Ascendant- Nation of Nowhere

by Richard Denoncourt

  “I see what you mean,” Michael said, sliding his hands into his pockets. He squinted at the gurgling stream, could almost feel the icy water sliding against his skin. “What should I do now?”

  “Study,” the doctor said. “Train. Learn how to use your talent the proper way, slowly and defensively, ‘cause one day, someone’s going to come after you, and out here in the Eastlands, there aren’t too many people to watch your back. Work together with the other telepaths your own age. You can support each other.”

  “What about Ian? And his father?”

  “You won’t have to worry about Ian. He and his father don’t get along, and he’d follow Louis Blake if he had to choose. In the meantime, you stay out of trouble and get a regular job like the rest of us. Blake suggested motorcycle and car maintenance for you, and I think that’s a good idea. I got a whole library of books in the house you can start reading. And there’s a garage a couple of blocks over run by an old friend of mine. He could use an apprentice. I’m sure you’ll be ready and on time each morning.”

  “I can do that. So, will I be—”

  “Paid?” Midas gave a single, firm nod. “Same wage as everyone else your age. Enough to buy the things you need to get by.”

  “And what about my training?”

  “There is no training.”

  “But you said—”

  Midas turned to face him, eyes narrowed. He was a lot shorter than Michael, but when he set his jaw like that, he could be intimidating.

  “Listen to me real good, young’un. As far as anyone is concerned, the only training you’re receiving is from Reggie Smith, and that’s in marksmanship so you can help defend against raiders, bandits, and whatever else this land has to throw at us. Anything else you might pick up along the way is strictly your business. Yours and no one else’s. Am I making myself clear?”

  So, it would be their secret. If Michael so much as said another word about it, the opportunity might vanish like a half-forgotten dream. He kept his mouth shut, giving a single nod to show he understood.

  “Attaboy. You’ll be eating all your meals with me for the next few days, until things cool down. The whole town thinks you fainted from heat exhaustion, except for a few suspicious folks who think you were up to no good. Blake will be joining us for dinner tonight. He’ll want to know you’ve begun your studies.”

  “My studies? You mean—”

  “Motorcycle and car maintenance, like I said. I got a few books on telepathy in my attic, but I trust you’ll stay away from those.”

  He winked, patted Michael on the shoulder, then turned to walk into the house. He paused at the door, turning slightly.

  “As for right now, if I were you”—he looked southeast, toward where the power plant loomed over the town—“there’s a nice little pond in the very back of the canyon, beneath the waterfalls. Manmade, in fact, to aid in water collection. I like to go there and sit sometimes when I feel like being alone. I suggest you do the same. Dip your feet in the water. Think about how lucky you are to still be alive.”

  Michael gave a solemn nod. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Dr. Ford.”

  “No problem, sonny.”

  The screen door slammed shut behind the old man. Michael breathed a sigh of relief as he stared out over the field and the mountains beyond. Then he began to walk.

  When he got to the lake, which was only slightly bigger than a large pond, he saw why Midas liked to come here. The twin waterfalls from the cliff overhead splashed into the water with a foamy white roar. Sunlight draped the spot, captured in a thin mist, which evoked stunted rainbows. One of these days, he would dive in and see what it felt like to have a waterfall cover him completely, drowning out all other sights and sounds.

  His brother’s face rose in his mind’s eye.

  “Benny,” he said aloud, “if only you could be here to see this with me. I miss you.”

  “Michael?”

  He spun around, wondering how long she’d been standing there. “Arielle, what are you doing here?”

  “Gathering flowers,” she said, taking a few hesitant steps toward him. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just, uh—praying.”

  “Really?” she said, brow raising skeptically. “Praying.”

  He cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”

  Reaching into the basket, Arielle pulled out a blue flower Michael didn’t recognize. No surprise there. Having grown up in a city slum, he wasn’t knowledgeable when it came to wildlife. Nevertheless, he was stunned by its beauty.

