Payton fell backward, onto his rear end. His strength seemed to be running out of his body along with the oozing blood.
He was dazed, his internal alarms allowing too much time to pass before his pain receptors triggered the growing heat on his right side.
He choked, pulling backward quickly.
The wall is on fire . . .
All the walls are on fire, he realized.
What remained of the building would collapse soon, they were out of time, he couldn’t see anything, and Konrad had killed him . . .
The exit finally appeared in sight, but Grant’s focus remained elsewhere.
He watched.
He saw the column collapse, saw Hannah push Morgan out of the way.
Saw a shadowy figure appear out of the flames like some twisted, gnarled demon straight from Hell. But he couldn’t see who it was.
It was then that he snapped back to reality and first noticed the flashing lights in his rear-view.
But instead of panicking, Grant barely gave the police a passing thought, focusing momentarily on the squad car’s four wheels as he watched them in the mirror.
He closed his eyes for a single instant . . .
And the tires gave an ear-splitting pop, bursting into shreds of rubber. The police car dropped and began spitting sparks from all four wheel assemblies, digging grooves into the asphalt.
It was forced to stop.
Grant turned off onto the old service road that led to the asylum, still miles away.
No no no!!
I’ll never make it in time . . .
‘‘Payton!’’ Morgan screamed from somewhere behind him.
Payton’s instincts kicked in as he felt a slight shift in the air to his left.
He brought his sword up super-fast, which was jarred by a heavy clang. He was an experienced enough fighter to recognize the weight and sound of the sound that impacted his blade—Konrad was using some kind of knife.
‘‘I can’t express to you how disappointing this is,’’ Konrad’s voice said from his left. The knife drew back and Payton forced himself to his feet, his free hand clutching his wounded side, from which blood continued to pour.
‘‘First, Grant doesn’t have the courtesy to show, and I can’t tell you how much I was looking forward to seeing him again,’’ Konrad continued, his voice circling Payton now, as Payton spun in place, struggling to keep up. ‘‘But the prospect of fighting the legendary swordmaster seemed like the next best thing. You do know you’re a legend, don’t you?’’
Payton didn’t respond, dizzy from trying to audibly keep track of Konrad’s position.
Again he heard the whisper of Konrad moving, from behind this time. The mercenary thrust again with his knife, but Payton spun and blocked the blow. Without his vision, though, he wasn’t able to match Konrad’s movements perfectly. Konrad slashed at Payton’s outstretched arm, cutting deep into his forearm.
‘‘Grant bested me on his very first day. He was sloppy—not to mention ridiculously lucky—but he got the job done,’’ Konrad went on, still circling Payton’s position. Sometimes his voice was close, sometimes it was further away. ‘‘And yet here you are, trained to be unbeatable and I’ve crippled you with a child’s toy.’’
Payton staggered left, felt flames all-too-close, and jerked back quickly.
Too quickly.
Sweat streamed off his forehead as he lurched backward, and Konrad kicked his feet out from under him. Payton went down onto his back, coughing and hacking through the smoke.
‘‘So much for the great warrior,’’ Konrad muttered from above him.
Payton’s strength was all but gone as he heard the real gun’s safety click into place.
‘‘No!’’ Morgan screamed.
‘‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’’ Konrad said. ‘‘You’re up next.’’
Payton was certain that somewhere nearby, he could hear whispering. It sounded like Hannah’s voice, what was she doing . . .
His eyes had cleared just enough to make out Konrad’s dark, blurry outline above him through the smoke and noise, and the outstretched arm that held the gun trained on him.
Payton could barely make out what looked like Morgan’s shape, standing to Konrad’s right with a piece of concrete from the fallen pillar . . . He should be able to see her, why hasn’t he noticed her standing right there . . .
Hannah.
An unholy roar escaped Morgan’s lips, and she slammed the concrete block as hard as she could into Konrad’s head.
Konrad howled and stumbled forward. But he was on his feet again surprisingly fast, enraged and somehow oblivious to all pain. He punched Morgan sharp and hard in the face, and she flew back onto the ground. Konrad never stopped to see if she stayed down; instead, his momentum carried him back to stand above Payton again, and Payton could now see red blood oozing out of a gash on the side of the mercenary’s head.
‘‘That’s the thing about pain,’’ Konrad said, grinning through his grotesque, blood-stained face. ‘‘Endure enough of it, and it doesn’t even slow you down anymore.’’
Something inside Payton snapped. ‘‘Endure this.’’
Clenching the sword, he swung with abandon, arcing out sideways from where he lay, strong and fast.
Konrad howled like a rabid animal as his lower legs were separated from his feet at the ankles in one stunning stroke. The gun in his hand went off as he toppled down, but the shot was wide.
Payton had just enough strength left to prop himself on one arm beside Konrad and knock the gun out of his hand. Konrad was lost to the pain, screaming at the top of his lungs, unaware Payton was even there.
Through the thick smoke, Payton’s eyes met with Morgan’s, who had also propped herself up from where Konrad had sent her smashing to the floor. They both coughed violently through the smoke, but never wavered in their gaze.
