Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (45 page)

Slowly, Bridgette and Holden slid around to
the side of the van where they could see the monitor.

The reporter continued, “Mall security is in
pursuit, and management is asking shoppers to leave the mall.”

Just then, a wide-eyed, wild-haired Tabbit
jumped out of nowhere, landing once again atop the reporter’s head,
and screamed psychotically into the camera, “Glarons of the
Trystas! Glarons of the Trystas! Where is you?”

The reporter yelped and the camera man
practically dropped the camera.

“What was that?” the tech gasped.

Bridgette stared at the small monitor,
gaping.

“I think we’d better get back inside,”
Holden calmly stated.

Bridgette started to nod, but then realized
that Holden was already dashing for the mall doors. “W . . . wait!”
she yelled and took off after him. She caught up to him just before
he ripped the mall doors open. “What’s going on?” she panted.

“I dunno,” he replied. “Tabbit’d never risk
being seen unless there’s an emergency!” He sprinted into the mall
and ran over to the reporter, who was sitting on the ground
hyperventilating. “It jumped on me . . . again . . . why . . . why?
Why . . . why me?” she whimpered mournfully.

“She isn’t dangerous,” Holden scolded as he
helped her to her feet. “Where’d she go?”

The burly camera man, who had been awkwardly
trying to calm the reporter down, glared at Holden, and barked,
“Beat it, punk! Who do you think you are?”

Bridgette ran up behind Holden and put her
hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, and then at the camera
man, “Well,” he answered hesitantly, “My name is Glaron.”

Bridgette’s mouth dropped open.

“Glaron of the Trystas.”

A
drizzling rain had started to fall as Dallin and Maggie
skirted the east shore of Mystad Lake on their way back from
visiting Dr. Slade. The lake’s slate blue water rippled and danced
as the warm droplets plopped against it.

“We should hurry,” Dallin urged, “These
storms . . . they move in kinda quick sometimes.”

Maggie nodded her head but in no way
accelerated her pace.

Dallin didn’t push the issue. He didn’t feel
much like running himself.

Within a few moments, the slow sprinkling
drizzles gave way to a substantial downpour. Maggie stopped walking
and just let the rain drive down on her. She felt numb. She didn’t
care about the rain; she didn’t care about Lor Mandela; she didn’t
care about Dallin, or the lake, or Darian’s death or Ryannon. She
wanted the rain to rinse it all away—to wash things back to the way
they were before—she and her dad, quietly and inconspicuously
living in Glenhill, Iowa. She longed for her dull life—for the
uneventful, blasé simplicity of being nothing more than an ordinary
teenager from a small Midwest town.

A bright flash lit up the afternoon sky
followed by the rolling boom of thunder. Dallin gently took her
hand and insisted, “We need to get inside. You’ll make yourself
sick.”

It didn’t matter if she did get sick; she
didn’t care if she died. She stared blankly at Dallin as he guided
her along toward Mandela Palace.

They were thoroughly soaked when they
reached the stone steps.

“I wanna go home,” Maggie sighed. “I just
want to get out of here.”

Dallin tried to comfort her, but knew that
no words would help. He felt pretty miserable himself. “I’m sorry.
I wish there was somethin’ I could do,” he tried. “Kahlie and your
dad were my best friends. I . . . .” He stopped short, knowing that
he had just said exactly the wrong thing. “I . . . uh, what I meant
to . . . um,” he back-pedaled, wishing he could somehow erase his
words.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” Maggie
exploded. “I am not your stupid atoh! Why don’t any of you listen!
I’ve had it with this! I’ve had it with Lor Mandela and I’ve had it
with you!” She turned on her heels and raced back down the side of
the lake, wanting nothing more than to get out of Dallin’s sight.
In the distance were some tall evergreen trees; without a backward
glance, she took off in a full run towards them.

The rain poured down on her, stinging her
face and arms and hands as she ran, but camouflaging the
proliferation of tears spilling down her cheeks.

After a minute or two, she reached the trees
and slowed down a bit. She checked behind her to see if Dallin had
pursued, but to her relief, he hadn’t.

She stomped angrily further into the trees.
“Get me out of here,” she yelled at the cloudy sky.

