Allie's War Season One (13 page)

I JERKED AWAKE.

My face hurt from being ground into a wrinkle in the cloth seat. Drool connected my lips to the cushion until I raised my cuffed hands, wiping my mouth clumsily with my fingers.

Gazing through a dirty window at the pre-dawn light, I felt my heart clench.

But this was no smoke-drenched city of auto-rickshaws, bicycles and millions of Chinese. All I saw was pale blue sky above a low horizon of two-story Craftsman homes. Our car was the only one I could see in an empty parking lot before it transitioned back to the main road. I glimpsed ocean through the trunks of trees on the other side of that same road, broken by more houses on a street that sloped downwards, probably leading eventually to the beach itself. A seagull sat on a dimming orange parking lot light, stabbing at something with its beak that it held between its toes.

Next to me, he shifted position, drawing my eyes.

His long body stretched across the driver’s seat, his head and neck cramped in the crack by the driver’s side door. Despite the awkward angle of his body, he was asleep.

His face, even his hands lay open as he breathed.

I watched him sleep, and that inexplicable nausea I’d felt around him in the park returned. It rose and crested...then started to recede when I felt a returning pull from him, like a slow tugging below the navel that brought heat, along with another wave of that discomfort. I clutched my belly in reflex, then pressed my hand to the middle of my chest, rubbing the spot there, even as he shifted his weight uncomfortably, lowering a hand to rest on his thigh.

When that feeling didn’t lessen, a soft sound left his throat.

I waited to see if he would wake. When he didn’t, I let out my held breath.

Quietly, I bent forward, testing the binders on my ankles.

The hard plastic had already cut into my skin. I tugged on the ring anyway, feeling the connecting points for how to unlock the plastic knot. I fumbled with the end, realized a key fit in there, a small one.

I opened the glove box, moving papers and the oil rag as quietly as I could, looking for something sharp, but all I found was a broken pen that leaked ink, a used up book of matches and a condom so old the wrapper had cracked in the heat of the engine. I felt around under the seat, looking for anything that might saw through the thick plastic.

“Does it hurt?”

I jerked back, slamming my head into the open glove box lid. When I glanced up, rubbing my head, his pale eyes shone orange in the streetlights.

“Do you sleep?” I said.

He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, reaching into his back pocket.

My eyes followed his hands as he pulled out a rectangular piece of featureless, black metal. He unfolded the blade housed inside and before I could fully absorb the reality of the knife, he bent to my ankles. Without warning the hint of nausea leapt.

Holding the plastic off my skin, he cut through it with a single tug.

I was still reacting to the relief of that pressure being gone when he pulled off the hard coil, letting it drop to the floor of the car. Once he had, he traced the red line on my ankle with his finger. When he did, the nausea surged, catching me off-guard.

Swallowing, I looked away.

“Is it all right?” His voice was gruff.

“Yeah.” I drew my feet away from his fingers. “Thanks.”

“I should have taken it off,” he said.

“It’s fine. Forget it.”

I watched him look at me.

As I did, I couldn’t help but remember what he was. Even in early adolescence, all I’d ever heard about seers was that they had, well,
issues
with sex...that they were born with abnormally high sex drives, that the males would rape or manipulate women into sleeping with them, that the females couldn’t say no to anyone, no matter who they were. I always figured it was b.s., a way to scare girls off the males at least.

Looking at him now, though, I wondered.

There was definitely something different about his sexuality...an added component of some kind. Whatever it was, there seemed to be a lot of it.

Averting his eyes, he sank back in his seat. After he refolded the knife and replaced it in his back pocket, he shoved his hand in his front pocket, extracting the keys.

“Did
you sleep?” I said. “Or were you faking before?”

Ignoring me, he started the car, gunning it slightly to blow out the exhaust. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can I call my mom?”

The look in his eyes flattened. “No.”

He put the car in gear. The wheels crunched through gravel and garbage as he drove to the edge of the parking lot. We bumped over the low curb as he pulled onto the road.

“Where are we?” I said.

“Washington.”

“Washington? What happened to Oregon?”

“You slept through Oregon. I took us to the main highway.”

I gazed out at the gray-looking town, feeling my stomach start to cramp. “Why?” I said finally.

“I wanted to make some time. There is a safe house in Seattle. I thought—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Why can’t I call my mother?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“Say I believe you,” I said. “Say I believe some of it, anyway. Why can’t I call my mom, tell her I’m okay?”

He shook his head. “The Rooks will have infiltrators with your people by now.”

It took another few seconds for his words to penetrate.

“My
people?”
I said.

