Revelations (28 page)

The news gave us a vague report of a downed aircraft that caused the fire. The news reporter stated a helicopter was on its way to give an overheard view, but I knew this wasn’t true, not if the gov had their say, anyway. If they had their say, no one would ever know what went up in flames out there. No one would know the truth except for the people that were there.

I turned off the television.

Starch was already asleep, dozing off in a chair with his legs hooked over the arm. Philip was studying a map and planning out the way to our next destination. Jonas was lying on one of the beds, his head pillowed on an arm. He was awake, though resting his eyes, and I remembered he wanted to tell me something.

I waited patiently, lying on the bed and facing him. I didn’t pry.

He opened his eyes and spoke only when he was ready, and I know it was hard for him to tell me.

“I know what they did to Christian,” he said finally.

It was the last thing I expected and, since of course I hadn’t pried beforehand, I was too stunned to speak.

“He came to get me out,” Jonas said. “Somehow he knew they had me. But they caught him. Christian isn’t you, love. He can’t hide himself from prying eyes. I didn’t see him, but I sure as hell heard him. You see, when they threatened me, they showed me a certain room with a certain machine. A machine they swore they would use on me if I refused to talk.” He swallowed hard. “That thing looked a lot like the electric chair. You know? Except there were attachments for your head hooked up to all kinds of machinery. Nobody had to explain it to me. It was what they used to erase your mind.” He swallowed again. “I heard Christian screaming. I heard him calling your name.” He shuddered and I touched his shoulder. I thought he was going to say more, but he was silent.

I didn’t want to pry, and didn’t want him to remember anymore. The fact that he escaped Christian’s fate was both wonderful and terrible. Enough had been done to him without the erasing of his memories. Thank the gods Christian wasn’t in that place when Starch blew it sky high. He was safe in a mental hospital back in Ohio. Jonas knew what my father had become. What they caused him to become.

Slowly, the truth of Christian’s mind came to me. He sent me to S-4 knowing Jonas was there. He’d known Jonas was imprisoned there because he himself went to try and rescue him. How he’d known was beyond me, but he kept the location, that little bit of information in his mind despite the torturous machine that took everything else. My father was a powerful human being, and sadly I now knew that well.

“I’m really sorry, Chris,” Jonas said, breaking my train of thought.

“About what?” I asked him.

“I wasn’t able to save him,” he told me.

Shocked, I couldn’t speak.

Jonas only looked me in the eyes. He was seriously sorry for having caused me pain, for being unable to rescue my father. It wasn’t his fault. I realized then what he was doing; he was taking after me. Had I laughed like I wanted to, I probably would have sounded completely hysterical.

Instead of hysteria, I said quietly, “Don’t.”

“’Don’t what?”

“Be like me,” I told him, slowly shaking my head. When he raised his brow ridges, I continued. “Don’t feel guilty for something you could not stop, something you did not cause. Jonas, there was no way to save him. Christian led me to you.”

“They tortured him, Chris,” Jonas said. “I could hear it all.”

“What would you have done?” I asked. “Bent the bars of your cell? Bribed a guard into letting you go? And what would you have done when you were free, huh? Fight off a hundred heavily armed soldiers by yourself?”

“If that’s what it took, yeah,” he said.

“You need to stop hanging around me,” I said with the barest of smiles. I ran my finger along the line of his jaw once more, feeling the strong bone and able to easily see the hairline fracture hidden beneath his scaled skin. I found myself going down the same road, hating myself for what had been done to Jonas. To end the conversation and to save myself from depression, I said, “You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You know,” I began, thinking back, “after I lost you in New Mexico, “I walked all the way back to LA.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand so I could finish.

“When I got to Philip’s house, I passed out on the porch. I slept for almost three days.” I sighed and said, “I was sick, love. I spent three days out cold because I allowed myself to get sick. I punished myself for what I did at Cannon, for running away and leaving you behind.”

“What would you have done?” Jonas asked.

