Storm of Lightning Page 6

  We all scrambled from the vehicle, everyone running in different directions before lying flat on the ground. For several minutes we waited tensely.

  “What kind of chopper is it?” Scott yelled to Ian.

  He paused, then said, “Maybe U.S. border control. There aren’t any missiles or guns. They don’t look like Elgen.”

  Less than a minute later the sound of the chopper passed and faded. Scott stood up, visibly shaken. “We’ve been here too long. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “What a chicken,” Jack said to me under his breath.

  As we were getting back into the van, Ian said, “Wait. I see something.”

  I turned to him. “What?”

  “It’s a person. They might still be alive.”

  “Where?”

  “About a half mile that way,” he said, pointing. “He crawled the whole way.”

  “How can you tell?” Taylor asked.

  “He left a trail.”

  “He?” Taylor asked.

  Ian shook his head. “Or she. I can’t tell from here.”

  “Are they one of ours?” I asked.

  Ian shook his head again. “I don’t know. But whoever it is, they’re in bad shape.”

  Scott drove off road, following the direction Ian pointed, along a rutted path.

  “Are they armed?” he asked.

  “Only a pistol,” Ian said.

  “Keep a close eye on him. If he makes for his weapon . . .”

  “If he makes for a weapon, I’ll divert it,” I said. “Just get us close to him.”

  “A little to the left,” Ian said. “About fifty yards ahead.”

  When I first saw the man, I didn’t recognize him as human. He was grotesque-looking. His skin and clothes, what hadn’t been burned off, were charred black, and most of his hair was singed off his head. My first thought was, Gervaso. If anyone could have survived an attack, it would be Gervaso. But it wasn’t him.

  “He’s Elgen,” Ian said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “His utility belt is standard Elgen. And I can make out part of an Elgen tattoo.”

  Scott stopped the van about thirty feet from him.

  “He looks dead,” Tessa said.

  “His heart’s still beating,” Ian said. “And he’s breathing. Barely. He has lung damage.”

  “I’m going to go talk to him,” I said, grabbing the door handle.

  “What are you going to ask him?” Scott asked.

  “I’m going to ask him where everybody is.”

  “I’ll help,” Taylor said. “In case he can’t speak.”

  “Abigail, we may need you, too,” I said.

  The three of us climbed out of the van, followed by Zeus and Jack.

  When we were a few feet from the man, he tried to move his hand toward his gun but couldn’t. His injuries were so severe, it was difficult to even look at him. I couldn’t imagine what pain he must have been in. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t glad to see him suffering. He was Elgen. For all I knew he had personally killed my mother and Ostin’s parents.

  I squatted down next to him. “You’re Elgen.”

  Only his eyes moved. He looked at me less in fear than in resignation. In his condition he probably welcomed death. I would have. “I’m Michael Vey.”

  His eyes opened a little bit wider, and he grunted.

  “Can you speak?”

  “Wa . . .”

  “He wants water,” Taylor said.

  “I’ll get him some,” Abigail said.

  “No water,” I said.

  Abigail stopped.

  “Not until he talks.” I leaned closer to the man. His face was covered in dirt. “Were you part of the attack on the ranch?”

  He just looked at me.

  “Taylor,” I said. “I need your help.”

  She crouched down next to the man. She found a place near the crown of his head that wasn’t burned, and touched him. “Ask again,” Taylor said.

  “Were you part of the attack on the ranch?”

  Taylor glanced up at me. “He was. He was in that helicopter that was shot down.”

  “Where are all the people who were here? What did you do with their bodies?”

  He tried to move his lips but was unable.

  “They didn’t do anything with the people,” Taylor said. “He doesn’t think there was anyone here.”

  “If there was no one here, how did he get shot down?”

  Taylor closed her eyes. A moment later she said, “A missile brought down his helicopter. He thinks the missile was fired by remote. The Elgen left him and his crew. He’s the only survivor.”

  I looked into the man’s eyes. “Where are our people?”

  He suddenly forced open his mouth. “No . . .”

  “He never saw anyone else on the ground. No one tried to kill him or save him. Then the Elgen fired . . . I don’t know what this is . . . Na-pom . . . over the site while he was on the ground.”

  “Napalm,” Jack said. “That stuff Ostin was talking about.”

  Taylor nodded. “Napalm. That’s it.” She looked up at me. “He hates the Elgen.”

  “So do I,” I said. “And he’s still one of them.”

  The man grimaced. “No . . .”

  “He says he’s no Elgen,” Taylor said.

  I turned to Abigail. “Get him some water. And get Scott.”

  Abigail ran back to the van. She returned with a bottle of water. Scott was with her.

  “Is there a hospital in Naco?” I asked.

  “There’s the Red Cross clinic in Naco, but he’ll need a hospital. There’s a good hospital in Bisbee.”

  “Could we save his life?”

  Scott looked at the man. “Maybe. If he can survive the ride.”

  “He’s lasted this long,” Zeus said.

  “Do you want me to help him?” Abigail asked.

  I didn’t answer but glanced at Taylor. She nodded. “We’re not like them, Michael.”

