Freaks of Nature (The Psion Chronicles)

by Wendy Brotherlin

  I keep walking, even though I hear the hum of a roving disruptor bot approaching. When I glance up, I can see the shiny metallic orb turning toward me a few meters ahead. They’re about the size of egg cartons, and their entire purpose is to scan any living creature that crosses their path. The bots are looking for psions who have dismantled or taken off their disruptor bands. Me? Well, I’m so low on the psionic food chain that I don’t qualify to wear a disruptor band, period.

  Long story short—my powers are just too lame to be considered a security risk.

  Which is probably another reason why Braxton Miller enjoys smacking the crap out of me every chance he gets. If I’m not careful, when we get out of here, he’s going to toss me off a butte somewhere in the Badlands when Colton’s not looking.

  Eyes averted, I keep moving as the disruptor bot scans me. I can see the cherry-red light bouncing all around me, reflecting off the walls, but I know better than to stop. If I appear to be going somewhere with purpose, then chances are the bot won’t hold me up once it matches my profile with the headmistress’s approved hall-pass list.

  At least, that’s my hope.

  I exhale as soon as I hear the disruptor bot chirp twice in approval and move on. As soon as I round a bend in the hallway, I pick up my pace just to be safe. Apparently, the bot didn’t seem to notice that I was heading for the back stairwell and not the main lift station, which would take me back to my room on the tenth floor, so I had better be extra-cautious.

  Like I always say, I wield the wimpiest of psionic disciplines. There’s not much I can do without a plant around, and even then, talking to flora and fauna is about as exciting as watching the psychotic grass grow. Well, the grass family usually puts me on the brink of a psychotic break anyway, what with all of their constant screaming.

  My family had to find out the hard way that too much of that kind of thing can make a summer picnic a downright certifiable event.

  Glancing behind me, I check to make sure that the disruptor bot hasn’t circled back before I open the stairwell door. Once inside, I quietly close the door behind me. Fluorescent lights flicker and hum, and the air smells of mildew and rotten garbage. It’s dim, but I can see well enough as I take the stairs two at a time, launching myself down the steps flight by flight. I’m on the fifteenth floor, so I have quite a bit of ground to cover before I’ll reach the garage level.

  I hurry as fast as my legs will take me, only slowing when I find that the fluorescent lights on the eighth and seventh floors have burned out. I feel my way down two flights of stairs in near-darkness, then pick up the pace once I can see again on the sixth floor.

  Breathing hard, I arrive on the first floor to the soft murmur of voices below and I know that I’ve made it. They haven’t left without me!

  My heart starts pounding as I barrel onward, but I stop cold when I find Braxton Miller glaring up at me from the bottom of the last flight of stairs.

  “About time you showed up, runt.” Braxton crosses his beefy arms, using his ample girth to block my way. “We’ve been waiting forever down here.”

  “No, we haven’t,” Colton says as he steps up with his own six-foot-plus athletic build, forcing Braxton to move over. “We just got here ourselves.”

  Despite Braxton’s indignant glare, I watch Colton smoothly move the big guy aside further so that I can pass unhindered. It’s times like this I find myself feeling a little bit envious of my cool-as-hell roommate. For one thing, Colton’s a psi-cannon—which means he’s a girl magnet. Secondly, he’s probably one of the best-looking kids at the facility with his straight white teeth, flawless brown skin, and piercing starburst eyes, which again means that he has no trouble at all with the ladies. But third, and most importantly, he’s simply a nice guy.

  I mean, honestly, the guy’s practically a saint when it comes to being kind to psions with marginal powers like mine. Well, actually, it’s really only me, because the rest of the psions at North Central are all pretty kick-ass.

  Sad but true.

  Colton flashes me one of his running-for-homecoming-king-vote-for-me grins. “Come on, man, let’s go. We have to keep moving.”

  I nod and hurry past Braxton, but I can still feel his intense glare following me. And I know that guy’s just aching to get a punch in whenever he can.

