Then she spotted the search beam again from high above, and it was getting closer.
She turned back to the guard tower and focused her mind on the tiny speck of a guard she could see there.
It was a stretch at this distance, but Hannah sent a terrifying image into his brain, high atop the watchtower. Soon the searchlight’s sweep ended. The guard disappeared, no doubt descending to the ground so he could escape the tornado he saw chewing up the property.
When he was far away from the tower, Hannah turned her attention back to Grant and Payton.
But they were gone, out of sight. She didn’t see them at the garage bunker in the distance, either.
She bolted toward the last place she’d seen them . . .
Grant and Payton ran side-by-side for the garage without a word.
A pair of golf carts containing security guards stopped before them, blocking their path.
‘‘Halt!’’ one of men shouted.
In a flash, the guard who had spoken was down, Payton standing over him with his sword pointed at the other men.
The security men split into two groups, some of them rounding on Payton, the others approaching Grant.
Grant gestured at one of the golf carts and it began driving by itself. It ran down one of the men who approached him.
Grant and Payton were now left with three opponents each.
Payton made easy work of his first, slicing and stabbing in non-lethal ways per an earlier appeal from Grant.
Grant knocked the first guard off his feet as the other two approached . . . A nightstick hanging from one of their belts caught Grant’s attention and it flew free, whipping up to smack the guard in the nose.
Payton faced off with one of his two remaining guards, who was doing a surprisingly good job of blocking Payton’s sword with his nightstick. Payton never saw the other guard whip around with a furious kick. The sword was knocked out of his hand and flew several yards away.
Blows to the head and the chest stunned him but he recovered quickly, tackling the two guards to the ground at the same time and laying atop them.
‘‘Grant!’’ he shouted.
Grant was sparring hand-to-hand with his last guard as he saw Payton on the ground out of the corner of his eye. Grant threw a brutal back-handed punch to his attacker’s face, disorienting him. Then he turned and searched the ground. He spotted the sword and it instantly leapt into the air and twirled end over end until it landed perfectly in Payton’s outstretched hand. Payton had never bothered to look up.
Instead he smiled at the two men beneath him as the sword fell into his hand from above.
Grant was kicked hard in the back and went down. He spun as the guard pulled a Taser out of his belt.
Grant had just caught sight of the gun as the guard pulled the trigger.
Grant gasped, sweating heavily as the Taser’s two metal darts shot toward him . . .
And then they stopped, frozen in mid-air, as his eyes were trained on them.
The guard tried to retract the darts, but there was a burst of movement and the wires connecting the darts to his Taser were sliced in two. The darts dropped to the ground.
‘‘Cute toy,’’ glowered Payton, who was suddenly standing in front of the guard. He knocked the man out with an open-handed thrust to the jaw.
‘‘Thanks,’’ Grant gasped, still trying to catch his breath.
‘‘Save it,’’ Payton said, pulling him to his feet. ‘‘This is taking too long.’’
They both ran once more for the garage bunker, which was close.
Grant caught sight of other Loci at various points in the distance and heard Morgan instructing them on where to go, what to do . . .
Hannah ran in behind them as they approached the garage.
‘‘I don’t want you here for this,’’ Grant shouted at Hannah. ‘‘It’s too dangerous!’’
She didn’t acknowledge him, just kept walking, and he didn’t have time to argue.
Grant led the way to the back corner of the building where he and Hannah had emerged from after their last visit.
‘‘Security cameras above on both sides,’’ Morgan said in their ears.
The cameras on the ceiling flew from the walls at Grant’s command and crashed to the ground with sparks.
It suddenly struck him that the stairwell in the floor may not even be there anymore. It was only a backdoor entrance of some kind, they could have filled it in or covered it over.
But no, there it was.
They descended the stairs quickly without speaking, Grant uprooting more of the cameras before they were caught on tape.
The trio arrived at the command room, and Grant and Payton made quick work of the three guards remaining there. Then they joined Hannah outside in the hall and ran to the small door opposite the stairwell.
Grant’s heart jumped into his throat. He hadn’t been nervous or anxious until this moment, but it just hit him out of nowhere.
This is really it . . .
They opened the door.
Waiting for them there was the massive, three-story-high round metal vault door, set into a small alcove that offered just enough room to swing the massive door open. He had forgotten about the dull humming that filled the room.
The control panel beside the door flickered, beckoning him. He pulled out the small electronic device that Daniel had given him and attached it to the panel.
‘‘We’re set, Doc,’’ Grant said, fingering his earpiece.
‘‘Stand by,’’ Daniel replied into his ear.
Daniel set to work on overriding the door’s controls remotely.
Minutes passed and glances were exchanged. Hannah repeatedly checked her watch.
‘‘The police should be here by now,’’ Payton grumbled.
‘‘Daniel! What’s the holdup?’’ Grant cried impatiently.
‘‘I can’t crack it!’’ Daniel said. ‘‘It’s one of the most complex algorithms I’ve ever seen. This thing is unbelievable . . . It’d take weeks just to crank this thing through my laptop and get a real handle on it.’’
‘‘Plan B, then,’’ Payton said, eying Grant.