  She offered it to him. From it came a strong fragrance that filled his nose.

  “Thanks,” he said. He scanned their surroundings, eager to find some way to preserve the flower. It would get crushed in his pocket.

  “Here.” Arielle took the flower back, sliding it into her hair above her right ear. “I’ll keep it for you. Come by my café anytime and get it. So…” She cleared her throat. “How are you feeling? I heard you had heatstroke or something like that.”

  “I’m fine,” Michael said. “Just wanted to sit by the pond for a while. Do you—”

  “Want to sit?” she finished for him.

  “Yeah.”

  She brushed wheat-colored hair out of her face. “I guess I could for a few minutes.”

  Motorcycle engines revved in the distance, growing louder as they approached. Arielle’s smile fell away.

  “Is that him?” Michael said.

  They watched the bikes come to a stop in the distance. It was Peter and Ian, glaring at Michael and Arielle, clearly suspicious.

  “I guess you should go,” Michael said.

  “I should, but not because I’m worried about Peter.”

  Michael turned to face her fully. He didn’t care if Peter saw them standing this close. Let him get jealous for once.

  “Then what is it?

  Arielle frowned, obviously uneasy with the subject.

  “It’s my—”

  She never got a chance to finish. A shot rose from the other end of the canyon, startling them both. Someone had fired a rifle.

  Michael studied the buildings in the distance. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No fires or signs of attack, but that didn’t mean bandits or raiders hadn’t suddenly crossed the town limits brandishing rifles and shotguns. Arielle moved closer to Michael, until they were standing shoulder to shoulder, practically touching. He caught a glimpse of Peter and Ian’s resentful scowls before the motorcycle engines started and the boys drove away toward the other end of town.

  “What do you think that was?” Arielle said. “A gunshot, maybe?”

  Another pop echoed off the mountain walls, followed by a man’s shout of alarm.

  “The watchmen,” Michael said. “In the guard towers. Maybe it’s a training exercise?”

  “I hope so.”

  Michael faced her. “What were you going to say?”

  “What?”

  He searched her eyes. “Just now. You were going to tell me what worried you.”

  Another rifle shot. Arielle flinched.

  “Michael, this isn’t the time. We could be under attack.”

  “Right.”

  He grabbed her flower basket, laid it on the grass, then took her hand and pulled her along, feeling strangely exhilarated. She didn’t resist. Soon, Michael having let go of her hand by this point, they were sprinting side by side across fields and roads, toward the center of town, Michael feeling happier to be alive than he ever had in his life.

  Chapter 13

  “Raiders! Raiders!”

  The shouts were coming from the watchmen, perched atop wooden towers overlooking the field stretching toward the canyon’s mouth. Three of these towers existed, and it was Blake’s duty, having trained men for war, to keep the day and night watch prepared and ever vigilant for this exact sort of threat. Hopefully, Blake was good at his job.

  Michael parted ways with Arielle at the bridge on Silo Street. She took off running, blonde ha
ir flashing behind her. Michael watched for a moment, then ran into town toward the shots. They were coming more frequently now—a battle had erupted. As he rounded the corner at Missile Avenue, he saw Warren, Elkin, and their two friends. He slowed his pace a bit, wondering how he could get past them unseen, when Warren turned and spotted him.

  “You brought them here,” he shouted at Michael over his shoulder. Next to him, Elkin turned and started toward Michael, but Warren grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Later. Let’s get to the watchtowers before they do.”

  Making sure they were gone, Michael continued along the avenue, stopping again when a voice formed in his mind like mist becoming solid.

  Over here.

  The voice accompanied a strong urge to move in one specific direction. He followed it until he reached one of the towers.

  Climb up.

  Was it Blake’s voice? It sounded like him, though not in the conventional way a voice sounded. Instead, it was like a piece of the man’s personality had been injected into Michael’s brain, an imprint of sorts.

