Thunder (10 page)

Ganston gestured. “Do you see the image on the sandstone-colored building at the center of the model?”

“Yes.” She moved closer and bent over to peer at the structure, reaching out to touch the symbol above the front doors of the tiny building. Three pointed ovals were woven together at the center, with a larger circle overlaying the three as though they were intertwined like a braid.

“That's a curious symbol. It has a certain energy to it. Where did you get it?” Treva straightened up and faced Ganston.

“You know my passion for collecting antiques. This is a replica of a large stone image uncovered a few years ago in an area close to the Mountain.” He smiled. “Look closely at the model.”

“To laser out a town of this size in the Mountain is going to take years,” Treva said as she studied the landscape from all angles. “I'm not an engineer, but I see a few things I know they couldn't manage in here.”

Ganston put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “That's why this town is outside the Mountain.”

Treva backed up and sat down next to his desk. “Outside? Are you crazy? Everling will have a stroke. He'll bring you up on charges. You could spend the rest of your life in detention.”

Ganston sauntered to his desk and looked at his ComTex.
“He's the least of my worries. I want you to think about coming outside with us. I'm going to give you time to let this sink in, and I'll have my assistant message you a package of data, but you must keep it to yourself.”

Treva's eyes widened. “But sending me data is dangerous. It could get intercepted.”

“We've got that covered,” Ganston said. His intercom beeped. “Send her in.” He turned to Treva. “She's right on time.”

Again the door slid open and Ganston set his sights on Mojica. Using only one name like the rest of the members in her clan, she stood six feet tall, with an ancient Amazon warrior build of sinewy muscles and flowing black hair that complemented smoky dark eyes and heavy lashes. Make no mistake about it, any man who challenged her position as the head of security found himself on the ground looking up.

Ganston motioned her to a seat, then looked at Treva. “I would like you to meet Mojica. She's head of Mountain security.”

Treva looked nervous. She started to rise. “I don't think—”

“Easy, my child. She's on our side. She's leaving the Mountain to be our head of security in Stone Braide,” Ganston said with a wink. “Mojica, this is my niece Treva Gilani.”

Treva wrung her hands but sat back down.

Mojica held out her hand. “Just call me Mojica. And don't look so scared. I'm not going to arrest you for imprisoning Landers.”

Treva's eyes widened. Her face drained of color.

Mojica turned to Ganston. “She's a nervous one, isn't she?”

Ganston leaned over and patted his niece's hand. “We need
to know what information you can give us on the Lander project.”

She swallowed hard. “Uncle, that's dangerous business. There are so many ways we could get caught if I told you anything.”

Mojica batted her thick lashes. “My elite force is from my own clan and completely loyal to me. There will be no slipups with information.”

Treva's ComTex chirped and she looked down at it. “I'm being paged. I'm needed in the lab.” She rose to leave.

Ganston stood with her. “One question. Do you know where the test subjects are disappearing to?”

Treva started to walk to the door. She turned, pressed her lips tight, then shook her head. “This is against my better judgment to tell you . . . but they're desiccating.”

“What?” Ganston asked. “What does that mean?”

“They're turning to dust. Poof. Gone—and so am I.” She ran her hand over the panel button and the door slid open. She hurried out.

Treva strolled into Lab Section Ten and seated herself at the desk opposite the retainer pods, her hands shaking. She remembered what Stemple had said about the gag order. She couldn't jeopardize this job, not when she was so close to putting her plan into action.

She glanced at the plascine wall across from the desk. It looked like an ordinary gray-white wall with five widely spaced doors. To the uninitiated it just led to an assortment of plain storage rooms.

But when the control panel on the desk activated, the wall became a different world. She stared at the buttons. Many of them she never used, but she knew the purpose of each.

On the top row, one green button correlated to each of the five pods and turned the plascine wall of the pod transparent, exposing the interior living area.

The next button controlled the virtual wall. Each pod came equipped with a VW that afforded stimulation from outside scenery. It could be raised into the ceiling for solitary confinement status or lowered to reward compliant behavior.

The next row of black buttons controlled doors. The pale blue buttons were intercoms.

