by JL Spelbring
Dyllon’s perpetual grin faltered a bit. “It’s my day off. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Angela snarled while she stepped away from the window, her strides long and quick.
Dyllon jogged to catch up with her. “Something’s wrong.”
Stopping on the other side of the street, Angela glanced at the drug store to make certain prying eyes were not following them. The doorway was clear, but the glass was too filthy to see through. Although the hairs on her neck didn’t tingle, she couldn’t be sure. She started to walk again, her pace slower.
She paused at the end of the broken walkway. The only way the boy could see them now was if he stepped outside. “Have you found out anything about Davis?” she asked.
Dyllon touched her arm.
“Don’t.”
Small lines furrowed in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”
“May I remind you, Captain, I am not one of your officers, but your superior?”
Confusion clouded Dyllon’s features while he studied her. He looked over his shoulder, and when he looked back at her, his bewilderment was replaced with a knowing look.
“I get it. No more friendly working together,” he whispered.
Angela nodded.
Dyllon straightened his back and lifted his chin. “Yes, ma’am. I just brought you this,” he said, officially. He shoved a clear plastic bag she hadn’t even noticed into her hand. “The items you requested to be tested.”
The bag contained a fragment of the blood-spotted shelf and the shotgun casing from the store. The analysis on both items had run into a dead-end. The blood was not in the computer system, the wounded individual obviously birthed in secret, and the shell was not from a registered gun.
Angela slid the evidence under her arm. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the empty storefront, then turned toward her. “I understand.”
Working with the captain and his team had been somewhat pleasant. A break from the stress of The Center. That time was over, as Micah’s arrival had reminded her of who she was. “No. No, you don’t.”
“Who is that kid, anyway?”
Angela glanced back toward the store. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was somehow watching her, filing away every move she made to report later.
She’d been made a mockery of. All this time, Angela thought she had known everything about the subjects, priding herself in her ability to observe. She hadn’t known anything, except what the doctor wanted her to. It astounded her and made her question herself, that she had provided security for the doctor’s creations without ever being aware, until the recent events had unfolded. And even with all that had transpired, the doctor still had refused to answer her other inquiries, stating a need to know basis, as if she was some lackey. Anger and jealousy curled in her and, for a moment, she thought about blowing the whole operation out of the water as she looked back at Dyllon’s expectant face.
The confession stuck on the tip of Angela’s tongue. If she did, she would be more worthless than she already felt, and her purpose at the moment was to prove her superiority.
Of course, it was Dr. Hirch, and not her, who had invited the captain to know about Micah. There was no way around it. She scoffed and shook her head.
Dyllon gave her a strange look.
“Come with me. You’re about to find out.” Angela pulled her shoulders back, her demeanor icy. She marched back toward the drug store and walked through the entrance. “Micah,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied. After being in the company of Dyllon and the other Missouri citizens, his accent sounded strange to her ears.
“This should interest you.”
Micah took the bag, showing no interest. He emptied the shelf fragment into his hand. He fingered it with his eyes closed. After a moment, his lids opened, but his expression didn’t tell her if he could make a reading. It remained as stoic as before.
“Well?” she hinted.
“Blood is rather personal. Gives a clear picture, even with the interference of others. It belongs to a woman with red hair and freckles.”
“Red hair,” Dyllon exclaimed, his eyes rounded into spheres of disbelief.
Angela wasn’t sure if it was due to Micah’s parlor trick or if it was because there was a girl with red hair. She shushed him.
Micah’s impassive eyes shifted to the captain. “Not very pretty. Small. Very forthright. She is angry.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Dyllon.
“I receive images from things I touch. They come to me, much like a movie.”
Angela shot a shut up glare at Dyllon. Taking the hint, Dyllon’s mouth snapped shut before he could question Micah’s talent further, but she could see the amazement on his face like a neon sign.
“Can you tell us where she is?” she pressed.
Micah turned toward the detective. “Of course not. Parts of the physical body can only give physical details. I need a personal item from the subject. But even then, I doubt I will come up with an exact location.”
“What about the casing?”
He dumped the casing into his palm and closed his fingers around it. “This was taken off the floor by one of your officers and analyzed by a researcher.” He handed the shell and the bag back to the detective as he spoke to the captain. “The evidence has been tainted. Touched by too many people. I suggest that if you find anything else, you leave it alone.”
“Of course, Micah.” The captain’s tone was polite, but brusque.
“I am finished in here,” Micah told Angela. “If you do not mind, I will examine the other buildings.”
He said it in such a way as to give her little choice in the matter.
“My officers have already examined every building in town, including the residences. There wasn’t anything of any significance.”
The young man settled his azure eyes on the captain. “If I am correct, Captain, there is suspicion of possible laundering of excessive supplies. I imagine that, if that is the case, then they would use a store on this main road as a drop-off point. Easily accessible.” He started for the door. “And in the future, do not question me again.”
Resentment worked at Dyllon’s jaw. He opened his mouth to say something, but Angela bumped his arm. A deep scowl bunched his forehead, but he held his tongue.
Angela waited until the sound of Micah’s footsteps faded. “Be careful what you say or do around him,” she said in a low voice.
