by S. S. Segran
An exuberant yell rang through the house. The girls leapt out of their seats like startled cats. Their mothers gave them enquiring frowns.
“Guess we should let you find out what that’s about,” Mrs. Ryder said. “It was lovely catching up with you girls.”
“Stay safe,” Mariah’s mother added.
Mariah waggled her fingers at the screen. “We will, Momma. Love you!”
They ended the call and ran into the kitchen to find Marshall still on the phone, grinning broadly. Mariah tilted her head and he mouthed, “Sorry!”
Aari and Kody trotted out of Jag’s room, curious about the commotion. “What’s up?” Kody asked.
Marshall put his phone down. “I was talking to Gareth, trying to help him figure out what he might have missed with the three Deols he met in Moscow, when a call came in.” The Sentry laughed, some of the stress dissipating from his face. “It was Colback. Turns out he was in some serious trouble. Dev found him and broke him out of the Kazakh Sanctuary.”
The teenagers slumped against the counter. “Thank goodness,” Mariah breathed.
“Yeah, especially since Reyor was there.”
The group goggled. “What?”
“I can’t imagine what that was like for them, being so close to that monster.” Marshall rubbed his arm, as though uneasy. “And we’re lucky. Apparently Colback nearly launched an apocalypse of biblical proportions.”
Kody’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
“He lost it and fired a major concussive blast. Thankfully, the lathe’ad didn’t go off. I don’t know why it didn’t, but I’m not gonna argue with the universe over this one.”
“Me neither,” Tegan agreed. “But if an attack on Reyor could cause the lathe’ad to detonate, how are we supposed to fulfill our roles in the prophecy?”
Mariah’s shoulders drooped. So we have to find a cure for a disease before it kills off everyone on the planet, and stop Reyor without laying a finger on the beast. God . . .
Marshall’s baby blue eyes softened as he took in the downcast teenagers before him. He hesitated, then slowly pulled them all towards him into an embrace. “I know I probably sound like a broken record,” he murmured, “but you’re chosen for a reason. Doors will open for you. We have to believe that, have faith in that. And you’re my ki—you’re family. I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what. This may be your destiny but know that I, and the other Sentries, will walk through fire for you.”
Mariah burrowed her face into the Sentry’s side. Gah, why am I emotional all of a sudden?
Because we were just reminded that we are not alone in this journey. We’re never alone.
Mariah stood still, not blinking for nigh over twenty seconds. It was not her voice that had just spoken in her head.
Hey! Oh, dang it, she’s gone.
Mariah was sure of it now. There was a presence in her mind; tough, composed, thunder in the bones. She cautiously reached out. H-hello?
Mariah! You can hear me?
Whoa . . . wait a minute. Teegs? Mariah looked across Marshall’s chest. Tegan, on his other side, smiled at her. Reeling, Mariah stammered, But how?
Remember what Elder Nageau said, that it’s possible we’d all achieve this at some point?
No way. Mariah touched the exquisite, brushed metal pendant hanging from her neck.
Yeah! Listen, this is new for you, so . . . Tegan trailed off, as though there was a bad connection, then her voice returned: . . . hovering around in the novasphere, watching to see if you or Aari or Kody would wake up. Looks like you just did.
I lost you for a second.
That’ll happen. In the beginning, the exchange is sometimes spotty but it’ll get better the more you use it. Hold on, I’m gonna let Jag know.
A few seconds later, Jag’s presence appeared; he was like fire, simultaneously warm and powerful, charged with emotion. Welcome to the club, Miss Ashton!
Oh, why thank you, Mr. Sanchez. It’s an exclusive club.
Incredibly exclusive, yes, because you can only talk to one person at a time.
Aw, are you serious? No conference calls?
That’s not possible, as far as I know. I’ve asked Elder Nageau.
Mariah felt a prodding in her mind. Uh, I think someone else is trying to reach me. Gosh, this feels so weird.
You’ll get used to it. Pick up the phone, see who’s on the other end. Jag severed their connection.
