“As much as I hate to admit it, your father would have done the same. He always put other people’s safety ahead of his own, except for us.”
“He thought he kept us safe.”
“I know you think that, but he deserted us.” The bitter tone crept into her voice. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Your family comes first, and sometimes it means running with them. Do you understand?”
I did all too well. In her lawyer way, she spoke what I knew. The five of us were like family now, and we had to protect each other.
“Gotcha.” I hugged her. “Mom, Powell said he would do terrible things to you. Shouldn’t you come with us, to be on the safe side?”
“I have to go back.” The corners of her mouth curled down. “If I’m not there screaming about you being taken by Powell, the Protectorate will get suspicious. Plus, Oliver told me you hit the bastard with so much juice he’s probably on his way to the moon.”
I smiled at her. I still had Wendi with me. No more Brunner or Powell. The Earth was a better place already. I guess I’m the scumbag remover. I tried not to think about the others I had vaporized; Clint had only just found his conscience an hour before he died.
I hugged her once more, said goodbye, and drove off into the night to start my new life.
The sun peeked above the South Dakota horizon as we drove into what could only be described as a concrete cave. Waxenby steered the van off the paved road onto a gravel road into an abandoned railway tunnel. We pulled into the dark recess, the headlights flickering over assorted debris.
After a couple hundred feet, we came to a collapsed part of the tunnel. Waxenby hopped out of the van, flashlight in hand, as he looked for something. He stopped at a panel in the wall before returning to the van.
“Everybody ready?” he asked, his face covered by a big cheesy grin.
“Ready for what? We’re in a collapsed tunnel,” Abby said.
He held up a control of some sort. “For this.” He pushed the button. A wall slid down behind the van, reflecting the taillights off the metallic surface. The van shook a bit as we descended into the ground.
Marcel shook with excitement. His head needed to be on a pivot so he could see everything at once. “How cool is this?”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Waxenby said. “I’ve heard stories of Dresden, but this is my first time here.”
We stopped descending; a metal freight door slid open before us. We left the van in what looked to be a small parking area. There was room for ten cars, though only a motorcycle and a blue sedan were present, with a door reminding me of the Air-Lock back at school.
The door opened, leading into a hallway that ended in a door that mirrored the first. Waxenby entered a code, and his palm scanned to confirm his identity.
“Why wasn’t the lock on the first door?” Marcel said, a bit bewildered. “That’s not good security design.”
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Waxenby motioned for everyone to go in. “If I wasn’t authorized, the far door locks and nothing good happens after that.”
Marcel gulped, quickly exiting the hall. I guess sometimes it’s better not to know. I followed him into a room that should have been on a high-end real estate show instead of underground in the middle of South Dakota. The hardwood floors gleamed, reflecting the sunlight coming in from the windows. I took a double take. The windows overlooked the ocean; a white sand beach stretched off into the distance.
“Um. That can’t be real, can it?” Abby said.
Waxenby laughed. “From what I understand, it’s a prismatic display that cycles with the time and season. Underground it is really tough to keep your circadian rhythms in sync.”
“What is this place?” I asked, wonder thick in my voice. I fell through rabbit hole and ended up in tech heaven. Wendi had the same reaction as me—there was too much to see all at once.
Waxenby took a seat at the slate gray oval table dominating the right side of the room. Twenty industrial chairs surrounded the table. The chandelier alone was worth more than my house. Abby leaned against the wall near the table; her eyes scanned the room. I noticed she spun her watch while she stood there.
“Around the country, there are safe houses for the various Gifted teams. This one,” he said sweeping his arm to indicate the room, “was owned by The League of Patriots. Old missile silos make great hideouts. Everything is state of the art, or it was before the war.”
“This is amazing,” Marcel whispered as he studied the prismatic display, walking around to see it from different angles. “We don’t have this technology now.”
“The Gifted teams had a lot of tech the general public had no idea about. Gifted engineers fabricated devices for the major teams, such as the bracelets you wear now.”
