Lesser Gods (17 page)

I turned around and saw one of the Knights of Raven Three standing beside Mr. Watson and frowning at me. “That’s dangerous, kid,” he said as he briskly walked up to me and snatched the rifle out of my hands. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Just looking,” I muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

Mr. Watson turned toward the Knight and said, “Oh, don’t you worry about Hansel. He’s Rabbit’s boy. He knows what he’s doing.”

I was grateful for the first thing Mr. Watson said, offended by the second, and grudgingly disagreed with the third.

“Make yourself comfortable, Hansel,” Mr. Watson said casually. “We still have more than two hours before anything happens.”

I walked back into the motorhome, slammed the door on the noise of the screaming crickets and sat down heavily on one of the lower bunks. Anything that happens tonight would happen in the Holy Land, not here. I wondered if what I was feeling was envy. Did I really want to join the battle, kill people in their sleep, and possibly get shot? No. I had promised Terry I would join the Knights with her. That was all there was to it.

“Adrian?” said a man’s voice. I raised my head and found myself looking up at Mr. Art Barnum.

“Hansel,” I corrected half-heartedly.

“Right,” said Mr. Barnum, “Hansel. They call me Painter.”

“Painter?” I chuckled. “Well, I guess that wasn’t a very long stretch.”

“How’d you end up with Hansel?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

Mr. Barnum sat down on the opposite bunk. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear it.”

The short of it was that when I turned psionic about two years ago, I had confided in my sister Cat that I was terrified of what might transpire as a result of my telekinetic power. Cat had suggested that “and they all lived happily ever after” would be the most appropriate ending, and I later made the mistake of telling this to Cindy. The Grimm brothers’
Hansel and Gretel
was one of Alia’s favorite bedtime stories, and Cindy took the liberty of choosing our call signs back when Alia and I were conscripted by Mr. Baker for our very first and very doomed mission.

It took a while to explain all that to Mr. Barnum.

“I’m glad you’re staying behind, Hansel,” said Mr. Barnum. “This mission sounds quite dangerous, and I’d hate to think how your Gretel would feel if you didn’t return. Besides, I was feeling a bit lonely myself in this crowd.”

“I know how you feel,” I said, and then asked, “How are you settling into New Haven, Mr. Barnum?”

Mr. Barnum smiled. “I thought it was Painter, Hansel.”

“Right,” I said, chuckling. “So, Painter, how are you settling in?”

“Well, as you can see, I didn’t really have much chance to settle in yet. I have my own place in New Haven Five, though it’s not yet entirely furnished. I had been thinking of looking for a job when this came up.”

“I hope you get a real job when this is over,” I said.

We talked for a while longer, and I got to hear a bit about Mr. Barnum’s past life as a fireman. He didn’t make it sound nearly as exciting as I had imagined, but it was good to hear about a lifestyle that was dedicated to preserving life as opposed to ending it.

When I glanced at my wristwatch, it was past midnight.

We heard knocking on the side door, and Mr. Barnum opened it to Mr. Watson, who said, “Painter, Hansel, Ravens One and Two are almost on site.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Barnum, stepping out of the motorhome. I followed him out.

Mr. Watson was carrying a large radio transceiver in his right hand. It was the only one Raven Three had that was powerful enough to send and receive signals through the thick forest and communicate with the assault teams. It crackled lightly and I heard Mr. Simms say, “Raven One to Raven Two, we are at the entry point. Signal when ready. Over.”

“Roger that, One,” said Jack P. “We’re nearly there. Over.”

Some of the drivers had joined the assault teams, so there were only five men in Raven Three, not counting me. According to the mission plan, each member of Raven Three was supposed to sit at the wheel of one of the SUVs and be ready to move out in seconds. In an abort, it would still take nearly two hours for the Ravens to get back here, but if they had to escape in a different direction, we might be called on to intercept. In that scenario, we would abandon the motorhome, minibus and van in order to make a speedy exit back to the main road. I couldn’t drive so there was no point in me sitting in the sixth SUV, and I figured I’d stay with Mr. Watson so I wouldn’t miss out on the action coming from the transceiver.

