ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) (7 page)

“Kate,
try your phone. You have bars, wifi, anything?”

Kate
pulled her phone from her purse, looked down at the screen, and shook her head.
She was silently starting to cry, the tears welling up in her eyes. Jeremy
reached up and put his arm around her shoulder. He wanted to say something
reassuring, but he couldn’t do it. There was nothing to say; at least nothing
that would be the truth.

Then
the voice came back over the speakers. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, welcome.
For those of you joining our show late, allow me to introduce myself. I am your
host, the amazing Hot Shot—causer of chaos, killer of mall cops, and all-around
badass assassin. Now, let’s go over a couple of our ground rules. As I’m sure
you’ve noticed by now, the doors are all locked and your phones are all
blocked. In other words, we are all in this together. No one’s getting in and
no one’s getting out. Let’s all take a moment and let that sink in.”

Jeremy
looked down at Kate. Her tears were falling freely now, and she was gulping in
air. Jeremy understood. She looked exactly like he felt inside, and it was all
he could do not to lose it alongside her.

Jeremy
reached for Kate’s other shoulder and turned her to face him; he kept his voice
low, even. “I need you to stay with me, Kate, okay? We can get out of this
together.”

Kate
wiped at the tears streaming down her face and tried to catch her breath.

The
voice of Hot Shot boomed over the speakers. “Now that we all understand exactly
what kind of mess we’re in, let me explain one last thing. I honestly don’t
want to hurt any of you—at least not any more of you. I am here for one
purpose, which is to say I am here for just one person. The sooner he steps into
the food court, the sooner the rest of you can all go about your business. So
then, without further ado, will Jeremy Cross come on down.”

Jeremy’s
name hung in the air, echoing in his ears, and he felt his stomach turn to
water. He choked back the sudden urge to vomit.

Kate’s
reaction seemed to be the same; all the color drained from her face and her
eyes went wide. “Jeremy! That’s—”

Another
chorus of screams echoed over the PA system, and Hot Shot said, “That’s three,
four, maybe five—I count five more bodies. Basically, Jeremy, everyone who’s
dead so far, that’s all on your tab. The longer you make me wait, the higher
the body count gets. You have thirty seconds, and then it happens again.”

“Kate.”
Jeremy struggled now to keep his own voice calm. “I want you to stay here. Get
down as low to the ground as you can, and stay here.”

Kate
reached up and took hold of Jeremy’s hand. “No! Jeremy, don’t—please.”

Jeremy
steadied himself and closed his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m just going to take a
look. I want you to stay here.”

Jeremy
let go of Kate’s hand and darted back across the hallway. As he reached the far
wall, he edged himself to the corner, dropped to his knee, and peered around
the edge of the wall.

He
could see the man who was talking, this “Hot Shot,” standing at the far corner
of the food court. He had dark brown hair and wore a white sweater, and both
his sweater and his face were stained by a spray of crimson.

As
the man walked between the tables of the food court, Jeremy could see six. . .
what were they? Billiard balls? Whatever they were, they floated around his
body, whipping up and down, back and forth, circling the man in half a dozen
different directions.

Across
the floor Jeremy could see the bodies sprawled out dead on the marble, lying in
dark red pools. Others still writhed in pain, whimpering or crying or screaming
against the floor.

Hot
Shot turned his eyes left and then right as he moved among them, admiring his
own work. Then he glanced down at his wristwatch. “Ten more seconds, Jeremy!”

“I’m
here! Don’t—please, don’t do anything. I’m Jeremy.”

The
voice came from the other side of the food court. Jeremy looked over, and he
could see an older man with thin gray hair and glasses walking forward in the
direction of Hot Shot.

The
old man’s arms were raised high over his head, “Please. Please, don’t hurt
anyone else. I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m Jeremy.”

Hot
Shot turned and looked; then he started laughing. “Nice try, old man.” Hot Shot
punched his arm straight out, and one of the pool balls shot away from his
body, hitting the old man squarely in his face.

