Search (SEEK Book 1) (8 page)

Just as I begin to wrap my head around Irkalla’s telepathy something new begins. A funny soft tingle—not as strong as when my hand falls asleep, though still a pins-and-needles feeling—spreads from my fingertips, up my arms and neck, lifting the hair off my head as though I’ve touched a plasma ball.

A raw vibration pulsates through me: energy and strength like I’ve never known course through my veins. I feel like Wonder Woman, like I could leap down from this tree and maybe even fly.

“Wow!” I say out loud, but in my mind I think,
“Is this you?”

Irkalla nods, still smiling.

“Oh, I could get used to this!” I say, clenching and unclenching a fist. I reach for a branch, ready to test my new strength, when gunfire splits through the stillness.

There is no time for games.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

The expression never changes on Irkalla’s face, she just smiles and—still thinking of roses and daffodils—as I swing a leg over the branch.

Just as I find a foothold ten more rounds sound directly below us and send me scrambling for my bow. Within seconds I have an arrow strung and ready before I can zero in on the shooter.

“Hide!” I shriek at Irkalla.

There’s a faint “pop” and she’s gone, an oily, green, swirling bubble hovers in her place. Her thoughts fade from my mind as I push a branch quietly aside, searching the ground below for the hunter. Black boots crunch through the bed of leaves. It’s possible that Irkalla even healed my hearing. It sounds like the walker is right next to me. Then I catch a second person on the other side of the trees. The two are heading right for each other. I recognize the second pair of hikers as being Jonathan’s shoes. I remember him standing on the boulder like a god, immortalized in a bath of sunlight…

Oh, my God! What just happened?
My breathing labors in and out as I regain my focus watching the hunter approach. And Jonathan, unknowingly, walks straight toward him. My heart catches, skipping three beats, as the glint off a balding head moves into the clearing.

My blood slows to icy gel in my veins.

The chaos below me plays out in slow motion and seems no more real than a scene on a movie screen. Corduroy raises his hand and fires into the trees. Jonathan covers his head and ducks behind a tree. Three charred corpses litter the earthen floor. My eyes shoot to the surrounding trees. Hundreds of multicolored Khayal flutter in the branches. I can see them all, the colored ones that are bound to humans and the jet black ones that have no color at all because they have no soul to guard. It’s like a beautiful Christmas tree lit up and waiting for a celebration. But this is nothing to rejoice in.

Corduroy is on the hunt and he’s pretty good at feeling them. He knows he’s found a hive.

There’s a split second of stillness when I consider who I should save—the Khayal or Jonathan? Then the horror rages on as Cord’s Glock fires at the nearby maple a second time. Most of the Khayal scatter into bubbles, but one orange and two black shrivel and die on a bed of needles twenty yards from the base of this tree.

No! Don’t hurt them—don’t hurt them. They’re good!
I swing down the limbs without thinking.

“Stop!”  I leap the last eight feet, landing steadily and raising my bow in one fluid motion. I aim it directly at my partner’s chest.

“Donavan, what the hell are you doing? And why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on some fancy assignment?” The over-muscled cue ball smiles at me, confused by my sudden appearance.

“Put your weapon down, Cord and return to base,” I plead, holding back angry tears as a battle wars inside me. Save the Khayal, save Jonathan and save Cord.

“Drop the bow, Lindy. Have you lost your mind?” A familiar voice orders from behind me.

I snap into agent Donavan mode and track Martin from the corner of my eye. Her crossbow is trained on my right ear, but I don’t lower my weapon just yet. “Why don’t you go home and play with your dolls, Martin?” 

“You are so fired, you know that?” Martin hisses.

Wait. Martin doesn’t know? She still thinks I’m a hunter?

I glance at Cord, his dark brows knit together in confusion. He doesn’t know either? I’m stunned that he’s not privy to the fact that SEEK sent me to Ops to dispose of me, to let me die.

