Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4)

by C. S. Churton

  “I can rest when we get there,” I object.

  “We won’t get there if you burn out first.”

  “Scott’s right,” Marcus says, still watching the door. “You need to rest. We’ll know if anyone’s coming.”

  If he thinks he can worm his way into my good books by agreeing with Scott, then he’s wrong. He is right about one thing though: with his one second precognition we’ll have at least some warning. Enough to shift Scott out, but not him if he’s across the room. I chuck another pill in my mouth and chew frantically. I’ll pay for the overdose later, but as long as there is a later I don’t much care.

  “You sense anything?” Marcus asks Scott, falling back slowly to within arm’s reach.

  “Nope.”

  But we all know that doesn’t mean much – Pearce knows that if he wants to sneak up on us, all he has to do is send someone who isn’t an absa, and Scott’s talent won’t give them away.

  I can feel the sugar finally start to buzz through my bloodstream, and take hold of Scott’s hand. My other hand stretches out towards Marcus and pauses just short of his back. It would be so easy to shift right now, and leave Marcus behind: payback for everything he’s done to us, and every other person he helped imprison in AbGen’s basement. Would be pretty fitting if he ended up there himself. I take a breath and grip the back of his coat. That’s not who I am.

  The others make their way across the field towards us as soon as we materialise.

  “The new Ishmaelian base is about half a mile that way.” Joe gestures to the top of the field, and if I squint through the gloom I can just about make out the silhouette in the distance. We trudge across the damp field in silence until my trainers are completely saturated. The adrenaline is starting to fade from my system and I’m feeling completely drained. Iain’s gone. Duncan’s gone. I grit my teeth and squeeze Scott’s hand. We’re not. We’re still here, and tomorrow we’re going to start preparing to take on Pearce once and for all. It’s time his corruption was wiped from the face of the earth. I don’t know how we’re going to do it, and I don’t know when, but we’ll find a way. And then we’re going to find somewhere far away from all this to settle down, just the two of us. Just one last push.

  I’m so caught up in my thoughts and my exhaustion that I nearly miss Joe’s raised fist. I stumble to a halt, almost crashing into the back of him, and the others stop behind me. I move up alongside him.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

  “There’s an engine running. It’s been idling for a while. I’ll check it out. You should wait here.”

  I shake my head before he’s even finished speaking. Aside from the fact that I’m probably the best fighter here, thanks to Pearce’s intensive training program, it makes no sense to split up now.

  “We stick together.”

  We cover the distance in silence, and as we get closer it becomes obvious Joe’s right: something is amiss here. There’s equipment still scattered around outside the barn, and the car he heard is parked haphazardly out front, with one door still open, and not a single person in sight. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a chill runs up my spine. I hold my arm out, stopping the others breaking cover to check it out as the thought hits me like a sucker punch and spreads cold dread through my stomach. I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I realise before?

  “Anna?” Scott whispers.

  I turn to them, my voice hoarse but still too loud in the cold night air.

  “Why didn’t Pearce attack us back at the old base? He had plenty of time – he knew where we were from the minute Iain made it back.” The others stare at me, but I don’t give them a chance to answer. “He needed the chaos of an evacuation. The plan was never to attack the old base. The attack was here. It was a trap.”

  We stalk into the new base in formation, but we’re too late. Much too late. There’s no-one here. We fan out, and I head towards the idling car with Scott covering me. I lean inside to cut the engine and barely bite back a scream. There’s a body in the driver’s seat. It’s Dillon, the tactically minded guy I trained. Scott leans across me, his expression grim, stretches out two fingers and press them to the man’s neck. He withdraws them with a shake of his head. The Ishmaelian is dead. Shit. I recognise the dead woman next to him, too. Mary, one of Ephraim’s inner circle.

  We don’t waste any time after that. Between us we carry out a quick sweep of the base, turning up another two bodies, several large pools of blood, and a whole lot of signs of a struggle.

  “There’s no-one here,” Nathan says. “We should put some distance between us and this place in case anyone comes back.”

  I’m just about to agree when I hear movement from behind the barn. A quick glance confirms all of our group are here. I lock eyes with Joe. Did you hear that? He gives me a curt nod, and we move towards the building, weapons raised. The others follow behind us. As we get closer to the corner, I ease in front of Joe, keeping clear of his line of fire, and then swing round. My weapon finds the lone figure there, and I raise it to his head.

  “Anna, stop!”

  Joe puts his hand over my arms and pushes the muzzle down towards the ground. I stare at the figure in front of us until his features sharpen into focus.

  “Alistair?”

  He nods and lowers his hands, leaning back against the wall for support, and I notice the gash pumping blood from his forehead.

  “Are there any others here?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was chaos. Pearce’s men came right in the middle of the evac. Most of us didn’t even have any weapons, it was a complete rout. I managed to take out a couple of them before one of them got the drop on me. Took him out too, that’s the last thing I remember.”

  He’s so covered in blood it’s no wonder the agents thought he was dead and left him here for the crows – after taking their own dead with them.

  “Cullen,” I say, beckoning to the doctor. “He needs help.”

  “I’m fine,” Alistair says, but submits to the doctor’s examination of his forehead anyway.

