The Ending Series: The Complete Series

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “You shouldn’t talk to him. It only eggs him on.”

  I glowered the best I could in my weakness. “I wasn’t egging him on,” I said, my voice raspy when all I wanted was to scream. “This is my life I’m fighting for…”

  I had the urge to close my eyes. Stay awake. Although I knew Carl wasn’t my friend, it was clear that Randall—a poor man’s General Herodson—was the one calling the shots.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what Randall had done to me, though I had a feeling that, given my weakness and the pain, he’d taken more blood than he should have. The bruising was already getting bad, and I thought it was probably better that I couldn’t recall anything else, that I couldn’t see. “I’m not sure if I should thank you, or—”

  “Ha!” Carl blurted. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he guzzled from the bottle, closing his eyes and taking one long pull and then another, like they were his salvation for every sin.

  My head fell to the right as I watched him. I tried not to feel sorry for the pathetic heap of shit he was.

  When Carl opened his eyes again, he stared down at the bottle and rotated it in his hands. It was close to empty.

  Unbidden, my mouth began to water and bile inched its way up my throat. Body fiery with pain, I leaned over the side of the bed. There was already a bucket there, the bottom covered in bile and what looked like oatmeal, and I heaved over it, my body trying to expel anything left inside. But nothing came out. I hung over the bucket for a moment, panting before I spat the remnants of what I could from my mouth and laid back against the pillow. Sweating. Panting. Exhausted.

  “Sorry,” Carl said, almost indifferent. “I’ve noticed chloroform does that sometimes.” All I could do was glare at him and wonder how sick I’d been earlier, once again grateful that I couldn’t remember any of it.

  “I need water,” I said, hoping the hydration would help with some of the discomfort and maybe even clear my head a little. Automatically, I tried to sit up, but my head was reeling, and I lost my breath. I brought my hands to my forehead, like even tied together they would somehow stop the swirling room. I gasped and whimpered.

  “Take it easy,” Carl said, and suddenly he was next to me. He helped lower me back down and pulled the extra pillow out from beneath the bed again, using it to prop me up.

  While the spinning slowed and eventually stopped, Carl still stood there, staring down at me. We were silent for a moment, me wondering what he was thinking in that drunken, cesspool mind of his, and him swaying a little where he stood. His eyes were expressive but he said nothing at all, and finally, like he suddenly remembered who I was and what was going on, he glanced to the side table and picked up a glass of orange juice. “Will you have some of this now?” His voice was gentle, almost, and I got the distinct impression that he was a little worried about me.

  I nodded, not taking my eyes off of him as I studied the lines of his face, his eyes. I wanted to see what was left of his troubled soul, but there was nothing behind his shadowed, beady eyes; they were emotionless again.

  Carl brought the glass to my lips, slowly, and I took a sip. The juice was room temperature, but it was still sweet and hydrating on my tongue. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. I gulped it down until there was nothing left and my eyes fluttered shut. I heard Carl set the empty glass down and trudge back to his “spot” against the wall. When he sighed, I cracked my eyes open and watched him plop back down. Naturally, Carl picked up the bottle again and took a drink.

  With a wince, I turned onto my side to face him and exhaled the pain.

  “What?” he asked without looking at me. His attention was on the hardwood floor he was picking at with his broken, dirt-crusted fingernails.

  I let my eyes close for a moment, then struggled to open them. It was strange how loud the sound of my own heartbeat seemed to be in our silence. It was methodical, almost soothing in my ears.

  “Is—” I cleared my throat. It burned, raw from bile. “Is Randall your brother?”

  Carl instantly shook his head, like the question was an insult. “My sister’s husband.”

  “You don’t agree with what he’s doing to her, do you?” My heart broke a little bit for him as I began to understand.

  Carl brought the bottle to his mouth again. He gulped once, then again, like it was water he needed to keep living. “Don’t pretend you understand me,” he grumbled. “You’re fucking clueless.”

  “Maybe,” I whispered, feeling like I knew Carl better than he knew himself. “You look for new Abilities that might help her,” I said. Whatever Sandy was, she was an abomination. “Randall’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” I asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “After all this time he thinks he can still help her.”

