And the one thing he feared more than anything was seeing the antipathy in their eyes.
Especially Alya’s eyes.
Devon very much wanted to shrivel up and disappear.
“Devon?”
It was Alya’s voice. He squeezed his eyes closed, unable to face her. Torture would be preferable to the shame that filled him.
“Devon, please. Look at me.”
Alya’s face was close to his. He could feel her warm breath against his cheek. Her soft, sweet voice eased the ache in his heart, but he would not open his eyes. He wanted only to remember her the way she used to look at him, with respect and a tiny bit of, dare he say it?…affection. To see himself diminished in her eyes would be unbearable.
“Devon,” she said, her fingers lightly stroking the side of his face. “There’s nothing to fear. You did everything you could for them.”
“I did nothing for them,” Devon groaned. “My powers were useless.”
Alya continued to stroke his cheek. “You did everything you could to try and save them.” And to Devon’s consternation, her gentle touch and soothing voice began to melt his resolve.
“But it wasn’t enough,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“No, it wasn’t. But you were one against many. They intended for all of you to die.” Alya leaned closer, until her lips brushed softly against the side of Devon’s ear. “I am so thankful that you made it out alive.”
Her words carried a sincerity that could not be faked, and Devon opened his eyes, ready to meet the reflection he hoped to find there.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Her starburst eyes gazed lovingly down at him, devoid of the pity or rejection he feared he might find. Alya gave him a warm smile, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry you lost your friends. What happened to you was horrible.”
Devon reached up and wiped away a teardrop that had escaped from her eye. “No more so than anybody else here. I don’t think any of us has had it easy.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Bai Lee, interrupting their private moment. The telepath was sitting less than two feet away, perched on the edge of the wooden lounge. “We have yet to hear from Alek.”
Devon could feel his cheeks getting hot, as Bai Lee leveled her gaze at him. “Get off my couch, loverboy. It’s Alek’s turn.”
Nodding like the embarrassed fool he was, Devon allowed Vahn and Miguel to help him off of the wooden lounge and onto his feet. He was stunned by how exhausted he felt. His rubbery legs gave out as soon as he stood, but Vahn and Miguel caught him and helped him get situated on the grass.
Nevada guided Alya to a spot beside Devon, and he was astonished by how quickly Alya reached for his hand. She looked radiant as she grinned at him, a grin so bright, in fact, that Devon felt himself blush all over again.
“Uh, thanks, guys,” Devon said as Vahn and Miguel made ready to sit down themselves.
“No problem,” Vahn replied. “But I’ve got to say that I’m going to be a lot happier once we’re out of federal custody.”
Devon nodded. “Tell me about it. I can’t even tell how long we’ve been memory-surfing. Has it been minutes or hours?”
“Oh, please,” Alek scoffed as he casually leaned against the wooden lounge with his arms crossed before his chest. “Bai Lee’s good. But she’s not that good.”
Devon looked over at Bai Lee and was surprised to see that she had vacated her perch. She was actually standing quite a few feet away from her wooden lounge, looking uncomfortable, like she was struggling with a bad bout of gas. Devon wondered why she wasn’t lashing out at Alek with a harsh quip of her own. She was just standing there, her expression unreadable as she quietly—uncomfortably—watched Alek.
“Okay,” Devon said, when Bai Lee didn’t speak up. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at there by insulting our hostess. Because I was only commenting on air transport time. You know, back in the real world.”
Alek chuckled humorlessly, and Devon hadn’t a clue as to what the heck the Romanian was laughing at. He sure wished that he felt stronger, because he would really love to wipe that smug look off of Alek’s face.
“What’s so funny?” Vahn asked.
“Nothing you would care to know about.”
“Is that so?” Devon could hear the icy edge in Vahn’s voice. The tension between them was rising. Yet Devon couldn’t shake the feeling that Alek was purposely provoking a fight.
