The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1)

by Jody Wallace

  A door near the back of the barn opened, and Lou stepped through. She’d discarded her headphones but not her venom. “Witnesses aren’t a problem.”

  Her statement was menacing and all, but the real question was, how the hell had she gotten downstairs?

  “Lou!” Samantha’s shock turned her statement into a wail. “No. I don’t believe it.”

  “Keep them in the radius!” Herman yelled down the hole. “We’ll get all those fuckers.”

  “No, shut it off!” Rachel begged. “I lost my headphones.”

  Herman disappeared, but the whine of the machine continued. If this rescue took too long, they’d all be affected. Permanently.

  Was it too late for me already?

  Footsteps pounded, running up behind us from the pasture. People or cows? Legs. Denim clad, behind a stall. A man, and he looked tall. My vision tunneled before I could make out more details.

  Samantha kicked a bucket toward somebody out of my line of vision. “John, behind you!”

  A struggle. Fists thudded against flesh. John, maybe Alex, defending my honor, and I didn’t even get to see. A body thudded to the floor.

  “Is Cleo all right?” John asked. My best guess, they’d pummeled one of the twins. “Come on, McAdams, put her down. There’s more of us than there are of you.”

  “And I’ve got a taser,” Samantha added happily.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” Clint joggled me, moving sideways. More cows entered the barn. But so had more people, with the cows. Did I have double vision or were there multiple human legs? How many conspirators had Lou sucked into this thing?

  “Luuu,” I said. It didn’t sound like, “Look out!” but it was the best I could do. My stomach churned with my continued upendment. If the dribbles tickling my face were brain melt oozing from my ears and nose, it wouldn’t surprise me. I had no idea how burned I was at this point, but if my headache was anything to go by, I was grill bits.

  I suddenly felt ashamed I’d been shitty to Beau when he’d had his run-in with the evil machine. If he’d felt like this, man, was I ever insensitive.

  “Nice taser, Sammie. But I’ve got a gun,” Lou said. “Now get in the tack room or I’ll shoot somebody.”

  Samantha’s flip flops inched toward Lou. “You won’t—”

  The gun fired, and John cried out.

  “Juh!” I croaked.

  Clint whipped me around. My head swam like an eel. “Dammit, this wasn’t part of the deal, Lou. You can erase what they remember, but you can’t erase a bullet hole.”

  “I can’t believe you shot him!” Samantha said. A garbage can clanged.

  “I’m okay,” John gritted out. From this angle, I could see him slumped against a silver trash can, clutching his thigh. Blood trickled down his leg in rivulets. Samantha, beside him, checked the wound.

  Lou laughed, a hearty chuckle at odds with the fact she’d just pegged somebody. “You’re the one who taught me to shoot, Clint. You three, into the tack room. March!” she barked.

  Three? I’d counted four, but I hadn’t heard or seen Beau since the beginning of the scuffle. The two? four? human legs clambered over the stall gate, and a deep, rumbly voice said, “Do what the lady says.”

  “You’re next, Berkley. I won’t wing you,” Lou said. The bleat of the machine had risen so far it was close to inaudible. Still painful. I hoped the higher frequency didn’t mean a coma was imminent.

  Samantha and Alex, supporting John, marched. A door slammed.

  “Somebody handcuffed me here, and it wasn’t one of them.” Rachel’s voice was thin and shrill. She pressed a hand to one ear, the other side of her head to her shoulder, and tugged at the handcuffs to no avail. “Beau Walker, I think. Took my headphones. Tell Herman to shut it off!”

  “What?” Clint adjusted his headgear.

  Rachel repeated herself, and he said, “I don’t see him. Can he—”

  “Do what I do? Obviously. Can you pick the lock on these handcuffs?”

  “In a minute.” Clint hastened across the room until his back, and me on it, was to the wall instead of a stall. The second tall man remained next to Lou. “Can Walker shift what he’s carrying? Can he hide anyone he’s with?”

  “No idea. I warned you about him,” Rachel said louder, to Lou, who was near my rescuers’ temporary prison. “He shouldn’t have recovered. Herman’s machine doesn’t work.”

  “User error, Rachel. Junior, check your brother.” Lou slammed open the tack room. “Where’s Beau Walker?”