  Carl snorted. “He thinks your Ability will help her remember who she is—was.”

  My eyes flitted closed again, but with what little energy I had left, I pried them back open. I needed to know more. “Carl,” I said quietly, “did you stay in here with all of them?” I wasn’t sure why it mattered.

  I was one of at least a dozen different mauled faces that flashed through his mind. I felt tears forming behind my eyes, despite my exhaustion. It was too hard to ignore what could be my same fate. “How many?” I whispered again. “More than were on the list?”

  Carl finally looked at me, and his jaw clenched in disgust at all that he’d done. “Too many more to count. Now stop talking.” He took a final, long pull from the bottle. When it was empty, he leaned his head back and let out a deep, despondent breath. Then another. With each breath, his breathing grew louder and slower.

  I saw myself unconscious in bed, saw bruises forming on my arms and noticed my sweatpants were soiled. My skin was ashen, my lips dry and cracked. The bandage on my arm was bloodied and needed to be changed. Carl was staring down at me. Horrified. Sympathetic. Traumatized. Then I roused from unconsciousness and threw up all over his leg.

  My brow furrowed as my eyes flitted open and I scoured his jeans. They were clean. Wearily, I gazed down at my T-shirt, realizing it was different from the one I’d had on before and that my sweatpants probably were too. He’d changed my clothes and taken care of me. He’d been mortified. I was mortified.

  Slowly—gently—I buried my face in the crook of my arm and tried to withhold a scream. Why—why is this happening?

  Then I realized something. In spite of my heavy, foggy brain, and the pain lacing my limbs, I could see inside Carl’s mind. My Ability was coming back.

  I lifted my arm slightly and glanced at Carl again. He was drifting to sleep. His mind was a nuclear dump putrefied by regrets, guilt, loss, and perpetual indecision between what he knew was right and what he wanted, which was to save his sister.

  Whether it was Carl’s drunken stupor or the fact that he was falling asleep, his nulling Ability was weakening more and more as the seconds passed, and though my Ability was weak as well, at least it was working.

  Lying there, helpless, I silently screamed. I silently cried. I silently called for help and pleaded that someone would find me. Would help me.

  I relived every moment I could remember since the car accident. I studied the people I’d seen, the bedrooms I’d passed and what few images still hung on the walls. I thought of the church, the blue house, and the maple tree. I projected every thought and feeling, every memory I could to anyone in the world that might be able to read minds in hopes that they would help me. I thought of Jake and Jason and my dad. I pictured Dani and Gabe, my mom and the Colony. I thought about everything I could that might be worth anything to someone trying to or willing to help me.

  The more I thought about how little I knew and how weak I was—the more I realized I was utterly alone—the more I began to crack, and the silent tears broke free.

  Carl stirred, and my Ability dimmed.

  Rolling over, away from my captor, I sobbed once more into someone else’s pillow and prayed that someone—anyone—would find me. I prayed that I would get out of thi
s place before they drained me of all I had left. Before it was too late.

  29

  ANNA

  DECEMBER 15, 1AE

  The Colony, Colorado

  “You’re sure you know how to fly this thing?” Anna said, hands on either side of the doorway as she leaned in to speak with Larissa. Anna had always hated seeing inside a cockpit, witnessing with her own two eyes all of the buttons and switches and dials and meters—all of the things that could be mishandled and lead to a crash. There was just so much in there that she didn’t understand…that she couldn’t control.

  “I’m good.” Larissa glanced back at Anna and flashed a quick smile. Amusement fading, she studied Anna with scrutinizing eyes. Her eyebrows drew together, and then her eyelids opened wide. “You have a flying phobia.”

  Anna swallowed, her mouth so dry it felt sticky. “Phobia is such a strong word…”

  Larissa turned around as much as she could in her seat and reached for Anna’s hand. “This is a Hawker 400XP, a twin-turbofan aircraft.” She stared into Anna’s eyes, so calm and certain. “I’ve flown planes just like this hundreds of times. Very rich, very important people trusted me with their lives on planes just like this. There’s a reason I picked this one—trust me, sugar. I know what I’m doing.” She gave Anna’s hand a squeeze. “Alright?”

