chewed into the walls all around us as we evacuated the hostages. I was the last one out, my pistol’s hammer slapping down on an empty chamber before I tumbled out the window. I landed hard on the grass, rolling on my shoulder, moving as soon as I came back up again.
Jessie grabbed the closest hostage and pointed her toward the forest. “You three—go that way. Follow the road south, but stay behind the tree line. Don’t stop moving until the sun comes up, got it?”
They got it. They ran one way and we ran the other, racing for the garage. Every light in the lodge blazed to life, parking-lot lamps flickering on, pushing back the darkness in a white sodium glare.
“No civilians left,” Jessie panted, shooting me a look. I caught her meaning—time to take the gloves off.
“Cody,” I said, running alongside him, “you might see something weird in a minute. I need you to just roll with it, okay?”
“Weird like Talbot Cove weird?”
Earth, air, water, fire, I thought, feeling rippling pinpricks wash over my sweaty skin like a blanket of static electricity, garb me in your raiment. Arm me with your weapons.
The garage stood on the edge of the parking lot, its big rolling door open to the night. We weren’t alone. Two mercenaries burst from the doorway while another rounded the back corner, pinning us in a cross fire. The lone merc shouldered his rifle and let off a three-round burst as I flung out my hand, streamers of wind rippling from my fingertips in a pearly heat-mirage sheen. The air hardened, thickening, catching the bullets in a gelatin net and freezing them in midflight. Then I pushed , shoving my other palm forward, and the hardened air became a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. The bullets whipped back the way they came at supersonic speed, slamming into the gunman’s chest and tossing his corpse to the asphalt like a rag doll.
The other two never got a chance to pull the trigger. Jessie pounced like a feral wolf, faster than any human could move. She backhanded one of the mercs hard enough to break his teeth, tearing his rifle away and spinning on one heel, swinging the butt up to shatter his partner’s jaw. Then she flipped it in her grip and held the trigger down, riddling both of them with bullets at point-blank range.
Cody froze, blinking, looking between us. “What . . . what just happened here?”
I didn’t have time to explain, and the sudden surge of cramping pain in my guts wouldn’t give me the breath to talk. That stunt with the bullets made me siphon too much energy, too fast, and my body had to pay the price. I shoved a key into his hands and limped into the garage, just behind Jessie.
A quartet of shiny, candy-colored four-wheelers waited for us, matching the garishly bright tags on their keys. They were Honda TRX models, outfitted with all-sport tires and built for action. I just hoped the lodge kept them fueled between rentals. I saddled up, groaning as my weight shifted, feeling like a heavyweight boxer had punched me square in the gut.
“Hey,” Cody said, looking back at me as he swung one leg over the lead ATV. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I croaked, revving the engine and leaning into the handlebars. “Just drive.”
We burst from the garage to the tune of screeching tires and crackling gunfire. Mercs streamed from the lodge’s front doors like wasps from a hive, muzzles flashing bright white against the shadows as they took wild shots at us. Cody kept one hand on the handlebars and the other on his gun, eyes squinting as he snapped off a few quick shots. One merc went down with a yelp, clutching his shoulder, while the others dived for cover.
We headed north.
As we rumbled onto an old hiking trail, a suggestion of a line in dirt carved through the wood, our headlights cut through the gloom like white-hot knives. Brambles and boughs reached in from either side, a wall of lunging spears, and I hunched low against the machine as the engine
Jessie grabbed the closest hostage and pointed her toward the forest. “You three—go that way. Follow the road south, but stay behind the tree line. Don’t stop moving until the sun comes up, got it?”
They got it. They ran one way and we ran the other, racing for the garage. Every light in the lodge blazed to life, parking-lot lamps flickering on, pushing back the darkness in a white sodium glare.
“No civilians left,” Jessie panted, shooting me a look. I caught her meaning—time to take the gloves off.
“Cody,” I said, running alongside him, “you might see something weird in a minute. I need you to just roll with it, okay?”
“Weird like Talbot Cove weird?”
Earth, air, water, fire, I thought, feeling rippling pinpricks wash over my sweaty skin like a blanket of static electricity, garb me in your raiment. Arm me with your weapons.
The garage stood on the edge of the parking lot, its big rolling door open to the night. We weren’t alone. Two mercenaries burst from the doorway while another rounded the back corner, pinning us in a cross fire. The lone merc shouldered his rifle and let off a three-round burst as I flung out my hand, streamers of wind rippling from my fingertips in a pearly heat-mirage sheen. The air hardened, thickening, catching the bullets in a gelatin net and freezing them in midflight. Then I pushed , shoving my other palm forward, and the hardened air became a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. The bullets whipped back the way they came at supersonic speed, slamming into the gunman’s chest and tossing his corpse to the asphalt like a rag doll.
The other two never got a chance to pull the trigger. Jessie pounced like a feral wolf, faster than any human could move. She backhanded one of the mercs hard enough to break his teeth, tearing his rifle away and spinning on one heel, swinging the butt up to shatter his partner’s jaw. Then she flipped it in her grip and held the trigger down, riddling both of them with bullets at point-blank range.
Cody froze, blinking, looking between us. “What . . . what just happened here?”
I didn’t have time to explain, and the sudden surge of cramping pain in my guts wouldn’t give me the breath to talk. That stunt with the bullets made me siphon too much energy, too fast, and my body had to pay the price. I shoved a key into his hands and limped into the garage, just behind Jessie.
A quartet of shiny, candy-colored four-wheelers waited for us, matching the garishly bright tags on their keys. They were Honda TRX models, outfitted with all-sport tires and built for action. I just hoped the lodge kept them fueled between rentals. I saddled up, groaning as my weight shifted, feeling like a heavyweight boxer had punched me square in the gut.
“Hey,” Cody said, looking back at me as he swung one leg over the lead ATV. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I croaked, revving the engine and leaning into the handlebars. “Just drive.”
We burst from the garage to the tune of screeching tires and crackling gunfire. Mercs streamed from the lodge’s front doors like wasps from a hive, muzzles flashing bright white against the shadows as they took wild shots at us. Cody kept one hand on the handlebars and the other on his gun, eyes squinting as he snapped off a few quick shots. One merc went down with a yelp, clutching his shoulder, while the others dived for cover.
We headed north.
As we rumbled onto an old hiking trail, a suggestion of a line in dirt carved through the wood, our headlights cut through the gloom like white-hot knives. Brambles and boughs reached in from either side, a wall of lunging spears, and I hunched low against the machine as the engine
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