Brenhurst shook his head. “No. Stand down.” When he looked at the blonde freak, I stepped closer to the gun on the ground. “And Charters, if you make a move, I will kill one of these women.”
My father didn’t take his eyes off the blonde freak. He licked the blood off his lips, but his beard was soaked. He chuckled. “Which Charters you talking to?”
“That depends on which one moves,” Brenhurst said. “Do not think about that gun, Nathan.”
I stopped breathing.
“The police will be here in a few minutes,” my mother said. “Are you going to kill us all before then?”
Brenhurst ignored her. “Agent Turban. Deactivate.”
My father laughed. “Yeah. Turn it off. Watch what happens.”
Agent Turban blinked, but he followed orders. His thorns retracted with slick sucking sounds.
“Don’t forget, Andrew,” Brenhurst said. “Move, and someone dies.”
“Someone’s gonna die anyway.” My father laughed again, looked at me, and shrugged.
I didn’t get it.
Lester Brenhurst – Twelve
So. He remembered.
Brenhurst looked past his hostages and studied Andrew Charters. Despite the blood, and the filth, and the beard and hair, he could easily see the memory of the man he had mentored.
“You're still in there, aren't you, Andrew?” Brenhurst looked into those disturbing eyes. “Still brilliant, despite the Augmentation.”
All of the sharp, fierce intelligence Brenhurst remembered blazed from those wild eyes.
“Comes and goes,” Andrew Charters said. “Lots of noise.”
Comes and goes. He had heard that before.
Sweet God in Heaven, Brenhurst thought.
My mother is dead.
Brenhurst stepped past the women, the gun now a nearly forgotten weight in his hand. He was close enough to Andrew Charters that he could feel the man’s panting breath on his face.
The stared at each other. With an unexpected rush that sent tremors down his limbs, Brenhurst suddenly felt intensely grateful for his old friend’s sacrifices. Then, and now.
“Are you ready?”
Andrew’s remarkable son said, “Wait. Ready for what?”
Brenhurst took the trigger box out of his suit jacket pocket. He kept his eyes on Andrew Charters, whose inhuman eyes twinkled and danced.
“Ready to rest,” said Brenhurst.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty Six
Agent Turban’s eyes went wide. “Hey, wait a minute..!”
The police were seconds away. Brenhurst pressed the button.
I could hear the police cars on the street and the driveway behind me, but I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t take my eyes off Turban.
He screamed as he came apart.
It started at his extremities. His hands shook spasmodically. His whole body went rigid. Finally, his fingers just... disintegrated... in a bloody cloud of flesh and bone.
The effect followed up his arms, and his legs, as if a swarm of invisible insects devoured him from within until he was a limbless torso twisting on the ground. He kept screaming until the effect reached his chest and vaporized muscle, organs, and bone.
There was no time to register the horror I’d just seen. Behind me, a voice full of fear and revulsion said, “Drop the gun! Everyone, hands in the air, now!”
Brenhurst dropped his gun and turned to my father.
But my father wasn’t there. Not at all.
Lester Brenhurst – Thirteen
The authorities were seconds away. Enough time. Brenhurst pressed the button on the trigger box.
It was hard for him not to look when Turban started screaming. He kept his focus on Andrew. Brenhurst owed it to him to see it through to the end.
Nothing happened to Andrew.
Charters grinned that horrible, bloody grin.
“I'm off the leash, Lester.”
He leaped.
It was like he was flying, into the woods somewhere past the cabin. Fantastic. Such a success.
Brenhurst's heart leapt with him.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty Seven
Despite Lina’s hysterical crying, despite the puddle of gore that stopped being a person at the push of a button, despite the police officers rushing us with their guns drawn, I kept my eyes on Brenhurst’s face. I saw his astonishment change to fury, then soften to a kind of resignation. Or something else.
A policeman knocked me off my feet. I felt the cold metal of handcuffs on my wrists. I ate gravel. So I can’t say for sure if I saw Brenhurst smile.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty Eight
It’s hard to put it all together, in order.
Here’s what happened, more or less.
The cabin was a crime scene. There were two dead bodies there, or at least what was left of them. Brenhurst pinned the deaths of his two bruisers on Andrew Charters, who he claimed was a dangerous, rogue Sovereign. He accused my mother of concealing my father's whereabouts.
Since the Sixties.
Of course, my mother wanted to press charges against Brenhurst for kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder. The last was for Byron, who they took away in an ambulance. And for my father.
The cops had enough evidence to book Brenhurst, but he wasn’t held. He had friends in high places, it seemed.
We had friends, too. Lina spoke to her parents, who drove to Kirby Lake to get her back. The councilman and his wife, thankfully, believed their daughter’s story, and my mother.
I watched Brenhurst leave the police station, and I know he knew it, but he never even looked at me. He acted like he’d just paid a parking ticket.
That was the moment I decided he wasn’t actually my enemy.
I was his. I wouldn’t let him get away with any of this.
