Struck (34 page)

The Apostles had closed their circle around us. I could feel their combined power stirring the air until it condensed like fog … like clouds. The pressure in the air had dropped, the way it did before a storm, and I could feel every hair on my body rising to attention. My eardrums needed to pop. The Apostles had started without me. But they were missing an element. I was the final ingredient. I was the lightning.

I thought of the game I used to play as a kid … Red Rover.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Mia on over
.

Could we break through those linked hands?

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Jeremy on over
.

And even if we could, would we be able to make it past the Followers? Their faces were determined, their hands grasped tighter than ever.

We were trapped.

More explosions of fire and light from outside. The walls of the tent were burning slowly. They must have been treated with fire retardant, the opposite of the Dealer’s tent, but that didn’t mean the tent was fireproof. Still, most of the Followers did not look worried. They seemed at peace with the idea that they might burn to death inside the White Tent … meet their end before the world got a chance to be destroyed by their angry, pessimist God.

The only Follower who looked less than content to fry with his comrades was the Dealer. His lips and lids were peeled back, so he was all teeth and eyes. But he couldn’t bolt if he wanted to. He was fenced in with the rest of us.

Gray masses of cloud were forming inside the tent. Anyone who didn’t know better might think it was smoke from the burning walls, but it wasn’t. It was the moisture in the air condensing into clouds.

There was a commotion near the entrance to the White Tent. I saw the bald-headed Cro-Magnon-looking Follower from the night before, shoving at someone, yelling. But he was one of the only Followers not linked hand in hand with the rest, and none of the others would disobey their Prophet and break the circle to come to Cro-Magnon’s aid. Cro-Magnon was thrust aside and newcomers began to pour into the tent. Not Followers.

In they came, dozens of Seekers in their red cloaks and emotionless black masks, gliding over the sand. They were
an intimidating sight, but the Followers did not release one another, and there were so many more in white than in red. But the Seekers kept coming, until they formed their own red circle around the mass of white.

Where was Parker? I hoped he was safe outside the flaming walls of the White Tent, if there was such a thing as safe anymore.

One of the Seekers spoke then, shouting to be heard above the crackling of flames. I recognized the hard-boiled growl instantly, despite the black mask concealing his face.

“Release your Followers, false prophet,” Mr. Kale called. “Their part in this is over.”

Prophet only smiled. “Their faith cannot be shaken. They know I am a true prophet of God.”

In answer, Mr. Kale stepped from the circle of Seekers, and the two Seekers to either side of him placed their hands on his shoulders. I felt the energy in the room vibrating my skin. The Seekers seemed to shine with an eerie reddish glow, something I could only see if I didn’t look for it. But out of the corner of my eye, it was there.

A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd of Followers.

Mr. Kale placed his hands, one on each of two Followers’ heads. Prophet must have sensed something happening that was not part of his plan. His smile was now made of gritted teeth.

“Call this a test of their faith,” Mr. Kale called, and his hands clamped tight on the Followers’ heads. They bucked, and tried to jerk away, but Mr. Kale held tight. The glow of red light coming from the Seekers intensified for a heartbeat, and suddenly the same red light pulsed from beneath
Mr. Kale’s hands. The whole outer ring of Followers, not just the two whose heads Mr. Kale had palmed, writhed and cried out. A few screamed in agony so piercing I wanted to cover my ears to shut out the sound.

Then the outer ring of Followers dropped hands. They looked at one another, dazed, saw the flames devouring the tent walls.

And they ran.

“Their faith is not as strong as you think,” Mr. Kale called to Prophet. “I’m coming for you.”

Mr. Kale grabbed another set of heads and did the same thing, releasing another layer of Follower fencing. Only about fifty more to go. I didn’t know if Mr. Kale was breaking Prophet’s hold on these people, or simply commanding them to do what a part of them must want to, which was get out of this flaming death trap. I didn’t really care, so long as he worked quickly. Fire was rising up the walls, and the air was black with combined smoke and the clouds still condensing in the air. I could barely see the Seekers anymore. But while the clouds were rising, permeating the ceiling of the tent to ascend into the sky, the smoke was trapped inside. The ceiling was high, but it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for the smoke to spread down to us. Already my eyes were burning, my lungs starting to reject the air I breathed.