She clenched both fists and pounded them
hard against the trunk of a nearby tree. The rough bark scraped her
hands, but she didn’t care. She hit it again…and again…and
again—pummeling it with all of her strength—sobbing bitterly, until
the pain in her hands was too much to bear. The sight of her red,
bleeding hands did nothing but make her even angrier. She kicked at
the unaffected tree trunk, and stormed off deeper into the
forest.

She was just beginning to maneuver her way
around a large pine, when there was a rapid rustling, and Omer
suddenly sprang out from behind it.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he
grabbed her and slapped his hand over her mouth so fast that she
wasn’t able to get a sound out. Just then, Grayden also appeared
from behind the tree.

Maggie kicked and squirmed, trying to
escape, but Omer was too strong to wrestle away from. She shook her
head from side to side which gave her enough of a change in the
position of Omer’s hand that she was able to open her mouth and
bite down—hard.

“Ghandentel!” Omer bellowed. He turned away
from her, but then, with his entire body, swung back around and
slapped Maggie forcefully across the face, knocking her to the
ground.

Her cheek burned and throbbed as amazing
pressure built up behind it. It felt like it was going to explode.
She hardly had enough time to cry out before Omer yanked her up
from the ground by the arm and pinned her against a nearby
tree.

“Not a sound,” he growled, “or you’ll be
sorry.”

He ran the back of his hand down her
throbbing cheek and looked at her like she was an alluring prize
he’d just won.

“Mmmmm! Not bad,” he oozed. “Maybe I should
teach you some manners.”

He pushed his weight against her and moved
his mouth toward hers.

Maggie cringed and turned her head in
disgust.

Grayden stood behind Omer and chuckled.

Omer grabbed her face and turned it back
toward him. “Come on, love . . . why don’t the three of us have
some . . . .”

“Get away from her!” Suddenly, Dallin burst
onto the grove. “Get your filthy hands . . . .” He rushed toward
Omer, but all at once stopped and let out a painful gasp.

Omer smirked at Maggie. He knew exactly what
had just happened. He grinned and stepped to one side to give her a
better look.

There, on the ground a few yards away,
Dallin had crumpled to his knees. His eyes were wide, and he was
holding his side and panting heavily. Maggie couldn’t see what had
happened at first, but then Grayden—who’d been facing Dallin the
entire time—turned around, revealing the small, silver tube he held
in his hand.

“Nooooo,” Maggie screamed lunging toward
him.

Omer grabbed her around the waist as she
swung her fists wildly. She leaned forward and made contact,
clobbering Grayden squarely in the jaw, before leaning back and
stomping down as hard as she could on Omer’s foot. She twisted her
upper body around and bashed him in the nose with the heel of her
palm, forcing him to double over, and allowing her to get away.

She raced toward Dallin who was strangely
silent, and dropped to the ground in front of him, grabbing both of
his arms and looking him helplessly in the eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment, and seemed to
be using every ounce of strength he had to keep from crying out in
agony. “I . . . I’m . . . sorry,” he gasped, “I’m so . . . .”

Just then, Grayden grabbed Maggie from
behind and yanked her to her feet. Both he and Omer took hold of
her—Grayden on one arm, and Omer on the other.

“Let go of me,” she screamed. “Let go!”

She fought with all of her might to break
free as she watched Dallin slump over onto the rain-drenched,
leaf-covered ground.

All at once, everything
slipped into slow motion as the all too familiar
whoosh…whoosh…whoosh
surged behind her and an invisible force jerked her
midsection backwards.

Grayden and Omer, who were holding her arms,
gazed around with puzzled looks on their faces.

In an instant, a bright flash of blue light,
mingled with distant thunder filled the murky gray sky. As the
whooshing amplified into a roar, the soaking wet, battered and
beaten trio was instantly transported off of Lor Mandela.

Ding dong.

Maggie, Grayden and Omer appeared in the
entrance of the Fashion Forever store in the Glenhill Galleria,
setting off the store door bell alert.

In their confusion, Grayden and Omer let go
of Maggie, who took advantage of the situation and bolted away from
them as fast as her shaky legs would allow.

