Nighthawks (Children of Nostradamus Book 1)

by Flagg, Jeremy

  “Now for us,” she said.

  As Dwayne stepped forward, a group from the party rushed past him to the door, looking back in fear. He stepped over the glass of the bay window leading outside and helped Alyssa step over the remaining shards. The street had mostly cleared; some spectators hovered to see what was going on. He could only assume the mob had vanished as the Corps soldiers arrived. Even the most passionate protestor wouldn’t risk the wrath of the machine men.

  “Dav5d has a car ready for you,” said a woman’s voice.

  Across the street, a car’s engine turned over and the driver’s side door opened. Dwayne checked both directions as he crossed the road. Dav5d had chosen a high-end speedster. Dwayne looked back at the destroyed art gallery. He didn’t fully understand why he was needed, but he sensed pieces were beginning to fall into place.

  “We’re heading home, Vanessa.”

  Chapter Six

  December 1st, 1992 9:02AM

  Mark removed his lanyard, tossing it to the floor in a rush. The nurse pointed to the sink, telling him to scrub up. He threw his blazer next to his lanyard and began washing his hands. He rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt and continued furiously scrubbing. He washed off the soap and the nurse patted down his arms and pushed open the door into the room.

  The scream that ripped through the air startled him, causing him to freeze in his tracks until it subsided. The woman lying on her back, her legs firmly secured in stirrups, made eye contact with him as her back arched. Another scream filled the small room. She had seen him; there was no escaping now, he was in this to the end.

  He rushed by her side and gripped her reaching hand. She had taken off her wedding and engagement rings when she began to put on the baby weight. He was thankful as her grip threatened to break his finger. He gripped her bloated hands while brushing away hair blocking her vision.

  “You’re doing fine, hon,” he said, giving her hand a light squeeze.

  “You’re never having sex with me again.” She half-laughed as she gritted her teeth.

  A nurse on the other side of the bed took her hand and began making breathing sounds. Mark realized he hadn’t started the breathing they learned in Parents 101. He started the hissing noises and his wife let out a deep sigh as the contraction passed.

  “You sound ridiculous.” She laughed again.

  She was the funny one. She was the lighthearted one. She was the better half of their relationship. He was the worrier, the one who pored over bank statements and focused on future goals. She was the reason they were having a baby. On their first date he told her, “Your laugh is the most beautiful sound.” She said the baby was going to fill their house with same joyful noises.

  “I love you,” he said, basking in the start of an amazing journey they were embarking on.

  The doctor stepped up to the table and smiled at the young couple. He pulled his mask over his face and sat in front of the stirrups. “So I hear we’re going to have a baby today.”

  “And stop the fun?” She started screaming before she could give him the signature half-laugh she was known for.

  The doctor began talking to the nurses. Mark ignored the man as he focused on his wife. His wedding ring was going to leave a mark as she clenched his hand with a vise-like grip. He only froze as the word “complication” left the doctor’s mouth. His wife grunted out a sound he could only assume was a question about what was going on.

  Mark could see the motion in the room from the corner of his eye. He didn’t turn away from his wife. There wasn’t much he was sure about in the world. He would doubt every decision in his adult life, but this was the first in which he was certain of a positive outcome. Months ago, a very tender woman had assured him his mother would survive her bout with cancer. With the odds stacked against her, she conquered her own body and the cancer was clear. The same woman had said his child would be healthy. He never questioned her predictions, and now, he understood what it was like to know the future.

  His wife’s eyes were terrified of what was happening. She wanted answers, assurances her newborn was going to be okay. As the doctor moved in a rush, she did everything she could to distract herself from the pain.

  “It will be okay,” he whispered. He leaned in close on the bed, propping himself next to her. He rested his hand on her face and forced her to see his eyes. She looked panicked and he couldn’t blame her. The baby hadn’t been born yet and she was already in love with the little person. She had removed his desk and bookcase for a crib and rocking chair and put together more infuriating contraptions to transport the child than he could imagine.

  He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. Her eyes tried to focus on him but he could see through the pain radiating throughout her body. He leaned in close to his wife, his forehead only inches from touching hers. He kept eye contact, showing his confidence in the situation.

  “He’s going to be okay,” he whispered to her.

  She only responded by grunting and gritting her teeth. The doctor moved about, talking to the nurse and doing something hidden by the modesty cloth draped over his wife. Tears rolled down her cheek.

  “I promise you, he’s okay,” he whispered to her.

  Her body relaxed and the pain seemed to vanish. Elizabeth didn’t let go of his hand as he whispered more sweet nothings to her. She wanted to sit up and see the doctor, but her body felt weak and she waited for some sign.

  The two nurses in the room moved frantically. She didn’t break eye contact with her husband as he continued to stroke her face. She was tired and she wanted to sleep. She waited as an empty feeling began to creep into her chest.

  There was a single cry. She held her breath, unsure if what she heard had been real. Seconds were an eternity as she waited. The silence was broken by a series of shrieks. Without any signs of embarrassment, tears rolled down her face at the overwhelming joy that began to flood into her being.

