Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
lungful of fumes. She
coughed, eyelids peeling open. Coughed again. Redd rubbed her cheek, and streaks of ash lingered on her fingertips. Messy scarlet strands curled around troubled eyes.

There were two possibilities. Either Project Sunrise had begun ahead of schedule—significantly ahead of schedule—or the asylum had been compromised and the arson had escaped. Redd was unsure which possibility unsettled her more.

When she crawled out from underneath one of the cars destroyed by the furious explosion, Kyro was there, waving a gun at her.

“Found my weapon. Thanks, now will you put it down, kid? We don’t have time for games.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Where’s Joel? Is he all right?”

He cocked the weapon. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ice you right here and now.”

“Kyro, get that out of my face. Now!”

“Or what? You gonna kill me too?”

“What are you talking about? Were you blind, or are you just stupid? I saved your life. You saw it.”

“I don’t know what I saw.”

“Two men tried to kill us.” She scanned the ashy grounds for recognizable bodies, but it was pointless. Many, like her, looked as if they’d just crawled out of some volcanic, primordial tar. She noted Kyro’s shifting posture. Shaky hands, nervous, ticking feet. The mortar in his walls was cracking. She also noted an intense gash reaching across his face, starting at his forehead and ending at his nose.

“Kyro, I’m telling you the truth.”

“Not buyin’ it. You set us up! I know aboutchu.”

“What exactly do you think you know?”

“That you…dispose of people, cats you wanna keep quiet. You’re involved in some messed-up crap. Crap the public can’t find out about. We were targets, weren’t we?”

Redd averted her eyes. “Can you hear yourself? You sound like a lunatic.”

“Maybe I am. Then again, maybe bein’ a lunatic ain’t so bad these days.”

“Ever fired a gun before?”

Silence.

Redd chuckled.

“Mrs. P. is dead ’cause of you. You killed her. You freakin’ killed her!”

She swallowed hard and answered emphatically, “No, I didn’t. Get your facts straight before you make an accusation!” Rapid blinks. Shortened breath. “I promised I’d help find Emery, and we were close. We were so close.” She pointed to the massive crater, and the piles of smoking ash and insurgent fire clusters outlining the devastated perimeter.

“I tried, Kyro. I tried. For nothing.”

“Sorry, I call bullsh—”

“Kyro, what do you think you’re doing?” Joel asked in a frenzy, rushing from behind and pushing away Kyro’s hand.

With the harsh resolve of years on the street, the kid replied, “I’m about to exact justice. Lil’ Redd killed your old lady, Cass. I ain’t gonna let that slide.”

Redd sighed then searched the tired preacher’s eyes. “You’re sure she’s dead?”

Joel couldn’t answer. Maybe in the panic he’d forgotten, but then again, Redd knew no one could forget that quickly, or ever. She was just…

Looking for justification.

There was none.

“I tried, Joel. I swear. I never meant—”

“Don’t give in, Cass,” Kyro broke in, noticing the tears blanketing his friend’s confused stare. “She brought backup. She was gonna ice us. I bet we were never even gonna get inside. She probably had it all mapped out, didn’t you? Only question was when.”

“Joel, tell me you don’t believe a word he’s saying,” she said, attempting to step closer before being shoved back by the trigger-happy Kyro. “Please, be the voice of reason here.”

Joel was replaying the event in his mind, she could tell. Joel said, “The two men? I was trying to get Aimee to breathe again. She wasn’t moving. They…came out of nowhere and tried…to kill us.”

“Right.
They
. Not me! I protected you, and that’s the truth.”

“Who were they? Who sent them?”

A long pause.

“Who sent them, Redd?” Joel asked again sternly.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but it was clear they wanted us all dead.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know?” Kyro sarcastically repeated with a raised brow, as if double-checking the validity of her flimsy claim.

He’s right to be cautious of you. Street rat’s smart. A little too smart for his own good.