The Dealer craned his head to see what was happening near the entrance. I saw a look of relief cross his face when he realized what Mr. Kale was doing. But Mr. Kale was still far away, and the Dealer was linked in one of the circles closest to the platform. The smoke was descending, the inside of the tent heating like an oven.

A sudden, wild cry escaped the Dealer’s lips. His brainwashing must have been tenuous, because he wrenched his hands from those of the Followers on either side of him and broke for the exit.

He didn’t get far.

“Coward!” cried one of the Followers whose hand the Dealer had held, a chubby, middle-aged woman, who had a sweet, round-cheeked face but the deadest eyes I’d ever seen. She kicked the Dealer square in the crotch and he fell to his knees. “After Prophet healed you! Traitor!” she squalled. She linked with the other Follower whose hand the Dealer had dropped, the two of them pummeling the Dealer with their bare feet, smashing at him with their heels. Other Followers within kicking reach joined in the fun. Rachel was one of them. She kicked at the Dealer with manic glee in her popping eyes.

“This is what happens when you defy Prophet!” Rachel shouted, but she threw her words at me rather than the man she’d just stomped.

The Dealer writhed in the sand, and then began to twitch, and finally stilled altogether.

How were we going to get out of here? Mr. Kale couldn’t deprogram everyone before we were asphyxiated. Even if I could get past the Apostles, I’d have hundreds of Followers to contend with. They’d beat us to death before we got ten feet from the platform.

I blinked the sting out of my eyes, and when they cleared, I finally saw through the murky air the person I’d been looking for. He’d entered the tent with several other red-cloaked Seekers, and when he saw me he lowered his mask to show me his face. Show me he was here for me.

“Parker!” I shouted, tugging Mom’s arm again. “Mom, come on. Parker’s here!”

Distracted by the sight of my brother, my grip on Mom’s arm must have loosened. She tore away from me. I whirled to see her rushing back to Prophet’s side. He curled one arm around her smoothly, as though he’d been expecting her. With the other hand he reached beneath the lapel of his white suit coat. I caught a flash of silver as he withdrew that familiar knife with the smooth, wickedly sharp blade. Mom continued to cling to Prophet, even when he pressed the blade to her neck. She actually sighed and tilted her head back to reveal more of her vulnerable skin.

A part of her wants this. A part of her wants to die
.

“No!” I refused to let her go, let her give up.

I moved toward her, but Prophet either sensed my motion or caught the blur of it in his faded vision. He slid the knife blade against Mom’s neck and blood appeared and trailed down her throat and beaded on her satin gown, dark pearls among the white.

Some people in the crowd gasped in shock, but they stayed where they were. Even the sight of their beloved Prophet with a knife to an innocent woman’s neck did not break the hold he had over them.

The sight of my mother’s blood made a bomb go off inside me. Fire charged through my bloodstream until it gathered in my hands. I felt the air around me begin to crackle with the energy.

“Join the circle,” Prophet said, this time out loud, and slid the knife farther along Mom’s throat, sawing through her skin. More blood streamed. Mom was smiling again. Gazing back into Prophet’s milky eyes and smiling.

“I love you,” she said.

In answer, Prophet cut deeper.

“Mia.” Jeremy was staring at my hands.

I looked down and saw what he saw. My hands were on fire.

No. Not on fire, but glowing with a light the color of blood, and they were so hot. So very hot. Little red threads of energy emerged from my palms and squirmed, as though searching for something to attach to. Halos of red light beamed around my hands.

“Join the circle,” Prophet said again, with finality in his voice, and I knew this was the last time he would tell me.

“Mia, you can’t,” Jeremy pleaded. “You know what will happen.”

I met Jeremy’s eyes, but only for a moment before I had to look away. Before I held out my hands to the Apostles, my heart exploding with fury and desperation. Prophet would cut my mother’s throat if I didn’t do this, and I would watch her die. I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t watch my mother die, knowing I had failed to save her. Failed her one final time.

So instead I would fail the world.

