Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  “No way, girl,” Twinge replied just as firmly.

  “You made me the leader. Right? That means you have to follow my instructions. I’m instructing you to leave.”

  “And we are respectfully ignoring you.”

  “Wouldn’t do any good anyway,” Dream said. “As soon as the guards know there’s an intruder on the premises, it will be impossible to get inside the house.”

  “Then leave now.”

  “If we leave you, and they find you, the mission is over. And it’s just a matter of time till they get the rest of us.”

  She didn’t like it, but Dream was right. Noble sacrifice was not an option.

  Unless…maybe a different kind of sacrifice.

  “Okay. Cut it off.”

  “Eww,” Twinge said.

  “It’s the only way.”

  “That’s the worst idea you’ve had yet. You wouldn’t look good in a peg leg.”

  “I’d rather lose my leg than lose my life. And that’s what will happen if Trent’s goons get me.” Or worse, she thought, remembering the girls trapped beneath the stables. But she didn’t need to tell them about that.

  “There’s gotta be another way,” Tank said.

  She raised her voice, trying to make the leader voice sound even more forceful. “C’mon, Tank. Are you a Shine or a mouse? I bet all you’d have to do is break the damn leg and you could get it out.”

  Even in the darkness, she saw lines crossing Tank’s face. “Serious? That’s what you want?”

  “It is.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “But you will. Because you love and respect me. And that’s what I want.”

  Tank covered her face, then slowly drew in her breath. “If you say so.”

  “Tank!” Twinge said. “You can’t—”

  “Aura’s right,” Dream said quietly.

  “No way!”

  Tank placed one hand on Aura’s leg. “You know this is gonna hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt in your entire life. And you won’t be able to heal yourself.”

  She bit down on her lower lip. “Just do it.”

  Tank swung back her huge fist—

  “Stop!” Gearhead shouted. “Mnemo’s got something.”

  “Thank Gandhi,” Twinge said. “What?”

  “It might not work.”

  “It’s got to be better than maiming our leader. What is it?”

  Gearhead paused, listening to the info streaming though her glasses stem. “She says not to confuse sinkholes with quicksand. Sinkholes are natural depressions in the soil.” Pause. “A place where the earth’s crust has collapsed.” Another pause. “She says there’s a lot of carbonate in this area and the dissolution leads to something called karst processes, but you can usually slide out if you don’t die on the way down.”

  Now she felt better. “Razor.”

  “What’s making this one difficult is the mud. With quicksand, they tell you not to struggle.” Pause. “Mnemo wants you to struggle. Just not so much.”

  “Not following that at all.”

  “The problem is that you’ve created a vacuum. You need to burst the bubble, then get out of there. She says to withdraw firmly but gently like I do when—”

  Gearhead stopped. Even in the dark, she could see Gearhead’s face flush. “Never mind.”

  She gave her leg a little tug—not the full throttle yank she’d tried before.

  Her leg still didn’t budge. “Not working.”

  “Mnemo says you need to break the lock then try to slide out of it. She recommends lubricant. Something like what I use when—” Another pause. “Mnemo, would you stop that? We’re in a desperate situation here.”

  Dream bent under the blue beam and leaned in close. “Next meeting, leader, institute a no-dating-in-the-ranks rule.”

  She hoped she was present at the next meeting. “I have to assume no one is packing lubricant.”

  “Left it in my other purse, oddly enough,” Twinge said.

  “Anyone have anything slick?” Gearhead asked. “Hand lotion? Hair conditioner?”

  No one did.

  “I think we’re back to Plan A,” she said, clenching her eyes shut. “Tank. Break my damn leg. Before we run out of time.”

  “Wait,” Twinge said, almost squealing. “I know. I can produce that lubricant.”

  “Huh?”

  “Brace yourself, Aura. You’re about to get really sweaty.”

  “I’m already really sweaty.”

  “You’re about to get more so.”

  “How much more so?”

  “Noah-and-the-ark more so.” Twinge closed her eyes.