He scratched the back of his head and licked his lips. She imagined he tasted a wretched, burnt flavor. “No. She’s spittin’ lies, Cass. Homegirl’s a spider, as twisted as they come. She got you all twisted up in her web. Chick spiders eat the dudes, man, I seen it.”

Redd sneered. “You’ve seen it?”

“On TV. Still counts! But get somethin’ straight, Lil’ Redd, I ain’t goin’ out that way.” He just kept shaking his mug, looking like some flea market bobblehead doll. Hardly intimidating.

After a short pause, Joel wiped his forehead and asked, “Where’d you get this theory, Kyro?”

Redd grunted. “Seriously? You’re actually entertaining him?”

Joel lifted his hand, and the gesture was enough to get her to keep quiet. “Where? Show me something. Some kind of proof that what you’re saying holds any weight.”

Kyro fished in his pants pocket then his hoodie, looking for the stolen cell phone with the incriminating images. He couldn’t find it and cursed. “Musta lost it in the crash.”

“What, your mind?”

“Redd, please,” Joel tried. To Kyro: “I lost my wife, kid. The facility that I believed my Emery was at just blew to kingdom come, and I…” He started to choke up again and paced the ground, probably attempting, Redd assumed, to make sense of the whirlwind racking his brain. Seeing him so broken like this ate her alive. “I need the truth! I need something!”

Just tell him! You’re cold and heartless! Tell him the truth. You were hired to execute them, for the overall betterment of mankind. It’s simple, isn’t it? You were told…to kill…them all.

But I didn’t.

No, you weak little girl.
An image flashed of her father hanging by his neck.
No, you didn’t
.

No peace. Never peace. Never rest. It should’ve been her the car crash claimed, not Aimee. It should’ve been her that night at the carnival when Adam unleashed his fury upon her tormentors. If she had died, she never would’ve had to endure his abandonment.

“I got nothin’, Cass,” Kyro hissed behind a gate of clenched teeth. “My boy Ricky forwarded me some trippy news stories. I swear. Stories about Lil’ Redd. How she’s killed people. For real, she’s been involved in some deep stuff.”

“Joel, you know me,” she said.
Yes, that’s it. Play on his plastic emotions. Play on the attraction you know is there, even if he can’t ever be yours. Utilize it, and then go in for the strike
. “You’ve talked to me, really talked to me. Is any of this adding up?”

He looked at her like an adopted child discovering for the first time that his entire life and all of his beliefs have been a series of lies.

“I’m sorry about Aimee. So sorry. But I didn’t cause that crash, and I sure as hell didn’t hire those goons to kill us. They came for me!”
Wait, what? What are you saying? Pedal back, for the sake of everything, pedal back!

“They?” Kyro asked. “Who’s
they
?”

Her eyes glazed over. “How should I know? They—someone, some group. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a private investigator. The cases I’ve dealt with, the scumbags my work has put behind bars… I piss off a lot of people. Now I’m caught in the crossfire.”

“She’s good, Cass. She’s good. Thinks on her feet.” He studied her intently. “But you screwed up, and you know it! Who do you work for?” Kyro got down to her level and pushed the gun between her breasts.

“Does that excite you?”

“A little. Pullin’ this trigger would really get me goin’, though.”

He was trying, and she had to give him that, but Redd could catch the scent of a bluff from a mile away. “Do it. If it’ll make you feel better, do it!”

He hesitated. All she could really make out besides the red gash on his face were his eyes. Everything else was just black. Just ash. “If ending my life can make up for your crappy childhood, your angst-ridden, drug-friendly past, or your dead grandfather, then kill me.”

She shouldn’t have mentioned Abraham Finch. She wasn’t supposed to know about it.
Ah, screw it.

Kyro screamed, pulling the gun away from her chest. He turned toward Joel as she snickered “bluff” under her breath. His cheek muscles tugged on the corners of his mouth, and he grinned. In less than a second, a glob of blood began to bloom near her shoulder. He hadn’t even really aimed. Just shifted his stance and shot. Serious pain traversed her entire chest and back muscles. Her arm started spasms almost instantly. It’d been a while since she’d taken a hit. Too long.