“Or the collars we used to wear,” Jon growled perching on another chair close to where Abby stood.
Wendi sighed. “Jon, stop it. We should be thankful Waxenby knew places to get us away from Redemption.” I could hear the irritation in her voice. She moved over to stand between Jon and me.
Waxenby nodded. “We don’t know where the collars came from. The bracelets you are wearing dampen your abilities, but they don’t inhibit them. There would have been no need for the space station prison if we had the collars.”
“For being a math teacher, you are certainly well informed,” Jon said.
Waxenby shrugged. “Before I was collared, a few of us with lesser Gifts were given information from the teams since they were all being hunted then killed or interned. They wanted us to form a resistance to free the Gifted from the Protectorate.”
“And you did an awesome job at that, I guess,” Jon sneered. Abby stepped over and punched him in the shoulder. To his credit, he didn’t flinch, much.
“Knock it off, Jon.” The attitude was wearing on my nerves. “The only reason we got out of Redemption was because of Waxenby.”
“I can’t believe this is real,” Marcel said, awe heavy in his voice standing in front of something else made of metal and blinking lights of unknown use, at least to me.
A voice came from across the room. “Dios mío! What are you niños doing here?”
All heads snapped around at the sound, both Jon and I stepping between Wendi and the intruder. The owner of the gravelly voice had a wispy black beard, long, straight hair, and a neck tattoo. Faded fatigues and combat boots stood in sharp contrast to the black dress shirt with red piping and a turquoise bolo tie. Is cowboy guerilla a fashion trend?
Marcel’s jaw dropped. “W.T.F. That’s the Grim Reaper.”
With a roar, Abby pulled her bracelet off, threw it aside, and charged. Her hair trailed behind her as she closed the thirty feet, the red side of her hair flowing like the fire out of a jet engine.
Grim Reaper, caught unaware, moved just as fast. Abby was a whirlwind of punches. He blocked the first few, then Abby connected with a vicious uppercut throwing him ten feet into the wall. He came off the wall, seething mad, scythe at the ready.
Both charged but bounced harmlessly off the shield Waxenby placed between them. Abby tried again, but the blue energy wrapped around her, pinning her arms and legs.
“That is quite enough from you two,” Waxenby said. “Jose, you know better than to startle unsuspecting people.”
The scythe winked out of existence, and the mood lightened marginally. “Sorry, Ollie. Abuela warns me about sneaking up on people.” He rubbed his jaw. “I expected no one to be here.”
“What’s he doing here?” Jon said, still standing in front of Wendi. She was crouched on the ground, her hands over her head.
I knelt next to her. “Everything is okay now. It’s under control.” I reached out to help her up, but she flinched away from me. I heard Mom’s voice in my head: “Take it slow.” I waited until she put her hand on my arm, and I helped her up.
Marcel picked up Abby’s bracelet from the floor, tossing it to me as Waxenby lowered the shields. She snatched it out of my hand.
A curt nod was all I got as her eyes never left the Grim Reaper.
“I ask the same of you, boy.” He matched the nastiness in Jon’s question. “I’m hiding out from the Protectorate after breaking out of The Block. So, you on the run or a school fieldtrip?”
“How did you know about this place?” Waxenby asked.
“I got to talkin’ with Siren back in The Block.” His Latino accent had kicked in more now as he relaxed. “She told me where and how to get in. Same as you, I’m guessin’.”
“Something like that,” Waxenby said noncommittally. “Well, we’ll take the silo since there is more of us.”
“We’re all on the same side now, Ollie. Let me help you train up these ones.” He smirked. “Girlie there is one tough cerda. She could be a great fighter.”
“I’ll think about it, Jose. For now, we are going to catch some z’s.”
We followed Waxenby out of the room and down the switchback stairs leading to the silo. “Buenas noches, Ollie,” echoed down the stairs with us.
Waxenby punched the wall, a blue glove covering his hand. “I should have stuffed a shield in his mouth.”
