Keystones: Altered Destinies Read online

  “You flew?”

  “Yeah. They loved me in Texas.”

  “Texas?”

  “Deklan, you need to focus. I can see the mayhem in this city. This is not a good time for you to lose your edge.”

  Deklan knew that Sebastian was right. “So I’ll see you at the Elevator?”

  “Probably, yeah. I’m going to dart around the city and see whether I can help out, but then, yes, I’m going to head to the Elevator.”

  “Can you transport my parents?” asked Deklan.

  “What?”

  “My parents. Susan was just eaten by a shadow, and I don’t want the same to happen to them. Can you carry them? I can’t keep them safe.”

  Sebastian briefly considered the idea. “Yes, one at a time, though.”

  “Thank you.” Deklan tapped a few icons on his Uplink. “Can you see where I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now what?” asked Brice Tobin.

  “Wait a moment, Dad. I think this part will be quick,” Deklan reassured him.

  Deklan scanned the sky and started to wave. What had been a tiny speck blossomed into a full-sized human diving down from the sky. Sebastian drew closer with unbelievable speed.

  Wings tucked and face turned forward, like the prow of a ship breaking the air in front of him, he arrowed toward the ground. Curving his angle of descent and losing momentum in the last few moments, he landed among them. Stepping toward Deklan, he clasped his hand.

  Sebastian looked different. It wasn’t just his skin, which was darker and tanner and healthier-looking. His eyes had a sharper focus to them. Standing tall and confident, broad shoulders framed by his enormous wings, he radiated a self-assurance that had been absent when they’d first met.

  Deklan felt relief upon seeing him. For the moment everything was going to be okay. “Sebastian, thanks for the favor.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I appreciate your advice from earlier. New York was fun, but getting here was a wonderful adventure all on its own.” He looked around before turning back to Deklan. “Are these your parents?”

  Deklan put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, preparing to introduce him to his parents. “Sebastian. . . .”

  Sebastian interrupted him in a confident voice. “Michael is fine. I think I’m growing into it.”

  Deklan flashed a half-smile. “Michael, these are my parents, Tricia and Brice Tobin.”

  “Tricia, Brice, pleased to meet you. Tricia, would you like to go first?”

  Tricia was silent, a rarity for her. Deklan saw that his mother was starstruck. “Mom?” he prompted.

  “Y-yes. That would be nice.” She sounded like a schoolgirl meeting a movie star.

  “Alright. Well, I scouted ahead before I landed here.” He pointed in the direction of the Elevator. “I picked out a suitable rooftop to use as a halfway point.”

  Deklan was clearly surprised. “You were able to do that before finding us?”

  Michael tapped the side of his head near his eyes. He sounded pleased with himself. “I located you before we finished speaking. Then I went ahead and surveyed the route to the Elevator. It’s frenetic. Quite a few violent Keystones are lighting up the streets.”

  “What are they doing?” asked Deklan.

  Michael shrugged again. “Too many things to list, but about fourteen blocks behind you there’s a sprawling reflective structure that’s swallowed a series of alleyways and a few sections of a main street. I have no idea what it is.”

  Deklan frowned and rubbed the side of his face. “Is there any safe route to the Elevator?”

  “I’d be happier taking the three of you to a nearby rooftop and then reassessing the situation from there. I’m just not confident that things will be the same ten minutes from now. There’s a crush of people by the Elevator. I would imagine that most are frightened refugees. Undoubtedly there are human and animal predators afoot nearby. Tricia, are you ready for a ride to that rooftop I mentioned?”

  Deklan spoke for his mother. “That sounds great. Dad and I will wait for you here.”

  “Okay, see you in a few minutes,” said Michael, who then gathered Tricia into his arms and rocketed into the sky.

  Moments later Deklan began searching the sky for signs of Michael as well as any incoming threats. Losing Susan had shaken him more than a little.

  He was relieved when a rush of air marked Michael’s return. The man seemed larger than life each time Deklan saw him. He appeared almost without warning, landing seconds after Deklan spotted him, touching down between Brice and Deklan. Landing in a half crouch, he leaned forward with his wings stretched out behind him, one hand steadying him on the ground. With lithe grace, he rose to his full height, wings furled around his sun-darkened torso.

  “Your mother is in sight of the Elevator.” He turned to Brice. “Ready for your turn?”

  Brice Tobin looked Michael up and down. “Sure you can carry me?” he asked, patting his stomach. “I’m not the lightest of men.”

  Michael seemed unconcerned. “Neither is your son. It’ll be awkward, but we’ll manage. Ready?”

  Brice nodded in the affirmative. Michael then hooked his arms under Brice’s shoulders and across the older man’s chest. “Try not to struggle,” he advised. “This will be over before you know it.” His wings snapped open as far as they could in the limited space. When Michael flapped them, miniature hurricanes formed in their wake, and he and Brice shot into the sky together.

  Chain

  Chain had watched Stalker for days. That was his job. The kid was an unknown element. All that anyone knew about him was that he was a psychopath who’d left a trail of bodies in his wake. He dressed in ragged clothes when he came back from the shadows. The word “unpredictable” described him well. Sometimes he hunted animals and then without warning consumed a person. Chain pursued him only because he’d been ordered to keep track of him, as much as anyone could keep track of a living shadow.