“That’s for Aimee!” Kyro grunted. “Open your eyes, Cass.” He dropped the gun into Joel’s hand. “Ain’t nothin’ what it seems.”

Redd’s butt hit the ground, and the throbbing intensified. “You shot… You shot me, you little punk! I saved your life!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” Kyro looked in the direction of the asylum. “Maybe we all s’posed to be dead.”

Redd’s palm slid into the dirt, clutched it tightly, like life. Like the dirty past that made her feel so used and unclean. A life she swore she was no longer a part of, but one she could not let go. Or maybe
it
wouldn’t let go.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she said, panting. “I’m sorry Aimee’s gone.” One side of her felt contrition for what had transpired, felt pain for his pain. The other side of her kept bringing it up so he would eventually succumb to her rogue affections. Put Aimee behind him, and choose her.

“Lies and more lies,” Kyro jeered.

“Shut up, Kyro,” Joel ordered, helping Redd to her feet. “Isn’t what we’ve been through enough? My wife is dead. My daughter… God only knows. No more death. No more fighting today. No more.”

“Okay. That’s how it’s gonna be? Well, what now, hmm? What are we gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” Joel admitted, making a sling for Redd from his jacket.

“We gonna just leave Mrs. P’s body here to rot while you go and live happily ever after with the wicked trick of the west?”

“That’s not what this is, Kyro,” Joel returned. Redd saw it in his eyes. Fury and fear. “I couldn’t find her. I…can’t find…” his voice trailed off.

Her body must’ve been hurled then buried by ash during the explosion. She could be lying anywhere.

“It’s not your fault, Joel.”

He ignored her comment and turned to Kyro. “I can’t believe you did this. You’re not thinking right. You’re not thinking! You shot her, for heaven’s sake. She needs medical attention.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve been shot before.”

“Oh, and that’s just perfectly normal.”

“She’s a private investigator, Kyro,” Joel said, as Redd flipped the kid off. “It’s not that big a shocker. Besides, we’ve lost enough. I’m not gonna let her die here like this. That’s not the kind of person I am.”

“Right. What was I thinkin’ shootin’ a murderer?”

“For the last time, I saved your… Forget it. Ungrateful little weasel!”

They walked up toward the interstate. They’d spent the last seven minutes arguing off road. A swarm of people ran along the highway in every direction, panic written all over their faces. Some unlucky souls squirmed, pinned beneath vehicles. But if any aid were given, their lives would be severed instantly.

A few children raced past. But behind them came more, and more still. Not all of them were a part of the accidents. Many wore hospital slips that revealed some flesh.
They must be cold
, Redd thought, her fingers going numb.
Real cold.
Some were dressed in white, others black, but all the clothing looked fit for a funeral, and no one really looked alive anymore. In no time, there were attacks, even more than that. Vile, indecent acts. Biting and scratching at weak people who couldn’t outrun them. Some just trailed on, afraid of their own shadows.

“They’re…patients,” Redd finally said, massaging her wound. “They must’ve gotten out before the blast.”

“Oh no.” Joel’s cheeks flushed, and he limped forward. “Emery! Emery, sweetheart, can you hear me?” His hope remained alive as he waded through the sea of exiles. Kyro started to shout Emery’s name as well. Last, Redd reluctantly joined in.

“Emery! Emery! Where are you!” they shouted. It felt futile. It felt cruel to encourage the search, but Redd went through the motions anyway.

Bodies raced away from Salvation. Meanwhile, the three of them walked forward, against the mass current, Kyro always steps ahead. A few of the patients tried to lunge at them, but once Joel fired off a shot, they covered their ears like startled squirrels and sprinted off, desiring no further conflict.

Another five minutes gone. Then ten minutes gone. Then fifteen. Their calls became raspy pleas. The cold was getting to their fingers, and their joints didn’t want to bend.