Devon sat up, shaking his head. “No, no, no, Alek—no more of this! We are not going to fight amongst ourselves! We have an escape to plan!”
“Do we?” Alek asked, his head cocked to the side as if he were talking to a simpleton. “Are you really so sure about that?”
Vahn went rigid beside him. “You mean we’re not on an air transport bound for Washington?”
Alek stared hard at Vahn. “I’m betting that none of us were ever in federal custody in the first place.”
“What?” Nevada cried. “That’s impossible! I headbutted a guy in the nose—broke it, too! That sure as hell felt real!”
Alek shrugged. “Sure, it did.” He gestured to everything around him. “Doesn’t all of this feel real?”
Nevada frowned, looking warily at Alek. “Yeah, well, I know I bloodied some poor sap’s nose. He looked like a federal agent to me.”
“Mine too,” said Miguel. “They had badges, the vehicles, guns too.”
“I was taken by Army Special Forces,” said Vahn. “I didn’t get a good look at their faces.”
“Me neither,” Devon added, remembering his encounter with an involuntary shudder. “My captors were military too, and they didn’t exactly shake my hand and offer me hot cocoa.”
Alek smiled. “How do you know if they were friend or foe?”
“Most definitely foe,” Nevada said, crossing her arms. “Because why the hell would the Network treat us like criminals? They’re supposed to be on our side.”
“Oh, of that I am quite certain,” Alek quipped, looking quite pleased with himself. “But then again, perhaps the Psionic Underground Network has something to fear from us as well…something none of you are taking into consideration.”
Devon knew what Alek was referring to—a mole. Someone like Braxton Miller.
Vahn scowled. “So, we’re not on an air transport, we aren’t held by the feds, and now you—the person who tried to convince us that the Network doesn’t even exist—are telling us that we need to worry about government infiltrators? How dare you even insinuate that a psion would turn on his own kind?”
“Oh, but my dear and noble psi-blade,” Alek said in a menacing voice. “It happens all the time.”
Devon caught a glimpse of the fury that Alek harbored behind his penetrating gaze. It was a dark and desperate look, one devoid of emotion. It was the gaze of a sociopath.
And suddenly, Devon was very afraid.
“Who are you?” Devon asked as he held tight to Alya’s hand. “What do you want with us?”
Alya went rigid beside Devon. She cocked her head to the side as she looked at her brother with a strange expression on her face. “You were the one who altered my replay,” she said breathlessly. “You were a beast from the shadows when I first glimpsed you.”
Alek smiled at her but said nothing.
She pointed at him then, her voice only slightly above a whisper. “You are not my twin. You are a monster.”
Alek’s smile vanished. “No, my dear, dear sister, that’s where you are most mistaken. I am the exact same monster you created the day you abandoned me in that hellhole!”
“He’s a government spy!” Bai Lee cried, but Devon could tell it was taking her great effort to speak. “He’s a para-psion! I’m releasing you! Get the hell out of here!”
Devon gaped at Alek as the Romanian’s face contorted, and his starburst eyes turned a bottomless black. When next Alek grinned, it was to reveal a mouth full of sharp, needle-like teeth. “What the—”
“Get the hell out of my head, Devon! Now!” Bai Lee’s voice screamed inside his skull.
And all at once he was sucked into oblivion, traveling at the speed of thought down some mental drainpipe, hurtling toward his body somewhere. It was as if the floor of the world had opened and he had been tossed into the steepest, twistiest log plunge ride imaginable—only without the log.
Oh, yeah, this was insanity at its best. Especially if Scary Alek was correct about the entire federal arrest thing being a Network method for weeding out government moles. If that was true, then he prayed that his mind remembered where the Network had parked his carcass, because he sure as heck didn’t have a clue.
Chapter Nineteen
DEVON opened his eyes and was knocked sideways by the sheer overload of his pain receptors. Hunger, pain, and nausea slammed into him like one big angry fist. His first instinct was to heave, but that would mean ruining the nice cross trainers of the person standing next to his hospital chair.