  He climbed the tower and found Reggie Smith on one knee, perched behind a long hunting rifle with a beautiful, glossy wooden stock. Mounted on the rifle was an expensive-looking scope. In the People’s Republic, a rifle like this would have sold on the black market for more than a hundred million koles, enough to feed a large family for an entire year or more.

  The rifle erupted as Reggie fired a shot. Michael heard a scream in the distance, though nothing remarkable happened at the other end of the field. He couldn’t see any intruders.

  “Where are they?”

  “Hiding behind those boulders,” Reggie said. “Bandits who thought they were stumbling on treasure, probably. Watch this. And get down, damn it.”

  Squinting into the scope, he fired the rifle, then loaded another shell using motions so fast it was like he had never moved.

  “Try to feel their presence,” he said, eye still on the scope. “Close your eyes and place them.”

  “I can’t even see them.”

  “You can sense their presence if you put your mind to it. Go ahead.”

  Michael did as told, focusing on the boulders Reggie had indicated. Closing his eyes, he tried to reach out to the men crouched behind them. Slowly but surely, he began to see tiny grey smudges behind his eyelids.

  “Whoa.”

  “You see ‘em?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, licking his lips. “Sort of. Little gray blurs, right?”

  “That’s them. Watch and learn.”

  Reggie shot, loaded a shell, shot again, loaded a shell, shot again, and then loaded a shell.

  BANG. Click, click. BANG. Click, click. BANG. Click, click.

  The air stirred as Reggie moved. One by one, the gray blurs changed. One disappeared. The other two became brighter, then trembled and moved apart.

  Michael described what he saw.

  “I killed one and wounded two others. You just confirmed it. That’s the kind of intelligence your kind can give us. You can open your eyes now.”

  “My kind?” Michael said. “I thought you were a telepath, too.”

  “Nope. Just a good old-fashioned marksman. Nothin’ special about me except my striking good looks.”

  Across the field—little more than specks in the distance—two men ran across the canyon’s opening and disappeared around the corner. Michael could still sense their presence. It was amazing. He felt connected to them as if he’d attached a thread to their minds and could feel them tugging.

  “They’re getting away.”

  Reggie chuckled. “Only if Dominic lets them. Close your eyes again.”

  He did, this time eagerly. As he listened, two shouts filled the canyon, but were suddenly cut off. He lost his telepathic grasp on the bandits. The strings had been cut.

  “He killed them,” Michael said, opening his eyes.

  Reggie gave him an admiring look. “Your ability is strong. Now, you just have to learn to use it properly.”

  They got up. After Reggie unloaded the hunting rifle, he let Michael peek through the scope at the solitary figure in the distance making its way up the road. It was Dominic, holding a knife and striding determinedly toward Gulch. There were splashes of blood on his shirt.

  “That bastard,” Reggie said. “Only left me about five. Killed the rest before I even got here.”

  “How many were there originally?”

  “Eleven. A small pack, probably rock roamers with an outpost in one of the dead cities nearby. Dominic gets competitive when this happens.”

  “And he always fights with a knife?”

  Reggie winced. “He likes to get close to his enemies, look ‘em in the eyes before he does them in.”

  Michael peered once more into the scope. Dominic, now life-sized in front of him, wiped the knife against his shirt, squinted up at the watchtower, and raised his middle finger, grinning.

  “That was your voice in my head?”

  Michael had met up with Louis Blake. They walked alongside each other up Missile Avenue toward the town hall.

  “That’s right,” Blake said.

  “Where were you?”

  “In one of the towers. I was watching you, to see how you’d react. I didn’t sense much fear. Mostly excitement.”

  Michael shrugged. “I haven’t learned enough about this place to be afraid.”

  “That’ll change.”

  Michael stuffed his hands into his pockets. They were surrounded by people. Gulch’s residents had been instructed to meet at the town hall for an explanation of the attack. A few men patted Louis Blake on the back and thanked him. Word had spread that Dominic and Reggie had taken nearly a dozen raiders out by themselves, and everyone knew they were Blake’s men, not Meacham’s.

