Storm of Lightning (10 page)

“It was
too
easy,” Scott said.

“Maybe someone wants us back in the U.S.,” Ostin said.

“That's a scary thought,” I said. “Since nobody is supposed to know we're here.”

*  *  *

About a half mile from the border, Scott pulled into the parking lot of a small taqueria and put the van in park. He reached over to the glove box and took out a hand radio.

“I'm going to radio Boyd and see if he's seen anything suspicious.” He pushed a button on the radio. “Come in, Albatross, come in.” There was no response. “Albatross, come in. This is Falcon.” Still no response.

“Maybe he's at dinner,” Taylor said.

“He should have his radio with him at all times,” Scott said. “Come in, Albatross. Over.” He checked the radio's settings, then lifted the radio one more time. “Come in, Albatross. Are you there?”

Still nothing.

“This is strange,” Scott said, pulling back out into the road. “Everyone, stay alert. Especially you, Ian. Something's not right.”

“It never is,” Taylor said softly. “It never is.”

O
n the way into the town of Bisbee, we passed a massive, terraced, open-pit copper mine several hundred feet deep. The town itself was beautiful, built in the lap of a mountain, with buildings climbing higher and higher up the foothills until the mountain's incline allowed no more.

The town had started to die after the mine closed in the seventies, then hippies found it and made it thrive again. Because it was a copper town, many of the buildings' roofs were covered with copper paneling and shingles. Copper is a powerful conductor of electricity, which may have had something to do with why I felt so different in the city. Stronger. More electric. As if I needed that.

When we reached downtown Bisbee, Scott followed the local road signs to Copper Queen hospital. We pulled up to the ER and parked the van; then Scott ran inside while Jack opened the back
door and he and Abigail got out. Less than a minute later Scott returned followed by a doctor and two aides pushing a metal gurney.

“What happened?” the doctor asked.

“We think there was an explosion,” Scott said.

“What do you mean, you ‘think'?” the doctor said curtly. “Either there was or wasn't one.”

“We weren't there,” Scott said. “We found him by the side of the road.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of explosion?”

“No. We just saw burning debris around. Maybe a fuel tank exploded or something.”

The guard groaned out again as the techs lifted the man onto the gurney.

“So he's not with your group,” the doctor said.

“No. We were headed down to a Mexican dude ranch for a weekend church retreat when we found this man about a quarter mile from the main road. He was nearly unconscious. We drove him to Naco, but they weren't equipped to help him.”

The doctor examined the guard some more, then said, “Peculiar. I haven't seen burns like that since . . .” He hesitated, then looked up at Scott. “I saw this in Vietnam. They look like napalm burns.”

Ostin almost said something, but Scott stopped him. “Like I said, we don't know what happened.”

We followed the doctor and techs into the hospital. At the operating room door the doctor turned to Abigail. “Young lady, you'll need to let go of his hand.”

The guard gripped her hand tighter. He must have figured out that she was taking away his pain.

“He needs me,” Abigail said. “For support.”

The doctor hesitated. “All right. You'll have to scrub up, though. And get gloved.”

“Can her power work through latex?” Taylor whispered.

I shrugged.

After Abigail and the doctor disappeared into the ER, a nurse led the rest of us out to the waiting room. As we walked down the
hallway, the nurse looked down at my arm. “Excuse me for asking, but were you struck by lightning?”

I wasn't sure how to answer. Finally I said, “How did you know?”

“Lichtenberg figures,” she said. “I've only seen them in manuals. That must have been very painful.”

“It wasn't too bad,” I said.

Her brow rose. “Wasn't too bad? They're electricity burns. They're some of the worst kind.”

“I guess I was a little out of it when it happened,” I said. I quickly walked away from her and sat down on a couch while Scott, Ian, Zeus, and Tessa went outside to keep watch. Nichelle asked for a pencil from the registration desk, then sat in the corner sketching while Jack, Taylor, Ostin, McKenna, and I sat on the sofa across from her.

“The guard's name is Billy Ray,” Taylor said. “He was raised by his grandmother. She's ninety-two and still alive.”

“Elgen guards don't have grandmas,” Jack said. “They're not born; they're spawned. And they don't have names. Just
Elgen
.”

Taylor continued. “He's from Huntsville, Alabama.”

“That's so weird that he's from somewhere,” McKenna said.

“Everyone's from somewhere,” Ostin replied.

“I know, but it still seems weird. It's like thinking about where Colby Cross went to elementary school, you know?”

“Or Hitler,” Jack added.

“Where do you think Hatch is from?” Ostin asked.

“Hell,” Jack said without hesitation.

“It's not an accident, you know,” I said to Taylor.

“What's not an accident?” Taylor asked.

“That he's letting you know about him,” I said. “He's doing it for a reason.”

“Why?”

“So you would help him live.”

“I don't get the connection.”

“It's harder to kill people you know. That's why in wars the first thing they do is dehumanize the enemy. They're not people like us; they're gooks or krauts, or infidels or Charlie. After you know they
have a family, that they're somebody's son or grandson . . . it's a different thing.”

