Keystones: Altered Destinies Read online

“No, just blood.”

  “Then he’s alive.” Tricia spoke as though she were stating a fact.

  Michael was flummoxed. “That would be wonderful, but why do you believe that?”

  “I eavesdropped on the conversation that you and Deklan had about his leg and the dog. His leg was ripped open, but he healed before he saw a doctor.”

  Michael felt hope flare anew in his mind. “That’s true,” he agreed.

  Tricia had the look of a woman analyzing everything that she had just been told. “If there was as much blood as you say, then whoever, or whatever, attacked him should have left him for dead. If he were dead, then a body or even a skeleton would have still been there. Even if,” she blanched, “scavengers had found him that quickly, there would have been something. That means the body was moved. Most likely Deklan is hurt somewhere but healing. Deklan is alive.” Her last words came out as a yell. “Brice! Deklan is alive!”

  Brice Tobin held his wife and squeezed her, his body language indicating that she had just given him permission to hope.

  Michael stared at Tricia, amazed.

  Tricia continued her analysis. “We have to assume that he doesn’t have his Uplink, but we know that he wanted us to get to the Elevator. He doesn’t know where we are, but he might be able to contact us through our Uplinks, though we can’t count on that. We need to get to that Elevator if we want to find him. Yes, that’s what we need to do.” Tricia turned in Brice’s arms. “Sweetheart, we don’t have champagne, but I’d like some chocolate.”

  A wrapped Twix appeared in Brice Tobin’s hand. He opened it and doled out the three bars.

  Tricia patted his shoulder. “Good job, darling. You’re getting better. Now let’s head for that Elevator.” She turned to Michael. “You said you could fly us and bypass the chaos?”

  Detours

  Slate grabbed Deklan and without further ado teleported them. Earlier Deklan had been in no shape to assess the experience of teleportation, but now he was able to appreciate it fully. With no warning he was standing somewhere new. His stomach lurched every time they moved, as though he were in a plane dropping out of the sky.

  Deklan watched as they passed over terrain similar to that which he, Susan, and his parents had traversed on foot. Slate usually stuck to oblique paths but would on occasion take a direct route that looked more dangerous, teleporting them from the rooftops down to a square and then back up the side of a building before continuing their rooftop journey.

  After two minutes of silent and rapid travel, Deklan asked, “Is it taxing you to carry me like this?”

  “No.” Slate’s tone did not invite further conversation. Deklan decided to press anyway.

  “Are we looking for anything in particular?” he inquired.

  “Trouble on the way to your destination.”

  Something in Slate’s voice was bothering Deklan. “You’re not big on answers, are you?”

  Slate didn’t respond.

  Deklan allowed the silence to continue for a few minutes before asking, “Have you seen any other victims hurt like me?”

  Slate did answer that question, but in a quiet voice. “Yes. Several.”

  Deklan matched his tone to Slate’s. “Did you rescue all of them?”

  “Yes,” replied Slate in the same hushed voice.

  “Have you seen the person who has been hurting people that way?”

  Anger crept into Slate’s voice. “I’m not certain that it’s only one person. I think there is a collection of new, super-powered psychopaths on the streets. Some are just more . . . visceral than others.” Slate stiffened. “We need to move now.”

  Before Deklan could figure out what had caught Slate’s attention, he was whisked to a balcony that overlooked a shaded alley. There two men were accosting three young women. The men held guns. “Are you going to help me here?” asked Slate.

  Deklan made a snap decision. “Yes.”

  Slate’s response was fast, like the swing of a bat. “Brace yourself.”

  Deklan found himself standing on the ground between the two men and the women, his body interposed as a shield. The loud report of a gun filled his ears before the sensation of pain made its way to his brain. He didn’t stop to look down but instead grabbed at the arm of the man who had just shot him. New bullets found their mark in him.

  Slate fared better, dropping down between the two men and relying on Deklan to protect the women. Slate hoisted the second man from the ground and sent him twirling through the air. Before he landed Slate caught him by the calf and spun him around to club the man who was unloading his clip into Deklan.

  The crunch of bone hitting bone punctuated the fray like staccato drum beats. The two men went down. The women screamed and ran from their saviors.

  Deklan dropped to the ground in his own heap of misery. Five bullet holes in his torso were oozing red, and frothy lung blood bubbled from his mouth. The pain was present but muted, almost as though his knowing that it was going to pass made it more bearable. He still was irritated that Slate had set him up for the intervention.

  He lay disabled for several minutes before he felt his tissues mending. There was no gradual transition; it happened mid-breath. Propping himself up, Deklan looked at his ruined shirt. Meanwhile mushroomed slugs were pushing themselves out from his chest, not unlike worms escaping the ground during a rainstorm. They surfaced on unbroken skin.

  Deklan touched each bullet and the flesh underneath. “Did you have to get me shot on purpose?” he asked.

  Slate didn’t seem at all worried. “You seem okay. In fact, I’ve never seen someone recover from a lung injury so quickly.”

  How had Slate known that he had a lung injury? “That’s not the point,” he objected.

  “You said you’d help.” Slate voice conveyed a complete lack of concern.