Before Lina left with her parents, we stole a few seconds. She gave me a crooked smile, but her eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I wanted to cry, seeing her so drained. The things she’d been through in the last two weeks. The things she’d seen, just that day. Because of me.
She shook her head and tried to laugh, but it turned into a little choked sob. She held it together and wiped her eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered. That was just about the worst thing of all... that I first heard her say those amazing words under the most awful circumstances.
Everyone was all around us, so we gave each other a hug that felt awkward and inadequate, and she left.
It was just me and my mother, then. Denver Colorado would come for us in a few minutes. We sat next to each other on a wooden bench.
“Nathan.” It was the first time she’d been able to directly address me since she’d stepped out of Brenhurst’s car.
I closed my eyes. I was so tired.
“Mom. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I want you to know…”
“Mom.” I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Not yet.
She didn’t say another word until Denver arrived.
Lester Brenhurst – Fourteen
The details of the morning were easily obfuscated. The local police were far, far out of their league, and a quick word from a sympathetic Senator in Washington made the manipulation even easier. It would take considerably more finesse to handle PrenticeCambrian, but Brenhurst was confident Mister Quince would ultimately approve of his long-term strategy. Now that he knew Andrew was out there, there was a whole new game on the table.
Brenhurst felt young Nathan Charters' stare on the back of his neck as he left the police station. The boy hated him, and what was to come guaranteed they would be enemies for the rest of their lives.
That was acceptable.
Lester Brenhurst was one of the good guys.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty Nine
Denver drove us home in his modified van. There was plenty of time to talk
, but I was just too angry. My mother, and this guy... knowing what they knew. All this time...
I remembered the way he’d stared at me when we first met, a little over two weeks ago. I thought it was just the typical reaction most people have. But he had recognized me, or at least the family resemblance.
Denver and my mother barely said two words to each other during the drive. The silence, and the gently jostling van, forced much-needed sleep upon me.
I woke up shortly before we pulled into my driveway. I slid open the side door of the van and let myself into the house. Outside, I heard my mother help Denver with his chair.
Denver used his tremendous upper-body strength to muscle his chair over the front stoop and into the house. My mother followed.
“So, Nate,” he said. “I guess you want to talk about all this.”
From his tone, you’d think he was inviting me to tell him how I was doing in school.
“I think I know enough.” I scowled, but the thing was, I did want the whole story. I wanted to know exactly how badly I’d been lied to by my own mother.
She squeezed past Denver and went into the kitchen. She didn’t look at me. I barely looked at her.
Denver rolled next to the couch; gestured for me to sit down. I crossed my arms, remained standing, and stared at him.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. He called into the kitchen. “Lucy. I’ll wait for you.”
My mother came into the living room with three glasses of ice water. She held one out for me. “Table’s fine,” I said. She lowered her eyes and set my glass on a coaster on the coffee table.
Denver took his glass. My mother sat on the couch next to his chair.
I said, “Well? You two want to get it off your chests? Make yourselves feel better?”
My mother’s face finally moved from slack shame to angry color. “Nathan, that’s enough. You have no idea of the situation.”
“No kidding.”
My mother and Denver exchanged glances.
“I met your father when we were both teenagers,” Denver began, “when his folks would come up to Kirby Lake. We hit it off; stayed in touch over the years.”
“I met Denver the first time Andrew took me to the cabin,” my mother said.
“Right. Once your mom and dad got married, they didn’t come up all that often, but we still kept in touch. Your dad is… well, he was a brilliant scientist, Nate. He worked for the government on some stuff, but he couldn’t tell us about it.”
My mother inclined her head. “Well. He told me enough. They called it Project: Rancher.”
“What was that?” Despite my desire to remain stubbornly uptight, I was quickly fascinated. This was it. The story of my father. The truth. I sat down on the other couch.
My mother said, “They had a way to change people’s bodies using very small… machines. They could make improvements, add things… your father thought the machines could be used like medicine. Cure cancer, or even slow down the aging process.”
“You’re serious.”
My mother nodded. “The operation was managed by a man I never met in person, not until a few days ago.”
“Brenhurst.”
“Right.”
I shook my head, anger flaring fresh. “If you knew who he was…” I thought about the last twenty four hours. I thought about Byron in a hospital somewhere. “You could have said something! You could have – you should have done something!”
My mother blinked slowly, then looked me in the eye. “It’s not that simple, Nathan. Nothing’s that simple.”
I shook my head violently. “Yes it is. Why not?”
I took a deep breath.
“Go on with the freakin’ story.”
“Project: Rancher needed human subjects to test the process,” my mother said. “Your father didn’t want them to use convicts, or mental patients, or homeless people.”
My eyes widened. “Like that’s what they would have used?”
Lucy and Denver exchanged glances again.
“Aw, Jesus Christ.” I ran a hand through my never-growing hair. “Fine. So my dad volunteered, right? Which is, like, fucking ridiculous.” I didn't care about swearing in front of my mother at that point. “It’s like a late show movie. People don’t do that.”