“What a pompous ass,” said Dyllon, the words seething into long drawn-out syllables. “Who does he think he is?”
“Shh.” She waved her hand in his face. She edged toward the door and poked her head out. Micah walked along the weathered planks. “You have to be careful.” She waited a moment longer, just to ensure the boy wasn’t going to return.
“So, we were never looking for a Renegade?”
“No,” she said, turning back around toward him.
Dyllon hadn’t moved, his face a mask of awe and anger. His gaze slid from the door to Angela. “I can’t believe that. Are all of The Center’s children so…?”
“Yes, I believe so. They are superior to us in every way,” she said matter-of-factly. Superior to her, despite all of her hard work. Her gut twisted in rage at the unfairness of it all; jealousy tugged at her core. “They’re stronger and faster, and the gifts they possess are beyond comprehension,” she continued.
“Can they all read objects?”
“It seems the subjects of The Center possess many gifts.”
“Like what?”
“My job is security,” Angela stated, her tone terse so there wouldn’t be any more questions from Dyllon. “You do realize that everything you’ve witnessed will be kept to yourself. I need not remind you what could happen without me threatening you.”
“Yes, I do understand that,” Dyllon said, moving toward the door. “I just don’t understand why.”
She lifted a shoulder in response. �
�I’m assuming they’re the next wave of soldiers.”
“Soldiers? The war is long over.”
“The road to perfection is never-ending.”
23
As afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow gaps of the barn’s roof, Rein woke, sweating. His shirt stuck to his skin and his pants felt heavy and constricting.
Judging by the bright light, there had to be at least another six or so hours until nightfall. He kicked his blanket off and flipped onto his side.
Sleep evaded him. The stifling heat made the task nearly impossible. He rolled over and watched Doc’s chest rise and fall. Perspiration beaded along the older man’s forehead. Soft snores pushed his lips apart.
Jealous, Rein concentrated on the soft, lulling sounds of the sleeping man. Eventually, despite the warm air, his eyes drooped, then closed. He became one with the worlds of in-between, teetering on the edge of reality and dreams, until snapping sounds and shouts roused him. His eyes popped open and Doc was staring straight at him, his eyes bugging.
“Is someone in the barn?” Rein mouthed.
Doc shrugged. “I think it came from outside,” he whispered.
As quietly as possible, careful to avoid the old creaking floorboards, he shifted to his stomach and placed his ear against the loft floor. He stayed still and waited for any sounds at all.
Silence.
Convinced no one was sneaking around below them, he lifted onto all fours and shuffled over to one window. A broken shutter hung to the side, obstructing the view.
Hunkered down, he put his hand on the piece of wood and started to move it away when someone shouted. A man’s voice, deep and young. He stiffened, unmoving. Another man answered. He wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but he knew they were close. Gathering his courage, he pushed the board over and peeked.
At first, he couldn’t see anything unusual, only the old road, where heat waves wafted from the broken asphalt and shimmered like a mirage. Beyond, the remnants of a town curved into view.
“Can you see anything?”
The suddenness of Doc’s voice caught him off-guard. His breath hitched in his chest. “No,” he exhaled.
He shuffled to the side to get a better view. Two figures, in dark clothing, appeared like ghosts.
“Wait.” He motioned for the doctor to come closer. “Over there,” he said.
Doc leaned over his shoulder. “What are they doing?” Barking answered his question, and the doctor pulled back, lengthening his spine. “Dogs. Ellyssa?”
“Yes,” he said while another person leading two dogs joined the first group. The searchers stood next to the road, talking. “They’re searching the town.”
“What are we going to do?”
“For right now, we’re going to stay here,” Rein said, backing away. He picked up his blanket and shoved it in his backpack.
“We can’t just stay here.”
“We can’t leave. Not yet.”
Rein grabbed his rifle and moved toward the shadows in the back of the barn. Behind a pile of wood and rusted tools hid a crawl space. Rein peered inside. Mold scented the air. A hole in the roof let light sneak into the cramped space. Dust particles floated in the sun streams. Spider webs dangled across the opening.
“We can hide in here until night.”
“I don’t know about the floorboards,” Doc said, pointing. The floor buckled across the small space.
“I guess we won’t be moving around much.” He waved his hand in a polite gesture. “After you.”
“Oh sure, let me be the guinea pig.”
Doc dropped his bag and, with Rein’s help, hefted himself through the opening. Scooting on his belly, he turned around until his head faced the opening. “Okay, you’re next.”
“One second.” Rein went back to where they had slept.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
Lifting his finger to his mouth, he opened the trapdoor and kicked the rickety ladder. It cracked but held fast. On the second kick, it was less resistant and broke free, collapsing onto the floor. He retrieved the extra shirt from his bag and, with a back and forth motion, rearranged the decades of dust as he backtracked to the crawl space.
“How are we going to get down?” the doctor asked, his voice low.
“Shh.”
He handed Doc both bags and the rifle, then pulled himself through the gap. The boards protested angrily. He gingerly turned around and laid across the planks, sliding the gun under him, muzzle pointing out into the loft.
