Revelations. Part 12

"I don't have many rooms available," said the reception guy. "Is there a particular rate you were looking for?"

Jonas looked at me, silently asking me if this would work, and I smiled. "Whatever you got. Money's not a problem."

"Okay," said the check-in guy, a big grin on his face now since he'd just given us a very expensive room. "Here you go." He slid a piece of paper across the counter to Jonas. "I just need a signature and to see an ID."

Jonas once again looked at me. He had no identification whatsoever and neither of us thought about this in advance. He saved the day by handing me the fake ID Philip gave me, which he'd thoughtfully taken from the Commune when he packed my things. He gave it to the guy saying, "We'll use hers, if that's okay."

"Fine," said the guy, giving the ID a quick look over. I was suddenly glad I owned a really good fake. He handed the ID back to Jonas, who gave it to me, and I put it in my pocket. "Now, cash or credit?"

"Cash," Jonas said. He swallowed a little too hard as he pulled a wad of small bills from his pocket. As he had been instructed, by me, of course, he peeled off the bills one by one, and, in the mind of the check-in guy, handed over three one hundred dollar bills and two twenties. The hotel cost us thirty two dollars.

The check-in guy, whose mind I kept under my control, took the money, placed it in his drawer and handed us our room key. I did a little bit more manipulation of his mind and made him place the money in its proper slots, but not before making sure there were plenty of hundreds beneath the drawer. If his drawer came up short, he'd distinctly remember taking our hundreds and putting them under the drawer. If he found tens under there, it would look a little suspicious. Besides, I like to cover my tracks as best I can.

He pointed us in the direction of the elevators and asked us if we had any luggage we needed brought up. Jonas said he could handle it, and we were on our way. One last thing I did, just to be on the absolute safe side, was to have the check-in guy give us a key to a different room than the one listed on our paperwork, a room now mysteriously booked for the night to an Eleanor Roosevelt, just another just-in-case. You never know who might be watching.

Anyway, I led Jonas up to the room. We went inside and deposited our stuff. Being that I was covered in dust from his little bit of stunt driving, I went in to take a shower and change my clothes. Jonas didn't disturb my shower- not that I would have mindedaand he was lying flat out on the bed when I came back out. I was wearing only a white, hotel towel, and I saw his eyes run up and down my body.

"Nice legs," he said.

I looked down at my k.n.o.bby knees and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right."

Jonas only smiled. "So what happens now?"

I shrugged and sat on the end of one of the two queen size beds, using a small hand towel to dry off my hair.

"How about food?" Jonas suggested. "I'm starving."

The thought had not occurred to me, but I hadn't eaten lunch. I'd eaten a little breakfast, but lunch somehow escaped me while strolling the side of the 15 Freeway all by myself. My stomach growled in response to my realization. "Sure," I said. "But you have to lose the hood."

He snorted at me.

"Jonas," I said.

"No," he told me. "No way, no how."

I reached over and smacked the top of his bare foot. "Put your shoes back on and let's go."

"Can't we order in?"

I opened my mouth to protest then thought that was probably a good idea. "Okay," I said, "but on one condition."

"I hate conditions," he said quickly.

"We go out later, after it gets dark, to see if we can't increase our pocket money."

"You know how to gamble?" he asked.

"No," I said. "But I know how to cheat."

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

We went down into the hotel casino at around eleven o'clock that night. We'd stayed in the room and ate hotel hamburgers and fries and downed a couple of sodas. I'd gone exploring in the hotel gift shop and discovered a vast array of liquors. I returned to our room with bottles in tow and had a few drinks before going out. I apparently got my confidence through drinking. Jonas was scared to death, but not about what we were going to do or the risk of getting caught. He was scared because I made him leave his sungla.s.ses behind.

Okay, so I gave in about the hood. He looked too pathetic, giving me a pouty lip when I once again told him "No" that I couldn't bring myself to force him. I made him promise to stop looking like a drugged up hoodlum by wearing his sungla.s.ses indoors. I didn't think anyone would bother him, and low and behold I was right. He got a few cheap glances as he sat down at a blackjack table. Those hard core midnight gamblers only cared about their gambling and gave Jonas no more than a pa.s.sing look.

Jonas kept his head down and concentrated on two things; his cards and the slight taps I gave his knee beneath the table. I sat beside him, as close as I could and kept my hand on his leg but didn't play. It was easier for me to concentrate if I wasn't playing. There were four other guys at the table plus the dealer so I had a lot to concentrate on.

This wasn't about making people think tens were hundred dollar bills. This was about knowing what the dealer held in his hand. You see, there are little cameras in the table surface where the dealer keeps his cards. If you've seen any of those stupid celebrity poker shows that were so popular years back, you know what I mean. The dealer holds his face down card to a camera so someone in a back room can see what that card is. Keeps the dealer from cheating or something. Whatever. The reasons aren't what mattered. The fact that I could find the man behind the camera was what was important. When I did find the guy watching our table, I could read his thoughts and find out exactly what the dealer had. The rest was luck of the draw.

