Speed of Light (39 page)

I bore down with all of my being.

Several sequential flashes and a loud crack sounded almost on top of us. The rain lifted abruptly, continuing east and away from us.

Mini squirmed from my arms and I opened my eyes. Tony was coming back toward me. “You need to see this.”

I hobbled to my feet. Blood rushed to legs that had fallen asleep cramped in the tight space. I limped my way to the cliff face with Fara at my side.

Below us in the ravine, a giant tree was cleaved into halves by lightning. Still smoking, the charred outline was evident only because behind it, a low glow flickered like a candle.

A
s I ran, Tens easily kept up with me, his legs eating up twice the amount of pavement as mine. We headed away from the parade route.

Right a block.

Left a block.

Tens simply met my pace. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to sprint like this without sputtering out, but the training he insisted on paid off.
Prepping
.

My legs took over and I pumped my arms.

Three more blocks
.

“The drivers’ convertibles are part of the parade now. They’ve entered the course,” Tens said as we slid around
a group of race fans spilling out from a bar. We knew the sequence of the parade floats by heart.

Please let us get there in time. Which building is it?
I scanned the doors and addresses we passed.

Finally
.

An eight-inch-wide metal sign marked the old, nondescript stone office building.

We’d set records with the number of tornadoes this spring, including the one that took out DG. A surprising number of them came out of nowhere, with no warning and no prediction. All the warning people had, rested on hearing the tornado sirens. I hoped the weekly drills and unusually active tornado season would pay off with antsy parade fans.
Maybe people are jittery enough to scatter
. I glanced up at the sky. The nasty, roiling clouds moved toward us from Juliet’s direction.
I hope they’re okay
.

To Tens I said, “We need to set off the tornado sirens.” I grabbed the door handles and shook.
Locked
.

Tens looked through the glass panes and around the locks. “Stand back,” he said, leaning away, then slamming his leg into the doors.
Once, twice
.

The wood around the locks splintered and caved. The locks held, but the door didn’t.

“Come on.” I stopped to find the office number at the bottom of the stairs. The old building was pre-elevator, and what little ambient light was left didn’t reach the hallway. We had Tens’s cell phone light and that was all.

The sirens were computerized across the state. Each monitoring location had an override system, though.
Thank the investigative news team at Channel 6 for my knowledge
. Late-night news was detailed enough to put anyone but me back to sleep quickly.

We pounded up the stairs.
INDIANAPOLIS WEATHER SERVICE
. Locked. I unzipped my bag and held the gun Tens insisted I carry.
Don’t make me use this
.

I stepped back without Tens asking and again he broke in the door.

“What the hell?” A guy threw down his magazine. The poor kid was probably a college intern and got stuck with the parade shift. They didn’t expect problems. I was sure any real threatening weather increased office staff exponentially.

“Flip the tornado sirens on. Please,” I asked nicely.
We don’t have time to argue
.

“Yeah, sure. N-no problem,” he sputtered, and reached for the computer.

“Don’t touch it.” Tens held out his handgun like it was an extension of his hand.

“It’s a felony, you know.” The kid held his hands up.

Tens didn’t blink. “I’m pretty sure shooting you is too.”

“You are so dead, man.” The kid glanced at his computer screen.

“We’re trying to keep people from dying. Please,” I pleaded.

“Tell them we held a gun to your head,” Tens added. “You are,” he pointed out.

“It’s pointed at your package. Don’t be melodramatic,” Tens scoffed.

“Shit.” He looked like he might throw up the greasy taco dinner the wrappings around him attested to.

We don’t have time to wait
. “Just do it. Please,” I begged. “It’s not on the computer. Dial the phone.” I held out my gun and walked closer. “Please don’t make me shoot you.”

He blanched. “How do you know that?”

“Television.” To Tens, I said, “Computers crash. Phone lines don’t go down as easily because they’ve buried cables. It’s a code.” I looked down at the phone. “And it’s right here.” A list of codes, including the alarm.

I smiled and punched 1-4-3 into the phone.
Nice coincidence, Auntie
.

