The Next Chronicle (Book 1): Next (14 page)

“
I'm capable of biological manipulation,” she said. “I usually work in the infirmary. I even healed up Director Singh's broken bones the other day while we had her knocked silly.”

Kit didn't remember that at all, but she had been in shock and deeply medicated at the time.

“Usually I work slowly,” Sophie continued. “I can alter almost anything about you. Some of the energy comes from me, but the mass has to come from you. Which means instead of, say, growing new bone structures in your face over a few weeks, I can reshape what you have in a few minutes.”

Ray frowned. “That sounds like it hurts.”

Sophie nodded. “Yes. It might knock you out, it will hurt so bad. Your hand was just a small example.”

Archer, who had been standing quietly, checked his watch. “Your call, Elliot. Do this now or don't, but we need to get moving.”

Ray glanced from the big man back to Kit, who shrugged. “I'm giving you a chance to come with us,” Kit said. “This is the condition. We can't chance anyone recognizing you.”

Ray closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

“Do it, then,” he said.

“That was the most painful haircut of all time,” Ray groused. They were in Archer's car, the truck carrying their team struggling to keep up.

“
Just be thankful she made you look presentable,” Kit said.

It was true. Though Sophie hadn't made any one major change to his appearance, the aggregate created an entirely new face. His nose lost the gentle slope, a small crook in the middle giving it a new shape. His brow line was slightly more pronounced while the cheekbones were softened. The jaw was more square and the chin less pointed. While she had been at it, Sophie used her ability to trim hair and beard to lengths acceptable not only for public appearance, but also reasonable to see on a government agent.

“At least you didn't scream,” Kit said as Ray tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I mean, I could
hear
your bones crackling—”

“
Yes, thank you,” Ray interrupted. “I remember it very well. No need to remind me.”

Sitting in the front seat where Ray couldn't see, she smiled. Archer noticed and gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head.

Ray impressed her. That was the truth of it. She hadn't been trying to screw with him with her last comment, but point out to him (and to a lesser degree, Archer) that he'd made the hard call and put up with the pain in order to do his part. It said much to her about his character. Given the current political climate and the tension surrounding the Next, the question of what to do with Ray had no clear answer. He wasn’t a criminal, but there was no way he could move around freely. Even if Kit wanted to, Archer would never let it happen, much less the people above them in the chain of command.

“
When we get there, you're staying in the car,” Archer said to Ray when they turned into the neighborhood the GPS led them to. “I want you to do your thing and sweep the surrounding streets as fast as you can. Keep an open line to Director Singh with the phone we gave you. If you get anything, let us know immediately.”

“
Okay,” Ray replied. There was no hint of the steel in his voice Kit heard earlier. Which was fair considering the immense pain he'd gone through. Given Archer's current mood, a high degree of self-preservation probably contributed to the agreeable tone of Ray's voice.

The GPS pinged, a mellow voice saying, “You have reached your destination.”

“Archer,” Kit said. “Why does your GPS sound like Snoop Dogg?”

From the sounds in the back seat, it was obvious Ray struggled to hold back laughter.

“I thought it was funny,” Archer said. In a lower voice, he complained, “Forgot I left the damn thing set to announce arrival instead of full silent mode.”

The lone police officer on the scene walked over and greeted them as they exited the Mustang.

“Was anyone hurt?” Kit asked.

“
No one home at the time of the break-in,” said the officer. “Inside's pretty trashed.”

Kit nodded toward the missing door. “We're going to take a look.”

The entryway could have been cloned from the Maggard house. The damage to the door and frame was nearly identical, but that was as far as the comparison went. There was no obvious damage to the house itself beyond the door, though the furniture and décor had been knocked askew. The living room beyond was a wilderness of broken tables, tipped-over chairs, and fallen pictures.

The mess continued through the short hallway and into the kitchen. Archer's phone buzzed just before they moved from the living room. He stepped back outside to take the call.

