Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (29 page)

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” streamed from her mouth.

“Dahlia,” I said, hesitant to leave the safety of the doorway. “Sweetie, what happened?”

“We were just talking.” She moved her lips as little as possible, as though afraid to disturb the air. “Then I smelled gas. I saw a smoldering cigarette on the floor by the stove, and then it just exploded. I thought I was dead, but I’m not and this is really weird. How do I make it stop?”

“Try pushing,” Gage said, standing behind me. “Push the heat away.”

She closed her eyes. A heat wave blasted forward, knocking me backward into Gage and sending both of us careening into the wall. I hit the floor on my left elbow and shrieked when Gage landed on top of me and jammed it even harder.

“Sorry!” Dahlia said.

“Think about ice, dammit,” I yelled, my elbow throbbing. “Something cold, don’t think about the fire.” She had drawn most of the heat away—a topic for further discussion once we were out of that blasted hallway—but the crackling of the fire could still be heard behind the walls. The drawback of constructing a studio inside of a pre-existing structure was the unused, insulated space, and the inferno inside of it waiting to get out.

The ice suggestion seemed to work. The rush of air ceased, as did the unearthly glow of her skin. A heavy sheen of perspiration replaced it, soaking quickly through her blouse.

“I don’t want to do that again,” she said, panting. “Caliber?”

“I’m okay.” William hauled himself up, somehow not wincing as he flexed his muscles. Just looking at the blisters and char marks made the skin on my thighs crawl. “Is everyone else out?”

“We think so,” I said. “We were all out front.”

Gage led the way back down the short hall to the studio. Red lights flashed in the rafters, and everything reeked of burnt wood. We reached the center of the studio, and Gage slammed to a jarring halt.

“Everyone get down!” he shouted.

The order was punctuated by a second explosion as the internal fires reached the main gas line. The ceiling above us combusted in a shower of fire, metal, and glass. Light fixtures groaned, broke, and fell. Walls collapsed, consumed by flame. Intense heat roiled around us.

I hit the floor and rolled onto my back in time to see a steel rod dotted with six light cans plummeting toward my head.

I
erected the force field almost without thought, creating a violet canopy over the group. Gage lay next to me, curled onto his right side. Something had struck his face and left a deep gash on his left cheek. William and Dahlia were on my other side; he was protecting her from the debris now bouncing harmlessly off my shield. I could block the physical objects, but not the overwhelming heat or encroaching flames.

The ceiling stopped collapsing, and after the others were on their feet, I let the shield drop. What little heat it kept at bay struck like a hammer, knocking the last bits of clean air from my lungs. I coughed, overwhelmed by the acrid odor and bitter taste. Gage looked green, and I could only imagine how fried his senses were. Dahlia clenched her fists and seemed to concentrate on something—probably snowmen or penguins.

Two thick rafter beams had fallen across the exit doors like a giant metal X. William tested the upper beam. Even with his strength, it didn’t budge. He tried the lower beam and managed a few inches.

“Get back,” I said. “I’ll try to blast it.”

They took cover behind the only camera still standing upright. I drew up two orbs roughly the size of grapefruits and lobbed them at the center of the X. The metal dented. Didn’t break. I squawked. Tried again. This time it fused the beams together where they crossed.

I gaped at it, eyes watering. “So much for plan B.”

“Tell me someone has a plan C?” Dahlia said.

William crouched in front of the fused X and scooted until his lower back was firmly planted beneath the cross brace. “I don’t know how long I can hold this up,” he said, his voice hoarse and dry. “So when I do, you three go between my legs.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” I said.

He winked. “You won’t. I promised Renee I’d take her to the beach when this is over, and I hate lying to a pretty lady.”

“Just so we’re clear.” I knelt in front of him, orbs glowing, ready to clear a path. “Now!”

The metal groaned; he didn’t. It gave; he didn’t. Inch by agonizing inch, William Hill lifted the beams high enough to create a crawl space. I propelled orb after orb, drilling a hole through the wood and plaster to freedom. When the tunnel was open and cool air tickled my cheeks, I reached back and yanked on Dahlia’s wrist.

