Influence (Influence Series Book 1)

by David R. Bernstein

  INFLUENCE

  Book One of the Influence Series

  By David R. Bernstein

  Copyright © 2016 by David R. Bernstein. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced. Stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, live or dead are purely coincidental.

  Bernstein, David R.

  Influence

  For more information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book, go to www.davidrbernstein.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Foolish Empathy

  Chapter 2: Influencer

  Chapter 3: Pushed into a Corner

  Chapter 4: Belly of the Beast

  Chapter 5: In the Thich of It

  Chapter 6: A Moment of Change

  Chapter 7: Reintroduction

  Chapter 8: Resistance

  Chapter 9: Push Radar

  Chapter 10: Unleashed

  Chapter 11: Hawthorne

  Chapter 12: Chaos

  Chapter 13: Catching Up

  Chapter 14: Feast or Farren

  Chapter 15: Moving Forward

  Chapter 16: Moving Out

  Chapter 17: Slow and Painful

  Chapter 18: Hidden Clarity

  Chapter 19: Restart

  Chapter 20: New Motivation

  Chapter 21: Magnus Insight

  Chapter 22: The Gates of Talas

  Chapter 23: Not So Fast

  Chapter 24: Decisions

  Chapter 25: A Familiar Face

  Chapter 26: Perspective

  Chapter 27: Introductions

  Chapter 28: Leverage

  1

  FOOLISH EMPATHY

  I CAN’T SENSE his awareness. He could be dead, but even the deceased emit a faint echo that my mind normally picks up. The way he’s propped up against the old, rusty signpost with his head dangling to the side makes me think he’s been there a while. It’s not like I make it a point to hang around corpses, so maybe it’s just that conscious imprints fade with enough time. I really don’t know.

  Amanda couldn’t care less as she yanks on my arm, forcing me back to the road. A pit in my stomach tightens my breathing as my typically cautious approach to strangers fades a bit. Amanda always focuses on keeping my ability a secret over everything else, but her concern isn’t reaching me.

  “I don’t know about this, Kay,” she says as I drag her small frame back toward him. “This isn’t our problem and we can’t stop now. We need to get to Bullhead before it gets dark.”

  She knows traveling in this desert wasteland at night adds another layer of danger to our situation. There’s something about the darkness that brings out the worst in desperate people.

  “I know, I know, but what if he’s alive and I’m just having an off day or something?” I bite my lower lip as I think of what to do next. “The guilt of leaving someone to die is going to hang over our heads.”

  Staring beyond the cracked and crumbling highway, I track a tumbleweed moving through the lifeless expanse. Even it is taunting me to move on. Ignoring my doubts, I lean in and check for a pulse. Amanda groans while she rolls her eyes in disapproval. My fingers swipe across the stubble of his neck as I search for signs of life. “Oh crap…” I bite down harder, “…he is definitely alive.”

  “That’s not possible,” Amanda says, knowing my unique skill has never failed to give us a heads up before. “Now what?”

  “Grab his legs,” I say without hesitation.

  “I swear… Times like this, you really show your age.”

  I can’t stand it when she says that. It’s not like being seventeen is that young, considering how messed up the world has become. She means well and her heart is in the right place, but just because she’s older than me doesn’t mean I can’t think for myself.

  We drag his lean but heavy body off the road. Patches of taller brush will provide some much-needed shade from the intense late afternoon sun.

  I might not be the bravest person, but I’m also not one to pass by someone in need. I’ve been an orphan since I was three—I know what it feels like to have no one in the world who gives a crap whether you live or die.

  Amanda found me six years ago, and all that changed. She’s five years older than me, from the once-resource-rich sector group known as the Terrance Party. They were a group of former renowned political families who, toward the end of society, came together in hopes of creating a new government for the former United States.

  Drops fall from the young man’s forehead as I use some of our precious water supply to cool his exposed skin. I can feel Amanda’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, and I know she doesn’t approve. The guy, who doesn’t look much older than me, begins to breathe more comfortably. He looks peaceful as we trickle fluids into his mouth, which force him to swallow. His dried and cracked lips peel apart as he sips in small amounts of oxygen. Each exhale expands and is deeper than the one before. The immediate threat to his health appears to have eased, but our next step is still unknown.

  “We have to go now,” Amanda urges, looking at the fading horizon. “It’s going to be dark in an hour or so. We don’t know who this is and I really don’t care. Let’s go.”

  “Let me think a minute, okay?”

  It’s been almost eight hours of pushing ourselves way too hard to reach this town. There’s nothing but dust, heat, and more dust between Bullhead and our last supply stop. Even before we stumbled upon this guy, the water bladders we each carry on our backs were nearly empty, and we still have an hour or two to travel. Sweat trickles off my ponytail and down the back of my tank. The stinging heat is dragging us down. We wouldn’t normally attempt this long a trip, but the chance to stock up on food rations is far too tempting to pass up. Waiting here much longer will only lower our odds of reaching Bullhead before nightfall. With the limited resources in the Lost Souls sector, there is really no choice but to take these kinds of risks. Lost Souls is one of the last sectors that is not controlled by corrupt groups. Not that there’s much to control here anyway.

