Concentrating in that direction, he lifted the body of his puppet human off the ground as easily as a mortal would lift a leaf, and rose with astonishing speed. The crystalline structure’s interior walls rushed by him in a blue blur, and he reached the top within seconds. When he did, Zatera hovered there and then slowly passed over the rim, which, despite the absence of his direct concentration, still grew ever upward thanks to the other Ethereals who were under his control, and who still remained focused on its construction. As Zatera passed over the edge, he began to descend, once again at a rapid pace. The sea quickly came into view as he moved down the structure’s vast reach. Within seconds, he was a hundred feet off the base, and he stopped. He remained hovering there, scanning the vessels, which were only five hundred feet away. There were three of them, and he would dispatch them quickly—so quickly, in fact, that he imagined it would send them a message not to interfere with his activities again. As far as Zatera was concerned, this planet no longer belonged to mankind.
His eyes brimmed with blue light as he scanned the ships. All their armaments became obvious to him within seconds. However, the weapons had already recharged, and as he heard the sound of the whirring motors within their arsenals, he slowly raised his hands. Light protruded from his palms, and a spherical ball of translucent energy encircled him as he erected a shield around himself. Then the firing began. Giant bolts of blue–hot plasma exploded outward toward him. They impacted his shield, and he watched from behind it, not even flinching at the force of the explosions, which could have leveled an entire city. The blue fire-like plasma spread outward all around him, creating a giant cloud of boiling hot energy. As the weapon fire died down and then came to a halt, the cloud of energy dissipated. His shield, of course, remained intact and unbreachable.
***
Claudia stood in the same position as before and continued watching, breathless now, as a new series of explosions, appearing just to the left of the structure, lit up the sky. She took deep breaths, for she could tell, even from this distance, that the ships had switched their target, and were now firing on something just adjacent to the tower. She heard screams from the beach below and glanced down to see that many people had apparently decided enough was enough; they were rushing back toward the boardwalk and the other exit points, leaving in the fastest manner possible. However, quite a few brave souls still remained, staring in awe toward the horizon.
Claudia glanced back up as the last few shots were fired. Now the sound of the bombardment began reaching them—a series of muted blasts that had traveled across the ocean, behind the light of the attack. She winced when the sounds stopped, for in the silence and the wait that followed, there could come only one thing: retaliation. Her hand gripped the railing as she waited for it, knowing it would come; she was terrified of what form that vengeance would take.
***
As the energy slowly faded and Zatera’s shield once again became invisible, he knew that it would take the ships more than twenty seconds to recharge their arsenals. His lip curled with the trace of a smile as he reached his hands downward toward the ships. Iridescent light glowed at his palms, and his eyes pulsed with that same otherworldly blue energy. Zatera heard the weapons whir again, and the vessels prepare to fire, but it was too late. Just as the hot tips of the weapons glowed once more, seconds away from igniting, he pushed out and sent the energy he had built up in his hands toward the vessels, lifting them right out of the water. They were each more than a hundred feet long, and each weighed twenty thousand gross tons.
They flew backward, tossed as though they were toys. As they flew above the water’s surface at tremendous speed, the tower quickly disappearing behind them, the bow of one vessel struck the central section of another. The two ships exploded in midair, leaving a trail of blazing fire in their wake. Now only one ship remained, and it was followed by two giant balls of flame and a barrage of debris that disappeared in the distance behind it. Seconds later, the ship skimmed the water on its side, rose up again, and then twirled several times before it struck a high wave and came to a stop, heavily damaged.
At the tower’s base, the light from Trey’s palms diminished, and his eyes returned to their regular color. Scanning the vessels, Zatera knew they no longer posed a threat—indeed, they had posed no serious threat to begin with, but could have potentially slowed his progress. He looked toward the top of the tower and began his rapid ascent to its only remaining entry point. As he rose, a piercing telepathic voice cut through his defenses. It caused him to stop and gasp, a gesture with which he was unfamiliar.
You’ll pay for that.
He winced and gritted his teeth at the sound of Max’s voice. Zatera clenched his fists, and his eyes glowed fiercely, flaring with light as rage surged through him. A dim reflection of this could be seen against the side of the glistening tower as he continued his ascent to the top.
***
Ciara, Mike, and Morris—who was still carrying Jane—entered the main hospital doors, to which Ciara had led them. Ciara had assured them, concentrating fiercely as they ran through the maze-like streets of New York City, that the psychic decoy had worked. She had put as much energy as she could summon into it, and Elliot was not on their immediate trail, at least for now. He was following the telepathic projection she had set up, which was leading him in a different direction. Ciara’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it, wondering how long she could keep him distracted, and what would happen when he finally located them.
Morris was walking toward the front reception when Ciara reached out and grabbed his arm. He glanced over his shoulder at her. The exhaustion on his face was obvious, and his breathing was labored.
