Burning Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  They remained in their groups and got into positions, facing the doors to wait. For death. For destruction. For the end.

  Malcolm Bishop had pulled the officers out of the area the night before. He could only tie up resources for so long without any proof that there was a threat to the President lurking around the premises. Besides, he didn’t want any witnesses or questions when he took care of things.

  It wasn’t easy to get away from those sworn to protect him. He’d told his Secret Service agents he had personal business to attend to in downtown Annapolis, an early morning meeting with an attorney. The advanced team was already in place. Two agents were posted outside the conference room, where he was now alone, ostensibly going over documents in private. More agents were posted by the motorcade at the curb.

  He set an illusion in place so the agents, or anyone else, wouldn’t see him exit the room and go out the back door. He walked two buildings over to where the art gallery—now closed—was located. He walked along the back, to the small porch, and laid out the blueprints on a small table. Everything was in place. Doors sealed. Psychic shield disrupted and his own shield put in place. One more thing to do and then it would be finished, no one wiser.

  The hangar looked deserted, closed up tight. Eric and Fonda walked around it, finding a couple of windows on the side that looked into a small office.

  “No sign of him,” she said, peering in.

  Eric took off his shirt, wrapped it around his hand, and smashed the glass. He broke out the shards. “Climb in and open the whole window from the inside.”

  Yeah, no way was he fitting into that small space. She supposed he could have broken out the middle pane, too, but that would look more obvious.

  He hoisted her up, and she climbed through and stepped onto the desk below the window. With a dusty magazine that was dated three years earlier, she swept the glass off the desk. She twisted the clasp and slid the window up, then helped him climb in.

  “If he comes in here, he’ll know something’s up,” she said. “But it doesn’t look like he uses this office much.”

  Eric walked out the door and closed it, looking in through the hazy pane of glass in the door and opened it again. “You can see a slight difference between the clearness of the opening and the grimy glass, but through this window it’s not as obvious. We’ll be okay if he just glances over. Not so much if he takes a close look.”

  He walked to the tool chest and took the key out of the third drawer. The side door on the plane was open. There were blocks in front of the wheels.

  She looked at the propeller as they passed it, at the edges that looked so sharp. “I don’t like this plan.”

  “Don’t look when it happens; you’ll never get the image out of your head.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. If he throws you at the running prop, even if I freeze time, I’ll be in the plane and you’ll be out there. I doubt I’ll have enough time to run down and push you to the floor.”

  “I’ll be ready for him.”

  They both climbed in. The canisters weren’t in place. Nothing looked ready.

  “What if he changed the plan?”

  “We give him through the morning, then decide what to do if he doesn’t show.” He turned to her, his expression stern. “If something happens to me, I don’t want you feeling guilty because you couldn’t stop it. Okay? And I want you out of here. He can’t hurt you if he can’t see you. Stay out of his sight.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I don’t want to think about that.” It was like those moments when he was burning up all over again, the thought of losing him. “Don’t leave me, Eric,” she said, just as she had then. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  He touched her cheek. “You won’t.”

  He couldn’t be sure of that. They were empty words of reassurance. And they didn’t make her feel one iota better.

  “Come here, let me show you what to do, if I can remember it.” He sat in the pilot’s seat. “First you have to push this mixture knob, this red one, all the way forward, to Rich, so the gas gets to the engine.” He put the key in a switch marked Mags. “Turn the key past Left and Right to Both. Push hard to get past the spring to Start. It’ll start and snap back to Both. Try it.”

  She went through the steps, and the engine started.

  “Pull the red lever back to cut the engine.”

  She did it, and the engine went quiet.

  He sat down on the floor of the cargo area and pulled her onto his lap. “It’s been a few years, but I was curious about how things worked when Steve took me up. I was all jazzed about getting my pilot’s license, maybe even becoming an instructor. Then Steve got transferred to California, and I never followed through on it. You’re lucky you have something you love to do. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  She leaned into him. “What have you been doing up till now? Besides arm wrestling for money,” she added with a smile.

