Bloom (22 page)

Colton looked down at the ground and realized that he couldn’t even smell the fresh grass beneath his feet.

I’m dead inside,
he thought.

As if she heard him, the girl’s head snapped up and her eyes narrowed as she glared at him with cold malice.

Colton could tell she recognized him, and the anger on her face made him wish they were only seeing each other for the first time.

Blue light ignited in her eyes and they burned like tiny stars. Without a moment’s hesitation, she ran toward Colton. He stepped back in confusion, unable to decide if he should try and defend himself or turn and run.

Thinking about it made him feel even weaker, so he just stood there, frozen, until she jumped into the air and slammed into him with her shoulder, tackling him to the ground.

She grunted as she fell on him and pinned his arms down with her legs. She straddled his chest and pressed her open palms to his temples. The light in her eyes was too bright and Colton tried to turn his head to the side, but she forced him to remain still.

She was
strong
.

Concentrated blue energy trailed out from the corner of her eyes and drifted up into the air in long, wispy lines, dissipating above her head.

“What did you do to my brother?!” she said between clenched teeth.

Colton screamed as she pressed against his skull. He had thought he could not feel anything but the dull ache in his skull and the knife in his belly—that the rest of his senses were numb—but he was wrong. The pain coursing through his entire body was immeasurable. Every inch of his skin burned as if he were being showered with acid.

The girl’s hands exploded with blue light and Colton screamed louder.

“Is he alive?!” she shouted.

Colton writhed under her grip but she kept him firmly pinned down. He couldn’t help but look into her eyes and was blinded by the piercing blaze.

“I don’t know!” he said between screams.

“Haven!” someone shouted.

The girl kicked Colton’s stomach as she was pulled away by two silhouettes. Colton blinked his eyes until the blurriness cleared. A stocky man with stubble on his shiny head held one of the girl’s arms and a pretty woman with shock-white hair held the other.

Colton coughed and rolled onto his side, clenching his stomach.

“This is not a good idea,” said the man. His Russian accent was thick. “You said yourself that he did not hurt Elena.”

“But she’s dead!” said the girl—Haven—finding new strength and nearly breaking free.

“She’s dead,” agreed the woman with white hair. “And this helps
nothing
.”

Haven glared at Colton until the blue light in her eyes faded and blinked out. She relaxed and closed her eyes. The man and the woman that were holding her slowly let go but didn’t move away.

Colton pushed himself up to a sitting position. He looked at the skin on his arms and felt the back of his neck—the girl’s energy hadn’t physically burned him at all. A slight tingling sensation still danced over his entire body, just beneath his skin, as if a million tiny needles were jabbing down just hard enough to draw blood.

“I never saw your brother,” he said to Haven. “Or anyone else besides the people that attacked you near Bozeman.”

Haven looked down at him, her expression a mix of fear, rage, and sadness. Her eyes glassed over with tears and she hurried past Colton, through the swinging doors, and into the dome.

“I—I’m sorry,” said Colton.

The man and woman looked down at him carefully, as if deciding what should be done with their prisoner.

“The old woman was Elena?” asked Colton. “Is she here? Could I see her?”

“No,” said the woman with white hair. “No, you cannot ‘see her’.” She clenched her fists and followed after Haven into the dome.

The Russian man sighed and shook his head.

“They don’t like you very much,” he said.

“I can’t say that I blame them,” said Colton. “I made a mistake when I joined Bernam. He promised me that—” Colton stopped and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I still should have known it was wrong.”

The Russian grunted. “Did you know about us, here in dome?”

Colton shook his head.

“Then don’t blame yourself. It was like winning the lottery ticket, yes? You didn’t know there was a choice, so you went with the bad man. He makes things look very nice. All new toys and cars. Sometimes Marius wishes he had those things.”

“Your name is Marius?”

The man nodded.

“I’m Colton.”

The stocky Russian hesitated a moment longer, then offered his hand. Colton gripped it and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet.

“Look at me,” said Marius.