Slightly irritated that Archer never seemed to get off the damn phone, but equally glad he handled the constant annoyance of the thing, Kit walked into the kitchen.

The scene was hard to understand. The refrigerator door was ajar, the contents spilled and broken. Every cabinet stood open as well, like something from a horror movie where the ghosts
really
want to mess with you. The kitchen table was kindling, a bowl of fruit spilled on the ground around it. Had the killer entered the house and, finding no victims, taken his rage out on the kitchen? It certainly appeared that way.

Kit carefully made her way around the rest of the house, nodding to her team as they appeared. The bedrooms and bathrooms were untouched, as was the utility area.

“Why get so angry in the kitchen but not even touch the rest of the house?” she mused to herself.

Kit walked back through the destroyed front door to find Archer striding toward her.

“We need to go,” he said without preamble. “There's something I have to deal with.”

“
What's up?” Kit asked. His voice was deadly serious, no hint of his normal humor.

He led her to the Mustang, opening the door for her. “That Black Band I talked to the other day?” Kit nodded understanding. “The bully he hit died fifteen minutes ago. That was the chief of police letting us know before the media finds out. The parents on both sides have lost it. The one who died, his folks are probably going to let the word out soon. John Franklin's parents—the Black Band—” he said in response to Kit's blank expression, “are worried about a lynch mob coming for their son. They want us to pick him up and put him in protective custody.”

Kit waited as Archer started the car before responding. “And you're okay with protecting the kid?”

“
Of course I am!” Archer spat. “He didn't even know what he was when he defended himself. He didn't ask for those assholes to pick on him.”

“
So why do the police want us to provide protection?” Ray asked from the back seat.

Archer shot a frown over his shoulder. “You aren't 'us,' Elliot. You aren't a member of this agency.” Archer drove in silent anger for a minute before his fingers began to relax on the wheel. “The cops are saying it's our responsibility since the kid is a Next. I say fine, if they don't want to deal with the politics, then fuck 'em. We'll keep the kid safe.”

“Did you see anything?” Kit asked Ray.

The gaunt man shook his head. “No. And if I want to try again, we need to hit a drive-through. I get way more energy from food than absorbing it other ways. Unless I'm breaking down something the size of this car into dust.”

“You touch the car, I put you in the ground,” Archer said. “We'll hit a McDonald's.”

“
Is the team joining us?” Kit asked.

“
Yeah,” Archer said. “I told them to check out the house as fast as they can and gave them the address. They'll text me when they're on the way.”

The Franklin house wasn't very far from them as the crow flies, but with the thickening pre-lunch traffic and having to transverse the busier sections of town, the Mustang didn't make much progress. This was complicated by the quick stop at a fast food place, where the person working the window had to make sure the massive food order wasn't a joke.

Five minutes later they were stuck in traffic. Archer turned on the radio to muffle the horrific sound of Ray jamming every scrap of food he could reach into his mouth.

“
It's like he's not even chewing it,” Archer muttered. Kit smiled.

Archer's phone buzzed, a text message telling him the team had finished and was moving out. Kit assumed they'd taken enough of a look to determine if it was likely the killer was the responsible party, then left the scene in the hands of the uniformed cop.

Kit's headset chimed. “Agent Singh,” she answered.

“
Kit, you guys have to get over to the Franklin house right now,” Deakins half-shouted. “I'm heading for the office as we speak.”

“
What happened?” Kit asked.

“
Someone just leaked the news about Justin Carpenter dying, the boy who was in the fight with the Franklin boy? Yeah, I was just watching TV, and it came up as a breaking news segment. They apparently leaked John Franklin's address online, so you need to get there
now
.”

“
Shit,” Kit said, hanging up. She relayed the news to Archer, thankful that Deakins kept up to date on everything even when she was off work.

“
Archer, we need to get through traffic. Find a way,” she said, then turned to Ray. “I need you to do your ghost thing. I'll pull the address up on my phone so you know where to go, and you watch the house. I don't think an angry mob is likely, but people have been known to do crazier things when they're scared.”