Now, I don't claim to be a great gambler. Knowing when to fold can be a very handy thing. Jonas would get dealt his cards, I'd find out what cards were in the dealer's hand, and I'd give him one tap to hold them and two taps to fold. Once I knew what the dealer had, I had a pretty good chance of giving Jonas the proper signal. It didn't work all the time; the cards fall as they will. It might have been easier to play poker, but I suck at poker and so stuck to blackjack, which I still sucked at, but still.... We made good money once we got the hang of our little system.

Jonas, I am proud to say, played with confidence. He didn't even start drinking until we were well on our way to having earned a thousand in half an hour. After two gla.s.ses of straight scotch during the next hour, I decided he'd had enough and we had enough. He folded the last hand on my signal, just for show but he didn't know it, took his chips, and we went to the cas.h.i.+er. We cashed out our couple grand and headed back to our room.

He felt pretty triumphant once the door closed behind us. "That was really cool, Chris," he said.

I smiled. "That took a lot of work," I said. Running a hand over my forehead, I wiped away pretend sweat.

"You are something else," he said, kissing me quickly.

"Yeah, but what I am exactly is beyond me," I told him. He was close enough for me to smell the liquor on his breath. "We should get some sleep. It's almost one."

"At least we have enough money to see us through a few more days," Jonas said, yawning and stretching out on the bed.

"Don't fall asleep in your clothes," I said, making no comment on the money. I was glad for the cash. I don't claim to enjoy manipulating people out of anything. I do it out of necessity. No. That's not right. I do it because I can.

The next morning, I woke before Jonas and hopped into the shower. It was after ten, and we needed to check out of the room before eleven. I showered quickly and dressed just as fast then went to wake my sleeping Jonas. He grumbled a bit, but got up when I told him to. He got himself a clean s.h.i.+rt and underwear and went to take a shower. He was talking to me about something I never heard because something else echoed in my mind.

"Shut up," I said to him, holding up my hand. As I listened, I dropped the hand towel I was holding to the floor. I closed my eyes, my mind reaching out to the noise building in my head. It took me a moment before I realized what the sound was.

It was the sound of someone screaming.

"Chris, what is it?" Jonas asked, suddenly at my side.

"Shh," I said.

It suddenly reached fever pitch and reverberated off my brain as if someone rang a gong in my head. I put my hands to my temples, trying to keep my skull from flying apart. Jonas grabbed me by the shoulders as I sank to the ground, wailing against the pain and agony filling me.

Then I heard it. Clear as bell in the November air.

"Christiana!"

Then the screaming stopped.

Only one word escaped my lips.

Only one person could reach me like that.

"Alendra."

Jonas and I grabbed our things, left the room key on the bed, and we ran like h.e.l.l.

Chapter Thirty.

Cima Road could not come up fast enough for me. I keep squinting against the sky and the sunlight, trying to see, trying to move us faster. We could only go as fast as the truck's wheels could turn. Once we reached the dirt road, Jonas only slowed down to make the turn then pushed the truck back to its limits. He knew the road well and kept us on it even though there were ditches and potholes all over.

I knew, long before we saw the smoke rising in the distance, she was dead.

They were all dead.

"Oh G.o.ds, no," was all Jonas said as we came upon the hulking wreck that had once been our home.

They had destroyed it, blown it to smithereens on this beautiful, sunny day. The smoke shown clear and crisp against the powerful blue sky, and the charred remains of the building stood out against the arid desert landscape.

It was all gone.

The only thing left was a pile of smoldering, blackened wood and the concrete foundation. That, and the concrete stairs leading up to the porch where the front door had been.

There was nothing else.

I knew what I would find when I got out of the truck, my heart racing. I'd seen what I never wanted to see out towards the back of what remained of the house. Lined up raggedly were the bodies. My eyes burned against the ash and smoke as I reached the first of the blackened forms that were once human beings. My legs gave out when I reached the first one.

How long I knelt there, it is impossible to say. Once I even reached out to touch the burnt flesh, but I pulled my fingers back before I touched it. I could feel the heat off the body and from the house. The sun burnt my skin as it rose overhead. Hot ash struck my bare skin when the wind picked up. The smells...I cannot even begin to describe that.

Jonas came to me after who knows how long had pa.s.sed. "They're all dead," he told me quietly. "I counted. They even destroyed the shed."

I bowed my head then fisted my hands in my hair. Kneeling there on the harsh desert sand, I screamed my sorrow to the world. I let my voice ring out over the plains, let it soar out over the ridges. I felt it rise up into the sky. I knew no one but Jonas heard me.

Once my voice stilled, Jonas held out a hand to me. "Come on," he said. "They'll be back."

I took his hand and rose. I did not follow him, not immediately. Instead, I hesitantly walked up to the head of the body and forced myself to look. I could easily see a bullet hole, an exit wound, between the eye sockets, even though the skull was charred black. They'd been shot. They'd been executed, laid out and set on fire. Then the Commune had been blown to pieces.

All because of me.

