Phoenix (37 page)

"We don’t know that," Brad whispered.

"Of course we do! Just ask! Go ahead, ask
me!" Adams slapped the table. "Brad. Everything we saw and all the
evidence we collected pointed to PhoenTek being behind it all. So
we tried to stop them. Who wouldn’t have done the same thing? You
can’t say that all this would have still happened if we’d really
known what was going on. Information is power."

Brad stared back. "Only thing we can do now
is do this. Do what he’s asking. We
have
to. There’s no way
we’ll ever be able to change what happened, or take back what we
did. But we can help now. Try to stop it
now
."

"If what he’s saying is true," Mort added.
"If what he
says
is going to happen actually happens. Then
yeah, we can help, we can try to prevent more death. Help stop what
we started. We’re taking an awful lot on faith here."

Brad held his forehead, speaking to the
tabletop. "I don’t know. I just don’t know."

"Don’t know what?" Izzy walked into the room.
The others looked up and ended the conversation. She didn’t need to
hear it. They knew what her opinion would be, anyway.

"Nothing." Brad turned in the chair and gave
her a smile. "So how’s it going with the Professor?"

Izzy started to laugh and spit out a
comeback, but was interrupted.

"I am not a professor." Rakburn appeared
behind her, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket. "Nor do I hold
a degree of any kind."

Brad snorted. "It was a—"

"Yes, I am aware. Isabel, have you spoken
with them yet?"

Her face fell. "No, I, uh, well no."

Mort slid his chair back and stood. "What’s
going on?"

Izzy looked around the table, then turned to
Rakburn. He nodded and gestured toward the others.

"I’m going to be leaving soon," she
whispered.

"You’re
what
?" Brad jumped to his feet
and knocked his chair backwards. Mort reached across the table to
grab Brad’s arm. Adams didn’t move except to start tapping his
foot.

"Brad, listen." Izzy put her hands up and
approached him. "I can do more to help if I leave with Poppy. They
need me there, just like we need you here."

"What the hell are you talking about? You’re
family
. You can’t just leave! We need you here, with us,
more than
they
do. Stay and help
us
."

"So you have decided to accept my offer?"
Rakburn stopped fussing with his cuffs and stepped up beside Izzy,
his hands clasped in front of him.

Brad looked over his shoulder, didn’t see any
disagreement, and turned back to Rakburn. "Yeah, we accept. But you
leave Izzy here."

"No." He shook his head. "I cannot."

"Yes you can. It’s easy, actually." Brad
reached out for her arm.

Izzy pulled back. "No, Brad. I
am
going."

Brad laughed. He walked to the other side of
the table and planted himself behind Mort.

Mort took this as a cue. "You’re going to
Columbus?" He moved around the table and took Izzy by the
hands.

She nodded. "Yes."

"And this is what you want?" He let go of one
of her hands, reached up and slipped the pen from his pocket.

"Yes."

Mort brought up picture-Izzy in his mind and
waited a beat for the wisps of color to form. They weren’t fluid as
they usually were for her. And the colors were wrong. These were
shades of orange and red, streaked with white. The colors
brightened, the wisps turned jagged and sharp. A second later, they
began translating into emotions.

Izzy was telling the truth, but she didn’t
feel good about her decision. She was afraid and angry.

"Mort," she whispered. "It’s okay." Her free
hand found his pen and closed around it.

"You don’t have to do this."

She smiled. "Yes, I do. It’s okay." She took
his pen and put it back in his shirt pocket.

Mort met Rakburn’s eyes. "You’ll make sure
she’s safe. And you’ll hold up your end of the deal, if we do
this."

Rakburn stepped closer to the shorter man.
"Yes, she will be safe. As far as the deal is concerned, there is
another you must speak with. He will be arriving shortly."

Brad started. "What?"

The loud, motorized thumping of an
approaching helicopter outside let them know that their guest had
arrived.

Rakburn shouted through the noise, "I told
you I was going to contact my superiors."

* * *

A man jumped out of the helicopter and waved
to the pilot, then the craft lifted up and moved off just over the
treetops. The newcomer was wearing a suit and Brad wondered how
they were able to keep them clean and pressed during the
apocalypse.