Less than a second later, the sirens blared.

Tens used plastic strips to cuff the kid’s hands and feet together in his chair.

“You can’t leave me like this,” he said.

“We need the sirens to keep going,” I answered.

We ran down the steps and into the street.

Already people moved in waves out of the stands, down side streets toward their cars, and ducked into buildings with storm shelters in the basements. The flood of humanity moved away from the Nocti threat.
Now we pray that this time we’re ahead of them
.

T
ens and I stayed in the neighborhood, out of sight, until the intern freed himself or backup arrived and the sirens cut off. Tens used the walkie-talkie to let the Woodsmen know the siren was false and the Nocti might continue with their plan. WoW sent a car to grab us and get us out of this part of the city.

“I’m exhausted,” I said to Tens as we climbed into a Woodsman’s car.

One Timothy spoke into a cell phone and relayed, “They’re shutting down the main roads looking for”—he paused—“you two.”

“I guess he freed himself,” I said.

“We’re heading to the Westfield house. Sit tight.” The driver took a hasty left and wound his way through residential streets.

“Don’t worry, in ten minutes there will be three eyewitnesses who not only have photographs of different people exiting the building, but also he’ll change his mind. It’ll all go away.”

“How?”

“It’s what we do.” The Woodsman shrugged and turned back to the road.

Could that be it? Was the parade the only thing they’d planned?

“We need to check on our friends,” I said as we were hurried inside the Westfield house.

Tens dialed his phone. “Tony? Uh-huh … right … okay … we’ll need you … Tony? Dammit, the phone disconnected.”

“What did he say?”

“I only caught every third word but he mentioned the fireflies and moving energy—said your name and lightning. Does that mean anything to you?”

I shook my head in frustration. “Try again.”

Every time Tens dialed, he got a busy signal or voice mail.

Timothy suggested, “Could be the weather coming from that direction.”

Or something worse
. Did voice mail mean they were merely out of the service area, or did we need to wonder what might have happened to them? I frowned.

“Don’t worry yet,” Tens said, planting a quick kiss on my forehead.

“If I could get to the window, I could check in with Auntie.”

“Need me to kill someone?” an overzealous Woodsman asked.

“No!” I yelled.

“No!” Tens shouted.

The guy frowned. Turning red, he said, “Sorry, just a joke.”

“Not funny.” I shook my head.

Another Woodsman said, “The apartment above the garage has a ghost. Would that work?”

“The wiring is bad,” another answered. “Not a ghost.”

“Wiring doesn’t turn the thermostat up to ninety degrees every freakin’ day.”

It might work. Auntie told me I should be able to manifest the window myself, even without a soul, but if there was a willing soul ready to go, that seemed easier given the time constraints. “Is it close?” I asked.

“Out there.” He pointed toward the back of the house.

“Take me.”

Tens grabbed my arm and opened his mouth. I knew he hated me taking risks.

I shook him off. “It can’t hurt, right? You stay here, keep trying to get ahold of everyone.”

Two Woodsmen escorted me outside, through the rain, to a garage apartment. One opened the door and
checked to make sure it was empty before letting me in. I almost laughed. Souls don’t jump out and say, “Boo.”
At least, they haven’t yet
.

Immediately, the room’s temperature elevated twenty degrees. And I was at a window.

I found myself in a fire station. The window looked down the pole and into frenzy below.
That’s an odd perspective. Can’t say I’ve seen any windows in the floor before
.

“Hello,” I said.

“I’m Hank. Pleased to meet you.” A fully suited fireman, in boots and coat, introduced himself to me, even shaking my hand.

“Would you like to join them?” I pointed down.

“Sure would,” he said, stepping to the pole and swinging a leg around. “Never was going to hurt anyone, you know.”

“I know.”

“Those boys were just so fun to play with.” He laughed and slid down. I peered over, hoping Auntie was down there. And that I wouldn’t see any of my friends.
No one I know
. Which was a good thing, because that gave me hope the rest of them were all alive.

