Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  Tears rushed down Mnemo’s face. “No! Gearhead, no!”

  She wrapped her arms around Mnemo. “I’m—so sorry.”

  “She saved me,” Mnemo said, choking. “She died to save me.”

  “She died to save us all.” She squeezed Mnemo even tighter, as if somehow the pressure might ease the pain swelling in her heart. Gearhead made a knowing sacrifice, but that didn’t make this hurt any less.

  And it didn’t stop her from wondering if this loss could’ve been avoided—by a better leader.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away Mnemo’s tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  Menmo pulled away, her eyes swollen with grief and rage. “Noooooo!”

  Mnemo whirled around, her face contorted with an intense and furious expression. She thrust her arms forward like she was stopping traffic.

  Her hands glowed.

  Something rippled through the air, something invisible, only detectible by the crackling current coursing down the street. Whatever it was, it hit the Creature and sent it flying backward.

  “That’s for Gearhead,” Mnemo said, teeth clenched. “And this is for me.”

  Her hands thrust outward again, and this time she sent the Creature skidding halfway down the block, rocking sideways and crashing into the a pile of rubble.

  “Nice work. You’ve turned her into quite the warrior, Aura.”

  She turned and saw Twinge back on her feet, standing beside her. She’d wrapped a rag across her damaged eye socket.

  “Twinge! You should be resting.”

  Twinge held up the familiar hand, stopping her. “I got something bubbling up inside me, Aura. And I’m gonna use it.” Twinge raced down the street, moving so fast she became little more than a blur.

  The Creature pushed itself to its feet. Twinge spun circles around it, moving so quickly it created a small cyclone, rocking the Creature from side to side.

  Tank leaped up into the air and sent a fist into the Creature’s face so hard it tumbled backward. It wobbled, unable to get its footing. Mnemo continued bombarding the Creature with her power.

  Down the street, the choppercar landed. Dream stepped out. “I heard what happened to Gearhead. I’m so sorry.”

  Harriet appeared at her side. “I cut off whatever was controlling those cops. They don’t know what happened. They think they were unconscious or have some kind of amnesia. But I won’t be able to hold off whatever it was for long. We should leave as soon as possible, Aura.”

  Everyone was helping. Every single one of them. Except her. The leader proved to be the most worthless.

  She watched the furious battle at the other end of the street, Twinge spinning circles around the Creature, Tank pounding it, Mnemo blasting it backward, over and over again. She wished she could help, but she couldn’t even get down there without becoming a target. She wished she could just transport herself. She wished she could just be there, wished she could be useful for once, wished she could just reach out and—

  “Uh, Aura?” Dream said. “What are you doing?”

  She looked over—and down. Dream was beneath her.

  Her feet did not touch the ground.

  She was in the air.

  Harriet spoke up. “Use it, Aura.”

  She did. Thrusting her arms forward, she glided down the street. Floating. Levitating. Flying. Hands glowing.

  As she approached the Creature, she thrust her arms out just as she’d seen Mnemo do.

  Something came out. Something immensely powerful.

  The Creature flew backward again, this time even faster and harder than before. It crashed against the rubble.

  And this time, it did not rise again.

  Tank grabbed its head and pounded it hard on the pavement over and over again. “Just bein’ cautious.”

  Aura gently lowered herself to the ground. “Caution is always wise.”

  Twinge raced to her side so quickly it seemed as if she just appeared. “Aura! You flew! How did you do that?”

  “I’m…not sure. I think…our powers are evolving.”

  The Creature started to shrink. Slowly, right before their eyes, it dwindled. The skin stopped fluctuating. The eyes stopped twitching. The pigmentation normalized.

  “What’s happening?” Dream asked.

  “The process is reversing,” she answered. “I think it’s going back to…what it once was.”

  The blackness under the Creature’s skin faded.

  When it was all over, what remained was a teenage boy.

  The boy’s eyes barely remained open. It only had time for two words.

  “Thank…you.”

  A sound not unlike air escaping from a tire leaked out of his body. A nauseous stench filled the air.

  She didn’t have to take his pulse to know he was dead.

  Even Dream had a tear in her eyes. “And since we somehow survived this, let’s not waste it by getting caught by the cops. As soon as they realize the Creature’s out of commission, they’ll return.”

  As if on cue, a siren pealed in the distance.

  “We don’t have much time,” she said. But their getaway car was gone, and if they tried to leave on foot, she knew they’d be caught.

  Behind her, she heard the squeal of tires.

  She turned. A large gray Hummer rounded the curve, dodging most of the rubble and crevasses in the street. The jeep did a one-eighty barely twenty feet away. Then it came to a stop.

  The passenger door flew open. “Get in.”

  She couldn’t tell who spoke. “Who are you?”

  “The cavalry. Hurry.”

  “But who are you?”

  “There’s no time. Just get in.”

  Dream ran past. “Don’t be stupid, Aura. This is our ticket out.” Menmo and Harriet followed.

  They were right. Tank was battered and bleeding in a dozen different places, but she lumbered into the Hummer. Twinge climbed in close behind.