  She recognized the signs of a Shine going into action. Was it her imagination, or did Twinge’s hands glow slightly in the darkness? Or was that a weird reading from these glasses?

  She didn’t have long to think about it. Barely a second later, she felt her respiration system kick into high gear. Perspiration seeped out of her pores like she’d been running for days and the temperature was a hundred and ten.

  “Thank goodness for these stupid skirts TYL put us in,” Twinge said, her forehead creased and lined. The more exposed skin you slick up, the better.”

  “Nothing personal, Twinge, but this is really gross. I fell like you have your hands wrapped around my heart.”

  “Don’t be an ingrate, girl. You’ll probably feel dehydrated soon, but I can fix that, too. Later.”

  “Don’t want to add to the stress,” Gearhead said, “but we’ve got two more minutes of blanket at best.”

  “Then let’s go.” She felt Tank’s arm wrap around her throat. The largest member of the team was either going to save her or strangle her.

  The other girls braced Tank’s feet. With a surge of energy, Tank pulled, strong but steady.

  She heard a small popping noise, then her leg slipped out so quickly she barely knew what had happened, like a shot dreaded in advance that was over before she knew it had happened. Her leg was scraped and cut—but free.

  “You did it,” she said, throwing her arms around Tank.

  “We did it,” Tank replied.

  “And we don’t have time to bask in mutual adulation,” Gearhead said. “We’ve barely got a minute left. Plow ahead. Caution to the wind. We have to get to the porch before the blanket goes down.”

  She ran, favoring one leg, still watching the ground and the colorful warning signs, but she didn’t have time to be cautious. None of them did. They jumped and weaved and ducked.

  And they made it. Just barely.

  “Still two guards on the front porch,” Gearhead murmured.

  “They’re mine,” Tank said.

  “You might need help to—”

  Too late. Tank didn’t move fast, but she moved decisively. She took the first guard down by tackling him around the waist and bashing his head against the house. Not hard enough to kill him. Just enough to send him to dreamland for a good long stay.

  The second guard pulled his gun, but Tank kicked him between the legs, which slowed him long enough for her to punch the side of his neck, choking off his air. He tumbled down hard.

  “Is it my imagination,” Twinge whispered, “or is Tank getting stronger?”

  “I’m glad she’s on our side.”

  “Amen to that.”

  The five girls gathered on the porch, crouching in the shadows. Gearhead picked the lock, including the sonic deadbolt, which she described as an extremely expensive lock that was no harder to pick than any other. “A fool and his money.”

  “I think Trent has plenty to spare,” Twinge commented.

  Switch on the leader voice. “Dream, I want you to stay here. Outside.”

  “I don’t like being left alone.”

  “We need a scout. In case someone gets to the house under Harriet’s radar. You see anything, you let us know immediately.”

  Dream made a huffing sound. “I suppose it beats tromping around in the mud.”

  The other fo
ur entered the mansion.

  Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous foyer. The room was dark, but moonlight streamed in through the window. By silhouette she could see the parquet tile, a sweeping circular staircase, and a huge chandelier. This place was as ornate on the inside as the out. This stuff was so out of her league she didn’t even know the names for most of it.

  Twinge whistled. “I could get used to livin’ like this.”

  “Kinda gaudy for my taste,” Gearhead sniffed, tapping buttons on her glasses stem. “No heat signatures on this level. Scanning the upstairs…nope. No one there.”

  She was relieved to hear that. “So we’re alone. Let’s find his office and—”

  “Wait. I’m getting something else.” A long pause. “There is someone here. No, more than one. Several people. But they’re below us.” Another pause. “Why would anyone be below us?”

  A wave of goose pimples surged up her back. She’d discovered people underground before. Was it possible—?

  “That’s where we’re going. Now.”

  Gearhead frowned. “I thought we were looking for records. Letters. Photos. Information.”

  “We’re still looking for information. Just a different kind. Maybe a much more important kind.”