“What are we gonna do? What am I gonna do?” Joel’s strides slowed. Redd knew she was losing a significant amount of blood, and that her wound needed tending, but the herd of bodies had distracted her. The patients had become a thinned line of faces, slowly dissipating until all had passed. There were no more Valium-addicted cuckoos, no more cars turned upside down and reduced to shrapnel. Just cold, white emptiness.

Joel questioned the blackened heavens with a war cry of a shout. “Why did you bring me here! Is this your plan! Was all of this pain your plan!”

Somewhere in the smoky shadows, far enough in the distance that no face could act as identifier, was a young man, half-clothed and stumbling farther into the enveloping white mist of winter.

“Can you see that, Cass?” Kyro said, dashing forward. Vivid light radiated around the figure. “What’s that he’s got around him?”

Joel’s lips twitched, “It looks like—”

“Fire,” Redd said, cutting him off.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The highway was vacant.
He’d gone on for roughly half a mile, and Arson’s muscles throbbed and swelled whenever he expelled more energy. Every so often he checked the veins in his forearm, watched the blue-red spikes flicker with a magical glow.

He stopped walking, listened carefully for an unsettling rhythm of breathing, and shifted around as a patient pounced onto his back. But the shield of light and fire singed the man’s skin at the precise moment of contact. Arson shook his head and didn’t help.

“Do you know me?” he asked the man. “Do you have any idea what I am?”

The man gave no reply but shoved his hands in the snow and began to cry uncontrollably.

“Why did you attack me?”

The man switched from tears to a sinister kind of laughing. Arson was drawn back to a time when Grandma had swung at him hard enough to draw blood. There was an abrupt sadness in her eyes then a pleasure-induced kind of grin that always followed. Her ability to become a viper before morphing into a meek housemaid had mystified him since childhood.

“We all have abilities,” Arson mused, and remained on his path. “Emery, where are you?”

Why couldn’t he slide? Adam had managed it. If not, the odds of Arson ever finding a way out of his coma were slim to none. But what was holding
him
back? Why hadn’t he harnessed that ability? Were fire and ice the only real powers he would manifest, or were there more?

Technically, there were subcategories for his powers. He could heal in small increments, the way a wound heals once cauterized. And he had managed to harness intense physical strength when pushed to extremes.

Yes, when warring against the hosts of the undead.

But that was just a nightmare, wasn’t it? How much physical strength did he really possess? He held the micro flash drive up to get another look at it. So small, seemingly insignificant, yet the fate of humanity rested on the information it carried. When the time came, and he was certain it would, this strength would be tested.

Still, he longed to be connected to Emery. After all, he’d spent a summer with her, hadn’t he? The evenings they had shared had to count for something. If he concentrated hard enough on her memory, on her eyes—those beautiful ocean waters—maybe he could slide and find his way to her.

But you’re not Adam
.

Did that matter? How much power did Adam have, exactly? Was he more powerful or simply more cunning?

The snow slid into the holes between his toes, and he couldn’t help but loathe the irony of it. How the elements of the world could somehow slide, into him, yet in spite of his powers, he felt so utterly limited.

Arson traced his memories back to the eerie school hallways; to the rooms hidden inside other rooms, the secrets coded within the walls. It was a mystery that it had taken him so long to figure it out.

But you didn’t figure it out.
He
did.

“Adam.” Speaking his name bred a mixture of gratitude and hostility. He dismissed them all, knowing they weren’t enabling him to slide, and there was no sure way anything ever would.

It was then that Arson caught a glimpse of a car speeding toward him and traveling far too fast. Arson’s feet remained planted where they were. The driver, however, lost momentary control then regained it. A sudden spike in heart rate was second nature. The driver was likely prepared to holler obscenities when Arson didn’t step out of the way, but after getting a clear look at the sphere of energy circling his body, the man drove off, terrified.

They’re afraid of me. Perfect. From misfit teenager to public exile. Next stop, Larry King.
It wasn’t the time for jokes, even if they were slightly amusing in a sarcastic, cynical way. But he knew they were the only way to keep his mind off his inability to slide.

“Hey!” Shouting. People were shouting at him. “Hey, you!” The voices came from behind.

“Please stop. We need help!”

