Transcender Trilogy Complete Box Set

by Vicky Savage

  He seems so earnest, but at the moment I can’t even make eye contact with the guy without my heart being razored to shreds. I don’t really picture us hanging out together sharing a pizza.

  “I appreciate that it took a lot of guts on your part to come here today,” I say. “And you’re right—I don’t want us to tiptoe around trying to avoid each other. But I’ve got a lot going on in my life at this point, and it hasn’t even been six months since my husband’s death. Emotionally, I’m not in a place right now where I can be friends with you.”

  “Fair enough,” he says softly. “I can wait ...”

  Something in his voice pierces all the way to my soul. Like his words carry some unspoken promise I understand subliminally. I shoot him a sideways look. His gaze remains steady on me. “May I ask one thing, though?” he says.

  “Depends.”

  “After a while, if you’re feeling more comfortable with, well, the idea of us being friends, will you consider having coffee with me?”

  “Sure, I’ll consider it.” I get to my feet, hoping he’ll take his cue to leave.

  “Thank you.” He pushes up from the chair. The simple joy in his smile does a number on my heart.

  We walk together to the front door, his heat and scent pulling at something deep inside me, which I choose to ignore.

  “Please tell Eleanor hi,” I say as he walks outside.

  “I will. Be safe on your exploration.”

  I close the door behind him, and slump against it, sighing loudly.

  “So?” Eve stands in the foyer, hands on her hips. “How did it go?” Did he apologize? Are you going out with him?”

  “He apologized. Says he wants us to be friends.” I use my fingers to make quotation marks around ‘friends.’

  She groans. “Oh that’s so transparent. He’s hot for you, and you know it. He practically devoured you with his eyes.”

  My lips curve up involuntarily. “Maybe, but I’m not ready to go out with anyone yet, and when I am, I’m not sure I’ll want to go out with him.”

  “Are you nuts?” she says, clutching her heart. “I mean he came all the way over here to apologize in person. And he looks like a smoldering volcano of …”

  I flash her a scowl.

  “Okay, you already know what he looks like. Give the guy a chance. You loved him once, you could love him again.”

  “That’s the problem. He’s not the one I was in love with. Yeah, he’s great eye-candy and all, but I don’t even know what kind of guy he is.”

  “Well don’t wait too long to find out. A hot sex sundae like that doesn’t stay on the market long,” she says, fanning herself.

  “What did you call him?”

  “You heard me. Add a little whipped cream and a cherry, and mmm, mmm.” She licks her lips suggestively.

  Laughing, I grab her hand. “Come on, earth girl. I think my manicure needs a little touching up.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  In the morning, Jeffrey has my gear ready and waiting for me. I take it all back to my apartment, and Callie watches curiously as I change into my uniform. It fits perfectly. A patch with the official Transcender seal has been sewn onto each shoulder. I strap on my utility belt and secure my pistol in its holster. After I fasten my hair into a single braid, I check myself out in the full-length mirror.

  The sight makes me giggle. If only Liv could see me now. She’d think this was the best Halloween costume ever. With a pang of guilt, I wonder what my father would think of his gun-toting daughter heading out on a potentially dangerous exploration. Better that he doesn’t know.

  I dash off a text to him and one to Drew, since communicating with them will probably be difficult while I’m away. I let them know all is well with me, and express the hope that we’ll all be together at Christmastime. I sign off by saying how much I love and miss them both.

  After dropping off Callie at Ralston’s door, I meet Asher in Narowyn’s office. She has our coordinates, ID cards identifying us as relief workers, and a few last minute instructions.

  We enter the coordinates into our TPDs, and on the count of three, Zzzt, we’re streaming stars across the dimensions.

  We touch down in the courtyard of a beautiful Mexican-style hacienda in East San Francisco. I scan the sun filled sky for signs of the two moons, but neither is visible. Asher leads me through an arched portico to the back door. He knocks three times.

  The door is opened by an attractive, dark-haired man who appears to be in his late forties. “Asher, welcome,” he says.

  “Jack, this is my partner, Jaden. Thank you for agreeing to host us.”

  He shakes my hand. “Please come in. I’m happy to help. We’ve suffered such an enormous tragedy. I hope your work will help prevent this in the future, or at least ameliorate the effects.”

  Jack’s home is beautifully decorated in traditional Mexican furnishings—lots of dark wood and painted tiles. He leads us down a Saltillo-tiled hallway to some bedrooms.

  “Asher, I’ve put your clothing and toiletries in this first room.” A folded stack of clothing and a backpack lie on top of the bed. “Jaden, your things are in there.” He points to a room at the end of the hall. “After you’ve changed, I’ll drive you down to the site. I’m afraid your accommodations will be pretty rough, but I know you want to be at ground zero.”