  “Do you think any of the others escaped?”

  He nods as much as he can with Cullen’s hands probing his head.

  “I saw Steph get out, and Finn, too. There could be others.”

  “We should get out of here, too,” Nathan says, sweeping the area over the top of his gun. Marcus nods in agreement, but then I wouldn’t expect anything less from that coward. “We can’t do anything here.”

  Reluctantly I’m forced to agree. If there are other Ishmaelians out there, we need to track them down. Maybe one of them saw something that’ll give us a lead on where Pearce took them. And then we’re going to get them back. I won’t let Pearce hurt anyone else, not ever again. He can’t be allowed to keep tearing people’s lives apart to fit his own twisted agenda. Someone has to stop him. And it looks like it’s going to have to be me. I think I always knew it would be. There’s one thing I don’t understand, though.

  “Why didn’t he leave anyone here?” I ask. “He knew we’d be coming eventually.”

  It doesn’t make sense: he’s spent so much time trying to capture me before, Scott too – and yet he passed up an opportunity to set a trap we’d have walked right in to.

  “An ambush,” Scott says. “It would have made sense.”

  The others share an uncomfortable look, but Alistair shakes his head and singles me out.

  “I heard him checking with his agents. He didn’t want you there,” he says grimly. “He’s afraid of you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We grab as many of the supplies as we can, loading up the abandoned cars because Scott doesn’t want me to burn out shifting equipment back and forth in case Pearce’s men come back and find me defenceless. It takes us a little over an hour to sort through the wreckage and decide what can be salvaged. Not as much as we’d have liked, but more than I expected, given Pearce’s penchant for teari
ng things apart. Bases, equipment, people’s lives.

  Of course, we don’t have anywhere to go, so we divide ourselves between the cars and head a couple of hours South, and spend the night at a remote motel, taking turns to keep watch in case Pearce’s men have tailed us. It doesn’t make for a restful night, but we are all used to that – except for Toby, who’s a nervous wreck, and probably will be for some time to come.

  By morning, we all agree that if Pearce knew where we were and really wanted to attack, he’d have already come for us. There’s a safe house, its location known only to Alistair – a contingency plan for just this situation. I take back some of my former thoughts about the Ishmaelians’ complacency when it comes to security. But not all. We eat a hasty breakfast, get back in the vehicles, and hit the road again.

  The abandoned warehouse isn’t big, and it’s not winning any awards for comfort, but it’s discrete and it will do. It’s not like there are a lot of us anymore, anyway. There’s enough space for our salvaged supplies, and for everyone to sleep. We spend a half day getting our supplies stowed away and ramping up Alistair’s security systems – it’s obvious no-one’s been out here in a while. That’s good news, it means there’s less chance the base has been compromised.

  We break for lunch at one – a hastily concocted affair from our salvaged supplies – around a dusty table that looks like it was stored here several years ago. We all pull up a chair and Alistair waits until everyone is seated before he speaks.

  “We need to decide where we go from here,” he says. “The way I see it, we’ve all got a stake in this, so we all get a say.”

  I look round the table with a frown.

  “What’s to talk about?” I ask. “We need to fight back.”

  Joe and Marcus nod, but they’re the only ones.

  “Fight back with what?” Nathan says. “There are nine of us. Hardly an army. And let’s face it – Toby and the doc aren’t going to be much use in a scrap. No offence.”

  “None taken,” Cullen says, while Toby flushes red and looks down at his food.

  “Since when did you back down from a fight?” I ask him, working hard to keep my voice even.

  “Since we came this close–” he holds his fingers an inch apart, “–to losing everything.”

  “So that’s it?” I shove my food aside. “We just throw in the towel? Let Pearce get away with everything, yeah? Iain. Duncan. Ephraim. Dozens of Ishmaelians. That’s okay, is it?”

  “No, it’s not okay,” Nathan snaps, slamming his palm down on the table. “And you bloody well know it. But that doesn’t mean we need to get everyone else killed. It’s got to end somewhere.”

  “Yes, it does,” Alistair says, and we all pause to look at him. Alistair has that quality about him; when he speaks, people listen. “Ephraim has always been there for me, ever since I left the army. He needs us, and I’m not going to turn my back on him.”

  “Pearce took our friends,” Cullen says. “I might not know how to fight, but I know when.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a straight up good guy,” Marcus says. “I say we fight.”

  “I’ve got nothing left to lose,” Joe says, his eyes burning fiercely. “Let’s finish the bastard.”

  “I agree,” Helen says, with an apologetic glance at Nathan.

  “I don’t know if I get a vote, since I’m the new guy,” Toby says, staring at the table and steadfastly avoiding eye contact. “But Doctor Pearce lied to me, and he used my research to hurt people.” His hands curl into fists and abruptly he jerks his head up to look at me. “We have to stop him.”

  Scott reaches over and takes my hand.

  “I think it goes without saying, I’m with Anna. Always.”

  I give him a smile and squeeze his hand. Nathan rolls his eyes.

  “Just so long as we all know what we’re getting into,” he says. “Let’s pay the bastard back. Anyone have any idea how?”

