by Jaz Primo
I pointed over to a nearby personnel carrier.
“Get behind that, Sanders,” I said. “Keep your head down until the smoke clears.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Then I heard her footsteps retreat toward cover.
I’m getting better at this.
A flurry of activity happened all at once as I heard more chatter from nearby police radios. All manner of law enforcement officers and officials were in motion, either moving into tactical positions or heading for cover.
I conjured an invisible shield before me as I rounded the corner of the street and trod into direct view of the two-story house at the end of the cul de sac.
A hail of small arms fire erupted from in and around the house, all headed downrange at me as I walked forward.
Most of the rounds impacted my shield, but rather than ricocheting off of it, I’d learned to catch and envelop them to minimize collateral damage.
Louder shots sounded, followed by heavier rounds buffeting against my shield. Though I caught them like the others, I felt small pangs of pain in my head as each one clobbered me.
So far, so good.
I can handle this.
I was halfway to the house when a loud whistling sound erupted.
A large explosion smashed against my shield, nearly knocking me off balance as intense pain shot through my brain.
Oh, shit. Rocket propelled grenade?
I strengthened my shield just as two more large hits arrived. This time, both of the projectiles ricocheted off my shield.
One slammed into a nearby vehicle, causing it to explode in a shower of hot metal and flame. It flipped end over end into the air, even as the other round struck a large nearby tree, felling the top of it onto the street below.
I dropped to one knee as throbbing waves pounded through my head.
I hadn’t expected that.
“Bringer!” yelled Sanders.
I held up my hand, in case she was thinking of doing something bold and stupid.
Like I just did.
I got to my feet and shook my head to clear it as the pain subsided slightly.
Small and medium arms fire hammered into my reconstituted shield.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s see how you like being on the receiving end.”
I conjured a fireball as I briskly resumed my stride toward the house.
Seconds later, I cast it downrange at the house. It collided with the home’s exterior in a shower of flame, setting fire to the wooden façade.
Oops, too big of a fireball that time.
I heard the whistle from another small missile, but it sped past me and walloped a power pole just behind me.
“What the—”
A middle section of the pole exploded in a shower of sparks and wooden shards as the upper half of it fell toward me. I strengthened my shield as I stepped aside, but some sort of erratic electrical discharge cascaded across the outer portion of my shield.
My body felt like it was on fire and my skin felt like ants were crawling all over it, even as aching rocked through my head.
All I could see was bluish-white light before me as I fell toward the pavement.
I scarcely managed to thrust one arm outward to break my fall. My teeth chattered as my body flopped uncontrollably on the pavement, sending wave after wave of pain rolling through my bones and muscles.
I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes as I used every ounce of strength I could muster to imagine a protective circle enveloping me.
Suddenly, the pain abated to reasonable levels, though my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.
I heard simultaneous shouting, gunfire, and commotion all around me. Then I heard a buzzing, sizzling sound.
To my astonishment, I opened my eyes to see blue-white electrical currents orbiting my shield.
At first, I was afraid to move. Then I gingerly pushed myself up while concentrating fully on maintaining my shield.
“Bringer!” Sanders yelled.
I staggered up and away from the transformer that lay on the pavement next to me, waiting until the electrical currents dissipated.
More small rounds battered my shield, and I turned to look at the house before me.
I saw more than a dozen muzzles flashing at once, including a large machine gun from an upstairs window.
“Bullshit.”
I reached out with imaginary hands to grasp a nearby pickup, and concentrated on levitating it off the ground.
It raised a couple of feet into the air and I cast it toward the upstairs window where the machine gun was firing.
I heard a scream as the truck imbedded itself in the house.
“One down,” I said, looking over to where I last saw Sanders.
She waved at me. “Are you okay?”
I motioned for her to stay where she was and concentrated on the house again.
“This ends now,” I said.
I conjured two fireballs, one in each hand, and focused on maintaining my shield before me.
My head felt like it was going to split wide open.
More rounds impacted my shield, but I had difficulty capturing most of them; numerous rounds ricocheted off in various directions.
I cast one fireball toward the garage and the other toward the front door.
Each fireball exploded in a shower of flames, setting fire to two more areas of the house.
“Throw down your arms and come out with your hands up!”
Oh, I’ve always wanted to say that.
The gunfire ceased.
“Get out here before I get really pissed off!”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, one by one, men and women exited the house with their hands over their heads.
A mass of various law enforcement officers and tactical team members rushed forward to take custody of them.
Some of my opponents appeared to be in their mid to late twenties, though others were definitely older, perhaps in their sixties.
A small part of me couldn’t help wondering what their story was. However, my head hurt far too much to care enough to find out.
I staggered aside and leaned against a nearby car.
Sanders rushed to me with a group of paramedics and agents in tow, even as fire trucks raced past us toward the burning house.