But it turned out that no one was willing to sit at the wheel of a car when they too could be listening in on the mission progress. The Raven Three Knights had instead gathered next to Mr. Watson’s SUV, which was parked near the center of the clearing for better reception. Staying outside with the rest of us, Mr. Watson set the transceiver on the roof of his vehicle as it crackled again.

We heard Jack P say, “Raven Two to Raven One, we are at the fence. Zero is clearing the hole now. Over.”

I wondered if Terry was standing beside him. I wondered what was going through her mind, and what she was feeling in the final moments to the attack. Knowing Terry, probably excitement.

Getting edgy, I tapped the window of the SUV, asking Mr. Watson, “Are all of these cars bulletproof, or just this one?”

“Bulletproof?” laughed Mr. Watson. “Who told you this car was bulletproof?”

“You did! Just before we left.”

“Oh, did I?” asked Mr. Watson, still laughing. “I might have. I can’t believe you took that seriously, Hansel.”

The Knights chuckled quietly. I stared embarrassedly at the tall weeds as the radio came on again.

“Raven Two to Raven One,” said Jack P, “we are inside and in position. Awaiting go. Over.”

“Roger, Two,” said Mr. Simms’s voice. “We will go noisy in ten.”

Mr. Watson whispered, “Here we go.”

“Standby... standby,” said Mr. Simms, and a second later, “Go! Go! Go!”

I heard popping noises from the transceiver. It hardly sounded like gunfire at all. More like balloons popping. Or even popcorn.

“Right tower! Right tower!”

“I see them!”

More popping noises.

“Good kill! Good kill!”

“Burn them out!”

“Radio station is clear! Move! Move!”

“Break it down! Fire in the hole!”

The shouting, gunshots, and who-knew-what other sounds mixed together made it almost impossible to tell who was saying what. I strained to hear Terry’s voice, but couldn’t.

Another burst of gunfire. This time, it sounded surprisingly real considering the quality of the transmission.

Far too real, in fact.

I snapped my head around as another round rang out, followed by rapid machinegun fire. One of the Knights standing beside me fell backwards, clutching his throat.

“Get down!” shouted Mr. Watson, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the ground.

Aside from the waist-high grass around us, our only cover in the clearing was Mr. Watson’s non-bulletproof SUV, and we put our backs against the vehicle as we tried to locate the source of the incoming fire. The SUV’s windows exploded and bits of shattered glass rained upon us. One of the vehicle’s tires burst with a loud bang. I could see the right foot of the fallen Knight twitching feebly nearby.

“What the hell is going on?!” shouted the Knight who had earlier taken the rifle from my hands. I noticed he didn’t have his weapon with him now. He got up on his knees to look over the tall grass. Several bullets ripped into his upper body, and he fell onto his back, emitting a low hissing noise from his chest.

I caught sight of Mr. Barnum’s face next to mine. He looked pale but in control.

“We’re dead if we stay here,” he breathed.

There were only four of us left, and the SUV was offering little or no cover. Our attackers, whoever they were, had encircled the clearing while we were busy listening to the transceiver.

I reached for the button on my tracer band, hoping the Raven assault teams might notice my distress signal, but my thumb touched only skin. I had left the transmitter with Alia!

“Hansel, get the radio off the roof!” shouted Mr. Watson.

I couldn’t see the transceiver from my sitting position, but I knew where it was so I telekinetically locked onto it. The large transceiver had too much metal in it to levitate, but I could just barely drag it over the roof toward us.

When the device fell at our feet, Mr. Watson picked it up and swore loudly. The transceiver had been shot to bits.

Mr. Watson’s face was covered in blood, but he wasn’t injured. The blood was probably from the Knight who had just been killed. Still, Mr. Watson was being drained, and this was probably the sole reason he hadn’t turned invisible, discarded his clothes and made a run for it. A pair of eyeballs would have been hardly noticeable in the dark, and Mr. Watson looked panicked enough to do just about anything right now.

“Painter! We need smoke!” Mr. Watson screamed wildly. “Fire the grass!”

“I can’t,” breathed Mr. Barnum. “I can’t control it yet. We’ll burn up here.”

More gunfire missed us. Our attackers knew basically where we were, but they were having trouble finding us in the grass.

“Okay, we’re going to make a run for the trees,” said Mr. Watson, finally regaining some of his calm and throwing down the broken transceiver. “Two directions!”

