When Darkness Builds (The Caldera Series)

by M. C. Sutton

  Matt sighed. So, his parents were at least alive. Though he wished they were on the screen so he could know for sure.

  “I have been asked to read to you their list of demands.” Rachael unfolded a piece of paper and began to read.

  “We call ourselves separatists. We believe that you can’t mix things properly until you’ve held them separate long enough to test their qualities. Their values. You’ve got to find your own identity, and I mine. You’ve got to prove yourself. So, what have we proven? We are Texans. We are the grand testament of the lone striker. We are the children of the Alamo. We are strong, and honest, and proud. We are King and Country. We are friends and family. We are tired, and weathered, and worn, but we continue on, because we know who we are and what must be done. We have proven our value. Can the same be said for you?

  “We’ve all lost something to the federal government. We’ve lost our livelihoods to agricultural regulations we can’t meet. We’ve lost our lands and homes to taxes we can’t afford to pay. We’ve lost friends and family to a war that should have never been fought. How much more will we lose? How much more are we willing to lose before something is finally done? And is there anything even left?

  “We, the people of The Republic, are here to tell you there is still something left. There is freedom. We have the freedom to act. We have the freedom to think, and to plan, and to carry out. We have the freedom to stand up for a belief. A belief against excessive reliance on the market economy. A belief against globalism. A belief in self-reliance. A belief in liberty. But sadly, we also believe that this freedom is slowly fading, and with it goes our time to act. We stand before you God-fearing men. We love our families. We love our lands. We love Texas. We are the last to ever suggest war, but that is exactly what we have on our hands. For what are wars but politics turned bloody? Today, we declare war on oppression. We declare war on rule by the few over the many. We declare war on injustice and on blind tolerance.

  “Today we, on behalf of all those who have been wronged, on behalf of all those who are tired and worn, demand…” Rachael stopped and stared at the paper, then looked at someone off-camera. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “Just read it!” said a voice.

  Rachael swallowed. “We demand a total and complete secession of the state of Texas from the federal government, or there will, indeed, be war…” She lowered the paper and looked directly into the camera. “And every single hostage in this building will die.”

  Grandpa turned off the TV.

  “Sarah?” Professor March said quietly. He took her hand.

  “It’s all right, Mike,” she said. “I know.”

  Matt had never seen the two of them look at each other the way they did just then. They’d been married for about five years, though it was sometimes hard to tell. Matt knew not every couple was as affectionate as his parents, but he’d always gotten the impression the professor and Sarah’s marriage was based mostly on mutual respect. As if their entire relationship stemmed from a simple need for companionship rather than romantic interest.

  The concern in their eyes at that moment only increased Matt’s fears.

  The professor let go of Sarah’s hand. “Is everything ready, Richard?” he asked Grandpa Scott.

  “Yes. I think they’re waiting for you.”

  “And you appreciate the importance of your objective?”

  Grandpa glanced at Matt. “Objective? For goodness’ sake, Mike. They’re my grandchildren.”

  The professor looked at the floor. “Of course.” And without another word, he turned and headed out the door.

  Matt looked to Alex, who appeared just as confused as he was.

  What the heck was going on?

  “Professor March, wait,” said Matt, following him out onto the front porch. “Professor March!”

  The professor stopped at the bottom of the steps but didn’t turn.

  “Where are you going? How can you just leave at a time like this? Do you not care about my family at all?”

  The professor turned around. Matt fully expected Professor March to look at him the same way he had in the hall, when Matt had refused to go with him. But he didn’t. His eyebrows were drawn and his mouth was turned down in concern. The expression might have made Matt feel guilty for his tone if he hadn’t been too angry to care.

  “Matthew, I have to go right now,” Professor March said quietly. “There are some people I need to talk to. I can’t tell you where I’m going or who I’ll be meeting with or even how long I’ll be gone. I know that you’re worried about your mother and father. I am too. But you must trust me. There is much more at stake here than the lives of your parents.”

  Matt had no idea what the professor was talking about, nor did he care. To suggest that anything could ever be more important than the lives of his own family was both insulting and infuriating. He crossed his arms. “Why should I trust you? I’m not sure I even know who you are anymore.”

  Professor March dropped his eyes.

  “Fine,” said Matt. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, then I’ll just find out for myself. I mean, you taught me that much at least, right?”

  “I have no doubt at all in your ability to obtain the information yourself, Mr. Grant,” the professor said. “I would, however, appreciate it if you didn’t try.”

  Matt looked away. He didn’t want Professor March to see just how angry and frustrated and worried he was. Not that it mattered anyway. The professor probably knew.

  The professor always knew.

  Professor March stepped back up onto the porch. “If I tell you where I’m going, then will you trust me enough to allow me to leave?”

  Matt wrinkled his forehead. Allow him to leave? He couldn’t stop him even if he tried. But Matt got the sense that the professor didn’t want to go until he knew for sure that the two of them were on good terms. Knowing how important that was to Professor March made it hard for Matt to stay mad.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded.