  “That’s right,” Ash says. “We appreciate your making the arrangements. We’ll be ready shortly.”

  Asher follows me to the room where Jack has left my stuff. “You should have everything you need, but if anything is missing, we can pick it up later. Just leave your uniform and gear in the closet.”

  “Should I bring my gun?”

  “Better not. We don’t have the appropriate local permits. Bring your cash, though.”

  “Uh oh.” Damn! I knew I’d screw up somehow.

  “You didn’t bring cash?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to.” I wring my hands contritely.

  “It’s okay, Beckett, I have plenty for both of us, but for future reference, always bring local currency. The saying Cash is King usually holds true.” He smiles making me feel slightly less stupid.

  I sort through the clothing on the bed. People must dress like farmhands on this earth. A plaid flannel shirt, a pair of oversized bib overalls, and some Mariachi sandals are to be my outfit for the next few days. After slipping everything on, I look in the mirror and change my mind—this would definitely be the best Halloween costume ever.

  My back pack is well stocked with toiletries. I even find a pair of John Lennon sunglasses and a blue bandana which I pray I’m not expected to wear on my head.

  I hang my uniform in the closet, and stash my utility belt and gun on the top shelf. Another glance at myself in the mirror leaves me mystified—who wears this stuff? There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose. We’re required to dress like the locals, so when in Rome …

  I shoulder the backpack and meet Asher in the hallway. He’s wearing faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a corduroy jacket, and running shoes.

  “Whoa, look at you,” he says with laughing eyes.

  “Wait a minute. How come you’re dressed like Justin Timberlake and I’m dressed like Greta the Goat Girl?”

  Jack walks up behind me. “That’s my fault. I guess I didn’t do a very good job with the clothes. I lent Asher some of my things, but my wife took her elderly mother out of town when the tsunami warnings went into effect, so I picked out your clothes myself. It’s what I thought a relief worker would wear.”

  In Kansas maybe.

  “It’s all right,” I say, embarrassed to be caught complaining. “It really doesn’t matter what I look like. We’re here to do a job.”

  “Amen,” Asher says. “Let’s go.”

  “The car’s this way.” Jack motions us to follow.

  We traipse after him to the garage and climb into his white Range Rover. “It’ll take us about twenty minutes to get down there. I’ve told the folks at the World Ai
d Organization that you’re a married couple here to gather data for the International Disaster Relief Fund. That’s the cover Narowyn gave me.”

  “That’s what our IDs say.” Asher tells him.

  Jack’s neighborhood is lovely, with palm trees, bright bougainvillea, and large houses on enormous lots. “Our area got away unscathed,” he says. “But prepare yourselves for some disturbing sights.”

  As we draw nearer to the water, we catch the first glimpses of damage to buildings and piles of collected debris. After a few more miles, it looks more like a war zone than the San Francisco waterfront. The golden gate bridge still stands majestically over the bay, but beneath it are acres of ravaged neighborhoods. Derelict boats and cars lie scattered miles inland from the coastline. Carcasses of trees, destroyed bits of furniture, and mangled household appliances litter the roadways.

  “How high were the waves?” Asher asks.

  “They estimate twenty to twenty-five feet in this locale.”

  “Was the area evacuated in time?” Asher says.

  “Most got out. But we only had a few hours warning, and nobody predicted the wave would travel this far inland. Alameda was totally deluged with water. Alcatraz and some of the smaller islands were swallowed up completely. No sign left of them.”

  “What are the casualty estimates?” I ask.

  Jack shrugs. “Hard to say. Around thirty thousand confirmed dead so far, but a hundred thousand or more still unaccounted for. By far the largest non-war disaster in the country’s history. Probably take months before we get the final numbers.”

  We drive into an area where rescue workers and earth moving equipment are sifting through mountains of wreckage. “They’re still pulling survivors out of there,” Jack says. “You hear a lot of miraculous rescue stories along with all the bad stuff.”

  Jack parks in a make-shift parking lot next to a line of pickups and vans. “We’ll have to walk from here. The roads are washed out. We’re headed down there.” He points to an area about a hundred yards away where a small tent city has been erected. “That’s where you’ll be stationed.”

  The air is a complicated muddle of unpleasant odors as we climb out of the SUV. “I’ve set up a couple of meetings for you today,” Jack says, “and I’ve arranged for a helicopter tour tomorrow. The information’s all here.” He hands Asher a sheet of paper.

  “Can you give me a hand with this water?” He opens the back of the Range Rover.

  Asher and I slip our packs over our shoulders and each grab two cases of bottled water. Following Jack across the mucky lot, we pick our way around random debris. I don’t even want to think about what’s in the toxic stew oozing between the straps of my sandals.

  When we reach the tents, Jack approaches a short man wearing a surgical mask and latex gloves. “Asher, Jaden, this is Parker Moses, of the World Aid Organization. Parker’s heading up the WAO effort in the bay area.”