And despite the years and circumstances that separated them, he could still read her like an open book. He knew she was thinking about how, even if only for a moment, she’d become the enraged animal she swore she’d never be. The sad resolve in her eyes told him that she didn’t care anymore.
She knew exactly what was left for Payton to do now.
And she wasn’t going to protest.
Payton flipped the sword around in his hand to hold it outstretched over Konrad’s prostrate neck, and then swung it down sharply with every last bit of rage and strength he had left.
The adrenaline faded, loss of blood asserted itself, and he was lost in a sea of black.
55
The Corvette screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway, but he couldn’t move.
Nothing remained.
Where the building once stood, was now blackened brick, burning doors and window frames, and orange fire burning out of control, pouring black smoke high into the sky. What remained of the building’s walls were no more than fragments sticking up like shards of broken glass. A fifty-foot crater in the front yard was all that was left of Pay-ton’s motorcycle, and the entire front of the building had blown in from the blast, effectively destroying any chance of exit that way.
He knew many of the residents were still alive—he could feel it— just as he knew some of them were buried inside, unable to escape on their own. Some of them he only had faint impressions of. They were fading fast.
Grant exploded out of his car, running to find the few whose life he still felt, heading directly around to the back of the building.
There he found a congregated group of twenty or so survivors, all huddled together, crying, holding each other, choking and coughing on the flames and smoke. Tears smudged the soot on their faces in long streaks, and most of them never even noticed his arrival. They couldn’t take their eyes off of the asylum.
Their refuge from a cruel world. Destroyed.
‘‘MORGAN!’’ Grant screamed, rounding to the rear exit in a full sprint.
‘‘In here!’’ he heard a faint cry.
He coul
d see nothing through the smoke and flames, which were impossibly thick now. But he entered anyway.
How do I put this out?
Grant couldn’t create water; he could only manipulate existing objects. Which gave him no advantage in this situation.
‘‘Grant, quick!’’
Morgan’s voice.
‘‘Where are you?’’ he yelled. He stumbled in the smoke, so thick it blocked out light, even the flickering of the flames.
‘‘Here!’’ Morgan cried again, her voice closer this time.
He turned right and went forward several paces to find Morgan kneeling on the floor next to Hannah, who was still buried under the broken pillar.
‘‘She’s not breathing!’’ Morgan screamed hysterically, her face soaked with tears and sweat and soot.
‘‘Back up, get back!’’ he yelled.
Morgan stood and took several steps backward.
Grant reached out with both hands, focusing his mind as hard as he could on the heavy pillar trapping Hannah.
But it wouldn’t budge. It was too heavy . . .
‘‘Come on . . .’’ he mumbled. ‘‘Come on! ’’
He forced himself to relax, going through the exercises Daniel had taught him. He closed his eyes and envisioned himself reaching out with two giant hands and picking up the column.
He opened his eyes to see the column floating a few feet over Hannah’s body.
‘‘Get her!’’ he roared.
Morgan flew in quickly and began hefting the younger woman out.
‘‘I can’t hold it!’’ he screamed.
Nearby, another part of the building came tumbling down in an unrestrained display of destructive power. A sharp blast of wind struck them both, and Grant stumbled off-balance for a moment.
He lost control of the pillar just as Morgan pulled Hannah to safety.
More screams penetrated the smoke and heat, from all directions.
‘‘Help me!’’
‘‘Please!’’
‘‘Somebody!’’
Grant turned to Morgan and pointed to the exit. ‘‘Get her out of here!’’
‘‘Payton—he’s over there,’’ Morgan bellowed, pointing. With that, she hoisted Hannah up over her shoulders in a manner Grant wouldn’t have thought the older woman capable of, and swiftly made her way to the exit.
Grant turned to the direction she’d pointed and found Payton on the ground, bleeding badly from a wound in his side and another on his shoulder. A deep cut into his arm seemed to have stopped bleeding, but from the looks of it, he had already lost a great deal of blood.
Still, he had a faint pulse, so Grant followed Morgan’s lead by heaving the big man over his shoulders and staggering through the smoke and flames.
Outside, he dropped Payton to the ground, where some of the others attended to him, including, Grant noticed, the boy Thomas.
Morgan knelt over Hannah, performing CPR. She turned and vomited up an ugly mess of black soot from somewhere deep inside her, but never stopped pumping up and down on Hannah’s chest.
There was no time to get the rest of them out, they would die before he could reach them, the fire had spread to the whole building, going back in would be suicide . . .
The earth shook as another section of the building gave way and they all turned to look. A great gush of wind swept into Grant’s face once again, and the feeling triggered an idea . . .
It had taken all the focus he had to levitate the pillar; this was a whole other level.
Still, it was the only idea he had, and there was no alternative.
‘‘Morgan, get the others out of here!’’ he screamed.
She pulled up from breathing into Hannah’s mouth to face him.
‘‘Where?! There’s nowhere to—’’
‘‘Just take them out to the street or something!’’ he yelled, turning to the gathered crowd. ‘‘All of you! Get as far away from the building as you can!’’
The group jumped into action as he tore off a section of his button-up shirt and tied it around his mouth. He ran recklessly back into the raging furnace. Fire leapt up to meet him as he jumped through what remained of the exit, but he ducked around it as best he could.
