Tribe (Tribe 1)

by Audrina Cole

  I could feel his aching sadness, and I fought to hold back tears. Oh man, what did I get myself into? This was why I had avoided him all evening. I couldn’t get involved. I couldn’t.

  But he needed me. He needed a miracle. I knew I could give him that…but I also knew it would come with a price.

  And not just the wrath of my mother.

  “I’m Ember. Ember Perry.” I held my hand out to him and smiled.

  “Alex Baxter.” He shook my hand, but his grip was weak. His pale, bony fingers were cool to the touch. “Maybe you should tell me your life story, now.” He grinned, and though it looked more like a grimace in his emaciated face, I saw his eyes light up just a bit, a hint of the warmth that resided somewhere deep inside, where the real Alex lived.

  Just as he was letting go of my hand, his knees buckled. I caught him, and bore his weight as he slid down the wall, until we both were sitting on the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “It hits me fast sometimes. The pain. Mom’s going to kill me if she finds me out of my wheelchair.” He groaned, and clutched his abdomen.

  I felt helpless, even though I knew I wasn’t. I could help him, but I wasn’t supposed to. My mother wouldn’t like it. He groaned again, and I felt his agony, engulfing me in waves. So I did what I was allowed to do, even though I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was in the doorway, I laid my right hand on his shoulder, and my left on his knee. I opened the channels within me, just a bit, and felt the energy trickle through my body, down my arms, and into Alex. My hands grew warm, and I watched as his face, contorted in pain, began to relax, little by little.

  He was older than I first thought. I could see that once I was that closer to him. Because of the weight loss caused by the cancer, he swam inside his clothing, like a little boy wearing his big brother’s clothes. That, and his fragile appearance, made him look younger than me. But I suspected he was my age, maybe older.

  The energy flowed, and I scanned his body in my mind. There it was—a large mass spreading just below his ribcage. That was where the pain emanated from. Then, to my horror, I saw it. The cancer riddled not only his pancreas, but his liver, his lungs, and was encroaching on the kidneys…it was all over the place. I could tell he’d had surgery—possibly multiple surgeries, to remove tumors. But it had come back with a vengeance each time. The chemo clearly hadn’t done enough. My heart ached for Alex, and all he’d been through.

  As the pain ebbed away and his face relaxed, I knew I should stop. That is what my mother taught me. When it comes to the terminally ill, all you can do is ease their pain. There are too many of them, and if you heal them completely, not only will it drain you, but it will also attract the kind of attention that we don’t need. Just make them as comfortable as you can, and stop there.

  I had to stop. It was insanity to keep going. Not only could healing Alex draw attention to my family, but there was the risk of what I might do...afterward. There was a room full of innocent people—children—just a few steps away. I wasn’t prepared, and I could be putting them all in danger. I had to stop...

  Alex opened his eyes and looked into mine. In that moment, they were clearer than before, and he looked at me in a way that seared to the bottom of my soul. He trusted me. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t understand what was happening. But in that moment, we connected, and I knew I couldn’t stop.

  My heart raced, and I could feel the cold rush of adrenaline as fear shot through me. But I had no choice. I opened my channels wider, and the energy coursed like a river through me, to Alex. He closed his eyes, and his head tipped to the side, his head lying against my hand. It felt nice.

  Oh boy, am I in trouble.

  I knew he wouldn’t feel much. A tingle or a warm sensation, at most. But probably he’d only feel a sense of peace and relaxation. He wouldn’t be able tell that I was healing him. That’s usually how it goes. He’d never know.

  But I would know. And so would my mother, once I got home. I wasn’t looking forward to that. Or to the horrible thing that happens to me after I heal a severe illness or injury. But I pushed that unpleasant thought aside.

  All that mattered in that moment was Alex. He didn’t deserve what was happening to him. But it was more than that. He touched me, somehow. In that moment of naked trust, I saw who he was—the kind, generous spirit he had deep down, despite the years of being beaten back by life. A spirit like that shouldn’t be snuffed out because of an ugly disease. It wasn’t right. I wouldn’t let it happen, no matter what it did to me. What good was the ability to heal, if you couldn’t use it to save people?

