Conrad grimaced, but didn’t answer his question. He looked to Greg and clenched his jaw. “Seth, please get started.”
Greg cleared his throat, it
was time to fully invest in Adam’s plan. While Greg didn’t think of the plan as overly elaborate or even dangerous, he felt nervous as be began, “My name is Seth Porter. I’m the only remaining survivor of Salt Lake City’s initial attack by those labeled terrorists. I have—”
“Wait. How do I know this is true?” Greg didn’t appreciate being interrupted, but he anticipated the question to come.
Before he could respond, Conrad chimed in, “One of my men found him during the final attempts to clear out the city. He brought him here before… he expired.”
Greg stood between two men who loved to hear themselves speak. If he was going to take control, then he needed to establish his presence.
Chapman rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly a beacon of honesty, now are you?”
Greg snapped his finger. “Either believe me, or don’t. I don’t have time to prove myself. You don’t have time to review the proof. Suspend your lack of trust for a moment and listen. If you don’t believe me, take your six hour drive back to DC.”
Chapman’s neck fat rippled as he laughed. “Sorry, kid, I drove here to meet the guy crazy enough to email me on a public line and say he was a SLC survivor. Not to mention blaming the President. You realize this is old news, right? America isn’t going to ca—”
Being labeled as kid by a mid-forties man-child bothered Greg; he could disrespect Conrad, but there was no need for labels. “You’re either a stick of dynamite, or a safe haven. I don’t need your belief, I need your help. I survived for a reason.”
“Fine, I’ll play along.” Chapman pulled out a notepad. “What do you need?”
“Tell the story.”
“Your story?”
“The story of what happened, and what happens next.”
There was limited interruption as Greg went on to tell the story of his last few days in Salt Lake City. The truth felt like a lie, but Greg held nothing back about the other survivors and their eventual demise. Conrad was saddened while hearing the story a second time, the weight of responsibility opening up fresh wounds. Greg found his willingness to take the blame to be trivial, a hammer does not feel regret for what it does to a nail. The hammer is a tool fulfilling its purpose. Conrad’s purpose was not much different. Neither was Chapman’s. He was the voice. Nothing more, nothing less. Greg would use this pawn to tell the world what really happened.
Instead, his story ended with, “The others wouldn’t follow me. They believed the capitol gave a better chance for their survival. I was effectively voted off the island by their child-leader, Mona. Her message to the group was crafted, mine was desperate. We knew what was happening, but her arrogance led to their premature demise. My survival was predicated on luck. Greene’s man, Reyes, found me. And here we are.”
Greg allowed the dust to settle on the story. Chapman appeared to have believed it, which was key. Greg chose to not include the second half of the story wherein Reyes was killed by a hitman sent by the President. Instead, he shot a knowing look to Conrad, who sighed as a response.
“Wow, well—”
Conrad interrupted, “The government is about to fall apart. Eric Johnson isn’t fit to lead. Seth believes we need you to spread the truth about the severity. We need you to help bring the country back together. Can you do that?”
Chapman reached his hand out to Conrad, again. This time Conrad reached back.
“Absolutely.”
*******
Jake
Late Night
Close to the Nevada Border
Everything hurt. His remaining eyesight came from a stinging left eye which disrupted his limited balance. It would have been hard to walk with two good legs, but his tender right side felt like his flesh was tearing from hip to ankle with each step. If it weren’t for the fact that he was moving so slow, he would have stopped again for a break.
The trail seemed to run towards the road endlessly without ever actually making it to the pavement. Small stacks of rocks teased him every few yards with no organization or pattern. They were just rocks on top of rocks, put there by a couple of silly kids.
Jake figured he would be on this trail for another hour before there would be any significant progress, not because he had any reason to have an accurate estimate, but because he thought an hour was about as long as he could manage before his body gave up. His mouth was dry, his throat was in pain, but those weren’t even the worst parts of the torture.
No matter how far he went, the black clouds hung only a few feet away.
*******
Jenna
Unknown
Union Matis, WV
The blood barely dried between her toes before Marshall came back to Jenna’s cell. He looked flushed this time. His arrogance was replaced with concern.
“I owe you an apology for earlier. I reacted harshly, but rules are rules. I’m sure you understand.”
He is seriously justifying himself right now.
“There’s been a new development between my men and your group. I’m confident we can find a mutual agreement, otherwise I have to go to your other foot.”
