Revelations (22 page)

A man grabbed me around the waist as he rushed me, and he took me to the ground. Breathless, I struggled under him then kneed him in the groin. He held his private spot and rolled off me, groaning. When I stood, I saw Jonas surrounded by seven of the men. The others gathered around, cheering as Jonas swung and kicked at anyone who came at him. It was like any other fight, like any barroom brawl, but this one could only end one way.

Two more men came my way. Taking my gaze off of Jonas, I tried to run. One of them grabbed my arm. We grappled until we both toppled over in the dirt, but I came up with his gun. He stepped back from me as I held it towards him. It hadn’t been that long of a time since I’d fired a gun, but I wasn’t ready for this one. I fired point blank, hitting the man dead center in the heart. I fell back with the recoil of this powerful weapon. The other man took the gun from me and dragged me by the arm, with me struggling all the way, back to where Jonas still fought.

The man held me tightly with my arms behind my back, and he forced me to watch.

I watched Jonas begin to lose.

Jonas had one arm— thankfully the left since he was right-handed— pinned behind him and was swinging with the free arm. I realized the arm he held back had been broken above the wrist. Two men rushed him but he swung his fist and connected with the first, taking him down to the ground instantly. The man who fell did not move again. The second backed away. There were three or four other still bodies surrounding him. Someone appeared then with a length of metal pipe.

The crowd backed off from the whirlwind that was the love of my life. He faced the man with the pipe, his chin held high, blood dripping from a split in his lip. There was a cut beside his eye and blood ran down his face. He grinned his horrid grin, his sharp, pointed teeth making his face a devil’s mask.

He was no match for a piece of metal.

The man holding it was dressed in a typical black suit. There was blood on his white shirt from a cut on his chest, but that didn’t stop him. He came forward and, with the pipe, he was out of Jonas’s reach when he swung. Jonas ducked the first swing but the Man in Black returned quickly and the pipe connected with Jonas’s back, hitting him about kidney height. Jonas went to one knee. That was enough.

While I watched, my eyes filled with stinging tears, the Man in Black swung the pipe, and it struck Jonas under the chin. I swear I heard Jonas’s jaw break. Jonas went down to both knees, and the men all swarmed around him. I lost sight of him as I began screaming his name. I could see the pipe rising and falling as they beat him. I couldn’t see him; he was lost in the center of a mass of men.

When I began giving up my struggle against the man who grasped me, determined to be taken with Jonas no matter where they took him, the crowd fell back. Three men held my Jonas, one at each arm and one with his own arm around Jonas’s neck.

I clearly heard Jonas say, “Run.” I saw his lips move and heard his voice in my head. I didn’t move until his voice rang out over the din. “Run!” he yelled again.

I whirled around, catching my captor off guard, and shoved him as hard as I could. Using skills I’d learned long ago as a child, I struck his neck with my elbow, grabbed his gun, for some instinctive reason, and ran. I hurled myself at the fence, climbed up and vaulted over. I ran.

Like a coward.

Chapter Forty-Three

I am a coward. I had a gun. I have training. I could have fought tooth and nail like Jonas, only giving up when they resorted to using weapons other than their hands. I didn’t and for this I deserve to rot in hell.

I didn’t bother going back to the truck. Jonas had the keys and I figured they’d be watching anyway. With a military gun in hand, I began trekking across the deserted plains of New Mexico, headed back to Christian. If Jonas and I were in danger, so was he, and I needed to get to him before they did.

I don’t know why I wasn’t chased, why they didn’t just corner me in the desert and kill me there. They could have easily left my sorry body to decay or be eaten by carrion birds. I can never claim to know the inner workings of Holt’s mind or those of his blank soldiers. If I did know Holt’s mind, I would know he was there, that he had me right where he wanted me. Had he wanted me, I knew I would be at his side at that moment.

I wasn’t.

I walked, keeping to corners and alleys once I reached the town, until I reached the familiar neighborhood where Christian lived. It hadn’t been too much more than twenty-four hours since I’d last seen him, but they’d gotten to him.

Well…not him.

The house was deserted. The doors were locked, and I couldn’t get inside, but I knew no one was there. My mind told me as much. I peered in through the living room window, trying to get a sense of anything, but all I saw was an empty room. I moved around the house looking for something that would give me a clue, but there was nothing.

I backed away from the house, searching as far as my mind would let me. Nothing. It was as if they vanished into thin air. If only this was the case.

A woman came out of her house and called out to me. “What are you doing over there?”

I turned to her, holding my empty hands up; the gun was tucked into the back of my jeans, hidden by my shirt. “I’m looking for Christian North,” I said.

Before the words escaped her mouth, I knew what happened. My heart sank into my stomach. I sank to my knees. Her words echoed thin on the air.

“Their little boy…” she said, clasping her hands to her breast. “He was killed yesterday by a hit and run driver. Right here on this street. Such a shame. They’re probably taking care of funeral arrangements. Poor dears. Would you like me to give them a message if I see them?”

I shook my head, kneeling on the concrete walk that led to the front door. There was no message I could give. A moment later I got to my feet and took a breath. “It’s okay,” I said. “Thank you.” With that, I turned from her and walked away.

I knew what happened. It was the same thing happened to Jonas and I. Ambush. They had known where we were, what we were up to. They had been ready at the base, and right in this neighborhood. Life was taken when they could take life. Jonas was probably dead. Reagan was dead. Gods, he was just a baby! Who knew where Christian was, but definitely not preparing funeral arrangements. They probably took him, too.

They’d left me alive to suffer through it all.