Mariah reached out again. The new presence felt irrevocably altruistic, soft-hearted and protective. Hi? she said.
Marshall’s arm tightened around her. Good of you to join the rest of us, kiddo.
Mariah pulled away with a laugh. Aari and Kody stared at her, puzzled. “So,” she said, squeezing her pendant, “I just got telepathy.”
Kody groaned. “Oh, great.” He turned to Aari and dragged him into a separate hug. “It’s okay, buddy. You and I will travel the lonely road of non-telepaths alone.”
The redheaded teenager wiggled away, snickering. “You’re an idiot.” Mariah noticed that despite his bonhomie, Aari seemed a little down about her announcement.
Marshall clapped his hands. “You know what, I’m a big believer of rejoicing in even the smallest victories, so let’s celebrate. Dev and Colback are safe, and Mariah can now enjoy a new ability. I’ll make dinner.”
Kody stuck his nose into the fridge. “I’ll help! I’m a stupendous cook, just ask anyone. Ooh, we may have enough stuff here for Kung Pao chicken! Awesome.”
Marshall grimaced. “No, please. No Kung Pao. That’s a bad memory for me.”
“Bad memory? Of what?”
“Long story short? Stumbling into the nanomite plot and nearly getting killed.”
Mariah squinted. “Do Sentries routinely get themselves into life-threatening situations?”
“It’s kind of a bad habit. I’ll try to kick it.”
Mariah, Tegan and Aari left the kitchen and sat on the steps outside the house, eyes sweeping their surroundings. “You guys feel it, don’t you?” Tegan muttered.
Aari pulled his hood over his head and scoped the apartment complex across the street. “That we’re being watched? Yeah. If Reyor was there when Victor got out, then whoever’s tailing us was probably warned that we’d be on the lookout. And maybe that’s why even with his hypersensory abilities, Kody can never find them when he scouts around.”
“But why haven’t they swooped in yet?” Mariah demanded. “What are they waiting for?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
Tegan lifted her chin, and Mariah saw defiance in her friend’s steely gaze. “And when we do, we need to be prepared.”
34
Gareth stepped out of a small shopping mall, fixing a surgical mask over his face with one hand and holding a phone to his ear with the other. “So where’ll you be heading now?” he asked.
On the other end of the line, his brother responded. “We’re on our way south to Almaty. Vic’s got a contact there that can help us get the paperwork we need to get to Tashkent.”
“You’re going to Uzbekistan?”
“Aye. Reyor’ll most likely have eyes everywhere in Kazakhstan, so we need to take the long way ’round. From Tashkent, we’ll fly to the Lodge and recoup there.”
Gareth said nothing. Deverell laughed. “When you don’t talk is when I know you’re worried. Relax, Gareth. We’ll be fine.”
“You blokes are ridiculous. You must be in loads of pain, but you both sound like nothing’s happened. And Vic lost his ear!”
“Not all of it,” the Canadian Sentry corrected in the background.
Deverell sniggered. “What happened to you is rather ear-riversible, wouldn’t you say, Vic?”
“Jeez, Louise.”
“Friends, Romans, Victor—lend me your ears!”
“You’re making me irritable.”
“Don’t you mean ear-ritable?”
“Oh, my God.”
“You w
alked right into that one, Vic,” Gareth teased.
“Shut up, Vaughn.”
Gareth’s mouth curved upward. No matter how choleric Victor sometimes was, he knew the older Sentry was fond of the twins . . . not that he would ever say so outright.
“Anyway,” Victor continued pointedly, “I heard you’re on the hunt for Dr. Deol. How’s that coming along?”
“Horribly,” Gareth confessed. “And it’s really starting to eat at me. I’ve checked everything probably ten times over and there’s nothing more to be found. D’you suppose you’ve any more information that could help?”
“I wish I did. All I can say is, I think she’s our best bet. From what I heard during Dr. Nate’s call, it sounds like she’s losing faith in the cause. He and the other guy he spoke to seemed spooked. They were debating whether or not she’s ‘salvageable’.”
“That doesn’t sound promising. What if they decide she isn’t?”