Wait, she said. They’re too busy, and we’re off the radar. Jane has no citizenship—we can’t check her in. If a blood sample goes into a database or something, the Committee could pick it up. She glanced at the reception staff, who, as of yet, had been too busy to take note of them.
Following the tug of her arm, Morris stepped back into the hallway, just out of the eyeline of the staff there. Then he turned and looked at Ciara. She nodded and closed her eyes. The strain of holding Jane was starting to take its toll, and Morris was concerned that she had been unconscious for this long; they had been on foot for at least ten minutes. His stomach churned as he glanced back at Ciara. He was ready to speak to urge her along when she opened her eyes and looked past him down a corridor. Morris turned around. A few seconds later, a doctor emerged with a perplexed look on his face. He glanced from side to side in the hallway as he walked toward them. He seemed to be looking for something. Finally, his eyes settled on them. He stopped, his brow furrowed, and then he continued his approach. He was young enough—mid-thirties—and wearing a white coat.
Uh, Ciara? Mike asked as the doctor approached.
I’ve got it covered, she said, continuing to stare at the man.
The doctor walked right up to them, and at this point, he was frowning, as though unsure what he was doing. He stopped in front of them and glanced down first at Jane, then at Morris. “Can I help you?” the doctor asked. He was wearing a nametag which read “Charlie.”
“There’s something wrong with my friend, Marie,” Ciara said, stepping forward. “I think she may have a serious concussion.”
“Did you go to reception?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. Concentrating fiercely, she reached into his mind and bypassed his inhibitory responses.
He blinked a couple times, winced slightly, and then nodded.
“OK, then. Quickly please, place her on this stretcher and I’ll examine her.”
Morris looked left and saw the bed to which the doctor was referring. He walked over to it and placed Jane onto it as gently as he could. The doctor took the end of it and pushed it forward, walking past the reception area. When they had passed it, he stopped and turned around.
“Uh, you’ll have to stay here, I’m afraid,” he said, appearing confused aga
in.
“Absolutely not,” Ciara replied, shaking her head. “We’re coming in.”
Morris could practically feel the influence of Ciara’s mind as she focused on manipulating the doctor’s thought processes. In fact, he was almost perturbed by the strength of her telepathic power. The doctor recoiled, wincing, and then lifted a hand to his forehead. After a brief pause, he nodded and continued onward. They followed him through the hallway. They took a right and the doctor led them into a dimly lit room. Inside was a bed, and at its back end, an advanced piece of scanning equipment arched over it in a semicircle. Morris helped the doctor place Jane onto the soft surface so that her head was placed directly beneath this apparatus.
“Tell me what happened, please,” the doctor said.
“She was struck in the back of the head by a piece of debris—a flying metallic tray.”
The doctor was gently lifting Jane’s head and examining her. His voice deepened upon receiving this information. “Tell me how this happened.”
“You don’t need to know that, Charles,” Ciara said firmly.
He glanced at her for a second, shrugged, and then nodded, succumbing to her influence again. He examined Jane for a few more moments, and then his gait changed as he stepped aside briskly to the control panel next to the bed. “That’s a serious wound, all right. It’s small enough that I probably won’t have to reseal it, but it definitely implies a severe concussion.” He glanced over his shoulder at a large terminal a few feet away. It was positioned in front of the stretcher. As he pressed a few buttons on the square panel, the monitor came to life, displaying a clear, high-definition image of Jane.
“Could you please tell us what you’re doing as you’re doing it?” Morris asked, growing more concerned with each passing second.
“I’d rather not,” the doctor replied flatly. After a few seconds, during which he worked the controls on the panel, he glanced at Morris. Seeing his stern gaze, he changed his mind. “I’ll perform a CT scan first, then an MRI. We’ll go from there. You really shouldn’t be in the room for this, but I’m guessing you’re not going to leave, and I’m sure that young lady there,” he said, glancing at Ciara, “will do whatever it is she’s doing to make me change my mind.”
They stared at him and Ciara gaped a little, shocked at his keen analytical senses; he was clearly no empath, but he missed nothing.
“Like I thought.” He pursed his lips.
“I thought CT scans took some time—like thirty minutes,” Mike said.
“Not anymore,” the doctor replied. “There have been a lot of developments in the last five years. We can take these images almost instantaneously now. OK. Please stand back. Performing scan now.”
A clicking sound came from the machine. Lights beamed from inside it as the advanced piece of medical equipment began to take scans of Jane. A series of images appeared on the terminal behind him, displaying her cranium. The doctor turned and walked to this large display.
“OK. I see no evidence of trauma here. Switching to MRI,” he said as he walked back to the machine. He dialed in a few more commands on the control panel. Apparently, the advanced piece of equipment had a dual function.
More sounds came from inside the machine, and this time, what sounded like a muted buzzing filled the room. Then the doctor once again returned to the terminal, where a new image was displayed, and he took some time to examine it. After a few terse seconds, he turned to face them. “Your friend will be fine,” he said. “There’s no evidence of contusions or other serious trauma.” He approached Jane’s bed again. “Although it is a bad concussion.”