He grabbed Mr. Barnum and the other Knight by their sleeves and shouted, “You two, that way!” He pointed to the edge of the clearing that was closest to the SUV. There was no cover aside from the grass, but at least the distance wasn’t too great.

“Hansel, with me!” commanded Mr. Watson, pointing toward the motorhome. “Over there!”

Mr. Watson was planning for the two of us to use the motorhome as partial cover as we made a dash for the far side of the clearing. My gut told me that Mr. Barnum’s route offered better odds, but this was no time for argument.

Mr. Watson grabbed the front of my shirt, saying, “And keep your feet on the ground, Hansel! You fly here and you’ll be shot to hell. Crouch low and move fast.”

“Let’s do this,” I breathed.

“On three!” said Mr. Watson, releasing my shirt. “Ready?! One! Two! Three!”

My legs felt like rubber, but somehow they carried me. As Mr. Watson and I made a beeline for the motorhome, I could hardly hear the gunshots around me. All I really remember is keeping my head down, listening to my own shallow breathing and racing heart, and knowing that at any moment my life could end.

Pudgy Mr. Watson wasn’t about to win any races. Between us, even with shorter legs, I was the faster runner. When I reached the front left of the motorhome, I realized that I was alone. But I had no time to think of what might have happened to Mr. Watson. I scrambled along the shadow side of the motorhome toward the rear.

There were still twenty yards or so of open ground between the rear of the motorhome and the trees beyond. Nearing the end of my cover, I broke into a sprint to gain speed before the final stretch, but at that moment a shadowy shape appeared from around the corner of the vehicle.

I plowed into the man. We both nearly lost our balance, but didn’t. The man had an assault rifle in his hands, but it was too unwieldy to use against someone grappling with him. With little thought, I rammed my right hand, palm open, into his stomach, and released the strongest telekinetic blast I could at point-blank range. The man screamed. I heard his backbone snap in two. I felt warm liquid drench my hand, draining my psionic power. Dropping his rifle, the man fell limply onto the ground, unmoving.

Suddenly the large rear window of the motorhome shattered as another gunshot echoed across the clearing. Drained by the man’s blood covering my right hand, I knew I couldn’t fire any more telekinetic blasts. I grabbed the assault rifle from the ground and dragged it back to what I hoped was a safe spot against the side of the motorhome.

I was too panicked to check if the safety was on or off, so I squeezed the trigger once. Four rounds fired in rapid succession before I let go of the trigger. It was on automatic.

Compounded with the blood on my right hand, the assault rifle was draining me so much I was getting quite dizzy, but still I hung onto it for dear life. Swinging the heavy gun into a firing position, I cautiously crept back toward the front of the motorhome. I wasn’t even sure where I was going now, but I was afraid to make the final run to the trees from the rear. But where else could I go? My panicked eyes desperately searched for another route.

A gunshot rang out behind me. I reflexively pulled the trigger as I spun around, emptying the entire clip in one long burst. The gun bucked wildly in my hands, and it was only by blind luck that the last few bullets found their mark. I heard a high-pitch shriek. As my pale-skinned attacker fell backwards, still clutching a thin hunting rifle, shoulder-length blond hair glinted in the moonlight. It was a woman.

I looked toward the trees beyond her crumpled, motionless form. There was nothing for it. I’d have to risk the open before my indecision cost me my life.

I heard footsteps approaching quickly. I couldn’t be sure of the direction, but they sounded like they were coming from the other side of the motorhome. I dropped the assault rifle and instantly felt most of my physical strength return. I still couldn’t use my power, but at least I could run.

I was about to make another attempt for the trees, but that’s all I can remember from that night.

Chapter 6: Voices in the Dark

I came to, but my psionic power was completely drained and my eyes refused to focus. Blinking a few times, I realized that I was looking at the inside of a cloth blindfold wrapped tightly around my head. I wanted to remove the blindfold, but I discovered that my wrists were bound together behind my back by what felt like metal handcuffs.

By now my other senses had started to recover, and I found that I was lying on my left side on what felt like a hard wooden floor. I had been stripped completely naked. The floor felt dusty under my bare body. Was this some kind of storage room? I felt lightheaded and horribly thirsty.