“I doubt Reyor likes loose ends, especially if that loose end engineered the virus.” Victor paused, then said quietly, “I don’t want to put more pressure on you than you’re already putting on yourself, Gareth, but we need to get to her sooner than Phoenix’s paranoia.”
Gareth fidgeted with his mask, hand clammy, mouth shut.
Deverell spoke up. “We know you’re doing the best you can. But Gareth, remember that yours isn’t the only play. The five and Marshall are following another solution as well. We’re still in the game. Alright?”
“Mmh.” The soft patter of drizzle fell from the clouds overhead, catching Gareth by surprise. “Listen, lads, it’s starting to rain and I need to drive. Check in with me when you reach Tashkent, alright?”
“We will,” Victor said before Deverell hung up. “Remember, kid. Eyes forward. Always.”
Gareth tucked his phone away and pulled up the collar of his leather jacket, hurrying past an empty concert hall toward the main road where his car was parked. As he unlocked it, a small, frazzled-looking group of people rushed by and darted across the street, unperturbed by the speeding vehicles and subsequent honking. The Sentry frowned, watching the group duck into a black-roofed edifice directly across from him—the Yaroslavsky railway station. Upon closer inspection, he noted that the doors and windows of the building were broken, and the station was dark, vacant.
Now why is it that one of the major railway stations in Moscow looks out of commission? he wondered. And what would a group like that be running in there for at this time of night?
He looked from his car keys to the building, then pocketed the keys and loped across the street. Atop the roof, a decorative ironwork emblem of the famed communist symbol glinted: a hammer and sickle. Gareth pursed his lips at the motif, then tailed the group through the length of the ornamental but decrepit station. Glass shards from broken windows and light fixtures crunched beneath his shoes. His breath fogged in the chilly air.
The group vaulted over a row of half-height turnstiles and ran through the shattered glass doors that led outside, from where agitated voices could be heard. Gareth followed and found himself under the painful brilliance of floodlights. He shielded his eyes until they adjusted.
Before him was a crowd of thirty or so people wrapped in warm clothing. Razor wire fencing cordoned off all eleven platforms and sixteen tracks, but he couldn’t see anything else through the throng of people. As he worked his way between the masses, the sound of crying filled his ears.
What’s going on?
His heart missed a beat when he reached the front. On the other side of the fence, personnel in hazmat suits with military-grade weapons shoved dozens of men and women onto the centermost railway track. The civilians crouched on the iron rails, rocking back and forth in the cold. The drizzle grew heavier but the soldiers patrolled the platforms between the tracks without offering anything to the shivering civilians for warmth.
Beside Gareth, a distraught teenage girl with dark hair and pale skin held a little boy close to her. The Sentry grabbed her arm. “What’s happening?” he demanded in Russian.
The girl turned to him, shooting a glare. He let go of her and held his hands up, softening his tone. “Please, tell me. What’s going on?”
She eyed him guardedly. “The infected. They’re being shipped out.”
Gareth looked back at the men and women on the railway tracks several feet below the platforms. A few of them clamped their heads between their knees or jammed the heels of their hands against their temples, moaning to themselves.
“Where are they being shipped to?” he asked the girl.
“We were told that the trains will take them to a hospital away from the cities. But I’ve heard rumors that . . .” Her voice shook, and the little boy in her arms burrowed into her hair. She glanced down at him, then back at Gareth. Catching her hint, the Sentry leaned in. She whispered, “I heard that they’re taking them away to be incinerated.”
When her words sunk in, Gareth slowly met her eyes. “That can’t be true.”
“That’s what we heard.” The girl raised her gaze upwards, fighting against the forming tears. “This is not the only place where it’s happening, either, but it is happening. Quietly.”
“No, that can’t be. Who authorized it?”
“Nothing happens without the approval of the government.”
Gareth couldn’t to believe his ears. “And why are you here?”
She hugged the little boy tighter as the drizzle turned into a downpour. “Our parents are sitting on those tracks.”
Gareth turned away, running his hands through his wet hair. He wanted to do something, to help, but he knew that he was powerless.
