Chasing Power (Hidden Talents)

by Pearson, Genevieve

  “OK. What did Audrey tell you when you two were alone?”

  Oh. He’d vaulted right into that one. Sam brought her legs up under her chin, assuming a more casual pose, but it didn’t fool Lane. Her attention was zeroed in on him, and his answer.

  “She warned me.” Lane decided to go for the half-truth. “She caught on that you and I—and she told me road trips and relationships don’t mix.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t have all of the information.”

  “She’s not the only one,” Samantha answered primly. The glance she sent him was clear in its meaning: she knew he was dodging. And now she was going to be more suspicious than ever. Wonderful. One step forward, two steps back. Lane turned his attention back to the road, calling it a tactical retreat.

  #

  Sam carefully maintained her block. She didn’t want the group to know how frustrated she was. Lane, specifically. What had that little charade been about? She wasn’t empathic or whatever Lane was, but more than four years of life in foster homes had made lie detection a survival mechanism. Lane was lying. Audrey had told him something important, but he didn’t want to share it with her. He might think he was doing it for her own good, but it was Sam’s right to make those decisions for herself. She didn’t need a man swooping in and dictating her life when she had been handling it perfectly well up until now.

  This, she told herself, is why it’s smart that I’ve decided to keep my distance. Schoolgirl crushes had no place in the real world when there were real lives at stake. It was better to pound that into her brain now, before she went and did something really stupid.

  Al leaned over the seat, startling Sam out of her reverie, “Where’s your dad being kept, anyways?”

  “Al,” Lane warned, “This may not be—”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Al barreled on, unheeding, “Because if we’re going to drop in on him, we need to know now, so we can set a course.”

  “We’re not going to see my father.”

  They did it again. That oh-so-annoying exchange of looks between Al and Lane that very patronizingly said, ‘Here we go again.’

  “No, no we aren’t,” Samantha said, “I said no and that’s it. That’s the end of the argument.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lane said, “You heard Audrey. It’s important we go see your father.”

  “You said it yourself, Audrey doesn’t have all of the information,” Sam said calmly. But her knuckles were white. She couldn’t see her father. She had spent the majority of her life quite successfully avoiding any thought or mention of him. Seeing her father when she was already feeling mentally and physically unstable would be a disaster.

  “Sam, seeing as our lives are also at risk here, I think we all get a say in how we proceed,” Al said.

  “This is ludicrous! Don’t I even get a vote?”

  “Of course you get a vote. But it’s still three against one,” Harry piped up. He’d sure chosen to speak up at an inconvenient moment.

  “Damn your logic.” Sam turned her head to the window and took a deep breath. God, democracy sucked sometimes.

  #

  “Dude, I’m not eating at Lucky’s again. No way.”

  “Al, it’s the only place to eat at this po-dunk little town. Unless you want Tic-Taco,” Harry said.

  “That’s why I think we should drive to the next po-dunk little town. We had Lucky’s for lunch today and lunch yesterday. I’m not eating here again. You know, I have dietary requirements I have to meet.”

  “Oh, here we go again with the dietary requirements. Get the chicken nuggets!” Harry snapped.

  “I’ve been getting the nuggets! And I don’t think those are all that great either. Who knows what they fry them in? Or if they’re even really chicken.”

  Lane turned to Sam, “You hungry?”

  She nodded. Knowing she would most likely be snide if she spoke out loud, Sam decided it was prudent to make as little conversation as possible.

  “Why don’t you go get yourself some food? They’ll probably be bickering for a while.”

  The cell rang and Lane flipped it open to answer, waving Sam into the restaurant. Grumbling, Sam complied. ‘Sam, do this, Sam, do that. Sam, listen to us, we know what’s best...’ She wasn’t too thrilled with Lucky’s herself. She couldn’t remember the last time her body had been forced to digest so much saturated fat. She was actually starting to miss her strict diet of peanut butter for lunch and canned whatever for dinner. Looking over the menu, she decided on a chicken-something salad, which was exactly healthy enough to justify getting two hot apple pie pockets and an extra large Dr. Pepper. She’d just placed her order when Lane popped his head through the door.