Then
Hot Shot turned away, yelling back into his microphone, “That’s another body on
you, Jeremy. Seemed like a nice guy, too. Stupid, maybe, but nice. Ten more
seconds and we go again.”

Then
Jeremy was on his feet, walking into the food court, his eyes fixed on Hot
Shot. “That’s enough!”

Hot
Shot stood 40 yards away. He was still next to the body of the old man. Jeremy
had stood up and called out, all without thinking—but now…now his brain caught
up to his body. He could see the old man was dead on the floor. He wasn’t
moving—wasn’t breathing—there was no saving him. He also knew Hot Shot intended
the same for him, and he knew he should be scared.

“You’re
Jeremy? The
real
Jeremy this time? It’s nice to meet you, I think. Could
you—I mean, would you mind waiting right there? I just need to be sure. You
understand how it is.”

Hot
Shot reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He
opened it up, glanced at it, and then looked back at Jeremy. His eyes went back
to the paper, and then flicked back up to Jeremy.

“You’re
close enough, I guess.” He refolded the paper and stuck it back in his pocket.
“Okay, Jeremy Cross, I know it’s cliché, but still, nothing personal.”
“It’s about to be.” Jeremy closed his fists.

“I
like that. I do. The whole attitude thing. Oh well.” Then Hot Shot punched his
arm forward at Jeremy. The eight ball, circling up over his shoulder,
immediately shot out, whistling as it cut through the air.

Jeremy
crossed his arms in front of his face. He closed his eyes. He was ready for
this—ready to die. A second later the eight ball hit square against his left
forearm. He felt it, a dull thud like someone throwing a punch, but there was
no pain—no broken bone. Jeremy opened his eyes and looked around. It was the
eight ball that was broken. He could see a handful of the jagged black and
white shards scattered on the ground by his feet.

Hot
Shot smiled. “That’s interesting.” Then he punched his arms forward again, and
the other five balls went flying, but now Jeremy was moving too, sprinting
forward to close the distance between them.

The
nine ball reached him first. Jeremy sidestepped it. Then he saw the cue ball.
It glanced off his shoulder. He didn’t feel it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow
down. The three ball came at him chest high. Jeremy swatted it away with his
left hand, never losing a step. The two ball was aimed at his head. Jeremy
caught it with his right hand. Then he ducked under the five, stood up, and
threw the two ball back at Hot Shot.

The
assassin spun out of the way of the missile, but now Jeremy was on top of him.
He threw an overhand right at Hot Shot’s face, but Hot Shot was waiting for it.
He grabbed the cue stick off the table, swung it up, and turned the punch to
the side. Then Hot Shot swung the stick down, catching the front of Jeremy’s
ankle, sending him to the ground.

Jeremy
landed face-first on the marble floor. Something whipped hard across his back,
but not hard enough to hurt. He scrambled back to his feet and turned to face
Hot Shot. That’s when he saw the splintered half of the cue stick.

Jeremy
stepped up and punched again with his right. Hot Shot rolled over one of the
tables, out of the way of Jeremy’s fist.

“Too
slow, Jeremy. Try again.” Hot Shot slapped his hand down hard on the table, and
then he chopped his arm out at Jeremy. The table followed, jumping up into the
air and spinning for Jeremy’s head.

Jeremy
dropped to the floor. He rolled under the flying table, and then he was back on
his feet. He looked up. Another table was spinning through the air. Jeremy
turned away to the left. The table just missed, crashing instead against the
metal railing around the edge of the food court. Then a third table was in the
air. It flipped on its side, spinning down, aimed right at Jeremy’s center.
There was no time left to think and nowhere else to go. Jeremy grabbed the
railing behind him and vaulted over just as the table slammed down into the
floor.

Then,
for a second, he was falling. Jeremy braced himself, ready to land hard on the
first floor of the mall, only he didn’t. He didn’t land anywhere. Jeremy had
stopped himself, mid-air, still three feet off the ground. He was floating. It
lasted for less than a second, just long enough to stop his momentum, and then
he was falling again. He landed feet-first in the basin of water around the
fountain. Then he looked up toward the food court.