  A slender girl with a shaved head wearing some kind of costume sat in the driver’s seat. Something about her was familiar…and frightening.

  A police officer suddenly appeared right beside the girl. “Freeze!”

  Aura stared at him, unsure what to do.

  “Out of the car!” he bellowed. “All of you!”

  Harriet spoke quietly. “He’s being controlled. Helsinki.”

  “But what can we—”

  The girl in the driver’s seat extended her hand. “I’ll handle this.” She slid out of the car and extended her arms toward the cop. “You’re already dead. And in hell. Where you belong.”

  The cop instantly stiffened, letting out a screeching sound that gave her shivers. He clutched his hands to his head, his eyes wide with terror. He raced back the way he’d come, wailing like an infant.

  Aura stared at the stranger in the driver’s seat.

  Her earring looked familiar.

  “Get in,” the girl said.

  “Wait, we should get—” She turned back to where she had last seen Dr. Coutant’s body.

  Coutant was gone.

  She crawled into the passenger seat. “What did you do to that police officer?”

  The driver floored it. “People call me Fear.”

  “I can see why.”

  The Hummer did a U-turn and started back the way it came.

  “The police will try to stop us.” she added.

  “I know how to avoid them.”

  She didn’t understand, but given the circumstances, she decided not to question. Soon they were on the highway, well ahead of any pursuers.

  And then she realized what was bothering her. Those golden earrings—they were in the shape of an ankh. “You were in my dream.”

  “Cool.”

  “And—I think you were in Taj’s dream, too.”

  “Yeah. That was tricky.”

  “You saved me. Sometimes.”

  “Razor.”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Someplace safe. You may have twigged
onto the fact that there are people who do not think you and your friends should be free to wander the streets.”

  “I got that, yeah. Around the time they blew up the rehab.”

  “Actually, that was me.” Fear grinned a little.

  “What?”

  “They’d decided to kill you, Aura. Like, in minutes. Troops were on their way. We had to get you out. We were planning to collect you after the explosion. But we were delayed and the location of the meeting was changed and you managed your own escape.”

  She remembered what Harriet had said at the time. Someone else is coming…

  The girl continued. “Then we couldn’t find you…till now. By the way.” Her voice dropped. “You have a traitor in your group. That’s why your little escape party didn’t work.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Working on that.” She paused. “Have you heard of Ohm?”

  Her eyes bulged. “Then it really exists?”

  “It really does.”

  “Are you the leader?”

  A smile spread across Fear’s face. “No, sweetie. You are. You just don’t know it yet.”

  87

  Seven Years Before

  He stared down at the small girl strapped to the hospital bed. The girl slept, dead to the world.

  He had never felt more alive in his entire life. He had been desperate for so long. Afraid. Could he be blamed for feeling such elation, now that the moment had finally arrived? The chance to rewrite history, to change its dark course to something beautiful?

  “You realize,” his associate said, “the likely consequences of what you are about to do. Have you carefully considered all the ramifications?”

  “Every single second of every single day.”

  “In all likelihood, the repercussions will be negative. Perhaps devastating.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But you’re still going to do it?”

  He glanced at his associate, his eyes watery but still amazingly clear. “I have no choice.” He removed the syringe, then tapped it to eject the air bubble. The trace of moonlight seeping through shuttered windows illuminated the crystal blue fluid within. How much time had he devoted to this? How long had he prepared for this moment? So much pain. So much sacrifice.

  All for this one precious girl.

  And every single moment, every agonizing second, was worth it. Of that he had no doubt. He could not allow himself to doubt.

  He dabbed her exposed arm with a swab of disinfectant and a mild pain reliever. He pressed the tip of the syringe against her arm.

  The girl’s eyes shot open.

  “Wh—What? What are you doing?” Her voice trembled. She tried to rise, but the straps held her down.

  “She’s supposed to be asleep,” he said behind gritted teeth.

  “I don’t know what happened,” his associate said. “Something’s wrong.” He fumbled with his bag.

  The girl saw the syringe. She began to struggle.

  “Need some help here.” He tried to press the needle to a vein, but the girl rocked back and forth, making it impossible.

  He grabbed her by the neck and held her down. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Sometimes one person’s needs outweigh those of civilization itself.” His finger tightened on the syringe.

  The blow came out of nowhere, knocking him down. The syringe fell out of his hand and skittered across the floor. His eyeglasses broke.

  “What are you—”

  “Irresponsible fool.” His associate stepped over him, kicking him in the chin as he passed. He retrieved the syringe and placed it in his shirt pocket. “Did you think I would stand here and let you destroy everything that ever was or ever will be? You have the power to create paradise, but instead you want to erect hell, all to satisfy your selfish petty personal needs.”

  He wiped blood from the back of his head. “But—you agreed. You said—”

  “I said a lot of fool things. What choice did I have? The history of science has been filled with people like you. If the right people had developed atomic power, it could have given the world an infinite power source. Instead, it gave us the means to destroy the planet. Was I going to stand by and watch that mistake happen again, just because the randomness of genetics delivered genius to a sentimental idiot? No. I—”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest. He wrapped his arms around his associate’s legs and brought him crashing to the floor.

