Ultraviolet Gene book 1: The Lost Children

by Eliza Bohnen

  She took a breath to scream for help again, but all she could do now was gargle, and with the headache spreading across her skull, there would be no more pushing people away with her brain.

  The cop lifted her to her feet and brought her into the car, where they strapped her into the middle seat.

  A message, crackly, came through the walkie-talkie, but at this point Ellie’s mind was so muddled she couldn’t make out the words. The last thing she heard before she blacked out was "We’ll be there as soon as possible."

  * * *

  Casey found himself in a cold, dark corner, barely able to see his hands in front of him. The floor was cement and the wall plaster, but though he was planted firmly against them, he didn’t remember an impact. Common sense told him he should panic, but given that the pain was gone his mind and body were more at ease than they’d been moments ago.

  In front of him was what looked like a department store mannequin, but he couldn't make out any detail beyond that in the murky darkness.

  Casey got to his feet. The way before him looked like a window that had been broken, but there was a narrow opening out to his left, which he decided was safer since he didn't want to cut himself. Once out, the area to his left was pitch black, but there was faint light around a corner to the right, so he chose to go right.

  He stopped short when he realized there was someone in there, standing, staring at him. For one terrifying moment, Casey pondered who it might be – it could be anyone, it could be someone who would kill him – who knew what happened to people in strange spaces like this? But while Casey couldn’t make out much of the figure in the darkness – he was pretty sure it was a man, but discerned nothing further – thoughts began to reach him.

  Sadness, regret, anxiety – grief. Someone had died, and recently. Layered among them was a thick confusion, resonating with Casey’s own. What he didn’t detect was aggression. If someone wanted to hurt him, like they did at school sometimes, he knew it before it happened. This person was safe, for now.

  Casey took another step down the stairs and called "Hello?"

  After a moment the man replied. "Hello."

  "I’m sorry," Casey said, continuing his slow approach, "but I don’t know where I am."

  The man laughed, a little. "I wish I knew where we were. I just got here myself. Did you teleport in, too?"

  "What’s teleport?" asked Casey.

  "It’s instantly traveling from one place to another." The man approached him, and Casey could just make out a youngish figure of average height, with chin-length shiny black hair. He held out a hand. "Hi. I’m Matty."

  Casey extended his own hand, which Matty's dwarfed. "Casey." Casey caught sight of the left side of Matty's shirt, shredded and torn, though Matty himself displayed no signs of injury.

  Matty smiled. "You mind me asking how old you are, Casey?"

  Now he was having those Oh, great, a little kid thoughts. Casey was used to those. "I’m ten," Casey said. "What about you?"

  Matty’s smile grew in amusement. "Eighteen," he said. "Almost nineteen."

  Okay, so he wasn’t that old. Casey looked around again. "This place is weird, isn’t it?"

  Matty put his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I wish I knew more, but the owner, um, left."

  "There’s an owner?"

  "Well, I think she’s the owner," Matty said. Casey had detected that Matty was curious about his accent, but he was a little curious about Matty’s, too. He didn’t sound quite like the Americans on TV. "Where are you from?" he asked.

  "Hawaii. And you?"

  "England," said Casey. And then he remembered England again. "Oh, boy. And there’ll be trouble if I don’t get back. It’s late, and I was over at a friend’s house, and he’s probably really worried right now. If my parents figure out something happened, they might not let me go over there anymore." He was rambling now. Matty seemed all right, and stuck in the same situation, but Casey wasn’t ready to give a stranger his life story.

  "The girl who was here earlier said that it wasn’t safe to leave," Matty said slowly. "I haven’t tried… but I thought I’d stay for a while."

  "How long is awhile?" Casey asked.

  "I don’t know," Matty admitted. "I was hoping I could figure out something about this place, but…"

  "It’s all so weird," Casey said. He moved towards the torn-up pews. "What’s with these rocks?"

  "I dunno," said Matty, as Casey reached out with one hand. "I figured with the dummies and the paint on the walls, this used to be the kind of place people would bring junk and do art projects or something."