  Deklan counted to ten in his head. “Yes,” he said between gritted teeth, “but I did not say, ‘Please use me as a human shield.’”

  “There wasn’t a lot of time to assess the situation. I knew that I could handle both men if you kept one busy, and you did.”

  Deklan sensed that he wasn’t going to get an apology out of Slate, and he knew that he still needed help in getting to the Elevator. He swallowed any further protests. “By the way,” he said, “how did you do that?”

  “Do what?” Slate looked at Deklan, a tilted head showing confusion at the question.

  “Spin the man through the air like that. It was incredible. Are you a martial arts expert?”

  Slate grabbed a pistol from the ground and bent its barrel. “No, I’m just very strong.”

  Deklan’s eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut at the display of power. It was the casualness that was most impressive. Slate hadn’t been showing off. It was just a simple action to illustrate a point.

  “Are you well enough to continue on our way? You seem to be healing much faster than last time.” Slate’s tone made it clear that question time was over.

  Deklan patted himself down, collecting the slugs and putting them in his pocket. “Any chance of finding a new shirt? I don’t know that I want to keep this one.” Deklan thought some more. “Any chance of finding a microfiber vest? If you’re going to keep using me as a backstop for bullets, I’d prefer not having to experience quite so much pain.”

  Slate shook his head. “I’m wearing one, but I don’t carry spares, and I can’t think of where to find one between here and the Elevator. You’re going to have to do better or get used to the pain.”

  Deklan couldn’t muster more than a small frown of irritation. They had, after all, saved those young women. “In the future could we perhaps teleport in behind attackers,” he asked, “rather than startle them with me as a point-blank target?”

  “Situationally dependent,” said Slate, “but yes.”

  “And the shirt?” asked Deklan, plucking at its holes.

  Slate looked at the two men who lay comatose. “The shirt is easy.”

  “I’m not
robbing them,” Deklan said forcefully.

  “That’s fine. I’ll rob them and then give you the shirt. Your hands are clean.” Slate pointed at the mugger who had shot Deklan. “Besides, he shot you five times. I don’t think you owe him anything.”

  Grumbling, Deklan donned a shirt that didn’t fit him well. “Do we have any other detours?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “What now?”

  “I hear crying and screaming,” said a distracted Slate.

  Deklan concentrated. The noises were faint. “What do you think that’s from?”

  “A scared child or children in one of the nearby apartments.”

  He thought of his parents and Michael. He knew that they must be worried about him, yet he replied, “Let’s go help those children.”

  Green Space

  Brice, Tricia, and Michael looked out at the gap between where they were resting and the Elevator terminal. It was a three-kilometer stretch of open space filled with greenery and aggressive Keystones. The trees and grass were part of the parkland surrounding the terminal. The Keystones were why they had to fly over it.

  The chaos at ground level had not abated since Tricia revealed her deduction that Deklan was alive. People still dashed from buildings at the edge of the space toward the terminal. Animals were engaged in predation with those fleeing, including other animals, and some people were attacking other people for reasons that were not obvious to Michael.

  Tricia was a different woman since she’d stopped weeping. “So you think that you should just fly up and over this whole mess?” she asked.

  Michael was relieved that she wasn’t argumentative anymore. “Yes, I think that’s best.”

  “Do you think that Deklan will be able to reach us past it all?” Her voice begged for an affirmative answer.

  He knew she needed reassurance. “I don’t see how staying here will help him.”

  “Dear,” said Brice, “I’d like you to go first.” It was a gentle suggestion or request.

  Tricia still responded in a sharp tone. “Why?”

  “I think it’ll be more dangerous here than over there. I love you and want you to go first so you’ll be safe.”

  Tricia’s stern expression melted into a tender smile. “I love you too, darling.”

  Tricia wriggled only a little in Michael’s arms as he climbed skyward. It was a much steeper vertical climb than on her previous trip. “Do we have to go this high?” she squeaked.

  Michael couldn’t give her his full attention because flying with a passenger threw off his balance. “I don’t know, but frankly I’d rather not risk flying too low.”

  “What do you think might happen?” she asked.

  Michael ignored that question upon catching sight of the massive leopard circling around a group of people walking to the terminal. He pointed with his chin. “Can you see that leopard?”

  Tricia craned her head. “From up here? I can barely make out. . . . Oh, my God! That animal is huge!” Her yell resounded in his ear: “Go higher!”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to spiral down now for a landing.”

  “Spiral?”

  “It lets me look in every direction, and it’s the best way for me to get you to the ground safely from this height.”

  Michael descended while looking in all directions but paying special attention to the enormous leopard. It had to be ten meters at the shoulder, much larger than the last time he’d seen it. He wondered what a leopard was doing in Boa Vista. Was it an escaped zoo animal?

  Something fast and red darted toward the group of people that the leopard was herding. An enormous paw slammed down into the earth, creating a small impact crater and annihilating the incoming threat.

  Michael watched closely, astonished that the animal was protecting the people it flanked. He saw it jump in the way of a flamethrower-like burst of fire to save one of the people it was guarding. As the fire singed its coat, the leopard rolled toward the attackers, crushing them and putting out the fire in the same action.

