Penumbra (24 page)

He found nothing of real interest until he read the report from the bug Sam had placed in Wetherton's office. And though it revealed little more than the name behind one of Wetherton's many phone conversations, it sparked a whole lot of questions.

That name was
Les Mohern.

Why would a petty criminal like Les Mohern suddenly come out of hiding to contact a government minister like Wetherton? For that matter, why would he even visit someone like Kathryn Douglass? Was there a connection between the two that no one knew about?

Maybe so. After all, Les's brother had worked for Kazdan. He doubted that it was a coincidence that, after his brother's death, Les had gone to ground. Maybe he'd done so for a reason—such as fearing for his life.

But if that were the case, why would he now surface to contact two high-profile people like Douglass and Wetherton? Surely he had to know that both would be under some sort of surveillance, given their positions. Why would he risk discovery to contact either of them?

He clicked on Mohern's name and studied the background report.
Bingo
—an address. He finished the remainder of his coffee in one gulp and stood.

He'd discovered long ago that when instinct scratched
this
hard, it was better not to ignore it. This Les Mohern was a key. But to what, he now had to discover.

Sam slept.

And, as usual, she dreamed.

But this was not a dream she'd had before. This one was new. And terrifying.

The night was filled with smoke and fire and fear. The very air burned so hot the metal walls around her were beginning to bubble and melt. And yet the heat and the flames never touched her, skittering around her as she ran through the madness. Seeking safety, seeking freedom.

Lights flickered ahead, scattering brief patches of luminescence through the smoke-filled darkness and highlighting the figure ahead. For an instant that figure seemed huge and hairy, with fearsome claws that rent and tore at those stupid enough to try to stop him. Then the lights went out again, and it was just Joshua running ahead, telling her to hurry, that this was their chance. Their only hope.

And she obeyed, running after him hard, ignoring the many screams, even rejoicing in them.

Until she heard that one scream.

Mary.

She stopped abruptly. Ahead, Joshua had also stopped, his actions reminding her briefly of a puppet jerked to stillness by its master.

He swung around. “There's no time for this, Samantha.”

“She cared for us, Josh. I can't let her die for that.”

“She was
paid
to care for us. It was her job, her duty. She is no better than the rest of them.”

“She sang us nursery rhymes and told us stories that made us laugh. She gave us dreams of a life beyond this place. And she left the window open for us at night, giving us what freedom she could. I will not let her die.”

“It's too late. I can't let you—”

“You can't stop me.”

Before he could react, she thrust out her hand. Power flowed through her, surging from the floor—from the earth itself—up through her body and out her fingertips, leaping the distance between them and hitting him hard. It flung him backward, into the thickness of the fire and out of sight.

He wasn't hurt. The fire could never hurt him. It
was
him—a part of his soul, a part of his being.

But it was
his
protection that was keeping her safe from the flames, and as that protection briefly flickered, then went out, the full force of the firestorm hit. Heat flowed over her, scalding her skin, her lungs.

She closed her eyes and called to the sky and the power of the storms. Wind swept in, buffeting the flames away, bringing with it the coolness of the night, giving her air to breathe that wouldn't scorch her insides.

With the wind swirling around her, providing a buffer from the flames and the heat, she backtracked, running through the halls to the nursery area.

To discover hell itself.

Fire was a wall that ran on for as far as the eye could see—a seething, writhing mass of red, gold and white fury that crawled up the nursery walls and across the ceilings. It was hot and hungry and very, very deadly. Surely no one could survive in the fiery doom that the nursery had become.

And yet Mary's scream rent the air, her voice high-pitched and filled with pain and terror.

A trap? Maybe. Probably.

But something inside wouldn't let her walk away until she discovered the truth. The older woman had made the darkness of this place survivable in so many small ways. They owed her her life, at the very least.

A hand grabbed her arm, its touch cold and violent as it yanked her back. She knew without even looking that it wasn't Josh.

That it was Lloyd.

Fear leapt, and her heart began to race. It was instinctive, that fear, bred into her from birth itself. And yet there were monsters far worse than Lloyd walking these halls. But neither those monsters nor Lloyd himself were going to stop her tonight. Not when the havoc Josh had created had finally given them the hope of freedom.

Energy crackled across her fingertips as she swung around, but she kept her fists low, out of sight. Lloyd wore a fire suit and breathing apparatus, and though the mask distorted much of his features, his fury was still evident in the glow of his eyes.

“Stop it, you little bitch.” He shook her violently enough to rattle her teeth. “Stop it now, or I'll kill your brother.”

She reached into the pocket of her overalls and pulled out the small electronic device that would have injected the lethal poison into Josh's skin. Josh had hers safely tucked away in his pocket. She had no idea why he wanted to keep them, but she obeyed his wishes, as she usually did.

“You mean with this?” She raised the device so that he could see it.

He swore and raised his hand, as if to hit her. But she gathered the energy that danced all around them and froze his blow in mid-motion. Surprise, then fear, flickered through his eyes. It felt good. So very good.

Never underestimate your enemy
was a lesson drilled into them from babyhood, yet it was a lesson their controllers had never fully understood.

Or perhaps it was more a case of never fully understanding what they had created.

Either way, it had finally culminated in this moment, where she and Josh held the power.

“No more,” she said softly. She glanced down to where his fingers gripped her arm and telekinetically pulled them away one by one, snapping bone each time.

Sweat broke out across Lloyd's forehead, but he didn't utter a sound. And she wanted him to say something. Wanted him to scream, as she had screamed so many times.