“These people did,” my mother said. “Your father believed in the potential of the process. Apart from the medical benefits, he knew there was a chance it could help finally decide the war in Vietnam.”
I was about to ask how, then remembered the thorns and spikes that sprouted from Brenhurst’s goons. “They wanted to make soldiers,” I said.
“That's right. Ultimately, it could have meant that fewer people would die.” My mother’s eyes left the present for a moment. “I was… furious with your father, when he told me. He was home, back from the lab. He’d already done it, days before.”
“Why were you so upset? Wasn’t he trying to help people?”
She looked a little uncomfortable, but pushed that aside with a tight shake of her head. “He told me after we’d... made love, Nathan. We didn’t know it then, but we’d conceived you. And I had a pretty good idea that’s what had just happened… or could have just happened.”
I looked at Denver Colorado, who was silently listening. I guess his part of the story wasn’t up yet.
“So that’s why I’m how I am.” I felt a little nauseous. “That’s why he’s like he is.” I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “So… do I have these little machines in me, too?”
Denver shook his head. “Nope. If you did, you’d be dead right now.”
“What?”
My mother held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of things. Your father went back to the desert, back to the lab, about a month later. By then, we knew I was pregnant. One of the reasons he went back was to make sure there weren’t any side effects; that you’d be all right.”
“Was he already starting to, I don’t know, get to be like he is now?”
She seemed to consider that. “Looking back… I think he was. He was distracted. He would fixate on things. His concentration was either very focused, or just... shattered. That’s how it seemed.”
I got it. “His senses were getting sharper,” I said. I had some idea of how fascinating a little detail could get. A scent, or a rustle in the grass you could hear but not see. Even just knowing I was aware of things everyone else missed could be hypnotic.
I couldn’t read my mother’s expression as she looked at me. Finally, she nodded and went on.
“That last time he left was the last time I saw him. Until this morning.”
I threw out a test question. “They told you there was an explosion?”
A deep regret pulled at my mother’s face. “No. They told me he’d gone mad. That he’d been violent, attacked several people at the lab, and that he’d been killed in the struggle.”
“So you made it all up.” I searched myself for empathy, or sympathy, for my mother. It wasn’t there. I kept seeing my father’s crazy-eyed, bearded face.
A bit of defiance bloomed in her. “I did it to protect you, over the years. I didn’t want you to think of your father as a madman. I didn’t want you to think he’d made such a huge mistake.”
She looked at Denver, who nodded encouragement.
“I came to hate what they were doing out there,” she said. “I knew how things were. Any belief I’d had that they’d ever use that technology for the greater good seemed ridiculous, once that happened to Andrew. And when Denver told me Andrew was still alive…”
Denver shifted in his chair. “Ah. Here’s my cue.” He flashed a nervous smile and licked his lips.
“About two months after Lucy told me he was dead, Andrew showed up in Kirby Lake. Nearly scared the shit out of me. He was… he was pretty much the way you saw him today, I guess. Like a wild man.”
I nodded. “You’ve been, like, taking care of him… hiding him. Right?”
Denver shrugged his massive
shoulders. “Not all that much. Mostly in the winter, I’ll give him shelter if he wants it. Thing is, see, he doesn’t usually want it. It makes him nervous to be around people.”
He shook his head and smiled. “We’re too slow. Too blind. His senses – it’s like he lives in a whole different world.”
My eyes narrowed. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
He frowned. “I guess you think you do… but you only inherited a fraction of your daddy’s talents, kid. You literally don’t know the half of it.”
I knew that was true.
“Mom.”
“Yes, Nathan.”
“You knew all along… that he was up in the mountains around Kirby Lake. That’s why we went up there when all this Sovereign stuff started?”
Denver answered. “Actually… no.” He gave my mother an apologetic look, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Andrew didn’t want anyone to know he was still alive. He didn’t want to… I don’t know. I tried to change his mind.” Denver looked away from us both for a moment. “He wanted to be dead, far as you were concerned. Maybe he just didn’t want to be a bother.”
I snorted. “Maybe he shouldn’t have, like, fucking experimented on himself, then, you think?”
Denver allowed for that with a nod. “I told Lucy I’d seen him, just for a little bit, before he disappeared into the woods. That was when you were just a baby. I wanted to give her hope.”
I looked at my mother. “And you still decided you’d tell me he was dead.”
“I didn’t want you to think your father was a coward. Unable to face us, with all that had happened to him.”
“Is that what you think? You think he was ashamed?” I stood up. I dearly wanted to think differently. I’ve felt that same isolation, even if it’s just a fraction of what he knew. I know what it feels like to be absolutely, profoundly different from everyone else.
I was used to it. I’d had my whole life to live that way. What would it have been like to be a normal person, and then wake up like that?
The Sovereign Era (Book 1): Brave Men Run Page 19
