Splintered Energy (The Colors Book 1) (15 page)

Damon groaned, reluctant to leave the water. What if they tried to put Caream back in that hospital? If Ya-man woke, went after her, she could take him. Easy. But multiple weapons were a problem. She couldn’t stop twelve or more large men firing guns without injury.

The metal lodged inside Damon refused to move, and hurt throbbed into his chest. He wished it’d stop. Why did Ya-man want Caream? Damon didn’t think it was the psych hospital, so he hadn’t yet killed the man. Were all men stupid? Caream could be quite aggravating. He’d wait two long minutes. If she didn’t start doing everything he told her, he’d place invincible fingers around her neck.

Every nuance of noise in Caream’s path across the parking lot sounded in his head. She hadn’t gone far when her footsteps stopped. Two creatures inside a shelter next to her began that erratic beat in their chest.

“Hot damn. Orange baby doll.” A man voice, filled with excitement. Heavy steps burst out the damn door. Lighter man-steps followed.

“That’s some sexy outfit. You like motorcycles? How’d you ever get your skin that shade? Want a ride? Good time guaranteed.”

They asked dumb questions, didn’t care about the answers, and had to be too stupid to understand Caream could rip their heads off. If Damon pulled the metal the water came from, would it move with him? Or would it break like everything else?

It broke. A mess of twisted metal with good water splashing everywhere.

“You heard that gunshot,” the smaller man said. “We should hit the road. Honey, not that bike. Hop on my hog. What’s your name?”

How cruel are these men? Hurt the road because of gun noise?
The girl whose clothes Damon had taken and the man with her were awake. They whispered to each other, worried about calling police, staying hidden in the room, or both. He poked his foot into Ya-man’s backside, stepped over him and slunk past where the unhappy couple was too afraid to even look out the window. If he asked them to teach police problems, the girl might scream at Damon about her important clothes being gone.

Across the paved area, Caream stood beside two vehicles with two wheels on each, named motorcycles or bikes. A man stepped too close to her. It’d become interesting if they spoke the psych hospital words.

“She’s mine,” the heavy one said. “Your old lady will kill you. Grab my keys.”

“No fuckin’ way. Get them yourself.” The lighter one cried the mean words like he had water choking his mouth. He didn’t fear death from an old lady. He feared the other man. “I never seen a porn—” Smaller-man gasped as the fist smashed into him.

“Get the keys.”

Damon groaned. Heavy-man would kill with more blows like that. Damon brightened. So what? Moms killed. Old ladies killed. The men wanted each other dead. He could help.

“Okay, but I get a turn, or I swear I’ll shoot you in the back.”

In the long minute it took the smaller to return with a ring of metal, the large one continued to jerk his gaze over Caream. Damon approached slowly. Neither man heard until he was close. Damon grunted. Caream hadn’t spoken to them. Irritating girl expected him to handle the communication.

He ignored the two men glaring at him. “What’s Caream doing?”

“A wet red freak?” Heavy-man stepped in front of the motorcycles. “You guys into paint or what? The tangerine doll wants to go for a ride. Back off.”

The man’s attention snapped back on Caream as she climbed onto one bike’s control seat. Her movements, the upper clothing slipping, made the pounding noise in the men’s chests beat harder. She bent over the metal…Caream learned the bike! She’d teach Damon.

Not easy, but he stopped his feet pounding, happy, into the pavement. It confused Heavy-man. The other edged close to Caream. Damon let him. If the man wanted her to kill him, so be it.

Heavy-man grabbed Damon’s hurt shoulder. “You have a death wish? Dance on outta here, Red. Last time I say, back the fuck off.”

Fuck off? Take the head off and mean words would stop. Angry noise burst free from Damon, warning the large man raising—his pretty arm! An image of a black head with a beautiful-red forked tongue lived on his thick arm. Its thin, twisted body was long and black. The image started above the man’s hand and entwined up his fleshy arm to hide under the sleeve.

Damon clamped him in place, and he touched the beautiful image. It smelled like man-skin, but the texture was different. His feathery stroke made the nerves on the hairy man-arm happy. Heavy-man became…excited? Damon caressed his fingers round, all the way up and under the sleeve. His grin got a giggle from Caream.