  His associate kicked him hard. He countered by bashing his fist against his attacker’s nose, which he knew to be the most vulnerable point of the face.

  He could not win a protracted battle. His only chance was to bring this to a quick end. What happened to him was unimportant. What mattered was that he saved that girl.

  The girl cried out, struggling against her bonds, but he blocked that out of his mind. His associate battered him with increasing intensity. He knew this man had spent far more time studying than fighting, but either desperation or determination gave him unforeseen strength.

  He reared back his fist, aiming it directly for the already bleeding spot on his associate’s face. The man raised both hands to protect himelf—

  And he snatched the syringe from his associate’s pocket and whirled back to the hospital bed.

  The girl watched, her eyes wide white ovals, her red hair sticking to her face. He had never seen her look so scared, not even in the worst moments of her illness.

  He reached for her arm, but his associate grabbed his foot. He fell just short of the table.

  His associate wedged his boot down into the small of his back. “I wanted to do this without hurting you. But you’ve made that impossible.” The man pressed down harder, knowing exactly where to apply the pressure. A second later, he heard a sickening crack followed by a sudden rush of pain as his arm separated from his shoulder.

  His whole body shuddered. He was going into shock, as his body tried to compensate for the damage.

  His associate rolled him over. “Now give me the damn—”

  He jabbed the syringe into the man’s face, just beneath his right eyeball. The man screamed, staggered backward, then fell to the floor.

  He knew he had precious little time. He held the syringe in his good hand, but even then, the shock made it almost impossible to keep his hand steady. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, as he’d learned to do in all those Buddhist meditation classes. Some of the serum was gone, but enough remained to do the job. He hoped.

  He pressed the tip of the syringe against the girl’s arm.

  They looked at one another, eye to eye.

  She did not speak, but he knew what she wanted to say.

  Why are you doing this, Daddy?

  The syringe pierced her skin and pushed what remained of the crystal blue liquid into her arm. She squirmed, then clenched up, like she was suddenly incredibly cold. Her hair began to color, starting at the tips of her bangs.

  A few minutes later, everything changed.

  Episode Six

  Raze

  by Tamara Grantham

  CHAPTER ONE

  My name’s May. My sister’s called Lillie. Mom named us after her heroine, May Lillie, a genuine cowgirl who wrestled broncos, shot pistols, and starred in old western flicks. Mom loved the woman so much she named both her daughters after the lady.

  My dad was a cowboy from Texas. Lillie’s dad was a street kid from New York. Mom’s gone now, so my sister and I stick together. We’ve learned we have a knack for raising hell. Believe it or not, that’s what we do for a living.

  “You gonna finish that?” Lillie pointed to my chocolate-drizzled donut. Chocolate is the food of the gods. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

  “I’m fixin’ to.”

  “Fixin’ to? Nobody talks like that in New York.”

  “I do.” I took a bite out of the donut. Heaven saturated my taste buds. Mmm, chocolate.

  The restaurant crowd pressed in around us. We ignored them, tucked into our booth at
the back. Our seat on the west wall gave us a spectacular view of the city. Skyscrapers surrounded us. Their glass panels reflected the morning sunlight. The diner smelled of grease. Shouting erupted as New Yorkers called out their food orders. My sister claimed that she loved it here. I still couldn’t comprehend why.

  Lillie pulled out her tablet. With her corn-silk yellow hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, Lillie could pass for my sister, but that’s where the similarities stopped. She wore skinny jeans, a nose ring, and a gray Death Metal t-shirt. I stuck with my worn-in cowgirl boots and plaid shirt. She called me a hick, I called her a freak. That’s what sisters do, right?

  “What’s on the schedule today?” I asked Lillie.

  “Paula Conrad. She’s meeting us here. Her youngest daughter went missing and she wants us to find her.”

  “And how are we supposed to help?”

  “Guess she wants us to chainmail whoever took her daughter.”

  “Razor. She’s already tried the cops?”

  “No idea. Guess we’ll find out. But while you’ve been stuffing your face, I’ve been doing some research.”

  “Nerd,” I muttered between bites of chocolate goodness.

  “Loser,” she shot back.

  Lillie pulled her tablet close and tapped the newsreader app. I leaned in as the din from the morning rush overpowered the broadcast.

  “. . . six month anniversary. Residents are slowly recovering after an alleged Shine attack that left most of Seattle demolished. A memorial was held on the ruins of the Space Needle.”

  In other news, a total of seven teens between the ages of thirteen and fifteen are still missing from the Bronx and Manhattan boroughs. Authorities are enforcing a strict curfew and urge anyone with information to contact them as soon as possible.”

  Lillie clicked off the reader as a woman and a teenage girl loomed over us. Ms. Conrad and one of her children, I assumed. The girl looked fifteen, sixteen tops. Freckles spattered her nose and cheeks. She wore her strawberry blond hair in a sloppy ponytail. Grass-stains marred her soccer t-shirt. Her eyes darted away from mine.

  Ms. Conrad looked as if she were trying hard to keep from crying. When she looked at me, I felt a sense of silent pleading, and something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it.