  Samantha positioned herself in the open doorway, her fingers plugged in her ears. “Did you say Walker? Last I saw he was in the dunking booth.”

  Over Samantha’s shoulder, I blurrily noticed a second ladder inside the tack room, presumably to the loft. So Lou didn’t have the power of teleportation. Thank God.

  “Tell me the truth or I’ll blast your foot.” Lou jabbed the gun.

  “I am telling you the truth!” I couldn’t see Sam’s face and might not have been able to detect a mask even if she’d been lying.

  “Don’t fire that gun again,” Clint warned Lou. His shoulder bounced me as he adjusted his headphones. “You’ve already screwed things up enough.”

  “Quit bitching. I have a plan.”

  “And what might that be?” Clint asked.

  I twisted so I could see better. Dizziness whirled the scene like a merry-go-round, but at least I could check out the faces of the speakers. Just in case.

  “Arlin’s in it up to his eyeballs.” Lou was not masked. “Everyone will assume his cover got blown and he got shot.”

  Clint readjusted me on his shoulder again, sending waves of vertigo and pain through my head. “It sure as hell won’t work if you shoot anybody else.”

  “I didn’t hire you to question me,” Lou told him. “I hired you as muscle. You know what happens if you step out of line.” She jerked Samantha’s arm, and the smaller woman stumbled into the breezeway of the barn. “Maybe we could start now.”

  “See, this is too about me,” Samantha said to Rachel, who shot her an evil glare. Sam grabbed Lou’s hand, and they had some kind of power-off that ended with Lou hissing and shoving her into Alex Berkley, who was trying to sneak out of the tack room. Lou raised the gun and aimed.

  She wouldn’t...would she? I alone had seen the murder in her mask, but everyone had seen her shoot John.

  Alex placed his hands on Samantha’s shoulders as if literally getting her back. His fingers were streaked red with blood. John’s, I assumed. His chiseled features were as cold as snow and scary even in the warped triplicate of my upside down vision. “You don’t want to do that, Mrs. Lampey.”

  Lou certainly looked like she wanted to do it. What could Alex the trisensor do? Was he doing it right now?

  Whatever it was, Samantha shrugged him off. “I can take care of myself.”

  She could push somebody who was grappling her, but she couldn’t stop a bullet. She should be ducking behind the door of the tack room, not staring down the barrel of Lou’s pistol.

  “I’m so tired of you both.” Lou slammed the door in their face and turned to Clint. “Is Cleo burned out yet?”

  “Dunno. You awake, honey? How do you feel?”

  “Fuuu.” I wasn’t saying “fine”. I wiped my streaming nose and eyes on the back of his shirt, relieved it didn’t smear red.

  Not entirely red. Blood discolored the mucus and my stomach heaved at the sight of it. Oh, that was not good.

  “I think she’s—” Clint began, right before I hurled breakfast down the back of his legs.

  “Going to be sick,” Clint finished. “Ah, hell.”

  “I didn’t peg her as a puker,” Lou observed. “She always has such a good appetite.”

  “Uhhhhhh.” I vomited again.

  “If she’s puking, she’s fried.” Rachel gulped back a sob. “Turn it off now. I can feel myself starting to burn. Aunt Lou, please!”

  “I’m not burning yet,” Junior said. “Trey’
s out cold.”

  I heaved again, but nothing was left. I was disappointed Clint hadn’t dropped me. I’d much rather be balled in the fetal position on the cow barn floor than pretzeled over his shoulders. My stomach muscles felt like I’d been repeatedly punched, but they were less miserable than my poor head.

  Lou inspected Rachel like she would a half-completed customer service report. A pesky task that stood between Lou and the end of her work day. “Chameleons don’t burn that fast. Don’t be a sissy.”

  “We’re running out of time. Should I take Cleo to the maze?” Clint asked.

  Lou checked her watch, reviving her drill sergeant half over her psychotic killer half. “Junior, wake Trey and send him to head off the hayride. Clint, take Cleo upstairs for five more minutes. I’ll start erasing everyone down here.”

  “You bet, Aunt Lou,” said the big man. “Who cold-cocked him?”

  We all turned. The first big man still reclined on the floor of the barn, his face slack. He had Lampey features identical to Junior’s. The twins.