He pulled a small box of surgical masks from his jacket, passed one to the teenager and fit another on her brother. “You shouldn’t be out here without this.”
The girl adjusted her mask, a little surprised by his gesture. “Thank you. We just returned from visiting our grandparents outside the city and found out the military had taken our parents.”
“Are your grandparents here as well?”
“We lost them in the crowd.” The girl looked up at the Sentry through the fast-falling rain, aggrieved. “Everyone here has someone they care about on the other side of the fence. But nobody can stop this.”
An alarmed shout wrenched away their attention. An infected woman clambered onto a raised platform and screamed as the guards approached her. Using the muzzles of their weapons, they nudged her back into the gap. She spat at them, her words growing incoherent. Another woman shrieked, scrambling up the sides of the barrier. A man followed her only to get a military boot in his face that sent him falling back onto the tracks.
The girl beside Gareth grasped his wrist. “Their eyes—they’re bleeding out of their eyes!”
The guards started to back away as the infected crawled up to the platforms, beating their heads and moaning. Some clawed at their cheeks and eyes. The guards moved with nervous energy as they tried to herd the sick group back onto the tracks, to no avail.
Then, a silence fell. Those that had been banging their heads stopped and peered around, eyes like saucers, heads low. The rest of the infected kept clear of each other, as if wary.
They’re acting like frightened animals, Gareth realized.
A feral cry ripped the silence. A man in a tattered suit threw himself at one of the guards, hurling him onto the ground and repeatedly bashing his head into the concrete until he moved no more. Two other guards shot him and chaos broke loose as one after another the infected surged onto the armed personnel.
“Shoot them!” an officer cried.
The crowd behind the fence screamed as submachine guns and assault rifles sprayed the infected masses. Bodies dropped. Sanguine splatters painted the ground. Within seconds it was over. All that could be heard was the fading echoes of the gunshots in the downpour.
A wail rose from somewhere within the throng of people. “You slaughtered them! Animals!”
Beside Gareth, the girl stood drenche
d in rain and shock. She’d held her brother’s head against her so he would not witness the massacre that had taken place, so he could not see their parents lying amongst the rest of the shredded corpses. The Sentry put his arms around the two of them. The teenager buried her face into his chest, body heaving. Gareth stared over her head at the carnage as rain washed the blood along the platform and down the tracks. Some of the soldiers removed their gas masks. One fell to his knees, retching. Another sank to the ground and was enfolded in the arms of the others.
An older Russian couple cut through the traumatized crowd. The girl pulled away from the Sentry. Sobbing, she ran to them with her brother in her arms. Gareth watched for a moment, then turned and slunk back into the building. He pulled himself over the turnstiles but slipped and fell over to the other side. Pushing his back against the metal barrier, he sat in the dark, face covered, shoulders shaking. He could taste salt on his lips, and the pungent reek of blood wafted into his nose, making him feel ill.
Something vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out his phone; the caller ID was blocked. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, buying time to compose himself, then answered. “Hello?”
A coy voice responded. “Gareth Vaughn.”
The Sentry was not in the mood for games. “Who is this?” he snapped.
“The woman you’ve been looking for. I’m Dr. Deol.”
35
Aari removed his sunglasses to take in the grandeur of the expansive manicured gardens that cascaded over nineteen terraces, the entire length of Mount Carmel. Whew, he thought. What a view.
The Bahá’í Gardens in Haifa were divided into three sections; lower, middle and upper. Aari, Tegan, Mariah, Kody and Marshall milled on the topmost balcony of the latter, soaking in the serene aura of one of Israel’s most popular tourist attractions. Palm trees, fountains and countless vivid flowers flowed down the slope. A white marble structure crowned in a glinting, hundred-and-twenty-foot golden dome enthroned the center of the hillside. Two sets of stairs stretched from the summit to the bottom courtyard, flanked by rivulets. Just past the foot of the courtyard, a long road lined with restaurants and shops on both sides extended toward the port, opening into the dazzling Mediterranean Sea.
