Psion Alpha (29 page)

Without
a word or a nod or any recognition to Trapper or Byron of what had just
happened, the three Elite left. As they walked away, Trapper threw out his
hands. “That’s it? No explanation? Not even going to help clean up?”

Almost
all of their belongings lay in the middle of the floor, so they got to work
putting everything away. About halfway through the pile, Otto knocked on the
door. Byron saw Otto first, tears running down his cheeks, his eyes red and
puffy, and a faraway, disconnected expression on his face. Byron stopped what
he was doing and nudged Trapper.

“What?”
he asked Otto. “What is it?”

“Xian.…
” He whispered the words so softly Byron almost couldn’t hear.

“What?”
Byron repeated. “What about Xian?”

Otto
put a hand over his mouth and heaved. Byron rushed to grab a wastebasket, but
Trapper was faster. “Here, man. Take it.”

Otto
threw up into the basket, shaking and gasping between each retch. Trapper and
Byron glanced at each other, both wondering what had happened to Xian to make
Otto so upset.

Trapper
sat Otto down. “Tell us what’s going on, Otto.”

“Xian
was—was m—murdered last night.”

Trapper
dropped the clothes in his arms. “No. You’re lying, Otto.”

Otto
choked back a sob. “I’m not. I wish I was, but I’m not, dude.”

Byron
reeled backward until his legs hit his bed and he sat down. “How… ?”

“I
don’t believe it!” Trapper shouted. “Is that why our room was searched?”

“Your—your
room was searched?” Otto asked. “When?”

“Just
now,” Trapper said. “Look around, man! You think Byron and I made this mess?”

“Why
would they search your room?”

Trapper
shrugged.

That
was when it hit Byron. He looked up at Trapper. “Your knife, Trap.… That old
knife your grandpa gave you.”

“What
about it?” Trapper asked. “Xian is dead! Who cares about my knife?”

“You
keep it under the pillow! They never found your knife! Is it even in the room?”

Trapper
gasped and knelt down next to the large pile of clothes, tossing things aside
as though they were pieces of garbage. “What is going on here?”

“I
have no idea!”

“You
think this is Omar?”

“How
should I know?” Trapper hit the wall and swore. “Xian is dead, man!”

“I
know!” Byron’s chest tightened. Tears threatened to spill. “How can he be
dead?”

Trapper
pounded his fist against the wall several more times. The students on the other
side of the wall returned the favor. “Shut up!” came a muffled voice.

“You
want to throw down right now?” Trapper screamed in a deep, bellowing voice that
startled Byron. “I will jack up both of you!” The blood vessels in his neck and
face looked like they might pop through his skin. He stormed past Otto and down
the hall; Byron followed.

“Where
are you going, Trap?” Otto asked.

“To
the infirmary!”

“But
they said—”

“I
don’t care what they said! I have to see for myself!”

Otto
and Byron ran after him. The training center was dead to the world. It wasn’t
quite 0600, finals had finished the day before, and no one had reason to get up
early. The longer they sprinted, the more Byron’s mind worked to convince
itself that it was all some mistake. No way had Xian been murdered at the Elite
Training Center of all places. They would find him still recovering in his bed.
Outside the infirmary, they found a crowd of Elite and administration behind a
taped off section of the hall preventing access to Xian. All of Byron’s silly
hopes vanished like a puff of white smoke.

One
Elite stopped them at the tape. “You can’t be here. Go away.”

“We
need to speak to the commander,” Trapper said.

“You
can’t be here.”

“It’s
urgent,” Otto added.

“You
can’t be here.”

“We
may have information regarding the murder,” Byron finally said.

The
Elite stared at Byron, then at Otto and Trapper. “One moment. Stay there.”

As
he walked away, Otto and Trapper rounded on Byron. “What are you talking
about?”

“We
don’t have information!”

“It
had to be Omar and Diego,” Byron said. “Xian mentioned Diego’s name twice last
night. You guys remember that?”

“Omar
and Diego were both in the infirmary last night,” Otto added grimly.

“That’s
right!” Trapper cried. “Clardonsky brought in Felix, and Diego brought in Omar.
There it is. He was there—he had motive—it all fits.”

The
Elite guarding the crime scene was gone for about two minutes. When he
returned, he held up the tape for them to cross underneath, and looked none too
happy about it. “The commander is inside. You can speak to him privately.”

As
Byron, Otto, and Trapper pushed through the crowd of Elites and other members
of the staff, Byron began to realize the extent of what had taken place in the
infirmary. At the front desk, computer equipment lay scattered on the floor
along with other papers and office supplies. The head nurse who had kicked
Byron and his friends out of the infirmary last night was now sprawled on the
linoleum surrounded by a pool of her own blood. Byron couldn’t see well from
his angle, but he saw the scissors clutched in her hand as though she’d tried
to defend herself with them. It was a sad, pathetic scenario, and it filled him
with hate for whoever had done it.

