I toss the ball to the pavement. It bounces twice and then, ten feet behind the van, it explodes.
Shrapnel slaps into the van’s back doors, and shatters my side mirror. It wasn’t a very powerful blast, but it could shred a person—or a tire—at close range.
They’re flying proximity mines, I think, or remotely controlled drone bombs operating in a swarm. Hell, Aeron’s resources might be so vast that every explosive drone could have its own operator.
Going off-road really is our only chance. The dust kicked up by the van might help obscure us. But how much time will that really buy us?
Minutes, I decide. At the most.
I swerve off the road and nearly tip us as we drop onto the hard packed earth. Dust billows up behind us, but I’m not sure it’s doing more than hiding them from me.
“Look out!” Jacob shouts, looking in the passenger’s side mirror.
Trusting the boy’s warning, I swerve back up and onto the road just as a dozen spheres explode. Shrapnel peppers the vehicle’s broad side, but the tires and windows remain intact. We leave the pavement and crash down onto the road’s far side.
My unconscious passengers bounce and slide as we crash back down into the desert. Lindo rolls off his bed of laps and thumps to the floor. Unlike the others, he’s fully aware of what’s happening, and probably felt that fall, but there’s nothing I can do for him right now.
The spheres come in waves, launching like projectiles from the swarm, which thins a little with each salvo. I swerve back and forth as fire and dust erupt all around. The van rocks with each series of explosions. They’re still not trying to kill us, but by holding back, they’re also increasing the odds that we might actually escape this shit.
A shift of tactics brings a steady string of individual mines spaced further apart. A direct hit dents the back door and spiderwebs the window. Another hit on the side tips us up onto two wheels for a moment.
“You ever fire a shotgun?” I shout to Jacob. Making the kid fight is just about the last thing I want to do, but desperate times…
He shakes his head and I’m a little relieved.
But it also means we’re defenseless.
The direct hits increase in frequency, rocking the van back and forth. The side doors dent inward. Windows shatter, coating my passengers with a glittering sprinkle of glass. And then, a loud bang and hiss signifies our demise.
The tire drains fast, and our speed declines as I fight the wheel for control. I crank the wheel hard to the right and surge back onto the road, hoping the smoother surface will be more merciful on the tire.
And then we lose the second rear tire.
Clear of the dust, I watch what’s left of the spheres close in. There’re only a dozen left, but we’re at their mercy. As they pull up on both sides of the van, I cringe. If the dual shockwaves don’t kill us, the shrapnel probably will.
“Get down!” I shout, and I grip the lever to drop my seat back.
But then instead of exploding, the spheres launch ahead. I watch them go, as both rear tires shred and peel away. Sparks spray from the grinding wheel rims. Returning to the desert is no longer an option.
A hundred feet out, the spheres stop on a dime and reverse direction. I try to swerve back and forth, but the vehicle fights me. We’re an easy target. Rather than plow into the mines at 40mph, I slam on the brakes.
With seconds until impact, I unbuckle Jacob, throw him to the floor on top of Lindo and then cover them both with my body.
I don’t see the spheres collide with the van, but I feel it.
In my ears.
In my head.
And even more sharply in my back, as a wave of plastic and shattered glass burrows into my skin.
25
My back feels warm.
Then wet.
And then on fire.
My instinct is to let fly a string of curses, expressing my anger, frustration, and pain. But the scent of a very real fire stings my nostrils. The front end of the van looks like it was struck by a train. The first wisps of black smoke twist out from deep inside. Gasoline fumes burn my eyes. It won’t be long before the vehicle looks like it was attacked by a dragon.
My back screams as I shove open the side door. Jacob, still beneath me and on top of Lindo, winces in pain along with me.
“You need to fight it, kid,” I tell him. “I need your help.”
My resolve seems to support his own. We’re up and moving as the first flicker of orange reaches skyward from the engine.
