Resistance (The Variant Series #2) (38 page)

And Alex had other plans.

* * *

The first thing that greeted Alex at the test location, was a decaying World War II–era passenger plane. It had obviously crashed many years earlier during a botched landing.

Someone had pushed the wreck off the runway, leaving it to rot half-buried in the palmy brush that stretched endlessly on either side of the gravel strip. The nose, cockpit, and corroded propellers stared out from beneath decades of knotted overgrowth.

The damaged nose cone pointed slightly upward, as if the plane were somehow trying to break free.

Alex turned away.

Good luck with that
, she thought.

It seemed an appropriate welcome. That old prop plane was about as likely to earn its freedom today as she was.

Despite the Director’s promises, there was a growing certainty in the pit of Alex’s stomach that assured her she’d find nothing “fair” about her upcoming trial.

All the Director had to do, really, was prove that Alex’s inexperience posed a threat to others.

And all the self-control in the world wouldn’t count for
jack
, if the Director managed to elicit from Alex a strong enough emotional reaction. If she allowed her concentration to waver, even for an instant, she might lose control.

And that would be the end of it.

The end of
her
.

Alex cast the thought aside and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

No feelings. No emotions.

Not today.

At the far end of the runway, the sun was either just rising or starting to set. It was tough to know which. The cloudy sky above the airstrip was alight with pinkish swirls and dull purple hues.

The airstrip seemed to stretch endlessly outward toward the horizon. Alex guessed that the gravel runway beneath her feet was at least a mile long. Maybe longer.

A few hundred feet behind them, the runway’s edge bordered a short strip of white sand that disappeared into the darkened hues of a shadowy waterline.

“Any idea where we might be?” Alex asked.

Aiden and Cil stood on either side of her, looking around with the same amount of curiosity.

They’d been the first to arrive. The airstrip was empty.

“Sure we got the right place?” asked Aiden.

Cil nodded. “This runway is identical to the one in the image we were sent. Kind of hard to get it wrong when I’ve seen an image of where I’m going.”

As if to support her aunt’s statement, Grayson and Declan appeared in a flash of light behind them.

Alex’s heart sank when she realized their group was one short.

“Nathaniel?” asked Aiden.

Declan shook his head, his expression grim. “Never showed. Waited for him as long as we could.”

Aiden didn’t say anything more, but the distress caused by his friend’s absence couldn’t have been more obvious.

Grayson and Cil were both expected to be present at the time of the test, but they’d been advised to bring no more than three others with them.

The Director was obviously hoping to limit the number of witnesses.

Grayson had immediately decided on Declan, Nathaniel, and Aiden. Kenzie was furious about being left behind.

So was Cassie, for that matter.

“If everyone’s here,” said a voice from further down the airstrip, “then we should get these proceedings under way.”

The air above the runway seemed to ripple outward from the source of the voice, like a pebble dropped into a pool of water.

In the next instant, the mirage fell away to reveal the Director, the two agents who had been with her that day in the cafe, a dozen men clad in black fatigues, and…

Huh.

Okay.

Well that was unexpected.

Next to the Director sat an elderly man confined to a wheelchair. He was wearing a blue terrycloth bathrobe over his white pajamas, and appeared to be asleep—and
snoring
—with his mouth hanging open and his head lolling to one side.

At some point, Declan had moved to stand at Alex’s shoulder. She’d been too distracted to notice.

“What’s with the old guy?” he mumbled.

“Alexandra Parker,” said the Director, moving to stand in the empty place between the two groups. “Step forward.”

Alex did as instructed, her aunt giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed.

“Do you understand why we’re here today?” asked the Director.

Alex swallowed, her throat dry. “You plan to test me. To see if I can control my abilities.”

The Director smiled. “Essentially, yes. That is why we’re here. You need to prove—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that your unusual ability doesn’t pose a danger to the world around you. That threat is why you were brought here, to this deserted atoll in the middle of the South Pacific. Here, we’re over a thousand miles south of the Hawaiian islands and, with any luck, a relatively
safe
distance from the nearest human population.”

Her attention still fixed on Alex, the Director held up a hand and gestured for someone behind her to step forward.

Three of the agents standing in the Director’s group approached, one of them pushing the sleeping man in his wheelchair.

“Currently, Miss Parker, which abilities do you still possess?”

Alex looked back to where her Aunt and Grayson stood, a short ten feet away. “Teleportation,” she said and then, more quietly, “and a healing ability. Though they’ve both almost entirely faded, now.”

The Director stared down at her curiously, picking up on Alex’s seemingly inexplicable embarrassment.

Alex was too nervous to turn around and see her Aunt’s reaction to the mention of the healing ability. Her aunt and Grayson were blissfully ignorant of Alex’s side trip to Ireland two nights before and she had no desire to explain it to them
now
.

“Your instructions, Miss Parker, are as follows: You are to shake the hands of these four men you see behind me. The contact must last a minimum of ten seconds per handshake and the transfers ought to be conducted in quick succession. No lollygagging between handshakes. The clock will not start until you’ve absorbed the fourth and final ability.

“I will not be telling you which abilities you’re about to absorb. You’ll have to figure that out on your own,” she said. “Bring these new abilities under control within the first three minutes and then maintain them for the next
ten
, or you fail the test. Is that understood?”

Still struggling to calm her nerves, Alex’s voice sounded odd to her own ears. “Yes, Director.”

The Director pulled a black digital timer from her pocket along with a stopwatch—attached to a wristband—that she handed to Alex. “So you’ll be able to keep track,” she explained.

Alex nodded, fastening the watch to her wrist.