I blinked and my body reacted with no lag time. I moved back toward the door; there wasn’t time to be excited about reaching this milestone. “The wiring is fine and the thermostat should be okay too.”

“Told you.” They bonked each other on their heads.

Tens was huddled in conversation with two other Woodsmen when I returned.

I shook my head as he came over to me. “No luck finding Auntie, but no one else either,” I said.

“Good. There are reports of a white powder on the sidewalks at the parade, but the rain is making it impossible to collect. They don’t know if it was a substance or residue from the float decorations. It’s washing away too fast.” Tens grunted in frustration.

“Just in case, they’ve called all cops in for duty. Even from surrounding areas. They’ve locked down the track to be safe. No one in and no one out until the morning cannon.”

“So was it an experiment or were they truly trying to hurt people?” I wanted to know.

“We don’t know yet, but assume the worst and hope for the best.”

I nodded.
Kinda hate not knowing
. “Then that’s it until tomorrow, right?” I asked Timothy.

He answered, shaking his head, “No, odds are the Nocti won’t do anything tonight with the elevated police presence, but the parties started at sundown and continue until the morning cannon, then keep going all day long.”

“There are parties?” I asked.
All I want is sleep
.

“Yeah, people camp outside the track, drink themselves into a stupor, and do dumb shit. Excuse my French,” Tim replied, a soft blush on his cheeks.

“Fact is, the Novelty doesn’t have to do anything—there’s plenty of mayhem and injury without their help,” someone else added.

“So we’re going to the track now?” I sighed.

“You need to check on your friends, right? We’ve got a team patrolling. Why don’t we call you if anything seems amiss? Otherwise come when you can.”

“Oh, but—” I hated the idea of someone else having to do my job.

“Rumi needs us,” Tens said quietly. “He’s asking for you.”

It was clear the conversation between Tens and the Woodsmen while I was soul hunting was much more detailed and explicit than what I was hearing.

“You want anyone to go with you?” Timothy asked. “As backup eyes?”

“No.” I was too tired to explain. “We’ll be fine.” I wanted a few uninterrupted minutes with Tens. I missed him. Even though we were spending every minute together, it seemed like we were very far apart.

Someone handed Tens the keys to their truck with a shrug.
I guess providing transportation is part of their job too
.

Huge, heavy drops fell so close together it was like the Creators merely turned on an industrial-sized faucet. The windshield wipers barely kept up with the downpour. Streets were flooded, the storm drains overflowing with so much water.

Tens headed toward Rumi’s. We didn’t speak. There wasn’t anything to say.
Or maybe there’s too much to say?

Finally, at the outskirts of the town, the rain stopped as abruptly as it started.

All of the lights were on in Carmel’s Art and Design District. The windows of each shop were filled with black-and-white clothing, jewelry, home décor. Even the statues now held race flags. The world doused in black and white seemed very apropos. Us versus them. Black versus white. Good versus evil.
Gotta love the irony
.

At the stop sign, I gripped Tens’s arm. “That’s Sergio.” Sitting on the bench, next to the newest statue facing Tony and Juliet’s condo.

I leaned forward, squinting.

“Is it?” The skepticism in Tens’s voice was palpable.

The light from the streetlights was terrible. But I saw that Tony and Juliet’s lights were all off; they weren’t home yet.
Why is he checking their windows and messing with the statue?

“What’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s doing something on a tablet. Why does he keep adjusting the statue’s head?” Tens leaned forward.

“I didn’t know the statues could move.”

“Me neither.”

A car behind us honked and Tens quickly turned onto a side street. “Did he look up?”

No!
“Crap, he jumped up—” I lost my view, twisting in my seat.

“He’ll be long gone.” Tens found the first street parking he could.

We leapt out of the truck and ran back toward the statue and Sergio.

“Yep, gone.”

Gone
. Tens swore. There was nothing to see. Nothing to tell us what Sergio had been doing.

What was he doing? Come on, come on!

“What’s that?” Tens bent down and lifted something from the curb. “A screwdriver? What for?”

“Check the statue. Is there a plate or a screw?” I ran my fingers over the metal and fiberglass.