  Then came the unassuming group of four who had somehow beaten him. The woman with hands that could shoot light had all but cut him apart. That, of course, was before Stalker had come back and eaten her. Not even a body had been left. Just thinking about it made Chain shiver. Whatever Stalker did to his victims, it was always cold and ruthless.

  Now that Chain had lost track of Stalker, he thought that this group was his best way of finding him again. Sometimes it was best to hunt the prey of your prey.

  He walked along the edge of a rooftop looking for a better vantage point. A large gap between buildings revealed a wide alley below. Not missing a stride, Chain jumped straight into the air and pointed his left arm at the roof of the building on which he wanted to land. A glowing purple chain shot from his palm and anchored itself there. With the speed of thought, he jerked himself sideways and across the gap. Before landing, he fired a second chain from his right hand to slow his momentum, allowing for a landing that, if not graceful, was at least painless. The entire process could have been measured in heartbeats.

  Returning his attention to the people below, he was startled by a deep and primal growl behind him. The primitive part of Chain’s brain told him to run, but he ignored the instinct. Moments earlier the rooftop had been empty. Now a massive rat was looking at him as though he were lunch. All over the roof a small army of other rodents came out of hiding, all pressing toward him with bristling fur and twitching tails.

  The lead rat was growing in size. It had been nearly a meter long when Chain had first turned around, but it was already half a meter larger and still growing. Another rat, an old and shrewd member of its species if you could judge by the white hair streaking its coat, had its tail curled and pointed at Chain, a red light emanating from the tip. Chain watched as the light brightened from the dull red of a dying coal to a neon glare. Looking at the horde without concern, Chain held his hands out and fired fresh bolts of glowing chains from his palms.

  The bolts cut the smaller rats in half, their bodies gushing blood o
nto the rooftop. The larger rat presented something of a challenge. Chain hit it first in its foreleg, ripping through bone and sinew. The rat let out a scream that was disturbing because of its human qualities. Injured though it was, the monster kept advancing. Now annoyed, Chain sent another bolt straight toward its face. The end of the chain pierced the flesh, meeting with all the resistance of tissue paper, and continued on through the brain. As the huge beast collapsed, the back of its head exploded.

  Grunting in satisfaction, Chain searched the roof for any other signs of danger before continuing his hunt. There was nothing except dead rodents and bright blood glistening in the sun.

  He turned his attention back to the people he had been observing. They had stopped moving. That was a bit of a relief because it meant that Chain could get under cover and away from the sun. He fired another bolt into a side of the building that didn’t face them and swung through a window into a vacant apartment.

  Watching the people below from a corner window, he was surprised when a man with massive wings dove down and joined them. Chain watched as the winged man flew first one and later a second member of the party away, leaving the third person isolated. It didn’t do, thought Chain, for people to think that they could come and go in gang territory with impunity.

  Chain took one last glance at the apartment around him before jumping out of the sixth-story window. Firing two chains, one in the direction of his target and the other up the side of the building to slow his fall, he descended. Landing with more grace each time he tried such a maneuver, Chain didn’t miss a step as he touched down on the ground.

  Teleporting

  Slate looked down from a rooftop. The street was amok with activity. The last day and night had been filled with quick rescues that allowed little time for rest. By dawn every mutant and malicious Keystone seemed to have taken to the streets. Several times Slate had teleported in to save a person on the verge of succumbing to bizarre attacks.

  It was amazing that there were so many animal Keystones, the risks of encounters with which the news reports had mentioned but downplayed. Predatory human Keystones were harder to deal with, because they had learned how to use their abilities to greater effect, but they were much less common than their animal counterparts.

  The advice dispensed by the news networks, Slate realized, was nonsensical and impractical, broadcasted by those who had no finger on the pulse of the city. It was easy to suggest that people stay inside, away from the chaos, except that doors presented no barrier to most Keystone intruders.

  Slate was unsure of what to do any longer to counter many of the Keystones’ abilities. Between teleportation and brute strength, combat was a mismatch in Slate’s favor. But when confronted with something that couldn’t be touched without burning one’s hand, Slate faced a host of problems.

  Slate teleported to another rooftop, the maneuver’s initial lurch having become familiar by now. The roof was deserted and dirty. Slate had seen variations on the same rooftop scene again and again over the last few days. The best alternative was to teleport somewhere else.

  Just then a third-story wall blew out from the building across the street, plaster and bricks scattering through the air. A man slid through the opening. He sailed through the air and hit the ground with a resounding smack and just kept sliding.

  Odd occurrences were common now. The man with white wings came to mind, but Slate was unprepared for the invasion of rats that followed the man out of the blast site. They spread down the side of the building like a plague of mold growing down to the ground.

  The sliding man struggled with a rat on his back, unable to get a grip on his little opponent. It was the same story everywhere: small animals, now dangerous, thought that they had moved up in the world’s scale of dominance.

  Taking careful aim, Slate teleported onto the man’s back. It was an uneven perch, and they were careening along the building’s rubble at speed. Slate teleported them both to a nearby rooftop where the sliding continued until the man slammed into a wall.