Working together, both of us in different kinds of pain, we drag Lindo out of the van by his arms. He hits the ground hard, but it’s better than baking alive. When he’s ten feet from the van, eyes still propped open, we head back. Wini isn’t next to the door, but I insist on taking her next. With Lindo out of the way, we drag her across the floor and out. Pain lances through my back as I ease her out and lay her beside Lindo. I feel a few shards of something pop out of my skin and fall to the ground. Fresh streams of warm blood flow from my back, already growing tacky as the Arizona heat wicks the moisture away.
By the time we’re done moving the kids out, I’m feeling faint. Every part of me, mind and body, says to lie down and close my eyes. Submit to the pain. Embrace unconsciousness. But the van’s engine is now an inferno, the flames rising four feet into the air, black acrid smoke billowing as though from a small volcano.
And I still smell gasoline. As bad as the blaze is, it has yet to reach the leaking fuel tank. When that happens, there will be no saving the two men left inside—Young and Godin.
Young goes first. I nearly pass out from the pain of hauling him out of the van. Jacob is helping, but the boy isn’t large or strong. As I drag Young to safety, Jacob returns for Godin, tugging the man toward the door, but making little progress.
A whoosh and a sudden temperature rise drags my eyes toward the van’s undercarriage. Flames slide beneath the vehicle.
“Jacob!”
Fueled by my fear for his life, Jacob screams and heaves. Godin topples from the van, landing atop Jacob, who’s struggling to free himself. Vision tunneling, I grasp them both by the wrist, lean back, and drag them away.
The ball of flame from the igniting gas tank is hotter than it is explosive, and it hurts far less than the holes in my back, but it’s enough to draw screams from both Jacob and me.
I lay on my back, face singed, blood oozing from my wounds to the dry earth. The blue sky above is cut in half by a pillar of black smoke, marking our position.
We’re going to be easy to find.
How long until helicopter blades kick up a whirlwind of dust?
How long until the SUVs arrive and haul us away?
I’m about to tell Jacob to run and hide when a distortion in the sky above holds my attention. Am I seeing spots? As much as I want to sleep, I don’t feel like I’m falling unconscious. The single point of light drops down until it’s hovering five feet above me, its identity revealed.
A single sphere, glowing with power. I’m at the mercy of whoever is controlling it.
“Could have avoided most of this by talking to me,” I tell the sphere. “Back in Santa Cruz.”
“We both know that’s not true.” The feminine voice from the sphere crackles. “I’ve studied you, Mr. Delgado. You don’t give up. You’re resourceful. And you’ve got nothing to lose.” The sphere shifts a little, and I can see that it’s looking toward Wini. “Almost nothing.”
She, whoever she is, is goading me into a response, trying to find a weakness. So I stay silent and try to keep any emotion aside from pain, out of my face.
“Another time and place, we could have been allies,” she says. “Your ability to track down leads is a valuable asset. It brought you from complete ignorance of mankind’s true reality to the forefront of the battle for it.”
She’s overestimating my detective skills. Without Lindo’s manipulation, including information about the 37th parallel, Colorado City, the mystery texts, the U
FO phenomena, and the photo of Isabella—which he has yet to explain—I would have never made it this far.
“The only side I’m on is the kids’. Let me take them, and you and Chimera can continue your corporate tit for tat.”
“We both know you won’t stop looking for Isabella Ramos, or the others, and while our tit-for-tat might at times descend into violence, we operate under the unified code of maintaining balance and secrecy. You, on the other hand, do not.”
Denying it would be a waste of breath, not just because she’s got a good grasp of my character, but because I can’t imagine any decent human being sitting on this information and doing nothing about it. And that means Young, Godin, and Wini are just as screwed as me.
“There has to be some kind of deal we can make,” I say. “Something that keeps these people alive.”
The sphere is silent for a moment, and then offers a question. “Do you know what a chimera is?”
I feel like I should, like it has its roots in some kind of mythology I might have learned about during high school or college, but the word’s meaning remains at the fringe of my mind.