She ran frantically down the mall yelling,
“Help! Help me,” but no one seemed to be listening. In fact, there
were very few shoppers in the mall, and those that were left all
appeared to be hurrying towards the exits.

Maggie kept running, heading toward an exit
herself, when two security guards came out of a shop just a few
stores away.

“Help! Help!” Maggie screamed again.

The guards looked up at her and sped in her
direction.

“What is it,” one of them yelled.

Maggie didn’t have a chance to answer. She
felt something rush past her head, and watched as a small red disk
hit the guard nearest her squarely in the chest. He dropped to the
floor and started shrieking as green goo oozed down the front of
his shirt.

In the blink of an eye, the other guard fell
to the ground wailing miserably as well.

Maggie heard a woman scream, “He has a
gun!”

The exodus from the mall that, up to this
point had been fairly calm, erupted into chaos as the remaining
shoppers stampeded for the doors. People shouted, “gun!” and
“There’s a shooter!” and “Out . . . out . . . get out!”

In the commotion, Maggie slipped into a
crowd of people, hiding herself from Grayden and Omer. She was
almost to the mall doors, when much to her surprise, she heard her
name being called from somewhere behind her.

“Maggie! Maggie!” She spun around to see
Bridgette rushing toward her, looking rather frantic. “Maggie!
Wait!”

“Bridgette, no!”

Bridgette shouted and waved as she ran
through the mall. “Smaggs, I need to tell you something! Wait!”

Maggie watched in horror as her best friend
stopped right next to Grayden.

At this point, Omer spied Maggie and
realized that Bridgette was trying to get her attention. “Grayden!”
he yelled and pointed at Bridgette, “Grab her!”

Grayden immediately responded by snaring
Bridgette’s arm. He yanked her to him and in one fluid motion, slid
a dagger-like object from a sheath at his side and put it to her
throat.

“Stop!” Maggie cried. The only people still
remaining in the mall at this point were Grayden, Omer, Bridgette
and her. “Let her go!” she insisted.

Omer responded and rushed to where she
stood. He took her forcibly by the arm and escorted her back to
Grayden.

“I don’t believe you are in a position to be
calling the shots, Atoh,” Grayden sneered.

Bridgette looked questioningly at
Maggie.

“Let her go,” Maggie repeated. “She has
nothing to do with Lor Mandela. I’m the one Ryannon’s after, not
her.”

Grayden chuckled. “True, but I have a
feeling you would do just about anything to keep her alive.” He
pulled the dagger tighter against Bridgette’s neck; she whimpered
and gasped in pain, as the dagger’s razor sharp edge sliced into
her skin. A crimson stream of blood trickled down her neck.

“Stop it! Please!” Maggie begged.

“Why should I?” Grayden scoffed.

“Because . . .” Holden’s voice responded as
he suddenly appeared from out of nowhere, “the lady said
please.”

In an amazingly fluid motion, he lunged at
Grayden, yanked his arm away from Bridgette’s throat and twisted it
up behind him. Grayden flipped through the air, dropping the dagger
and sending it sliding across the floor.

Omer charged, but before he’d gotten too
far, Holden charged back.

“Get her out of here,” he yelled to
Bridgette, pointing at Maggie.

Grayden jumped to his feet and moved to
assist Omer. From his pants pocket he pulled out the vystoran
sleeve.

“Holden! Look out!” Maggie shrieked as
Grayden took aim.

Omer threw a punch toward Holden’s head, but
Holden grabbed his fist mid-punch and held it in the air. He looked
over and, upon noticing the weapon in Grayden’s hand, wrenched
Omer’s arm to the side—a move that positioned Omer squarely in
front of him. With a click and a swoosh, the vystoran sped from the
sleeve and raced toward them.

Omer’s eyes widened as he tried to dodge the
disc, but he wasn’t fast enough. It smacked into his upper arm and
exploded into a green, slimy glob.

Holden pushed him to the ground and sped
toward Grayden, who was quickly attempting to reload the
sleeve.

Omer yelped and screeched miserably as he
twitched on the hard tile floor.

Grayden, who realized he was not going to be
able to get the sleeve reloaded before Holden reached him, threw it
and the vystorans to the ground and dove toward the dagger.

In a flash, Holden changed course and raced
for the vystoran sleeve instead.