  Casey’s fingers brushed against the stone, and the moment they did, the stone lit up, bright blue. Casey gasped, and fell backwards; at the same time, his mind overflowed with thoughts – but all of the thoughts in his head were entirely his own, for that one glorious moment. It made Casey forget about Jet, forget about Matty and the church. He let his head hang back and basked in the moment while he could.

  * * *

  Jet spent the first few minutes after Casey’s disappearance panicking, running all through the house, upstairs and down, looking for his friend – not like that made much sense, the kid had clearly vanished into thin air, but it would drive him crazy to do nothing. After that yielded no results, the weird calm that often precluded an anxiety attack came over him, and Jet decided he should clean up the broken glass in the living room, at least.

  He was in the middle of that when he heard a car pull up in the drive, and cringed. Who could that be? His dad was probably sleeping at work, and his mum and sister wouldn’t have come back early without calling. Regardless, Jet hastily swept the remainder of the glass shards into his dustpan, switched off the TV, and went to the kitchen to throw it in the garbage.

  A knock sounded against the front door.

  Now that was weird. Who would be by at this hour? Unless it was Casey, returning? But Casey was familiar enough with Jet’s house at this point that he rarely bothered to knock at all.

  Jet set the broom against the wall and peeked out into foyer. Between the darkness and the frosted glass window, he couldn’t see who was outside.

  He had taken a few steps towards the door when the beam of a flashlight swept across the front window. Jet froze. They had knocked, but they had lights. The idea of answering the door now seemed a poor one, though what would happen if he didn't?

  He flattened himself along the wall farthest from the front window, crept quietly towards the door, and crouched. The voices were muffled, but he could make out the words if he concentrated.

  "This is the place, isn’t it?"

  "Yeah. Looks like no one’s here, though."

  "Could be a type-TP."

  "It’s likely."

  They knocked again, but Jet didn’t move. Something in their tone of voice had convinced Jet that they weren’t the police, and he had a good track record when it came to intuition. He hugged his knees, though whether it was the crisp March night making him shiver or his nerves, he couldn’t say. If she was home, he’d get his mother immediately, but…

  The idea of calling his father crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Of all the times over the years he’d attempted to call the man at work, he’d gotten through maybe twice, and certainly never after regular office hours.

  A few moments later he heard footsteps, growing softer every second. He crawled back from the foyer to the living room, where he curled up on the couch. He wanted to distract himself, maybe by watching more of the movie, but the light from the TV would be visible from outside, and who knew if those guys were still watching?

  * * *

  Matty rushed to Casey’s side when he fell over and put his hand on his shoulder – the kid was in a trance, by the looks of it. "Hey, Casey. Casey!"

  A moment later Casey blinked and shook his head, then looked up at Matty.

  "You okay?" Matty asked.

  "Yeah," said Casey, touching his temples. "Better than okay, actually." He go
t to his feet. "Why don’t you try it?" he asked.

  "Try touching a rock?" Matty asked.

  "Yeah," said Casey. "It’s wild. My brain feels better than it ever has."

  Matty furrowed his brow. "What do you mean by that?"

  Casey let his mouth hang open for a moment before he answered. "Well, I…"

  "You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to," said Matty. The last thing he wanted to do was freak out a little kid by demanding information. He looked at the rocks. The blue glow that filled the church was moody, eerie. Matty stepped into the circle and moved his hand towards the blue one Casey had used before, but he found he couldn’t make contact – it was like trying to put two magnets together by the wrong ends. It was the same with the next one in the circle.

  "They won’t let me touch them," Matty said.

  "No, I’m sure you can," said Casey, his voice carrying a conviction it hadn’t earlier. "Try another."

  Matty sighed, and went to the next rock, and to his surprise, his fingers did connect – the rock was warm to the touch and the heat filled his body and mind to the brim, like he was about to shed a giant tear of relief. His knees went shaky for a moment, but he regained his balance soon after.