A
bright blue light came from Xian’s room, drawing Byron and his friends toward
it. Byron couldn’t see the light’s source with all the bodies blocking his
view. They craned their necks looking for the commander, but no sign of him. One
of Commander Wu’s majors caught their eye. When he saw them, he approached.

“Commander
Wu wants to see the three of you?”

Byron
nodded. “Where is he?”

The
major jerked his head toward Xian’s room. None of them were eager to go in
there. Byron actually took a step backward, while Otto stood in place taking
long, deep breaths. Trapper was shaking so hard he had to stick his hands under
his armpits to keep them still.

“You
okay?” Byron asked him.

Trapper
didn’t respond.

“I
don’t think—” Otto began in a thick, heavy voice.

“Me,
too,” Byron said. Xian’s death had suddenly become very real. He didn’t want to
see a dead body—certainly not the body of his friend.

“I
just need … one—” Trapper ran over to a waste basket and heaved. Byron and Otto
tried to comfort him while the adults around them backed away as though Trapper
might be contagious. Seeing Trapper lose it crumbled Byron’s composure.

It
took Trapper about five minutes to settle down, then they finally entered the
room. The first thing Byron noticed was the smell. It hit him right as he
walked in as his eyes were still adjusting to the blue lights and flashes from
the cameras of the Elite investigators. A flat stench of blood pervaded the
room, a scent Byron would not soon forget.

Xian
had been sitting up in his bed, or perhaps he’d been propped up. His arms lay
at his side as though he’d been calmly talking to someone. His jaw hung widely
open, his eyes half-closed. A large black line ran from one side of his neck to
the other, and below the line had fallen an avalanche of blood.

Byron
stared at his friend for a long time, remembering the jokes and laughter Xian
had brought to Team Oddball. The idea that he’d never hear Xian’s voice again
was all too real now. No one would ever call Byron “bro” or Emerald “bra”
again. Byron had never lost a loved one. His siblings had died before his birth,
his grandparents, too. No school friends had ever passed away. No one had ever
slit their throats.

How
he’d managed to handle the weight of such an event to this point, he didn’t
know. The tightness in his chest returned, squeezing him as fiercely as
Clardonsky during a wrestling match. He had to focus on each breath to suck
down any air. A moaning escaped his lips as he tried to block out the image of
his friend. The moan quickly turned to sobs. Otto and Trapper hurried to help
him.

As
one of the Elite to Byron’s right moved, he exposed the wall to Xian’s left.
Painted on the wall in Xian’s blood, was the symbol of the Elite. A giant skull
almost a meter high, eyes wide and empty, and flames, vivid and detailed, erupting
from its cranium. The jawless teeth formed a smile—a great laughing grin
capable of engulfing everything in the room, including Byron. Below the skull
were four words written in the same dripping red color:

FEAR
IS MY CLOAK

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
- Hidden

Tuesday, December 24, 2086

AARON
Lewis’
death had no small impact on Sammy’s team. The mood, already dangerously
gloomy, turned black. Part of this was due to fatigue. The jungle had taken its
toll, little by little draining the team of their energy and enthusiasm.
Aaron’s death meant the loss of a strong leader and capable outdoorsman. It
also meant more weight for everyone to carry in their packs. Sammy assigned
four people each night to be on watch in two-hour shifts. For once, Gibbons
supported Sammy whole-heartedly and even volunteered to take the first shift.

Now,
as they walked, at least one or two people watched the trees for any sign of monkeys.
Sammy’s theory that they were incredibly rare proved wrong. They found more
carcasses of animals with strange burns and bites like the sloth Dave had
found. Nikotai spotted and killed two more over a four day period with his
crossbow.

After
the second kill, Sammy asked Nikotai why he preferred the crossbow.

Nikotai
patted the weapon with a little smile. “I like it.”

The
group moved at a hardy pace. The Hudecs led them southeast toward Lake Coari.
The pouring rain had taken a brief respite, leaving them to deal with a
constant drizzle. They were far enough south of the Amazon River basin that
rafts were either used to cross the tributaries and larger branches of the
river, or not at all. Some days they crossed water so often that they portaged
the rafts instead of deflating them and re-inflating them. During these days, conversations
came and went in short clips, most of it grumblings and complaints about
carrying the vessels through the knee-deep mud and eating tortoises in order to
save rations.

