Rise of Alpha (The Prodian Journey #1) (21 page)

“What?” She sat up in a panic. Looking at the time, she gasped. “I have to go.” Then she jumped off the bed and started looking for her tennis shoes. After she found them, she looked at me. “Brian, what’s wrong? You look shaken.”

“Nothing, just a bad dream.” I dismissed her question with a wave of my hand. “Let’s get you out of here.” Careful not to make a sound, I opened my door and peeked outside. The house was quiet. My parents hadn’t gotten up yet, which was a good thing. “Let’s go.” I pulled her along behind me.

Once again, we tiptoed along the hallway and down the stairs. The front door creaked when I opened it, but it didn’t matter anymore. We skittered across our lawn to hers. When we got to her door, Shannon turned around.

“Thanks for being a good friend,” she whispered.

Then she did something I didn’t expect. She wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a hug. A hug that I awkwardly returned.

“I’ll see you later,” I whispered back.
 

She turned the knob and waved before closing the door. I stood there, still stunned beyond words, and lifted my hand for a belated wave.

Then I heard a chuckle behind me. I pivoted on my heel in surprise.
 

“Wow, if I had words to describe that dreamy look on your face, I’d be selling romance books like crazy,” Matro said, appearing before me.

“What the hell? Don’t you guys ever sleep?” I asked, walking back toward my house.
 

“Remember, boy, that’s my niece in there. One wrong move, and I’m all over you in a heartbeat.” Matro followed me.
 

I turned around and glowered at him. “Hey, I’m not a pig, you know. I’m saving myself for the real deal.”
 

Matro laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. “I think you’re doing just fine, baby-boy,” he teased.

I reached the front door. “I’m going back to bed. Do you mind not watching me?”

“I’m going to be as invisible as I can be.” He laughed again and turned to leave.

“Hey, what’s with the rock you left me?” I asked, remembering his ‘calling card’.

“Rub it, and I’ll come running.” He disappeared before I had the chance to respond.

Like a stinking genie in a bottle?
 

Back in the comfort of my room, I began to wrack my brain for details of the dream I’d had earlier. This time, the victim was someone I knew. This was somewhat disturbing. It was Mr. Peters, my photography teacher. He was in a store, a smaller one. It didn’t look like a big grocery store like Ralph’s or Vons. From what I could remember, it was more of a convenience store, or maybe even one of those little liquor stores in a strip mall.

While he was paying for his purchase, two armed men came into sight. They were holding up the store. Mr. Peters cowered to the floor, afraid for his life, and moved away from the line of fire.

I saw the shaking cashier empty the cash register and hand the loot to one of the masked robbers. Then they laughed at something, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. Before the two men left, they shot the cashier and pointed the gun at Mr. Peters.
 

That was all I could remember. Then I’d woken up, drenched in sweat.
 

I glanced at the clock. It was close to seven in the morning. As much as I hated to wake up Mark, I needed to unload to someone who might be able to help. I scooted over the bed and reached for my cell phone on top of the nightstand. I pressed his speed dial.

It took four rings before he answered.

“This better be good,” he mumbled.

“I had another bad dream,” I said and launched into my story. After I’d recounted every single detail I could remember, I was met with a whole lot of silence.

“You’re freaking me out, Brian.” Mark’s tone was serious.

“Why do you think I’m calling you? I’m scared! I want to tell Mr. Peters, but I don’t know where he lives. And even if I did, would he believe me?”

“Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you right back.” Mark hung up.

Staring at the ceiling, I tried to make sense of my vision. If something happened to Mr. P, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. But if I jumped the gun and nothing happened, then I’d be a laughing stock.
What else is new?
I’d gotten used to having a freak status anyway. It wouldn’t bother me one bit. All I wanted was to be certain that Mr. P would be all right. I happen to like the man, even if he was a bit odd. I laughed. It’d take one weirdo to recognize another.

I powered up my laptop and waited. Although it felt like Mark was taking too damn long, I knew only ten minutes had elapsed. In an attempt to distract myself, I logged on to Facebook. It was a rare occasion that I went there to post anything. My friends had forced me to create an account, saying that social media was a great tool to make friends. So far, I had very few. Most were students from the yearbook committee and some cousins from Minnesota.

So I’d become a lurker, content to browse through the newsfeed and leave an occasional ‘like’ on friends’ posts. I preferred to be invisible, but it was a pleasant surprise to find that the rarely used friend request icon was active today. It was a friend request from Shannon.
 
Eager and happy, I accepted and went on to check out her profile. Then my phone rang.

“Bro, I got his address.” Mark sounded quite pleased with himself. “Want me to come with you?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll be over in half an hour.”
 

Forty-five minutes later, Mr. P was looking at us as if we had lost our minds. He shook his head. “Are you kids playing a prank on me?”

“No, Mr. Peters. This is real. I’ve been having these dreams, and they’ve come true. I’m here to warn you,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m on my way to purchase a lotto ticket, and you think that something unpleasant will happen to me?”