I whirl back to Martin as she begins to prowl, positioning herself for the kill.

“You think you’re so hot, stomping around here with your bad attitude and your untouchable record of kills. I’ve got news for you, Donavan! I’m Corduroy’s partner now, and it turns out your record isn’t that untouchable. I think you’re a fake and you’ve been stealing Cord’s kills all along.” Jealousy oozes from every feature on her delicate face.

I don’t care. I don’t want the record number of kills. It makes me feel sick all over again. The word “monster” echoes in my head.

“
You are a good person
,” Irkalla’s thoughts come at me from nowhere.

“Donavan, what are you doing? We’re friends,” Corduroy says slowly, laying his gun flat on his palm. “Back away, Martin. Don’t push her. She’s more dangerous than you think.”

“Get out of the forest.” I force the words through clenched teeth, happy Corduroy thinks I’m insane if that’s what it takes to save his life. And when I see the slight twitch in his middle finger I know I have the upper hand. It’s taking everything he’s got not to reach for his gun. And the only thing stopping him is that he knows in a shootout I’ll win.

I glance around peripherally relieved Jonathan is nowhere to be seen. At least he has the sense to stay out of this. One less thing I have worry about.

“So, what’s up, Donovan? How’s that new assignment working out?” Corduroy asks using a stall tactic taught to us in Basic.

And there’s the truth. Cord does know I was sent to Ops. He’s only surprised to see me alive.

“I can’t let you kill anymore Khayal. They’re not what you think,” I say, keeping up the unstable charade. There’s only one thing that scares a trained killer and that’s an equally trained killer who’s flipped out. 

A few impossible scenarios flash in my mind. I’m fast and accurate, but even with speed I’m not fast enough to reload against two targets at once. I’d have to take out Corduroy’s gun hand and restring before Martin could catch me with her arrow. I glower at Miss Prissy-Face. She’s ruining everything. For a brief moment I imagine what it would be like to shoot her.
If I pulled back just right…

I shove the morbid thought away just as Martin aims blindly at the shadows buzzing overhead. Both of her arms lift in the air. I could do it. She’s an easy target.

But not even revenge on Martin is worth committing murder.
Think of why you’re here!
I order myself, fighting off a barrage of mixed emotions.
You came here to help Lindy. You can do that now. All she needs is a Khayal. Feel your new strength pulsating through your muscles. Think what it can do for Lindy. You just need to get out of here. Alive.

At some point, as I’m battling back and forth with my own conscience, it dawns on me that these thoughts might not be entirely my own.

“You look crazy, Donavan. We’re gonna go, okay?” Corduroy staggers back two steps and glares fiercely at Martin, warning her not to challenge me. “Take it easy. We’re leaving.”  He puts his hands in the air.

Five consecutive booms echo through the trees. The next team of hunters is getting closer. So close that the next bullet whizzes past my ear and ricochets off a boulder.

“Drop it,” Agent Jackson’s cool voice growls behind me.

My single arrows won’t stand a chance against two guns and Martin. Then, just as I’m about to lay down my bow, a multitude of colorful wings appear out of nowhere, dive-bombing all three of their heads in synchronized precision.

Martin screams, her fluffy hair twirling in a cyclone around her shoulders. Corduroy cusses, throwing his arms over his head. Jackson empties a full clip, killing five Khayal before I can react.

In a split-second decision, I take the only chance I’ve got. I aim and pull, my breath releasing with the arrow. The arrow sticks in Jackson’s right shoulder. Shock stunning his face, he topples forward, unconscious.

“You have no choice,”
a little fairy says in my ear.

I stifle the guilt burning my throat and zero in on Martin before she can cock her crossbow.

My arrow slices clean through her forearm.

“Donavan!” Corduroy’s voice screeches through the commotion.

“You bitch!” Martin hisses, she doesn’t sound so girly now. “Christ!” she spits through highly-glossed lips as she rips off her belt, tying off the wound above the arrow. “Dang it, shoot her! And get me to the medic!” she shrieks at Corduroy. “You’ll pay for this, you traitor!”