  We stayed like that for a while, me kneeling beside him, touching his shoulder and knee, and his head nestled against my hand, his breathing coming slow and deep. I felt the energy slow to a trickle, and then stop.

  Alex sighed, then his eyes fluttered open. “Did I fall asleep?” He lifted his head and shifted himself into a more upright position.

  “Sort of.” I cleared my throat, and put my hands in my lap.

  He was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You had a really big wave of pain. It looked like it took a lot out of you.”

  “Yeah, it did. But…wow, I feel a lot better now.” He couldn’t take his eyes off me.

  I smiled nervously. “I’m glad. I’m sure you’ll feel better now that you rested a few minutes.” The energy was still coursing through him—it hadn’t finished its job yet. I had only begun the process. What I did was reset his body to the point that it was working properly, and now his body would do the job of healing itself, as it was designed to do under ideal circumstances. In a few months, the cancer would be gone, and it would stay gone as long as his body stayed in balance.

  “I don’t even know you Ember, but you seem…different. You’re nice. You treat me like a normal person. And I…I feel like I can trust you. I know that sounds weird,” he took a breath, “but it’s true.”

  “I know. I feel the same way.”

  “Alex!” A woman’s voice called from behind me. I turned my head to see Alex’s parents standing in the doorway. Under the light, I could see Mrs. Baxter had chin-length curly chestnut hair, while her husband was tall, with darker hair and a friendly face. Mrs. Baxter was worried, but her husband felt relief.

  “I’m fine, mom.” Alex sighed, then whispered to me, “she worries a lot.”

  “What are you doing out of your wheelchair? Did you fall? Are you okay?” Mrs. Baxter took a step toward us, but her husband restrained her. I could hear him whispering to her, quiet enough that Alex wouldn’t hear.

  “Gina, leave the boy alone.”

  “He shouldn’t be out here. It’s chilly. He’s sitting on the ground! And who’s that girl he’s with?”

  “Who cares? It’s a girl! Give the boy this moment.” He lowered his voice even more. “God knows if he’ll ever have another.”

  I blushed, embarrassed that he thought we must have been making out or something. I glanced back at Alex. I knew he couldn’t have heard what they had said, since he had only normal hearing. I was glad for him, because he’d probably want to shrivel up and die if he’d heard his parents’ exchange. As it was, I could feel that he was only slightly embarrassed and annoyed—probably because they had come looking for him.

  Mrs. Baxter looked up at her husband, then back at us. “Come in soon, okay honey?” I could feel her heartbreak as she looked at her son. I wished I could tell her this wouldn’t be his last moment spent with a girl. That someday she’d probably be dancing at his wedding, or holding his first child in her arms. That her son had a future, and wasn’t dying any time soon. But I couldn’t. She’d have to live with her dread and heartache for a while longer.

  “I’ll come inside in a little while. I just needed some air.” Alex smiled to show her he was fine. The light from over the door cast shadows in the hollows of his cheeks.

  Mr
. Baxter guided his wife back inside, and smiled at Alex over his shoulder as he went. He was happy to see us together, I could tell, but also sad. Probably thinking about all the moments his son didn’t seem destined to have in this life. It made me a little sad, too, thinking about what Alex almost missed…and what the world would have missed without him in it.

  He grinned at me, still embarrassed. “Like I said, she worries.”

  “I think that’s her job.”

  “Are you okay?” Now Alex was the worried one. “You look pale.”

  It was starting already. I thought I’d have more time.

  The mother’s fear and the father’s sadness lingered still, seeping into my mind, taking over my own emotions. I was drained, and couldn’t hold them at bay. Now Alex’s concern curled around the edges of my mind, and mingled with the fear. My nerves felt raw, agitated.

  “I’m fine,” I said, but my voice trembled, and my breath came in shallow rasps. I felt the need rising within me.

  He took my hand, and held it between his. “Your hands are cold. Colder than mine, and that’s something.”