  Lou shook her head. “Arlin. These people are management consultants, not military. I had no idea he had martial arts training. I wish we could convert him to the cause, but Psytech’s got him by the short hairs.”

  Junior found a bucket, filled it in one of the water troughs, and dumped it on Trey’s head.

  The other man spluttered and woke, and the twins conferred a moment before Trey trotted out of the barn. Or was that Junior? No, Trey, because he was wet and dirty.

  Clint passed Rachel, who was crying quietly, on his way to the ladder. “Can’t you pick the lock on these now?” she asked.

  “No.” He hoisted me higher on his shoulders and began to ascend the ladder.

  This close to the opening, the noise from upstairs became shriller, louder. My vision went grey, white, grey again. Stroke? I bumped and jounced. Clint’s body worked beneath my stomach and legs as he climbed.

  Suddenly I was flying through space and landed in a much too thin cushion of hay. My head thunked the floor. From inside my skull of pain, it sounded like a watermelon splitting open. I rolled to the side, free of Clint’s paralyzing touch but in too much agony to crawl away.

  “Kid’s not cooked yet?” Herman shouted. He was seated in a chair sipping a jug of tea. I couldn’t help but notice he was as far from his machine as he could get without climbing to the top of hay mountain. “I worked on her all week. She should be softened up. Much more and this’ll stroke her out. If she can’t walk, she can’t run errands.”

  “Lou wants a few more minutes,” Clint yelled.

  Herman cursed. “Lou won’t notice if I turn it down. She’s all touch sense.” He started to rise.

  My vision flashed white again, wavery. Tears poured out of my eyes. When I sneezed, blood speckled my hands.

  I squinted, saw Clint’s head disappear down the ladder, right before something electrical popped, and the horrible noise snapped off.

  “Damned machine.” Herman hobbled over to his contraption, but stopped abruptly before he got there.

  “I heard that. Who’s there?”

  No one answered.

  Herman fiddled with switches, turned a few dials. No noise. He shoved his headphones around his neck and thumped to the exit. “Did somebody unplug the extension cord down there?”

  My head contained an echo chamber. Every noise rebounded and doubled. Too bad it wasn’t a sensory dep chamber because I could use a cease fire from my nerve endings. When I breathed too deeply, my chest hurt. Clint and Lou assumed I was down for the count, leaving me up here with rickety Herman and his cane—unless he had a gun, too.

  They might be right. I struggled to move and failed. Tried again and rolled off my thin padding onto bare planks. Damn.

  Somebody downstairs shouted, and our overhead bulb clicked off, leaving Herman and me in the dark. The only light emerged from the exit and a few thin cracks in the walls.

  “Do they want me to break my neck up here?” Herman grumbled.

  “Herman,” I groaned. “I’m over here, don’t trip on me.”

  Somebody’s hand brushed my cheek and covered my mouth. I smelled the distinct, tinny odor of the dunking booth. “Shh.”

  Beau’s face wavered into focus. Barely. It was very dark in the loft. “Took you long enough.”

  “Made a few calls. Popped a few locks.” Rachel’s missing headphones encircled his neck. He grazed my lips gently with his thumb and disappeared again. My eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting.

  “Who’s with you, Cleo? That you, Herman, Jr.? Oh, shit.”

  When I maneuvered myself into position to see what Herman was cussing about, Beau stood beside him with a taser-like weapon to his head. “I think you know what this is, considering you invented it. Don’t say a word.”

  Herman nodded.

  Beau slipped handcuffs out of his pocket and secured Herman to a chain against the far wall that may have been used to raise and lower hay bales. I rolled into a sitting position and dabbed my face with my shirt. My skin felt chapped. All the blood seemed to have come from my nose—none from my ears or eyes. My head pounded, but not as bad as when the machine had been active.

  Beau returned to my side and checked me for injuries. I assumed that’s what he was doing when he rubbed various parts of my anatomy, particularly my throat and head.

  If Clint’s touch had been branding irons, Beau’s was sunshine and satin. He threaded his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp.

  “Feels good.” I leaned against him, inhaling the harsh odor of his damp clothing. “Do my neck.”

  After glancing at Herman and the loft exit, he complied. “Summarize the situation.”

