Grace clambered away from the body as fast as she dared move, and as fast as she could manage, taking the dead man's phone with her. Despite worrying about the commandos' ability to track their buddy's phone, she decided the benefit of keeping it with her outweighed the risk. At least she hoped it did.
The pulsating in her head strengthened with each passing minute. She started out waddling on all fours, but when her arms crumpled, she resorted to belly-crawling. The parched earth, cracked and jagged, clawed at her flesh. Her injury impelled her to adopt a limping belly-crawl that favored the arm. The effort of hauling her body over the uneven terrain — with a blinding headache, a wounded arm, and spry commandos on her tail — drained her beyond exhaustion. She longed to collapse under a nice, shady tree. She didn't dare stop for even one second, for fear she might never rouse herself again.
So far, she'd kept ahead of the commandos. Maybe they got distracted by the bodies of their comrades. The memory of their lifeless forms jolted her, yet she was fresh out of guilt. They shot her.
In the wake of her own deadly action, she realized one fact. If David killed anyone, he must've done it in self-defense. She knew him, and she understood through far too much experience that sometimes a person was provoked into taking another's life. Her gut still churned from the desperation of choosing between her own survival and the innate inhibition against killing.
Most people operated under that inhibition. Some did not. They were the ones who compelled people like her and David to enact deadly measures.
Please, David, just tell me the truth.
She prayed he heard her plea, even through the wall blocking off her mind.
The phone in her pocket vibrated.
Catching her breath, she paused to pull out the appropriated phone and glance down at its screen. The number on the caller ID was familiar. She pressed the button to take the call but didn't dare say hello.
"Don't speak," Amador said. "I am at the motel. Leave this line open and I will track you."
Oh great. If he tracked the phone, then her pursuers might be closing in on her too.
As if he'd read her mind, Amador said, "I don't think Tesler's men are tracking the phone. They seem to be setting up a perimeter to begin an organized hunt for you."
Could he read her mind? David swore trying to read minds led to insanity, but he might be wrong about that. Amador could've thought of the same thing at the same time she did by coincidence. Whichever it was, the answer hardly mattered at the moment.
"I have your signal," Amador said, in a hushed voice. "Hang on, Grace. I will mute my phone and come for you. Do not hang up."
The line seemed to go dead. He must've muted the call on his end.
She huddled there, on her belly, propped up one arm, gripping the cell phone in one hand and her gun in the other. As she tilted her head to listen, she also scanned the woods with her eyes — her physical eyes. All her psychic senses were hollow, emptied of power. She could do little more than lie there, squinting from the migraine pain and struggling not to vomit again.
Sleep. She yearned to curl up in a ball and snooze for days.
Would her psychic barrier stay in place if she slept? She hadn't taken so much as a nap since building the mental barrier this morning. Good lord, had it only been this morning? It felt like days elapsed since she sat on the bed with David, both of them trying to figure out how she might erect a psychic firewall. She checked the display on the dead man's phone. It gave the time as 11:02 PM. She flipped the phone facedown in her palm to hide the glow from its display.
Even the fragile moonglow hurt her eyes.
Her eyelids threatened to close. With a gargantuan effort of will, she kept them open.
David, I need you.
He wouldn't come. He couldn't. Besides being held hostage at the Montana facility, he most likely couldn't track her down because of her psychic wall. Lowering the barrier would let him reach her, but it might also let in enemies. Soon she might not be able to fend off sleep any longer, and her psychic wall might become a moot point.
Rustling. Behind her.
She rolled onto her back, raising her gun.
From behind a bush, out stepped Gabriel Amador.
Grace nearly keeled over right then, out of sheer relief. Her arm fell to the ground, and the gun tumbled from her fingers. White lights flickered in her vision, a signal her migraine had worsened. The pain swallowed her head, fractured her mind, and vacuumed every last ounce of strength from her body. She tried to push up onto her elbows, but her arms gave out. She toppled to the ground.
Amador crouched beside her. He plucked her gun from the dirt, shoving it into her purse. Her tight throat strangled the words she tried to speak. So tired. Sleep beckoned to her, though she battled against it. Keeping her eyelids open got harder and harder. They drooped half closed. She peeked through her lashes, her gaze intersecting with Amador's.
His expression was pinched.
She tried one more time to speak, but eked out nothing better than a moan.
And then, like a hero in a movie, Gabriel Amador scooped her up into his arms and lugged her out of the woods. David carried her this way once, in a similar situation. In his arms, she'd enjoyed safety and warmth. Cradled in the arms of Gabriel Amador, she suffered an odd mixture of relief and tension.
The pain and exhaustion brought on by her migraine overpowered everything else. By the time they reached Amador's vehicle, some kind of enormous SUV, she gave up the fight.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as she sank into a deep slumber.
