Black-Eyed Kids: The Complete Series

by Miranda Hardy

  I forge ahead even further, leaving Astid and Marcus behind. The campground weaves in circles along the shoreline of the lake, but nobody is around. Not even an agent. It’s weird. I was expecting to see them everywhere. I mentally send this knowledge to Marcus and Astid, letting them know I’ll keep moving north on the wider path while they continue on the current trail.

  Astid gives me some last-minute advice. Keep your head low and your feet quiet. Take your time. You make too much noise when you get anxious.

  I turn around and make sure they both can see my exaggerated snarl. Thanks, Wonder Woman.

  I hurry across a paved street and take a wider trail. I bend down to study the tire marks. Vehicles must have been using this dirt road recently, and the tracks are deep and worn. Watching spy movies does have its merits after all.

  As silently as possible, I follow it until I find a campground check-in point. The tiny wooden structure remains empty as well, but I hear vehicles going away from me, to the right. From the sun’s position, they are heading west.

  Thank God I had earned my Boy Scouts orienteering merit badge.

  With some concentration, I sense Marcus and Astid’s position. It takes some effort for me to mentally stretch out and tell them some cars are coming my way, and I’m still okay.

  They receive my message. Even from this distance, I can feel their nervousness.

  It’s time to test out my psychic powers. My mind reaches out as far as it can, trying to sense the agents. It’s no good. Maybe imagery will work. I close my eyes and imagine my body is a satellite dish, and I’m extending myself so I can get their signals.

  Crap. Still nothing.

  I’m a mind reading failure.

  They are just too far away, Maverick, Astid communicates to me. Don’t be hard on yourself.

  Just don’t get too close, I warn them. Level 6 gets one whiff, and I’m a goner.

  Another trail runs directly behind the check-in gazebo. I pluck a folded map from a wooden box and head north.

  From the direction on the map, the road the cars had taken would lead them to the marina, the park office, or the cottages. Just as I try to decide which route to take, I sense Astid and Marcus getting too close.

  I send a warning to Marcus and Astid. Stay back!

  After a few seconds, I sense them moving away again.

  I study the map again, and I decide to go towards the marina. Before going any further, I close my eyes and do my best to catch any sounds of their vehicles. Other than the wind rustling the trees, I hear nothing else.

  With hurried and quiet steps, I head towards my destination. The trail snakes around a shelter area where picnic tables fan out around the wooden pole hut. My stomach does a somersault when I spot a black SUV parked right there. Two agents stand behind their vehicle, facing the road. If they should happen to turn around, they’ll see me.

  Doing my best not to freak out, I back slowly away. I hide behind a large tree and probe their minds. They’re not talking to each other, but they’re both listening to the same voice coming out of their radio earplugs.

  “Clean-up in transit,” is all I catch before their minds drift to other thoughts. One of the agents thinks about what restaurant he wants to eat at tonight, while the other wonders if he’d have been better off accepting the Secret Service position he was offered a year ago. He thinks he would have advanced faster with them.

  “Clean-up arrived at cottages,” the voice crackles over their radios.

  These guys don’t budge. They’re standing guard, and they don’t know much about the actual operation taking place deeper in the park. They’re useless to me.

  With a sigh, I break my mind away from theirs and sneak away through the trees. I decide to get back onto the trail heading south towards the others. As soon as they’re in range, I mentally relay what I had caught from the agents.

  Did you get that? I ask Astid and Marcus in my head.

  What’s so important about getting a bunch of maids to clean up the cottages? Marcus asks.

  Out of nowhere, I catch a fleeting image from Marcus’s mind. He’s imagining Mom on the floor with Cadence standing over her. His mental wall goes up and guilt floods his mind. Sorry! Sorry!

  My stomach aches and sorrow grasps me as Marcus’s memory lingers in my own mind. Acid threatens to come up my throat, but I shake it off and study the map to distract myself. This mind-reading thing can really suck sometimes.

