Exiled: Kenly's Story (A Talented Novel)

by Sophie Davis

  Touch feather-light, James ran his fingertips over my cheekbone, where the gangly Poacher had backhanded me. We both winced.

  “Does it hurt much?” he asked.

  “Only a little,” I said, partially telling the truth. The pain was bearable for now, but once the adrenaline subsided I’d be in agony.

  “Move and you die,” a voice shouted behind us.

  James spun, deftly shielding me from the new threat.

  Four Poachers, all unconscious, lay scattered in the small alcove of trees. But the other four, the group who had started their search at the opposite end of the park, were standing approximately twenty feet away. A tiny, doll-like girl with black hair styled in a pixie cut stood closest, feet shoulder width apart, two bone-whites hands clasped around the handle of a gun. Flanking her on either side like meaty bookends were two stocky men. The fourth Poacher, another woman, was marching a small figure, cuffed and shackled, towards the west exit.

  The third heat signature, I realized. James and I hadn’t been the only ones hiding out in the park after all.

  “Put your hands where I can see them,” the tiny Poacher ordered.

  Neither James nor I moved.

  “I won’t ask you nicely a second time,” she said, flipping the safety off the gun.

  “You didn’t ask all that nicely the first time,” James shot back.

  The girl squinted, cocking her head and narrowing her dark eyes as she studied James.

  “Gordon Bennett! I’ll be damned, this is my lucky night!” she said, excitement in her voice. “James Wellington, what a treasure. And who’s your mate?”

  “Do you have enough energy left to turn invisible?” James quietly asked me, pitching his voice low enough that only I could hear.

  “I can try,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  “Don’t be difficult, Wellington. You and I both know how this is going to end. Save you and your girlfriend a lot of pain and come without a fuss.” The girl’s voice was calm and steady, but the two goons at her sides were growing agitated.

  The banter between James and the girl had given my energy reserves some time to replenish. Without too much difficulty, I became incorporeal again.

  “Not a smart move!” the pint-sized Poacher called.

  Reaching for James’s hand, I cast my powers out like a net to encompass him, too. Only, I was too slow. The projectile struck James just above the collarbone. My heart skipped a beat.

  “No!” I cried.

  James howled in pain and his face turned bright red. A vein in his forehead throbbed beneath the skin like a pulsing blue worm.

  “Go. Run. Please,” James grunted.

  Blue light appeared three feet to my left. The beam traced a path across where I stood, motionless, as James sank to his knees.

  “There you are, lassie,” one of the male Poachers called triumphantly.

  I dropped to the ground beside James at precisely the right second. The first tranquilizer dart whizzed over my head. The second flew past my ear, nicking the lobe. A third would have lodged right where my shoulder met my torso, had James not flung out his arm, letting the dart strike him instead.

  Suddenly, holding onto the invisibility was too draining. It wasn’t helping anyway, since the Poachers had that damned blue light. I dropped the shield and rerouted the energy towards my Telekinesis. If I could just turn the darts around and send them back at the Poachers, we might still have a chance.

  James was fading fast, his movements sluggish and haphazard. His fingers fumbled with the first dart, unable to grip the end and pull it free. The Poachers seemed reluctant to close the distance between us, instead firing another round of tranquilizers from where they stood.

  Stopping the darts proved simple enough. Turning them around on our attackers gave me trouble.

  Concentrate. They’re light, easy to move. You could have done this before becoming Created. This should be a cakewalk.

  Another round of darts came towards us. And again, I only succeeded in knocking them to the ground.

  Time is running out. Try for the guns. Need to finish this fight soon.

  Beside me, James was struggling to his feet, sliding something out from beneath his pants leg as he did. His fingers weren’t cooperating though and the knife tumbled from his grip. Another wave of darts flew towards us, and I swatted them away with my mind. I focused on the gun in each Poacher’s hand, envisioning a string running from each weapon to my mind, and then I gave a hard mental yank.

  To my shock and horror, only the girl’s gun came free.