  “A lot of nothing. I was a bouncer, a repo dude, jobs that used muscle.” He looked around the plane. “Being inside the cabin again makes me want to go back to my earlier goal.”

  She turned to look at him. “I can tell it’s something you have a passion for. That’s what life is all about, you know. Finding your passion. Living it.” She liked talking about the future. Believing they had one.

  He leaned back, taking her with him, keeping her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest and dozed. She dreamed of planes, of Eric as a captain of a charter plane service, of a normal life . . . together.

  The sound of metal against metal woke them. They sprang to a sitting position. Fonda crept to the cockpit, and Eric slipped to the floor and hid around the back of some cabinets.

  The hangar door opened, but from the sound of it, only partially. Then it closed again. It was eight in the morning. Neil’s voice echoed against the metal walls. “I know you’re in here. I can smell your apprehension, your fear for each other’s safety.” He made sniffing sounds and then let out a satisfied sigh.

  Fonda peered from the bottom edge of the window. She could barely see him. She reached for the red lever and then clenched the key with her fingers.

  Eric stepped out, putting himself way too close to Neil. There was no place for him to get out of sight if Neil started his crushing thing.

  Eric crossed his arms over his chest. “We finish this, here and now.”

  Neil let out a dramatic breath of relief. “Finally.”

  “Take me on like a man. No abilities. Don’t hide behind your powers.”

  Neil chuckled. “You are trying to appeal to my ego? My sense of fairness. Or manliness? That might work if I were a man.”

  Eric took another step closer to Neil. “What are you?”

  “Far more powerful than you. I’m sure you would have already incinerated me if you could. What you did to my building was irritating, and I will enjoy crushing you just for that. You know you can’t defeat me, and yet you keep trying. It’s amusing, admirable even, but as you said, it’s time to finish it.”

  Eric’s gaze flicked twice to the left, her signal. She started the engine and Eric pushed Neil back. He wasn’t expecting that, and his arms windmilled as he lost his balance and fell backward. The propeller was instantly a blur.

  Neil’s hand went up. The propeller stopped. His face was ashen, though eerily passive. “Now, that wasn’t fair at all.”

  No, no, no.

  She pulled the red lever back in case the propeller started again. Neil twisted to the right, reaching out as though to grab something and fling it toward Eric. A pipe flew through the air. She froze time and launched out of the plane’s cabin. How many seconds did she have? At any moment time would resume, and that pipe would slam into Eric’s beautiful face. Fear squeezed her chest. Just one more second, that’s all she needed. She leapt, fingers reaching for the pipe. Hold, another few seconds. She grabbed it out of the air, throwing it to the floor where it clanged on the concrete.

  Time resume
d as soon as she reached the plane. Neil blinked, looking at the pipe.

  “No, little girl, you don’t get to use that trick on me again.” He held out his hand toward her, and she ducked out of sight. Nothing happened.

  Little girl, like Eric called her. Bastard had no right to call her that.

  The plane jerked, as though a giant had hit it. It didn’t tip over, but she fell against the side door. Before she could right herself, Neil threw Eric against the corrugated metal wall, his hand shaking as he pinned Eric there. Eric’s face was in a painful grimace as he twisted to get free.

  “Want down?”

  Eric dropped to the floor, landing on top of the tool chest and toppling them both to the floor. Tools hit the floor and scattered. He pushed away the chest and staggered to his feet.

  Neil looked toward the ceiling of the hangar and moved his fingers in a clawlike action. The metal tore at the top, like a cut, making a screeching noise. He left it sticking out. Then he pointed at Eric, and like a psychotic orchestra director, waved his hand to send Eric flying toward the jagged edge.

  She froze time. Eric kept flying toward it. Neil had disabled her ability, too. Noooo!

  Eric put out his hands as he reached the sharp edge, grabbing onto the opening as his body hit the wall. His hands bled as he held on and pushed away from the sharp edge, physical force against psychic force. She heard his grunts of strain.