Hey, wait a minute. Where the heck was he?
“You’re in a Network stronghold, Devon. There are no feds here,” said a female voice beside him. “Just try and relax. I’ll have you up and out of here in a jiffy.”
Taking a deep breath, Devon clamped his jaws shut and willed the acid in his stomach to remain there. Once he was sure he wouldn’t ruin anyone’s footwear, he looked up into the face of a pretty female psion around his own age. She had skin the color of sweet melted chocolate and wide starburst eyes that would make her a head-turner no matter what Network cell she stepped into. She was tall and shapely in her blue jeans and white T-shirt. Devon couldn’t believe his luck, but no matter how babe-a-licious this Florence Nightingale at his bedside was, his heart belonged solely to Alya.
Alya. Devon tried to turn his head to locate her, but he couldn’t seem to move.
“Here. Let me get that,” said the psion beside him. She reached above his head and retracted the metallic headgear that had been positioned over either side of his temples and attached firmly to the back of the chair. “Telepathic enhancer,” she explained. “It’s what enabled all of us to monitor you.”
He was about to ask her what she meant by that, when he heard the unmistakable crack of gunfire.
“What’s going on?” Devon asked.
“He’s coming.” She threw a worried glance past Devon to something happening on the other side of the room. Her fingers tugged two more restraining latches free before her eyes slid once again, warily, back to whatever was going on over there.
“Who? You mean Alek?” he asked, trying to follow her gaze, but he was too disoriented to do much of anything except gape at the elaborate bank of machines monitoring his vital signs. An IV line ran into his right hand, and his left arm was set in a cast. He welcomed the familiar ache that radiated up his arm; the pain anchored him. This was what real life felt like. And it was good to know that he was truly back inside his own messed-up body.
“Of course, that’s who I mean,” his attendant snapped, tugging with all her might on one last strap. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“Well, where is he?”
“Way back in the factory’s old sewing room. Just him and his sister—”
An explosion resounded from the back of the building, followed a moment later by the sputter of gunfire and screams of agony.
Oh, no. That didn’t sound good.
The girl worked even faster to free him.
Directly across from him, Devon spied Vahn with his black mop of hair sitting up on a medical reclining chair of his own. A psion and an adult baseline, both wearing black fatigues, were urging the psi-blade to get to his feet.
More gunfire echoed in the back of the building, along with the shouts of the Network freedom workers. Or at least, Devon hoped they were freedom workers.
Looking around the room, his eyes trailed across a long, rectangular window made up of at least a hundred square windowpanes. Each pane had been meticulously painted black at one time, but age and the elements had worn most of the paint away, allowing sunlight to stream into the large warehouse. He even caught a glimpse of a massive oak tree just outside, its mighty branches wending their way inside through a broken pane. The sight of the tree was enough to give Devon a bit of hope that he might actually, somehow, survive this.
Glancing around the brick building, he perceived that they were in the run-down storage area of a once-thriving production line. McCallis Shirtworks was emblazoned on many of the boxes and crates that remained stacked in orderly piles around the spacious room. The cement floor was well-lined with cracks and water stains, but otherwise the building appeared sound.
Devon was pulled from his thoughts by another explosion—one that caused the entire building to tremble. The fight was getting closer.
His attendant hovered over his remaining disruptor band, which, like the other two she had just removed, was attached to a thick chain that shackled him to the floor. She touched the plastic key card to the band, but nothing happened. Frowning, she grabbed a pair of crazy-looking glasses off a medical instrument stand behind her. As soon as she slid the glasses on, mechanized lenses whirled and clicked into position over her eyes, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her attention was riveted to the plastic key card she held close to her face.
“There a problem?” Devon croaked. He couldn’t believe how utterly toad-like he sounded. In front of a beautiful girl, no less.
“Shhh,” she said, as she turned the plastic key card in her hand. “I just knew these mechanisms needed replacing. Ugh! I’m so stupid!”