  What’s wrong with me? Why are my Talents failing? This can’t be right. I’m low on energy, but not that low. Crap. What do I do now? Can’t just sit here. Need to move. Need to get James out of here.

  Something warm and sticky ran down the side of my neck. I touched the substance and my finger came away crimson. Blood. I was bleeding. Realization hit me. The syringe had pierced my skin, releasing several drops of sedative into my body. Even that small amount had affected my Talents.

  The female Poacher cursed and, without missing a beat, reached around her back and withdrew a handgun. My gaze locked on the barrel. This gun was different. It was the kind TOXIC had handed out before the battle. It was not loaded with tranquilizer darts. Real bullets would be coming my way very soon.

  “Kenly, run. Save yourself,” James wheezed.

  “Damaged goods are worth only just a bit less. Don’t go getting it into your head that I won’t shoot you,” the girl called. She started towards us. Evidently, whatever reservations she had about getting too close were gone.

  I scooped up James’s discarded knife and rose, the old adage about bringing a knife to a gun fight played in my head. An odd sensation washed over me and suddenly I was disoriented. The girl Poacher was still speaking, but her voice sounded a million miles away as if echoing off the walls of a long tunnel. My surroundings became fuzzy. The trees, a bench near the west entrance, James, the tiny Poacher and her gun, all swam through my vision.

  Fight it. You have to fight it. Follow your instincts. Don’t think, just act.

  My mind was spinning out of control, computing the odds of every possible outcome from escape to death to losing a sneaker in the fight on autopilot. I wasn’t interested in facts and figures, only survival and freedom. But my brain seemed to be stuck in the ‘on’ position. No matter how hard I tried, the switch wouldn’t flip back.

  So without the help of my thoughts, I lunged forward, blade arm extended fully in front of me to meet the woman’s attack head on. My limbs were too heavy and my depth perception was off. The knife met nothing but air.

  Somehow, James found a second wind. One moment he was tottering back and forth, like a weeble-wobble ready to tip over at any second, the next he was charging the young Poacher. His knuckles caught her just below the eye, causing her head to snap backwards. Surprised, she lost her grip on the gun. The weapon hit the ground at the wrong angle, discharging a bullet skyward. Bark exploded from a nearby tree, raining tiny wooden splinters down on all three of us. I cradled my face against my arms protectively and let loose an involuntary shriek.

  A particularly pointy shard found a home at the base of my skull. The actual impact smarted only a little, no more than a bee sting. But after a second my neck began to throb, pain blossoming and searing, and then spreading outwards from the entry point. Fingers trembling, I reached for the wood, intending to pull it free, when I felt a prick between my bottom two ribs. Another splinter. And then another in my upper thigh. It was like I was caught in a splinter tornado, they were circling me.

  Not splinters. Darts. Hit. You’ve been hit. Sixty seconds, ninety tops, before loss of consciousness. Make them count. James. Where is James?

  Every fiber of my being was on fire. An agonizing scream tore from my throat and I didn’t even care. I scrambled to my feet. All I wanted was for the torture to end.

  “Hit her again,” I heard someone say.

  Anoth
er pinprick, followed by what felt like a white hot spear burrowing through my skin. My knees buckled. Earth’s axis shifted.

  James. Where is James? Safe. Must make sure he’s safe. Eyelids too heavy. No! Fight. Not a quitter. Survivor. Survive.

  I blinked and found two steel-toed boots mere inches in front of my nose. One of the boots nudged my shoulder and suddenly I was staring up at the night sky. An unfortunate looking face obstructed my view of the moon and the few visible stars. His front two teeth were blackened by decay. The rest were yellow and crooked as he leered at me. The large bump on the bridge of his extremely crooked nose told me it’d been broken more than once.

  “Beast of a girl, aren’t you lass? I’ve taken down elephants with fewer darts.” He grinned obscenely. I recoiled. Using most of my remaining energy, I turned my pounding head to the side, putting as much distance as possible between my face and his noxious breath—a fetid mixture of rotten onions, skunk, steaming garbage, and stale pipe smoke.

  Grunts, groans, and thuds nearby were a trickle of hope in a sea of bleakness. James was still standing, fighting even.

