Project Aquarius (The Sensitives Series Book 1) (23 page)

“She whooooooo? Who she talkin’ about, Drea?”

The suspense was killing him.

Suddenly, Drea jumped straight in the air. “You can’t know! No one knows… Who put you up to this?”

“No one. I know things. Bring me the card and I’ll show you.” Taylor nodded toward her open palms.

“Well? Go get it!” Darnell encouraged.

Drea disappeared into a back bedroom and returned with the creased Judgment card. She held it out hesitantly.

When Taylor saw the image she smiled. “I got it pretty darn close. Check this out.” She reached into her backpack and retrieved a broken-in notebook. Then she flipped to one of the pages in the back and handed it to Drea. “The girl told me to give it to you when I got here.”

The graphite pencil sketch was rough and there were a few details missing, but it was unmistakably the tidal wave from the tarot card. Darnell instinctively touched the pocket that held Big Jim’s charcoal sketch. Both drawings were unbelievably important. He felt it. They were crucial for understanding what had happened to the world.

Drea traced the pencil drawn tidal wave with her index finger. A few tears fell onto the page, making the wave come to life, blurring the lines between imagination and reality. Darnell knew the feeling. This was Drea’s magic moment to irrefutably know she was on the right path.

“Turn the page,” Taylor instructed.

On the next sheet of paper was handwriting that read:

Walk East. Follow 90. In Boston lies the answer. When you find her, give her the drawing. Tell her to write about it on her blog.

There was a palpable intensity in the room, hanging over their heads like a rain cloud.

Drea’s mouth unhinged. Finally, she spoke. “You talked to Sierra? How is that even possible? She’s dead.”

The room temperature dropped twenty degrees and the hair on the back of Darnell’s neck stood on end. He watched as Drea’s knees buckled in slow motion and she sank into the heap of books and started to cry.

Darnell bounced in place. He could hardly believe it.

“Badass! You can talk to dead people?”

“Well, yes… I’m a medium. I talk to the deceased and my spirit guides… They’re kind of like voices in my head,” Taylor explained.

Darnell tipped his head and gave her a quizzical look. Taylor was by far the hottest crazy chick he had ever seen. Not that he would tell her she was crazy that would just be rude.

“It sounded better before I said it out loud,” Taylor said apologetically. “I’m not crazy. I get that a lot.”

Drea sobbed as she gazed at the drawing. “This isn’t real…”

“It’s very real. You have your dreams and I have my visions,” Taylor said as she got off the couch and crouched down to Drea’s level.

Drea shook her head. “But everybody has dreams…”

“Don’t explain away your gift. We’re both gifted, but in different ways. I can talk to the other side and you have prophetic dreams.”

“I’m not gifted!” Drea’s voice edged on a shout, “I’m overly sensitive and dramatic like everyone says. I’m a psycho. A crazy chick. A depressed fat girl… I’m not gifted!”

Drea’s body surrendered into a puddle on the floor.

“Your sensitivity is your gift.” Taylor paused. Her words were soft and light like magic. “You are sensitive to information in the dream realm. And you are sensitive to other people’s feelings.”

Drea covered her ears in protest, sobbing, gasping for air.

Darnell’s skepticism was killing him. “Wait, wait! So like some voice inside your head told you to walk toward Boston… and find us?” He used his eyebrows to convey his incredulity.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Taylor answered matter-of-factly.

“And that dude who talks to you in your head… he’s like your gift or somethin’?”

“That dude is my guide. And talking to my guides is one of my gifts. When I close my eyes and disappear for a few moments, I’m talking to my guides.”

Darnell remembered the way she had tilted her head to the side. She had looked peaceful and far away like she was listening to a whisper. “Like a psychic radio station?” he asked.

Taylor giggled. “Yeah, kind of. We all have gifts Darnell. Even you.”

“Nah, I don’t have no dudes talkin’ to me in my head.”

Taylor giggled again. “Well, that’s not your gift silly. You have a different gift. You’re a survivor.”

Survivor. Darnell reflected on Big Jim’s words. How true they had felt. How he had always wished to be recognized for his skills.

“Do I got a super power I don’t know about? I always kind of felt like Batman.” With no warning, Darnell ran full speed toward the living room wall, scaled three feet up, spun into a backflip, and landed perfectly. “Shazam!”

The girls burst out laughing. It was nice to see Drea pulled her out of her funk for a minute.

His prayers had been answered. A girl angel from heaven was sent to make him into the superhero he always wished he could be. “Can you make me fly or somethin’? That would be sweet!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Taylor replied.

Darnell’s face melted into dejection. She just had said everyone was gifted, but then she couldn’t give him superpowers?

“This is bull. You ain’t for real.” He walked away, fuming.

“Your hypervigilence is your gift,” Taylor called after him.

“My hyper-wha? When my teachers call me hyper, that a good thing?”

“You have an eye for details that others don’t have. You’re awake and alert and full of energy. You’re vigilant. You’re sensitive to your environment. It’s how you’ve survived for so many years, not taking anyone’s B.S.”

That word again. Survive. Darnell felt a nod of recognition in his heart.

“You survived the trauma of your childhood… the drama of the streets. It kind of rewired your brain. Made you pay attention to stuff that others missed… Like when you go to a new class, I bet you size everyone up in a just a few minutes, figure what they’re about. What kids are the suck-ups and what kids are the bullies. And I bet you know when the teacher’s going to yell before they do…”

It was true. The girl with the voices in her head had him figured out. “Damn. How’d you get so smart?”

“I went to a Montessori school,” Taylor replied with a wink.

“Wait, was she right about all that stuff?” Darnell asked Drea.

“Yeah.”