  I felt his pulse in his hands, getting stronger. I could almost hear his heartbeat in my ears. I needed to get away. Now! I tried to stand, but my legs felt shaky beneath me. Alex encouraged me to stay sitting until I felt better, but I knew I had to go, before it was too late. Before I undid what I had done for him, by taking what I had given.

  His life.

  “I’m sorry, I need to go.” I struggled to get up, wobbling for a moment before steadying myself with a hand on the brick wall.

  Alex, his strength already returning, was able to get up easier than I did. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “Mm-hm.” I nodded, my lips pressed together. The ache in my belly had already begun. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You too—”

  I had already turned away, clutching my purse and running up the ramp. I launched myself through the door, relieved I’d made it away from Alex…but now I faced a new problem. People were everywhere, scattered throughout the room in small clusters. Old people. Children. Mothers.

  They didn’t even know they stood mere feet away from a predator.

  3

  I knew I should turn around and leave, but that wouldn’t help—I had nowhere to go, and I needed to get home if I was to prevent a bloody rampage through downtown Spokane. I needed Jenna to drive me home—and that thought scared me even more than the idea of a rampage.

  I knew I’d never make it. It would be close to an hour, if there was still any traffic. I’d devour my friend before we hit the Idaho border.

  I ducked down a hallway to my right, looking for the first sympathetic person I could find.

  Bingo! A woman wearing an apron, in her mid-forties emerged from the bathroom, headed away from me toward a swinging door at the end of the hall.

  A motherly type.

  Perfect.

  “Excuse me? Could you help me please?” I called, holding onto the wall, as if for support. “I feel sick.”

  The woman turned, startled, then frowned. I could feel her concern. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” she asked as she approached me.

  I felt guilty for what I was about to do, but it couldn’t be helped. If I didn’t do what must be done, things would only get worse. And not just for me. The outcome for both of us would be far graver than just a little blood loss.

  “I’m a diabetic, and I think I indulged in the refreshments a little too much. I need my insulin,” I said, using the typical line that Mom always instructed us to use, in the case of an emergency.

  “Should I call 911? Or is there someone else here at the event who I can call?”

  “No! No, uh, that’s not necessary. If I called an ambulance every time my blood sugar got too high or low, my parents would be in the poorhouse.” I chuckled. Then I leaned more heavily against the wall, for emphasis. “I just need to get to the bathroom so I can inject my insulin. I’d rather not embarrass myself any more by collapsing, or having to do it here in the hallway. Could you just help me into the bathroom, so I can have some privacy? I’m a little woozy.”

  “Of course. Poor thing.” The woman put her arm around me, and led me to the bathroom she had just left moments before. “My sister has diabetes, it’s a real pain. She has to take insulin twice a day.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “I don’t even like telling people. I feel like an oddball. Speaking of which, is there a way to lock the door? I would never live it down if someone walked in on me while I had my skirt up, injecting myself.”

  “Um…” she eyed the door, probably wondering if she’d get into trouble. “Sure, as long as we’re quick. I’d hate for people to complain. I mean, they’d be complaining to me, anyway, since I’m the kitchen manager, but it’s a charity event, so I want to make sure things run smoothly for them.” She walked over and turned the lock on the door.

  “Can anyone else unlock it from the outside?”

  She shook her head. “Only me and the site manager, and he’s not here for evening events.”

  “Good.” I took a step toward the sinks, and then faked a stumble. The woman reached out to catch me.

  “Wow, I guess I’m worse than I thought. I really shouldn’t have had that punch.”

  I laid my hand on the woman’s shoulder, and talked in a soothing voice, making direct eye contact. “Thank you so much for helping me. You’re a kind woman. You look a little sleepy. You should sit down for a moment.”

  The woman straightened, releasing my elbow, her eyes glassy. “I should?” All expression melted away from her face, leaving only a blank stare.

  “Yes, you look like you might faint. Sit down over here, you’ll feel good if you sit down.” My voice was peaceful and melodic, and the woman cooperated. I led her to a scuffed wooden chair in the corner of the run-down bathroom, and eased her into a sitting position.