“What do you want?”
Marshall sighed. He hated the internal struggle of whatever was troubling him. He acted like Jenna was supposed to know what he was talking about, and her ignorance was a problem. Like he was speaking with an idiot.
You know who causes that look on someone’s face? Mickey. I bet the others have done something. Maybe Mickey zapped someone.
“I’ve seen what your people can do. I’ve seen the, the thing Mona calls the Pulse in action. Mona refuses to divulge the specifics. And because of this unwillingness to comply, one of your men has killed one of my soldiers.”
Jenna first thought of Asher, he was the one who could’ve killed a soldier. He would kill everyone here if he was still alive.
But Asher is dead. It has to be Mickey. But Mickey couldn’t even turn on a light bulb.
“How does the Pulse work?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have it.”
“Is it fire?”
“What? No. That’s stupid.” Jenna looked at him, confused.
You know it’s unlikely Mickey killed someone, but if he did, it definitely wasn’t with fire.
“You mean electricity?”
Marshall placed the cutters underneath her pinky toe, threatening to cut it off. “Quit playing games with me you little witch, one of my men was set on fire.”
Remember your vision?
Jordan was on fire. Blue flames. Burned to death.
Do you really need that pinky toe? Wouldn’t it be worth it to rub it in a little bit more? If someone was lit on fire, and he said it was one of Mona’s men who did it, then it had to be Tink.
Realizing Tink had the Pulse made Jenna smile. “I’m glad Jordan is dead. I’m sure you understand.”
Marshall squeezed the cutters, not hard enough to cut through her skin though. “Do you want to lose this?”
“I don’t. But you’re in for a rude awakening. I bet Tink can’t wait to get ahold of you next.”
Marshall laughed along with her. “Ha! You got me there. But he’s indisposed. Something about threatening his baby sister seems to make him wet his pants. No Pulse can prevent that.” Marshall pulled the cutters away from her toe. “I don’t appreciate you mocking me, Jenna. I’m only here because I need to know the nature of this magical Pulse,” he lifted her table, bringing her back to an upright orientation.
He’s trying to take back control. Don’t you dare let him. Shelly was the kindest person in the world, but she wouldn’t back down from him either.
He sauntered around her, spending most of his time behind her. He loved the time teasing her and showing her he was in control. This was nothing new in her life. Men were always reminding her that she was small. Robert did it too, at least to a degree. He was sweet and loving, but he was still the one who made the decisions in their relationship and expected her to follow his rules. With him, Jenna was always a damsel in
distress.
With Marshall, it was different.
“What do you need to know?”
“Everything about the Pulse.”
“I’m really sorry, but I don’t know much.” She tried to shrug, forgetting she was tied down. “I know Mickey electrocuted a dog.”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, a long story, but he zapped the dog. Mona said it was his Pulse.”
“How did he get this Pulse?”
“Mona said they were chosen. But, that’s all we know. We don’t even know who was doing the choosing.”
“Not even a clue?”
“I know it’s a man. Sort of. Mona called him the hero.”
“The hero, huh? So who is the villain?”
“Adam.”
Marshall tried not to act like it, but he shuddered at the name. Something deep inside of him knew who Adam was, just like everyone else. Jenna enjoyed seeing his reaction. He was afraid.
“What does he have to do with the Subas, the killers, in Salt Lake?”
“He’s their leader, I guess.”
“What do your people have to do with him?”
“Mona says we’re the ones who are going to help save the world.”
“Even you?”
Marshall looked back at the door, as if he expected someone to join them.
“Me? Oh, I’m just a girl from New York. These guys protected me the whole time. I don’t have anything special about me.”
“I would say the girlfriend of Ned North’s son is special.”
“How”—
Marshall laughed. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you. Every publicized picture of little Robby North was with his bimbo girlfriend.” His face came close to hers. “Poor Ned was in shambles over his dead boy, but couldn’t even remember your name. How did dear Robby die? Did one of the freaks get him?”
He’s toying with you. He wants to make you upset.
Jenna couldn’t let him control her. She tried to fight back the urge to scream at him. This was low.
Look how he paces around you. As if he were a shark circling his prey.. He thinks you’re weak. He thinks you know something, and you’re the easiest to break. He thinks you have secrets to share.
Dark Divide (Shadow and Shine Book 2) Page 29