  I use my pain to gather my bravery. I’m doing this for Mom. I’m going to make Level 6 pay for what they did.

  We need to cross the road, but we have to do it further down so these agents can’t see us. Remember to keep far behind me.

  This isn’t good, Astid tells me. I’m not sure we should be here any longer.

  My need to know what’s happening here won’t let go of me, and they both sense it. It’s time to leave the trails behind and trek into the wooded off-limit areas. I push forward, knowing they will follow.

  Once I reach a good distance away from the shelter, I dash across the street, straight into the opposite set of trees. The wet leaves cushion my heavy steps and make less sound. I turn north and slowly make my way through the foliage.

  Clouds block out the midday sun, and the wind picks up, howling through the swaying trees. My feet begin to ache, and my pace slows. I feel Astid and Marcus in turn slow down, too, about a hundred feet behind me. This tireless march doesn’t faze them at all, but I don’t mind the ache in my legs or the burning in my lungs. It reminds me I’m still human.

  Hey, Mav-Man, I’m still human! Marcus pipes in.

  Sometimes I can’t seem to keep the mental barrier up like Astid can, and it’s really irritating. I can’t have a moment alone with my thoughts. I should practice building up my psychic wall to maintain some privacy.

  But there’s no time now.

  Another hour of hiking, and I can smell the lake. It’s a musty, earthy aroma, mixed with the scent of wet trees. I love the ocean, and this place doesn’t smell anything like the beach. It’s an icy, cool smell like when you first open the freezer.

  My mind touches a hint of a large group of people nearby.

  I sense something, I tell the others.

  Marcus and Astid don’t take another step and concentrate on my mind as I try to focus on the agents out in front of me. I’m beginning to feel like a radio frequency that’s malfunctioning and I can’t control it. With a lot of effort, I hone in on their signal.

  Agents scurry all around the cottages, and are searching the shoreline of the lake, but they aren’t looking for clues—they’re scanning the area for something. They’re looking for bodies.

  I receive Marcus’s shot of terror, but I’m too focused on the agents to send him reassuring thoughts.

  One agent stands by the first cabin with a newly arrived crew and explains something, but I’m losing his thoughts. I’m too far out of range. I edge closer, one tree at a time.

  Be careful! Astid says. Anxiety grips her. She knows how vicious and violent these people are. She’d lived it before, and she conveys to me in pure emotions just how far Level 6 is willing to go.

  My mouth goes dry, but I continue to inch close enough to get the agent’s thoughts. The first cottage comes into view, and another guy exits the front door holding a cloth over his mouth and joins another one on the stairs.

  The man in charge giving directions is really tall with a dark bronze complexion. Hispanic? Maybe American Indian? I could probe deeper in Agent One’s mind to find out, but it’s not important.

  Even though I’m still too far away to hear their words with my ears, I listen to every word they say with my mind.

  “He did what he needed to do,” Agent One says to the others gathered around him. “He’s not known for his subtly.”

  I feel the breath gush out of Astid’s lungs. She recognizes Agent One. His name is Lopez.

  Agent Two says, “He’s unpredictable and dangerous.” His salt and pepper hair makes him
appear older than he probably is. “I never agreed with the initiative in the first place.”

  “It’s not your call, now is it?” Agent Lopez shoots back. “Howell, your team failed yet again, and now it’s time to clean-up the damn messes you’ve left behind.”

  I go deeper into Agent Howell’s head. He’s thinking about Dr. Wilson, my so-called therapist. Her real name, apparently, was Sara. Agent Sara Atkins. After Detective Jennings had shot her, another clean-up crew came to the barn and completely erased any sign of everything that had happened there. Cadence’s body, Dr. Wilson/Sarah Atkins’ body, and the other two agents who were killed…all gone.

  Now they were here to clean up another murder scene.

  Agent Sara Atkins’ failure reflects poorly on Agent Howell, and now he’s lost control. Instead of being upset over her death, he’s pissed at her for failing him. Lopez seems to be the one in charge now.