  “Lou’s psycho. Wants to kill bad supras. I was supposed to find out who—” I coughed, covering my mouth. No blood flecks, good. “I was supposed to find out who was hitting our people. Bleeding info out of YuriCorp. She caught me. Can you believe I did it?”

  His hands paused, my head cradled in the crook of his arm. “I can believe it.”

  “Don’t stop touching me.” It hurt to think when he wasn’t rubbing my head. Every part of me that didn’t ache wanted to crawl inside his skin, where it was safe and pain-free. Granted, it wasn’t much of me, but it was enough that I wondered.

  What it would be like.

  Beau apparently wondered, too. “Are you amped?”

  “They made me.” I placed my fingertips against his cheekbones. “I feel strange. I feel terrible, but I also feel strange.” When I touched his hair, it was powder soft. Not what I expected.

  He trapped my hand against his chest. “I have to go.”

  “How’d you spot Rachel in Atlanta, boy? She’s the best chameleon I’ve ever met.” Herman called from the other side of the barn. “I knew she screwed up. Not my machine. Were you even burned?”

  Beau didn’t bother answering Herman. We gazed at one another like two people who didn’t argue every time they were in the same room. He pushed my hair away from my face and for a minute, I thought he might kiss me. My lips parted. A kiss would ease the aftereffects of a burnout. Wouldn’t it? Endorphins were pain blockers.

  Clint’s head popped into the loft. “Lou wants the burner on,” he told Herman. “Hey, what—”

  He was yanked downwards and I heard a crash. More fighting, yelling. Apparently they were going at it with trash cans. Samantha’s voice, Rachel screaming. Somebody hollering about sons of bitches. The gun went off, but it didn’t halt the brawl.

  I didn’t get my kiss. “Don’t even think about it,” Beau warned me before settling me into the hay.

  Was he talking about kissing or entering the fray?

  “Don’t come downstairs.” He dropped through the opening like a paratrooper.

  I not only thought about it, I crawled to the exit and wobbled halfway down the ladder before I realized how stupid I was. I had no business climbing ladders when I’d been burned, amped and tossed around like a sack of potatoes.
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  For the second time that day, I lost my grip and fell off the ladder, onto my back in the barn floor.

  The world shook. Somebody tripped over me and landed with a tremendous thunk, liberating farm implements from their hangers. I rolled toward the ladder and used it to leverage myself up.

  Junior had plunged headfirst into the wall next to Alex Berkley, who had a cut on his cheek and a swollen eye.

  “Thanks,” Alex said before he ran toward another part of the barn.

  A bit unsteadily, I grabbed a shovel off Junior’s back and held it above him in case he stirred. If I could kick Rachel in the head, I could knock somebody back out with a shovel.

  I should have kicked Rachel harder. She was still handcuffed to the wall, screaming for no apparent reason. She groped for a trash can lid and hurled it at me, but it curved like a Frisbee and flew into a cow stall.

  “Stay back!” she screamed at me.

  Like I’d bother. She was handcuffed. I scanned the barn’s breezeway.

  Samantha and Lou were tussling, the gun in the dirt. I had to assume their powers negated each other, because Lou did not seem persuaded and Sam did not seem forgetful.

  Trey slumped on the ground inside the tack room, John on a crate beside him with his shirt bandaging his leg and a pitchfork at the twin’s neck. Good thing the twins had ended up essentially useless, because our team didn’t seem so adept at hand to hand.

  This left Clint, who shifted Samantha’s—no, his—taser between Beau and Alex as they approached from different sides.

  Alex jabbed at Clint, but he blocked and latched onto Alex’s wrist. They grappled, cursing one another. I figured Alex was a goner, but he knocked the taser out of Clint’s hands before they broke apart, chests heaving.

  The Clint effect had no effect on Alex?

  Beau snatched the taser off the floor right as Lou flung Samantha into a garbage can.

  “A little help here?” Samantha yelled. “I think my ankle’s broken. Ow, shit, Lou, don’t step on it!”

  “I’ll handle McAdams,” Beau said.

  And he promptly disappeared, taser and all. Right before everyone’s staring eyes.

  “I knew it!” Rachel shouted. “Zone defense, Clint, like we practiced.”