  “Matthew.” The professor lowered his voice. “I am part of a… council. A council composed of people like us. In light of recent events, including the current situation with your parents in Dallas, it has become relevant for us to discuss certain… actions that must be taken. Actions that have been planned for such a time as deemed necessary by members of the council. When events might align in such a way that would signify a shift in the status quo. That is where I must go now. To meet with the other members of the council.”

  Matt’s heart beat faster. Not because of what the professor was saying, but because of what Matt was picking up between the lines. Professor March didn’t just say “the current situation in Dallas.” He very specifically included Matt’s parents in that. As if they were involved somehow. As if they were in the middle of it.

  And that’s when Matt got it.

  “It’s all connected, isn’t it? What’s happening in Dallas. The GOG. The problems with the economy. My parents. All of it.” All the pieces that had been staring him in the face for the last few months. The things they had been trying to keep from him. Everything he had seen and heard and felt. All of it led back to one thing. “My mother’s dreams. That’s how it all comes together, isn’t it? That’s why you’re leaving now.”

  Professor March remained silent.

  “But you already knew that. Didn’t you, Professor? You and your council.”

  “No,” said the professor. “Not with any certainty. Not until…” He stopped, then looked down at the porch. “Not until you came to talk to me this morning.”

  There weren’t many strong emotions that Matt had experienced firsthand. He knew what true anger felt like only through the eyes of others. Like how Jacob had felt when Emily was dragged off to live with her father in Canada against her will. Or when his dad found out the school board voted to cancel the music program, despite how hard they had all worked to raise the money to save it. But at that moment Matt knew what real ang
er felt like, because he now knew why his mother had been avoiding Professor March. She hadn’t wanted him to know what she was seeing.

  So he had tricked Matt into telling him instead.

  “How could you do that to me, Professor? How could you do that to her?”

  “Matthew, we had no choice. There was too much at risk. We couldn’t know for sure until we knew what she knew. But your mother has never trusted anyone except your father.”

  Matt glared. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “We only did it to protect you, Matthew. You and your brother. Leah and Daniel. Your parents. Everyone. That’s all we ever wanted to do. Protect you.”

  Matt fought to hold back the hot sting of tears. “Protect us, huh? So, that’s what you meant, isn’t it! About this being a job? That’s all we ever were to you, Professor MI6? A job!”

  The professor’s face fell. “Oh, Matthew, no.”

  Alex stepped out onto the porch. “Matt, is everything okay?” She looked back and forth between him and the professor as if she knew darn well it wasn’t.

  Matt took a deep breath. “Everything’s fine,” he said quietly to the porch. “The professor was just leaving.”

  Professor March sighed. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. The choices we make are not always easy when charged with the responsibility of others. I hope one day you’ll understand that.”

  That was the last thing Matt wanted to hear.

  Professor March turned and headed to his car.

  “Matia mou?” Alex said quietly.

  He met her gaze. There was an incredible bleakness behind those beautiful blue-gray eyes. As if they had both just discovered that their entire world was nothing more than a desperate lie.

  “Everything’s not okay,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Is it?”

  Matt held out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her closer. They wrapped their arms around each other. The feelings they shared in that moment—the betrayal, the helplessness, the fear—were the only things left to them that were real.

  “No, Lexi,” said Matt. “It’s not.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Put your cell phone in the bag, lady.”

  The scrawny guy in the mask held out a cloth sack. He and a couple other terrorists were walking around collecting everyone’s phones to keep them from communicating with the outside world. This guy had started with Rachael, and then turned to Bennett, who had the unfortunate luck of being plopped down next to their little group after he and Rachael had come back from helping the terrorists videotape their demands.

  At first Emma felt bad for Rachael, for being dragged off to help them, then quickly realized Rachael hadn’t minded at all. As soon as she returned, she leaned across Aaron and excitedly whispered to them her account of the entire experience, including the terrorists’ outrageous demands. She then pulled out her phone and attempted to discreetly bang out a quick email to the media before the scrawny guy demanded she turn over the phone.

  Then he took Aaron’s phone as well. He moved next to Jon, who coolly told the guy he’d left his phone up in their room. It didn’t take a whole lot of convincing. Emma recognized this terrorist as one of those who’d attempted to hold Jon down earlier—and who’d gotten his nose cracked for it. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

  How’s your face feel, kid?

  “Come on,” he said, holding the sack out to her. “You’ll get it back at the end of class.”

  Really? You’ve got to be kidding me. “I don’t have it.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s in my bag up on the stage.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You really expect me to believe that neither one of you has a phone on you?”

  “That’s right, slick,” said Jon.

  The kid glared at Jon, then turned back to Emma. “Yeah, all right.” He smiled and winked at her. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Then again…” He looked her over with a leer. “I could always just frisk you for it.”

  Jon shot to his feet, inches from the kid’s face. “You sure you really want to do that?”

  “Careful there, tough guy. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty little wife, now would you?” He grinned and pointed his gun at Emma. The little punk seemed an awful lot cockier now that he’d been given the okay to shoot if there was trouble.