  “If those boys weren’t as queer as a green coyote, I’d be proud to call ‘em my sons,” one man said. He adjusted the brim of his hat.

  A man next to him said, “Amen to that.”

  “I heard Meacham’s boys, Warren and that other one, Elkin, were stone drunk, and that’s why they were late in gettin’ there,” another man said.

  “I count on Blake to defend my town,” a woman said, as though she were supporting a politician running for office.

  Blake didn’t seem fazed by the admiration. He was absorbed in his conversation with Michael. “I’m glad you recognized my voice. I’ll be doing that from time to time, when I need to send you a message.”

  His next words were telepathic.

  Pretty soon, you’ll learn how to do it yourself.

  Awestruck, Michael slowly shook his head.

  “That mental voice,” he said to Blake. “Can you use it to tell Arielle everything’s okay? She sounded terrified when I left her.”

  Blake nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets the message.”

  The town hall was packed by the time they arrived. There was a stale, wooden smell in the air, along with the stink of bodies covered in nervous sweat. People murmured and whispered. Men with red necks and sunburned ears stood with their hands in their pockets next to women wearing dresses and holding babies. The up-and-down wailing of an infant rang like an alarm.

  “All right, everybody, just settle down,” John Meacham said from the podium facing the crowd. “Take a seat or what-have-you. Just settle down.”

  The murmuring quieted. Many people were fanning themselves. Charlotte sat near the front with William, on a bench alongside Peter, Ian, and Eli. Soon, Arielle entered the room and joined them. Meacham was about to speak when the back doors banged open.

  Dominic entered the town hall. He swaggered up the central aisle, followed by Reggie and Midas Ford. People turned to watch him as he took his place next to Michael against the wall. He was covered in blood, which visibly unsettled most present, including John Meacham.

  “Watch what this bastard does,” Dominic told Michael in a low whisper. The metallic smell of blood emanating from his shirt almost turned Michael’s stomach.

>   John Meacham cleared his throat to call back the attention of his audience. He made sure to give Dominic a cold glare before continuing.

  “Many of you heard the gunshots earlier, and you have every right to be scared. But rest assured I have my men working on the town’s defenses as we speak. Good news is we’ve been planning some measures we’d like to put in place as soon as possible to ensure our children are safe and sound. This will involve sacrifices on all of our parts, including mine…”

  Dominic shot Michael a covert glance.

  He’ll raise taxes, he sent into Michael’s mind, lips unmoving, eyes narrowed. Been planning to for a while. The bandit attack came at just the right time. Perfect, actually.

  Michael gave a slight nod to show he understood, even though he didn’t. Was Dominic saying the attack had been planned by the city’s leaders? Or that Meacham had something to do with luring them here?

  John Meacham continued. “We all still remember what happened to those young women kidnapped five years ago. I became mayor shortly after. Under my watch, that tragic event has not been repeated. I’m here to keep you safe. You can trust me on that.”

  Dominic’s frown only deepened. What was going on? Michael sensed lies and tension in the air, instead of the kind of fear one might normally expect after an attack by armed men. What happened today wasn’t violence—it was politics.

  He’s talking about three women who were kidnapped by slavers, Dominic sent. No one knows how the men got past our defenses, but rumor has it those women are still alive in a slaver settlement southeast of here.

  Michael nodded as he processed the information. Anyone watching would have thought he was lost in his own musings. There was an edge of disgust in Dominic’s abstracted voice.

  Meacham tells these people they’re safe, but that’s only as long as they do what he says. Those women who were kidnapped? They tried to have Meacham outcast for sexual harassment and rape. They were gone before the matter could go to trial. Pretty big coincidence, wouldn’t you say?

  Michael kept quiet. He was starting to feel like coming here had been a mistake.