“Here’s the deal,” the woman says. “You find out what that word means, follow the path it takes you on, and do what you think is right. You do that and your friends will keep breathing.”
“And the kids?” I ask.
“I’m afraid they’re non-negotiable, but if it helps you sleep, they’ll be safer with us than they will be with your current company.”
Wini once told me that every time we make a decision, an alternate dimension is born where duplicates of us made different choices. Right now, I think I could give birth to about a dozen potential universes, but I like to think that every version of me would use the same logic to come to the one and only choice that makes any kind of sense: fuck them all.
Whoever I’m talking to represents Aeron, whose stakes in all this are clear, and whose methods are deplorable. She’d like me to turn on Chimera, who’s a bit more subtle and savvy, but in the end, ruled by the same guiding forces as Aeron. Both corporations know that the human race is being kidnapped, trafficked, and subjugated and neither is doing anything about it. If anything, they’re part of the problem, vying for control of the same genetically modified children that the Others want to claim.
The realization that we are, in fact, being hunted by three different factions takes my eyes away from the sphere and turns them to the sky. Maybe it won’t be a helicopter that shows up first? Maybe it will be a UFO?
We need to get the hell out of here, I think, but my body isn’t cooperating. Even if it was, I couldn’t carry everyone to safety.
“Do we have an agreement, Mr. Delgado?” the woman asks.
A loud bang and an explosion of shards draws my hands up over my face. But instead of impaling me, the shards fall beside me. I turn my head to find the device lying beside me, its futuristic insides revealed—and blinking.
Jacob steps over me, grasps what’s left of the sphere and pitches it away. Halfway into its arc, it explodes.
Kid saved my life.
He stands over me, smiling, Wini’s revolver in his hand. He rubs the gun-wielding arm with his free hand, recovering from the weapon’s kick.
“Why are you so happy?” I grumble.
“I can feel your gratitude,” he says. “And affection. I have never felt these things before.”
“Then how do you know that’s what they are?” I try to sit up, but fail with a grunt.
Jacob’s smile disappears. “Am I wrong?”
“Just…help me up,” I say, reaching a hand up.
He puts the gun on the ground and takes my hand. With his help, I rise into a sitting position, but the motion takes a toll.
“You’re in pain,” he says.
“Doesn’t take an empath to see that,” I say, wondering why he’s still holding my hand.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says.
“Of…what?”
Jacob squeezes my hand. A wave of wrongness floods my body, all of my emotions triggering at once. I want to scream, and laugh, and cry, and cheer, all at the same time. The overload paralyzes me for a moment, and then all at once, it fades—along with the pain in my back.
“Did…did you just heal me?”
He shakes his head. “You’re still injured. Still bleeding. I just numbed you to it, and the effect will wear off. But for now…” He lets go of my hand, steps back, and motions for me to stand, which I do with a normal amount of effort.
I can still feel the wounds and the now muddy blood sticking my shirt to my skin, but the pain is numbed. Good enough. But we’re still at the mercy of whoever arrives first to collect us. I’m about to tell Jacob to leave and hide when an unfamiliar voice calls out, “Hey man, you okay?”
A young hippie—his actual age hidden by his prodigious beard—in loose fitting clothing, looks at me from behind rose-tinted glasses. He gives an awkward wave. “Saw the smoke. You guys need help or something?”
I’m not sure what ‘or something’ would be, but I’m grateful for the help.
I wave back. “Our engine exploded. People are hurt. We could use a ride to the nearest hospital.”
The hippie’s eyes widen and he gives a nod that resembles a walking chicken’s. As he rushes to the back of his refurbished VW van, Jacob picks up Wini’s revolver and puts it in my hand. I pop open the chamber and count five bullets. Then I spot Wini’s purse on the ground beside her and realize counting bullets isn’t an issue. Had the purse still been in the car when it burned, we’d likely all be dead—cut down by the boxes of ammo held in the bag.
Crunching moccasins on gravel announce the arrival of our long-haired savior. I slip the gun into my waist and cover it with my bloody shirt before he arrives.