  “Sam?” he said, “Get out here. Right now.”

  Sam huffed to herself. She would not stamp her foot. She would not stamp her foot.

  “Now.” The added depth and pull to the words gave Sam a sense of urgency. Lane was using his influence to try and goad her into obeying. Seething, she stormed towards him. It was time she set the record straight once and for all: she was not to be bullied, pushed, or prodded any more. She’d just opened her mouth to deliver what she was certain would be a cutting put-down when she saw a massive, orange and yellow ball of fire blooming out from a car on the other side of the parking lot.

  Chapter 15

  Time slowed. Sam reacted on instinct. She turned her body, shielding her head and—

  And then the force hit her. The world blanked for a second. When it came back, Sam found herself on the floor a full three feet away from where she had been. The world was silent. Dead silent. It took Sam a couple of seconds to realize that the blast had deafened her. After taking a breath, she carefully rolled onto her hands and knees, ignoring the spilled soda on the floor and trying to avoid the shards of glass. Lane. Where was Lane?

  She didn’t have far to look. He sprawled a few feet away, half in and out of the doorway, face down and covered with glass. Oh no. Sam’s heart took a dangerous pitch, but her brain subdued it. He needed help. Sam scrambled over to him and gently touched his neck. He had a pulse. Tentatively, she touched him on the shoulder. He might have a concussion or brain damage or any number of horrible things—

  Lane suddenly jerked and coughed. Thank god. Slowly, gingerly, he turned his head towards her. His lips moved, and Sam shook her head, gesturing towards her ear to show she couldn’t hear. He struggled to pull himself up. Grabbing her arm, he said something again. One word that he was careful to enunciate.

  Run.

  Right. Made sense. She could do that. Wishing that both of her arms were fully functioning, Sam hooked her right arm through Lane’s armpit and, with a grunt, hauled him to his feet. What, he thought he was the only one allowed to save people?

  Once standing, Lane seemed to regain his bearings enough to half-support his own weight. Sam led him behind the counter of the restaurant. There they found the cashier and cook huddled on the floor next to the wall. Both had cell phones to their ears, too busy calling for help to care what Lane or Sam did. Through the kitchen—Sam barely had a chance to register the grimy floors before they were through another door and into an employee locker room.

  By this point, Sam’s hearing returned in the form of a low ringing in her ears.

  “Are you OK?” Sam whispered. At least, she thought she whispered. Lane put his finger to his mouth and nodded. Rather than take his word for it, however, Sam quickly inspected him herself. A nasty gash slashed an inch or two across his forehead. But other than that, he seemed fine.

  “Al? Harry?”

  Lane said something, but it sounded muffled and hollow, like it came from a great distance. Sam shook her head to signal she still couldn’t hear, and he put his mouth next to her ear: “They’d already left. It’s Hal.”

  Sam gave him a look that she hoped conveyed her annoyance at being told something so patently obvious. Give her a break. It wasn’t like pyromaniac Talents
were growing on trees. Good god—at least she hoped they weren’t.

  “I think this is a trap. He’s gonna burn us out, damned if we stay, damned if we don’t,” Lane went on.

  No sooner had he said those words than Sam smelled smoke. She looked over to see the dark curly clouds whisping under the door jam. As it drifted into the room, she began feeling a familiar crushing sensation in her lungs. She looked at Lane desperately as she pulled out her inhaler and took a puff.

  “OK,” Lane said, “Just give me a chance to think.”

  Sam shook her head as she started coughing. “No time!” she said. Smoke wasn’t good for anyone, but to an asthmatic it was murder.

  “Do you have anything, Sam?”

  She closed her eyes, and felt it, the currents. The power, humming, pulling around. Most of it wound around Lane, thick and strong. Hopeful, she reached out and—nothing. Sam opened her eyes, shaking her head.

  Lane set his jaw, narrowing his eyes: “Great. All me then. He has to be close to use his powers like this. That means he’s probably waiting for us nearby. Get ready to run. When I open the door, I’ll send out the biggest shockwave I can muster.” With what little TK he had, he meant, “Hopefully, that’ll knock him down and we can make a run for it.”