Ray nodded, finishing off the dregs of his enormous milk shake. “I'm on it.”

Archer pulled a small magnetic police light from the glove box. “I don't think it'll matter much, but it's worth a try.”

The flashing light emitted a piercing siren as well, but he was right. There was simply no room for the other cars to move out of their way. After a solid minute of listening to the nerve-shredding wail, Kit shook her head.

“Turn it off,” she shouted over the noise. After Archer complied, she glanced around the street. “What do we do? We can't walk there.”

Archer grimaced. “If the car could fly, this would...” his gaze went distant for a second. “Oh, that would work. But we could get in so much trouble.”

“Screw it, man,” Kit said. “I'd rather get yelled at for trying to keep that boy safe if the alternative is sitting here with a guilty conscience. Whatever it is, do it.”

With a familiar sigh, the big man took out his phone. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Are you sure about this?”

The delivery man stood next to the Mustang, which in the five minutes since Archer had called had only moved twenty feet. There was a wreck ahead.

“We're sure,” Kit said. “We take full responsibility. This is an emergency.”

“
It's also insane,” Archer said. “We recognize that, Tim.”

Tim, the delivery carrier, shrugged. “As long as I don't end up in that...place you work in, I'll do it. Triple rates, though.”

“Bill me,” Archer said. “Let's get to it.”

Being in the middle of the region's largest superhuman hub had its advantages. Louisville boasted a variety of services made possible only by the advent of the Next. Common abilities such as super speed and flight made delivering goods all over the city cheap and competitive. The morning
donuts were usually brought to the facility by a man who could run at just below the speed of sound.

Tim was a rare bird even among the small flock of Louisville's Next population.

“I don't get how this is going to work,” Kit said.

Tim touched the car, sending a tremor through the metal and the occupants. “What the hell was that?” Kit asked, a strange sensation washing through her.

“He's negating the mass of the car and us,” Archer explained. “Or maybe shifting it to an alternate dimension or something. Point is, we'll be light enough for him to pick up.”

This happened a moment later, the Mustang tipping and then raising as Tim gripped it from below. They rose into the air at a steady pace, inciting a wave of shouts and honked horns among the onlookers below. Strictly speaking, it was illegal for Tim to carry a vehicle over the streets. Archer convinced him with a ridiculous sum of money and by pointing out that the people responsible for enforcing that law were in the car he carried.

“There aren't many Next in the city with complimentary powers as useful as his,” Archer said. “He does a lot of long-haul shipping. We were lucky he was in town.”

Ray woke up when they were a quarter mile from John Franklin's house.

“What the fuck?” he screamed.

“
Calm down, you baby,” Kit said, though her own hand wrapped around the door handle with the strength of an angry gorilla.

Ray's breath came shallow and fast. “I'm scared of heights.”

Archer turned around to look at him. “Why'd you come back, then? Did you see something?”

Ray shook his head. “Nothing. No people carrying pitchforks or whatever, just boring old street. I felt my body moving, so I came back. I didn't expect this.”

“Yeah, well, this trip is gonna cost me a month of pay, so don't get used to it,” Archer said.

Good to his word, Tim set them down in front of the Franklin house before flying off again. The street was quiet, the sort of residential area that screams money so loudly it makes your bank account cry. The homes sat deep on their lots, rows of trees separating the large yards. A few people appeared at doors and windows, doubtless interested in the flying car. At least one neighbor glared past them, eyes fixed on the Franklin house with naked hatred etched on his face.

“Why are we in such a rush?” Ray asked. “I know you said someone put the kid's address on the Internet, but how many people are likely to see whatever website it's on?”

Kit and Archer turned in their seats in unison. “It's easy to forget you've been asleep for so long. You have no idea what Facebook is, do you?” Kit asked. Ray shook his head. “You'll have to trust me on this. Now that the word is out, it's accessible from pretty much everywhere. Even the news will be reporting that the kid's address and the rest of the story have been leaked online.”