“My God, that was incredible,” said a Homeland Security official.
“No, that was a fiasco,” I said.
I knew damned good and well that my ego had gotten the better of me.
I had been stupid, displayed too much hubris.
For a moment, the tactical team commander appeared speechless and just shook his head at me. Then he turned and ran over to the officers surrounding the house.
“Anybody have any fluids?” I asked, of nobody in particular.
Sanders handed me an already opened plastic energy drink bottle.
I gulped it down.
Two paramedics stared at me, as if not sure what to do.
I took a few final swigs of the orange-flavored substance, appreciating the cold liquid flowing down my throat.
“Um, can we do anything for you, sir?” one paramedic asked.
“Yeah, you looked like you were being electrocuted,” said the other.
I looked at each of them in turn. “Nope, fine now.”
“You two had better go check on whoever else might be injured,” Sanders suggested.
They looked at each other and then moved away from me in an almost grateful-looking manner.
Everyone else alternated between staring at me and then gaping at the commotion around us.
“So, Agent Sanders and I are done here?” I asked, my eyes sweeping the faces standing around me.
“Well—” replied the Homeland Security official.
“Er, sure,” said the FBI agent in charge. “Agent Sanders can see that you file the appropriate field reports. Won’t you, Agent Sanders?”
“Right,” she
said, grabbing hold of my forearm. “Let’s go, Bringer.”
I permitted her to lead me away in the direction of the command trailer.
“Hey, where are we going?” I asked.
“Somewhere out of the public eye,” she said as two news helicopters hovered overhead.
I looked westward toward the waning sunset. “Great. While we’re at it, I could use a vacation. You know, somewhere distant, preferably out of the public eye.”
“Ha, fat chance,” she replied.
* * *
After checking into our hotel that evening, Sanders and I walked to a nearby restaurant for a late dinner together. I was half-surprised that the press hadn’t located us yet.
Sanders looked as weary as I felt, and she picked at her food, even as I wolfed mine down.
“What happened to you out there today?” she asked.
I was an idiot, that’s what.
“I know where you’re going with this,” I said. “I was impulsive.”
“I’m glad you’re willing to admit that much,” she said. “However, I was referring to the power pole. I thought I’d lost you out there when that transformer almost landed on top of you.”
I looked up at her.
She said, ‘thought I’d lost you.’
Her sentiment meant a lot to me.
Though it went without saying that I was undoubtedly attracted to Meg Sanders, I’d also grown to care about her in recent weeks. We’d been through a helluva lot together.
And maybe I was just being gullible, but part of me liked to think that I mattered to her, too.
She frowned. “What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Just a passing thought.”
“Well?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been hit with electricity before. At first, I thought I was a goner, too. But I adapted, and I think I could manage it again if I had to.”
She shook her head. “You and your ‘adapt and overcome’ mindset. You’re like an overgrown Boy Scout sometimes; admittedly, one who can cast fireballs at people.”
I wondered if I could do the same with electricity with some practice.
I’d ask Maria Edwards when we got back to Nevis Corners. She was a physician’s assistant with a chemical engineering background who had helped me understand my abilities. She was the closest person I had to a scientific advisor about my condition.
Even better, she was someone I could trust.
“Have you given any more thought to Clive Bernard’s offer?”
With everything that had been happening the past few weeks, I’d almost forgotten about that.
Clive Bernard was the president of Nuclegene Corporation, the company responsible for the cancer treatments that had conjured my telekinetic abilities. Recently, he had approached me about becoming a company man.
I looked up from my plate. “Sign a contract in blood with Nuclegene? What sort of choice is that? I don’t want to be owned by some mega-company for the remainder of my life.”
“I know. I wouldn’t either,” she said. “Though, in truth, working for the federal government doesn’t feel much different.”
I nodded. “Maybe so. But, hey, at least they’re paying for our dinner tonight.”
She stared back at me as I chewed a chunk of steak.
“I really don’t get you sometimes, Bringer,” she said. “You’re sitting on one goldmine of an opportunity right now and you seem completely oblivious to it.”
“Listen, I read through that painful, tree-killing tome they called a contract, and despite all the legalese, I actually understood the gist of most of it,” I said. “In the end, I didn’t exactly like their terms. Left up to them, I’d practically become a lab rat part of the time, and a contracted suit for the Feds the remainder of the time. It’d be almost like being in the military all over again…owned body and soul. Hell, at least then I liked wearing my battle fatigues better than some damned suit and tie.”
“So, what? Make Nuclegene strike the parts of the agreement that you don’t like,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of contract negotiations?”
I contemplated that as I dipped another piece of steak into some barbeque sauce and then bit down on it.
She shook her head. “Your colon probably hates you, you know.”