My decision to return to California was hard. I couldn’t stay in New Mexico. They knew I was here. Besides, if Jonas was dead then I could find no reason for me to stay. I walked from New Mexico to California, from Clovis to the outskirts of Los Angeles, until I found myself on Philip’s front doorstep. After a while, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I concentrated only getting to my destination. There was no reason for me to head there, knowing I would be putting Philip in as much danger as I had put everyone else. I kept going. I kept the facts of what I had done on the surface of my mind.

Somewhere around Fontana, in California, I began to develop a headache that threatened to take me out, but I kept going. I kept walking. Day and night. I lost track of how many days it took me. On the last day, as I hit the border of the city of South Pasadena, where Philip lived, I could barely lift my feet. Exhaustion was overpowering me and the pain in my head excruciating. Starch would be there. Philip would be there. They’d know what to do. They’d help me.

Knocking on Philip’s door was like knocking on Death’s. I barely had the strength to lift my fist to the door. I stood there, swaying like a half-dead tree in the wind until Starch opened the door. Then I collapsed.

Chapter Forty-Four

I woke alone, curled up on yet another bed in yet another unfamiliar room. I looked around with tired eyes. The bed was oak with small carved posts. The lamp on the nightstand had a simple wooden base and a white shade. The bed linens were a nice, deep blue.

Examining the décor was just my way of distracting myself from the things recently destroyed in my life. It took only a few days to turn my life upside down. Who knew how many more days passed to get to Philip’s home. Jonas was long dead. And Reagan murdered on the street by an anonymous person in a car. Christian was gone and probably dead, too.

I’d just led them to Philip and Starch.

I rose from the bed, and the world spun around my head. I held my head in my hands until the spinning slowed down to a tolerable speed. My feet were bare when they hit the floor, but I found my shoes quickly enough. I slipped into my socks, put my boots on my feet, and realized my gun was missing. I poked around for it for a moment before giving up. There weren’t many places in this room for it to hide. I went out the door.

Philip’s home was simple and neat. His wife was a good housekeeper. I don’t know why this thought suddenly came into my head, but then I knew. As I made my way down the hall, I felt his presence. He was one of the few who could get into my head.

Philip, my blessed saviour, stepped in front of me as I hit the end of the hall. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

I would have thought something else was going on entirely if he not been smiling. “Not very far, I guess,” I said.

Philip stared at me for a moment before putting his arms around me. I heard Starch’s voice from somewhere else in the house, and I vaguely saw him out of the corner of my eye. When Philip let me go, Starch took his place and kissed my temple.

“How’re you feeling?” Philip asked when Starch let me go.

I shook my head. “I’m okay. How long was I asleep?”

“Over seventy hours,” Philip said.

I sagged against Starch. Days. I’d been asleep for days. Starch held me on my feet then led me over to a nearby couch. I sat, and he sat beside me, one arm around my shoulders.

“You’ve been sick, Christiana,” Philip said.

“I don’t get sick,” I said.

“Apparently you do,” he told me.

I swallowed, feeling just the slightest itch in my throat.

“You passed out on the porch,” Starch said. “You had a really high fever. Philip even called a doctor.”

“Doctor?” I said quietly, lost in disbelief.

“Later,” Philip said. He glanced at Starch.

Starch asked the questions burning in both of them. “Chris,” he said softly, “where’s Jonas?”

I closed my eyes. “He’s dead,” I told them. “We went back to the base. We were ambushed. They took him. I got away.”

Starch pulled me closer, and I could see without looking, the tears forming in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked.

I nodded against his shoulder. “Pretty sure. They killed Christian’s son, too.”

Starch heard from me about my little half-brother who never knew I was his sister. “Damn,” he whispered. “To go so far as to kill a little kid….”

I shuddered. After a moment I said, “I can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“You’re not well,” Philip said, kneeling before me. He placed his hands on my thighs. “If they knew you were here, they’d have come for you by now.”

I swallowed for the umpteenth time.

Philip looked up into my eyes then said, “Let me make you some tea and get you something to eat.”

I shook my head but Philip wouldn’t take no for an answer. He rose and went into the kitchen.

“He’s worried about you,” Starch said. “So am I.”

“It’s not safe,” I said again. “After what I saw them do to Jonas…after the Commune…” I couldn’t go any further. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my tired eyes. What I really wanted to do was sleep, but I had to get away. If Christian was still alive, I had to find him to protect him. This was just the illness talking. The last thing I should have been doing was looking for my father and putting him in even more danger. I knew what I needed to do, but not where to begin. I had to get out of this house and away from people who I didn’t want to get hurt.

Philip came back into the room with a cup of tea and a couple pieces of toast. He was followed by a man whom I recognized instantly.

“You,” I said, on my feet before I knew what I was doing.

The man came to me, put both of his hands on my shoulders and forced me to sit back down. Michael Daniels smiled at me, his hazel eyes kind and gentle, just as I remembered them. The good doc spoke in his usual tone. “When Philip called me, I knew I had to come.”

“Thanks again for that,” Philip said, handing me the cup and plate.

“You should eat,” Michael said to me.

I nibbled at the bread, getting safely through the first piece before putting the plate aside as my body began to protest. I drank the tea until the cup was empty, only because the honey and lemon soothed my throat. I rubbed my aching head as I put the cup on the coffee table. I curled up in a corner of the sofa.

Michael sat down on the coffee table and placed a hand against my cheek. His hand strayed to my forehead and he looked up at Philip. “She’s improving,” he said.

“Why are you here?” I asked the doc.

Michael looked to Philip, silently asking permission. Philip nodded. “Philip and I have been friends for a long time” he explained. “We’ve rescued many an experiment together. Including Starch here, though he probably doesn’t remember.” The doc looked at the firestarter, who was staring, wide-eyed. “I’d heard tales about a gang of street kids in New York who were rumored to have special powers. When one of them was brought to me, unconscious after a brutal beating, I ran a few tests. You’re as unique as any of them.”