  “I promised you,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead.

  The doctor explained there had been a problem with the umbilical cord that had caused a lack of oxygen to the baby. They would need to keep both mother and child overnight to monitor their health, but he assured her the newest addition to their family would be okay. He helped remove her legs from the stirrups and tried to make her feel more comfortable. Then he handed the infant off to the nurse, who turned to a changing table. The doctor congratulated the parents. The new parents were so tightly entwined with one another they weren’t listening to a word he was saying.

  The phone began to ring, breaking sounds of mom and child crying. Mark kissed his wife. “Everything is going to be amazing.”

  Elizabeth leaned back on the bed, glancing at the ringing telephone. She pointed to her face and motioned to the mess by her legs. She smiled. “If you’re still with me after seeing this…”

  He kissed her again. “You’re beautiful.”

  The phone continued to ring. The nurse swaddled his newborn and placed his boy into the outstretched arms of his wife. He pushed back her hair and kissed her brow. She leaned into Mark’s arms and smiled up to him.

  “How did you know?”

  The emotions were running strong in his heart. His beautiful wife was holding his firstborn child. His mother was outside, waiting to meet her first grandchild. He had no doubts. He thought of the woman handing him letters wrapped in a single white ribbon.

  “Eleanor told me,” he whispered.

  Elizabeth didn’t reply. She had been terrified when Eleanor was shot and agents had detained her husband. He had answered their questions as truthfully as he could, but she was convinced his association with the psychic had threatened her family. It wasn’t until months ago he confessed to the letter he kept hidden away in his sock drawer. He told his wife about how Eleanor saw the future and knew his mother would survive cancer and that they would have a healthy baby.

  She couldn’t understand the life of the soothsayer, but she knew her husband’s respect and conviction for t
he woman made her an angel hovering over their family. He squeezed her hand again.

  The phone didn’t stop ringing.

  He let go of her hand and picked up the receiver. He barked, “What?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied quickly. He didn’t say another word. The phone rolled off his shoulder and dropped to the floor as he walked toward the television. The nurse stepped next to the new mother and offered to take the child and help her clean up before her son’s first feeding.

  He couldn’t hear the conversation anymore as he fumbled with the buttons on the television set suspended from the wall. He didn’t try to change the channel. He simply stared at the box, unable to comment or explain to his wife.

  “…Seabrook, New Hampshire is gone. If you’re just tuning in, the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant has just exploded. We have no word yet on what caused the explosion, but we do know there was a catastrophe resulting in failure of the systems at the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant.”

  “God help them,” said the woman at the news desk.

  He could hear Elizabeth gasp at the announcement. His mind was moving a million miles an hour. His wife, still covered in sweat and grime from giving birth, his newborn son, his office calling him to alert him to the news, all of it caused his head to swim. He was unsure of what his next move would be.

  The television flickered and turned to static. Mark reached up and smacked the side of the box. The static began to take the shape of a person. He stepped back to see the solid outline of a man on the TV.

  “United States of America,” said a voice through the static, “land of the free and home of the brave. We are calling out your discreet operations. We know all about The Culling. Individuals who for years have been in your employ, using their more-than-human abilities to further your goals, will not die in vain. Killing empaths, slaughtering clairvoyants, and the genocide of telepaths will be responded to in kind.”

  “Eleanor,” he said in a hushed voice as he realized what they were talking about.

  “The United States has declared war on the wrong people. We can see you coming. We can hear your plans. We will not be eliminated. You’ve seen our reach.”

  The static turned to an aerial shot of a cluster of buildings. A small explosion began in one part of the structure and a chain of bursts followed. He didn’t need to see the rest to know it was another nuclear power plant being attacked.

  “The Northeast belongs to us now. Cease species war.”

  The televisions went black. No static, no sound, just a blank screen. He turned to his wife; her face showed worry. She didn’t know what to say to her husband. The joy of her baby boy was being replaced by the horror of domestic terrorism.

  “You’ll be safe here,” he said.

  “Just go,” she said. “We’ll be fine here. Go help save the world.”

  He pushed the door open and grabbed his blazer and lanyard. As he threw on his White House badge, he realized he didn’t even know the name of his son. He started to jog down the hall. Every room, people were staring blankly at the television. Even nurses paused, unsure of how to continue their day.

  Mark turned through a door leading to the stairwell that would take him to the garage. He jumped down the steps two at a time and shoved his way through. As he quickly walked to his car he couldn’t help but think of Eleanor.

  “Is this what you couldn’t predict?” He was terrified that the darkness had begun to take root.

  Chapter Seven

  May 16th, 2032 11:52PM

  “Why bother speaking?”

  Vanessa pondered the question for a moment. It had been years since she found a human to be so candid with her. The young woman at her side was forthright and direct. “It tends to put humans at ease when they can hear my voice.”

  “Is that why you hide your face?”

  Vanessa smirked at the woman’s bold assertion. “Sometimes I forget if I’m speaking with my mouth or my mind. It helps hide my mistakes.”