I swallowed and absently pointed my fork at her. “First, my colon and I get along just fine, thank you. I’ve got one helluva hearty metabolism nowadays. And second, I’m not a rabbit like you.”
She glanced down at her plateful of salad. “Maybe not,” she said, looking up with narrowed eyes. “But I do know that if you keep pointing that fork at me, this rabbit’s going to stick it somewhere painful.”
My eyebrows rose. “Hey, what gives? Somebody sure turned all pissy on me all of a sudden.”
“Pissy? I’m pissed because I don’t think you’re thinking things through carefully enough,” she said.
“What? Because I’m not some contract specialist like you seem to be?”
“Maybe, but it’s not just that,” she countered. “Take that full frontal assault earlier today, for example. What were you thinking? You were reckless and could’ve easily gotten a lot of people killed. Hell, you practically got fried on some electrical lines.”
I hated to admit that she made a good point.
What was worse was the look on her face spoke volumes, too. She knew she was right.
I shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll try not to rush into things in the future.”
Her tight facial muscles appeared to relax somewhat.
I started to take another bite of steak, but stopped.
“So, how would you feel about taking a quick peek at that Nuclegene contract for me? Maybe help me out with that negotiations idea of yours a little bit?”
She gave me a satisfied look. “Sure, Bringer. I’d be happy to.”
We returned to eating, and the remainder of our dinner was much more agreeable. However, as I reflected on our conversation, I couldn’t help feeling like a guy who’d just been subtly handled.
Usually, I resented that feeling.
What really struck me as strange was, in this case, I didn’t really mind all that much.
Chapter 2
Nevis Corners was beginning to haunt me.
We landed at the airport the next day, and hadn’t even finished our portion of the field report paperwork when Sanders received a call from her FBI field supervisor, Chuck Denton, telling us to hightail it back to the Nevis Corners office for an important meeting.
I wasn’t sure which I disliked more, paperwork or meetings.
Despite our orders to report directly to the city’s administrative offices, I insisted on stopping by my house to pick up the proposed Nuclegene contract that Clive Bernard had given to me. I didn’t want to give Sanders time to change her mind about looking it over for me.
When we arrived at the tall, modern-looking office building, we waited for a brief pre-meeting to end before heading up to the conference room.
It was never a good sign when a meeting had its own pre-meeting.
I only hoped there wouldn’t be a post-meeting following it.
Sanders and I took up positions outside, taking advantage of the vacation-worthy weather. The relative sense of normality around us was welcome, too.
No sirens. No explosions. Just the ordinary sounds of a city teeming with people absorbed with jobs, errands, and a host of other who-could-care-less distractions.
I remembered when those days were the norm, but it seemed like forever ago.
I heard a deep rumbling noise and one of the army’s new main battle tanks rolled past us and proceeded up the street. My vision of normal promptly evaporated.
Sanders’ smartphone chimed.
“Logan,” she said, lightly touching my elbow. “They’re ready for us now.”
I took a deep breath and looked up into the clear blue sky, savoring a few fleeting seconds of warm sunshine against my skin.
<
br /> “Can’t the bureaucrats just sort everything out by themselves?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’ll be the day,” she said. “But then, you’re the man of the hour, Bringer, and everyone wants to see your shining face.”
I responded with a growl from deep in my throat as I followed her inside the building.
“Try not to set anybody afire,” she added dryly.
You’re a real comedian, Sanders.
The offices of the city’s administrator reminded me of what I had previously only seen in a high-rise law office building in downtown New York City. Add to that, the conference room that we entered held an air of privilege and entitlement; not surprising, considering that some of the nation’s largest mega corporations were the city’s founders.
Regardless, I had rarely enjoyed sitting in conference rooms, particularly ones where I was the center of attention.
Feeling rebellious, I studied an oversized aerial photograph of the city hanging upon the far wall, all the while trying to ignore the roomful of eyes boring into me.
“…and half the city is terrified out of their minds over the prospect that another freak hell-bent on destruction is going to stroll into town and start blowing up the place…seeking him,” said the city’s chief administrator.
I looked at him just as he pointed an accusing finger in my direction.
Most cities had publicly-elected officials such as mayors and city councilmen running the various local government services and offices. In corporate cities like Nevis Corners, managers representing the local influential corporations served on the city’s Board of Directors, rather than a city council. In addition, corporate cities appointed an administrator in lieu of a mayor.
As such, Gerald Prievus was appointed to govern Nevis Corners.
I already didn’t like him. He struck me as a rather self-important, ladder-climbing weasel of a man.
“There were fourteen people killed in this city just two weeks ago,” Prievus complained. “And no fewer than thirty-two others injured; many seriously, others maimed forever. I speak on behalf of the Board of Directors when I say that Logan Bringer’s continued presence poses an immediate danger to the continued safety of the city.”
I ground my teeth in an effort to curtail some smart-ass remark.