The bottom row of shield-covered buttons terrified Treva. With a bright shade of fire-red, they meant just that. In times of emergency, someone could lift the cover and hit the button, unleashing a firestorm inside the pod. Blowtorch-like jets in the ceiling, walls, and floor would incinerate and sterilize everything in the room.

Treva had heard stories. Her head jerked, probably more of a shiver than anything, but it helped to dismiss the agonizing and horrific thoughts. She pressed the green button for the first pod. The plascine wall changed from solid to translucent then slowly to transparent, allowing her an interior visual.

Glade Rishon seemed to be sitting in the same location each time the room materialized. Treva wondered if he did that on purpose. She'd never thought of looking at the interior camera ahead of time because it felt like she'd be invading his privacy.

She used the code and accessed his chart on her halo-tablet to finish her work.

Glade sat at the table with his back to her, staring at the virtual screen. She knew from past experience he realized the wall behind him had changed, but he refused to play the game by turning to greet the intrusion to his meditations.

Treva opened the intercom. “Hello, Glade. How are you today?”

“The same as I've been for the last eighteen years. That question holds no meaning any longer, and I feel you're humoring me by asking it,” Glade said without turning from the screen.

Treva bit her bottom lip. So much for polite conversation. “I didn't mean to insult you. I just—”

“You just what?” Glade slid around to face her. His fortyish good looks and chiseled features always took her breath away, especially his eyes, green with gold flecks that seemed to increase in number when he smiled.

Right now he wasn't smiling.

Treva averted her eyes, regrouped her thoughts, and looked back at Glade with a broad smile. “I need the required weekly tissue sample, and I have another injection for you.”

Glade narrowed his eyes. “Since you came, I've started feeling better, more normal. What are you doing to me?”

Treva's heart ticked a staccato beat. Her eyes searched the lab, looking for others, then she turned back to him. “You must never talk like that again. No one must know.”

B
odhi tested the shackles. He could feel the metal links give way as he flexed the muscles of his forearms. No need to free himself at the moment. Just knowing he could satisfied the urge. There'd been no opportunity to test his range of skills. He'd experienced increased dexterity with Selah on the beach but didn't know if the physical advantages would last once his mental abilities returned in full force, or even if his mental abilities would return. Mental impressions with others seemed to be getting stronger, but they didn't feel the same as communication skills at home. Here thoughts were deeper, harder to make connections. The only thing he knew for certain—the direction. North. He'd free himself when this pair of boys lost their usefulness.

The strange mix of ancient ways and modern technology amused him. During the travels north by horse and wagon, they had passed four-wheeled machines like he'd seen on the beach. They were distastefully noisy and propelled by an
acrid-smelling petroleum product that burned the inside of his nostrils. Fossil fuel use at home was ancient and a bane to the environment.

He'd also viewed top-line hovercrafts zipping over the trees and a low type of craft hovering above the ground. Neither craft trailed a smell so he surmised they used anti-matter or fusion propulsion. It interested him seeing them all mixed together . . . the Elite and Mundane living in harmony.

He came from a world populated by immortals and non-immortals called centorums. While immortals lived forever, barring catastrophic physical harm, a centorum lifespan consisted of one hundred years. The two races didn't mix—actually, interaction was illegal, which was part of the reason he had wound up in this forsaken land.

Among those two races, people were classified as Elite or Mundane depending on their economic status. The girl Selah probably fell among the Mundane. Her people seemed to be those who worked the dirt. He found her cute and she appeared flattered by his attention. She could prove useful.

He didn't know why he could generate communication with her. He'd seen her face clearly and she was not a Lander. He'd sensed her back at the barn and now in the tree line when her brothers set up this camp a few hours ago. Her rhythm was quiet and undisturbed. Probably asleep. He decided to nudge her. A test opportunity. Could he wake her with a few thought jabs?

Selah tossed and turned. The ocean shattered.
Thump.
The people on shore shattered.
Thump
.
Fear.
Thump.
Sound
invaded her sleep, soft at first, then a growing intensity pushing away the pleasant dreams of home. Her eyes flew open. Disoriented. Her mind had been enjoying the ocean, now she stared into darkness. Where was she? She looked at the stars through the forest canopy. A sigh escaped her lips. The Company station.