  “Let’s at least wake him so he can try to move on before it gets too late,” I say.

  The unknowns involved in this idea really test my dedication to empathy. That plus, for some strange reason, unlike every other person I meet, I’m unable to feel this boy’s consciousness. This fun fact makes me reevaluate.

  “Are you crazy?!” Amanda shouts, eyes wide. She looks almost frantic as her body tenses. I’ve never felt this from her before.

  “Okay, okay, fine. But, wondering if we left him to die is going to haunt me,” I say while Amanda tugs on my arm, leading me away.

  “Wondering is better than us dying, Kay.”

  We’re edging closer to the road when we hear a raspy and desperate voice call out to us.

  “Wait, please don’t go.” His voice struggles to carry the ten yards or so we’ve walked.

  We turn to find him staggering to his feet, legs wobbly. Without a second thought, I run and put my shoulder under his arm and try to support his solid frame. Amanda rolls her eyes again, but she still manages to find the compassion to come and support the other half of his body.

  “Thank you.” The words barely escape his mouth.

  I look up at him and give a cautious smile. Dark hair covers his eyes as he continues to regain his strength. His breathing looks more natural now and he starts to carry more
of his own weight. As he pulls his head and shoulders up, his stature is more noticeable. He is much taller than me, and I am not short.

  My long legs make traveling easier than it is for Amanda. Having to work for everything in this expansive sector doesn’t allow for us to be lazy. Each town or outpost is miles and miles apart. You rarely see working vehicles anymore and when you do, they often come from a neighboring sector group’s scout patrol. Constantly traveling by foot forces us to remain fit and strong.

  I catch myself as I scan his body, noticing his clothes. They are not the common, tattered apparel of the people from the Lost Souls sector. Uncertainty fills my mind, but I guard my reactions and act casual. His pace slows, and his head turns back to the road sign where we found him.

  “Can you guys hold on a minute?” he says, slowly walking back on his own. “I forgot my bag and supplies. I hope it’s okay that I tag along for a bit.”

  With his back to us now, my eyes lock with Amanda’s as I mouth the word “clothes.” She nods in understanding. The outfit he’s wearing had to come from an outside sector group. The last remaining shops were ransacked long ago, leaving little for choice in Lost Souls. You never see people with new, complete outfits unless you are part of a sector group’s organization. Unlike our mismatched clothes, his look is put together with a purpose. The stiff, buttoned-up, dark navy shirt and matching cargo pants can’t make traversing this sector pleasant. Our suspicions are confirmed as we get a good look at what we recognize as a Magnus-issued backpack he returns with. Brown and plain with only one subtle yet distinctive marking. If we weren’t so familiar with this logo, it would be easy to overlook: embroidered, red double lines that trail the side of the pack. The lines are supposed to represent all paths leading to the Order. Amanda and I again exchange glances; we both know we need to act cool.

  The Magnus Order spreads across most of the former state of California. Their ruthless expansion is well known in Lost Souls. The Southern Coastal region is the sector bordering ours and Magnus mostly controls it.

  It was a neighboring sector group like this guy’s that overran Amanda’s Terrance Party. Nothing remained of her childhood home. Her parents died defending her group’s ideals. Amanda was lucky to make it out before they placed her for assignment against her will.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he says as he combs his hair back with his free hand. The gesture allows us to finally see his full face. No longer hidden by his shaggy, dark brown hair, I can’t help but notice the strong facial features. His sculpted jaw line and solemn brows draw you into his eyes. It looks like he’s due for a haircut, but the style suits him.

  He rummages through his bag as he calmly says, “My name is Farren, by the way. Farren Knox.”

  I swallow as my heart races. He digs deeper into the backpack. Does he have a weapon? He can’t know what I am. Amanda’s face whitens with fear; she must have come to the same conclusion.

  We jump back as Farren pulls something out. His brow tightens, noticing our reaction.

  “Take it easy, ladies, it’s just a snack,” he says while the side of his mouth inches up in apparent amusement.

  Three hydro-nutrition bars crinkle in his hand as he zips up his pack.

  “Sorry, we don’t know you, and your sector clothes scream stranger-danger,” Amanda blurts out.

  “I am just passing through,” he insists while handing us a bar. “I’m on my way back home, that’s all. I was visiting family here and pushed myself too hard. Luckily, you found me.”

  “Hey, Amanda, we don’t have time for this.” I try to change the subject.

  “So, her name is Amanda, and you are?” His eyes narrow and his head tilts to the side as he focuses on me.

  I pull my ponytail over my shoulder, combing through the damp ends with my fingertips. Scanning over the sealed package, I wonder if it might be laced with something. What have I gotten us into?

  “Where is home?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Oh, and thanks for the hydro-bar.”

