“Preston, look, whatever’s going on with you has nothing to do with me. I didn’t even start that stupid rumor,” I protested, halting my steps. He swung around toward me, face twisted in an ugly grimace.
“I hate you,” he growled, and then abruptly slammed me against the wall of what must have been an outbuilding or a shed and pressed against me. My shoulder hit against something sharp and I gasped as an intense shock ran down my arm.
“Preston, stop!” I shouted, terror and pain suddenly descending on me, and slammed my knee upward into his groin with as much force as I could muster. He dropped like a stone, screaming obscenities, and I escaped the writhing coil of hatred and viciousness that made up his thoughts. Before I could even move, Carey was in front of me, his hands on my face.
“Are you alright?” he demanded breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, growing concerned at the deadened feeling in my left arm. “I think my shoulder is really hurt.” Carey put his hand around me and felt for the wound, drawing in a harsh breath when he touched me.
“You’re bleeding; I think a lot.” I could barely make him out in the darkness, but his concern was palpable. “Go back into the barn and find one of the adults. I think you need to go the hospital.” At that moment Preston seemed to regain himself and he jumped up from the ground and launched himself at a surprised Carey, knocking him past me against the same wall he had slammed me into. “Go, Liz, just go,” Carey ordered, his voice a low menace. I took off without another word, panicking that I couldn’t feel my arm at all.
I was halfway back to the barn when an arm encircled my neck and pulled me against a tall, unyielding body. I had just enough time to suck in a breath to scream before a cloth was pressed over my mouth and nose and the darkness took over completely.
Chapter 18
The first thing I noticed when consciousness returned was that my head was enormous. I was pretty sure that no one’s head had ever been larger or more stuffed with cotton balls than mine. The second thing that came to my attention was how dry and swollen my tongue was, like I’d been licking sandpaper for a few hours. Then came the slow return of feeling to my body, which was comforting and frightening at the same time, since it made it clear that I was not positioned comfortably in my bed, but lying scrunched up and unable to move on what I was pretty sure was the backseat of a car. The last thing I noticed was that I couldn’t feel my left arm at all, and that there was a terrible pain in my shoulder, like a hot needle had been plunged into my back and then gotten stuck. Different possibilities based on my borrowed medical knowledge drifted through my mind, and I eventually decided that something had probably pierced or compressed the nerve bundle just under my shoulder, meaning that I couldn’t count on feeling returning to my arm anytime soon.
That’s when I remembered that my arm was the least of my worries.
I forced myself to remain quiet and listened. I was definitely in a moving vehicle, I could hear the steady roll of the tires beneath me. There was no sound from the front seat and I guessed I was not expected to be awake quite yet. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes to slits, ready to clamp them shut again if anyone was watching.
It was dark, but the glow from the dashboard told me that I was in the backseat of an SUV of some sort with my arms tied together in front of me with duct tape. Dry panic caught at my throat as I experienced a moment of déjà vu, my mind travelling back to the day I had been snatched from the street by the Coalition, embarking on the worst nightmare of my life. I screamed inside my head, desperate to regain my calm before Carson noticed I was awake and knocked me out again. I knew this could be my only shot at surprising him in some way, and I had to make use of it.
Breathing shallowly through my nose, I tried to remain clinical, taking stock of my situation. I’d been in this position before and gotten out of it. I could do it again.
My ankles seemed to be under the same restraint when I tugged at them. I wondered how Carson was stupid enough to put my hands in front, when I realized with dread that with one arm completely numb, I didn’t pose much of a threat. Still, it was an unexpected advantage, and one I knew how to exploit, so I wasn’t complaining.
It was obvious that Carson had somehow grabbed me in a way that didn’t follow our little plan. Now I had time to think, there were a thousand inconsistencies that hadn’t occurred to me earlier, the most significant of which was that Carey was not infallible and that somehow Carson had gotten around my protector, since me being tied up unconscious in the backseat hadn’t really been part of the plan.
Dad had been right. I just hoped I got the chance to tell him I was sorry for not listening.
I had no idea where we were, but we were moving fast and all I could see out the window was a blur of unrelieved darkness. For a second I lost my nerve, and it took a gargantuan effort not to just start weeping. All the memories of my time at the Coalition and at the hands of the FBI flooded over me and I bit down on my lip to keep from whimpering like a hurt animal. But the moment passed quickly and as my head began to clear from whatever I had been drugged with, a plan began to develop.
As quietly as possible I pulled my arms up to my head, strangling a sob as it became more and more apparent that my left arm was dead weight. I glanced up at the front seat, but saw no indication that Carson had noticed I was awake. Still keeping my eyes on the back of his head, I moved my bound hands, right arm dragging the left along, up to my right ear. V.J.’s headdress was gone for good. I felt around and thanked the learned paranoia that had made me hide a thin, sharp pick in my hair. It was pinned just behind my ear with a bobby pin, and it seemed Carson had missed it.
Carson was too arrogant for his own good. He had to know at least a few things about me; for him not to have checked my hair for a tool of some kind was the absolute zenith of cockiness. I just hoped it was enough of a mistake on his part to save me. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief as I took it from its place and looked at it fondly in the dim light; it had gotten me out of more scrapes than I can mention.