  Slate tumbled off from the man and looked at him. His clothes, once expensive, were in tatters, the grey fabric hanging in strips. Decorating the man’s clothes and his body was a mixture of fur, blood, and foul-smelling bodily fluids, the rat on his back having been killed by their joint collision with the wall. As for the rest of him, his skin looked as though he had contracted a form of leprosy. Despite this, he seemed otherwise uninjured.

  Slate saw him begin to move again without groaning or screaming, the normal signs of human injury. Somehow, against all reason, the man was alright courtesy of a Keystone ability.

  Hearing other cries, Slate teleported to an adjacent rooftop and then another, zeroing in on the source of the noise.

  Agony

  Deklan heard a rustling sound nearby. He tried to scan the area but was foiled by the overturned car behind which he’d taken shelter. Because it was a large vehicle, he couldn’t see what was on the other side. He cautiously circled around it, hoping that whatever he found wouldn’t be threatening.

  He was surprised by a rough and unfriendly voice that came from behind him. “You’re a long way from home, lad.”

  Deklan whirled and saw a tall man, whipcord thin, who looked menacing. With narrowed eyes and angry lips, his face was a study in malice. Dusty and dirty clothing indicated that the man had experienced a morning as hectic as Deklan’s own.

  Deklan held up his hands in front of him. “I’m just passing through. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I don’t care what you want. This conversation is about what I want. You understand me, boy?”

  Deklan backed away, trying to put space between himself and the stranger, his hands still a barrier between them. “Sure,” he replied.

  “Your money and your Uplink. Now.”

  “I don’t think that I can give you that.”

  He didn’t have time to react. Something that glowed lashed from the man’s hand and into his left thigh, tearing through it and hitting the ground behind him. Screaming in agony at the pain, Deklan collapsed to the ground, his eyes facing the sky.

  He could hear footsteps approaching him. Not wanting to be hit again, Deklan rolled onto his stomach and pulled himself along the ground to escape.

  A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. Pain exploded in his skull as his head hit the pavement, and his eyes closed of their own accord.

  “You’d have done better just to say yes,” said Deklan’s attacker, “but I’m not finished yet.”

  Deklan opened his eyes in time to see the second bolt leave the man’s hand and tear into his abdomen. As Deklan gasped at the searing pain, his body jerked involuntarily and was rewarded with fresh waves of agony, his wound grating against the glowing weapon that had been thrust through him. A long minute passed with Deklan staring into his tormentor’s eyes as he tried to bring his frantic breathing under control. He’d never forget those eyes.

  “Do you still want to keep that Uplink?” asked the man. Without waiting for an answer, he raised his right hand and unleashed another bolt.

  A fresh spear of pain lanced through Deklan’s wrist. It burned with all the intensity of Deklan’s first two wounds.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll bleed out soon.” The man’s tone and crooked grin made it clear that he enjoyed the violence.

  Both lines of light vanished from the man’s hands and from Deklan’s body. Some of the agony died away, but the greater portion remained. Deklan could move again but felt too weak to fight the heaviness of his eyelids.

  Surprises

  Slate teleported from rooftop to rooftop. Each stop was measured in seconds, just long enough for Slate to reorient and choose a new target. Someone nearby was in a lot of pain. The screams grew more intense, then faded.

  Standing on the corner of a roof that was filled with an astonishing assortment of slaughtered animals, among them a giant rat, Slate saw Chain climbing up the side of a building in his unique fashion. Sla
te knew what was waiting to be found, a maimed victim on the verge of death. Chain liked others’ suffering and had left many in that state over the last few days.

  Surveying the street that Chain had left, Slate saw a man lying in a spreading pool of his own blood. Teleporting next to him, Slate examined the man’s injuries. He had three huge wounds—one in his left leg, another in his abdomen, and the last through his wrist.

  The leg wound was bad enough on its own. The bright red blood geysering upward indicated a severed artery. The abdominal wound was even worse, oozing both black and red onto the ground beneath him. Slate had seen gut wounds like that before. They caused excruciating agony and were death sentences.

  With one arm cradling him, Slate teleported the man to another rooftop to reduce their vulnerability and pulled him under cover. Finding a kit of emergency medical supplies in a pocket, Slate knelt next to him, careless of the blood pooling around the victim.

  The first thing to do was to stop the hemorrhaging. Seeing some bandages strips that came on a white roll and peeled off like tape, Slate pushed them into the man’s abdominal cavity in the hope of staunching the blood there. The bandages dissolved on contact and slowed the flow. The man moaned but didn’t struggle, his eyes glazed over and unfocused.

  Another layer was needed. You were supposed to keep applying the strips until they stopped dissolving. Slate inserted another wad of the bandages, and the blood slowed further. With a third application the coverings turned red but kept their form and sealed over the main source of the flow.

  The wound in the man’s thigh, less obstinate than that in his belly, required only two layers of bandages before the bleeding stopped. The final wound was a hole bored straight through the man’s wrist, but though bad it only trickled, which was not a good sign. One strip of the bandages staunched the flow there.