Colton looked. The man was tired. Dark circles drooped under his eyes, but it wasn’t just sleep that was weighing heavily on his serious face—there was also sadness, anger, and a small amount of fear.

“We are not friends,” continued Marius. “No one here is your friend, and they probably won’t be for long time—if you stick around. Elena had rule that we allow anyone like us to stay here, no questions asked. But that doesn’t mean we are always happy about it. You have to earn our trust, understand?”

“Look,” said Colton, “not that I don’t appreciate the offer—if that’s what it is—but I don’t
want
to stay here. Bernam told me that you guys were keeping my mother as a hostage, which I realize now was just a lie to get me to follow him. When I wouldn’t do what he wanted, he took away my ability. I’m empty. I’m not like you anymore. I don’t belong here.” He thought about his father in Pittsburgh. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Marius frowned. “Young people,” he said. “So
serious
. Always jumping to wrong conclusions.” He gestured for Colton to follow him away from the entrance. “Come.”

They walked between the trees and ascended a large hill. At the base of the hill that sloped away from the trees was a small pond and an old willow tree, its branches tickling the surface of the water.

The old woman sat against the trunk of the tree, her eyes closed peacefully and a faint smile on her face, as if she were in the middle of a pleasant dream.

“Elena,” said Marius, nodding toward the woman.

“I’m sorry,” said Colton quietly.

“She was very nice woman. Strong and stubborn, but nice.”

“Did Bernam kill her?”

“He took her power. We cannot live without it. Yes, he killed her.”

Colton looked down at his body. His skin was ashen and his knees shook with the strain to keep him upright.

Marius must have seen the look of fear on his face.

“You are strong, too,” he said. “Don’t give up hope.”

“What are you going to with…with…” Colton swallowed thickly and tried to force himself to finish the sentence, but could not.

“We will bury her next to the tree, the way she would have wanted.”

“This place is beautiful,” said Colton.

“What does your mother look like?”

Colton turned to Marius, surprised by the abrupt question.

“She left when I was nine.” He tried to remember her face, but was ashamed to realize that the memory of her appearance was blurry—she existed in his mind as a grouping of emotions and sensations, the strongest of which was happiness that he felt when he spent time with her. “In the few pictures I kept that my father didn’t burn, she had light brown hair, shoulder-length, and light brown eyes. She was thin. There was a small mole on her left temple, like a beauty mark.”

Marius’s frown deepened.

“What is it?” asked Colton.

“Bernam was right and wrong about your mother,” said Marius.

“What do you mean?”

“She is here, with us, but she is not a prisoner. She stays with us because that is what she wants—because it is too dangerous for her to be anywhere else.”

Colton stood atop the hill, speechless, his mind a torrent of different thoughts. He took a deep breath and tried to think clearly.

“Do you want to see her?” asked Marius.

Colton expected to answer immediately, but instead the word
yes
caught in his throat.
What if she’s different?
he thought.
What if she doesn’t remember me?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Marius turned and walked down the hill, toward the doors.

“Yes,” said Colton suddenly.

My power is gone, and I’m going to die,
he thought. His body shuddered and he tried to force himself to accept that inevitable outcome.
I’m going to die.

He took a deep breath. “Yes, I want to see her.”

“Very well,” said Marius. “But it’s too dangerous to go alone.”

23

C
olton and Marius met a tall, thin man near a large metal box that looked like a sealed refrigerator. In the wall next to the box was a weathered steel door with heavy hinges and a chrome steering-wheel for a handle.

Marius scowled at the tall man and orange light flared briefly in his eyes, then faded. He sighed. “Okay,” he said, turning to Colton. “Dormer go inside with you. I’ll help Corva with the body—
nyet!
” He slapped his forehead.
“
I mean, I’ll help her with Elena.” He walked away, shaking his head and whispering curses at himself in Russian.