They both jumped when a barrage of gunfire erupted nearby and a group of a dozen Network freedom workers—psion and baseline alike—dressed in haphazard pieces of combat armor ran past them toward the back of the building.
“Oh, my God, I can’t get you out of here until I remove this stupid disruptor band!” She appeared to be on the verge of losing it.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it open,” Devon said, in an attempt to calm her down. “But first, could you tell me your name?”
“Winifred. Winnie to my friends.”
“As in the Pooh?”
She gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look above the rim of her funky glasses and abruptly jerked his IV line free.
“Ow!” Devon cried.
“You can call me Winifred,” she said. She held up the key card and once again put it to Devon’s disruptor band. This time, the device popped open and she tossed the metal band to the ground. “Come on, we gotta move! That para-psion’s going to find his way back here soon enough, and we want to be long gone before he does.”
“But what about the others?”
“What others?”
“You know—Alya, Nevada and Miguel?”
“Don’t you go worrying. They’ve got lots of good people looking after them,” she said as she tugged Devon off of the medical chair and to his feet. He winced when the jerking motion shot white-hot pain up and down his arm.
Winifred’s eyes went wide when she glanced behind them. “Oh, boy! We gotta go—we gotta go now!”
She pushed him down to the ground just as a huge explosion rocked the building. Medical equipment and debris flew everywhere. Somewhere behind them, a fire started. Devon could smell the acrid stench of smoke filling the room.
Apparently, Alek knew how to make one heck of an entrance when he wanted to.
Favoring his good arm, Devon crawled to an overturned desk and helped Winifred around to the other side. The sound of gunfire crackled from all directions.
“Oh, boy, I knew this was going to be a bad one,” she said catching her breath. “Government must have worked overtime on that poor kid.”
“You mean Alek?”
Winifred nodded. “Recruiting isn’t as hard as it used to be. The feds have a knack for finding some seriously sick puppies out there.”
“You mean mentally disturbed,” Devon said, trying to grasp what Winifred was getting at.
“You can
call it what you like. But the fact is, Alek didn’t become a genetically mutated sociopathic psychic cannibal overnight.”
What did she just say? “A psychic cannibal?”
Winifred frowned. “Cannibal, vampire—whatever you want to call it. But just so you know, that dude out there doesn’t just siphon off our psionic energy—he devours it. We’re nothing but food to him.”
“So, we’re the Cheerios in his breakfast bowl.”
“You got it.”
“The beef in his stew.”
“Uh…yeah.” Winifred was frowning.
“The—”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “Will you get serious and focus here? We’re in a world of trouble right now!”
There was the unmistakable sizzle of gathering psionic energy. Devon glanced at Winifred and threw his body over hers seconds before another enormous psi-cannon shell exploded a few yards away. Concrete, bricks, dirt, and debris rained down on them. Devon held her for a moment longer and then slowly looked around.
There was a gigantic hole in the floor where his medical chair had been a moment before. Holy crap! Apparently, Alek was a badass psi-cannon, too. Devon turned to Winifred as the enormity of what they were up against began to sink in. “What the hell else can he do?”
Winifred frowned. “It varies. Every para-psion is different. But the one thing about para-psions you need to know is that no matter how many psionic disciplines are at his or her disposal, they can only perform one discipline at a time. Their brains aren’t wired for multitasking. Thank God.”
“So, what’s your discipline?” he asked as he scooted them both closer behind the overturned desk.
“Tech-head,” she said pointing at her glasses. “But unlike a tree shepherd, such as yourself, I’m completely useless in this situation.”
“Well, I’m hardly useful,” Devon grumbled. “All I do is talk to plants.”
Winifred raised an eyebrow. “Right. Like that earthquake that flattened a five-story parking structure just happened by accident.”
“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it,” he shot back heatedly.
Freaks of Nature (The Psion Chronicles) Page 20