  Twinge gave her a squinting look. “Aura, is there something you’re not telling us?”

  Was Twinge developing telepathic powers? “I’ll tell you everything. Later. Right now we need to get downstairs.”

  The schematics in Gearhead’s file did not show a lower level, but the layout of the first floor only allowed a few places where a downward stair could be placed. She scanned each room as they passed through, trying to find the passageway.

  “Should we be looking for a revolving fireplace?” Twinge asked. “Maybe a bookshelf that swings out to reveal a creaky wooden staircase?”

  “A door will do,” Gearhead muttered, as she paced through what looked like a home office. “And I think I’ve found it.”

  Gearhead opened what appeared to be a closet—and found a heavy metal studded door with no apparent knob or keyhole. “Eureka.”

  “That’s a door?” Twinge said. “How’s anyone supposed to open it?”

  “My guess would be a magnetic resonance key. Several teslas strong.”

  “And we don’t have one. But you can pick any kind of lock, right?”

  “Any kind but that kind. I’m smart, Twinge, but I’m not magic. Mnemo, you got anything?” Pause. “She’s working on it. She thinks there’s a remote chance that if we reverse the polarity on—”

  Gearhead was interrupted by screeching metal. Thick anodized steel being ripped from the wall.

  “Tank?”

  Their largest member had somehow managed to wrap her fingers around the sides of the door. Slowly but surely she tore it right off its steel-plated hinges.

  “She is definitely getting stronger,” Twinge muttered under her breath.

  Less than a minute later, Tank had bent the door back—with her bare hands—enough that they could crawl over it. Seconds later they made their way down the stairs.

  Everything about this dark descent sent nightmare flashbacks rippling through Aura’s mind. Last time she did this, a hideous surprise awaited her at the bottom. Those girls. Her mother.

  “Gearhead, is there any chance Dr. Coutant is here?”

  “None. I’d recognize that heat signature anywhere. What would she be doing at Trent’s place anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I just—” They reached the foot of the stairs. Another closed door.

  I’ve done this before, she thought, her knees trembling.

  But at least this time I’m not alone.

  She pushed the door open.

  Light flooded the stairwell, momentarily blinding her.

  If they had been in a castle, she would have called this the dungeon. In fact, Trent’s mansion practically was a castle—and this was as filthy and disgusting as any dungeon she ever imagined. The lighting was so low she could make out few details, but she could see there was no floor—only dirt. Mud and muck and grime everywhere with the stench of filth, human and otherwise. She inhaled mold and a creeping, damp unhealthy haze.

  And worse.

  “Aura?” Twinge clung close. “Do you see it?”

  She did. Girls. Lots of them.

  Shines.

  70

  Aura felt a bitter taste rise in her throat. It was happening again, all over again.

  “Oh Gandhi,” Twinge said quietly. “Oh my Gandhi.”

  “Who—are they?” Tank asked. “Do you think—?”

  She nodded, a grim expression on her face. “Yes. They’re Shines.”

  “And you know this because—?”

  “I’ve seen them before. At TYL.”

  She would never forget those faces, the ones she watched in protracted misery beneath the stables. These were the same girls. And they were still being used. Several of them had the black pulsing skin, the subcutaneous beetles racing across their bodies. Two had IVs stuck in their arms. One had a helmet on her head and what looked like a thousand jolts of electricity streaming through her brain. They all appeared starved, emaciated.

  But there was a difference between this horrifying tableau and what she’d seen under the stables. Before the Shines had been locked up in cells, chained to the wall, dangled from the ceiling. These Shines were being used, horribly mistreated—

  But not restrained.

  Surely the Shines had spotted them, too. But they gave no indication. They didn’t speak, or smile, or react in any observable way. They appeared almost too weak to move.

  “Is this torture,” Twinge asked, “or some sick dog biscuit’s experiment?”

  “What’s the diff?” Tank said.

  Their faces told the whole story. They were in excruciating pain. They wished they were dead.