  After a moment I turned back to Abigail. “All right. Help him.”

  Abigail knelt down next to the man and touched him on the shoulder. He gasped out in relief, and his eyes filled with tears. I opened the bottle of water, then put it next to his cracked lips and slowly poured it into his mouth. He drank greedily, choking a little on it.

  The man looked up at me, then Abigail. “Thank . . .” It was all he could get out.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “What are you thinking?” Jack asked me.

  “He knows all about the attack. He knows all about the Elgen. The Elgen think he’s dead, so if he really hates the Elgen, he won’t be afraid to talk. He can help us find them.”

  “If we can keep him alive,” Jack said.

  “Then let’s keep him alive,” I said.

  Scott looked at me, then nodded. “All right. Let’s get him back to America.”

  I had assumed we would return from the ranch knowing what had happened to my mother and friends, but now I had more questions than answers. I didn’t know what to think. No one could have survived an attack of the magnitude that destroyed the ranch. But why hadn’t we found any sign of our friends? No bodies, no bones, there was not one shred of evidence that anyone had been there.

  And then there was what the guard had said—or thought—about no one being there. Could they all have gotten away? For the first time in days, I felt hopeful.

  I looked down to see Taylor running her fingers along my arm across my new markings. “I hope it doesn’t go away. I think it looks cool.”

  “I hope it fades a little. I look painted.”

  “You’re pretty painted.” She ran her finger along my arm for a little while longer, then said, “Do you really think they’re alive?”

  I suppose that I was getting used to her reading my mind, as her question didn’t surprise me. Half the time I don’t think she even knew she was doing it.

  “I don’t know. There were at least f
ifty people there. How could there have been no sign of anyone? And what the guard said . . .”

  Taylor shook her head. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. But why would the voice tell us there were no survivors?”

  “Do you think the voice always tells the truth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you lie to save my life?” I asked.

  Taylor didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Would you lie to save the world?”

  “Of course,” she repeated.

  “Me too,” I said. “I think the voice will say whatever he has to to help the cause.”

  “But why would telling us everyone’s dead help the cause?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe the guard knows something.”

  “I just hope he makes it to the hospital alive.”

  * * *

  We had laid the guard in the back of the van on the floor of the cargo area, and Abigail and Jack sat in back with him. As we approached the Mexican town of Naco, Scott said, “We’ll go straight to the Red Cross clinic and get him help. Zeus, Tessa, Jack, and Abigail will stay with him while the rest of us get our bags from the hotel. Will someone collect the room keys?”

  “I’ll do it,” Taylor said.

  Everyone handed their keys to Taylor.

  “They’ll probably need me at the Red Cross to translate,” Ostin said.

  “You’re right,” Scott said. “McKenna, you’re still with us.”

  “No worries,” she said.

  We pulled into the dirt parking lot of the Red Cross building, and Ostin ran inside. A moment later two Mexican men, one of them wearing a blue doctor’s smock, came out carrying a cloth stretcher. Jack opened the back doors.

  The doctor gasped when he saw the guard. “¡Qué espantoso!”

  Jack helped the men lift the guard and carry him inside, followed by Zeus, Abigail, Ostin, and Tessa.

  Scott climbed back inside the van, and the rest of us drove just a few blocks back to our hotel. When we arrived, Taylor, Nichelle, McKenna, Ian, and I went to the rooms to collect everyone’s things. As we carried the luggage out to the van, a young Mexican man standing across the street in front of the hotel suddenly pointed at me and shouted, “¡El niño relámpago! ¡El niño relámpago!”

  “What’s he saying?” Taylor asked.

  “¡Allí está el niño relámpago!”

  “He’s calling you ‘the lightning boy,’ ” Scott said, walking up to me. “How would he know that?”

  “He might have been one of the gang members who attacked me,” I said.

  “Might?” Scott said.

  “I don’t know. It was dark. We weren’t posing for selfies.”

  People began walking out of buildings to see what the man was shouting about.

  “I’ve got this,” Taylor said. “Nichelle, can you amplify me?”

  “Sure,” she said, taking Taylor’s hand.

  Taylor reached her other hand toward the kid and closed her eyes. He abruptly stopped shouting. Then he and the people around him suddenly looked confused, as if they’d all forgotten why there were standing in the street—which was likely true.

  “You’re so cool,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Taylor said. “And thanks to Nichelle. I usually can’t reboot so many people at once.”

  “No problem,” Nichelle said.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Scott said. “Who knows how many people this clown’s told. Word will spread quickly in a place like this.”

  Taylor and Nichelle kept the crowd confused as we finished throwing the bags into the back of the van and climbed in. We sped back to the Red Cross.

  The small clinic was crowded, and Jack waved us over to where our friends were gathered. The guard was lying on a small cot with an IV going into his arm. A doctor was standing next to him, spraying his wounds with something. The rest of our group was standing a few yards from him, watching.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Ostin.

  “They gave him some pain medicine and some antibiotics,” Ostin said.

  “They also gave him an IV for his dehydration,” Abigail said. “The doctor says they need to take him to a hospital in Sonora.”