  I knew it! said a voice in his head.

  Matty looked over his shoulder. "Was that…"

  Yeah, said the voice in his head, as Casey grinned. That was me.

  Oh, Matty said, and he knew Casey could hear him. Wow. Apparently the rocks were more than an art project. It's been a really weird day, Matty reflected.

  You said it, said Casey.

  I wonder what happens if we touch the mannequins, Matty joked.

  Casey laughed, telepathically, which felt to Matty something akin to soap bubbles bursting merrily in his brain. Suddenly, he found himself yawning, and a glance at Casey told him the boy was doing the same. It was no wonder, it must be late at night in England.

  Tired? Matty asked.

  Yeah, Casey admitted. You think I should try to go home and get some sleep?

  I dunno, Matty said. What if it's not safe? He shivered, remembering the girl's warning words. Suddenly self-conscious, he switched back to speaking. "The girl who was here earlier said that anywhere one of us disappeared, someone would come looking for us." Matty paused, and bit his lip. "And she said others might not be so lucky." What were her exact words, again? Others who manifest in different ways might not be so lucky. Manifest in different ways?

  "What does that mean?" Casey asked. He took a seat on one of the pews.

  "I don't know," Matty admitted. He sat down, himself, and placed his head in his hands. Did everyone back home think he was dead now? The guilt might eat him alive any minute. Matty glanced at his watch, unsure of how long he'd been gone, but it had been smashed up beyond repair in the car accident, and Casey wasn't wearing one.

  Matty stood up. "Okay," he said. I'm going to try to go back to where I disappeared from, and I'll see if I think it's safe. And then I'll come back and let you know, okay?

  Casey, eyelids drooping, nodded. "Be careful."

  "I will," said Matty.

  Now, of course, there was the question of how to get back to where he'd disappeared from, but something nagging at the back of his mind told him not to worry about it. It should be easy; he'd go back the way he came. Matty shut his eyes, and thought about the intersection he'd disappeared from. He could picture it without trouble – and then suddenly the air was hotter and more humid, and the light had changed. Matty opened his eyes.

  The scene in the intersection made him wish he hadn't, yet he couldn't stop himself from spending several minutes taking it all in. Police cars blocked off several of the lanes coming in and out and an officer was directing traffic. Neither of the vehicles involved in the crash had been moved; Ron's little pickup truck was about half as wide as it used to be. The three surfboards and drink cooler had been thrown from the bed and were each in several pieces. The SUV's front bumper and hood were crumpled, but by the look of it nobody riding in it would have been hurt badly. It was a new vehicle, pristine and shiny apart from the damage of the crash, with a temporary license taped to the back window – which said to Matty rental car. Fucking tourists. He clenched his hands.

  There weren't any ambulances, and while there were some people standing around on the sidewalk across the intersection from him, talking to the police, none of them was anyone he knew.

  Bile rose in his throat. I'm supposed to be dead from this, he thought. Only an act of random chance had saved him – unless it wasn't so random, as the girl in the old church had insinuated. Who could tell? It had been such a strange chain of events that Matty wouldn't have been surprised to find out that everything that had happened since the impact was because he was in the hospital, tripping on a serious morphine high. Assuming this was reality, though, should he go talk to one of the cops? A police officer off to his left gave him a glance, and...

  Before Matty could finish processing his thoughts, someone yanked his elbow and dragged him behind a nearby building. Matty yelled in surprise and looked down. It was the girl from before, strong for her size.

  When they were out of sight of the accident scene, the girl shut her eyes, Matty's arms began to tingle, and a moment later they were back in the church – cold, dry, and dark.

  "What the hell are you doing?" the girl hissed.

  "I..." Matty said. "I wanted to see if my friend was okay. I wanted to make sure he knew I was okay."

  "Stupid," the girl said. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. They were there. You might've even been seen."

  "I don't think anyone..." Matty began.

  "You don't know that!" hissed the girl. "One of them wasn't a police officer. I've met that guy, and I didn't meet him in Hawaii, okay?"