My attention shifts to Corduroy. His gun is drawn and aimed at my head. If I move, I can kiss my face goodbye.

“Why?” His face contorts as he blinks a single tear away.

I shake my head, wishing I could tell him everything. Instead, we stare at each other. A long, silent moment passes by.
I’m so sorry.
Then movement in the underbrush startles us both and we redirect our weapons at the new participant.

Jonathan points my Glock laser between Corduroy’s eyes. I wish I could tell him to aim at Corduroy’s torso. If Cord sees the laser in his eyes he’ll know Jonathan doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. Cord’s hand comes up, aimed at Jonathan.

My breath catches.

I set Cord’s weapon hand in my sights, almost release, when his hand jerks upward unexpectedly. He raises his gun and fires aimlessly in the air. Two more Khayal fall dead beside me.

“No!” I cry and loose my arrow. It grazes Cord’s arm. I reach for another, but shots explode from my Glock before I can string it.

Corduroy crumples.

A tiny sob slips though my lips as I run, dropping to my knees and fumble over Cord’s bloody body. A few short hours ago, I considered him my best friend. Now my heartbeat thrums in my ears as I search for his pulse, finding nothing but static stillness.

“Shit!” Murder of a federal agent is punishable by death and the capture of the murderer is worth millions. Every bounty hunter in the free world will be after me. “Martin, get back to base! Send the medic!” I bark, scurrying over to Jackson and flip him to his back.

He has a faint pulse. I drop my ear to his mouth, but I can’t tell if he’s breathing. If he’s got any chance at all he needs someone right now but stupid Martin just sways on the spot, sobbing hysterically.

I string an arrow, whirling around and point it right at her face. “Go! Now!” I scream, pulse racing.

Martin jumps as though seeing me for the first, arm dangling like a wet noodle at her side as she staggers into the woods toward the SEEK compound.

“We have to go,” I say, not looking at Jonathan as I replace my unused arrow and set off at a jog. But after a few feet I realize he’s not following. I glace over my shoulder and find him standing there simply staring at the gun hanging from his limp fingers.

“I just shot a man,” he says monotone, his eyes hollow.

“Jonathan! Now! We have to get out of here.”

Nothing.

“Are you catatonic?”

No response.

I run back and smack him, hard. “Hey! Move it!”

Slowly, as though I tickled him with a feather, his hand rises to the reddening handprint on his cheek, but he doesn’t even blink. I slap the other side of his dumbfounded face. “Don’t do this to me, I can’t carry you and we need your plane. Let’s go!” 

“I shot a man for you. I must love you,” he says, in a high-pitched, crazy laugh.

“Oh, boy. Okay, you’re in shock. Let’s go, Casanova.” I roll my eyes, pushing against his back. He trips a couple of times, but eventually they move of their own accord.

“I’m serious. You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever known. And I hang with Khayals.” Insane sounds cackle in his throat, his too-green eyes wild and delusional.

“Wonderful, now walk faster.” I tug sharply on his sleeve, scanning the woods peripherally for anymore hunters.

“How do you turn it on and off like that? One minute you’re this villain—blam, blam, you shoot your bow like a pro—and the next you’re this.” He gestures up and down the length of me. “You are a beautiful girl.”

The way he says it, like it’s a statement of fact or something tells me one thing is for certain. Jonathan is delusional and I’m not trained to handle lunatics. No one’s ever called me beautiful. Lindy is the beautiful one. I’m the smart, independent, or even ballsy one. I push him up the hill, send him down the other side on his butt and drag him by the shirt collar past Jump Rock.

A siren wails from the SEEK compound.

“Martin’s reached Ops!” I hiss, clenching a fist around his wrist. “Run, dammit!”

