Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) (25 page)

“Al, what the hell!  Where’s the power steering?!” 

Al grunted, “Ball joints, power steering, or brakes, take your pick!”

 The motorcycle drew closer.  The green color and the V-shaped visor of the helmet made Sam think of a viper, drawing in on its prey and preparing to strike.  She decided to keep that thought to herself.  Instead she gripped the handle on the door and focused on breathing.  Energy was building in her mind.  If she was pulling it from the environment around her, like Lane said, it wasn’t happening consciously.  And now she felt like a circuit pumped with too much electricity, close to blowing out.

“Lane,” Sam squeaked out, “It’s happening again!”

“Not now.”  Lane’s knuckles were white on the wheel as he alternately pled and cursed with the car, fighting to counteract the random movements of the SUV.  The SUV veered sharply to the right, screeching against the guardrail.  And the last vestige of calm Sam held vanished as she looked down, down, down at the steep drop below, over several boulders, ending in the gentle curve of a lovely rocky-filled river.  Death by sharp pointy rocks.  Perfect.

Lane must have thought the same thing: “Can someone PLEASE nail this bastard?!”

Harry was attempting just that.  But his powers were slow in loading and the cyclist was tricky, maintaining a random zigzag evasion that made it harder to lock down on him.  Two trees glowed, fried by lightning, but the cyclist remained unharmed. 

The car jolted again.  Al was doing his best, but this other rider was a pro.  He needed help.  Not quite realizing what she was doing, Samantha reached back and touched his arm.

And the world shifted.

Suddenly, her brain was a mess of functions.  She looked down at the car door and saw—felt—each piece, the joints of the metal, the gears that operated the door latch and the window, and from there it expanded.  She became hyper-aware of just how many of hundreds of independently operating pieces made up a car and how, at this moment, an alarming number of them seemed to have minds of their own.  And there was energy flowing into her mind from all of them.  Energy in her brain screaming to be let out, to fix things, to change things.

Pieces, Sam thought, so many little pieces.  Her awareness followed the door lock again, coursing through the van.  Now that she was paying attention, she could sense the two separate powers manipulating the pieces, one seeming to chase the other, putting right what the first threw off. 

She tried to touch one of the gears, to fix something, but it did nothing.  She had no effect in this world, at least not physically.  But energy...that she had.  Sam felt the energy building inside of her, growing, and, for the first time, she decided to let it go.

Al sensed the change.  His talent surged forward, passing through into the pavement and stretching backwards.  Sam sensed/watched in amazement as his power grew, Al’s skill now the only limit to what he could do.

There.  The motorcycle wasn’t as big as the SUV, but it was still a maze of gears and pistons and joints.  Tons of pieces, tuned to perfect precision.  But Al wasn’t going for precision.  He reached out at random and
yanked
.  At first, something resisted the pull, so he yanked even harder.  The cyclist veered sharply and went down.

“Nice one, Al!” Harry cheered.

Al grunted in assent but said nothing.  Instead, he took advantage of the cyclist’s momentary distraction.  Various tubes, gears, and bearings all slid into place in the Land Cruiser long enough for Lane to brake and pull over. 

Everyone held their breath.  No one dared to move.  All eyes remained on the cyclist, lying prone on the ground.

And then he got up.  He righted his bike and hit the gas.

Everyone tensed as he approached, but he didn’t so much as pause at the car, instead buzzing past and disappearing around a sharp turn.

“Why am I not relieved?”  Harry said.

Lane fell back against his seat with a thump, breathing heavily.  Sam could identify.  Her headache faded to an echo, but she felt drained and exhausted.  Reaching forward, Al patted her on the shoulder, “Thanks, kid.”

“Sam helped?”  Harry asked.

Al nodded.  Harry looked at her and raised his eyebrows, “Whoa.”

“We gotta move.”  Lane sat up suddenly, putting the car into drive.

“Good luck,” Al said, “The drive chain’s disconnected and a fan belt is snapped.  Plus some other miscellaneous crud.  This car isn’t going anywhere.”