“He's right,” Jack said. “My brother was stationed in Afghanistan at a combat outpost when the Taliban attacked them. A Taliban soldier tried to stab my brother, but my brother turned the knife on the guy.

“While my brother's squad was waiting for reinforcements, my brother had to sit in the room with the dead man for two hours. He took out the guy's wallet. The man had a picture of his wife and a little boy. My brother said even though the guy had tried to kill him, it still made him sad. . . .”

Jack's words trailed off into silence. A few minutes later Scott walked into the waiting room from outside. “Any word on his condition?” he asked.

“No,” Taylor said.

“See anything?” I asked.

“No. Neither has Ian. It doesn't appear that we were followed. But that doesn't explain why they let us across the border so easily.”

“Maybe we were just lucky,” Ostin said.

“Since when have we been lucky?” Taylor replied.

“We're still alive, aren't we?” Nichelle said, suddenly joining the conversation. “I'd say we've been pretty lucky.”

Nichelle's optimism surprised me. “Any word from Boyd?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Scott said. “I'm going to have to drive back to Douglas to check things out. I'll need some backup.”

“So after we find him, then what?” I asked.

Scott sat down next to us. He leaned in, his hands clasped in his lap. “There's a safe house in Albuquerque,” he said softly. “Assuming we still have a plane, I think we should fly there and wait to hear from the voice.”

“The last safe house wasn't so
safe
,” Jack said.

“Nothing's safe anymore. We don't know what information has been leaked, but it's still our best option.”

“I want to go back to Idaho and get my parents,” Taylor said.

“We will,” Scott said. “But I need to get you to safety first, then go get them.”

“You should talk to your mother first,” I said. “You need to make sure that they're still in Boise.”

Ostin said, “If the Elgen have their phone lines traced, they'll track the call back here. Just seeing a call this close to the border, they'll know we're back.”

“Then we should make the call just before we leave Arizona,” Scott said.

“What about the guard?” McKenna asked. “He's not going to be ready to go by tomorrow.”

“We can't all stay here until he's better,” Scott said. “It's too risky.”

“Abi and I can stay with him,” Jack said. “Then we'll meet up with you.”

“I don't like breaking us up again,” I said. “The last time we did that, we were captured.”

“It's better than all of us being captured,” Jack said.

“We don't know if what he knows is worth losing any of us,” I said.

“Michael's right,” Scott said. “We'll all stay in Douglas tonight, then fly out in the morning. We can come back for the guard later.” His brow furrowed. “But first I need to find my copilot.”

W
e left the hospital in Bisbee and drove from Bisbee twenty-three miles back to Douglas to the hotel where we planned to spend the night: the Hotel Gadsden, a tall, historic building that looked as old as the city and was, by far, the largest structure on the aged main street.

“I've heard about this place,” Ostin said. “It's on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places. It's been used in a bunch of movies. They say that room 333 is haunted.”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “Haunted? Really? I thought you were smart.”

“I am,” Ostin said. “And yes, I believe in ghosts, spirits, and paranormal beings.”

We parked on the street in front of the hotel and walked inside. The hotel's lobby was high ceilinged and surprisingly beautiful, with tall, marble columns extending to the ceiling. Across the wall on the
split stairway leading up to the indoor balcony was a forty-foot-wide Tiffany mural of the Mexican desert.

“I want to stay in room 333,” Nichelle said. “I've always wanted to see a ghost.”

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Tessa said.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” Nichelle said. “You can be my roommate.”

We followed Scott up to the check-in counter. “Do you have any vacancies for tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk said, looking us over. He was a fortysomething blond man with a name tag that read
TOM
. I noticed that his eyes lingered on the scars on my arm.

“I need six rooms for the night,” Scott said. “Double occupancy.”

“We can accommodate that. May I see a credit card?”

Scott took out his wallet and showed the man his ID. “We should have an account here.”

“Just a moment,” he said, looking at his computer. “Of course. It's good to have you back, Mr. Allen. Shall I put all the rooms on the same account?”

“Yes, please.”

“I see the last time you were here, you stayed in 110, our Jacuzzi suite. Would you like the same room, or do you have a preference?”

“We'll just be staying in your regular rooms this time,” Scott said. “The historic rooms.”

“I want room 333,” Nichelle said.

Tom looked over at her with a half smile. “So you've heard of our ghost.”

Nichelle nodded. “Have you seen a ghost?”

“Once,” he said. “In the basement. The power had gone out, so I went down there with a flashlight to check the fuse box. Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck rose, and I had this feeling that I was being watched. Then I saw a cloud in the shape of a man come toward me.”

“That's creepy,” Taylor said.

“A
cloud
in the shape of a man?” Tessa said. “That's bogus.”

“Ah, a skeptic,” Tom said. “At least once a week I hear something about a ghost from a guest. Especially from those staying in room 333. Once we had a movie crew stay here while they were filming a documentary on the old West. One of the cameramen said his room's light kept flipping on and off all night; then something threw all of his clothes off their hangers in the closet.”