  Twenty-Seven nodded at the answer. The sun broke the horizon and the light washed over their faces. She pulled off the hoodie and tucked it away in her bag. She eyed the woman walking next to her. While they had been together, the angel had never appeared to be wet. Twenty-Seven knew there was something more than met the eye about the person guiding her down the road. Vanessa listened to the woman’s thoughts as they sped through her mind.

  “Are you real?”

  Vanessa continued as the woman stopped. The sun cast a brilliant light on the world in front of her, providing a sense of beauty to the upcoming day. She turned to see the woman holding her ground. She didn’t need to ask why. The woman’s thoughts were loud, broadcasting as if she was saying them aloud.

  She doesn’t get wet when it rains? Where are her wings? If she can speak to me without actually speaking, can she make me see things that aren’t there? What if she’s not real? What if I died? How do I…

  “You have no way of knowing.”

  “Angel of the Outlands,” the woman said flatly, “what are you hiding?”

  “Asks the woman tried and convicted for murder.”

  Twenty-Seven didn’t flinch. “If you can read my thoughts…”

  I do not judge.

  Did I ask for validation? “Lead on,” Twenty-Seven said.

  “You trust me?”

  Twenty-Seven walked past Vanessa, her eyes fixed on her feet. “I have no choice.”

  The buildings had begun to crumble from disrepair. There weren’t many skyscrapers in Springfield, but as they approached the bridge leading them into the city, plenty rose into the sky. Cars were scattered across the streets, windshields smashed in, many still containing the remains of the occupants who were trying to flee the city. Twenty-Seven paused as she looked into a Subaru on the side of the road; the backseat contained a small skeleton still in the baby seat.

  She tried to focus on the grass breaking through the cracks in the concrete. She assumed the angel was capable of seeing her thoughts. She didn’t try to hide them. She had expected something more Godly about her, something that earned her the title of Angel. She appreciated the woman’s intervention, perhaps saving her life, but she was left with more questions than she was willing to answer.

  Posters lined the city’s buildings. The government had reached out to the survivors, offering them protection if they could make it out of Massachusetts. She couldn’t imagine how many people had survived. Was it possible people in the depths of parking garages or even basements could have survived the initial blast? Would the radiation kill them?

  She tripped over her own foot as she looked at the graffiti covering dozens of posters glued to the side of a building. In black spray paint and nearly up to the second floor was a symbol. She studied it for a moment before she recognized the outstretched wings. She looked at the woman to her side again. The people who remained paid homage to the angel.

  They walked in silence as they reached the edge of the city. The buildings became smaller in the southern portion of the metropolis. The large structures were behind them and the city turned into smaller residential homes. She stopped as she saw movement behind one of the cars. She didn’t hesitate, dropping behind a parked SUV.

  Vanessa caught Twenty-Seven peering around the corner, staring at her stretched wings. Vanessa did everything in her power to be visible to anybody who might be watching. Vanessa motioned for Twenty-Seven to stay tucked behind the vehicle. Vanessa could sense the woman’s thoughts, pondering if she could detect anybody nearby, as well as several nearby thoughts alerting her to the trap she might be stepping into.

  “Angel,” came a voice, “you bring company.”

  “She is with me, Victor.”

  A man appeared from the doorway of what had once been a cafe. Twenty-Seven noted the gun on his hip before she noticed the burns across his face. Perhaps in his late fifties, he looked like any other man, but a dark red patch covered at least half of his face and neck. She didn’t have to be a doctor to know the sign
s of radiation burn.

  “Who is she?” asked Victor.

  “She’s a convict, sent to the Outlands by the government.”

  “Angel, you know we don’t take degenerates the government sends here to die. We’re a peaceful people.”

  “Says the man who wears a gun,” she said from her hiding spot. She wasn’t the weak woman she was a year ago. There was no way she was going to let a man decide her fate. The woman who had taken punch after punch was dead. She was Twenty-Seven.

  “Child, do you think we’re the only ones here? I’m sure you’ve seen the looting already.”

  “Victor, she was sentenced to death for protecting herself.”

  Another voice yelled, “How do you know she ain’t lying?”

  “You dare question me? I see into the hearts of men, just as I have seen into Victor’s, or yours, Timothy. I have seen her heart and I have deemed her worthy.” The angel’s voice boomed. Reverberating in each of their chests, the words hovered in the air as if they had been spoken by God himself.

  Twenty-Seven noted the angel was speaking with her mouth. The loud words were heard by her ears, not her head. The angel had more tricks than she could imagine, but she couldn’t figure out the game being played. She had been frank in their discussions, secretive, but up-front with most questions. However, she attempted to put the fear of God into these people.

  They do not know I can read their thoughts.

  Why do you hide it?

  The angel turned her head, looking over her shoulder past the magnificent raised wing. Her eyes connected with Twenty-Seven, who could read them as if she was capable of reading her thoughts. She could see the sorrow written across her brow and the cost of her deceit etched in her crow’s feet. You know I am not an angel.

  “A telepath,” Twenty-Seven whispered in her hiding spot.

  Chapter Eight

  May 17th, 2032 12:32AM