I said nothing, only smiled broadly at him. When he saw what I had done, turned the tables around, Jonas gave me a big grin. “Now go to sleep,” I said firmly. Jonas did as he was told. He closed his eyes, and I helped him drift off to sleep. I went to sit by Philip and help him decide what roads to take to go back to Cannon AFB one final time.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Before we got to Cannon, we had a little encounter with a couple of schmoes I think is worth mentioning. Heading into New Mexico, we stopped at a border town called Gallop, which is a bit of a touristy town, though for reasons unknown to me. I can’t figure out why anyone would want to stop here and be touristy. We stopped only for a bite to eat after having driven half the night. It was only noon, not the usual time for visiting a bar, but we ended up stopped at a bar that sold food and had a couple of pool tables. So I decided it was about time I showed off my other talent; my talent with a cue.

Inside the bar, we picked the table closest to the large bay window with a good view of the street, though not much else. Starch got a pitcher of beer to share amongst the three guys—and yes we realized it was only noon—and I opted for a vodka cranberry. Philip took a sip or two off of Jonas’s glass, but he wasn’t really much of a drinker, and he was our designated driver. Jonas, since he wasn’t feeling well, had no more than the one glass. Starch finished off most of the rest of the pitcher. Me, on the other hand, I’m a booze hound when I put my mind to it. That’s probably part of what got us into trouble.

We’d been there about half an hour, ate some mediocre barroom sandwiches and were working on finishing off drinks when two young men walked in. They were in their early thirties, and one carried a gun on his hip. It took me only a second to find out one of these guys was the sheriff’s son, and the other one was one of his buddies. It took me another second more to discover we played at their usual table.

Now, I’m not one to brag, but I am great at pool, and pretty much nothing else. One of the few useful talents I learned at the orphanage was how to shoot reverse English, among other trick shots. I was using this to beat the crap out of my friends. I just defeated Philip for the second time in a row. Starch finished off the pitcher of beer and downed a shot of tequila. Jonas perched on a barstool with his booted feet up on the bar table. His eyes were closed as he was still feverish and not feeling quite himself. I was on my third vodka cran—an easy feat for a drinker like me—when Dale, the son of the town sheriff tapped me on the shoulder.

“’Cuse me,” he said when I turned around. “You guys are at our table.”

I looked around the room, empty save for us, the bar crew and a couple of old dudes playing billiards in the corner. “Sorry?” I said, turning back to him.

“This is our spot, man” Dale said.

I raised an eyebrow. “First off, don’t call me ’man.’ And there are plenty of empty tables, man. Go play over there.” I pointed, handed my cue over to Philip and went to rack up the balls again.

Dale wasn’t having it. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Jonas was on his feet and in between us in an instant. Sick or not, Jonas was always quick.

“Get your hand off of her,” Jonas growled, looking demonic and towering over everyone.

Now, we’d all had a bit–what I should say is a whole hell of a lot–of alcohol running through our veins, but Jonas would have done this had he been stone sober, which he pretty much was. Jonas none too gently removed Dale’s hand from my shoulder and shoved the guy back. Jonas stood a good five inches taller than Dale.

“Who the hell you think you are?” Dale asked, stepping right up into Jonas’s face, his head craned back for a better look.

“She’s my girl and nobody puts their hands on her,” Jonas said matter-of-factly. “Now, you and your little friend go play on another table.”

The bartender, a little old guy who looked like he’d been running the place since Caesar was in power (Julius, not Augustus) suddenly appeared and carefully pushed Jonas and Dale apart. “Now guys,” he said, “I don’t want any trouble in my bar. You wanna fight, take it outside.” He hooked his thumb towards the front door for emphasis.

Jonas smiled his pointed grin to which all three men—Dale, his bud, and the BT, which is short for bartender, if you didn’t catch that—took a step back. “Gladly,” my love said, his illness suddenly forgotten. “Come on, asshole.”