It was more difficult than I’d anticipated poking through the tape with one hand, and then pulling at the holes with my teeth, my eyes watering with frustration. After a tense few minutes, my hands were free and Carson hadn’t turned around once, obviously confident that I would still be unconscious.
Having my hands free was a mixed blessing; only one of them worked and now it meant that I had to do something about my feet, or I would never be able to carry out my plan. I tested my ankles again and found that the tape was bound tightly, but not so much that I couldn’t twist them around a bit. He had taken my shoes off and I cursed inwardly, having hoped that he would have been an inept enough captor to give me that much space, but of course, my luck in that direction seemed to have run out. He might have been arrogant, but he was efficient.
As I lay there frustrated, trying desperately to think of something, anything I could do to free my feet, I pulled the glove off of my right hand with my teeth, letting the unwanted accessory drop to the floor. Then I faced the facts. There was no way to lean down and rip the tape on my ankles apart without attracting attention, and it was clear that I couldn’t just wriggle free of the binding either. Resigned, I decided to go through with my shaky plan and hope that I could hit Carson hard enough to buy me some time.
A flood of panic rushed over me as the thought of Carey finally hit. Did he even know that Carson had me? How could he possibly find me or direct Thrasher if he didn’t hear my abduction because he was too busy with Preston? I had to face the very real possibility that no one was coming for me.
I closed my eyes and fought down the bile rising in my throat, refusing to let fear conquer me. After a few deep breaths I pushed Carey out of my mind. I had to focus on one task at a time, or I had no chance.
Finally, I knew my moment had come; I couldn’t put off escaping any longer, after all, I didn’t know Carson’s final destination. He must have been very careful not to touch me with bare skin,
which meant he knew more about me than I wanted, and we could be nearing a drop point or backup with every passing mile. I gritted my teeth and positioned myself so that my hands appeared to still be stuck together, hiding my ungloved hand beneath the other as best I could. Closing my eyes, I made a tiny moan, hoping it sounded like I was just waking up. The car jerked slightly, and I knew Carson had heard me, but he kept going, showing no signs of pulling over. Annoyed, I moaned again, this time a little louder. Finally, there was a whispered, “Damn,” from the front seat and Carson decreased his speed and swerved the car onto the side of the road, turning off the engine and killing the lights. After another moment, I shifted slightly, pretending to be more alert, and he turned around in his seat to look at me for the first time.
I kept my eyes closed, no matter how much I was itching to get a good look at him, to leap up and smash his face against the dashboard. Instead, I shifted my head slightly and groaned, “Dad?”
“Damn,” he muttered again and I could hear him digging around in the console. I opened one eye slightly and watched him pull out a cloth and a small dark bottle that was probably the Chloroform, or whatever it was he had used on me. He dropped a little of the liquid on the cloth, holding it as far from himself as possible, and then climbed out of the car, hitting the unlock button for the backseat. Knowing that this was my big chance, I tensed myself to strike as he came around to my side of the car, my heart pounding noisily in my head.
The door opened and I felt Carson loom over me. I forced myself to remain still until a chemical smell drifted toward me, and then I flew into action. I opened my eyes, caught sight of his throat and then punched my right fist with the pick pointing out directly into his windpipe as hard as I could.
Carson staggered back, clutching his throat and gagging. In a flash, when the paralysis from the download wore off, I was sitting up and plunging my pick through the tape at my ankles, knowing I had only a matter of seconds before he pulled himself together. The pick cut through the tape enough for me to pull it rest of the way apart with my right hand and I reached across the seat to open the door. Without a backward glance, I flung myself unsteadily out of the car and into the darkness of the surrounding forest.
Staggering and still hazy from the drug, I ran as fast as I could, not paying any attention to where I was going, just concentrating on putting as much space between Carson and me as possible. The moon was hidden behind clouds and the forest seemed to eat up most of the light, making the uneven ground impossible to see, but I kept moving. Holding my right arm ahead of me to deflect some of the branches that slapped my face, I just ran, stumbling over rocks and tree roots. At one point, I tripped over my now tattered skirt and landed on my useless left arm, nearly screaming out at the blinding stab of pain in my neck and shoulder, but no matter what, I kept moving, knowing that was the only thing that might keep me alive.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes, I paused, clinging to a tree as I gulped big breaths of air, nearly drowning in exhaustion. When I was able to quiet my breathing, I listened to the forest, trying to determine if Carson were following me or if I had lost him, or maybe even injured him badly enough that he couldn’t pursue.
It was relatively quiet for a moment and I felt a surge of hope, wondering if I could stay put and wait for Thrasher and Carey, or if I should keep moving. There was sound about fifty feet to my left and I froze, not even breathing as I opened the brand new connection to Carson’s mind and listened in.