Chapter Thirty-One.

Jonas was right. They would be back. I knew it, and I should have waited, but I never once claimed to be very smart. Intelligent, yes. Smarts are another thing. Not only would Jonas be the sole witness to the powers held within my hands, but he would be the first to see what else these hands are capable of. I often say I am highly trained, and I'm not joking.

A mile out from the burned wreck of our home, a black sedan- so familiar and so like the one that brought about the beginning of the end- pulled up behind us. The car came out of the dust rising behind the pickup so we never saw it coming until it was upon us. Another familiar scene played out.

I had quick and desperate flashbacks as the pickup was. .h.i.t, forcing us off the road and into a ditch. Jonas swore in rage as the truck came to a grinding halt in a cloud of dust that rose up into the air like an oh-so-familiar cloud of smoke. Without even looking at Jonas and knowing exactly what would happen if I didn't act instantly, I got out of the truck and approached the now parked black sedan. Two Men in Black, appropriately dressed in fine black suits and crisp white s.h.i.+rts with thin black ties were already out of the car. Black sungla.s.ses s.h.i.+elded their eyes. I'd met many of these men before, and I knew what I was up against.

There were no words spoken between myself and these men. There were no words that needed to be spoken; we all knew why they were there.

Except I would not be taken alive.

Drawing upon my instinct and the training given me during my time in my maker's lab, I bent over at the waist and charged like a bull to take down the first man. I may be small, but I am quick. My agility kept me from being shot in the stomach as the man I took to the ground pulled out his gun. I rolled off him and out of the way as he fired a shot that disappeared into the air. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard Jonas yell as he began his own fight with the second man.

I'll tell ya, they should have sent more. Two were easy to eliminate.

Lost in rage at what they'd done to my home, I blindly fought in a red haze. I exchanged blows with the Man in Black, who was not afraid to hit a woman; especially me. Throwing punches with my solid fists, aiming with my knuckles as Holt once taught me, I fought. I can heal instantly, so Holt knew how to train me. He trained me as he had no one else. To fight with what could be broken, but what could easily and quickly be healed. Solid, bone knuckles do more damage than a common, flat fist.

I sent a brutal blow to the man's chin, coming from beneath him using my inferior height. His head rocketed back and he fell. It was easy after that. I pounced on him with my knees, using force that knocked the air from his chest. Then I grabbed his head and yanked it to the side in one swift gesture, breaking his neck and severing his spinal column. I pushed myself off the body then bent to grab his gun.

With the weapon now in my hand, I spun around to see Jonas facing off against the second Man in Black. They were not evenly matched, the two of them. Jonas had a good three inches on the guy and at least a hundred pounds, but Holt's men are as highly trained as I am. The only reason I won with my guy was because as my knuckles broke upon striking the man's iron jaw, I was able to heal quickly enough to have complete use of my hands to break the neck. That is exactly how I was taught.

Jonas does not fight like I do. Jonas relies on brute strength. His reach is long. His fist swung around, catching the man on the cheek, breaking a bone in the man's face. The Man in Black continued to fight through his pain, as we were all taught to do but which is what I do best. He managed to hit Jonas twice before Jonas took him down. He tossed the man aside, and the man fell into the dirt. It was simple after this. I called Jonas's name, and Jonas paused long enough for me to get off one single shot. The Man in Black lay dead on the desert floor a second later.

Jonas came over to me, grabbed my arm and dragged me back to where the pickup still sat in a ditch. "You drive, I'll push," he said, pointing towards the driver's seat. He tried to leave me at the door, but it was my turn to grab his arm.

I swear I never heard the shot that put the hole in his arm, and I even wonder if he felt it through the anger and grief welling inside of him. "You're bleeding," I said, moving to face him.

He looked down at the blood soaking into his s.h.i.+rt and shrugged. Then he tried to get away from me.

I wouldn't let him go. "Stand still," I said as he once again tried to pull back. Using the powers in my hand, I sealed the wound right around the bullet. When it was done, he yanked his arm out of my grasp and went around to the front of the truck. Without another word, I got in the truck. I turned the key, and after a few tries, the truck roared to life. With Jonas pus.h.i.+ng at the front end and me gunning the engine in reverse, we managed to get the truck back onto the road.

We left two more bodies in the desert, soaking fresh blood into the hard packed desert sand. We left them as they deserved to be; as carrion for the vultures. How we left the others...well....

Chapter Thirty-Two.

We drove away in silence. We never spoke of our meeting of the two men in the desert and of the way we dispatched them. I could feel the grief and anger growing in Jonas. I saw it in the tense way he sat behind the wheel. I felt it in the way he maneuvered the truck down the highway, weaving through traffic with no care for our safety or for the safety of others. I did my part and kept the cops from noticing his erratic driving.

We had driven away to save our own lives, our lives that were nearly taken from us. We ran without giving our friends the burial they deserved. They were still lying out there; their poor bodies exposed to the elements and to the desert scavengers. That tore open my chest and exposed my bleeding heart to the world.

Yet I didn't cry.