“So
have you given any more thought to my offer?” Li asked Sammy on the morning of
Christmas Eve as they walked side by side at the tail end of the group.

After
Jeffie’s meltdown at seeing Aaron Lewis killed by the monkey, Li had pulled
Sammy aside and requested that he, not Jeffie, go with Sammy and Nikotai into
the Hive. Caught off guard by the request, Sammy had told Li then that he’d
think about it.

“I’ve
thought about it a lot, actually.” Sammy slowed his pace to give himself and Li
some distance from the group. “It makes sense. Everything you said. But still …
I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Sammy,”
Li whispered, “look at her. She barely talks now. She’s jumpier than Sherwood. She
hardly eats. You think she’s in any condition to go into the Hive?”

“No,
I don’t, but I’m hoping that changes by the time we get there.”

Li
glanced back disapprovingly at Sammy. “You really think it’s smart to base the
success or failure of this mission on her? Take me instead. Take Kawai. Or
Levu. Someone who is competent and emotionally stable!”

“She
is competent. And you need to keep your voice down.”

“No,
you need to speak up. Do something. We’re talking about war. Not a
relationship.”

“I
know.”

“Do
you? From where I’m standing, you’re being petty. You’re blinded by your
feelings for Jeffie. If you look at it rationally, if you look at it from an
outsider’s perspective, the decision is easy.”

“The
three of us trained together. That’s a big deal, Li. I know your talents. I’ve
seen them, but the three of us spent dozens of hours training for this.”

Li
shook his head and said no more. A moment later, Duncan raised his hand to
signal a stop, an order they all immediately obeyed. Nikotai silently removed
and loaded his crossbow. Gibbons and Lorenzo drew out weapons, Gibbons a gun,
Lorenzo his axe. The Hudecs seemed perfectly happy to wield their machetes. The
crunching sounds drew closer. Sammy and the other Psions were poised and ready
to use their blasts.

“Get
behind us,” Sammy whispered to the non-Psions. Sherwood Frieber tripped over himself
to comply.

Through
the dense foliage, Sammy recognized the shape of a man. He carried a long spear
and wore jeans, sandals, but no shirt. He seemed to know exactly where Sammy’s
company was, because he walked carefully toward them, spear held at the ready.

“Hello!”
Sammy called out. Then to his friends, he said, “Everyone but Nikotai, put down
your weapons. It’s just a local man, put them down.”

Levu
kept her shields up as she shouted, “Olá, amigo!”

“Olá!”
the man answered back. Then he said several more words in a language Sammy did
not comprehend.

Levu
repeated the words to herself silently. Then her eyes widened. “Sim! Sim!”

“What’s
he saying?” Sammy asked.

Levu
motioned for him to wait. “Um … estamos em uma viagem.”

The
man stepped through several vines and surveyed the party with a mixture of
excitement and suspicion. He looked at Levu. “Você fala português?”

“Sim.
Uh—um pouco.”

The
man grinned toothily, clearly enamored with Levu. Sammy guessed he was in his
early twenties. He had jet black hair and a deep brown tan. His eyes were
incredibly white with light brown irises. His teeth seemed even whiter than his
eyes when he smiled. When he spoke, he looked only at Levu. From his mouth came
another stream of Portuguese Sammy couldn’t understand.

“I
think he says his name is Tupi,” Levu translated, “and he wants to know what
kind of journey we’re going on. What can I tell him, Sammy?”

“Tell
him we’re on our way to Lake Coari.”

“Wait,”
Gibbons said, “we don’t know this guy. We can’t trust him with information
about our mission.”

Sammy
nodded. “Fine, tell him we’re heading into the heart of the jungle.”

“Coari?”
Tupi repeated.

“Good
job, Sammy,” Gibbons muttered.

Tupi
shook his head, frowning deeply. “
Não, não … o mato é
muito perigoso!
É mortal. Muito mortal!”

“He
says ‘very deadly.’”

“What’s
very deadly?” Sammy asked.

Tupi
glanced from Levu to Sammy and back to Levu. She asked him a question, which
Sammy assumed was a request to clarify himself.

“Mato!”
Tupi said. He held out his arms, gesturing all around him. Then he touched the
vines, the leaves, and stomped the mud under his sandals.

“Jungle?”
Levu asked. “Mato is jungle?”

Tupi
nodded, smiling again. “Jungle.”

“Why
is it deadly?” Sammy asked Levu.

“Por
que é mortal?” she repeated.

“Macacos
demônios!” Tupi’s face took on a menacing expression.

“Something
evil. I have no idea what macacos means,” Levu told Sammy right as he leaned to
ask her what the words meant. “Um … macacos?”