Hours passed, and the sun slid across the sky. Shadows lengthened and danced across the loft. Except for the occasional voice carrying across an unknown distance, or the echo of barking, it stayed silent.
Tired from staying in the same position for so long, a kink biting at the back of his neck, Rein rested his head on his arms, fighting to stay awake. The doctor had dozed off a half-hour earlier. He felt the pull on his lids too, urging him to join Doc, when the squeak of rollers along a rusted track broke the monotony. He nudged the doctor.
“We have visitors.”
From beneath, two distinct sets of footfalls stepped across planks. Rein put his finger to his mouth, but the doctor didn’t need any warning, his body tighter than a taut wire.
Whoever roamed below didn’t bother to be quiet. A crash sounded, and Rein knew the boxes next to the door had fallen over. He tracked the sound of the intruders to where the ladder lay useless on the ground. From the light scraping, it sounded like someone was pushing bits of wooden litter around with his foot, before he proceeded deeper into the barn toward the back, where Rein had parked the truck directly below the crawl space. His body became like Doc’s, still, unmoving; even his breath was shallow.
For the first time ever, he was happy he’d followed the procedures dictated by Jordan. The The rules were a big pain, but he performed them religiously.
Then, a seed of doubt sprouted. Had he cleaned out the cab?
He thought back, trying to remember. The backpacks were with them, trash shoved inside. The gun wasn’t in the cab. He remembered picking out everything. Yes, he’d cleaned it out, and he’d smudged dirt on the window to make the truck appear abandoned. The hard, dry ground didn’t show tire tracks, and Doc had placed rubble around the rusted hunk of metal. All necessary precautions had been performed.
Hopefully, the searchers would wander around a bit, and then leave.
“Alex,” said a disembodied voice. “Where are you?”
“Over here. Check this out,” said Alex, apparently the one directly below them.
Heavier thumps echoed through the floorboards and stopped. “Wow. Is that an Oshkosh? I’ve only seen these in history books.”
“I know. I can’t believe it was left behind.”
“Probably broken or something. Not worth bringing out during the evacuation.”
“No. It must have been missed during the sweep.”
One of the men smacked the truck with his hand. A metallic bang sounded.
“We can file a report on it later. If they want the metal, they can come get it.”
The silence wavered for a moment, and was broken by a loud popping; the truck door opened. Rein closed his eyes. Although he had never believed in a higher power, he mouthed a prayer anyway.
The door slammed shut, and he heard some more scuttling around. Something scraped across the floor, accompanied by muttering, as if suddenly the intruders were afraid of being heard. Rein strained to hear, but their voices were too low. Then his fear was realized. The trapdoor leading to the loft swung open and two huge hands appeared, followed by blond hair. Rein and Doc ducked into the concealment the darkness offered.
“Just a little further,” said a man as his head popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Sharp, angled jowls completed the squareness of his face.
“You weigh a ton,” said the voice belonging to Alex.
“Muscles.”
Rein realized the man wasn’t kidding. He positioned his hands accordin
gly, and lifted his body on two arms befitting tree trunks. Muscles bulged and rippled under the dark clothing. He tilted to the side to bring his leg up, but a sharp snap stopped further movement. He readjusted.
Snap.
“Hold up,” he screeched. “Stop.”
“Can you see anything?” said Alex.
His partner scanned the area, craning his head to see behind him and around the door. “Just dust. No one would be crazy enough to come up here. It’s not safe.”
“Come on, it’s getting dark.”
“Okay.”
But before he lowered himself, the man glanced toward the back of the barn. Rein’s prayer died and was replaced by a thrumming heart. Doc’s chest stopped moving, as if he’d lost the ability to breathe.
“Wait,” the muscle-bound man said, narrowing his gaze and inclining his head forward.
“What?”
“Just…” He didn’t finish, his stare unwavering.
Rein felt the man’s eyes boring into him, the tension of the trigger familiar against his finger. If the man noticed them, he’d have to be quick. First Mr. Muscle, then Alex. Sweat dripped from his hairline and down his neck.
“Do you see something or not?” Alex asked, his voice strained.
His companion’s voice seemed to break the scrutiny of the muscular man. He blinked. “I thought…” He squinted again before he relented. “No, nothing, just shadows. Lower me down.”
A mountain of relief collapsed on Rein as the man disappeared, and he risked breathing again. Doc followed suit, as his chest expanded. He listened as incorporeal voices faded and the barn door closed. Emptiness, and the certainty the searchers had left, didn’t matter; neither man spoke until complete darkness engulfed the barn.
“It’s night, let’s get out of here,” said Doc, pulling himself forward. His feet hit the floor with a dull thud.
“Wait.” Rein placed the shotgun to the side, before flipping himself onto the ground.
“What?”
“I’m guessing they’re camped close by.”
The doctor looked disheartened. “We can’t just stay here, like sitting ducks.”
“I don’t think they’ll come back. At least, not tonight.” Rein went to the corner of the barn. He pulled out his blanket and spread it across the floor, then took a seat. “We have to leave the truck behind, now that they know it’s here, and hoof it back to the caves.”