  Apparently Amanda wasn’t worried about getting drugged, as she has devoured half of her bar. Glancing at her, she shrugs as if I’m crazy to be cautious about eating it. We pick up our pace and continue walking north as the sun sets on the western horizon. No longer able to ignore my rumbling stomach, I dig into the moist, lime-flavored treat. I forgot how good these were. The snack gives us energy and has a slight hydrating effect, thus the name. Farren is able to keep pace with us as his dehydration continues to wear off.

  “I live with the Magnus Order.” He pauses, as if reconsidering his words. “I know what you’re thinking—that I must be evil or something, but hear me out. I was forced to work for them.”

  “How were you forced to work for them?” Amanda asks, knowing full well how manipulative sector groups are.

  He takes our wrappers and stuffs them in his pack before returning his attention to Amanda.

  “If I didn’t, they would take it out on my family. It’s that simple.”

  “What kind of work do you do that is so important they need to threaten your family?” I ask, knowing that the Magnus Order has no honest work to offer.

  “Well, I am a…” He looks straight ahead, avoiding our eyes. “I am what they call a Push Recruiter.”

  My heart drops into my stomach as the reality of what Farren says sinks in. There is no need to ask him to explain, we know exactly what he is and what he does. The man we saved represents everything Amanda and I are running from. The recruiters scout out the neighboring regions in search of promising Influencers, like me, who they can take back to their group for placement, most often against their will. Regardless, those recruits’ lives are changed forever. Manipulated by whatever means necessary, they are forced to spread the influence of the group, expanding its power in the region and beyond. Strategically placed like beacons, Influencers help shape the reality of the nearby population. The people ‘pushed’ are then steered to the desired outcome, which is usually to be submissive and stay in line with the group’s interests.

  How can I be this stupid? We’ve been so careful for all these years, but now I am side by side with the enemy. If I use my push ability on him, it will only expose me and make me a target for every recruiter they have.

  Not wanting to tip him off about what I am, Amanda follows my lead and we play along for now. I inform him of our destination and we all decide to stick together until we reach Bullhead. From there, Farren will continue on to the Magnus sector. With him not fully recovered, he needs us. Traveling at night just became a little safer with this guy around, as well. If we can pull this off, that is. With no working infrastructure for electricity, the lack of lighting will make it very dark very soon.

  2

  INFLUENCER

  A PUSH RECRUITER and an Influencer traveling together is not uncommon these days, but normally the Influencer is manipulated or being forced. The fact that I’m choosing to do this is terrifying—and dumb, but our only option.

  It’s been more than six years since I’ve been this close to someone discovering my abilities. The last time, I almost killed two people.

  It was a couple of years after Amanda and I met at the ironically named Hopeful Outlook Shelter in the Lost Souls. I was eleven and she was sixteen at that time. That was our last stop before we started our lives as wandering, homeless kids.

  Hopeless, as the kids call the shelter, gives the impression that they are a place where orphaned children find refuge and begin a new life, but we all know they just operate to find recruiting opportunities for nearby sector groups. There’s no effort made to actually find homes for the children. Having a family requires finding more food, and dragging the kids around puts you at greater risk of being discovered by the ever-present sector personnel who troll this area. That means few are interested in taking in extra mouths to feed unless there is a strong blood tie.

  It’s not only Influencers who catch the eye of these recruiters. Having any valuable skillset makes you a prized targe
t. Living in an Influencer-guided sector strips you of your freedoms, and the worst part is you are completely unaware of the manipulation.

  While living at the shelter, I discovered something strange and quite frightening. The way I perceived and interacted with the world had changed and I was no longer a naive young girl. One day stood out more than any other in my life, and the events of this day changed everything.

  It was like a switch was flipped. My life of being normal in a less-than-normal world ceased to exist. This event will be burning in my head until the day I die. Something awoke inside of me and I had no clue what it was until it was too late.

  I can still smell the burnt chemical odor of the cafeteria. The walls dull and free of personality. Functionality and purpose are all that matter to the sector sponsors. The end goal is not to help children, but rather to help themselves. The emotional wellbeing of the child is secondary to the discovery of untapped talent.

  Amanda and I entered the mess hall for what would be the last time. The eating area consisted of several long, folding tables and an assortment of mismatched chairs all lining a poorly ventilated room that had once acted as a storage wing. After the staff handed out our prepackaged meals, we found a couple of spots on the rusted and wobbly table toward the end of the room. No one usually sat at that table since one bump would topple it over, but Amanda wasn’t big on making friends. Distance from the rest of the kids was perfect.

  We forced down bland rations and expired cans of fruit as we kept to ourselves. It started out as any ordinary day, but that would not last.

  Alex and Billy Wilson approached our table, arms folded, flexing their unnecessarily large muscles. Their eyes trained solely on Amanda. The Wilson brothers were troublemakers and not the kind who played pranks on people—rather, the kind who lived to create chaos, pain, and fear in others. The boys’ attitudes had led four shelters to expel them before they invaded ours.