‘‘Get back,’’ Grant ordered.
The three of them backed out into the hallway, but Grant stood at the threshold, his eyes on the door.
He let out a deep breath and settled his shoulders.
‘‘Calming breaths, Grant,’’ Daniel’s voice said in his ear. ‘‘You can do this.’’
‘‘Then shut up and let me,’’ Grant mumbled.
He breathed in and out, very slowly.
He envisioned the door opening in his mind.
Or rather, he tried to.
But it wouldn’t budge.
Even in his thoughts, it was too heavy.
He bore down, straining hard, but it wouldn’t move.
‘‘I can’t,’’ he winced, bearing down. ‘‘It’s too much, I can’t get it . . .’’
His eyes popped open. Someone’s hand had grasped his.
Hannah stood there, smiling calmly.
‘‘You’re the Bringer,’’ she said. ‘‘You can do anything.’’
He held her hand tight as he closed his eyes again and concentrated once more on the massive metal door.
Sweat poured from Grant’s brow, and finally a loud crack was heard as the seal was broken.
It groaned noisily as it slowly swiveled open to the left.
Grant blinked when he saw what was before him.
The vast open space of the underground facility he expected to see . . .
. . . was instead nothing more than a sheer wall of dirt and stone.
Nothing but a cross section of earth.
‘‘What. . . ?’’ Hannah said beside him. ‘‘I don’t get it.’’
‘‘The Keeper lured you here, probably to test your abilities,’’ Daniel mumbled.
Grant closed his eyes, and his face began turning red. ‘‘It’s another setup,’’ he said softly. ‘‘He p
lanted it here for me to find. It was just another manipulation!’’
‘‘Grant . . .’’ Hannah began.
‘‘Another manipulation!’’ he roared, and the door that towered above them slammed itself shut with a deafening boom.
‘‘Move!’’ he barked, marching out into the hall.
He no longer cared about the security cameras or the guards or anything else.
This was too much.
They heard footsteps racing down the stairs, but Grant merely walked away from them, down to the other end of the hall. Then he turned and faced the stairs, hands at his sides.
Waiting.
Payton and Hannah hurried to get behind him, positioning themselves for the fight ahead.
Over a dozen armed men spilled out of the stairwell and into the hallway, aiming rifles and Tasers and other weapons at them, screaming, ‘‘Hands up!’’ and ‘‘Down on the ground!’’
Grant’s hands balled into fists at his side, he let out a primordial scream. Every one of the guards whipped violently backward away from him, crashing into the far wall, and then collapsing into heaps on the floor.
Grant started walking again, making for the stairs.
‘‘Grant—!’’ Hannah called.
But he never acknowledged her. She and Payton were forced to run to keep up with him.
At the top of the stairs, he emerged into the large garage full of vehicles and unconscious guards.
Grant stepped to the middle of the room and froze there.
His face was completely red now, and his breathing was hard and thick. He closed his eyes.
Hannah had never seen such a venomous look on his face.
It was almost a . . . bloodlust. The thought came to her with a chill.
‘‘Don’t do this, Grant!’’ she cried.
‘‘I strongly suggest,’’ he breathed in a voice of homicidal calm, ‘‘you both run.’’
Payton grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the exit. ‘‘Come on!’’
She screamed ‘‘Grant!’’ again as Payton wrenched her away.
Payton and Hannah had just cleared the building when the vehicles inside came to life and crashed through all four walls of the building, driving off in every direction. A pair of sedans moving their way forced the two of them to roll aside.
Cars, vans, and golf carts drove and drove until they crashed into whatever was in their path. Sometimes it was buildings. Sometimes it was trees or the outer fence. A few ran over security guards and kept going.
‘‘Grant, stop!’’ Hannah screamed, rising to her feet.
But he wasn’t finished.
An ear-splitting crack followed next, as if a fissure had opened up in the earth.
She and Payton were knocked backward to the ground once more by what could only be described as a visible wave of energy, rippling outward from the building, tearing through everything in its path. The garage was reduced to rubble instantly, and the wave moved outward in a widening circle. From the rumble beneath them, Hannah surmised that it had probably caved in the underground facility as well.
The wave lost energy as it expanded outward. The blast had enough power to tear down a few smaller buildings nearby, exploding them outward with the wave of the blast. Bricks and wood and cement made a terrible dissonance of sounds, coming from all directions. But the larger buildings in the distance merely trembled, without falling.
When the energy faded, Hannah and Payton looked up to see Grant sunk down to his knees, sobbing into his hands at the center of where the garage had stood.
Just as they reached him, his phone rang.
Grant angrily pulled it out and saw a text message waiting from an unknown source.
It read:
61
Weary and defeated, the group returned to the Wagner Building, dispersing silently, once inside, for empty apartments scattered throughout. Hannah and Alex helped Grant get back to his place. He was too tired and distraught to be trusted to make the trip alone.
They tried to steer him directly to his bed, but he went to the couch instead.
His body was worn, but his mind was alive, burning, swimming with thoughts.
It was a diversion, a manipulation, from him . . .
To get me ‘‘ready’’ . . .
Ready for what?