“Go,” I said, shoving her into the hole. She disappeared. “Gage, go.”

“You go first,” Gage said.

“Don’t argue with me.”

William hissed. “Will one of you jackasses get going? I’m a strongman, not a robot.”

Gage plunged into the hole. I looked up at William, able to see every straining muscle, every bulge in his neck and abs and biceps. “When are you coming?” I asked.

“As soon as I can. I’ve got a date to keep, remember?”

With his promise ringing in my ears, I crawled forward. It was a tight fit, and I was impressed that Gage had managed to squeeze through the narrow passage. How would William manage?

Gage reached for me as I emerged in the dimly lit outer corridor.

“Hey, over here!” William shouted.

I twisted around, still flat on my belly. Someone else was on the other side with him. Legs stumbled into my line of sight, and I recognized the baggy jeans and soiled sneakers. Chad the sleepy cameraman. He was dragging something, and as he stumbled over a bit of debris, a packet of cigarettes fell by his feet.

My stomach clenched. I reached forward, drawing up an orb. The shoes moved out of sight, followed by the silver and red curve of a fire ax. “William!”

“Hey, man,” William said. “What the hell—?” His scream pierced the roar of the fire in the same instant the red-coated ax blade passed across the front of the hole. Blood splattered. The beams fell.

“No!” I plunged into the hole. Strong arms secured my waist and held me down. Panic crept into my heart. Bile stung my throat. “Let me go!”

“Trance, come on,” Gage said. “The ceiling’s coming down on this side, we have to go.” He yelped, and the pained sound
diverted my attention. A slim shard of wood had impaled his shoulder, just above the armpit.

Dahlia crabbed farther down the corridor on her hands and feet, tears streaking her sooty cheeks. She was coughing and retching. I couldn’t leave a man behind, but I had to get them out of there. Dahlia was a civilian. She was my priority.

With a frustrated scream, I lurched to my feet and grabbed Gage by his good shoulder. Together, we hauled Dahlia up and ran. Bits of the ceiling rained down as we raced toward sunlight. Sirens screamed outside, beckoning us forward.

Fresh air filled my lungs, forcing out the smoke in heaving, painful coughs that doubled me over. Tears stung my eyes, and I let them fall. Moisture was good. I had to go back for William. I’d need all the moisture I could get. I turned blindly toward the entrance again, only to find myself tackled to the ground. A third, eardrum-shattering explosion rocked the world. People screamed, and I screamed with them.

Tall, leaping flames consumed the warehouse and belched from every window and door. Yellow, red, orange, and every shade in between danced and sang their terrible song, rending and destroying.

I lunged again. “William!” My voice didn’t carry far. A solid body anchored me to the ground. I pushed and pulled. I screamed again, and a choked cry came out instead. My chest hurt. I couldn’t draw a breath.

“No, no, no,” over and over until my words became sobs, and the pleas became bitter tears.

We stayed until late afternoon, waiting for the fire department to seize control of the blaze and give William back to us. I wouldn’t leave without him. I sat for hours in the back of an ambulance, long after they dressed the few burns on my back and stomach. Long after they tended to Gage’s shoulder and Dahlia’s scrapes. Sat and waited and didn’t speak.

Gage left and returned once. He offered a nod that told me he’d placed the call. Renee and the others knew, and I was ashamed that I hadn’t been the one to tell her. I couldn’t do anything except sit and stare and mourn.

Dahlia remained by my side, a shell-shocked shadow. Had I inadvertently sensed something when I picked her out of the paparazzi crowd? I didn’t know. At the moment, I didn’t care. She tried to offer a few more teary apologies. I ignored her into silence. She was a mystery I hadn’t the faculties to ponder. We didn’t discuss her fire absorption, or if she could be out there helping the firemen rein in the inferno. She couldn’t control it. I couldn’t ask her to try. Not like this.