Hot
Shot walked to the railing and looked down at him. “That’s not bad, Jeremy. Now
try and dodge this.”

Hot
Shot reached out and touched the side of the smoothie stand
.
Then he raised both of his arms over his head, and
slowly the stand lifted up into the air. Hot Shot pushed his arms forward, and
the smoothie stand tipped back against the metal railing. He was breathing
heavy now, straining, his arms starting to shake, but then he pushed against
the air, and the bottom of the stand swung up. For a second the whole thing
seemed perfectly balanced on top of the railing. Then it tipped over.

Jeremy
threw his arms up over his head trying to protect himself—too late. The whole
stand crashed down on top of him, splintering into a thousand pieces, filling
the pool with wood and plastic debris.

Hot
Shot stepped away from the railing, back toward the food court. The first thing
he did was retrieve his pea coat. He slipped it on. Then he walked over to his
messenger bag, still lying on the table. He pulled the brown leather strap over
his head and turned around one last time to see what he had wrought. Then he walked
across the food court and stepped onto the down escalator.

The
ride to the first floor of the mall was silent. Now there were no footsteps
echoing off the marble floors. No voices droning in the air. Hot Shot started
to whistle.

As
he reached the bottom of the escalator, he stepped off and walked toward the
fountain. At the base of the fountain and in the water itself there was a
tangled mass of wood and plastic. Hot Shot rose up on his toes, craning his
neck and peering through the debris, looking for a body. Nothing. He stepped to
his right, crouched down, and looked again into the rubble, looking for a hand
or foot or blood. Nothing.

Hot
Shot was still focused on the pile of debris when Jeremy edged out from behind
the escalator, and in a flash, he was on him. Jeremy threw a quick right cross
into the side of Hot Shot’s head, and the assassin went reeling back. Jeremy
stepped up and slashed out with his left. Hot Shot raised his arm and blocked
it.

Then
the world flipped over and Jeremy’s heels were above his head. The next thing
he knew he was flat on his back against the marble, and Hot Shot’s knee was
pressed into his chest. Jeremy tried to punch again from the floor, but Hot
Shot pinned his arm.

“Not
bad, kid. I really mean that.” Hot Shot reached up with his free hand and
touched the side of his mouth; then he looked down at his fingers, checking for
blood. “You did better than most, but that’s not saying much. Know what I mean?
At the end of the day, dead is still dead.”

Hot
Shot slapped his hand hard against the side of Jeremy’s face. “I’ll see ya,
Jeremy Cross.” Then Hot Shot stood up, releasing his hold, but before Jeremy
could scramble to his feet, Hot Shot punched both of his fists into the air,
and Jeremy went flying back.

It
felt like he was being pushed in the chest and pulled by his collar all at the
same time, and he was falling back and flying up into the air, his arms and
legs flailing helplessly. Jeremy’s back smashed against the metal railing
surrounding the second floor of the mall, and then the pushing stopped and he
was falling again. No—it was more than falling. He felt the pressure against
his back as if someone was pushing him to the ground, and this time there was
no stopping. He hit flat against the marble floor on the far side of the
fountain.

The
impact knocked the wind out of him, but before he could gather himself, Jeremy
was up again, being pushed straight up into the air this time. He slammed
against the vaulted glass ceiling of the mall, and the window panes shattered
as he hit. Shards of glass rained down to the first floor. Then Jeremy
followed, falling again. This time, as he hit the marble, the tiled floor
cracked beneath him. He could feel his mouth filling with blood, and he still
couldn’t catch his breath. Then Hot Shot punched into the air again.

Jeremy
reached both of his arms back toward the ground, fighting to keep himself down,
desperate to take hold of anything to keep him on the ground, only there was
nothing to grab. He could feel himself rising back up into the air like before,
but then, suddenly, he was falling. Only this wasn’t like before. He wasn’t
being thrown down. He was falling under his own weight. He twisted around in
the air and landed heavy on his feet, his knees buckling beneath him.