  Stop!

  Neil pulled Eric back, and he lost his grip. Her heart stopped beating, she stopped breathing. Eric’s body slammed toward the edge. He put his hand out, and the metal tore through it. He let out a scream of agony as blood streamed down the metal. He tried to fight the force by using his good hand. It wasn’t enough.

  Neil turned Eric sideways, pinning him against the wall just below the edge. The top of the metal peeled farther, curling around him. He rolled, the metal peeling back with the screeching sound, curling around and around him. Only his head and lower legs were visible. It stopped, leaving him suspended halfway up the wall. Trapped. A slice of morning sky showed in the strip of opening above him.

  Eric tried to wriggle out but he was pinned tight.

  Neil walked closer, looking up at him. “You have a bond with the girl, and I know how it pains you to see her hurt. So you shall watch her die, and I will breathe in your agony, draw it into my cells. I can’t manufacture those feelings myself, you see. I need to experience them through you humans, and you give me such a variety. It seems you thrive on them, too, though mostly the negative ones. Where I am from, the humans self-destructed.” He inhaled deeply and then turned toward the plane. “Watch me explode her. It’ll make such a mess in the plane, but I have time to clean it up before my next mission.”

  The Amish village. The children, the innocent.

  Neil smiled. “Before you both go, you should know that your friends are, at this moment, being infected with the Essence. My brother is at the ventilation pipe, ready to send it down into the air system. I want you to think about how they’ll turn on each other, become animals, like Sayre, mindlessly killing anyone in sight. You can see it clearly, can’t you? Yes, I feel it.”

  Eric’s fury reddened his face and he tried even harder to break free. She started the plane again and pushed the black knob forward like she’d seen Eric do before. It didn’t move. Blocks! She’d seen blocks next to the tires. Dammit!

  Neil walked closer to her, their eyes locking. His were blank, empty of anything that resembled being human. He wasn’t human, that’s what he’d implied.

  Pain rocketed through her body. She tried to push him out but he was too strong. She curled up, unable to move out of his view. White lights burst behind her closed eyes. Have to stop this. Stop him.

  Pain. I can’t take . . . much . . . more.

  Wait. An idea.

  She had one last chance. She projected out of her dying body, through the propeller, to stand behind Neil. He walked closer to the plane. One step. Then another. Gathering what strength she had, she pushed him. His energy was dense, heavy. He fell forward, his head turning back to her, eyes stark. In an instant the air from the propeller sucked him in.

  She flew back to her body. The plane shook. She rolled to the floor. The unearthly sound of flesh and blood splattering everywhere rocked her senses. The engine gasped and choked, and then ground to a halt. Silence descended like death. She dared to look out the window. Blood and matter covered the windshield. On the outside, not the inside, as he’d intended. Not hers, but his.

  Eric!

  She scrambled out, sliding on the blood all over the concrete floor, fighting to keep her balance as she ran to him.

  “You were fantastic, baby,” Eric said in a strained voice. “You all right?”

  She was breathless. “Yes. You? Are you . . . okay?”

  “I can’t take deep breaths, but I could be worse. I have no idea how I’m going to get down.”

  A low male voice said, “I can help.”

  They both looked toward the front of the hangar. A man stood there, extraordinarily tall, shaved head and eerie, light violet eyes. He wore a black trench coat, and his shoes scraped on the floor as he walked toward them.

  Eric said, “Fonda, get out of here.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the man. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “She’s perfectly safe,” the man said, coming to a stop beside her. He acknowledged her with a nod, his expression blank, neutral. “Nice job.”

  “You’re Pope,” Eric said.

  The wild card who’d worked with Darkwell. She’d never seen him during her time there.

  He hadn’t hurt Nicholas and Olivia. That’s what she latched onto. “You said you could help.”