Maybe the storm wouldn’t bring another earthquake, a part of me thought. Maybe Prophet’s plan would fail, even if I gave him the lightning.

But another part of me knew the truth; knew Prophet’s plan would work because Jeremy had seen it work a thousand times.

The Apostles broke their circle and received me, and when my hands joined with theirs I felt the crackling fire-storm surge out from my heart, through my arms to my
hands and into the circle. Ivan and Iris, the Apostles to my right and left, screamed in agony as I scorched them, but they didn’t let go. They couldn’t if they’d wanted to. I’d welded them to me. Threads of bloodred energy wound around their arms and grew and lengthened, stretching like my lightning scars to encompass the Apostles. There was terror in their eyes as the energy twisted around their limbs and torsos, wrapping them completely. Cocooning them in blood lightning.

I felt the charge on my skin as the haze of storm clouds above us thickened and bunched, clouds darkening to the color of ink, permeated with electricity. With
my
electricity. The clouds filled the tent and pushed through the ceiling and into the air outside. Rain began to patter on the roof of the tent.

And then crimson light blasted the sky, and thunder detonated.

“Thy will be done!” A maniac grin spread on Prophet’s face as lightning lit up the sky and thunder boomed again. And I found I was grinning, too, caught in the thrill of the lightning, feeling it all over my skin, feeling more alive than I ever had before, and I wanted it to go on and on. This was no regular storm. This was
my
storm, and it had been waiting such a long time to get out.

“Mia!”

I barely heard the voice hidden beneath the sound of thunder. If it hadn’t been a voice I knew better than any other, I might have missed it.

“Parker.” My voice seemed to come from a hundred miles away.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder and saw him there. My little brother, moving toward the platform behind the rest of the Seekers as Mr. Kale cut a path. But slowly. Too slowly.

They were too late. The storm had already begun, and now it was moving. I could already feel it traveling away from us, and quickly, as though something were pulling it, reeling it in.

The Waste. The energy there, humming like a power plant under the ground … it was like the Spark or the Light. What you called it didn’t matter. It was energy, and certain types of energy attract other types of energy. A positive charge attracts a negative charge. I had given my energy, the energy stored inside me, to the storm, but clouds were not an efficient storage container. Clouds sought to release their energy, to connect to the right source.

And they would find that source in the Waste, deep in the chasms that cracked the surface of the earth.

The sixth seal. The Puente Hills Fault.

But the sight of Parker broke the trance the lightning held me in, and Jeremy, detecting the change, took two steps and stood before me. Red light washed his face. My heart … my incinerator of a heart … ached for him. I didn’t want to cause him more pain, but I seemed destined to do so.

“Mia, take back your hands,” he said softly.

I nodded, but when I tried to pull my hands away, to break the circle, I found it impossible. I had fused myself to the Apostles.

“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Iris said through the
pain of being linked to me. “But you played your part anyway, didn’t you? You gave Father what he wanted.” Her smile was hate. It was triumph.

I tried again to jerk my arms away, and nearly dislocated my shoulder. Merely pulling away from them wouldn’t work. I had to withdraw my energy, pull it back inside myself. But I had no idea how to do that.

The sky lit up, so bright I was momentarily blinded. An earsplitting crack of thunder sounded.

When my vision returned, I saw Prophet over Jeremy’s shoulder … his eyes wild with rapture. He still held the knife to Mom’s throat. “You’re too late,” he called, and he didn’t need the mic to make his voice heard throughout the tent. “The storm is moving toward the Waste! Soon the ground will quake, and the last Tower will fall, and the evil children of this city will fall with it. Here is where the end begins!”

His grip on Mom had tightened as he spoke, and with his last words he convulsed as though in exaltation. The blade of the knife he still had pressed to her neck bit deep and her eyes widened, and blood … so much blood … poured from her throat.

“Nooo!” I screamed, and in one agonizing rush sucked back the energy that wrapped the Apostles, rent my hands away, and shattered the circle. A great surge of energy went up like a mushroom cloud, and the Apostles cried out and fell back, tumbling off the side of the platform onto the Followers. Pain like my bones were breaking and my muscles snapping ripped through my body. But the pain didn’t matter.