Help?
Arson thought.
They want help? Well, that makes two of us
. He kept walking, and then a thought rippled through his mind.
They’re not afraid of me. I could kill them with one blink, one reflex, end their lives, and still they come, asking me for help
.

He took his last step and turned around as three bodies swiftly approached. A black kid in a hoodie and two white-skinned adults, a redhead woman with a recent bullet wound and a middle-aged man who was limping.

Wait, wait a second. That man was familiar. He’d seen him before. He’d tried to talk him off the insanity ledge one late summer night. But the conversation ended hopelessly.

“Please, can you help us?” the woman pleaded, and all of them stood at a distance.

Arson examined them before speaking. “What makes you think I want to help you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and Arson could tell that a memory was triggered. The man, Joel Phoenix, said, “Arson? Arson…is that you?”

With one sigh, Arson summoned the energy into his being, canceling the shield of light. He nodded with clenched fists.

“We don’t…want trouble,” the woman claimed.

“Why should I trust you?”

“Dude, you can’t trust her,” the kid in the hoodie divulged with a snicker. “She’s whack. Shoulda left her behind to get munched on by the crazies, but Cass got a soft spot for spiders.” The woman’s face wrinkled with disdain. “I’m Kyro. K-Y-R-O, just like it sounds. I ain’t got no reason to flip the script on ya. Notch-yet.” The kid fed both hands into his pockets and left them there.

The adults rolled their eyes and advanced. The woman gave her name. “Redd. Redd Casey.”

“Arson,” Joel said, obviously fatigued and sore. “Where have you been all this time? You disappeared the same day my Emery did.”

“How long have we been missing?”

“A little over three months.”

He paused then spoke. “We were both taken by Salvation Asylum.”

“See, I told you dat place was screwed up. Evil sons of—”

A glimmer of anticipation lit Joel’s eyes, and he began firing off a series of questions. “Have you seen Emery? Is she all right? What did they do to her? Tell me where she is, please.” Desperate. “Have you seen my daughter?”

“Only in my dreams.” He relived them taking her. The wretched chirping of Lamont’s walkie, that twisted way he slid his manufactured teeth from side to side as he cuffed Arson to a hospital bed and then stabbed him with a needle.

Kyro sighed. “Well, that don’t help us.”

“So, you haven’t seen her at all?”

He shook his head.

“You came from the asylum?”

Nod.

“Did
you
destroy it?” Redd asked like it was the clearest conclusion possible.

Another nod.

“Hell yeah,” Kyro said, clapping. “So let me get this straight, homie, your name is Arson, and you can…make fire…just by thinkin’ it?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, that is off the hook! Do somethin’ cool. Make it come out.”

Redd interrupted, “Look, can you cauterize my bullet wound? It stings like crazy, and I’d prefer not to bleed out on this godforsaken highway.”

Arson agreed to lend his talents and took a step toward her. She ripped a section of her bloodied shirt and slid the black bra strap down her arm a little.

“This will hurt.”

“Good,” Kyro mumbled as Arson slipped two fingers inside the hole and fished for the bullet. She slammed her teeth shut with an agonizing hiss, and seconds later, the bullet was out.

“Finish it quick,” she requested.

“You don’t gotta do this, man. She don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up!” Joel and Redd shot back in unison.

A scorching refrain swiftly sang through indigo veins and exited Arson’s fingertips, soothing Redd’s skin in seconds.

Joel watched the process until it was complete. The once preacher was awestruck. “I didn’t know people like you existed.”

“Freakin’ awesome,” Kyro said, amazed. “Still think the skank looked more
chic
with the bullet, though.”

Joel shook off the remark. His curiosity still had demands. “Is that why they took my Emery? Because they thought she was like you?”

A long silence, and then, “I don’t know.”

“Thank you,” Redd offered, covering up with a jacket.

“I never saw any evidence of supernatural…ability. I can’t believe this. This kinda stuff is all real?”

Arson shrugged and looked perplexed. “Are you that surprised? You’re a priest.”

