Outbreak (13 page)

“Dakota? What are we doing? We can’t just walk around aimlessly like targets.”

“I know, I know. Let me think.”

Elaine stops and looks around the small center of town.

“Geez, Elaine. Stop being so obvious.”

“There’s no one following us, Dakota. You’re being paranoid.”

“You don’t know that,” I snap. I release a sharp breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. It’s horrible.” Elaine smiles as a biker passes too close on the sidewalk, nearly sending her to the ground. “Whoa! Watch it,” she yells at the biker before she starts to laugh.

I smile as the stranglehold on my nerves abates. I again stretch my awareness. Nothing. Maybe I imagined everything.

“Come on. It’s Wednesday, we can go to the Farmers Market. No one will find us in that mess.”

We walk to the end of Main Street and turn the corner to the large, fenced-in parking lot. Previously a drive-in theatre, this space has housed our near-famous Farmers Market forever. People come from all over Central California to get fresh fruits and vegetables, nuts and flowers, as well as a strange assortment of over-priced junk.

Elaine leads me through the maze of vender booths, lingering to look at some of the goods. “What now?” she asks. “Should we just check things out like we used to?”

Elaine and I came to the market every Wednesday over the summers. I loved the fresh produce. She liked the flowers.

“No. I still think you should call Mark and go back to SLO.” I stop at a vegetable stand and examine the assortment of squash. My senses refuse to relax. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Hunted. “I need to leave Cambria,” I say to no one.

“What? Why?” Elaine leads me to a stand with fruit baskets and bags of fresh almonds.

“It’s me they want.” My nerves feel like they’re going to jump through my skin. “If I leave, everyone else will be safe.” I think of David and my reasons for leaving him. It was a mistake to come here, a mistake to think LeMercier couldn’t find me.

“Who? Who is coming after you?”

I walk to the next booth and finger the stems of Zinnias, Amaranths and Peruvian Lilies that stand in tall buckets. “These are nice.” I hand a zinnia to Elaine.

“Don’t ignore the question. Who’s after you exactly?” She stops and glares at me. “The government? The police? That LeMercier guy?”

My body shudders with the mention of my father.

A familiar crackling sound whizzes past me. My mind spins. The flower vendor screams. Chaos erupts in the market.

On instinct I pull Elaine to the ground with me. The vendor lands next to us with a thud, his lifeless eyes still open. Blood oozes from a spot on his head as more crimson liquid pools around his scalp. A strangled gasp escapes Elaine’s mouth. She stares at the vendor, shock etched into the corners of her mouth.

More gunshots ring out. More screams as pandemonium breaks out around us. Elaine and I crouch low and push through the tangled maze of tables and people.

“Run and hide.” I push her ahead of me. “I’ll take care of this.” I don’t want her to see what I am about to do.

“No. I’m not letting you confront these people.”

“Just go! Run!” I run toward the gunshots as Elaine calls my name. Centering my thoughts, I envision the snipers in detail. Two men, each dressed like flower vendors. A white van is parked near one of the fences that surround the market. The men are perched on top, picking off their victims.

I spin around and scrutinize the perimeter. Another flurry of shots fill my ears and I duck briefly. A throng of panicked shoppers block my line of sight. They push past me, scream, fall. The guns quiet. The people continue to scream.

A moment passes.

Another.

I picture both men collapsing to their knees atop the van, their minds lost to the pain I inflict. A slow smile curves my lips. I want them to hurt,
need
them to suffer.

They deserve it.

Part of me tries to resist my urge to kill the faceless assassins, to resist the instincts LeMercier created in me. A bigger, louder part of me wants to unleash every moment of the hell trapped inside. The frustration and the rage. I want them to pay, just like I wanted Maya to pay. Pay for Mom and Josh. Pay for the life I’ve been denied, the memories I’ve lost.

Pay for me and what I’ve become, what I am.

The silhouettes of the two gunmen demonstrate the power of the mental images I toss into their thoughts. They writhe and crumble, straining against their guns. Their arms shake as the weapons fix on each other. Dual gunshots signal my success. The men fall from the van as it explodes in synch with the pictures in my head. The ground shakes as fire reaches the gas tank. My smile broadens. I didn’t watch when I killed the other men, didn’t feel the satisfaction that currently coats my skin.

I’m energized and shamed simultaneously.

Releasing the thought, I focus my senses on Elaine. It takes several heartbeats before I sense her at the far end of the destroyed market. I run, weaving between the few remaining patrons, broken tables and scattered goods.

“Elaine,” I yell as I round the last corner. My body jerks to a full stop. Bile swirls and races up my throat. My legs shake.

“Hello, Assassin.”

Seven’s heart pounded in his chest. He drank in the look on the Assassin’s face as he held the girl captive, one arm around her throat, his Glock pressed into her temple. He didn’t often use guns, preferring instead to use his psychic abilities or hand-to-hand methods of inflicting pain or death. But he knew the gun would throw the Assassin off-balance, he’d learned that much rummaging through her thoughts.

“Who are you?” the Assassin snapped. She didn’t look dangerous in any way.

“Does it matter?” Seven smiled. He drank in the anger rolling off the Assassin in waves.

A low, faint pressure covered his mind.
Interesting,
he thought as his gaze passed from his captive to his target. Another hint of pressure. And another.

“You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to impress me.” Seven enjoyed the way the Assassin’s eyes ignited every time he goaded her.