“Can’t you fix it?”

“Sure, with enough time.  And a new fan belt.  Unfortunately, I can’t telekinetically manufacture car parts.”

“Guys,” Harry said, “I think he’s coming back.”

“Out of the car!” Sam yelled, “Hide!”

Chapter
23

Everyone sprang from the car and dashed into the woods, splitting up.  Sam herself dove into what turned out to be a blackberry bush.  She bit her lip, ignored the scratches, and climbed further into the underbrush.  There she lay, elbows sinking into the damp pine needles and moss of the forest floor. Eeeew, Sam thought, muddy, prickly!  Shouldn’t those things go away when you’re in peril?

“OW!”  Al hissed from somewhere to her right, apparently sharing her sentiments.

“SHHH!”  Lane said off to her left, “He’s coming.”

They fell silent as the motorcycle approached.  The rider pulled over next to the car.  From this distance, with the Kevlar pants and jacket, it was difficult to tell if the person was a slight man or a broad-shouldered woman.  The rider dismounted, removing the helmet and eying the woods, taking a few short, testing steps forward. 

A few steps more,
Sam thought,
and we could have ourselves a little ambush. 
Unfortunately, plans like that took, well, communication.  So everyone stayed low and silent, watching as the figure slowly and methodically began searching the woods nearby.  The rider took his—her?--time, inspecting every log, seeming to know that the three of them couldn’t have made it very far. 

I could jump him
, Sam thought,
knock him off his feet.  So what if he has a gun, he can’t see me.

And then the cyclist stopped, pointed the gun at Sam: “Stand up.”  The timbre of the voice gave it away—she was a woman.  Though the short, dark, slicked-back hair hardly helped combat her androgyny.  Sam froze, certain for a moment that the woman had somehow seen her.  But then, a little to her left and in front of her, Harry stood.

“Come forward.”

Harry obeyed.  Sam could sense the gathering of power that meant he was going to try another lightning blast, but the rider wasted no time in reaching forward and grabbing his arm.  “Fry me,” she said in a loud voice, “and you fry your buddy, too.”

So she knew what their powers were, but not who had them.  Interesting.

“That goes for the gun too,” she went on, “I sense any funny business with the mechanics and I shoot—no questions asked.  You got anything to say to that?”

Even Al knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Good.  Here’s how it goes.  Chickie steps up and out by the time I count down to three, or this guy gets shot.  Ready?  One...”

Shit, shit.  Sam glanced over to where she thought Lane might be hiding, but she couldn’t see him, had no idea how to tell what he was thinking.

“Two...” Harry wriggled in the woman’s grip.  Guys, his eyes said, please tell me you’re about to do something.

Aw, geez, it was going to have to be her.

“—Say goodbye to pudgy!—Thr—”

“He’s not pudgy.” Samantha stood up, “He’s big-boned.”

“Ah, great!  Well, I guess a deal’s a deal.”  The rider let the gun fall, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  And then, in the breath of a second, the rider brought the gun up, took aim at Samantha, and fired.

Bang!  There was no time to react, to dodge, to do anything.  Lane leapt from the bushes, screaming.  Sam tensed for impact.

And the rider cursed, dropping the gun to cradle her burnt hand.  Sam didn’t stop to think about the miracle.  She sprang into action, sprinting towards the rider.

“Watch out!”

Lane’s warning came just in time.  Sam skidded to a stop just as a wickedly long knife flashed just inches away from her face and lodged itself in a tree trunk a hair’s breadth away from her head.  Another, shorter penknife materialized, pressed against Harry’s neck. 

“I’ll kill him!” the rider yelled.

“Then what?”  Sam hissed, “It’s still three against one.  And you just gave us the bigger knife.”

The woman hesitated, her hand slackening.  She glanced at the three who surrounded her, judging her chance of escape.

“Forget this,” Harry muttered.  With a sudden movement, he twisted down and around, coming up with a right uppercut square to the woman’s jaw.