  Closing her eyes, Anna drew in a deep breath and nodded.

  “Your head says yes, but your face is saying hell no…” Larissa said with a weak laugh. “If you want, I can use my magic and make you think you’re on a beach somewhere.”

  Anna felt herself blanch and shook her head vehemently. She wanted nothing more than for Larissa to be one hundred percent focused on flying the damn deathtrap.

  Larissa released Anna’s hand. “Why don’t you grab yourself a seat. We’ll be in the air before you know it.” As Anna turned away, Larissa added, “Oh, and can you send Jason up here? I’ll need his help to boost my illusion in a few minutes…unless you think you’re up to it.”

  Feeling numb and more than a little shaken, Anna trudged down the aisle running between the single seats, hunched over so her head didn’t rub against the cabin ceiling, to where Jason was sitting in the back left seat. Considering that there were only seven seats in the cabin, Anna didn’t have to walk hunched over for very long.

  She perched on the edge of the cushy seat opposite Jason’s, making the leather creak. He didn’t look away from the tiny, oval window, but Peter, sitting on the other side of the aisle, smiled at her.

  “Jason?” Anna said quietly. When he still didn’t acknowledge her presence, Anna reached out and touched his knee with her fingertips. “Jason, I know things didn’t work out like you wanted, but—”

  “Herodson should be dead right now.” He looked at her, his gaze going from distant to sharp, focused, and scathing in an instant. “We should be finishing this, not running away.”

  “But Zoe needs us,” Peter interjected.

  Anna peered at her younger son, impressed by how well he was reacting to Jason’s clear hatred for Gregory. Peter had never shared a strong bond with his father, and certainly a fair amount of apathy had formed on Peter’s end since he’d gained access to Anna’s memories, but the two had never really butted heads, either. Gregory was and would always be Peter’s father; there was no denying that simple fact.

  After a long, tense silence, Anna sighed. “Larissa is ready for you.” When Jason didn’t acknowledge Anna’s words, she added, “Unless you need me to boost her…”

  “No,” Jason said, standing. He had to hunch over even more than Anna had. He paused in the aisle, facing away from Anna. “Just so you know, Zoe is the only reason I’m not hunting Herodson down right now.” He stalked up the aisle to the cockpit, somehow moving in that graceful, deadly way of his despite his awkward posture. “Ready for me?”

  Larissa responded softly, her words blocked by Jason’s body.

  Anna watched Jason move into the cockpit and settle in the seat to Larissa’s right. He extended his arm across the space between the pilot and copilot seats and took hold of her shoulder. Jason’s Ability was almost identical to Anna’s, if a bit stronger, and like hers, the amount that he could amplify another’s Ability was drastically increased with physical contact. Silently and repeatedly, Anna told herself that Jason boosting Larissa’s illusion would not only keep their take-off hidden from everyone in the Colony, but make it so Larissa was diverting a minimal fraction of her concentration to creating the illusion and focusing as much attention as possible on flying the damn plane.

  “Mom…” Peter’s voice was gentle, the sound of cloth on leather, a soft hush.

  Anna opened her eyes, only then realizing she’d closed them, and found Peter sitting across from her. He’d moved to Jason’s vacated seat, and he was watching her with hopeful eyes and a reassuring smile.

  “Did you bring anything that might help me sleep?” Peter asked. His eyes flicked to her hastily packed duffel bag, filled with whatever remotely useful drugs, equipment, documents, and clothing had been lying around their house and was easy to gather—including, of all things, a stray lab coat. “Larissa said it should take about three hours to get to Sacramento—I’d rather use the time trying to figure out exactly where Zoe is, or maybe even find a way to let her know we’re on our way.”

  Anna pressed her lips together firmly, staring at Peter and considering their options. She hated medicating him unnecessarily, especially after the many rounds of drugs and treatments he’d gone through both in his first life and in his second, Re-gen life. Finally, she sighed once more, nodded, and combed her fingers through her hair.