  “No,” Scott said. “We need to get out of Mexico. Does the doctor speak English?”

  “I speak English,” the doctor said, with only a slight accent. “Do you know this man?”

  “He was at our ranch in the desert. There was an explosion.”

  “We heard explosions a few days ago,” the doctor said. “Were there others hurt?”

  “He’s the only one we know of,” Scott said. “We’ll take him over the border to Bisbee to the Copper Queen hospital.”

  “Copper Queen is good,” the doctor said, nodding. “They’re better prepared for burn trauma.”

  “We’ll take him immediately,” Scott said.

  “What’s the hurry?” Ostin whispered.

  “Someone recognized Michael,” Nichelle said. “They’re calling him ‘the lightning boy.’ By the time we left the hotel, a crowd had gathered.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Ostin said.

  The doctor finished wrapping the man’s burn with gauze, and then two men carried the guard back out to our van with the IV needle still in his arm, the tube connected to a bag of saline that we hung from one of the van’s clothes hooks.

  Fortunately, the traffic at the border crossing back into the United States was light, with just three cars ahead of us.

  “This could be tricky,” Scott said. “Transporting an undocumented burn victim across the border.”

  “I know a way to get across the border.” I turned back to Taylor. “Remember the mind trick you did in Peru at the Starxource plant? Could you do that again?”

  “Yes. I’ll need someone to translate.”

  “This guy will speak English,” Ostin said. “They’re American border guards.”

  “What if it doesn’t work this time?” Abigail asked.

  “It will work,” Jack said. “If not, Michael, Zeus, and I will take the place down.”

  “No,” Scott said. “No fighting unless they try to arrest us. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. This place has massive video surveillance.”

  “Zeus can take out the video,” Jack said.

  Zeus nodded. “It’s my specialty.”

  “But we still don’t know how many guards are inside. The last thing we need to do is turn this into a war zone.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It won’t come to that. Taylor will get us through.”

  “I hope so,” Scott said, pulling the van forward. “Because we’re here.”

  We drove past a blue-and-white sign that read:

  WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES

  BIENVENIDOS A LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS

  In front of the building was a flagpole with an American and an Immigration and Naturalization Service flag. The American border station was two stories high and constructed after traditional adobe architecture, with the butts of logs sticking out of its pale yellow stucco walls.

  A long metal fence led up to the station, running parallel with a paved walkway on the east side for pedestrian traffic. There was a stop sign in the middle of the road, with the word “STOP” above the word “ALTO.”

  Scott pulled up to the final checkpoint before the border crossing. The uniformed and armed U.S. border guard was tall and lanky with a serious expression. It took just a few minutes before he waved the car ahead of us through and motioned us forward.

  “Get ready,” I said to Taylor. “It’s showtime.”

  “I’m ready.”

  We pulled up to the guard and stopped.

  “Good afternoon,” Scott said.

  The man showed no emotion. “Are you U.S. citizens?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your passports, please.”

  “Of course.” Scott handed the guard our documents.

  Suddenly the Elgen sol
dier groaned out loudly, and the border guard looked inside the van to see where the sound had come from. Ostin grabbed his stomach. “I knew I shouldn’t have drunk the water. Can we please hurry? I might blow.”

  “And now I’m going to hurl,” Tessa said. “You’re so gross.”

  The border guard looked at Ostin for a moment, then back at Scott. “There are eleven of you?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I whispered to Taylor, “Are you ready?”

  She slightly nodded. All he had to do was walk around the car to see the Elgen.

  The border guard quickly looked our passports over, then, without comment, handed them back. “You’re free to go.”

  He waved at someone inside the building, and the gate rose. I think Scott was so surprised, he didn’t move.

  “Go ahead,” the guard said.

  “Yes, sir,” Scott said. “Have a good afternoon.” We pulled through the border crossing.

  After we had passed over the border, Ostin said, “That was, like, easy.”

  “It was too easy,” Scott said.

  “Maybe someone wants us back in the U.S.,” Ostin said.

  “That’s a scary thought,” I said. “Since nobody is supposed to know we’re here.”

  * * *

  About a half mile from the border, Scott pulled into the parking lot of a small taqueria and put the van in park. He reached over to the glove box and took out a hand radio.

  “I’m going to radio Boyd and see if he’s seen anything suspicious.” He pushed a button on the radio. “Come in, Albatross, come in.” There was no response. “Albatross, come in. This is Falcon.” Still no response.

  “Maybe he’s at dinner,” Taylor said.

  “He should have his radio with him at all times,” Scott said. “Come in, Albatross. Over.” He checked the radio’s settings, then lifted the radio one more time. “Come in, Albatross. Are you there?”

  Still nothing.

  “This is strange,” Scott said, pulling back out into the road. “Everyone, stay alert. Especially you, Ian. Something’s not right.”

  “It never is,” Taylor said softly. “It never is.”

  On the way into the town of Bisbee, we passed a massive, terraced, open-pit copper mine several hundred feet deep. The town itself was beautiful, built in the lap of a mountain, with buildings climbing higher and higher up the foothills until the mountain’s incline allowed no more.