She stepped back from him, keeping him still and in place as she raised her hand. Lightning arced between her fingertips, small flashes of fury that lit the smoky orange air with a pure white light. “Fire is not my element. It was never my element, but you people would never see that.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Probably just as well, as she had no doubt what he was trying to deliver was just more abuse or yet another threat. She smiled coldly and unleashed the lightning. It arced around him, playing with him like a cat with a mouse, touching, leaping away, then touching again. When it finally settled, he screamed.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep the sound. Again, it felt wonderful. But after a second or two, she picked him up telekinetically and threw him against the melting, bubbling metal wall. It melted his suit, his skin, and his screams reached a fever pitch before shutting off abruptly. He was dead before he hit the ground.

She studied his body for a second, feeling little—not even the pleasure she'd thought she'd feel.
Damn it,
she'd been dreaming of this moment for as long as she'd been able to form conscious thought, and yet now that it was here, there was nothing. But now was not the time to worry about such things. She spun to face the nursery.

The firestorm had grown, but Mary still screamed. Where the hell was she? There were few places that would provide shelter from such fury, not for this length of time, anyway. She bit her lip and half reached for the full power of the storms, then stopped. She couldn't afford to douse the flames, not if she wanted to escape this place, and calling to the storms would do that. She might be able to call them, might be able to channel some of their power and some of their elements, but she wasn't strong enough to control their full force, because control was something she was still teaching herself. The scientists thought she was earth and sun and that Josh was wind and water. They had it half right. She was earth and wind, and Josh was sun and water. She could call storms and quakes, Josh fire and floods. In the long, barren years of their childhood, she'd always sat in on Josh's lessons, and him on hers, each learning what they could while continuing the lie, then practicing when they were alone and beyond the watchful eyes of the scientists. Though, to some extent, their abilities
did
overlap. If she called in the storms, he could control the water, and he would do so now because he wanted everyone dead. But she was also earth, and earth was the ruler of the other elements. She could stop him, but not without bringing the entire complex down and therefore destroying the one person she was trying to save.

She blew out a breath and directed some of the cold wind that swirled around her at the flames, forcing the heat and the fire away enough to form a corridor. Then she ran through.

The heat battered her, despite the swirling air. Sweat dribbled down her spine, her forehead. The smoke was fierce, a wall of darkness threatening to overwhelm her narrow corridor. She ran as fast as she could, following the screams and praying for a miracle.

And after praying for such an occurrence all her life, it seemed someone was finally listening.

Mary was in the shower room with all the water taps turned on, so that she was surrounded by a ring of water. The heat was still enough to scald her skin and clothes, yet she was alive and awake and conscious. A miracle in itself, since the outside walls of this room were a maelstrom of destruction.

Mary's expression was an odd mix of fear and hope as she spun around. “Josephine? What is happening? What have you done?”

“We're doing what we promised we'd do. Escaping.” She hesitated and held out her hand. “Come with me. I'll keep you safe.”

Mary studied her for a heartbeat, then her gaze went to the flames. “The heat alone will kill us.”

“No, it won't,” said a voice from behind.

She turned and met her brother's gaze. Saw both the fury and the understanding. “Don't try to stop me, Josh. I have to do this.”

“Even at the risk of recapture?”

“Even at.” She hesitated. “But Lloyd is dead.”

“Lloyd will never be dead.” He smiled and touched a hand to her cheek. His fingertips were tinder hot, and yet inexplicably tender. “It seems you are not the weapon that either they or I might hope you to be. Not yet, anyway.” He glanced past her. “Mary, we don't have much time. Move it.”

Though he was barely a teenager, Josh's voice held a depth of command not even their trainers had achieved. Mary obeyed.

He caught Mary's hand and said, “I have to do this for your own safety, so sorry in advance.” And before Mary or she realized what he was doing, he'd knocked the older woman unconscious. But he didn't let her fall, catching her kinetically before glancing at Sam. “She'd have slowed us down, otherwise. You lead. I'll keep the flames at bay.”

He did, but it was still close. He might be flame, but flames often gained a life of their own once given the freedom to run, and these flames had grown beyond the life—though maybe not the intent—of their creator.

They ran from the maelstrom into the dark, cold night. But it was a far-from-silent night—shouts, confusion and fear came from the many people who milled nearby. Some manned fire trucks, some hoses and some whatever came to hand—such as tractors scooping earth into the flames. But no one in the crowd saw the three of them leave. Night was their ally, their only friend, and even when lit by fire, it protected them from sight.

They ran up the hill and collapsed at the top, at the place where she and Joshua had spent so many nights staring at the stars and dreaming of this moment.

And, like when she'd confronted Lloyd, now that the moment was here, it didn't feel as great as it was supposed to feel.

She listened to the sounds filling the night, to the screams of people and the groan of a building ready to collapse—sounds that were interspersed with the harshness of their own breathing. It was Josh who broke the silence.

“You must finish it.”

She closed her eyes, knowing that for those who still remained alive inside it was better to end it quickly, and yet not wanting to be the one who took their lives. “There are some who deserve death who are not in those buildings.”

He nodded. “Blaine, for one.”

“Yes.”

“I have plans for him—never fear.” His voice held the deadness that always chilled her. This was not her brother, but rather the weapon the military had bred but could never fully control.

“And those plans do not include death? After all he has done?”

His smile was bitter, and yet so cold. So very cold. “No. Not as yet.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “If I do this, I want out. Totally out. I don't even want to remember it.”

He glanced at her, his smoky blue eyes suddenly seeming blacker than the night itself. “Neither of us can escape what we are.”

“Maybe not, but I want the chance to live a normal life, Josh. Even if it's just for a while.”

His gaze left hers. For several minutes he didn't say anything, simply studied the confusion below them. Then he sighed. “It will be hard for both of us. We are two halves of one soul, Sammy.”