  Hands on the armrests, she pushed herself up from her seat, retrieved a bottle of water from the cabinet near the front of the plane, and returned to Peter. She handed him the bottle of water before sitting to dig through her bag filled to capacity. Considering how hurried and disorganized her packing job had been, she was surprised by how quickly she found the bottle of diphenhydramine. She handed two of the bright pink pills to her son, then set her bag on the floor and relaxed back in her seat.

  Until the plane’s engines fired up, quickly building to a dull roar. Anna stiffened and clutched her armrests. Her nails dug deeply into the soft leather.

  “Ready for takeoff,” Larissa said over the intercom as the plane started to roll backward.

  Anna squeezed her eyes shut, half-convinced that her heart was about to explode. Or that the engines were.

  “Maybe you should take a couple of these, too, Mom,” Peter said.

  Anna’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. Leaning forward, she fished around in her bag once more, but instead of pulling out the bottle of sleep aids, she found a small bottle of diazepam, her preferred antianxiety drug.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmmm?” With shaking hands, Anna tore the lid off the bottle and dumped a handful of the tiny blue pills onto her palm. Pausing, she glanced at Peter.

  “Why do you think I have this weird connection with Zoe?”

  Studying her son’s youthful face, Anna frowned. “I’m not sure, sweetie.” Not that she hadn’t thought about it a lot, but she simply didn’t understand it. Maybe, in time, she would. Maybe. “All I’ve been able to come up with is that it has something to do with the combination of your and Zoe’s Abilities, mixed with your blood tie…” Shrugging, she shook her head. “But really, that’s just me guessing.” She might have been the one who’d engineered the form of gene therapy that enabled Abilities to manifest in a person, but even she was far from understanding everything about them—how they worked. Why they worked.

  “Oh, okay.” Peter turned his head to stare out the window.

  “Sorry, sweetie, I know that wasn’t much of an answer.”

  “S’okay.” Peter closed his eyes. “I was just curious.”

  “That makes two of us,” Anna said softly. She picked up two of the anxiety pills and popped them into her mouth, returned the rest to the bott
le, then sat back and watched Peter while she waited for the drugs to kick in.

  The plane started moving forward.

  And Anna waited.

  They were picking up speed, the engines’ thrum increasing steadily.

  And she waited.

  The plane’s nose lifted off the ground, closely followed by its back wheels.

  And still, Anna waited.

  ~~~~~

  The engines whirred and thrummed, the hours passed, and Anna relaxed in her seat, thoughts distant and slippery. She blinked lazily as she stared out the window at the cottony clouds, alight with late afternoon sunlight. She wanted to roll around in those clouds. She wanted to lose herself in those clouds.

  With a harsh gasp, Peter awoke and leaned forward, almost falling out of his seat. His fingers clutched the armrests, and his eyes were opened wide and filled with fear. “Zoe…”

  Anna reached across the several-foot gap separating her from her son and grasped his upper arms. “Are you alright?”

  Peter didn’t respond; he simply stared through Anna, seeing somewhere else…someone else.

  “Peter!” Anna shook him. “What’s going on?”

  Peter blinked several times, and slowly his focus grew less distant. “She’s desperate…losing hope,” he said hollowly. “There’s a woman—a vegetable—and they’re trying to use Zoe’s blood to reawaken her mind.” Clearly dazed, Peter shook his head. “There’re two men; one’s taking care of her, sort of, and the other’s ready to sacrifice her.” He licked his dry lips ineffectively.

  Finally, Peter’s eyes focused entirely on Anna. “She’s in bad shape, Mom. She’s lost a lot of blood. If we don’t get to her soon…”

  Clenching her jaw repeatedly, Anna nodded. Her chest felt tight, her throat constricted. “Can you lead us to her?”

  “I think so.” Peter’s eyes searched Anna’s. “She’s by a church and there’s a maple tree outside the house…I think if you help me, I’ll be able to sense exactly where she is.” His eyes became glassy, and he pressed his quivering lips together. After a long moment, he added, “If we’re not too late.” A single tear streaked down his cheek.