Happy didn’t last. The man snarled and water spit from his mouth. He wanted to free his arm. Worried about the heat from Damon’s grip making his body feel good? Afraid of fun touching? That didn’t make sense.

“What kinda fag are you? Get off me before I kill you.” He yanked his hand from Damon’s hurting shoulder. “You need a hospital, but I’ll put you in the morgue.”

The man wiped the pretty color from his hand onto his lower clothes. “Jesus, probably have AIDS, you sick, gay freak.”

“Either take Red out, or get another room.” Small-man smiled, nasty.

Damon released the man. When he wasn’t breaking her arm, Jaylynn had also liked Damon’s touch. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He bit his lip to keep the sad in. Take him out? Where? They were outside. Stupid confused men, but the hospital word had been said. He balled his fists, aching to shove fuck and hospital down their throats. He’d try to understand, one final time.

“Hospital-psych bad. Caream not go. Can’t take Damon. Morgue? Don’t know gay freak. Aids? Teach.”

“Teach you? I’ll kill—”

A low rumble from Damon and the man flinched backward, understanding the demon.

Finally. Caream watched Damon crush the pavement with Ya-man’s boot and smiled, ready to teach. “Damon find girl teacher? Caream needs.” She tapped metal. A slot for a key? Like in the Mom-car?

“Littlest has key. Damon drive.”

“No, Caream drive. Damon breaks.” Caream scrambled off the bike and reached for Little-man.

Bones cracked, Caream grabbed the key, and the man screamed, “You bitch. I’ll—”

Before Caream could kill Little-man, Damon’s fist on his head dropped him, safe, to the ground. Caream inserted the key in the bike. Heavy-man moved toward her.

Damon barely gripped the man’s arm, but that sharp snap rang out. Invincible was hard to control. Didn’t matter. Only bone had broken. The pretty image on the arm was okay. Caream didn’t look up while Damon tossed Heavy-man over her. Little-man broke the fall. Despite the weight smashing him, Damon could still hear their airflow. Heavy-man lifted his head. Before his scream burst to hurt Damon’s ears, he stopped it.

The metal key cooperated. Caream made the bike alive and she gestured for Damon to hurry. He seized Heavy-man’s broken arm. He had to find out what could be hiding beneath that pretty image. Nails on his hand made a good weapon. “Beautiful! Caream, look.” Damon clawed, smearing pretty droplets. It smelled bad. Metallic, salty, hairy.

“No. Ugly like Damon. Come.” Caream knocked the metal support up—the bike too large for her feet to touch ground—and tried to move backward. Unbalanced, she went forward turning sharp to avoid the shutdown men.

“Teach Damon drive.”

Caream smiled and moved without him.

“Caaaream!” He dropped the pretty man-arm. With a long leap, he landed behind her. “Go. Faster.”

Not any lights—beautiful, yellow, or green—encouraged Caream to stop. A bad driver, she went too slow on the edge of the road and maneuvered around obstacles. Surprised men, girls, stared like Caream tried to hurt them. They were all so confused here. When they reached the large pavement, Caream shot to the far left and finally accelerated.

The bike started a harsh crying, and Caream slowed until the wanting-to-break sound stopped. Stupid girl. Damon could make them go faster. Soon, he’d show her. No Caream, no motorcycle, no one could stop him. But maybe the two-wheels was like the Mom-car. Capable of only so much.

The sickly light, the vast sky, and those lines along the pavement remained problems. The pretty, red-brown mountains looked ruined by the ugly trees that weren’t trees. Everywhere, they pointed up like a thin, green finger, with little arms on them. A whimper escaped from Caream when they passed a fat, dead-white truck.

Damon slipped his arms around her, and Caream’s fear shivers slowed. Not fair. No one ever held Damon, and he felt as miserable as she did. No, that was wrong. He was sadder. Not only wasn’t he driving, he had Caream annoying him. If he could ignore this horror, so could she. She snuggled into him. One long minute, and enough. He moved. His grunt of relief when she didn’t shift back against him made her giggle.