"It’s a damn struggle; don’t get me started,"
the man answered as he walked up to the group. To Rakburn he said,
"You’re a hard man to find, Thomas." He stuck out his hand and the
two shook. "I wasn’t even sure that was you contacting me. The dead
messing with your mojo, too?"

Rakburn held the man’s hand between both of
his and bowed his head. "Yes, sir. And thank you for coming. I was
not certain I had reached you."

The newcomer chuckled and smacked Rakburn’s
shoulder. "Like I said, I owe you, and no, that hasn’t been repaid
yet." He turned to Brad and the others, who had gathered in a
semi-circle to stare at him. "So, are these the idiots you didn’t
kill? Can’t say they’re much to look at." To emphasize, he moved
his eyes up and down over all of them. They stopped on Izzy. "I
stand corrected.
She
is."

"Sir." Rakburn gave the hand he held a twist.
The man flinched and returned his attention to his friend. Rakburn
smiled, showing his teeth. "Yes, these are they. They have agreed
to help us in an attempt to right what they have wronged."

The man’s eyebrows bobbed up. "Oh, is that
so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why is that helicopter doing that?" Brad
pointed to a spot in the sky over the woods. The chopper was
circling low, then high, then low again, sometimes swooping out in
a wide arc before returning to the same spot.

The newcomer looked in that direction. "Ah,
yes, that. Well, as we approached we saw a pack of those animals
headed this way. Obviously noise draws them, and that thing is
pretty damned noisy. So my wonderful pilot is keeping them over
there
," he threw an arm out in that direction, "while we
have our little pow-wow over
here
." He pointed at his
feet.

Adams said, "So when you leave, we’re gonna
have a problem."

"No, no." The man waved his hands. "We’ll
make sure to draw them away. No worries, young man."

Rakburn chuckled. The man raised a brow.

"My apologies, sir. I find it amusing, as you
are the same approximate age."

The man made a face and turned to Izzy. "And
you will be accompanying us, I believe?"

She nodded and stepped closer to Rakburn.

"Good!" The man clapped his hands. "I always
enjoy welcoming new members to the team."

"So is that what we are?" Brad asked. "A
team?"

"Ah, no." The man spun around to face Brad.
"We," he indicated Rakburn, Izzy, and himself, "are part of the
team. You," his index finger poked Brad in the chest, "undid
everything we’d been working toward for a decade. You are the
Antichrist. You’ve murdered millions. And I hope you plan to do
whatever is necessary to save what’s left of humanity."

Brad felt fingers moving inside his skull.
They wiggled and prodded.

Mort, who had been holding his pen in a death
grip since seeing the stranger jump from the helicopter, saw
picture-Brad’s colors begin to flash yellow. He hurried forward and
jerked Brad away, placing his short, round body between his friend
and the stranger. "Leave him be, manipulator."

Brad’s head bobbed forward as the fingers
yanked themselves out through his forehead. He shook it off and
rubbed his face.

The man reappraised Mort. "
Very
good."
He glanced at Rakburn. "Maybe we should take
this
one with
us."

Rakburn shook his head but said nothing.

To Mort, the newcomer said, "Have no fear.
There’s no need to influence when you’ve already agreed. We should
probably talk about that, don’t you think?"

"Yes, I do." Mort didn’t budge.

"Well then." The man clapped his hands again.
"Let us start with introductions. You may call me Sam. And what
shall I call you?"

Mort went around the group, made the
introductions, then simply stared at Sam.

"Very good. Nice to meet all of you." Sam
winked at Izzy. "Now, if you have someplace we can talk, I can
inform you of your duties."

Rakburn pulled Izzy aside and let Mort lead
Sam and the rest inside the barrier and toward their house.

Bringing up the rear, Izzy tugged on her
grandfather’s sleeve. "Don’t leave me alone with him. He’s…I don’t
like him."

"I will not leave your side."

"This is the right thing to do, isn’t it? Us
helping them keep Phoenix running smoothly? Intercept anyone who
tries to stop it?"

Rakburn patted her hand. "Yes, my dear. It is
best for us to now include all the Psi, civilian and…otherwise.
Only this will stop what is happening, return us to our proper
place in this world."

She nodded and leaned against him as they
walked.

"Okay, Poppy."

* * *

Four men sat around the Club’s modest kitchen
table. Mort and Brad were on one side, Rakburn and Sam were on the
other. Adams leaned against the kitchen counter with Izzy. Mort
held the little brown book in his hands, the edges now worn and
frayed. Rakburn’s radio had been placed on the table before
him.