  Sheer force of will allowed me to stretch my neck and tilt my head just enough to see James. Through heavily lidded eyes, I watched him spar with the tiny female Poacher and her much larger, much more terrifying, colleague.

  My combat instructor at the McDonough School used to say that watching two truly great opponents fight was like watching an intricately choreographed dance. I’d never understood what he meant until now. James fighting was a beautiful sight. He was impossibly light on his feet, agile and graceful as he transitioned fluidly from one combination to the next. His movements were swift and precise, with a quickness that minimized the number of blows his attackers were able to land.

  How is he even still on his feet, let alone so lovely?

  The Poacher with horrid breath rolled me over onto my stomach. I struggled but my limbs were leaden and useless. My hands were yanked roughly behind my back. Cold metal surrounded my wrists as cuffs snapped shut. Part of me, the part that clung to reason and logic, knew I should be terrified. But the ridiculous amount of sedative coursing through my veins had paralyzed my body and anesthetized my mind to the point that I no longer felt anything but appreciation for the pretty colors of the grass and sky. I wished the man with the rotten mouth would flip me back over, so I could enjoy the velvety canvas of the purples before dawn again. Even anger, my constant companion for the last month, stayed away.

  “James.” His name squeaked out from between numb, rubbery lips. I wanted to say more, scream at him to run, to leave me and save himself. My mouth couldn’t form the words.

  Abruptly as if he’d heard my thoughts, James glanced over to where I lay facedown on the soggy ground.

  “Kenly!” he hollered, his gorgeous platinum eyes locking with mine.

  I liked looking at them, but somewhere I was aware of the fact he shouldn’t be gawking at me.

  That one second of distraction was all his tormentors needed. The male Poacher, a bald guy with red and black vines tattooed around his throat in a gross approximation of a permanent necklace, grabbed hold of James’s arm as my friend surged forward to help me. He spun James around to face his fellow Poacher. The petite brunette slapped James across the face, splitting his bottom lip with the chunky gold ring wound around her middle finger. In that instant she reminded me of Talia, so small yet capable of doing so much damage.

  James swung with his free hand, but the tattooed Poacher caught his arm before he could make contact. The more James struggled, the harder his captor twisted his arms. His face turned a sickly shade of green, but he refused to acknowledge the pain by crying out.

  “No,” I moaned, but no one paid attention to me. They probably didn’t hear me or, if they did, they didn’t care about my protests. More likely the latter.

  “Don’t mess up his pretty face any more than you already have,” the Poacher standing over me called.

  “Mess up his face?” the woman called, indignant. “The prig electrocuted two of our boys, broke Artie’s leg, and gave me a black eye that I’ll be wearing at the auction. So pardon me if I want a little payback before I turn him in.”

  From a low-slung belt around her hips, the woman withdrew a long, thin metal baton. She held the baton like a batter waiting for a pitch, took several small practice swings, and then drove it into James’s ribs. He grunted, again stubbornly refusing to give the Poachers any satisfaction by screaming or yelling. But when our gazes locked, his eyes were shiny and wet. One solitary tear leaked from the corner of my eye right before James finally faded into blackness.

  THERE WERE BRIEF moments of clarity, when the fog encasing my brain lifted and I became cognizant of my surroundings. At one point, I woke in the backseat of a road car, wedged between two other people and blindfolded. Immediately, even before my brain could register fear, my Higher Reasoning kicked in, processing sounds and smells to determine my location.

  Ride is smooth, ground even. Major road? Car not starting and stopping, no traffic lights. No longer in the city. Highway? Other cars passing us by. Driver cautious, trying not to draw attention. Tire rotations per minute? Sixty-five mph, give or take a mile.

  Inside, the vehicle smelled of new leather, floral perfume, hair gel, and tobacco smoke. I couldn’t recall any of the male Poachers having enough hair to use product. Five had buzz cuts. And the styling aid James used wasn’t that potent. Oh, the other Talent who had been in the park? That was most likely.