I nodded. That was all I could offer. The vision had cut off, so there was no way of knowing what happened to him.

“I’m going to pretend that you kids did not show up on my doorstep today trying to fool me. I’ll see you both in school tomorrow.” He waved his hand to dismiss us.

“Please, Mr. P. You have to listen to me,” I pleaded.
 

“Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” he said and closed the door.

I fought the urge to pound on his door and beg him to listen. Then I looked at Mark, and he shook his head.

“We tried.”
 

I sighed. “We did.”
 

It had to be the Ergans’ doing. I was certain they had somehow messed with my vision. After all, Matro had warned me.
 

Mark and I drove home in silence. There was nothing we could do but wait.
 

For the rest of the day, I was tethered between restlessness and dread. I tried to push my vision to the back of my mind, immersing myself in my homework. Although it kept my mind occupied, the panic came back after I finished the last of my weekend assignments.

I left the house in search of something to do. Without a destination in mind, I backed my car out of the driveway and cruised around the neighborhood without purpose, until I ended up on the street that led to the Observatory. After parking my car by the sidewalk, I sat and stared at the city lights. It was getting dark, and the multicolored lights that defined LA twinkled before me.
 

How in the hell had I gotten myself into this situation? Was it my destiny to be Shannon’s Prodian? If Matro had been telling the truth, did I have what it would take to protect her?
 

A wisp of air swirled around me, alerting me that I had company, then Matro appeared, holding several weapons. “I think someone needs a friend.”

Eyeing the gadgets in his hand, I reached for one. Surprisingly, he let me take it. “Are we having lessons today?”

“It’s as good a time as any.” He took a step back. “First lesson, hold it with the sharp tip pointing down.”

“What is it, anyway?” I closed my fingers around the middle of the weapon.

“It’s called the Reumdag.”

“Wicked.” I inspected the unique weapon.

The Reumdag, as Matro called it, was about three feet long and an inch wide, tapering in the middle. The glass-like blades were filled with crimson liquid. One tip was sharper than the other and had the appearance of metal. I tightened my hand on the narrow handle and was surprised at how it molded to my grip right away.

When I looked up, Matro was smiling. “You like it?”
 

“What can it do?” I asked.
 

Matro lowered the rest of his stash onto the grass except one weapon similar to mine. He swung it with one hand, his wrist flicking in a circular motion, until all I could see were twirling flashes of the liquid inside. “This is the primary weapon of Tranak. It was developed after we realized that we could never go back to our peaceful past. Unlike the Mertest, which incapacitates our enemies first before disintegrating, Reumdag’s sharp tip will melt them on contact.”

I looked down at the lethal weapon in my hand and swallowed hard. “Can it kill humans?”

“Nah. It would be nothing but a splash of colored liquid to you guys. The appearance is meant to confuse humans so carriers can walk around with them.” Matro laid down his Reumdag and walked behind me. “Ready for your first lesson?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
 

Matro placed his hand on top of mine and closed his grip, then he began to move the weapon, twirling it like a baton. He repeated the step until I could perform it on my own, moving aside to give me room.

“Remember, sharp tip down until you have to strike. If you intend to stun your opponent, use the blunt tip.”

It took hours until I built up enough confidence when handling the weapon, and then Matro went on to show me the footwork. “There is a little recoil whenever you strike with the sharp end, so spread your legs apart. They must be shoulder-wide.” He did a short demo, which I watched with admiration. His movements were fluid as he twisted, spun, and rotated. Then he thrust forward as if going for the kill. “You got it?”

“I think so.”

“Now you do it.”

Remembering everything I saw, I started moving sideways while twisting the weapon. It was clumsy at first because my coordination sucked, but Matro was a patient man, repeating the steps and having me practice until I was moving with more ease and grace.
 

The next lesson was the defensive stance, to show me how to use the weapon to deflect any blows or weapons coming my way. This process was more tedious since Matro had to use himself as a target.
 

With utmost concentration, my movements were slow, mindful of which tip was pointed at him and bracing myself for his blows. The sound the weapons produced was like the clinking of two glasses. It created a melody while the lights danced before our eyes.
 

Matro didn’t announce that our training session was over until close to midnight. With reluctance, I got into my car, feeling exhilarated.

He stuck his head in the driver’s side window. “You did a great job,” he said with a smile.

I pushed the ignition button. “Will I be able to keep one for myself?”

“In time.”
 

He bowed and was gone in a blink of an eye.

Fighting Back

It wasn’t a surprise that I woke up with a pounding headache. After coming home around midnight being unable to sleep, it was difficult to get an early start. Mr. Peters’ refusal to listen lay heavy on my mind, despite the excitement of my first lesson in fighting. When I reached the school, I continued to struggle with the remnants of my headache but still noticed the somber atmosphere on campus. There was no doubt something was wrong.
 

By the time I got to the classroom, Shannon was already sitting in her usual spot with her head bent low.
 

“What’s going on? What’s with the long face?” I whispered, dropping my backpack on the floor.

When she looked up, I recognized that she’d been crying.