21
The next morning, we made the decision to take off the dampening bracelets and let our Gifts manifest. Before the war, kids would begin to exhibit their Gifts around ten to twelve. Being older, Waxenby thought we would change faster.
We dropped into a routine as the days wore on. Start the day at seven a.m., run the track, hit the weights, wash up, and eat breakfast. After a couple of hours off, the afternoon was all testing to see if our Gifts were manifesting. Marcel and I cooked dinner most nights, and Abby helped where she could. The summer at The Secret Lair made the transition easier since we’d been working in the kitchen. Jon and Wendi cleaned up after, making jokes none of us understood. Seeing them work together displayed how effortlessly they revolved around each other. After, we watched old movies or hung out talking about training. Nobody mentioned school; I think all of us understood we’d never return for senior year.
Jose, the Grim Reaper, was our workout coach and sparring partner. He taught us combat techniques, dirty fighting, and generally thumped us pretty good. He also taught us to use the knife always strapped to his hip, but on the training dummies. It turns out Gifted have better reflexes, heal faster, and have a much higher pain tolerance than Norms if we aren’t collared. Morning bruises were gone by dinner, which would’ve come in handy when I was Brunner’s punching bag.
Waxenby let Jose help after we all agreed to keep to first names and we didn’t talk about anything but training with him. Jose was a murderer and assassin, but he knew how to fight.
A couple of weeks into training, I sat on a bench outside the boxing ring, watching Jon get his ass handed to him. The ring was padded to help soften the landings, but they still hurt. Jose’s faded denim shirt and knife belt hung over the turnbuckle. Jose’s knife had become an extension of him, his weapon of choice. None of us could be seen as a threat, so why bother carrying it? I watched Jose goad him into losing his temper, and after that, it was all over but the bleeding.
“Can I sit here?” Wendi said. I was so focused on the training I didn’t hear her approach, a habit I needed to break before it broke me, or so I’ve been told by Jose.
“Sure thing.”
“Jon’s so angry. I don’t know how to reach him. He’s never been a hothead.” She shook her head.
And the award for understatement of the year goes to… “Jose is good at getting to him,” I said instead. And getting to me, I admitted to myself without it coming out of my mouth, for once. I let the silence lengthen like the shadows as the sun set.
Breaking the silence, she brought the light back to help the healing. “Tommy, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.” She put her hand up when I started to protest. “Brunner hurt me. I still have nightmares about it. The funny part is the whole time I knew you would save me somehow. Not Jon, you.”
She looked up, but the match went on. Relief flooded her face. “He’d never forgive me if he heard me say that,” she blurted. “Afterward, I was scared and ashamed at what had happened and I couldn’t face you.”
I reached for her hand but stopped short. She slowly took my hand in hers. Her skin felt warm and soft, like the sun after a rainy day. I smiled at her, probably way goofier than I ever intended.
“I understand, or at least I think I understand, but either way it’s okay. I’m worried about you.” It had been hard to not be with her, but now maybe things could start to go back to normal. “I didn’t want to fail you. I’m glad you are safe.”
She leaned over and kissed me. I could feel her trembling. It was like our first kiss all over again.
“Ward, what the hell are you doing?” Jon yelled from the ring we trained in. His face turned purple as the anger took over, again. “I told you to stay away from my sister.”
“Hombre, chill,” Jose said, holding his hands up, ending the match.
He pushed past Jose, a sneer plastered across his face. “Why don’t you come up here, and I’ll wipe that stupid smirk from your face.”
Wendi stood up, hands on her hips and cold as stone. “Jon, Tommy is my boyfriend, and it is none of your business.”
“Wendi, this is between Tommy and me.”
I glanced at Wendi. She nodded slightly, so I knew it was okay. This had to end, and if it took a beating to end it, so be it. I just didn’t know who would be on the receiving end.
Given we healed faster, nobody wore boxing gear since in combat your opponent wouldn’t be. I climbed between the ropes, pushed the hair back from my eyes, and got ready. Jon being six three, I gave up five inches and thirty pounds of muscle, but Blaze had taught me well.