For once, Darnell stood motionless. Something holy was happening in front of him.

But Drea wasn’t convinced. “Tell me something else nobody knows,” she pressed Taylor.

The alleged psychic girl sat in contemplation for a moment, tuning into the voices. “The boy with the floppy hair wants you to know when he rejected your kiss, it wasn’t personal… It’s just that… he likes boys.”

Drea breathed in sharply.

Taylor continued, “He says to think about it. You already kind of knew.”

“Wait, is he dead too? You talkin’ to a dead guy right now?”

Darnell was creeped out and in love at the same time.

“It’s true that Matt never had a girlfriend,” Drea shared. “And he was very pretty. And liked fashion… He made purple jeans look good.”

Darnell busted out laughing. “You got dumped by a gay guy?”

“Shut up.” Drea swatted him on the arm. She looked back at Taylor with open eyes. “You really talked to Matt. You can talk to the dead.”

“You don’t have to take my word for it, Drea. I’ll prove it to you again if you’d like. My guides have been very specific about this.”

“How are you going to prove it to me?”

“Would another message from Sierra suffice? Keep your eyes open and you’ll get a sign from her soon.”

***

Taylor was the most amazing girl who had ever existed. She spent the next hour catching them up on what she had witnessed in Albany. Darnell listened with rapt attention as she described what happened after the Pulse. Unlike Boston, Albany had erupted in chaos. There were fights and stuff in the street. And most of the survivors were kids she said.

Taylor told them about the YMCA refugee shelter where she had stayed for one horrible sleepless night. People were screaming and sobbing and stealing stuff and breaking things. But she managed to gather lots of information from other survivors.

Most importantly, Taylor had overheard the few surviving adults talking about a terrorist attack. ‘Homegrown’ they had said, though no terrorist group claimed responsibility. And apparently, there had been an electrical disturbance, which is why no electronic stuff worked anymore. Afterward, Albany’s attempts to contact the president in Washington D.C. had failed.

Taylor said that the world was pretty much screwed and it did no good to stay in one place. Adaptation was the key to life. And her guides had told her to spread that message to others., specifically to our group. Then she left the shelter on her mission after she saw one kid stab another kid for a Slim Jim.

Darnell’s head hurt from all the new information. But he couldn’t stop listening to Taylor talk, as though he was addicted to the sound of her voice.

“Somehow all the state capitals where hit simultaneously,” Taylor shared.

“All of them?” Drea asked.

“Apparently.” Taylor closed her eyes for a quick second to use her psychic radio. “Except Denver. Some people say Denver was spared.”

“Spared? As in everyone is still alive there?” Darnell asked.

“That’s what they said. People are alive and well in Denver.”

He let the thought soak in his brain, that there was one place left in the country that was still normal. “Let’s go to Denver then!” Darnell shouted.

Drea smiled as she said, “I have cousins in Denver. Maybe there is some hope.”

“Maybe,” Taylor paused, “the stuff my guides show me doesn’t always give me hope.”

“So if it wasn’t a worldwide event, where is the rescue aid? Where is disaster relief? Where is NATO?” Drea questioned.

“I don’t know. But if the rest of the country is anything like Albany, it’s in absolute chaos. With no electronics, people are freaking out and communication is limited. There’s no more federal government, so no one is in charge. Walking 150 miles convinced me of that. No one is in charge.”

“Then who has the vans and helicopters?” Darnell wondered out loud.

“I don’t know, but my guides keep telling me, the answer is in Boston.”

“But there’s nothing left west of Boston. That’s where we came from,” Drea shared.

Darnell interrupted, “We gotta go back there. Mess them up, for what they did to Ms. Harding.”

Drea’s tone was instantly impatient. “We’re not going back. What’s done is done. I’m tired of having this conversation.”

And Darnell was tired of following Drea’s lead. It was time for a new plan. “Taylor, you said you was goin’ to Boston? I’ll go with you!” He wanted some adventure. Besides, it wasn’t safe to stay in one place.

Taylor shook her head. “I was headed to Boston, but that was to find you. Now that we’re together, my plan is your plan.”

“Our plan is to walk to New Hampshire,” Drea said.

“Then I’m in,” said Taylor.

Darnell grunted in disagreement.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Drea

For the night, the group stopped at an oversized contemporary house that overlooked a ravine. The place was enormous–– four-car attached garage, finished rec room in the basement, and five bedrooms, all with walk-in closets, on the top floor.

    While the boys played Ping-Pong in the basement, Drea wandered away to clear her head. She foraged through a teen girl’s room to find some fresh clothes. The walls were plastered with band posters that started just above the bedposts and went up to the ceiling, creating a cave-like effect. Now that was fan-girl dedication.

    The girl even had a framed
Skinny Boy Jack
poster with the legendary guitar-shaped signature in black Sharpie. A rare find. On a shelf, just above the desk, sat a serious-looking telescope, some rolled up astronomy charts, and a plastic green alien nightlight. Two
Horror Week
ticket stubs were discarded on top of the trash. Overall, Drea was impressed with the girl’s taste.

Drea had high hopes for some sweet merch as she opened the top drawer of an old oak bureau that housed a stack of T-shirts. Drea’s stomach did a backflip at the sight. On top of the pile was a faded soft mint green shirt wit
h
SIERRA NEVAD
A
printed across the chest. An unmistakable sign, as Taylor had predicted. Drea traced the worn lettering with her index finger. Tears trickled onto the light green fabric, pooling into dark spots.

She appreciated the sign from her best friend and yet she felt utterly alone.

“Come back,” Drea sobbed involuntarily, the saline taste reminding her of tears shared at childhood sleepovers.