Four-wheelers, outfitted with the latest high-tech weaponry, will be tearing through the trees within minutes. This terrain does nothing to slow them down.

“If they catch us, we’re both dead! Now, move!” I scream, releasing him.

Jonathan’s stumbling footsteps fall in behind me. I play back my own actions, a fresh wave of guilt worming into my head. I’m the one who brought Jonathan here and gave him a gun. If Cord dies it’s the same as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.

“Come on!” I shout. “Hustle!”

We hit the trail at Indian Staircase and I can see the clump of trees where I left the Hummer. I dig the key from my pocket, fumbling with unsteady fingers to press Unlock and Start Engine before I reach the door handle. I hurl myself in, shove the stick to Drive and stomp on the accelerator. Rocks and sand spray from the wheels. I wrench the wheel and yank the emergency break simultaneously. The rig careens sideways at Jonathan’s feet. I throw open the passenger door. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he pants, leaping in just seconds before the door slams where his legs were.

I punch the gas again and the Hummer goes hurtling over the boulder-covered field in four-low, jostling Jonathan around the passenger seat like a stuffed toy.

“I need a map!” I shout.

Seeming slightly more lucid, Jonathan springs into action. His Levi pockets shoot into the air as he stretches over the seat, rummaging for his laptop. “Got it!” he announces triumphantly, flopping down into his seat and typing so fast his fingers blur. “Here!”

Quickly, a peek at a time, I scan the map of Kentucky, Georgia and Louisiana. “Where’s your plane?” I ask, still shouting as the rig barrels full-speed down the dirt road.

“New York,” he says, pressing one palm flat against the ceiling. He manages to hang onto the laptop one-handed as we bounce across the narrow bridge and skid onto the highway. A rusty compact blasts their horn, spinning off the road sideways. “Head south to Highway 896.”

We barrel down the state highway, the speedometer pressed to its limit. Stillness stretches into minutes of shallow breathing and the occasional groan from the engine. According to the clock it’s taken thirty minutes for my pulse to return to a normal rhythm.

“You okay?” I ask, throat raw from screaming.

“I’m alive if that’s what you mean,” Jonathan whispers, his gaze locked on the road ahead.

“Well, thank you. It looks like your GPS switch worked. SEEK would’ve caught up to us by now if they knew where we were. They must think we’re still in the Boone.”

“No problem,” he says, voice vacant and missing its usual charm. “Can I ask you something?”

I nod, sensing what’s coming.

“How can you stand to shoot people?”

The question is so matter-of-fact that I don’t answer right away. He’s searching for absolution, but I’m not the one who can give it to him. Only he can do that.

“I don’t normally shoot people. Jackson, the blonde skinny guy, he was my first human,” I admit.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…I mean you’ve had training. Ugh, that doesn’t sound any better. I’m sorry. I’m butchering this. What I mean is, I’m having trouble coping.” Jonathan’s hand shoves into his mop and grabs a fistful of curls.

“You don’t have to apologize. I get it. Cord would’ve killed us both. The only way I’m coping right now is by focusing on the mission ahead,” I tell him, though the queasy knots in my stomach prove otherwise.

“Good advice, the mission,” he repeats passively. “What mission?”

“We have one mission, Jonathan, because other lives depend on us. Our mission is to carry on, outlast, and live to tell our stories.” I turn to him, sitting tall next me and staring glassy-eyed through the windshield.

The only things out there are trees bathed in evening sunlight and miles of empty road. I know where his thoughts are. He’s regretting helping me. And I don’t blame him one little bit.

Jonathan falls back into silence. Miles of cement drift by with the lull of the tires, and resemble some like calm. I’m certain I won’t ever feel peaceful again, but for now the stillness will do. Outside the scenery changes from winding and narrow roads to wide-open fields and arrow-straight highways. Every few moments I check the mirrors, still expecting to see an ominous black vehicle on my bumper, but so far, nothing. Then the sky bleeds red across the horizon. All that life lost; Khayal, Corduroy and maybe Jackson too. And for what? Is my life any more valuable than any of theirs? Is Lindy walking again more important than a man’s life? I wish the sunset away, willing it to turn black and rage with thunder instead. It’s what I deserve. But instead, the colors just hang there, taunting me, for the better part of an hour.