The man makes a series of observations as he comes to a stop. “Whoa, man, you’re fucked up. Holy shit, is that a cop? I don’t know if I can have a cop in my ride, man. Whoa, cool eyes, dude.”
“Thanks,” Jacob says, and extends his hand. “I’m Jacob.”
“Harley, like the motorcycle company.” When they shake, Harley relaxes, and then stands straight with a puffed up chest. “Let’s do this.” He bends down, plucks one of the boys from the ground and hustles to the van. I give Jacob a smile and a nod, which he returns and says, “There it is again.”
Then we’re dragging, lifting, and laying down bodies like a bunch of battlefield medics, moving our unconscious crew into a third vehicle since fleeing the ranch.
When we close the rear doors, Jacob stiffens. “I feel someone. They’re…far away, but really, really angry.”
I take a step toward the driver’s side door, preparing to commandeer the van that Harley never turned off, when Jacob takes my hand. I feel his fear before I see it in his big eyes. “And I don’t think they’re human.”
26
The hour-long drive is tense. While Harley is oblivious and grooving to a tune only he can hear, Jacob and I watch the skies. But there are no lights, no saucers, and no helicopters. I’m not sure if it’s our unassuming transportation or the actions of unseen forces, but we seem to have escaped the desert without being followed. Jacob’s sense of an inhuman anger persisted for a time, but then faded and disappeared. Whoever—or whatever—he sensed is gone.
It’s been a while since I was in this part of the world. Vegas holds no interest for me, but a case brought me here three years ago. Another missing person. And while my hotel was smack dab in the middle of the world’s most desperate city, I spent most of my time on its outskirts visiting establishments that, while legal in this part of the country, don’t get a lot of help from law enforcement.
I pull off the road onto an unassuming driveway that winds around a barren hill and descends into a valley. The house at the drive’s end is large and homey. A farmer’s porch lined with rocking chairs wraps around three sides. While most visitors take comfort inside the home’s many rooms, I spent more than a few nights on that porch, sippin
g sweet tea, watching the skies, and listening to the desert’s creatures.
Although the sky is no longer a source of comfort, seeing the long porch and rocking chairs brings a smile to my face.
“This doesn’t look like a hospital,” Harley observes. Then his eyes widen. “Wait…is this what I think it is?”
“It is,” I tell him. “But we’re not here for that. And neither are you.”
My tone leaves no wiggle room. He nods and sits back, eyeing my back, which has grown stiff. “How is that not hurting you?”
“It will,” Jacob says. “Eventually. But I can help you with that, too.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I have no intention of keeping Jacob with me as I pursue this mess toward its conclusion. That will either be my death, or the undoing of a human trafficking ring run by non-human entities, supported by cult groups and probably Scientologists. It’s also concealed by two secretive and dangerous corporations, and likely older than the United States. Maybe even older than modern humanity’s rise from the stone age.
“So, what is this place?” Jacob asks, as I put the car in park beside an assortment of vehicles whose owners are about to have their nights ruined. “Some kind of business? They don’t even have a sign.”
“Something like that,” I say and push open the door. “Both of you stay here. You spot anything, and I mean anything unusual, you lay on the horn.”
“Uhh,” Jacob says, the sound coming out as kind of an uncomfortable laugh. He’s smiling wide, and I realize why when he says, “Everything about this place feels unusual.” He flinches back and laughs. “And good.”
Geez, I think, looking at the two-story farm house. Note to self, when traveling with an empath in the midst of puberty, avoid brothels. The sooner I shut down whatever’s going on inside, the better. “Just…stay in the car. Try not to draw attention.”
Jacob nods, still grinning, and he melts back into his seat.
Shaking my head, I slide out onto the pavement and take a breath of desert air scented with night-blooming jasmine. The smell transports me back to a simpler time, when I found myself here, searching for three missing young women. Amidst all my brooding, I found new friends—and three days later, the missing women, locked in a local man’s basement.
The Others Page 16