Dormer watched him go and blinked quickly. His movements were jerky and erratic, like a bird’s. He sniffed quickly and wiped his nose, and his hands shook slightly as he reached for the box. He twisted a handle on the front and the side panels slid down to reveal a compact cube of machinery. He flipped a small switch next to a thick pipe and the box shook to life like a car engine.

“What are you doing?” asked Colton.

Dormer reached into the machine and grabbed the pipe firmly with both hands. The machine’s quick, powerful chugging instantly slowed to a struggling
wum…wum…wum
as the motor fought to stay alive.

“Since your ability was taken,” said Dormer, “I have to go in with you.” His tense shoulders visibly relaxed as he let go of the pipe and switched off the machine.

“I want to see her alone.”

“That would be unwise.”

“I don’t care.”

Dormer smiled without humor and punched a sequence of numbers into an electronic wall panel next to the large door. With a loud, metal
CLUNK
, something in the wall released and the door swung inward on oversized hinges.

Dormer gestured dramatically at the doorway, offering a small bow as his hand swept through the air. “After you.”

The next room was shaped like a shoebox, its longer end stretching away from the dome.  The space was empty except for an old aluminum table and chair that were pushed to one side. A dim fluorescent light in the ceiling cast a sickly green glow over the room. It buzzed loudly and flickered as Colton entered the room.

There were no windows or any other kind of decoration in the room. On the far wall was a single, ordinary wooden door with a dull brass handle.

A pneumatic
PHOOMP
came from behind and Colton turned quickly. Dormer spun the polished handle on the closed door and tapped another sequence of numbers on the interior wall panel.

“Why did you do that?” asked Colton.

“House rules,” said Dormer. “Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

Colton looked at the wooden door at the far end of the room and sensed it was moving farther away from him. His stomach lurched and his legs shook.

“Do you feel it?” asked Dormer.

Colton stumbled to the wall and leaned against it heavily. “What—what’s happening?” The small amount of energy he had in his body was slowly being drained away.

“It’s your mother. She no longer has control of her abilities. She is a living black hole, pulling in everything around her, unable to stop her body’s energy accumulation.”

“She’s a Conduit?” asked Colton. His chest tightened and his breaths were quick and shallow. “Is that why you keep her locked up?”

“She is here because she asked me to help,” said Dormer. “She came to us three years ago, after she—”

He stopped.

“After she what?” said Colton.

Dormer shook his head. “She will tell you, if that is what she wants.” He walked over to Colton and rested a hand on his shoulder.

Colton immediately felt warmth flow over his skin and sink down to his bones. His legs stopped shaking and his breathing slowly returned to normal. He stood up straight as Dormer removed his hand.

“That should last you a few minutes,” said Dormer. “I’ll be out here if something happens.”

Colton looked down at his hands. “Thank you,” he said.

Dormer gave a slight nod, then pulled the aluminum chair away from the table and sat down. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

Colton approached the wooden door hesitantly. He reached for the handle, and just before his palm touched the brass knob, Dormer spoke.

“If it gets to the point where you can’t shout for help,” he said, “try to pound on the door. I’ll assume that means things went poorly.”

Colton swallowed thickly and grabbed the doorknob. He pulled open the door and stepped into a small room.

His mother sat on a bed to one side, reading a book. She looked up at him and smiled. Her skin glowed with soft white light that lit the room evenly—there were no lamps or flashlights; no machines in the room of any kind.

Thick pipes ran along the ceiling and hummed softly. It was a cozy room, filled with books and quilts. A wooden writing desk stood next to the bed, piled high with loose, hand-scribbled pages.

Colton’s mother closed the book she was reading and set it next to her on the bed.

She looks too old,
thought Colton. His father was forty-five years old, and Colton knew that his mother was a couple of years younger. The woman sitting on the bed looked to be at least sixty. Small wrinkles lined the skin of her once-pretty face. Her hair was grey and pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her body was smaller than Colton remembered—she looked to be no more than five feet tall, but in some of her older pictures she was nearly the same height as Colton’s father, who was almost six feet tall.