  “Fall back,” Agent Lopez yells into a radio, and all the agents move toward their vehicles. “Let the clean-up crew finish.”

  One guy in a hazmat suit gathers his equipment from the back of his vehicle and follows two more suited up crew members into the cabin.

  I switch my mind reading from Agent Howell to the clean-up guy. When he enters, I sense his disgust and irritation upon seeing the bodies.

  A kid lays sprawled out over a coffee table face up, his left arm torn from its socket. Dried blood covers his face and inside of his sunken eye sockets. His face isn’t recognizable under the deep lacerations in his skin. His feet and legs rest in a pool of blood.

  Hot acid burns my throat. I fall to the ground and grasp the nearest bunch of leaves in my hands and squeeze. Tears flow down my cheeks. I heave, but somehow, I regain control of my twisted stomach.

  “It’d be better to burn this place,” the clean-up agent says. He surveys the blood splattered living space and bends over to pick up a severed hand. He places it into a garbage bag and moves on to the next bodily object…a single strand of an intestine. In the other rooms, there are more bodies. “Bag it up, boys.”

  The others begin to pick through the mess, completely unbothered by the gore surrounding them.

  Marcus breaks his mental contact with me and pukes.

  Astid remains horrified. She continues to see everything through my mental connection with the clean-up agent.

  I straighten up and take deep breaths, forcing myself to try to control the panic that threatens to take over.

  “Well at least the bastard got one,” the clean-up agent says. I focus my attention back on the gruesome scene through his eyes.

  Humans weren’t the only victims in the cottage.

  3

  ASTID

  THE WORLD AS I know it spins out of control. Maverick slowly backs away from his position, and I hold onto Marcus as he heaves onto the foliage floor. He has never seen something so gruesome, and neither have I. The human boy was no more than eight years old, but the other one, Wanek, was only twelve, I think. I never conversed with him during our time at Level 6’s underground facility, but he was a sweet child—the youngest in our group who had escaped.

  I mean, Wanek was the youngest in Kren’s faction. Not much of his physical body remains. Just a hollow shell of bone and some skin. The humans were mutilated. But poor Wanek was consumed.

  Kren’s group must be reeling, and a part of me weeps for my brother. I know without a shadow of doubt he took this loss hard. He probably blames himself, and even though the thought crossed Maverick’s mind that Kren could be dead, too, I know my brother lives. If Wanek was here, then Kren is nearby too.

  Maverick picks up his pace once he moves deeper into the forest, careful to stay a good hundred feet to the north of us, backtracking the way we came. Maverick keeps his distance as he flanks us to our right, and he continues to try to protect us by going ahead. We hold our position for a moment, letting Maverick lead us back towards our car.

  I’m good now, Marcus takes deep, slow breaths. Sorry about my weak stomach.

  It’s fine. I focus on blocking my thoughts from him and Maverick. I know Kren isn’t dead because I still feel the bond we share. That attachment feels as if our spirits collide as one, as we felt with Mother before she died. If anything were to happen to him, I would instantly know it, as he would instantly know if something happened to me.

  None of the others kept at Level 6 shared this bond. Although we lived together in that dreadful institution, the scientists had kept us separate from the others. Kren and I were different from them. Our need to feed was the same, but none of them knew we were born this way. Like Marcus, the others at the facility had been created to possess our abilities.

  I shake my head to drive away the memories, knowing none of it matters now.

  Let’s get out of here, Marcus demands.

  We sense Maverick putting more distance between us, so Marcus and I follow him, listening to his mind as he scopes out his surroundings. Not one of us wants to stay another minute in this place, but we need to be careful getting back to the car. We have to assume there are at least several patrols of agents all around us.

  Be careful Maverick, slow down. I can feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. His breath begins to quicken. He wants out of these woods, badly too. He slows when he hears my warning, knowing he needs to quiet his footfalls as he nears the roadway ahead.