Police corralled a slew of reporters behind wooden barricades. The throng was more frenzied than they’d been at the building collapse. I could imagine the headlines: “Heroes Torch Studio After Welcome Back Interview.”

Lanthrop wandered by once, wondering if I would be pleased to know that he had a copy of the interview. My response was to flip him off. He left us alone after that.

A little after four in the afternoon, a fire lieutenant came
over to the ambulance and spoke with Gage. From their body language, I knew what was happening. They had found William.

It was time to take him home.

I spent the short ride back avoiding eye contact with the sheet-covered form at our feet. I hadn’t let the EMTs put William into one of their black bags. He startled easily and didn’t like enclosed spaces.

Five people hovered on the Base’s roof below, waiting for the copter to land. Marco stood behind Renee, one hand on her shoulder. She had her own arms wrapped around her torso several times, as if trying to find comfort in the embrace. They watched us approach, solemn and unmoving.

Dr. Seward and Agent Grayson huddled to one side, along with an orderly who appeared to be in charge of a gurney. The sight of it squeezed my chest.

The copter landed and the green safety light blinked on. McNally turned the lock and pushed the door open. A rush of air from the rotating blades erupted into the cabin, caught the edge of the sheet, and blew an unsecured corner. Gage snagged it and tucked it back under—too late to prevent a glimpse of William’s severed leg. Chopped through meat and bone just below the knee by one swing of an ax, and secured only by two inches of muscle and skin.

Renee screamed, arms going back to normal length like a retracting coil. McNally climbed out and steered her away, words lost to the roar of the slowing motor. Gage and
I waited inside while Dr. Seward and the orderly pulled out the backboard and secured their burden to the gurney. Marco appeared in the door, his glowing eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He gazed past us, to the passenger trying to disappear into the vinyl bench seat.

“Why did you bring the reporter?” Marco asked.

“Because she’s one of us,” Gage replied.

Marco furrowed his eyebrows. “Us?”

“I absorb fire,” Dahlia said.

Gage grunted. “She’s safer here, so we brought her along.”

Marco looked at me, and I nodded my agreement. He offered his good hand to Dahlia. She smiled, took it, and climbed out. Gage followed, and then turned around to wait for me. I stared at the floor with zero desire to leave. He waited silently for a while, then followed the others inside.

The pilot locked down the copter controls, making no move to evict me. The others were gone, probably waiting for me to appear and decide what to do next, and all I could do was hide in a stationary helicopter. Hiding was not something I did often, but the idea of facing my friends—the people whose lives I was responsible for—terrified me on a basic level. I had failed; someone died. Again.

I always lost.

Specter found us at the studio, but how? Fewer than fifteen people knew about the location. Most of them found out an hour before we started. Specter knew to look for us at the HQ, not at a tiny public broadcasting studio in West Hollywood. Outside the team, only Seward, McNally and Grayson knew about the interview, and they were all on our side.

Maybe.

McNally and Grayson had lied to us about how we lost our powers. They had known about Fairview and the Warden. They were certainly both smart enough to commit arson and get away with it. Hadn’t Seward said Specter was likely to strike at us off-site? But why would any of them help Specter kill us? Why not simply shoot us all and be done with it?

Chad the cameraman had been the perfect target for Specter. The boy was tired, overworked, with a weak mind sensitive to suggestion, stuck in that perfect place between sleep and awake, where Specter liked to strike. Only someone possessed could start a fire with the intent to hurt so many. Only Specter-possessed could a sleepy-eyed teenager take an ax and chop through someone’s leg, slice through muscle, splinter bone, spurt blood.

My stomach twisted. I lurched out of the copter, scurried across the landing pad, and vomited into the gravel. Bitter acid scorched my throat and tongue, and I continued to retch long after my stomach had emptied. Angry tears spilled down my cheeks, somehow finding expendable moisture in my exhausted, dehydrated body. I spat a wad of phlegm and wiped my mouth, my entire body trembling.