Tupi
got on his hands and knees, bared his teeth, and screeched just like the monkey
that attacked Aaron. The imitation was remarkable.

“Ask
him about the monkeys,” Duncan told Levu.

Levu
did her best to formulate a question in Portuguese. Tupi didn’t seem to understand
everything she said, but tried to answer her. They did a bit of back and forth
before Tupi got what she was trying to ask. He spoke slowly so she could catch
his words, pausing often to let her translate for the team.

“He
says—says that the monkeys showed up year—years ago. I’m not sure exactly how
long, but I don’t think he is, either. He has a village or town not far.
People—thirty-six—have died from the—the evils, I think, in the forest.”

“What
evils?” Sammy asked.

“Macacos
demônios,” Tupi said.

“Macacos
demônios,” Levu repeated. “I mean, you know, the monkeys.”

“
Morde-queimante
,” Tupi
added.

Levu
closed her eyes. “I—I—I don’t know either of those words.”

Tupi
rolled up the pant of his left leg to reveal a nasty scar halfway up to his
knee. Then he looked at the group and snarled like a beast, but which kind of
beast, no one knew. “
Morde-queimante
.”

Sammy
looked closely. It was more than just a scar; it was a bite wound. And
something else. Burns. He had been burned and bitten like the sloth and other
animals they’d encountered, partially eaten, burned, and dead. Now Sammy knew
what animal could do this.

“Ask
him if the animal that did this is natural—if it’s from the forest.”

Levu
carefully phrased Sammy’s question for Tupi.

“Não.
”

“These
animals came from N Corporation,” Sammy explained. “I’ve met one before. A
modified thylacine.”

“That’s
impossible,” Gibbons said, “thylacines are—”

“Extinct.
But this creature they bred and modified to produce acid from its teeth. It’s
like a fox or a wolf. Fast and lethal. I bet they placed them around the Hive
to protect it from—”

“From
us,” Jeffie finished with a tremor in her voice.

Tupi
turned to Levu and spoke again. His words came faster this time. Sammy heard a
nervous edge in his voice.

“He
says while these two evils are terrible, there is one that is worse. The worst
of the three. They call it—what was—they call it the morte invisível. This
translates to—”

“Death
invisible,” Sammy said.

“Invisible
death,” Levu finished, though Tupi kept speaking. “This evil is what killed
more of his tribe than any other evil. Almost—no, over twenty. But they have
never seen it.”

“Then
how do they know it even exists?” Wesley asked, chuckling snidely. “This is
ridiculous. We’re taking advice from a man who believes in hocus pocus.”

“We’ve
seen two of the three creatures, he says,” Levu continued. “The first two evils
are sometimes by themselves, sometimes in large numbers, but the
morte—invisible death—he believes they always come in packs.”

“How
does he know?” Gibbons asked.

Levu
repeated the question to Tupi. Tupi shrugged and answered in Portuguese.

“He
says he doesn’t know, but he’s seen the animals of the jungle and has a feeling
about it. That’s all it is, a feeling.”

Sammy
nodded. “Thank him for his time and ask if there’s anything we can do to return
the favor.”

Levu
spoke to Tupi, who also nodded, smiling. He shook Sammy’s hand, then Levu’s and
everyone else’s who would shake with him. Gibbons was the only one who stepped
away so he didn’t have to shake. Then with a few more words to Levu, Tupi left
them, disappearing the same way he’d arrived.

“He
says we can kill the creatures so they stop plaguing his people.”

A
familiar hiss of static began moments later. Sammy didn’t need to turn to know
that Sherwood had pulled out his radio again.

“You—you
think it’s true?” Sherwood asked the Hudec brothers. “The silent death? What do
you think it is?”

“He
said
invisible
death,” Gibbons answered. “Let’s forget about it. Time to
move on.”

Gibbons
must have been kidding himself because no one could forget about what Tupi had
said. It was all they talked about for the next several hours. At night, as the
sun began to set, everyone was eager to stop and build a fire. Even Lorenzo
wasted no time prepping the wood and getting it lit. Fortunately, Lorenzo could
kindle anything so long as it wasn’t submerged in water (and some days it
practically was).

The
next day was Christmas. Sammy didn’t need to take a poll to know it was
everyone’s worst Christmas ever. The rain fell all day, yet it was still
incredibly hot and humid. Levu half-heartedly suggested staying put and trying
to celebrate, but the idea of wasting a day was ludicrous. Sammy remembered caroling
around the neighborhood with his parents and their friends. “Joy to the World”
stuck in his mind. He saw no joy in the world these days. He saw no order or
love, not on a grand scale. There was only madness. Only darkness.