  I follow Colton to the keycode pad, which is located in the wall right next to a heavy steel door. “Okay, buddy,” he says. “You’re on.”

  “Right—oh, did you remember my pack?” I ask, as soon as I realize how outrageously cold it is down here.

  Colton nods, pointing behind him. “You should know by now that I always got your back, Devon.”

  I glance at my overstuffed pack sitting against the wall and shrug. “I know you do, Colt. It’s just been one of those days, is all.”

  “Tell us about it,” Quincy chimes in. “I had a hell of a time getting our disruptor bands off.” Quincy’s a telekinetic like Braxton, which means they can move stuff with their minds. Unlike Braxton, Quincy’s the same height as me, around five-foot-ten. We’re considered the short guys of the crew.

  Braxton scoffs from the stairs behind me. “Not like removing our bands did us any good—we’re still unable to access our powers.”

  “That’s because this keypad’s emitting dozens of disruptor frequencies,” I reply, and inside I’m rather pleased to see all of them gape at me in surprise. Guess Plant Boy’s in the know about something after all.

  Colton shakes his head, flashing me that grin of his. “Then let’s shut this baby down.”

  “You got it,” I say, my fingers hovering over the keypad. “You guys ready?”

  When I see Quincy and Braxton strapping on their packs along with the other two guys in our group—Hector, a telepath, and Reece, a waterwielder—I punch in the code. As soon as I hit the last number, there is a loud click and the stairwell door pops open with a hiss.

  “Let’s go!” Colton cries as he shoulders his pack and races out the door. Quincy, Hector, and Reece are right on his heels.

  I hurry over to my pack, but just as I’m about to grab it, I realize my mistake—I turned my back to Braxton Miller.

  Braxton is on me in an instant. His beefy fist rams into my gut as soon as I turn to face him. The blow knocks the wind out of me and I double over as I crumple to the cold, hard floor.

  Damn, that hurt!

  “If you know what’s good for you,” he growls in my ear, “you’ll sit this one out, Plant Boy.”

  Still reeling from the blow, I manage to draw air into my lungs, but little else. I’m doubled over in nauseating pain, my vision swimming, just barely holding myself off the ground with one arm. I’m about to call out to Colton for help, when I hear the click of the door locking closed.

  “No!” I try to scream, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

  Braxton has just completely screwed me over! What the hell?!

  But there’s no time to dwell on his motivation for leaving me behind, because if I don’t get my ass up off this floor in a hurry, then I’ll certainly never see my family again!

  Fury alone gives me the strength to override my agony as I stagger to my feet. I throw myself at the metal door, but it won’t budge. Damn it!

  The moment I step over to the keypad, I hear the crackle of automatic gunfire from somewhere inside the parking garage. My heart leaps into my throat in panic just as the facility alarms go off.

  From the stairwell above, I hear a door bang open and the sound of booted feet racing down the stairs. There’s hardly time for me to duck behind a trio of empty steel drums beneath the staircase before an entire squad of armed guards, dressed in full riot armor, files into the room.

  The squad leader steps up to the keypad and enters a series of numbers. The alarm in the room silences, but I can still hear others going off out in the parking garage and on the floors above me.

  The squad leader turns to address his men. “You know the drill; take them alive if you can. But don
’t shoot the Miller kid; he’s our mole.”

  My jaw falls open. How the heck did we miss that? Braxton Miller has been informing on us the whole time? I’m dead…I’m definitely dead.

  “Hey, Captain,” says a man by the door. “One of them left their pack.”

  “Take it upstairs to Lieutenant Baker. There may be something in there we can use to identify their Network contact.”

  “You got it,” the guard replies as he bounds up the stairs with my pack slung over his shoulder.

  Damn it! There goes my coat! Now what the flip am I supposed to do?

  The captain enters a series of numbers on the keypad and the heavy door clicks open with a hiss, allowing the sound of gunfire and explosions to penetrate the room. It sounds like a war zone out there, and I’m terrified for Colton and the rest of the crew.