“That’s it you little bitch, you just stay right there where I can see you…a bullet in your other arm ought to keep you from hitting me again…maybe we’ll just put one in your knee as well, so I can quit chasing you. God, I’m getting too old for this. Bergen better make this worth my while, make it enough to get me out of the Bureau…otherwise I guess I’ll just off her and cut my losses. But damn it, the little bitch cut me. She’s going to pay for that…”
I swallowed my panic and tried to get a grip. I didn’t know who Bergen was, but a quick sift through his memories told me that he was a member of the Coalition, the psychiatrist I had known as Samuelson. I shuddered uncontrollably, my worst fears realized. Everything my Dad and I had run from was now waiting to shoot me here in the woods.
The thought of my father steadied me and I forced myself to focus. Moving as carefully as possible, I shifted around the tree and lowered myself to the ground so that I would be covered from any shooting he might attempt in his incensed state. It seemed I might have done more harm than good with my escape plan. If he got hands on me again, my arm would be least of my problems.
“I know you’re out there, Liz…or should I call you Elizabeth Mason?” Carson’s out of breath voice croaked across the distance. I cringed inwardly to hear my real name, wishing I had the time to look through his memories and see exactly how much he knew about me. “You were much easier to catch last time, you know. You’ve really grown up. Almost makes me proud,” he jeered, and I heard the crunch of leaves that told me he was moving closer to my position.
Without consciously meaning to, my mind pulled up a memory from Carson’s file, like watching a movie slightly out of focus.
Carson waited in a van behind a school bus, a black mask covering his face, wearing long sleeves and gloves, allowing not even an inch of skin to show. Through tinted windows he watched a nervous-looking girl get off of the bus and turn to cross the intersection where he waited. He gave the word to the thug he had hired waiting in the back and the side door flew open as arms reached out to grab the girl, pulling her into the dark recesses of the vehicle before anyone could hear her scream. The girl was thrashing around, striking out wildly and yelling like a banshee. “Shut her up,” he commanded as he sped through the green light and barreled down the road, heading for the interstate. “Just put the syringe in her and push. It’ll knock her out.” He watched in the rearview mirror as a needle plunged into the girl’s arm and she quieted, finally lying still. He watched the road behind him uneasily until they were on the highway, strictly following the speed limit and there was still no tail. His accomplice crawled into the passenger seat without a backward look.
“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?” the man asked, a jack-o-lantern grin stretched loosely across his face. “What’d she do? See you kill somebody or something?”
Carson shot a look at his companion, glad that he was going to be able to kill him as soon as his usefulness ran out and then glanced at the girl from the rearview. She laid there, arms and legs bound, head lolling back and forth on the floor of the van, completely helpless. “She’s seen a lot of things,” Carson replied as he pushed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal.
Tears streamed from my eyes and my breaths came in quick gasps. Carson was the one who had kidnapped me for the Coalition. He had been working for them all along. He was the reason I had been strapped to an operating table to be prodded and stuck with needles. He was the reason I had been shocked with electricity over and over again just to see if it affected my abilities. He was the reason my father had spent a week believing I was dead. And now, he was the reason I was injured and hiding in the forest, bare feet bleeding and aching, freezing in the cold October air, my arm hanging uselessly at my side.
I hated him.
A powerful, maddening loathing pooled at my feet and grew deeper, sucking me into its depths till I could barely breathe for the intensity of it. If I had been carrying a gun I would have shot Carson without hesitation in that moment. And I would have smiled as I pulled the trigger.
My little trip down memory lane had lost me about a minute, and I knew Carson was getting closer, thirty feet away and moving a little faster. I geared myself up to run again, hoping that I could just dodge whatever bullets he shot, and trust that he wouldn’t aim to kill. I turned around, ready to sprint, when I heard an almighty thud and crash as something hard and fast flew into Carson’s shadowy form and pinned him to the ground. My heart leapt in my throat as I made out
the man-sized shape on top of Carson and realized with a thrill that it must be Carey, come to save me, hopefully with Thrasher not far behind. I did a little inward cheer and straightened, still tensed to run if necessary, but feeling more confident.
There was a muffled pop and the sharp, acrid smell of smoke. I looked around, eyes wild, and froze as I heard Carey’s unmistakable voice say “Oh,” in surprise.
All my blood stopped flowing at the sight of Carey’s body slumping uncharacteristically as Carson heaved him off to the side where he lay still and unmoving. I tried to move toward Carey, to help him up, to shake him, to do something, anything, but my feet seemed to be stuck in cement and I remained clinging to the tree, willing him with every ounce of my being to sit up and laugh it off.
But he didn’t.
Chapter 19
“Oh no,” I sobbed, my knees giving way as I drooped against the tree trunk, my legs like jelly. I shivered uncontrollably as I watched the motionless form of my hero. Carey wasn’t supposed to get hurt; he was invincible, he moved faster than bullets. How could one hit him?
The frozen silence of the moment was broken by Carson’s unsteady rise to his feet. He stared down at Carey’s inert body, then shook his head and turned toward my tree. I could make out the white gleam of his teeth in the milky light and tried to pull myself together, knowing if I had a complete breakdown there was no way Carey would get any help. And I had to believe that he would still need help. Anything else was unthinkable.
“Your boyfriend packs one hell of a punch,” Carson said sarcastically, but I could hear the note of fear in his voice. “So I must have missed a tracker when I patted you down. Who else is following us?” he demanded, moving closer to me.
At First Touch Page 23