  The plan seemed shaky to Sam, but seeing as it was taking most of her concentration to keep herself from coughing to death, she decided it was probably their best option. Lane stood up in front of the door, acting as a cover. Crouching behind him, ignoring the demands of her lungs, she concentrated. Along with the energy in the environment, she could also feel clearly the energy growing within her. Not wanting another headache, she reached out and put her hand on Lane’s arm to help diffuse some of it. Lane gave her an unreadable look. Sam shrugged and signaled to go ahead. He threw the door open and let loose.

  Only his grip on the door jamb and a small modicum of control kept Lane from being thrown backwards, into the building, with the force of his own blast. Sam stumbled backwards, landing on her rear. For a moment, Lane seemed stunned, taken aback by the strength of his abilities. He quickly recovered, however, and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling her up and forward.

  Once in the parking lot, Sam was astounded at the damage Lane had wrought. Hadn’t Harry said Lane’s telekinetic powers were slight? It took more than a ‘slight’ power, Sam thought, to break the windshields of the cars in the parking lot. A small tree in a parking median hung at a forty-five degree angle, its roots torn halfway out of the ground.

  There was no time to survey Lane’s handiwork or even look for the source of the threat. She and Lane were off and running, through a small brushy area, into another parking lot, onto the main street.

  Once on the street, Lane didn’t slow down. He continued pulling Sam along. Not having had a chance to recover from the smoke inhalation, Sam felt dizzy and ill and acutely aware of her stitches. However, fueled by Lane’s fear and her own acute sense of self-preservation, she managed not to fall too far behind. They finally stumbled to a stop at a corner.

  “Where are we going?” Sam said, gasping. Her voice was starting to sound more normal to her ears. Thank god the hearing loss wasn’t permanent.

  “Al and Harry took the car to Tic-Taco a few blocks away. I thought we might be able to make it on foot,” Lane said. He also breathed heavily, but seemed fine otherwise. This rest was for Sam’s benefit. He must exercise regularly, she thought, or else he was born with lungs of iron. Thankfully, her inhaler was still in her pocket. Sam had learned her lesson and now carried it in her pocket rather than the easily losable purse. A few puffs and she felt marginally better. Too bad she couldn’t do the same for her throbbing arm.

  “Let’s go. He’s coming.” How Lane knew, Sam had no idea.

  A minute or two later, they reached the parking lot of Tic-Taco and Lane groaned. No Land Cruiser in sight. A siren rang in the distance. Sam imagined Al and Harry hearing the blast at Lucky’s and jumping in the car, rushing to their rescue. Ah, poetic irony. Such a bitch sometimes.

  “Here he comes,” Lane breathed.

  Turning, Sam looked and finally caught a glimpse of the man who’d inspired so much terror. He strode towards them, a block or so away. Medium build, medium height, sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead. The very picture of your typical, average guy. Yet he walked down the middle of the street with the casual determination of a trained assassin. There was nothing ostensibly threatening about what he was doing—no weapons, no crazy laughter—yet, still, there was something that made her skin crawl. Yup, her little voice said, he’s scary all right.

  “C’mon,” Lane said, “We have to stay out of his range.”

  “Range?”

  “Of his talent. About twenty-five feet, give or take. Not counting explosions, of course.”

  Stay twenty-five feet away. That didn’t sound too hard. But Sam knew better than most that they couldn’t run forever. She looked around, the gears in her mind turning.

  “This way,” she said. She jogged across the street, stopping outside of a small hardware store. Either this town was extremely depressed or extremely old-fashioned, because the store was closed on Sunday afternoon. But that suited Sam’s purposes just fine. Looking around for a brick or large rock, she didn’t see either. So she lifted her leg and—careful of the angle—gave the window a strong kick. The pane cracked, a spider web extending through the glass. Sam kicked it again, and this time it shattered.

  “You could have asked me to use my TK,” Lane said.