Ray recoiled. “That's unethical as hell,” he said. “It'll just make people go looking for it.”

Kit nodded. “That's the world, man.”

Ray nodded toward the door. “You going to get the kid or what?”

Archer, who was watching the front door, shook his head. “We're going to wait on the team.”

“Because the last time you went ahead without them, someone died,” Ray said. He raised his hands to forestall Archer's reply. “No, I'm not trying to pick a fight. What I mean is, that wasn't your fault. This guy is like me. He sensed one of you coming. You had no way of knowing.”

“
That doesn't bring Towney back to life,” Kit said.

“
No, it doesn't,” Ray replied. “While we're just sitting here, let me see if I can get this whole super vision thing going without leaving my body behind.”

Kit watched in fascination as Ray's face contorted. For a brief moment she saw flickers of green in his eyes. Then those eyes widened.

“Got it,” he said. “It's weird, because I can see normally, and I can see the Surge. A little like watching a 3D movie without glasses.”

Kit smiled. “Those movies have changed a lot, too. We need to catch you up.”

“Where are they?” Archer said.

Ignoring him, Ray turned in his seat to scan the road and frowned.

“Kit,” he said. “How strong are the Next in the backup team?”

“
There are three of them,” she said. “None of them with especially high ratings.”

Ray slowly looked up. “Can any of them fly?”

Alarmed, Kit followed his line of sight, trying to see whatever Ray saw. “No, they can't.”

“
What is it?” Archer asked in a tight voice.

Ray's eyes widened. “Oh, shit! Get out of the car! GO!”

The three of them fell from the car in a frenzied sprawl and stared at the sky. The naked eye could make out several small dots rapidly growing as they rushed toward the Franklin house.

“
It's him,” Ray said. “Almost too bright to look at. There's your killer.”

Kit stood next to Archer, who was trying to put himself in front of her and failing. Kit spared him a brief glare. As if he could protect her better than she could protect herself. Ray stood in front of them both, eyes riveted to the sky as the approaching enemy stopped well before they could see more than his distant outline.

A change took Ray over, then. He stood straighter, more confident. Kit noticed his hands splaying out as if reaching for something invisible. The street around him went fuzzy, a circle widening. She realized what was happening, and called out to him.

“
Ray, are you sure you won't lose control?”

He nodded. “I've been practicing for years.”

“Wait, what is he doing?” Archer asked. “Elliot, what—”

The circle in the road expanded instantly, then puffed to dust as Ray tore all the energy he could from it. Kit's eyes shot back to the sky in time to see several of the smaller dots grow massive with impossible speed. She had just enough time to recognize them as huge chunks of rock—maybe asphalt—before they rocketed down upon the group.

Pure instinct drove her to push Archer to the side and dive to the ground with him, though the same instinct told her it was too late. When the impact from above came, however, it was less anvil from the sky and more dust in the wind. Small pebbles pelted her, and enough dust to make seeing anything past five feet impossible.

From the cloud of obscuring debris, she heard Ray.

“Got you,” he said.

When the faint wind blew the road clear a few seconds later, it revealed Ray standing with his hands up. Even several yards away, she could feel the power humming from him. The air was heavier, somehow, like static electricity waiting to crackle. Whether it was a physical reaction to an actual energy phenomenon Ray was radiating, or a fear response to a man of his power standing free in the world, she did not know.

The figure in the sky hurtled toward them, a high scream echoing from it. A wave of pure force preceded its landing, a fist of mental energy lashing into Kit and Archer hard enough to throw them bodily across the width of the Franklin's front yard.

“
What the hell?” Ray said.

Kit looked up to find him still standing, though shaken by the attack. He wavered on his feet, one hand held out in front of his eyes as if to shield them from the sun. The tumblers clicked; of course it was hard to look, he was still using his ability to see the
Surge.

Ray must have realized it at the same time, because no sooner had the thought entered Kit's head than he put the arm down. Kit's view of the killer was obscured by Ray's body. His shoulders dropped as if in shock, his guard down. The killer hit him then, sweeping him into the side of the Mustang with a meaty crack. With no obstacle between them, Kit saw the killer for the first time.