  “Are you seeing what that animal is doing?” Michael asked, his voice thick with amazement.

  Tricia nodded before speaking. “Yes, a little. He’s not acting like a predator.”

  “No, but we’re headed in the same direction, and that worries me.”

  Michael reached the top of the terminal and landed near its center. It was easier to land with Tricia, than with the heavier Brice. Instead of the brick and mortar of the other buildings in Boa Vista, this rooftop was made of tile. He didn’t see any immediate threats. “I’m going to take off again,” explained Michael to Tricia, “but circle for a while to make sure you’re safe before going back for Brice.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Michael took to the air. His main concern was the massive leopard. It did seem to be helping people, but experience of late had taught him that something could always go wrong.

  Leaving Tricia at the highest and most isolated point available did seem like the safest place, but Michael didn’t want to take any chances. He liked Brice and Tricia and didn’t want their possible harm on his conscience.

  Coming to the parkland’s outermost boundary, Michael watched as the leopard changed its angle of approach and sought the vehicular entrance to the terminal. With casual force it batted cars out of its way with oversized paws. Then the big cat snuck under the roof, crouching down to fit. Before Michael’s eyes the leopard shrank to become a normal member of its species, less than a meter at the shoulder. The creature then engaged in a yoga-like stretch before it reared up onto its hind legs and began morphing again.

  Michael blinked. The leopard changed into a freckled human being, albeit one with eyes that were similar to those of a hunting cat.

  Allowing curiosity to trump caution, something he never would have done before The Sweep, Michael dove in to hover just a few meters away from the group that had surrounded their spotted friend during his transformation. “Who are you?” he called to the man in the center, keeping his voice light and welcoming.

  The entire group whirled to face him, but only the former leopard spoke. “That depends. Are you a threat?” The voice was buttery-smooth, reminiscent of a purr.

  Michael shook his head. “Only if you are.”

  Predatory eyes regarded him carefully, the head tilted to the left and then to the right. One could almost see a tail swishing. “People have taken to calling me Leopard. No idea why.”

  “I’m Michael.”

  Leopard snorted and grinned, showing sharp teeth. “That’s original. What do you want, Michael?”

  “I just wanted to know that you weren’t a threat,” replied Michael, already gaining height.

  Hitchhiking

  Brice scanned the sky. Michael had moved far enough away that he was unable to track him or Tricia. His eyes relentlessly searched the clouds for signs of both of them. At the same time he looked toward the Elevator terminal and kept his eyes peeled for trouble. A loud crunching noise to his right startled him. He dove for the ground.

  Crouched in a small impact crater on the rooftop less than three meters away was a man whose posture made it seem that he’d been hurled from the sky like the spear of some ancient Greek god. His olive skin and dark, curly hair only added to the illusion.

  Breaking the spell, the man said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you want a ride?”

  Brice stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard the man correctly. “Do I want what?”

  “A ride.”

  Brice thought about the offer. If this man meant him harm, chances were that he’d already have acted on the intention. If he didn’t mean him harm, then hitching a ride was an option. The idea of getting there by any method other than being carried by Michael had an appeal. “Are you going to the terminal?” he asked.

  The man nodded and looked toward the terminal. “Yes, I think everyone is.”

  Brice stuck out a hand and smiled. “Hi, I’m B
rice.”

  They shook hands. “I’m Arc.” Arc’s grin revealed a man happy with his life.

  Brice raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s hard to believe that you where christened with that name.”

  Arc nodded. “True enough, but I like it better than Bart.”

  Brice laughed. It was the first time he’d done so since he’d thought Deklan had died. “So would I. Your secret is safe. So how does this work?”

  “I grab you. I jump. We land.” Arc’s words were accompanied by a mischievous smile.

  Brice glanced at the crushed roof where Arc had landed. “Fair enough, but are you going to make a crater like that when we land at the terminal?”

  Arc looked at the cracked cement under his feet. “Like this? Doubtful. You ready?”

  Brice looked around and saw no sign of Michael. “Let’s go.”

  Arc hooked an arm around Brice and looked up. Without flexing his knees or moving his legs, he propelled the two of them skyward.

  Brice noted that the ground dropped away much faster, and the wind ripped at them less, than when Michael had taken him aloft. Gravity’s pull also seemed to be diminished. Arc held his passenger lightly, yet Brice felt at no risk of falling.

  They reached the top of Arc’s chosen route and commenced their descent, the distant ground now rushing toward them. It felt as though they were in a bubble of sorts that mitigated the effects of what they should have been experiencing. Grinning like a maniac, Arc said, “Brace yourself. This bit can be bumpy.”

  Brice realized that he had no idea how to do that. Out of the clear sky surrounding them, a massive roll of thunder erupted and heralded their arrival. Amid the rumble they smashed into an empty car that was blocking the route outside the terminal entrance.

  The impact forced the undercarriage of the car deep into the roadbed. Twisted metal rose up around them outside an invisible sphere of protection.

  Brice stepped away from Arc, his heart racing as if he’d run a marathon without training for it. “You said you weren’t going to make a crater!”