  We shake hands with the harried, bespectacled Mr. Moses. “We appreciate your letting us operate out of your camp,” Asher says.

  Moses pulls his mask down and tucks it under his chin. “Not a problem, as long as you’re here to help and not impede our efforts.”

  “I assure you we won’t be in your way,” Asher says.

  “Good. We’ve got a table and two cots set up for you in one of the tents. I’ll show you the way. Just stack that water over there.” He points to an area where workers are unloading food, water, and other supplies from trucks.

  After we drop off the water, Jack bids us farewell. “Call and let me know when you want to be picked up,” he tells us. “And good luck.”

  Moses shows us to our tent. It’s tiny, and the walls seem paper thin. Large squares of cardboard have been laid down to form a makeshift floor. A folding table and chair sit on one side of the tent, and two cots are pushed together on the other. A lantern and a small space heater are tucked into the corner.

  “It’s pretty rustic,” Moses says, “But I imagine you’re used to that. You got surgical masks and gloves on the table.” He points to a row of white boxes. “You already saw where the food and water is stored. Port-o-lets are located on the south edge of the tent line. Our main operations are in the big tent to the north. If you have any extra time, we could use your help checking-in people, passing out food, and well, you know the drill.”

  “Thanks,” Asher says. “We’re happy to help when we can.”

  “Be seeing you,” Moses says. He replaces his mask and hurries off.

  “Holy crap. Is this what you expected, Ash?” I say, still struggling to process the enormity of the devastation.

  “You never know what to expect, but I try to mentally prepare for the worst.” He spreads out the sheet of paper Jack gave him on the table. “Our first appointment is with Dr. Cara Meyers of the U.S. Geological Society. That’s at two. What do you want to do until then?”

  “I guess we could help out at the main tent.”

  “That should give us a good feel for what’s going on with the survivors,” he says. “We need to take photos of everything, but tomorrow can be our filming and photo day. Ever flown in a helicopter before?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s an experience you won’t forget.”

  We pluck surgical masks and latex gloves out of the boxes on the table and make our way to the main tent. Lines of dazed looking people snake outside the tent entrance. Workers inside are writing down names, passing out blankets, tending to injuries, and comforting frightened survivors.

  “Can I help you?” A woman with curly red hair and freckles approaches Asher and me. Her WAO badge says her name is Linda.

  “Hi Linda,” Asher says. “We’re with International Disaster Relief. We’ll be on site for a few days. We had some extra time and wondered if we could help out in any way.”

  “Yeah, we can use all the hands we can get. You look pretty strong,” she says to Asher. “You can assist the guys unloading the donation trucks. We’re getting in supplies faster than we can unpack them.”

  “Okay, sure,” Ash says.

  She sizes up my unusual outfit. “You can’t work in those shoes,” she tells me. “You’re going to need some boots or something. Do you know what we’re walking on here? It’s a mish-mash of raw sewage, boat fuel, and rotting animal carcasses. You don’t want that on your skin.”

  “This is all I brought.” I glance cautiously at Asher.

  “There’s an army surplus store open in Union Square. Only reason they’re open is because of the high demand for guns, what with all the looting. I’m sure he’ll have something for you. I got a truck heading up there now to pick up more blankets and lanterns. If you hurry, you can hitch a ride.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.” I turn to Ash. “So, honey, can I have some cash for new boots?”

  He rolls his eyes and reaches for his wallet. “I guess so. How much do you need?”

  “I’ll just take that,” I say, relieving him of the wallet.

  “Woman thinks I’m made of money,” he says to Linda.

  The army surplus store turns out to be a nice little find. I ditch the overalls and plaid shirt and buy a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a cotton military jacket. The owner of the store recommends knee-high, lace-up motorcycle boots for mucking around in the flood zone. I use Asher’s cash to pay for everything, but he brought a ton of it, so I think we’ll be fine.

  I help the others load up the blankets and lanterns on the truck, and we head back to camp.

  When I stop by the supply tent to return Asher’s wallet, he does a double-take. “Whoa, that’s an improvement. You look kind of hot in those boots.”

  “Thanks, honey,” I say. “See you back at the tent at two.”

  Linda seems to approve of my new boots and puts me to work at the intake table. My job is to record the names, addresses, injuries, if any, and missing family members of the people in line. Then I’m to direct them to the first aid station, the missing family member board, or the chow l
ine, depending on the situation.

  The first person to approach me is a young woman around my age. Her hair is a matted mess, and her clothes are filthy. Silent tears leave dirty streaks on her cheeks. She manages to say her name is Sarah Jameson, but she’s too distraught to give me her address.

  I walk around the table and offer her a wet wipe from the dispenser. “Tell me what happened to you.”