  She made eye contact with one—the same girl she had locked eyes with before. And the message was the same.

  Kill me. End this. Please.

  “We’ve got to get them away from this nightmare,” Twinge said.

  Tank nodded. “I’ll bust them out.”

  “But—the door wasn’t locked.” Twinge said. The thought remained incomplete, but she knew what Twinge was thinking.

  Why don’t they leave?

  “Stockholm syndrome?” Gearhead suggested.

  “I don’t think that’s it.” She stepped through the doorway and walked to the nearest Shine. “I don’t think they’re brainwashed. I think they’re terrified. And starved. And…defeated.”

  This first girl she examined had been hobbled. The hamstrings in her feet were severed, making it impossible for her to stand. The best she could do was crawl, or slither like an animal. The IV fed her some kind of vile serum, infecting her with the black bugs, changing her beyond comprehension.

  “Who would do something like this?” Gearhead said quietly. “And why?”

  “And why aren’t they trying to escape?” Tank asked. “Why don’t they Shine, Aura?”

  “I don’t know what their abilities might be.”

  “Surely someone’s got somethin’ that could get them out of here.”

  “I don’t know if they do or don’t. But I’m sure as hell going to use mine.” She stared at the hobbled girl, focusing on her wounded feet.

  Concentrate. Shine.

  Nothing happened. She redoubled her efforts, straining so hard her head hurt, focusing on the feet. Come on, she told herself. Knitting those tendons should be a snap. Concentrate.

  Nothing happened. She refocused, trying to imagine the repair. Stitch, stitch, stitch…

  Nothing happened.

  Panic seeped through her skin and this time she couldn’t suppress it.

  Twinge laid a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  She turned, her eyes watering. She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice. “I can’t Shine!”

  “What?” A moment later, Twinge’s eyes widened with a
desperate expression. “I can’t either.”

  She broke away. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast. The rest of you—”

  She whirled around. Tank and Gearhead both lay on the floor.

  They didn’t move. Not so much as a twitch.

  She grabbed Twinge’s arm. “Come on. We’ve—We’ve—”

  All at once, her legs gave out, as if they’d been erased by a divine pencil. She tumbled to the floor. She wanted to cry out, wanted to tell Twinge to run while she still could. But it was too late.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She was completely helpless.

  She heard the door swing open. Followed by a voice that chilled her to the quick.

  “Aura. So good of you to join me. Finally. I expected to see you as soon as I heard you’d escaped. Seems you’re not as quick as they all think.”

  The Reverend Algernon Trent hovered above her.

  Smiling.

  “There must be so many thoughts swirling through your pretty head right now. What happened to your Shine? Why can’t you move? What am I doing to these girls? And what am I going to do to you?”

  He paced around her, his boot inches from her head.

  “Let me see if I can answer your questions. You can’t Shine because I’ve activated a so-called Faraday cage supplied by a dear friend of mine, designed to suppress Shine regardless of the part of the brain being amplified. Not a true Faraday cage at all, but that label will suffice. You can’t move because this room has been ventilated with a powerful neurotoxin. That’s why the other Shines haven’t left. And why you never will either.” Pause. “In case you’re wondering—I’m immune. I’ve been building up my resistance for years.”

  He crouched down beside her. “Your friend asked if this was torture or experimentation. Neither. These Shines have already been run through so many tests they are no longer of any scientific value. Which is why my friend gave them to me after they were evacuated from TYL.”

  She tried to speak. Tried to put every fiber of her strength behind a single syllable. But she couldn’t do it. The words would not form.

  “Everyone thinks of the SSS as a political lobby. What they forget is that I am first and foremost a man of God. I have no trouble with females—so long as they know their Biblical place. And I have no trouble with the evolution of the species. God has always given man great power when he needed it. My problem is seeing that power placed in the hands of spoiled, debased, whoring, arrogant little girls. Imagine—the might to smite entire nations in such hands. That cannot be God’s plan. That’s the work of the fallen angel. The imp.”