he really is beneath all those layers of
ice.
Gabe is waiting for us at the
entrance. “It will be over soon,” he calls out to the prisoners. “I know it
doesn’t seem like it now but…” His voice cracks. “Shit. Things will get better.
I swear it.”
He pulls open the door for us,
unleashing bright sunlight into this dank hell hole. Tarren leaves first. I’m
about to follow him, but instead I stop and look back. These stables will haunt
me, the lingering wisps of broken auras calling to that secret sense of mine.
That skeletal girl with the Kool-Aid red hair and green eyes. The boy Rain,
trapped here, probably because of me.
A hand takes my arm. I look at
Gabe, ashamed at the tears free falling down my cheeks.
“I know,” he says softly and leads
me out of the barn.
Chapter 11
Gabe takes the wheel of the Murano.
I slide into the back. We pull off the bandannas and hats.
As soon as we start moving, I say,
“Call them an ambulance, Tarren.”
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“When we get back to Poughkeepsie.
We can’t have the fire engines and police cars see us coming from the house.”
“People are dying back there,” I
cry, surprised—though I guess I shouldn’t be—at how unhinged my voice sounds.
“I’ll drive fast,” Gabe says, and he
does. We crank over that dirt road. I’m balling my hands into tight fists while
thoughts, feelings, and emotions slosh around in my brain making me sick.
We hit a paved road. “Now. Do it
now Tarren,” I say.
He takes a heavy breath, but pulls
an extra phone from the dashboard. “This clean?” he asks his brother.
“Yeah.”
Tarren dials 911, identifies
himself as “Troy” and calmly explains that a deranged cult has set itself on
fire, leaving behind a barn filled with captured innocents. Tarren describes in
detail that the victims are starved and severely dehydrated, that they will
need immediate calories, liquids and heat to restore their core temperature.
His voice is so steady, so monotone that it’s almost unreal. He finishes the
call by noting that the captives have been drugged and are hallucinating
heavily.
The voice on the other end of the
phone squawks questions. Tarren cuts off the call, removes the SIM card and
tosses the small green chip out the window. Then he peels off his gloves and
tucks them into his pants pocket.
We’re all quiet after this. Gabe’s
energy is still crackling around him, bright and flagrant. I lie down across
the backseat and tuck my feet into my chest. The silence doesn’t last. Not with
Gabe in the car.
“That’s the biggest one we’ve ever
seen,” he says.
“They’re getting bolder,” Tarren
confirms.
“And sloppy. That was an easy trail
to follow.”
“Some of those kids will talk.”
“Yeah, but they’re so disoriented,
the cops will put it down to hallucinations.”
“It’s going to break eventually,”
Tarren looks at his brother.
Gabe shrugs. “We’ll deal when we
get there. Crossing bridges and shit.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“Maya, you saved that kid’s life. You dragged him right out of the fire.”
“Tarren saved him,” I mumble.
“But Tarren would have never gotten
to practice his French kissing skills if it weren’t for you. You and he can go
halfsies on the save.”
“Milo,” I say, remembering the
boy’s name, the ash caking his face and his weak aura. I wonder if he’ll even
survive.
“Your sense for energy is very
sharp,” Tarren says, and his voice is low and careful. Is this a compliment, or
merely a further acknowledgement of the danger I present? I can’t ever fucking
tell what’s on his mind.
Gabe pulls over as a squad of fire
trucks speed past. Two ambulances follow.
“Fuckers,” Gabe sighs. “You told
them there were nine victims.”
“Small town,” Tarren shrugs.
“God dammit!” Gabe’s voice is high,
flushed with all the anger swirling around him. “We put our lives on the line,
and they only muster two
ice.
Gabe is waiting for us at the
entrance. “It will be over soon,” he calls out to the prisoners. “I know it
doesn’t seem like it now but…” His voice cracks. “Shit. Things will get better.
I swear it.”
He pulls open the door for us,
unleashing bright sunlight into this dank hell hole. Tarren leaves first. I’m
about to follow him, but instead I stop and look back. These stables will haunt
me, the lingering wisps of broken auras calling to that secret sense of mine.
That skeletal girl with the Kool-Aid red hair and green eyes. The boy Rain,
trapped here, probably because of me.
A hand takes my arm. I look at
Gabe, ashamed at the tears free falling down my cheeks.
“I know,” he says softly and leads
me out of the barn.
Chapter 11
Gabe takes the wheel of the Murano.
I slide into the back. We pull off the bandannas and hats.
As soon as we start moving, I say,
“Call them an ambulance, Tarren.”
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“When we get back to Poughkeepsie.
We can’t have the fire engines and police cars see us coming from the house.”
“People are dying back there,” I
cry, surprised—though I guess I shouldn’t be—at how unhinged my voice sounds.
“I’ll drive fast,” Gabe says, and he
does. We crank over that dirt road. I’m balling my hands into tight fists while
thoughts, feelings, and emotions slosh around in my brain making me sick.
We hit a paved road. “Now. Do it
now Tarren,” I say.
He takes a heavy breath, but pulls
an extra phone from the dashboard. “This clean?” he asks his brother.
“Yeah.”
Tarren dials 911, identifies
himself as “Troy” and calmly explains that a deranged cult has set itself on
fire, leaving behind a barn filled with captured innocents. Tarren describes in
detail that the victims are starved and severely dehydrated, that they will
need immediate calories, liquids and heat to restore their core temperature.
His voice is so steady, so monotone that it’s almost unreal. He finishes the
call by noting that the captives have been drugged and are hallucinating
heavily.
The voice on the other end of the
phone squawks questions. Tarren cuts off the call, removes the SIM card and
tosses the small green chip out the window. Then he peels off his gloves and
tucks them into his pants pocket.
We’re all quiet after this. Gabe’s
energy is still crackling around him, bright and flagrant. I lie down across
the backseat and tuck my feet into my chest. The silence doesn’t last. Not with
Gabe in the car.
“That’s the biggest one we’ve ever
seen,” he says.
“They’re getting bolder,” Tarren
confirms.
“And sloppy. That was an easy trail
to follow.”
“Some of those kids will talk.”
“Yeah, but they’re so disoriented,
the cops will put it down to hallucinations.”
“It’s going to break eventually,”
Tarren looks at his brother.
Gabe shrugs. “We’ll deal when we
get there. Crossing bridges and shit.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“Maya, you saved that kid’s life. You dragged him right out of the fire.”
“Tarren saved him,” I mumble.
“But Tarren would have never gotten
to practice his French kissing skills if it weren’t for you. You and he can go
halfsies on the save.”
“Milo,” I say, remembering the
boy’s name, the ash caking his face and his weak aura. I wonder if he’ll even
survive.
“Your sense for energy is very
sharp,” Tarren says, and his voice is low and careful. Is this a compliment, or
merely a further acknowledgement of the danger I present? I can’t ever fucking
tell what’s on his mind.
Gabe pulls over as a squad of fire
trucks speed past. Two ambulances follow.
“Fuckers,” Gabe sighs. “You told
them there were nine victims.”
“Small town,” Tarren shrugs.
“God dammit!” Gabe’s voice is high,
flushed with all the anger swirling around him. “We put our lives on the line,
and they only muster two
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