  He raised his hands toward Eric. Her heart tightened. His arms shook with the strain, as Neil’s had. Eric started to roll upward, the strip of metal unfurling, warped and wavy beneath him. Once Eric was free, Pope slowly lowered his arms, and Eric floated down in sync with his movement. The second his feet touched the floor, he ran to Fonda, putting himself between her and Pope, one hand twining around hers and pulling her against him.

  He held his other hand, cut and bleeding, out to his side. His face was pale from the pain, and she could hear how it stole his breath away. “Who are you?”

  “It seems you already know. We don’t have time to chat. Your friends are in trouble.”

  The Essence! “And why does that matter to you?”

  “I’m your ally. And you do matter to me, very much. All of you.”

  Eric’s body stiffened. “If you’re our ally, why didn’t you step in when that son of a bitch was wrapping me up like a lid on an anchovy tin?”

  He smiled. “Because I knew you would succeed here. You won’t succeed in saving your friends without my help.”

  Eric said, “Neil told us his brother is infecting my people with the Essence.”

  “Yes, that is his plan.”

  “Lucas won’t be affected. He’s had the antidote.”

  “No, he’ll be killed by the others. They’re sitting there waiting, all armed and ready to kill. Very easy to turn their guns on each other.”

  “But you worked with Darkwell,” Eric said.

  “I let Darkwell think I was working with him. What I was doing was protecting you. I cleaned the messes that might have exposed you. By the laws of where I come from, I cannot interfere, but I have broken those laws in small ways.”

  “Like letting me know that Fonda’s body had to be close to her soul.”

  “Yes.” Pope walked several yards away, stopping in front of a smattering of glowing jellylike substance roughly the color of his eyes. Eric stepped to the side to see what he was doing, taking her with him.

  “This is Neil Bishop’s Essence. His life force.” Pope turned to them. “This is what Richard Wallace found that day he followed the supposed meteorite. This is what was in your parents, what’s in you.” He turned toward the blob again, reaching his hand toward it. His fingers spl
ayed, vibrated. “I can’t leave this here. He’s not dead until his life force is gone.”

  The blob glowed, first white, and then red, and then smoke rose from it. It turned black, drying into a crusty black pile of coal, and then burned down to a black spot on the concrete.

  Eric walked toward the door, which was still closed. How had Pope gotten in? “We have to go to Magnus’s place and get the antidotes before we go to the shelter. It’s the only way to save them.”

  “It’ll be far too late by the time you drive there. But I can get you there in seconds.”

  They both stopped, turning to look at him. “Seconds?” she asked.

  “How do you think I got here?”

  Or to the warehouse when he found Nicholas and Olivia. He’d appeared like a ghost, they said.

  “I can teletransport. If you hold onto me, you go, too.”

  Eric looked at her, worried.

  “Let’s do it,” she said. “We have nothing to lose.”

  Eric’s mouth tightened. “I don’t like it.”

  “I can’t do anything to help them,” Pope said. “If I use my power to kill in combat, I will be executed. You’ll have to face Malcolm. And the only way you can reach them in time is to go with me.”

  “Okay.” Eric turned to her. “You take the truck back.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m going, too.”

  He released a quick, frustrated breath. “To Magnus’s. Then you stay there.”

  Yeah, right. He needed her. And she needed to help him save his people. She tried to ignore the fatigue that stole through her, the aftereffect of using her abilities. No time to be tired now.

  Pope said, “Quickly, I must tell you what you’ll be facing when you reach the bomb shelter. Malcolm has a shield over it, so we cannot transport into the shelter itself. We will arrive exactly where Malcolm is, and hopefully we can stop him before he infects your friends. He can’t squeeze your insides or move things, but he can make you see things that aren’t there. He will use that to weaken you. You will have to kill him before you can get into the shelter. It’s the only way to destroy the shield.” He pointed to Eric’s ruined hand. “You’re going to need both your hands.” They watched, she in astonishment, as Eric’s hand healed, and then every bruise, scratch, and cut disappeared, too.