“Don’t worry,” the Assassin said to the girl locked in Seven’s grip. “He won’t hurt you. He’s only trying to scare me.” A moment of fear passed over the Assassin’s expression.

“I wouldn’t listen to her,” Seven taunted. “I think you should be very worried.” Smug satisfaction curved Seven’s lips again as he pushed the Glock deeper into the girl’s temple. She whimpered in pain.

“You don’t want to mess with me,” the Assassin growled as she again brushed against Seven’s mind.

His shield held. He knew it would. Assassin or not, she was no match for him.

“Oh I do, I really do.” He tightened his grip around his captive’s throat. She sputtered, coughed. Her face reddened.

“Stop. You don’t want to hurt her. You’re here for me.” The Assassin’s words flowed in rapid, staccato bites. “Let her go.” She took a step closer.

Seven waited, his mind locked on the Assassin’s. Indecision ruled her thoughts, followed first by fear and then, rage.

The Assassin’s eyes widened as Seven felt her detect his mental presence. Confusion followed acceptance within a heartbeat. “You’re one of the recruits. From the compound,” she said.

“The place you burned to the ground, yes.” Seven snarled the words, sarcasm replaced by anger. “But I am no recruit.”

Again he felt her try to enter his thoughts. His gaze locked with hers as she continued to seek a way into his mind. Something about her intrigued him. What was it about her that his master needed so desperately? What did the Creator see that Seven did not?

Seven scrutinized the little details of the Assassin’s appearance. She was shorter than he, though older. They shared similar features from their hair to their eyes, but where the Assassin’s skin was golden brown, Seven’s was milky white and nearly translucent. More than anything, Seven noticed weakness in the Assassin. Fear. She was unworthy of the Creator’s attention.

“Don’t you grow tired of your feeble attempts to know my thoughts,” Seven asked as he relaxed his grip on his captive in favor of grinding the Glock into the girl’s temples again.

“Let her go,” the Assassin said, her voice steady. “Take me. That’s what they want, right? That’s why LeMercier sent you, isn’t it? To bring me back?”

Seven’s stomach tightened.
So weak,
he thought.
So unworthy.
In one swift move, he removed the gun from his captive, aimed it at the Assassin and pulled the trigger. A bullet sped forward dangerously close to her ear. Seven smiled and shifted his attention to the girl locked in his arm. In a moment, she screamed in pain. “Dakota,” she wheezed between groans. “Help.” Seven laughed and pressed the gun up against her chin, his finger on the trigger.

“Stop!” Dakota yelled.

The pressure in his mind grew as she slammed into his mental shield once again. He pushed against her and laughed. “The next shot goes into you both,
Dakota
.” His voice lingered on her name. He refused to think of her as the Assassin now that her weaknesses were so evident.

White-hot pain shot through his temple. The gun fell from his hand as Seven’s thoughts began to implode. He grabbed at his head, surprised. His captive fell to the ground with a cough.

Before he could recover, two hands pinned his arms back.

“Dakota, run!”

Seven watched his target grab her friend and take off. He slammed into the Assassin’s thoughts as she continued to flee, finding nothing but a stiff, cold shield.

A strong arm settled around his throat. “Now you’ll deal with me.”

The Samurai
.

Seven hadn’t noticed him. He growled and hissed as the warrior released his grasp on Seven and swept his legs out from under him. Seven crashed hard on the graveled ground. Rocks sliced into his skin.

Instantly he was back on his feet and on the attack. His fists collided with his enemy’s stiff torso. His mind reached out and rammed into an unmovable shield. He spun and struck again with similar results.

The Samurai returned each blow, his moves more fluid than Seven’s.
Time to end this,
Seven thought. His mind extended and grasped at the surrounding rocks, making them swirl and rise. They spun toward the Samurai. The warrior dodged and pivoted, missing most of the flying projectiles.

The Samurai sufficiently distracted, Seven grabbed the gun, spun, and fired, just as darkness engulfed his thoughts.

Seven blinked away the darkness as he forced his eyes open. Double beds, a small desk and a bathroom blurred into view. His memories came back in a sudden rush: the Assassin, so weak and unworthy, her escape, the Samurai. Shame and rage carved into Seven’s heart as he pushed himself to his feet.

You failed
. A projection of the Creator stood at the window, his back toward Seven. Anger dripped from every word. Anger and disdain.
You allowed your feelings for her to weaken you
. The Creator spun to face Seven, collapsing the distance between them in two steps.
Why?

It was more of an accusation than a question.

Seven opened his mouth and closed it again, his words nothing but ash in his mouth. What could he say? He had shown weakness. He’d allowed his ego to blind him to the Samurai’s presence. He had failed. “I offer no excuses Master. This was my error. I—”

The Creator ripped through Seven’s thoughts, choking off his words.
I warned you against underestimating her,
his master snarled.

Seven had never seen his master this angry with anyone but the members of the Order. His brow furrowed with shame. Self-loathing coiled around him and squeezed. His mind twisted.
No!
Seven screamed in his thoughts.
This is not my fault
. The Samurai caused this. The Samurai had bested him, not the Assassin.

Never her—not again.

Still you underestimate her. You aren’t ready for the task
.

A low growl pushed past Seven’s lips.

The Creator’s projection walked through Seven, fading as he reached the door.
Wait until I call on you,
he said in Seven’s mind.
And do not fail me again
.