His shirt caught fire and he dropped to the ground and rolled. But he bumped into a wall, and there was no room left to roll. He stood and tore the shirt off, leaving only a white T-shirt underneath.
The screams continued, along with the cries for help.
He closed his eyes, envisioning each of them where they were. He estimated there had to be at least a dozen of them. Some were trapped under rubble. Others were free but blocked off by the collapsed building or flames on all sides. A few wouldn’t live more than a few minutes. And none of them were accessible from his location.
‘‘Everyone that can hear my voice!’’ he thundered. ‘‘Get down on the floor as low as you can! But don’t hold onto anything! Just lie still!’’
He gave them a moment to comply, watching those he could see in his mind’s eye.
Grant made his way farther, deeper into the building. Eyes watering, lungs burning for oxygen, he knew he only had a matter of seconds.
When he could go no farther, when he felt his mind going hazy with lack of air, he stopped, let his arms hang at his sides, and looked around.
He was in the Common Room.
It’ll have to do . . .
He closed his eyes and let out a breath. He needed more this time than he was able to safely control through concentration . . .
He needed the fear.
He thought of the building he was in and those that were about to lose their lives. Because he hadn’t been there to help them. He thought of Hannah, almost certainly dead outside on the ground. And Payton, and Morgan . . . And he thought of how he might never get to speak to his sister again, hear her voice, feel her embrace . . .
The panic came, shooting through him in a savage wave of terror, and he bore down hard, opening his arms wide and flexing every muscle in his body . . .
A gargantuan rumble shook the foundations of the building, and suddenly every wall and the parts of the roof that still stood—all of which were engulfed in a sea of red-hot inferno—every piece of the building ripped free of its moorings and flung itself skyward, a cataclysm that tore the air.
For just a blink, Grant hesitated. Then he let panic stab his heart once again, unable to hold back a tremendous scream of emotional detonation. The pieces of the building still flying upward into the air, still in flames, exploded outward with a shockwave that toppled Grant to his knees.
Morgan and the others screamed, running to avoid the larger pieces of debris now falling from the sky like firebombs.
He’d done his best, but portions of the building flew everywhere, outward, into the surrounding woods, the street, the driveway. One barely missed Grant’s car. They rained down in fire, but Grant had no strength left to run. He only hoped none would find him.
When the echoing blast faded, Grant opened his eyes again. The fire had vanished along with the building, and the smoke was beginning to dissipate as well, much of it swept away by the force of the blast.
He made a slow three-hundred-sixty degree turn, taking in every direction. He could see several survivors making their way carefully toward him, shell-shocked but alive. A few others he could feel alive but unable to move, flung aside by the clearing rubble or simply unconscious.
It was only when he stood that he saw the many charred bodies lying on the ground, cast about randomly like black feathers blown in the wind.
Some of them were burned beyond recognition.
A few he recognized, their faces frozen in horror, but hearts no longer beating.
So many he had failed. Failed them all.
Lisa sat back in her seat on the couch, and attempted to digest the story Daniel had just told her.
‘‘You . . .’’ she sputtered, ‘‘Seriously?’’
He nodded, watching her carefully.
‘‘No,’’ he replied, then added softly, ‘‘And, I could use your help.’’
Hands planted on hips, time seemed to stop as she glared daggers into him where he sat. ‘‘Have you lost your mind?! ’’
Daniel gave no answer.
‘‘You. Want. My. Help?’’
‘‘No. I need your help,’’ he said.
‘‘I’m not your research assistant anymore!’’ she snarled, but besides the fire in her eyes, there was something else. Curiosity, perhaps.
‘‘What would I have to do?’’
‘‘I’ll need a ride the night we do it, and I need a few supplies . . .’’
Daniel could practically feel steam cascading off of her.
‘‘How far are you willing to go with this?’’ Lisa asked, still looming above him.
He looked into her eyes with a hardened edge. ‘‘As far as it takes.’’
She said nothing for a long moment, then nodded. ‘‘I’ll come. But I’m only coming to keep an eye on you.’’
56
Hours upon hours passed. The sun rose and set and rose again.
And Grant never stopped.
Never stopped lifting, moving, sifting through the wreckage. He left nothing unturned, refusing all help, sleep, or food.
More than once, Morgan or one of the others tried to get him to stop, slow down, take a break.
But Grant wouldn’t hear them.
The police, fire department, and ambulances eventually arrived, but even they could not deter Grant or hold him back, as the medics quietly treated the wounded and the firemen doused the flames that had spread to the forest.
Even with all of the activity taking place, there was very little sound to be heard. A reverential hush consumed the entire property, save Grant’s relentless searching. None of the survivors spoke; they merely watched. Everyone seemed immobilized by the fire, the death, and what Grant had done. And what he was still doing now.
Occasionally, he would emerge from the building carrying another body. He deposited them all at the edge of the blast crater, where Morgan waited to covertly remove the rings from their dead fingers. He had no idea if she planned to dispose of them or hide them, but either way he knew they’d be out of the picture in her hands.
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