David scuffled to a stop a few feet inside the doorway of the twenty-foot square room. Fluorescent lights recessed into the ceiling cast quivering light onto the white walls and concrete floor. The far wall housed a two-way mirror that would, undoubtedly, allow Tesler's fans and cohorts to observe his sessions with travelers. Nkosi staggered in behind David, coming up on his left, an arm's length away. Armed sentries guarded them, one to Nkosi's left and on David's right. Both their gazes were riveted to the sight in the middle of the room.
A metal chair hunkered there, padded with meager cushioning. The seat resembled a dentist's chair, though without the cozy atmosphere. In the chair — strapped down with restraints around his wrists, ankles, and forehead — huddled Sean Vandenbrook.
The boy's green eyes glittered bright with anger. He lifted his chin high, his lips compressed.
David tipped his head to Sean, and the boy almost smiled. In the past six months, Sean had labored to become a man, bolstering his body and mind through sheer force of will. To Sean, achieving manhood meant never crying or showing weakness. David tried to explain showing emotion didn't make a man weak, but it sounded hypocritical coming from him. He didn't exactly excel at sharing his feelings.
Which explained why Grace was angry with him.
He flashed back to his last conversation with her, when he'd told her to leave because she'd only get in his way. On the surface, she'd been frustrated, but underneath she nursed a wound he inflicted. Even now, her anguish congealed as a hard lump in his chest. He'd wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her senseless, and vow to never leave her again. That was selfishness talking. Being with him brought her more pain, more danger, more of everything bad. The worst things in the world trailed behind him wherever he went. Grace deserved better. Maybe if he told her…
No. He revealed the whole truth once, and look what happened. Her parents were murdered, her grandfather imprisoned. David should've stayed away from Grace after that, but he'd given in to his need to be with her. Not this time. From here on, he safeguarded her above everything else.
He wouldn't burden her with the truth.
Please, David, just tell me.
Grace's voice murmured into his psyche, subtle as a breeze. He must've imagined it. His desire to confess everything to her led him to fantasize she was begging him to do exactly that. The psychic wall she'd built prevented him from touching her mind. But she could contact him, so maybe…
Wishful thinking.
David, I need you.
This time he knew it was her, without a shred of doubt. Her pain and fear walloped him in the gut. He breathed hard, as if someone really had punched him. He tried to contact Grace without leaving his body, but the barrier knocked him back.
With less force this time. Her wall had thinned.
It signified either of two things. One, Grace decided to let down her psychic defenses in order to contact him. Or two, she was sick or injured and couldn't maintain the wall any longer. Neither option neutralized the acid churning in his gut. He fisted his hands at his sides. If he tried to travel to her, through the crossroads, his body would be undefended. Tesler might notice his vacant expression, and punish him — or worse, he might punish Nkosi or Sean. David would not let that happen.
Damn Tesler. Damn himself for getting captured. He could either go to Grace and help her, as she'd practically begged him to, or stay here to protect Nkosi and Sean.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
He stretched out his psychic senses, gently, staying rooted in his body. Using this method, he couldn't see or speak to Grace, or determine her exact circumstances and condition. But he could get an inkling. As he snaked out his paranormal senses, feeling for Grace, he kept an eye on the room around him. Tesler had yet to arrive. David knew the bastard would come eventually, once he thought they'd accrued enough anxiety to feed his hunger.
Grace. There. Her fiery aura strobed in the cold void. Her barrier had weakened, though not disintegrated. It pushed back against him, with the gentle compulsion of one magnet repelling another when their opposite poles faced each other. He discerned enough to tell Grace was alive, not badly injured, and felt safe enough to sleep. He also detected another presence nearby, the vacant sensation of a non-paranormal human.
The door to David's right opened. He withdrew his psychic faculties, returning all his attention to the room around him.
Tesler strolled through the door, shutting it behind him with a sharp click.
David watched the scientist stroll to the chair that restrained Sean. Tesler patted Sean's arm in a gesture that seemed threatening rather than comforting, and then he confronted Nkosi and David.
"I will discover what you know," Tesler said. "The only choice is how I do it."
Nkosi watched Tesler without expression.
David bit his tongue to keep from uttering a sarcastic reply. He wanted to bash in the heads of the guards and Tesler. Smash his way out of here using all his psychic faculties. But what then? He didn't have Grace's power. Simply getting out of this room would probably drain him. To escape the facility demanded greater energy than what he, Nkosi, and Sean could muster combined.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he stifled a growl. He'd needed Grace to break him out of the Mojave Desert facility.
"Here's your choice," Tesler said. He waved at Nkosi, and then at Sean. "Which one of them do I torture to death first?"
David clenched his teeth and hissed. "None of us will talk. You're wasting your time."
"Oh really? I disagree. Your darling girl is nearly in my grasp as we speak. So perhaps you'd rather I wait until she arrives and torture her for the information I seek."
"You're lying. You don't have Grace." He'd noticed another presence near her, a non-paranormal human. Could Tesler have captured her already?