  “Oh. Right.” But kicking the glass in was more fun. Sam hopped over the sill and into the store. Lane followed. Crouching down, she led him to the far back of the store. As this was only a neighborhood hardware store, it wasn’t as far as one might hope. Gesturing for Lane to be quiet, she pulled him down so that they both knelt low behind a rack.

  #

  “Keep watch,” Sam whispered to Lane, “Let me know if he gets close. And follow my lead.”

  “Right,” Lane said. And then he noticed something. He choked in surprise and gestured to the cans on the shelf in front of them.

  “What?” Sam mouthed, confused. Lane aped another face and pointed again. The label on the can read “Turpentine.”

  “Did you stop to think that maybe a hardware store’s not exactly the best place to have a showdown with a pyromaniac?” he whispered. “Maybe a few too many flammable projectiles?”

  “Want to know what else they have here, though?” Sam said, “Hammers.”

  She smiled, a cool smile that made Lane a little uncomfortable. “You stay here,” she went on, “I know predators. He’s going to come in and start taunting. Let me know when he’s about, oh, between the fourth and fifth aisle in. Then...”

  After explaining the rest of her plan, Sam herself scurried to the far end of the aisle, near to the rack that lined the sidewall. She hid in the far back corner, picked up a tiny can of wood stain and watched Lane expectantly.

  There was no arguing with that kind of confidence. Lane crept to his end of the aisle. Please, he thought, please don’t let Hal start spontaneously exploding these combustibles from outside of the building. But Sam was right. Apparently unable to resist the temptation to corner his prey and look them in the face, Hal stepped over the sill of the broken window and into the hardware store.

  Whistling off-key, he made a point to crunch the glass as he walked over it.

  “Now, now,” he said, “I have to hand it to you guys, this place is awesome for a showdown.”

  Stopping at an end cap, he took his time, picking through the display items. He selected a can of aerosol spray, still whistling as he undid the seal and popped the lid. He pressed the button and sprayed experimentally. He squirted it once, laughed, and squirted again, igniting the chemicals, turning the can into his own mini flame-thrower.

  “There are so many fun things in here!”

  Thanks, Lane thought, I’d noticed. Only aisle two, and Hal had already mastered a d
eadlier than normal weapon. Lane looked askance at Sam and held up two fingers, but she shook her head.

  “Do you guys know what ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ mean? Because a lot of people think they’re different, which is actually wrong. Oh, look, aisle three is for automotive. Oil!” Hal grabbed a carton of 10/40. Unscrewing the top, he hurled it in the air and exploded the bottle. Lane and Sam flinched as hot sparks splattered down around them. Even so, they managed to bite their tongues. From his vantage point, peering through the rack of cans, Lane saw Hal frown. He didn’t know where they were, Lane realized. He was trying to goad them out into the open.

  Opening another bottle of oil, Hal emptied this out onto the floor. He followed suit with two more. Flames quickly followed the oozing liquid, creating a heavy, acrid smoke and fire that threatened to spread to other areas of the store. A certainty if Hal had his way.

  At last, Hal gave up on automotive. He came back to the center aisle, walking towards the back. Lane looked over at Sam again and held up four fingers. Sam nodded. Leaning to the right, she tossed the can. Not at the floor, but at the side rack. It hit between aisles five and six, knocking a package of screws off the shelf. The screws hit the ground, masking the rolling sound of the can and making it seem, for all intents and purposes, like a stray elbow had knocked them over in its owner’s haste to hide.

  Hal turned at the noise. Lane imagined his ears pricking like a dog. He turned to stalk down aisle five.

  Holding his hand out to Sam, Lane managed to convey Hal’s movements to her. Sam held up three fingers, and then started ticking them down. When her hand was a fist, Lane closed his eyes. Please God, Lane thought, let lightning strike twice. His prayer was answered. The power came to him. Lane sent out a shockwave, this one a precision blast. Lane heard a series of crashes as metal racks toppled, unloading their contents onto the floor. Hal’s scream was short, abruptly cut off by a second round of crashes.

  Sam stood, eyes bright. “Come on.” She strode down the aisle. Hurrying to follow, Lane caught up just as she detoured to pick up two axes, handing one to him. “Let’s make sure he’s not getting up,” she said.