"You agree to the deal, yes?" Sam asked.

Mort glanced at Brad. The younger man tilted
his head only slightly. Mort looked across the table to Sam and
answered, "Yes."

"Very good. We still have time, so the first
thing that must happen is training." Sam looked around the room.
"The whole lot of you are a sorry excuse for the term ‘Survivor.’
Therefore, we will rely on what we have on hand to remedy that.
Resources being what they are," he spread his hands and shrugged,
"we will call on the aid of your Fort friends." He turned to
Rakburn.

"Right. Yes, sir. They are an able group.
Quite skilled."

Sam tapped the radio. "Contact them. You will
inform them that you and your granddaughter are moving on, and that
you would be in their debt if they were to look after your friends
here." He grinned and gestured to Brad’s group. "Look after them,
train them, teach them to survive."

Rakburn hesitated. "Sir, I am not sure—"

"Contact them."

Rakburn cleared his throat and called Jeff. A
few seconds later, a rough voice answered.

"Hey, Tommy! Damn glad to hear from you! Are
you okay?"

Rakburn cleared his throat again and glanced
across the table. "Yes. Hello, Jeffrey. It is good to hear your
voice as well. I am fine." He glanced at Sam, who prodded him to
continue. "Jeffrey, listen. I have a request."

"Sure thing. Name it."

"I and my granddaughter have decided to be on
our way—"

"What? You’re leaving? That’s a bad idea, you
know. Let me come and pick you up."

"No, Jeff. Please, listen. It has been
decided. We are leaving. Do not come for me."

"But, Tom—"

"Jeffrey."

The radio fell silent. All eyes were on
Rakburn. He waited a moment, then continued. "I need you to do
something for me. I need you to look after these people. They are
my friends, and very dear to my granddaughter. Can you do
this?"

Another long pause. When Jeff answered, his
voice was hoarse.

"Sure. S-sure, Tom. I can do that."

"You will need to gather your best hunters
and train these people. They know little of your ways. They will
need to learn how to take care of themselves. Can you do this?"

"Hey, Tom, don’t worry about them. I get what
you’re saying. We’ll make sure they’re set up."

Rakburn sighed and he relaxed back in the
chair. "Thank you, Jeff. Thank you very much."

Sam gestured for the radio. Rakburn hesitated
again. His superior glared and snapped his fingers. After the radio
was handed to him, Sam smiled.

"Hello, Jeffrey, is it?"

Silence.

"May I call you Jeff?"

"Who is this?"

Sam shifted in his seat. "Ah, yes. There you
are. I am a friend of Tommy’s." He lowered the radio and winked at
Rakburn. Then his smile disappeared and his face hardened. "Jeff.
Get your leader and put him or her on the radio."

Brad felt the fingers again, but instead of
in his head, they brushed over his arms, swept across the table
like a breeze, and wrapped around the radio. Mort straightened in
his seat and Adams started fidgeting. Even Rakburn had a reaction
to the psychic energy flowing from Sam.

"Jeff, did you hear me?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Hold on." Jeff’s voice sounded distant,
transfixed.

"What are you doing?" Rakburn hissed.

Sam waved his question away.

A minute later, another man’s voice boomed
from the radio. "Tracey."

Sam stared at the radio and made a face.
"What an odd way to answer. Is Tracey a first or last name?"

"Last name."

"Ah! And your first?"

"Mister."

Sam made wide eyes and lowered the radio.
"Oooh, tough guy." He raised it to his lips again and said, "Very
well, Mister Tracey, you may call me Sam. I have a very special
request for you. Now, listen carefully…"

Brad couldn’t stop from squirming in his
seat. The invisible fingers were all over him, like worms. From the
corner of his eye, he saw Mort swat at nothing on his chest. Behind
him he could hear Adams breathing. It was loud and rustling. Brad
heard Adams whisper something to Izzy. He glanced over his
shoulder; she’d hidden her face against Adams. Rakburn’s reaction
was similarly hostile; he clenched his fists and showed his teeth,
his eyes staying glued on Izzy. Brad couldn’t imagine what Mister
Tracey must be feeling, being on the receiving end of a
manipulation this strong.