She must have slept at least three hours. Darkness had fallen. She could have been caught. She'd devise a better plan, but right now she needed to get her bearings.

Selah focused on the sounds. Her brothers' voices drifted to her as she tiptoed forward. They had pastured the team and were enjoying a roaring fire. She reminded herself how foolish she'd been. It was pure luck they'd never found her. She crept through the tree line parallel to their camp.

In the glow of the crackling fire she saw Bodhi, still shackled, sitting on the ground propped against a tree. Her hopes soared. She could sneak behind the tree when the boys were asleep and free him with no problem. A perfect plan.

She watched Raza and Cleon eat. They didn't offer Bodhi anything, not even water. Stupid boys! They had never been forward thinkers. If he died before they got to the Mountain, what good would that do?

As though Cleon heard her thoughts, he threw a hunk of bread at Bodhi. “Here, enjoy it. That and a cup of water are all you get of our supplies.”

Bodhi stared down at the bread, not attempting to retrieve it.

“You idiot,” Raza said. He cuffed Cleon on the side of the head. “His hands are shackled behind him. Do you expect him to pick up the bread with his mouth? Go fix it!”

Cleon looked sheepish. He scrambled around the campfire and retied Bodhi with a tether leashing his hands and feet together. It gave him enough room in a sitting position to reach his hands. He bent forward to chew on the bread.

With his head down, his eyes looked in Selah's direction. They sparkled in the light of the campfire. Selah's breath caught. Once again he knew she was here. This time he smiled. At least he didn't appear angry. She owed him an apology and hoped he'd accept.

She drank in how bronzed he'd become from a full day under the sun. The firelight danced on the golden sheen covering his muscular shoulders. A tingle rolled up her back.

Selah leaned back against the tree. She could do this. The boys would bed down an hour later. She spent the waiting time using her new hearing skill to distinguish sounds of the forest. A hiss. Two opossums rustled the undergrowth over a dead mouse. A raccoon passed, probably on its way to the stream to wash the leaves he carried. Owls hooted and a night bird twittered.

She would watch for fifteen more minutes to be sure they were asleep. Raza began to snore as usual. Cleon never snored but he had a disgusting habit of drooling. Sure enough, ten minutes later the glistening rivulet of liquid began to slide from the corner of his mouth onto the sleeve where his head rested.

Selah snuck her way around to the trees behind Bodhi. Just as she was about to break through her undergrowth covering, she glanced to her right.

Two large green-flecked eyes stared back at her. A scream welled in her lungs and she slapped a hand across her mouth
to stop it. Backing up in fear, she toppled over. A small hand put its dirty finger to a pair of lips, motioning her to be quiet.

Selah nodded. She didn't know if this was friend or foe. With no chance of getting away, she decided to comply. The foliage parted, and a thin girl dressed in rags emerged. She pointed toward Bodhi and shook her head.

Selah didn't understand. Did the girl not want her to rescue him? She started through the bushes again. The girl grabbed her by the arm and vigorously shook her head.

Selah backed up and whispered, “What's the problem?”

The girl pointed past Bodhi to the other side of the trees. She leaned over and whispered in Selah's ear, “There are four men camping in those trees. I heard them tell these two they would stand watch half the night if the two boys would look out for bandits the rest of the night. I snuck around them. They're awake and watching.”

Selah leaned back against the tree, banging her head a couple times. Another mess up. If she'd been awake when they arrived, she'd have seen the other group. She owed this child a big thanks.

Her spirits sank. She wasn't going to rescue Bodhi here, so she needed to move on to the next station and hope her luck held. She peered through the foliage. She couldn't signal him. His head was down, his eyes closed. Was he sleeping? Silently she wished him peaceful sleep and told him she would try to get him free tomorrow night. She motioned the girl back into the trees and they moved in the opposite direction.

Selah stared at the girl's dirty, disheveled appearance. “I was trying to free my friend,” she said as they sorted their way among the trees.