It was Thomas Maggard. Eight years old.

The boy was ragged, clothes torn and stained with dust and blood. His hair surrounded his head in a wild halo, buffeted by the wind as he pushed himself above the earth. His face, so angelic in the pictures at his home, was nothing like any child she had ever seen. It wore an expression of hate twisted in rage. Eyes darted from Kit to Archer to Ray's prone form as if deciding who would make the easiest prey.

“Thomas,” Kit coughed, trying to rise to her knees. “We're here to help you.”

The boy said nothing. The fury on his face redoubled as he swept both his hands at her.

Kit was lifted into the air with invisible hands of iron gripping every inch of her.

“
You're one of them!” Thomas screamed, clenching his fists.

Pain tore through Kit like nothing she had experienced. It was the sort of agony that destroys rational thought or analysis, and no part of her escaped it. Muscles burned and stretched as her bones were yanked and flexed, trying to twist in three directions at once. It was like being crushed and pulled apart at the same time. Her vision went white at the edges and red in the middle.

A thunderous crack overwhelmed her screams. The pain shut off, Kit falling to the ground.

Archer stood next to her, wavering on his feet and holding his gun. The torment itself was gone, but the aftereffects were still enough to keep her down. Aches flowed through every muscle, mind-rending fear threatening to take control at the very thought of enduring the child's torture again.

Expecting the worst—even her muddled brain could do the math—Kit looked for the little boy's body. The street was empty. There was not so much as a drop of blood.

“
I didn't shoot him,” Archer said. “Caught him off guard. He was so focused on you that when I fired at the ground close to him, he panicked and flew off.”

Kit had enough awareness to understand the words, but that was as far as it went. The world was still a wobbly and unsure place. She let herself fall back on the grass, the cold ground leaching into her muscles.

She stared at the sky. Some time later, the cloud-flecked expanse of blue stopped spinning, and her brain managed to slow the merry-go-round enough to regain her senses.

Sitting up wasn't as difficult as she would have thought. Though her body ached, it wasn't terrible. No worse than a hard day of working out, if the fitness routine involved curling up inside a rock tumbler.

The team had arrived at some point. Archer stood next to Ray, who leaned against the Mustang. The side of the car was dented where the thin man was slammed against it. Despite the rough treatment, Ray looked fine. A few bruises bloomed on his face, but there were no obvious signs of serious injury.

Ben Carson was on the scene, which seemed odd to her as he wasn't on the backup team, until Kit remembered he was on call today. Deakins wanted Ben as another supervisor, so she had probably asked him to come. These thoughts, mundane and simple as they were, took serious effort to work through. That thought more than anything that made Kit consider the possibility she might be in shock.

She watched Ben as he spoke with the Franklin family, who stood framed in their doorway, pale and shaking. John, the boy, stood in front of his parents as if to protect them. There was a determined look on his face.

Kit decided she liked the kid.

She stood and took stock of herself. Nothing felt broken. Everything felt bruised. She took an experimental step, then another with more confidence. Slowly but with increasing steadiness she made her way over to the family. The conversation stopped as she approached. Ben put a hand out to steady her, which Kit was not too proud to accept.

The boy eyed her, half wary and half curious. “Are you okay?”

Kit gave what she hoped was a dashing smile. “This is nothing. A few days ago someone hit me with a building.” John's eyes widened. Behind him, his parents frowned.

Ben gestured toward the family. “We were just discussing the best way to keep John safe in the present circumstances.”

John's father spoke up, putting out a hand, which Kit shook. “I'm Bill Franklin,” he said. “This is my wife, Suzanne. Agent Carlton was just saying you wanted to take my son and put him in protective custody.”

“
I'm OSA Director Kitra Singh,” Kit replied. “You can call me Kit. And yes, considering the danger in having your private information posted all over the Internet, we think it's best to keep John somewhere safe.”