  Marcus rehashes the gory scene from the cabin over in his head, wondering what could have caused such carnage. He allows his imagination to run wild, and he conjures up images of various monsters from the cinema. Only from what I was able to pull from Dr. B’s mind, I know there were more creatures Level 6 tried to create—more terrifying than any beast on a movie screen.

  I keep thinking about how each member of the human family found in the cabin will be added to the list of missing persons, and no one will ever know the truth of what happened to them. Perhaps it’s for the better. I can’t fathom how their surviving loved ones would react to the news they had been ripped to pieces.

  I’m crossing. Maverick listens for vehicles before jutting across a paved road. The closer he gets to our car, the more relaxed he becomes. We’re almost there.

  Marcus and I dash through the woods to catch up with Maverick.

  Marcus is the first to approach him. “Mav, I’m not so sure we want to mess with Level 6. There’s too many of them. They have extreme firepower. And whatever tore up those people…I don’t want to run into that.” Marcus feels like a useless coward, and it pains him to admit he wants to abandon our mission. “We’re in way over our heads.”

  “We have to try,” Maverick counters. “If we don’t stop them, they will continue with their sadistic experiments, killing innocent people or changing them into monsters.” Maverick pats Marcus’ shoulder. “You’re only half a monster, though.”

  “Thanks,” Marcus says with a weak smile.

  Maverick says in a low voice to Marcus, “They killed my mom. And they’re responsible for Tarick, Cadence, and…you. I can’t let that go.”

  Maverick doesn’t know what our next move should be. A part of him wants to follow some of the agents to glean more answers from their minds, but another part wants to find Wi-Fi to email Beck back to gather more information, if he has more to offer.

  I project my thoughts into their minds. Maybe we should regroup, head back to the interstate, and find some place to rest. This seems to be the most rational course of action at the moment. I think we can all use a chance to process everything we saw today.

  “Sounds good to me,” Marcus says. “I’d give anything for a hot shower and a good meal.”

  A sudden dread crushes Maverick’s already weakened morale. “Although I think that’s as good of a plan as we can muster right now, I have a feeling it’s not going to happen.” He points at our car sitting about twenty feet away.

  A mess of wires hang over the side of the partially open hood.

  “Astid, do you sense anyone?” Maverick asks.

/>   I scan the surrounding woods for as far as I can. Nothing.

  Marcus races to the car, followed by an agitated Maverick.

  “This isn’t good, man. This sucks.” Marcus holds the torn wires in one hand and lifts the hood with his other. “The battery’s missing, and the engine’s been torn to heck.”

  “All the doors are still locked.” Maverick unlocks the car and checks inside. He opens the trunk and glances inside. “They didn’t take any of our stuff.”

  “That rules out burglars.” Marcus scans the surrounding woods himself. “Did the Hulk flip the hood without unlatching it from inside, and then mangle the engine like that? Who or what could have done it?”

  Maverick presses his forehead against the roof of the car in defeat. “Probably the same thing that can tear limbs off a person’s body.”

  Now what do we do? I ask. I can’t escape the thought this whole thing is one big trap. Had someone been watching us the whole time we’ve been here?

  Maverick and Marcus stop what they’re doing and stare at me. They had read my mind, and now they wonder the same thing.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Maverick rummages through the trunk and stuffs our two backpacks full of our remaining supplies. Then he fills the duffel bag with the thin blankets from the backseat.

  Marcus opens the glove box and pulls out all of the bullets for the one gun we have and puts them in with the blankets. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Where are we going to go? I take one of the backpacks and throw it over my shoulders. We’re surrounded by woods crawling with agents.

  All three of us sense it at the same time—someone, or something, is coming.

  We run in the opposite direction and head northwest.

  What is it? Marcus asks.

  I pick up my pace, but Maverick struggles to keep up with us. I don’t know, but it’s following us.

  Maverick’s mind runs wild with theories, but his ideas are pushed aside by the burning in his lungs. His adrenaline kicks in and he moves faster. He can’t quite form a coherent thought to voice his questions. His own thoughts are too terrible for him to comprehend.