  Where was James? Had they separated us? Was he beside me? Or maybe in the hovercar they’d also had there?

  The blindfold covered my eyes and the bridge of my nose, with a small gap at the bottom. Peering through it, I saw the faint outline of a seatbelt across my hips and nothing more. I wrinkled my nose, wiggling it up and down, trying to work the fabric higher and widen the gap. When the rudimentary maneuver failed, I switched tactics. Letting my head lull to one side, I discreetly pushed at the blindfold with my shoulder. This worked. If I just—

  “Girl’s moving. See if she’s awake, Mic.”

  I froze. Great. Exactly what I’d been trying to avoid: drawing my captors’ attention.

  Mic, apparently sitting on my right, reached over and shook me hard. I kept my muscles slack, feigning unconsciousness. My act must not have been entirely convincing because Mic pinched the inside of my bicep and twisted the skin.

  Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.

  “Musta been a muscle jerk or something. The bird’s out like a light.”

  “Give her another dose, just to be safe.” It was the pixie-haired girl who spoke this time; I recognized her voice.

  “I don’t reckon that’s such a fine idea,” someone else interjected.

  Listen to him. Please listen to him.

  “And why not?” the female Poacher snapped.

  “She’s already had loads more than we normally dole out. ‘Nother hit might just kill ‘er.”

  Definitely listen to him

  “What are you, a bloody chemist? What do you care about one dead Chrome? Not going nancy on us, are you?” the girl asked, tinkling laughter filling the car.

  “Shut it, you. I reckon she might be one of ‘em Created. Never seen a common Chrome take that many darts and keep on with ‘er powers, have you?”

  Oh no. Not good.

  “All the more reason to give her a further measure. I don’t want her coming round, but if she does, then I want her dormant. Inject her. Straight away.”

  Dormant? What does that mean?

  Apparently the pocket-sized Poacher held a position of authority, because the discussion ended after that. Before I’d finished computing the odds of rolling to my left, over the lap of whomever was sitting next to me, finding the door handle with my hands cuffed behind my back, and then surviving a fall from a vehicle going over sixty miles an hour, the needle pierced my skin. Unlike in the park, the ascent into darkness didn’t come gradually. Rather, i
t was all at once, like a battery-operated doll whose batteries were removed.

  The next time the fog cleared, I was weightless. My legs were suspended in midair, while my torso was supported from underneath. The pungent stench of body odor, so intense the person couldn’t have bathed in the last month, made my stomach do somersaults. I turned my head to one side and dry-heaved.

  “No you don’t!” a man’s voice snapped. “Don’t want Chrome cooties messing up my new boots.”

  I peeled my eyes open and realized the blindfold was gone. I stared down at the Poacher’s polished black footwear. It did appear new and expensive.

  “If you took half as much care with your personal hygiene as you do with those shoes, the world would be a better place.”

  My tongue felt thick and my voice came out low and raspy, the words all jumbled together in a barely audible heap of nonsense. Probably for the best, I decided. Antagonizing large men with weapons was never smart, particularly when they were carrying you.

  “What’s that, you rubbish? Think you’re clever, do you? Didn’t your old mum teach you to respect your betters? You Chromes need to learn your proper place. We’ll show you, all right. It’s in a cage.”

  Part of me wanted smack the condescending smile right off of his face. Part of me wanted to laugh at his ignorance. Respect my betters? My proper place? Seriously? Talents were at the top of the evolutionary ladder, far surpassing the average human. And labeling this moron as average would have been an insult to the entire human race. And a kindness he clearly didn’t deserve.

  Still, part of me wanted to curl into the fetal position and bawl. No one had ever spoken to me with so much disgust before. Not even the people in the King’s Pub had hated me as much as this Poacher did. Simply because I was different. Was this the majority opinion?

  Without warning, my legs were underneath me, too wobbly to support my weight. Rough hands closed around my upper arms and squeezed hard enough to make me grit my teeth. The pain did, however, clear the remaining cobwebs from my mind. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Having a clear head was the first step in plotting an escape, but it also meant I was fully aware of just how crappy the situation was and how scared I should be.