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Tesler clucked his tongue, wagging a finger. "Cling to that notion as long as you like, dear boy. Moments ago, my men surrounded her. She has no place to hide."
If Tesler was telling the truth, then everything David had fought for was lost.
No, not yet. He still had a chance to save her. She was asleep or unconscious, injured, and exhausted, both physically and psychically.
David threw sideways look at Nkosi. He deliberately spoke in a monotone. "I'm sorry. I have to sacrifice you to keep Tesler from getting what he wants."
"I understand," Nkosi replied, his voice filled with a certainty and understanding that surprised David. he hadn't expected the man to accept his fate so easily. Nkosi nodded at David, and then looked at Tesler. "I will be the first."
"Excellent," Tesler said, almost crowing.
He thought he'd won. And in a way, he had. But David would make sure no one — not Tesler, not Amador, not anyone — got their hands on Grace. Saving her might kill him. It might also cost Nkosi and Sean their lives. He hoped they understood the necessity of this. He couldn't explain, because he couldn't connect with them telepathically, the way he could with Grace. He might inject a thought into their minds, but even doing that wouldn't guarantee they'd get the message. Thought projection relied on the power of suggestion rather than the power of will. He couldn't force them to accept the thoughts he inserted into their minds. To coerce them into hearing the thoughts required far more energy than he dared expend.
Tesler glanced over his shoulder at the two-way mirror. He gave a quick nod before turning back to face Nkosi and David.
The door opened and a technician entered the room pushing a cart loaded with tools. Sharp, nasty-looking implements. Syringes filled with liquid. Shiny needles. And, of course, a baseball bat.
David flexed his fingers slowly, then curled them into his palm, the nails scraping flesh. All three of them would, in turn, suffer and die to protect the rest of the world from Tesler and his cohorts. Sean, at least, recognized they also sacrificed themselves to protect Grace. And he would've volunteered for the pain, because he cared for her too.
The technician parked the cart near Tesler and left the room. The door clicked shut.
Deep in the walls, something buzzed. The noise was familiar, yet he had no idea what it meant.
No time to wonder. He must go now.
Keeping his eyes open, David cut his mind free of the shackles that bound it to his body. He rocketed upward.
And crashed headlong into a barricade. Hot currents tore through him. He pushed against the impediment, but it stung him harder, hotter, sharper. The pain lanced his mind, sliced into his body. His muscles convulsed.
His mind crashed back into his body. Ten thousand volts of agony arced through him, and he doubled over from the force of it. What the hell was this? His muscles convulsed again, driving him to his knees, contorting his back. A million electrified needles stabbed deep into flesh and sinew. He let out a strangled cry. His entire body curled up as if the muscles had shrunk. He collapsed onto his side, coiled in the fetal position, and rode out the last wrenching wave.
He'd hit a wicked barrier. Not Grace's wall. This obstacle was designed to kill, or at the very least immobilize. Besides, he hadn't even gotten into the tunnel that preceded the crossroads. He got nowhere near Grace.
Tesler walked closer to look down at David with a faint, unpleasant smile on his lips.
David couldn't speak this time. He could do nothing more than scowl at the man.
"Ah," Tesler said, sounding pleased, "I see you've met my new toy. Can't have you skipping off to help your darling girl, now can we?"
From behind Tesler, where David couldn't see, he heard Nkosi say, "What have you done to him?"
Tesler chuckled. "I made a cage for your minds. The engineers who designed it call it an electromagnetic containment field." Tesler sneered, like a tiger admiring its wounded prey. "You see, we discovered quite by accident that EM fields of the right strength and frequency inhibit psychic abilities. Of course, we are risking cellular damage, but I think it's an equitable price to pay for the power you can help us achieve."
With his arms for support, David tried to sit up. His arms shook but held, for the moment.
He hissed out three words. "We'll fight you."
Tesler shrugged. "Go ahead and try. Inside this room, you are as vulnerable as any normal human being."
David felt weak and vulnerable. He felt… normal.
Tesler strode back to the chair and the cart beside it. He selected a syringe, tapping it to remove bubbles.
"Hmm," Tesler said, "I believe David should go first."
"No," Nkosi said, taking a step toward Tesler, "I am first. You said we choose, and we did."
The two guards grabbed hold of Nkosi's arms, hauling him backward toward the wall. They pinned him there, each keeping one hand clamped on one of Nkosi's arms while in their other hands they grasped their handguns.
David's arms gave out. He collapsed onto his back on the floor.
"No," David said, meeting Tesler's gaze. "I'm first. I always have been."
Tesler walked toward David, kneeled beside him, and lowered the syringe to his arm. David winced as the needle pierced his skin. He would die in this room. The realization hit him as the liquid from the syringe heated his veins. He would die, and Grace would fall into Tesler's hands.
He prayed the man lied. He prayed for more than that, though.
Please God, spare Grace.