“Alright,” said Director Carter. “If everyone present would please withdraw to a safer distance? Fifty paces in either direction ought to be sufficient. Shields and snipers, into position.”

“
Snipers
?” repeated Alex.

“To fire the tranquilizers should you get too out of hand, my dear,” she replied, smiling. “Of course.”

Of course
.

Two of the agents broke away from the Agency’s side and followed Alex’s friends as they retreated further down the runway, per the Director’s instructions. When they came to a stop, the men placed themselves a few feet to the front, with the apparent intention of creating a barrier between the group and Alex.

On the other side, two more agents took up similar positions in front of the Director’s group.

Shields?

Alex assumed the title was intended to be self-explanatory. She only hoped they’d be powerful enough to keep everyone present safe, should anything go wrong.

The Director remained standing before Alex while the groups repositioned, the three agents and the old man forming a line just behind her.

“Good luck, Alexandra,” she said, smiling coldly. “You’re going to need it.”

As the Director retreated across the runway, Alex found herself greeted with four unsmiling faces.

Well… three unsmiling faces and a dozing geriatric, anyway.

At the end of the line of men, a dark-haired forty-something offered her his hand.

Alex blew out a breath.

Reaching out, she accepted his hand, counting slowly to ten in her thoughts. She wondered if the man noticed that her palms had turned cold and clammy.

If he did, there was no way to tell. He stared straight ahead the entire time their hands remained clasped, refusing to meet her eye.

She felt nothing odd as a result of the initial contact, but that wasn’t unusual. Most abilities weren’t something she could immediately sense.

Moving in order down the line, the old man was up next.

Kneeling before his chair, Alex reached out and took hold of one of the frail hands resting atop the arm rail.

The man’s skin was even colder than hers.

She’d expected the contact to wake him, but he never once stirred while their hands were joined.

When she finally pulled away, the first agent took hold of the wheelchair’s handles and guided him back to the safety of the Agency’s group.

Standing, Alex was overcome with a sudden wave of dizziness and felt flushed with an unexpected fever. Beneath her feet, the ground began to tremble.

It was starting
.

She repeated the process as quickly as she dared with the last two men, and they soon joined the dark-haired soldier and the old man in the safe zone behind the Agency’s shields.

Alex hit start on the stopwatch attached to her wrist.

Three minutes to get things under control.

A caveat which suggested that, very soon, Alex would be feeling more than a little
out
of control.

Which four abilities had she absorbed?

A few hundred feet out to sea, the wind was picking up—and Alex could
feel it
.

Her heart rate quickened.

The winds, the responding ocean currents, even the grains of sand that shifted as the strengthening tides crashed angrily upon the shore—she could feel
everything
.

Behind the Agency soldiers and beyond what the Graysons and Alex’s aunt could see, a match was lit.

Alex’s world exploded.

She struggled to remain on her feet, clutching her head as she growled in frustration. Her attempts to control what was happening inside of her weren’t taking root.

There was simply too much information, now, to sort through all of it and still maintain her sense of
calm
. Input was coming at her from every possible direction.

Alex fell to her knees.

The vibration in the ground beneath her became a wild rumble. The gravel runway rose and fell in a rolling motion, causing the ground to split in some places just as it was slammed back together in others. Alex wasn’t the only one kneeling, now.

Around them, the coastal air grew stifling, then became cooler in the instant Alex deemed it too warm. The angry gales that she sensed earlier approaching offshore were now bearing down upon the atoll. The plant life on either side of the runway whipped wildly about in the breeze.

The sea roiled as the currents shifted and were redirected toward the island. A surge of saltwater, topped with a thick white foam, covered the strip of beach and crept onto the runway.

The lit match called to her, and before Alex even knew what she had done, growing coils of flame filled her outstretched palms.

Earth. Air. Water. Fire.

She’d just absorbed the four classical elements.

An entire
universe
of unstable Variant abilities to choose from, and the Director stuck her with four of the most notoriously
volatile
possibilities.

But should Alex have expected anything less?

It was a damn good thing Aaron wasn’t working for the Agency, or else Director Carter might have been tempted to add his weather ability to the list.

Alex drew in a long, slow breath and fought to clear her thoughts.

In her mind, she replayed the advice given to her during each training session, the voices of her friends echoing in her ears.

Clear your mind if you want to keep your cool—your abilities will only lose control when
you
do.

The ability is a part of you, Alex. It’s like a hand or a foot, an arm or a leg. It’s just another extension of
you
.

Don’t let the ability take over. It’s yours to control. It will obey your will. Don’t let
the ability
control
you
.

One by one, the elements began to succumb to her instructions.

The winds died down.

The earth ceased to tremble.

The tides began to recede.

Finally, the flame dissolved in her hands.

In the end, fire was oddly similar to water in the way it reacted to her emotions. Her tension fed the heat and stoked the blaze, just as her frustrations cooled water and expanded ice.

Once she steadied her racing heartbeat and cleared her thoughts, the fire had responded in kind.

The tiny flame blinked out and Alex exhaled in relief.

She’d brought the abilities under control—and she’d done it with nearly thirty seconds to spare.

Alex heard cheering from her Aunt and Aiden on the far side of the runway and she bit back a smile.

Can’t celebrate just yet.

She still had to maintain her calm for the next ten minutes.

Alex closed her eyes and tuned out everything around her as she attempted to keep her mind blank. She didn’t move, didn’t think, just waited.

Two minutes before the end of her trial, the Director’s voice blasted away her calm.

Well done, Miss Parker
.

Alex opened her eyes. On the Agency’s side of the runway, the Director stood holding the wrist of a young woman with nut brown hair—a telepath projecting the Director’s voice into Alex’s mind.

Could the others hear her words? Or only Alex?