I rarely hear Jonas cuss. I’m the foul mouth in our family, so I knew things were going downhill rapidly. It was stupid; we knew that. Quite a few things had been going down stupidly lately. Half of what we always do is stupid. We’d been drinking. Starch was already falling out of his chair in order to be the first outside to witness whatever fight was going to occur.

So anyway, Dale once more stepped up to Jonas, but this time it was to get a better look at his opponent. “What the hell are you, anyway?” he asked. “Some kind of freak?”

Now Jonas hates the word “freak.” He found the word degrading and none too truthful. Jonas isn’t a freak. He’s an anomaly. He’s a genetic mutation, much like myself. Not a freak. He showed his disapproval of the usage of the word by bringing up his fist and slamming it against Dale’s nose, splattering blood all down the guy’s face.

“Outside!” the BT screamed, pointing his finger and snorting like a bull.

Jonas turned calmly and went out the door, followed by everyone else, myself included. I downed the last of my drink before leaving, thinking we probably wouldn’t be allowed back in the place, which made me last outside.

Out in the bright sunshine, Dale paced a quick circle around Jonas, getting an even better look at Jonas’s face and of the build of his body.

“Some kind of freak,” Dale’s buddy murmured. He was more afraid than anything because of Jonas’s size. He went by the name of Walt, in case you were wondering, and he wasn’t really all that bad of a guy. He just fell in with the wrong crowd. It seems once you fall in with the wrong crowd, you stick with it. That’s what Walt was doing; sticking with it.

“You wanted a fight,” Jonas said. His hands balled up at his sides. “You got one.”

Sick or not, Jonas has strength. He swung with all the might contained in his body. Dale was on the ground in an instant, his lip broken and already swelling underneath the purplish bulb of his broken nose. Dale squirmed around in the dust of the dirt parking lot for a minute, making gurgling sounds before getting to his feet and rushing Jonas.

Starch was egging Jonas on. Dale’s bud yelled obscenities. I rolled my eyes, and Philip was suddenly holding Starch back.

Jonas and Dale grappled for a moment before Jonas picked him up and tossed him back down on the ground. Dale, bleeding and pissed, got to his feet and instantly drew his gun. That was the end of the fight. For the two of them, anyway.

That’s when I stepped in between them.

“Okay,” I said, holding up my empty hands. “That’s enough.”

Dale growled at me, still holding the gun at eye level. When he leveled it down towards my heart, obviously intent on ridding his town of us, or at least me, once and for all, I walked up to him. I did a stupid thing, which, if you haven’t noticed, I’m really good at doing. I put the palm of my hand over the muzzle of his gun.

Jonas, knowing what was in my heart and mind, said, “Chris, don’t do this.”

“Why not?” I stared at the sheriff’s son. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” To Dale, I said, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“I’ll shoot you,” Dale said. “And I won’t think twice.”

Walt, the bud came up and put his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Dude, they aren’t worth it.”

“Fucking assholes,” Dale muttered. “They are worth it. That freak is worth all the rounds in my gun.”

“Dale,” Walt said, but his friend was not going to let up.

Nor was I going to let him.

“Do it, Dale,” I said quietly, reaching deep into his mind. “Go ahead and shoot.”

“Dale, she’s unarmed,” Walt said.

Dale’s finger began to slowly squeeze the trigger. “Dude, I’m not doing anything,” Dale said.

He was right; I was in charge now.

“Shoot me, Dale,” I said, hearing Jonas say my name quietly behind me. “Come on, don’t be a chicken. You can shoot a girl. I’m standing right here. Come on.”

Walt, having at least some common sense, tried to yank Dale’s hand away but Dale froze. “Man, come on. We’re gonna end up in jail.”

“I’m not doing it,” Dale said, his eyes wide with terror.

“Come on!” I screamed. My hand planted firmly against the gun, and I enjoyed the game I was playing.

Dale fired. In all reality, I pulled the trigger for him.