  I look up and down the table at the eight other blank faces. Eventually, Alistair breaks the silence.

  “Damage assessment,” he says. “We need to know who Pearce took.”

  Scott nods his agreement.

  “You said you think some of the others escaped? That’s where we start. Track them down, bring them in. If we’re lucky, they’ll want to fight. If not, at least they’ll be out of Pearce’s reach.”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Alistair says. “They’ve all been trained how to go to ground.”

  “Good thing we’ve got a tracker, then.” Nathan slaps Scott on the shoulder, and Scott nods again.

  “I’ll get out this afternoon.”

  “You’ll need back up,” I tell him. “You should take Nathan.”

  Scott’s look falters for a heartbeat.

  “Where will you be?”

  “Here,” I tell him, crossing my fingers under the table. “Organising the kit.” Joe shoots me a look and I give myself a mental slap for lying in front of a mind reader. I look down at the table and empty my mind. “I need some time. To grieve.”

  Scott squeezes my hand.

  “Of course. Me and Nathan will head out after lunch.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Marcus says. “In case you run into any trouble.”

  “Me, too,” Helen says.

  “Good, then it’s decided,” Alistair says. “The rest of us will keep working on updating the security here. There are some throwaway phones in the kit. Half-hourly check ins. We’re not taking any more chances. We’ve lost enough people today.”

  *

  I wasn’t lying when I told Scott that I needed time to grieve Iain. I do. But I’m not going to get it. I’ve got a couple of hours to myself, and I don’t plan on wasting them. After the guys and Helen leave on their mission and the others get started on improving our security, I scrawl a note and then slip out of the back door, pocketing one of the throwaway phones on the way and making sure I still have my sugar pills.

  It’s a small thing, relatively speaking, and maybe it’s not our priority, but the small things matter. They’re what make us human. I stare at the door in front of me, with its peeling red paint and chipped woodwork, and then ring the bell. It took me three shifts to get here, but if I can get her to speak to me, it’ll be worth the trip.

  The door swings open, revealing a woman in her late twenties, wearing jeans and a shirt, and a harassed expression. Her dark hair is pulled back in a hasty ponytail, and her pretty face is lined with exhaustion. Dark circles rim her eyes. I’ve only seen a photo of Joe’s wife before, and though the women in front of me is recognisably her, she looks older, stressed, and anxious.

  Her eyes widen as soon as they focus on me, and she starts to slam the door. Interesting, considering we’ve never met. Hardly surprising she blames me for everything she went through, though. Her and her infant son were locked in Pearce’s basement for months – his insurance policy to make sure Joe played his part in my capture. I’m sure the good doctor wasn’t silent on the matter.

  I jam my foot in the door a split second before it closes, wincing as the door whacks into it.

  “Angela, wait! If you know who I am, you know that I wouldn’t have used the front door if I meant you any harm.”

  The pressure of the door on my foot eases just a fraction, and a single brown eye stares suspiciously at me through the crack.

  “Please. I just want to talk.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. What the hell did Pearce tell her about me? “I’m done with all of you! Go away.”

  “Just five minutes. And then if you still want me to leave, I will.”

  She hesitates, and the sliver of her face I can see is torn between terror and resignation. I watch as resignation wins out.

  “Five minutes?”

  I nod, and she swings the door inwards, eyeing me warily. I keep my hands loose by my side and let her search my face. I know a thing or two about being scared.

  “I’ve
got a gun,” she warns.

  “Good,” I say, still not moving. “You should get it. Keep it on me the whole time if it’ll make you feel safer. I promise, I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “Come in, then,” she says, grudgingly, and steps aside.

  I ease past her into the narrow hallway. The carpet under my feet is threadbare, and the first traces of mould are working their way up the dull walls. There’s a crack in the ceiling, which has yellowed with age.

  “It’s the best we can afford,” she says as she shuts the door. “Now that we’re on our own.”

  “You’ve done a good job of providing a safe home for your son,” I tell her. It’s a world apart from the home she’d had with Joe – that house had been well lit, immaculately decorated and in good condition, with no sign of age or wear and tear. It’s easy to see why she’s feeling defensive about her new cramped, dark living accommodation. Being a single mother can’t be easy.

  She gestures to a door down the hall and I find myself in a tiny living room, with two aged, stained sofas, a TV and little else, aside from the smattering of kids’ toys on the floor.

  “It’s not forever,” she says, moving a pile of carefully folded laundry from one of the sofas. I take her cue and settle into it, and she perches on the edge of the other – the one closest to the door – and avoids making eye contact.

  “Most people would dealt with what you went through would have given up,” I tell her. She shakes her head.

  “What sort of mother would I be if I did that?”

  “A human one. Angela, you don’t have to do this on your own.”

  “Who are you working for?” she says, abruptly meeting my eye.

  “Not AbGen, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “The others then. The Ishmaelians. Joe told me all about them when we– After we got out.”

  I pretend not to notice the way her voice catches, and glance down at my feet for a second while she takes a steadying breath.

  “Not them, either, not exactly.”

  “Then who?”

  I shake my head.

  “Most of the Ishmaelians were captured by Pearce.”