“Pastor,” Joel corrected. “And I’m not anymore.”

“What’s the matter, Cass? Ain’t we s’posed to believe in miracles?”

“I guess it all just seems so…alien to me.”

“Get used to it,” Arson said.

Joel immediately started to panic. He looked as though a rogue thought had just invaded his mind. “My God, what if…”

All eyes suddenly turned to him, as if to ask, “What?”

“What if Emery was still trapped inside when you…” He searched for the right word, but couldn’t find it.

“Went nuclear?” Arson offered.

Joel dipped his head.

All eyes targeted Arson. “She wasn’t.” He noticed Redd’s face adjust when he said it, like she was somehow surprised to hear his answer. “I searched that place before I destroyed it. She wasn’t there. Plus I interrogated one of the doctors, and he confirmed it.” Arson thought it prudent to omit the fact that Isaac had been his informant. “I don’t know where they took her, but I don’t think she was inside.”

“Wait, you don’t
think
?” Joel made sure to put the right amount of emphasis on that last word.

“She wasn’t there. But we’ll find her.”

“You don’t know that!” Joel lunged at Arson, clawing at his neck until he drew blood, but the cut was small enough that the skin around it instantly reformed. Kyro was obviously impressed.

Recoiling, Arson asked Emery’s father a question, “Where’s your wife?”

None of them wanted to answer.

“Joel, what happened?”

“She’s dead.”

“The explosion,” Redd conveyed.

“Whoa, that’s only half-true,” Kyro broke in. “Lil’ Redd was fixin’ to screw us ova.”

“I saved his life,” she said in defense. “But clearly he’s deleted that from memory. There was a car crash just before you went nuclear. A bad one. The three of us survived.”

“You call this surviving?” Joel spitefully whispered.

“Aimee didn’t have a pulse.”

“I tried to bring her back, Arson,” Joel said. “I tried…so…hard, but it didn’t work.” His eyes were tempted by the pale and vacant future calling them in the distance. “And then it happened.”

“In a blink,” Redd added.

“Joel, I’m…”
You’re tough, Arson. Don’t break, not for them
. “Sorry.” It felt good to say it. It was right to say it, because he knew he meant it.

“Dude, this ain’t all on you. We almost died before you went loco and torched the joint.”

“Would it kill you to exercise a sliver of discretion?” Redd barked.

“What’s that, trick? I’m still a little hard o’ hearing in this ear ever since I planted one in ya shoulder.”

She groaned as a helicopter suddenly appeared above their heads. “Look, we need to get somewhere safe.”

“They’re not here to hurt us,” Arson said. “Just a couple of news anchors looking for a good story. Harmless rats.”

But when bullets began to rain down from the chopper, all sense of calm evaporated.

Arson’s three companions dove in different directions, hoping to escape the sporadic spray of lead, while he called forth the shield of fiery energy a second time. In seconds, his left hand ignited the chopper. The machine detonated and split in two. Hoping to survive, one of the pilots launched from the craft, but before he could pull open the chute, his body was speared by a spinning propeller blade. Hunks of burning scrap metal descended to the earth, along with the body.

“Is it over, Arson?” Kyro asked, poking his head out from the brush.

“Yeah. Come closer, all of you. Quickly.” They did, and he extended his hands toward them, letting out just enough heat to warm their extremities until they found a place to hide during the night.

“Okay, now let’s get lost.”

“Yes, let’s,” Redd agreed, surveying his disintegrating wardrobe. “First, we gotta get you some clothes.”

“Where can we go in this storm?”

Her gaze went still as she thought.

“Here, take my sweatshirt,” Joel said, removing his top layer and handing it to Arson. “It isn’t much, but—”

“Thanks,” Arson said, throwing it on.

Redd was still anxious, scanning both sides of the interstate. “I suggest we hustle, before we draw any more attention. I know a place we can stay for a little while. Under the radar.”

“Is it close?” Kyro wanted to know. “I ain’t exactly built for speed, ya heard?”

“You’ll live,” she said, leading the way.