Not seeming to notice my stressed tone, he nodded, once. “They will use them to gather imprints on you. To track you.” He pointed to a sign with missing marquee letters. “...I could get us food there.”

I stared at him, my mouth ajar. My voice rose.
“Use
them? To track me? How does that work, exactly?”

He focused on a field beside the road, a stretch of sharply green, waving grasses dotted with wildflowers where cows grazed in the early morning light.

“Revik!”

My tone jerked his eyes over. His fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel.

“What does that mean?” I said. “Are they going to hurt my mom? My friends?”

After a flat beat of time, he looked back out the window.

“All right,” he said. “We will eat later.”

He turned onto the ramp for Highway 5 North. The Plymouth made a growling noise as he accelerated from the base of the hill.

In my defense, I didn’t actually know I was going to do it.

I didn’t plan it, which is probably why he didn’t look over until I already had my fingers on the handle of the car door.

By the time he lunged, I was in mid-motion.

My weight followed with a hard lurch as my fingers snapped the latch.

His foot slipped on the clutch...he miscalculated where he aimed his hand as a result, snatching at the edge of my ripped shirt, getting the blanket instead. I slid off the seat and into cold rushing air as the blanket unraveled around me...

There was a silence.

In it, I felt free, an odd rush of joy...

Then my body smashed inelegantly into the ground.

I hit, bounced, rolled, scraping arms and elbows and face as I tumbled down a rock and weed and garbage-strewn slope beneath the ramp.

My cuffed wrists smacked against my chest, then my face. I finally used them to slow my fall, digging the metal rings into the dirt as I slid on my stomach, my legs partly splayed. Coughing gravel dust and dirt, I stumbled drunkenly to my feet at the bottom, my ankles still stinging from the plastic bindings. Somehow I felt that more than the pain of the fall itself. Brushing bits of rock off my forearms and knees, I limped barefoot towards the main road.

On the ramp above, the GTX had come squealing to a stop.

Another car slammed it from behind, knocking it further into the middle of the ramp. Cars careened into angled stops in a rough line behind the first, and promptly began to honk.

Revik got out. Ignoring the other drivers, he walked to the edge of the ramp and looked down at me. A young guy in a stained shirt and cap got out of a rusted pickup and started walking towards the Plymouth.

“He’s a seer!” I screamed, pointing at Revik. “He kidnapped me!”

Revik stared down at me, his pale eyes hard.

The guy in the cap looked at me, then at Revik. His voice rose in excitement. “Call the cops, someone! Terrorist! Bona fide terrorist here! Call 911!”

Revik turned his head.

The boy with the stained baseball cap stopped in his tracks.

His face went into a childlike slump. After the barest pause, he turned around and walked back to his truck. He climbed into the cab and sat there without moving, not even honking. The two other people who’d gotten out of their cars also returned to them obediently.

Did you really think it would be that easy?

I jerked my eyes back to Revik, feeling my breath stop.

You know so much about seers, after all...

He was angry.

Really damned angry.

My throat constricted as I took in the expression on his face. I hadn’t been afraid of him before. I probably should have been, but I hadn’t been, not really. I was genuinely terrified of what I felt off him now, even as my physical vision slanted out, replaced by...

“Stay away from me!” I screamed.

...DARKNESS, HIM FLICKERING in and out, outlined in pale sky, shadowy and lean at the rise in the road, then stark in the negative, a brilliant light against indigo clouds. Dark gold meets red sparks through lines that make up his arms and chest.

I look at him and know I’m in the Barrier even as I take in his sharp, structured form.

I have barely wrapped my mind around this, when...

His arm surges with a fire-like light.

The light brightens, turns blinding, right before it leaves his fingers.

Before I can think what it might mean, the burst spins down upon me, aiming straight for me, like and I don’t think, don’t form a single conscious thought.

Instead, I step aside, even as a part of me reaches up, takes the fire-like ball and sling-shots it back at him in one smooth, reflexive motion...

It bears down on him, fast.

I stare, bewildered as I realize it’s going to hit him, that I just threw something at him, and I have no idea what it will do to him. Just before the fiery burst touches his outline, however, a white density of light materializes around him.

The burst hits the shield, glances off and dissipates.

It all happens so fast I barely take it in, and when it’s done I feel something off him, surprise, but with another feeling following close behind...not quite pleasure, but a sharp flicker of interest, like a part of him waking up.

The predator raises its head, focuses on me intently, like a wolf meeting its own kind.

My eyes snap back into focus, and I see him in the physical again. His pale, light-filled eyes are watching me, and I see the predatory stare there, too.