  I knelt before the woman and opened my purse, pulling out what looked like an insulin kit. But it contained a small scalpel inside a hard plastic case, a crisp white handkerchief, some Band-Aids, some sealed gauze pads, and several packets of sanitizing wipes. I took out the handkerchief and spread it on the floor beside me, then removed the scalpel from its case, setting the lid and the case on the handkerchief, alongside the faux insulin kit.

  “Let me see your hand,” I said gently to the woman.

  “My hand?” The woman’s voice was soft and dreamy.

  I could feel her state of complete relaxation, and that eased my own anxiety. But I could hear each beat of her heart, and the rushing of her blood in my ears.

  Saliva pooled in my mouth.

  “Yes, your hand. I’m going to check your pulse, to make sure you’re feeling better.” I took the woman’s hand as it was offered, and held it, palm up. I held my free hand over the woman’s wrist for a few seconds, giving her a short blast of energy to minimize the pain I was about to inflict.

  The hand holding the scalpel shook. It was hard to believe that as weak as I felt, I was still a danger to so many people. But I knew not to let the trembling fool me into thinking that I wouldn’t transform into the monster that lurked within. Not after all the stories Mom had told me.

  I steeled my nerves, steadying my hand and reminding myself not to lose control. Losing control meant the death of dozens of innocent people.

  I am in control. I take only what I need. I am in control…

  I held my breath and drew the blade across the woman’s wrist. A line of blood welled up, but never spilled down her arm. It hovered there in a long bead along the incision, trembling to be set free.

  “Be careful, Ember. Keep yourself under control.” I heard my mother’s voice in my head, in the same melodic tone as I’d used, as if she was kneeling right beside me. It was her voice that I mimicked, never having done it on my own. Only habit—after many occasions of “just in case” practicing at Mom’s behest—that helped me maintain a hint of composure.

&
nbsp; At least…so far.

  My free hand still hovered over the woman’s wrist, holding back the flow of blood as I set the scalpel aside on the handkerchief.

  I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the woman’s wrist, and drank deeply as the blood began to flow. At first, the desire leapt to a fevered pitch and I struggled to maintain control. If I wanted to, I could overreach. I could stop controlling the flow of blood, and instead allow it to gush into my mouth. But I used all my willpower to restrain myself, and drank at the pace my mother had taught me.

  I almost gave in…almost went too far. I wanted nothing more than to drain the woman dry. But she was the motherly type—the type to have children at home, waiting for her. That alone kept me from losing my restraint.

  When I knew I had to stop, I pulled back, holding my hand once more over the gash. A trickle of blood fell to the floor before the flow stopped completely, and once again trembled to be set free. Then I sent another burst of energy to the cut, and watched the flesh slowly knit together before my eyes.

  I tore open a sterile gauze packet, then used the gauze to wipe the blood from her wrist. I followed that up with the sani-wipes, making sure to clean any traces of blood from her hands or the floor.

  My hands still shook. I felt that I had myself under control, though I was still weak. When my hands were washed, the blood was rinsed from my mouth, and I had checked my reflection in the mirror, I collapsed on the floor beside the woman with a sigh.

  I knew I should probably find another “donor”, but a knock on the door told me it was time to move on. “I’ll be out in a minute!” I called. I hastily tucked all the trash in my purse and put away my kit.

  Once all evidence of my feeding was put away, I knelt beside the woman and took her hand, meeting her blank gaze with my own. “You feel much better now. You were dizzy for a few minutes, and you blacked out, but you’re fine now. You won’t remember anything that happened since you opened the bathroom door. You will think that you might have diabetes like your sister. You will not worry, but you will get your blood tested soon, just in case. You should be doing that regularly, anyway. And try not to overdo the sweets, because diabetes runs in the family.” I took a deep breath. At least I could do some good in return for the blood I’d stolen. “And make sure not to work too hard tonight, and get yourself a snack—some juice or some fresh fruit. Do you understand?”