  “Move out!” the captain yells. I watch in horror from beneath the metal staircase as the armed guards raise their weapons and, one after another, enter the fray.

  There is a war being fought in the next room. I can clearly hear the patter of automatic gunfire followed by the sizzle and boom of an exploding psi-cannon burst. I cover my mouth and nose to keep from choking on the heavy black smoke that fills the stairwell through the open doorway, and I wait for my opportunity to move. If I’m going to do something to help my friends, I’m going to have to come up with a plan soon.

  The squad leader is the last one to step up to the doorway, his gun poised at the ready. As he races into battle, he yanks the door shut behind him, and that’s when I spring into action. Once the heavy steel door starts to fall closed, I launch myself at the doorway.

  Somehow, I manage to wedge my foot inside the door frame just in time to stop the door from locking shut. Grabbing the door’s edge, I cautiously peer into the parking structure.

  Cars are on fire, huge piles of rubble litter the garage, and acrid smoke blankets everything amidst bursts of gunfire that echo through the massive concrete building. It’s complete hell in there as the guards yell instructions to one another in an attempt to close in on the teenage escapees.

  “He’s behind that concrete pylon!” I hear Braxton Miller shout, and I’m surprised by how close he sounds.

  I open the door wider and glance to my left. Low and behold, there is Braxton, looking every inch the evil son of a bitch that he is. He gestures at a billowing cloud of smoke several meters away in an effort to communicate with the three guards standing around him. “Just point your guns that way! He’s over there!”

  The guards aim their weapons at the smoke, and even I’m wondering why they’re hesitating to shoot. It’s then that I hear the sizzle of gathering psionic energy and I turn in time to see the neon blue glow of a psi-cannon shell streaking at them from the smoky darkness.

  “Incoming!” Braxton screams, diving behind a concrete barrier. But the guards around him aren’t as fortunate.

  Colton’s energy blast hits the ground in front of the three baselines and blows them off their feet. The men sail in all directions, and I’m forced to turn away as debris flies past me. When I look back at the scene, gunfire erupts from all directions. I cover my ears and watch helplessly as the guards empty their magazine clips, one after another, into the smoky darkness. After what seems like a heart-pounding, gut-wrenching eternity, the captain orders his men to stop shooting.

  The silence that follows is weighted with anticipation. My entire body reverberates from the gunfire. I’m trembling, my eyes a watery mess from the dust in the air. As I slowly lower my hands from the sides of my head, the smoke clears long enough for me to see Colton stumble out from behind a pockmarked pylon.

  I’m about to call out to him when I notice the confusion on his face—and the blood blossoming across the front of his white parka like an American Beauty rose coming into full bloom. Our eyes lock for an instant, and then, with the crack of a gunshot, a bullet catches Colton in the head and he flops backward onto the ground.

  “NO!” The scream rips from my throat as I race full bore into the battle zone. I have no idea what I’m doing, but it only takes me a few strides to stumble headlong over a pile of rubble. I go down hard, the large chunks of concrete ripping the knees of my jeans. I’m about to scramble back to my feet when I realize that I am kneeling next to Quincy’s lifeless body half-buried beneath a pile of rubble.

  My mind spins as I struggle to come to terms with what I’m actually looking at. Quincy can’t be dead! Colton can’t be dead!

  “They’re all dead,” Braxton says as he casually slaps the dust from the front of his parka. “So don’t get any ideas, runt.”

  “Like what?” I growl, rising to my feet. “Punching your face in?”

  Braxton chuckles. “Yeah, right.” But the moment his eyes narrow, I know I’m in trouble. I sense more than I actually see the piece of rubble that he raises with his mind and flings at me. Instinctively, I hold up my arms for protection and turn my face away as the concrete block slams into me with a sickening crack. I crash to the floor, unable to breathe, but nothing consumes me more than the white-hot pain that emanates from my forearm and twists my guts, shattering my senses.

  It’s as if the entire world is upended. I can’t see straight, my insides lurch with nausea, and it feels as if everything around me is violently shaking.