  Emma saw the muscles in Jon’s arm twitch and felt a tingle of impending explosion, like static in the air. It must have taken everything Jon had to hold himself back. She felt like punching the kid herself.

  A couple of the guys who had been hovering behind the computer screens turned to face the commotion. Mac put a hand on his gun.

  Jack stood up and stepped in between Jon and the kid. “Look, son,” he said to the terrorist. “She already told you she doesn’t have her phone. If you really want it, then just go up on the stage and get it.”

  “Stay out of this, grandpa.” The kid pointed his gun at Jack.

  “I don’t think you want to do that, young man,” said Jack in an eerie, hollow tone Emma had never heard from him before. He put his hand on the guy’s arm.

  Emma held her breath. She was sure Jack was about to get himself shot, but instead the kid’s eyes went glassy, the twitching in the corner of his mouth stopped, and his stare went blank. Then he simply walked off toward the stage.

  Jack turned back to Jon. “Sit down, Jon Jacob,” he said before returning to his own spot against the wall.

  Jon stared after the kid for a minute without moving, his fist still clenched by his side. Emma reached up and slipped her hand into it. He looked down at her, then finally sat back down beside her.

  Emma wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened. Or what hadn’t happened. Apparently Jack was a Pusher. It made sense—most of the Marked who went into politics were. Still, though Emma had never known what Jack Allred’s gift was, it seemed odd to think that he had the ability to manipulate people. Jon’s Uncle Jack had always been so kind. He had gotten Jon out of trouble more times than Emma probably even knew about. It was hard to imagine him as someone who could make you do just about whatever he wanted.

  Too bad it only worked on one person at a time.

  Bennett leaned over Rachael and whispered, “Wow, Captain, that was brilliant. What’s your next strategy? Threaten to meet him out in the parking lot after school?”

  Jon leaned his head back against the wall, ignoring him.

  Aaron answered instead. “Hey, Bennett, how’s your lip?”

  Jon smiled at that one.

  Emma squeezed his hand, and he turned to meet her gaze. Emma loved Jon’s eyes. They were a deep, rich brown, but with a fire behind them. Not like the cold, blue flame of the eyes she saw in her dreams. No, Jon’s eyes burned with warmth, and light, and everything good and honorable, giving him an air of nobility. Which was fitting. He was her knight in shining armor. Her great protector, from the very first day they met. That was the first time he’d saved her life, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Emma was working for FEMA when the big one hit Washington state. The devastation was record-breaking. Entire cities were leveled. But Emma and her team were ready for it. In her first real assignment as an incident commander, she gathered hundreds of field agents and volunteers and set up search-and-rescue and emergency shelters. She even had an entire unit from the Virginia Air National Guard at her disposal. Everything went just as she planned—until the storm hit.

  Her superiors wanted to pull out until the storm blew through. Emma didn’t. She knew there were still people stuck outside in the elements who might not make it through the night. It took a great deal of convincing on her part, but she managed to talk them into letting her make one last run to look for survivors. Under one condition. She had to find a pilot willing to take her. Emma knew the storm would be bad enough for people on the ground. She wasn’t sure how to convince a pilot to fly in it. But as it turned out, she didn’t have
to.

  Emma had a volunteer.

  And that’s how she and Jon ended up spending their first night together, sheltered from the storm in some random basement in Seattle, soaking wet and trying desperately not to freeze to death in the freakish cold of late September. It was strange, the familiarity she felt with him. They had never so much as said a word to each other before that night—although she had caught him staring at her on multiple occasions. Which, of course, meant she was looking his way as well. Almost like they were drawn to each other. And the more time they spent together, the stronger that attraction became.

  They were picked up the next morning, and no matter how hard she tried to forget about him and go back to the craziness that was her life, Emma just couldn’t get Lt. Jonathan Grant out of her head. They were connected somehow.

  And had been ever since.

  “Thanks, Sparky,” she said, winking at him.

  Jon chuckled. It had been a long time since she called him that. “You’re very welcome, Princess.”

  Emma resigned herself to staring at the clock above the stage. The seconds passed. Tick, tick, tick. Perfectly synchronized with the pounding in her head. Then the seconds melted into minutes. And the minutes into hours. She pulled off her blazer jacket and rested her head on Jon’s shoulder. There were only two things in life that Emma had little tolerance for. One was indecisiveness. The other was waiting.

  Jon’s stomach rumbled. “If I’d known we were going to be held hostage all night, I’d have eaten something this morning,” he said.

  Emma rolled her eyes. Only Jon could think about food at a time like this. Her stomach was so knotted it was all she could do to keep from throwing up. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  Jon shrugged. “I’m hungry. Not everyone can go freakishly long periods of time without eating.”

  “So how about we actually do something to get out of this instead of just sitting here, then?”

  “We’re not going to do a damn thing.” Jon glanced around, then lowered his voice. “You heard what they said, Emma. You may not care what happens to you, but I do. Not to mention, we have three kids at home waiting for us. So for once, please, just let someone else be the hero.”