“Come on,” I said. Jon ran at me like a rampaging rhino. I sidestepped him, letting him bounce off the turnbuckle. He spun, sweat flying off him in a wide arc. He moved in low, circling me, looking for an opening. I cleared my mind and blocked the punches as they came. I didn’t throw any; I hoped he would calm down.
“Fight me, dammit!” he screamed.
He came at me again, and I slid to the side and punched him in the side of the head. He shook off the blow then rapid fired punches at me, slamming one into my jaw, after which I stopped feeling the individual attacks, and it became one massive building bruise. Out of sheer reflex, I hit him with an uppercut, which drove him a good six feet in the air. He bounced off the mat, his body making a loud thud as he hit.
I wanted to check on him, but Jose waved me off. “Nice punch, Ward.” Jose grinned at me. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Crap. No last names. Jon blew it for me. I needed to talk to Waxenby and see what he thought. Jon was on his feet. I turned to climb out of the ring so I could go find Waxenby. Jon and his big mouth.
“Tommy!” Wendi yelled. Jon snatched the combat knife from where it hung on the turnbuckle and charged at me. I flowed into my overhead block, but the knife was gone. Jon looked as stunned as I did. Wendi stood at the far wall, knife in hand. In the blink of an eye, she had gotten into the ring, taken the knife, and gotten out again.
Jose punched Jon square in the face, flattening him to the floor. The psychic scythe was out, its ominous green glow a few inches from his face. The blade trembled as if he couldn’t decide if he should use it.
“Jose, it’s okay, man,” I said as calm as I could. “He lost his temper. No harm done.”
“Wheres I come from a guy pulls shiv on ya, you put him down like a dog,” Jose growled, staring down at Jon, his accent flipping from Latino thug to New York mobster. I swear you could feel the ice flowing through his veins. “You ever do that again, punk, ‘n I cut you. Capisce?”
Jon nodded rapidly. The blade winked out of existence. Jose gaped at me as if he saw me for the first time. “Watch ya back with that one.” He ducked through the ropes, grabbing his shirt and sheath, got the knife from Wendi, and left.
Jon glared at Wendi. I couldn’t tell if he was pisse
d or relieved she’d taken the knife. He shot her a disgusted sneer and left the ring.
I turned to Wendi. “Thanks. I guess we’re even,” I said, managing a weak smile, even though her twin brother had tried to stab me.
“Did you see how fast I ran?” she squealed in delight.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t, Speedy Gonzales.”
Frustration built in me as the days wore on. I couldn’t do anything with my Gift. I wondered if the night I killed Powell had burned me out. Marcel dove into the tech left behind at Dresden. The way he lovingly spoke about it made me think they were dating. Maybe they were…the AI was pretty advanced.
Waxenby called us all together in the “living room.” This place amazed me. The eight chairs, arranged in a circle around a round coffee table, molded to your body, reclined in zero-G position, had massage and heat features. While you were in them, you could access news feeds, watch TV, listen to music, or anything else. The best part is you were the only one who could see or hear it. Marcel explain it transmitted data directly into your sub-neurological cranial bio-something-or-other. I didn’t care how it worked, as long as it did.
Wendi and I linked our sessions so we could talk while we watched movies together. Usually old romantic comedies that she liked so much. The chairs allowed us to bond and talk without the physical contact that set her on edge.
Jose, face drawn in a frown, had taken “old blue” to get some supplies. My guess is Jose had been voluntold to go away for a while. He grumbled as he stormed out to the parking area we had originally entered through.
I studied my friends. All of us had changed since the day the collars came off nearly three weeks before. I’d grown and filled out, as had the others. I wasn’t sure if exercise or being Gifted had brought the changes, but we all could have been professional athletes. Abby showed the greatest change. At six four, she stood taller than Jon and bordered on being more muscular. Little things set her off now more than ever.
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