  I open my eyes. And that’s when I realize that everything around me is violently shaking!

  The earthquake is seismically off the charts, and I watch in terror as the guards dodge falling debris while the very floor beneath their feet cracks and separates. Every car alarm in the place is screeching, and it’s a cacophony of screams, sirens, and explosions amidst the chaos that surrounds me.

  Cradling my arm, I look over to see how in the hell Braxton is doing this—when the roof above him gives way, sending a black SUV crashing down on top of him. In the blink of an eye, Braxton Miller vanishes beneath a pile of twisted steel and concrete. The SUV’s horn angrily blares.

  I gape in horror as the parking structure falls down around me. I have no idea what to do or where to go, and I’m about to totally lose it when some sort of survival instinct kicks in and I have an unmistakable urge to get the hell out of there. Ignoring the pain radiating from my forearm, I force myself to rise and stumble headlong toward the garage wall.

  My heart’s pounding by the time I reach the wall, but I manage to stay on my feet despite the earth buckling beneath me. I hurry as much as I can while the parking structure continues to send cars raining down on the ground floor through the rapidly vanishing ceiling.

  Then, at last, I see it. The end of the garage! I can see the glow of the visitors’ parking lot right outside, over a low wall that spans that side of the garage, allowing the chilly night breeze to flow through the building. I hardly notice the cold, the noise, or the pain once I step up to the wall and find myself literally shaken out of the building.

  Without even the wherewithal to scream, I tumble out of the parking garage and into the tangled embrace of a row of golden potentilla.

  We’ll hold you…save you…help you!

  It’s a rush of voices in my head as the little plants struggle to hold me aloft. I can feel them bending the tips of their sharp branches in an effort to be as gentle with me as possible. Though I appreciate the gesture, I know that to linger, even in the presence of such well-meaning foliage, will mean my capture and quite possibly my death.

  “Thank you—thank you all,” I say, gritting my teeth in an effort to mask the all-out fear that consumes me. “But really, I gotta go.”

  Yes! Yes! Run! Run! the shrubs shout in unison. And then, with a mighty heave, the plants drop me to the ground on my feet.

  My heart hammers so hard inside my chest that I can’t tell if the earth has stopped moving or not as I stumble into the night. Amidst the cacophony of destruction behind me, I force myself to keep running, because there is no turning back for me. Many people have died tonight, and though I wasn’t directly responsible for their
deaths, I was a willing participant, and because of that, I alone will be blamed.

  Me. The sole survivor.

  There is a long, low rumble that builds behind me. With a sound somewhat akin to a thunderclap, the parking garage collapses, and I am knocked to the ground by the shock wave.

  But it is utter terror that drives me now, and I am back on my feet and racing across the dusty badlands well before I hear the rescue sirens approaching in the distance.

  I settle into the rhythm of my homework bouncing in my backpack as I hurry across the vast expanse of open land. There is a clear night sky above me with a host of glittering stars to keep me company on the long journey ahead.

  I just pray that I will be able to remember all of Colton’s instructions.

  After all, he should be the one out here, not me.

  He was our leader, the straight-A student, the nice guy—the one who mattered.

  And who am I?

  Just some kid who talks to plants.

  I am probably going to die out here.

  With that thought in mind, I quicken my pace.

  Maybe, just maybe, I can find a safe place to rest before daybreak.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT was a struggle for Devon to rise to consciousness. He felt like he was mentally swimming through endless miles of gelatin. Somehow, he managed to will himself through the syrupy void until he broke the surface to a more perceptive state of mind.

  At last, he was able to draw in a deep breath and release it. He could feel his heart pounding with the intensity of a tribal war drum, just the way it had the very night he’d fled in terror from the North Central Psi Facility.

  The night he had fled from death like the ultimate coward he was.

  With a pang of dread that resonated deep within his chest, Devon opened his eyes to the view of the willow’s protective canopy overhead and the realization that he had just revealed his innermost demons to his peers.