Finally, they reached Phoenix. The ugly circle of light hung directly overhead, burning through the sky and bothering the many creatures. Caream halted to avoid hitting a large, long truck in front or cars to both sides. All the vehicles had stopped. He put his feet down and balanced the bike.

“How far?” Caream leaned and spat ugly Caream-water on the ground. He growled and moved Ya-man’s boot to avoid it.

“Soon thick trees that smell good, not like thin that aren’t trees.” He pointed toward the pine forest. “Caream’s a stupid driver. Damon drive.” He grasped her shoulders. What was she doing? “Caaareeeaaamm!”

The motorcycle leaned too far, Damon’s leg almost scraped the pavement, and the truck wanted his head off. Not fair. He was invincible over Caream, so she tries to smash him into the road and remove his head at the same time? Going under a big truck was much fun. The laugh tore deep from inside him, and he bounced so happy, he almost fell off while Caream made the bike straighten.

She sped from the good pavement and down into the broken. She zigzagged through the mess and maintained the fastest speed possible before the bike got angry. When they reached the image I-87, he stopped yelling in her ear.

Phoenix finally behind them, no one drove along the road when he poked her, and Caream came to a stop. The ditch that hurt Jaylynn’s face, after her bad driving put her into it, was empty. Damon had expected she wouldn’t be anywhere he could see. He’d have to listen for her.

He sighed and opened his head to all the din. Caream put her hand on his leg to tell him, without adding to the noise, that she felt sad for him.

So many sounds. Mean, happy, crying, laughing, yelling, whispering—it hurt. Enough to make his eyes leak. He rubbed his head, spit good water on the ground, and closed the noises off. Deep mouthfuls of air helped dull the pain.

He’d tried for one minute and failed. His lower lip cracked from his teeth fighting to keep the sad inside. A fine layer of water covered them, and the lack of air movement made the light even worse. That structure in the trees would help.

“Caream, move. Damon drive.”

“Where?”

He gestured into the pines and lifted his leg off the bike. Caream shifted metal and turned from the road. Damon scrambled back on. His fingers encircled Caream’s neck.

Stupid girl didn’t care. He groaned and dropped his hands. More practice on men, maybe he’d only damage an irritating girl-neck, not snap the head off and throw it to hit the furthest tree.

Together, with him balancing and her bad driving, they dodged trees and finally reached the structure. Caream jumped off and left Damon holding the quieting bike. He shrugged and leapt. She rolled her eyes, caught the falling motorcycle, and placed the metal stand down.

They averted their sight from the pile of broken, colorful objects by the entrance and entered. While he forced the damn door back, Caream grabbed the black blanket. Despite the heat, she threw it over her head and dropped.

A grunt of air blew from his lips. Damon scooped her up. He sat on the couch and held Caream. The combination of black and his arms brought calm, and the horror of the drive in the light faded. After a long minute, he dumped her off his lap.

One food source for fire, named a table, came apart with ease. He tossed broken pieces into the fireplace and picked up the box on the mantle. The sticks of wood with the pretty tip didn’t crumble, but they didn’t do anything.

Caream jumped up and skipped to bother him. “Give Caream. Damon is…don’t know word.”

“Jaylynn made fire. Fire good. Don’t know many words, damn stupid Caream is.” What was she doing?

The sliver of wood jumped alive with fire.
Happy!

Caream moved the tiny flame, cupped safe in her hand, to the food source. Crouched down, she blew and fire loved her air. Pretty colors, like Damon and Caream, flickered together.

After the wood had been eaten, Caream bounded where Jaylynn had gone—
water!

His arms full of books, Damon hurled them into the fire and ran.

Caream drank from her cupped hands. Damon knocked into her and sent her sprawling.

She glared at him bent over the sink, scrambled to her feet, and grabbed a pan. She smashed it on his uninjured shoulder. He howled as she raised the metal again and threw water into her face. She giggled, dropped the weapon, and licked the water off her lips.

He returned her grin and slid aside. He bounced on his toes, waiting and waiting. She took too long. Both their laughs were fun when he shoved her head in the sink and water went everywhere. He danced next to her and drank his fill.