The girl led the way toward the sounds of the stream. “I saw you make eye contact with him, but I wasn't sure you saw the others.”

Selah saw the stream come into view, glistening in the moonlight. Suddenly something grabbed her around the neck. A hand thrust across her mouth. She clawed at the fingers and tried to stomp on the feet but the grip on her throat cut off her air. She felt herself becoming lightheaded.

“Be quiet or I'll snap your neck,” the gruff voice said.

She could smell tobacco and alcohol. Fear squeezed her chest. It wasn't her brothers. Panic set in and her limbs started to shake.

“What do you want? I don't have any bio-coin,” she managed to croak through the grip on her neck. It wasn't a lie. Her leather pouch was hidden in her backpack, on the other side of the Company station.

A snorting exhale fluttered the hair close to her ear. Every time she struggled, the large meaty hand increased the clutch on her windpipe. Stars swirled before her eyes. Selah thought of the horrors that befell Borough girls when they ventured too far away from home at night.

Where was the little girl? It was a stupid thought, but the only thing that felt real at the moment. Had the child run away?

On the verge of tears, she imagined the marauder, grimy and unshaven.
Please stop.
No, this couldn't happen to her, not now. She blinked, trying to hold the drops at bay. Did she see the child behind that tree? Yes. The child motioned her to back up. Selah didn't understand. The girl motioned again.

Selah stepped backward into her assailant, throwing him
off guard. He stumbled another step back, pulling her with him. She heard a rope slip and a tree rustle, followed by a great whooshing sound.

“I want you to be nice to me,” came the voice behind the sour breath. “I think we should move to—”

A sickening crunch of flesh and bone. Something rough crossed her back, making her stumble forward and fall to the ground. A short scream and a huge splash. Selah jerked up on her hands and scrambled away.

She wheeled around. A large log swung back and forth on two ropes like a sideways swing. The dirty little girl scurried out from behind the tree and grabbed Selah's hand. “We have to get away in case the others heard him hit the water.”

Selah gaped. The current carried the flailing man downstream. The stream on this side of the station joined with another stream to become more of a river. The water had saved her again.

The two girls ran through the rest of the trees, stepped from the soft forest floor to the pressed hardpan of the well-traveled and rutted road, and crossed to the other side. Selah stopped and leaned over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her mind conjured visions of what could have happened. Her knees shook. She needed self-defense skills. There would probably be many more lecherous men between here and her father. After she'd skirted the Waterside boys, why hadn't that entered her mind? Now her arms trembled too.
Stop it. Not now.

Selah hugged the child, who struggled to get away. The embrace helped to stop the tremble in her arms and legs and reminded her of Dane. She thought of him on his own at the
age of nine and it scared her to death. What if there was an accident and her family died? Who would help Dane? Could she wish for someone like herself to help her brother?

“You saved me again. How did you do that?” Selah asked with a laugh as she released the squirming child.

The girl made the same funny faces Dane usually made after getting free of her hugs. “It's a tree trap. The older boys made it. Sometimes they get chased by Company soldiers. I can't let them know I tripped it because they get real mad at us kids for messing with their stuff.”

Selah looked around. “Are there more of you?”

The girl nodded. “I'm usually by myself but there are others that hang around. Least ten. Sometimes more. Depends on who's passing through. They travel a couple of Boroughs. The neighbor lady calls us miniature marauders. What's that mean?”

“Never mind. You did good today.” Selah sat on a downed tree. “Thank you for saving me. Who are you?”

The girl plopped to the ground at her feet. “Amaryllis.”

“Amaryllis? That's very pretty. My name is Selah Rishon. What's the rest of your name?” She realized this was the first time she didn't say Chavez.

Amaryllis shrugged. “Don't know. Don't remember.”

Selah touched the girl's head and removed a small twig entwined in the snarled mess that used to be called hair. It looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years. She foraged for several other protruding stems. The child reminded her so much of Dane. It must be the traits of their age group. There had always been refuse in his hair after he'd crawled through the underbrush watching rabbits.