She stumbled back and Sam leapt into action again.  The two went down in a tangle, punching and kicking.  The woman had size on her side, but if there was one thing Sam knew, it was how to fight dirty.  Jabbing the woman in the neck so she was brought up short, Sam pressed her advantage and pinned her down with her knees.  Using her right hand to keep the rider from knifing her, Sam locked the rider’s nose between her two knuckles on her left hand: “Let go of the knife, or I break it.  You’ll never breathe right again.”

The woman dropped the knife.

“A little help, please?”  Sam said, panting.

“Oh.  Right.”  Lane leaned forward and put his hand on the woman’s forehead.  She passed out.

Sam stood up, dusting her pants off, “You couldn’t have done that to begin with?”

Harry, Lane, and Al exchanged looks.

“No,” they answered.

#

In a matter of minutes, they tied the woman up with some cords they’d found in the back of the SUV.  They hid the gun in the woods.  What to do next was another question up for debate.

“Let’s just leave her,” Al said, “We need a head start.”

“We should call N.T.U., first, so they pick her up,” Lane replied, looking at Harry, “We don’t want her wandering around and telling the Corp where we are.”  Harry nodded approvingly.

“Or,” Sam cracked her knuckles, looking at the woman with an assessing gaze, “we could try and get some answers.”

“What are you suggesting?”  Harry said, “Interrogation?”

“Exactly.”  Samantha caught the eye of the rider and smiled.  Lane noticed that smile but said nothing.

“Is that entirely ethical?”

“Are their numerous attempts to take me against my will and/or kill me entirely ethical?  Really, Harry, you were all for torture for the purpose of getting answers when I was the one who had to live through it.”  Sam crossed her arms and planted her feet, looking at Harry squarely. 

Sensing an impending showdown, Lane coughed and subtly moved between the two.  But he’d overestimated Harry’s assertiveness.  All Harry did was throw his hands in the air, “Just be careful what lines you cross.  That’s all I’m saying.”  He turned and stomped over to the car, getting in and grabbing a book, signaling that he’d have nothing more to do with what happened next.  Shrugging, Al followed suit. 

Letting her breath hiss through her teeth, Sam turned to Lane: “So, you going to lecture me, too?”

Lane shook his head, “I thought I’d hear you out first.”

Some of the tension drained from Sam’s shoulders.  With a smile, she took Lane’s arm, leading him away, “Good.  I’m glad someone here has an open mind.  Now let me tell you what I had in mind...”

It didn’t take long for Sam to brief Lane.  When she was finished, they returned, as a pair, to where the rider lay, trussed up like a pig on the forest floor. 

Sam crouched down next to her, looking her in the eyes.  “Do you know how I’ve stayed alive this long?  Through life, I mean?”  She cracked her knuckles, “I learned a very valuable lesson early on: you try and hurt me, I destroy you.  That way, you can’t come back and try and hurt me again.”

“Oh please,” the woman sneered, “You’re a baby.  You don’t have the guts to get your hands messy.”

“See, that’s the great thing.  I don’t have to get my hands messy.”  Samantha made a show of examining her fingernails, something Lane had never before seen her do.  Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her crack her knuckles before, either.  “Did they tell you about my powers?”

The woman didn’t answer.  She looked over to Lane, standing several feet away.

“Is he the good cop?” the woman asked, totally unfazed, “Can I have my cigarette now?”

“He’s the keep-a-lookout-for-witnesses cop,” Sam replied.  Her smile was brittle, chilling.

The woman laughed, “OK, I’ll bite.  Tell me about your talent, pixie.”

That was his cue.  Lane walked up, hoping he could play his part as well as Sam did.  If she even was playing a part.  He took a deep breath and tried for that same cool nonchalance Sam exuded: “You know she’s powerful.”  He said, “But did you know that she was the one who took out your motorcycle?  Or that she could take out your basilar artery?”

“Hunh?”  The woman was clueless, of course.  Which was great, because it meant Lane could do what he did best: teach.