  Matty looked over his shoulder. Casey lay on a pew, fast asleep. He kept his voice low. "How did you know I was there?" he asked.

  The girl pursed her lips. "I can usually tell when someone teleports out of here."

  Frustrated, Matty said, "Who are they?"

  "Enemies. They'll grab you and lock you up and study you. Now wait here." Before Matty could object, the girl vanished, briefly illuminating the room with a cold white light. A few seconds later, she reappeared, this time with a plastic bag in her hands. She handed it to him.

  Matty glanced inside. There were a couple of wrapped sandwiches from a convenience store, a large bag of chips, and four bottles of water.

  "That's for you two," the girl said.

  "You know about Casey?" Matty asked.

  "I can also tell," said the girl, "when people teleport in here. If I’m paying attention." She sighed. "They’ve got eyes everywhere. I told you to watch out for cops, didn’t I? Look, just stay here and lie low for a few days. You can hope they’ll catch someone who can’t teleport, and then they’ll forget about you. Then you can go back to your normal life."

  Matty wanted to scream – everyone he knew and loved would think he was dead – but he forced himself to keep quiet, and took a few deep breaths before speaking. "Well..." he said. "All right. I guess." He met her eyes. "If it means that much to you."

  The girl nodded. "The fewer people like us they find, the better."

  Matty hadn't a clue what she meant by that. She seemed so scattered. "How do you know?" he asked. "Did they do that to you?"

  "Bye," said the girl without answering his question, and again she disappeared.

  * * *

  March 18, 2000

  A Moving SUV

  Ellie took a deep breath through her nose, and was suddenly aware again. The first thing she noticed was that her chest hurt.

  She might have panicked, but her body was too heavy, her mind too numb. A strip of fabric was tied securely around her eyes, a piece of tape on her mouth. Her feet were tied together at the ankles and her hands were bound behind her back.

  The ride was bumpy. She must still be in a car.

  And then the nausea hit her. She buckled forward. Una
ble to open her mouth to gag, the acrid burst of air came out her nose, and it stung. She whimpered.

  "She's awake," someone said quietly. There was someone in a seat near her.

  "Get the tape," said someone else. These weren't the same men who had dragged her away from school; these men had English accents.

  The tape was ripped from her mouth with little warning; Ellie groaned at the pain from it.

  "Give her another mumble mumble. Mutter mutter small one."

  Someone leaned Ellie forward, and untied her hands. He – at least, Ellie assumed it was a he, judging by the voice that had come from next to her – pulled her arm towards him, and soon she felt the familiar swab of alcohol on skin, and she gasped when the needle penetrated her once more. The same queasy rush came over her, but this time she did not lose consciousness.

  "Test her," said someone.

  "State your full name," said the man next to her.

  Ellie swallowed. Her throat was so dry that talking was akin to torture, but then something sick and warm surged through her veins and through her head, and suddenly her mouth was moving without her permission. "Ellen Alicia Shiflett." Her voice cracked and her lungs ached.

  "Date of birth?"

  "January 29, 1986."

  "Looks like it's working," the man said.

  "Good," said another. His voice grew clearer, as if he'd turned his head towards Ellie. "Now, please describe the incident that brought you to be disciplined by your school."

  * * *

  When Jet decided it was safe to leave the couch, he crept upstairs. No one knocked at the door again. He wanted to look outside and check if any suspicious cars were parked nearby, but if he did and there was someone watching the house, they'd see him, so he didn't dare go near the windows. And once he got upstairs, he didn't turn on any lights, just to be safe. The night light in the bathroom provided adequate illumination.

  He dawdled, in case Casey reappeared, but as he brought his toothbrush over his teeth for what seemed like the hundredth time, he resigned himself to the fact that wasn't going to happen. Still, he could only hope – and he didn't want to go to bed – so he took a shower even though he didn't feel like it, and combed his hair all the way around three times. Often out of laziness he slept in his clothes, but tonight he put on pajamas.