Collectively, they breathed a sigh of relief.
“I suggest she not be moved for the next twenty-four hours.”
“What if she has to move sooner than that?” Mike asked.
“Why would she?”
The three of them exchanged nervous glances before Ciara answered. “Someone may be after us. Someone dangerous.”
The doctor’s face grew serious first, and then solemn as he settled into the reality that they were dealing with some kind of predicament. “Who did this to her?”
“That’s too hard to explain,” Ciara replied, her voice revealing their worry about the one who was pursuing them—a concern they had temporarily forgotten.
At that moment, the ground shook and the lights flickered on and off. The shaking lasted for just seconds, and the lights returned to normal immediately after, but it was enough to startle the doctor. He glanced up at the ceiling and the various equipment that had rattled as the quake rushed through the room. When it stopped, he returned his attention to them. “Does this have something to do with what’s happening off the coastline?”
“No!” Ciara answered sternly.
“Did you bring something with you to this hospital?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he took a step toward them. “Are you Ethereals?”
Ciara stepped forward and leveled the full strength of her telepathic abilities on his mind. “You will ask no further questions. You will treat my friend on this bed and forget everything else until she is better. Do you understand?”
The doctor’s mouth slowly fell open. A drop of saliva fell onto his jacket, and then his head nodded up and down.
Ciara took a deep breath and stepped backward. She felt Morris place a hand on her back. She glanced at it, and then over her shoulder at him. She read his face clearly without the use of any atypical senses. It said, Thank you.
The doctor walked to the opposite side of the room. Here, there was a glass cabinet that stretched from the floor almost to the height of the ceiling. He took the keycard that hung around his waist and swiped it through a security lock on the side. The door slid open and he began looking through the vials of medicine. “I’m going to get your friend some medicine. Just in case.”
Morris still had his hand on Ciara’s shoulder. They all glanced around the room again as a minor tremor shook the walls. The doctor stopped and looked up for a second before continuing his work.
Ciara? Morris asked. He paused and turned to look at her. What’s happening? Is it him?
She stared into his eyes, focusing both on the outside world and on him. I think so. While I was focusing on getting Charles here to treat Jane, I let go of the psychic beacon for just a moment. It was still there, but Elliot may have seen through the ruse. She glanced back out across the room. He’s strong. He may have been able to track us here.
Morris looked back at the doctor, who had prepared the medication and was administering it to Jane. Sensing something he had tried to ignore—that something was wrong, that perhaps they were being stalked—Morris turned around and looked out through the open door into the hallway, where he saw only a few personnel walking past from either side. He approached the doorway slowly and peered down the long corridor toward the left, from where they had come. Then he glanced right, where the hall led farther into the hospital. About twenty feet away, Morris saw one of the lights on the ceiling flicker on and off for a few seconds. Then, a second one did the same thing, just a little farther away. Both he and Ciara reached the same conclusion simultaneously.
He’s here, she said with a grim tone. As Morris turned to meet her gaze, he saw the trepidation in her eyes. Mike moved closer to Ciara and shared a fretful glance with her. He took a deeply needed breath, pressed his palms to his face, and rubbed his eyes. Then he turned again and moved farther out into the hallway, searching for signs of Elliot’s presence.
He’s not at the hospital, but he’s close, Ciara continued.
How close? Mike asked
Morris was now standing in the middle of the hall, scanning it, searching for what Ciara was referring to. He sensed something in the distance, but his telepathic abilities were nowhere near as strong as hers, and he couldn’t locate anything of significance. Elliot was too powerful.
He’s…maybe a few hundred feet away, Ciara said, concentrating as she spoke, then glancing d
own. When he heard Ciara hesitate, Morris turned back to her and watched as her gaze drifted to the side. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to concentrate.
It’s hard to focus on him properly. Power is coming off him in waves, she said, her voice tinged with previously unacknowledged fear.
Without warning, the entire hospital came to life around them. Staff began filling the corridor outside the room, running in the same direction—back toward the doors from which they had entered. Ciara dashed to the door and placed her hands on the frame. “He’s clearing the building.”
Morris was watching the staff rush past him when he heard Ciara yelp with pain. He turned back to see her clutch her stomach and bend over. Mike’s eyes widened as he stared down at her, the previous trepidation on his face now abject fear. He was reaching out to help her when he winced. His neck arched backward and a pained expression spread across his face.
Morris felt the pain, too. He gripped his stomach, as it felt as though the muscles there were being ripped apart. His instinct was to fight, though as he glanced back up, he saw that his vision was blurring. “Ciara, can you stop him?”
Now on her knees, Ciara glanced up at him. Then her eyes rolled upward and she fell back toward the floor, losing consciousness. Mike managed to catch her and lowered her to the ground. However, once he was on his knees, he wasn’t able to get back up again. He glanced at Morris with a blank expression, then shut his eyes, fell on his side, and ceased moving.
The Crystal Tower Page 29