If we only knew what the prophecy means . . . If only I knew what’s coming . . . Or who the Keeper really is . . .
Hannah and Alex left him alone to stew. They conferred quietly, gazing out the big picture window at the city’s dark night below. But all three of them—and probably all of the others, wherever they were— were thinking exactly the same thing.
Whatever was destined to happen, whatever was ‘‘coming,’’ it had to be soon.
And they couldn’t stop it.
Grant jumped as his phone rang.
Again.
He saw that it was the same unidentified number that had sent him the text message. He answered it.
‘‘Who is this?’’ he said, and Hannah and Alex turned to watch.
‘‘Someone you know,’’ a male voice answered.
‘‘The Keeper?’’ Grant said, his breath catching in his throat. He was afraid to know the answer.
‘‘Of course.’’
Tears formed around Grant’s eyes.
That voice . . .
He knew that voice. Even now, he could remember the exact sound of it.
He would never forget it.
‘‘Dad?’’
‘‘Son,’’ came the calm reply.
‘‘But . . . how are you even alive?’’
‘‘It’s time for you to come find out,’’ the voice replied.
‘‘No, you tell me how any of this is possible,’’ Grant said, eager to keep the conversation going. He glanced at his watch. ‘‘Everything, the rings, the Shift, what I can do . . .’’
‘‘Very well,’’ the Keeper replied. ‘‘But after I have explained, you will come down to meet me. At once.’’ It was neither a request nor a question. It was a prediction.
Come down to meet me . . .
Payton said something about a ‘‘substation’’ . . .
Of course! How could I be so stupid!
‘‘Before the existence of the earth,’’ the Keeper said, in a tone that indicated he was reciting a story he knew by memory, ‘‘a vast war was waged throughout the universe. It was war on a scale unparalleled throughout recorded history. The essence of evil dawned in the hearts of those who once knew only good. And they made a choice.
‘‘They gave themselves over to that evil. Rebellion was sparked throughout the cosmos, and all that was pure was forever tainted by betrayal. The leader of this rebellion was caught, tried, and confined here, to the earth.
‘‘Some believe that a man named Ezekiel recorded this leader’s trial in a vague account:
‘You were the seal of perfection, Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty . . .
Every precious stone was your covering:
The sardius, topaz, and diamond,
Beryl, onyx, and jasper,
Sapphire, turquoise, and emerald with gold . . .’ ’’
Grant’s heart filled with dread. But he had little time to consider it as the Keeper continued . . .
‘‘ ‘You were the anointed cherub . . .
I established you . . .
You walked back and forth in the midst of fiery stones.
You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, Till iniquity was found in you . . .
You became filled with violence within . . .
Therefore I cast you as a profane thing
Out of the mountain of God.’ ’’
The Keeper paused his soliloquy. ‘‘Is it becoming clear to you?’’
Grant’s blood was ice cold. ‘‘I, I’m not . . . I don’t know . . .’’ was all he could manage, even though it was painfully clear.
‘‘The leader of this rebellion—the one Ezekiel wrote a
bout,’’ the Keeper continued, ‘‘was the most beautiful of his kind. He was adorned with handsome garments and precious stones. But his pride was his undoing, and so he and all who followed him were cast down from the higher realm, and he and his servants were given dominion over all the earth. But all of his vestiges, raiment, and adornments were stripped from him. It is the last of these adornments—his most powerful insignia—that now rests upon your finger.’’
Grant couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t believe.
‘‘Dad . . . Are you telling me . . .’’ he gasped, ‘‘that this thing—this ring that won’t come off—was worn by. . . ?’’
‘‘It was the seal placed upon him to signify his dominion and power.
The Seal of Dominion.’’
Grant’s stomach lurched.
‘‘The rings worn by the others were salvaged from similar vestiges stripped of his followers,’’ the Keeper ended his story. ‘‘Similar in make, yet wholly different in purpose.’’
‘‘Why are you doing this?’’ Grant cried. ‘‘Why use these rings to turn us into some kind of . . . heroes?’’ Grant blurted out.
‘‘My boy,’’ the Keeper said, disappointed and reproachful, ‘‘don’t be so obtuse. Have you heard nothing I’ve said? The Seal of Dominion is the highest emblem of absolute evil. Besides, what use would someone like me have for heroes?’’
‘‘What are you saying?’’ Grant asked, his voice low.
‘‘Ask yourself how often you’ve been angry, confused, and frustrated since this began. How many times have you lost your temper? Why is your first instinct when threatened to snuff out your enemy’s life sharp and efficient? You think this is a side-effect of your confusion? I gave you the instincts of a killer. A well-trained one. I gave you a body capable of using those instincts. And the Seal is feeding you the will to use them.
‘‘Ask yourself why every one of you that underwent the Shift was one of society’s outcasts. The lonely, the forgotten, the orphans. The ones no one would ever miss.’’
The world around Grant blurred and spun, and he didn’t want to hear anymore. He thought he was going to throw up, but he couldn’t stop listening.
‘‘Now ask yourself why a man as powerful as me would seek to create heroes. Oh, my boy. Soldiers, yes. But heroes? Not even close.’’
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