Finally, relief washes through me when the sun slips behind the horizon, freeing me from the painful reminder that I have let everyone in my life down.

“They’re not going to stop chasing us, are they?” Jonathan whispers, as though hearing my thoughts.

I loosen my grip on the steering wheel, fingers cramping in protest. “No, probably not.”

For a long while after that, he doesn’t say anything again, though every few minutes he lets out an exasperated sigh. After another hour of tedious night driving, Jonathan begins to snore softly and Cord’s face creeps back into my mind as the darkness surrounds me. Tears well, clouding my vision. I blink, willing the memories away but still they come. Cord’s lifeless body lying in a puddle of red. Jackson blue-faced and bloated surrounded by heaps of Khayal carcasses. I wipe my face with my sleeve.

This has to stop, all of it. The Brotherhood has to stop killing the Khayal and using them like spy-drones. Khayal aren’t robots. SEEK has to stop murdering. And Kistall needs to stop tricking people into joining their fake causes. “Do it for your country. Do it for your family,” they said. SEEK corrupted my soul, stole my innocence and turned me into a murderer.

I’ll never be able to atone for the lives I’ve destroyed.

Then there’s Irkalla, her sweet eyes so filled with love and thoughts of euphoric oblivion. All she knows and understands is peace, hope and love. She’s not running around trying to eat people like SEEK said. She’s merely trying to help them. And the Episteme Brotherhood, tricking people like Jonathan into using their Khayal, all so they can read the Khayals thoughts and gain information on their enemies.

It’s wrong. SEEK must be stopped.

“But how?” I mutter out loud.

Jonathan stirs in his sleep, turning toward me.

I press my lips together, wondering who would believe me if I told what I knew. The FBI or the CIA? Probably not. Would I believe it if a teenage girl if she walked into my office and said the government is killing paranormal creatures that heal and are using them as spies? No. And what would they do even if they did?

Eventually, I give up thinking, but everything outside looks the same in the dark, white headlights on my left and red taillights ahead. It’s depressing. There’s nothing left to feel except this looming fatigue as every bleak image in my mind fades. Then something new happens. The dark images are replaced with nice ones. The ones with Jonathan’s cheery face are my new favorite. I can’t help but smile when I see the vision of him fishing, sunlight playing with the blue hue in his unruly hair. A close second is the curious look on his face as he traced circles on my wrist. His lips looking as though they’d taste good. A tickle flutters in my stomach as I jerk from my daydream, disgusted. I’ve just had my first fantasy only hours after watching my best friend being shot. I glower at Mr. Yummy in the passenger seat. Something is definitely wrong with me, because all I can think is how I’d like to brush those curls off his face. “Idiot.”

Jonathan snorts and rolls over the other direction.

Just then, Cord reappears in my head again, only he’s not dead this time. He’s at the hospital, smiling at me. I’ll remember him like that.

A short time later I pull into a truck stop in West Virginia. Jonathan doesn’t wake as I step out into the brisk air. I look at the credit card scanner, frown and reach for the manila envelope stuffed under the front seat for some cash.

“Thank you, Harnel,” I say aloud, crossing the mini-mart’s dim parking lot.

Inside, the aisles are filled with travelers loading up on snack foods and sodas. I duck into the restroom, wash my hands and catch my reflection. I coax a tiny twig free from my hair to redo my ponytail. It’s pointless. My hair is one solid nest of snarls. Then I splash my face with water, scrubbing the streak of orange dirt off my cheek when I spot something in my eyes. Something new and very small, but it’s there I see it, an itty-bitty green flame—no bigger than a gnat—smoldering right there in my eyes.