Storm of Lightning Page 7

  The town had started to die after the mine closed in the seventies, then hippies found it and made it thrive again. Because it was a copper town, many of the buildings’ roofs were covered with copper paneling and shingles. Copper is a powerful conductor of electricity, which may have had something to do with why I felt so different in the city. Stronger. More electric. As if I needed that.

  When we reached downtown Bisbee, Scott followed the local road signs to Copper Queen hospital. We pulled up to the ER and parked the van; then Scott ran inside while Jack opened the back door and he and Abigail got out. Less than a minute later Scott returned followed by a doctor and two aides pushing a metal gurney.

  “What happened?” the doctor asked.

  “We think there was an explosion,” Scott said.

  “What do you mean, you ‘think’?” the doctor said curtly. “Either there was or wasn’t one.”

  “We weren’t there,” Scott said. “We found him by the side of the road.”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of explosion?”

  “No. We just saw burning debris around. Maybe a fuel tank exploded or something.”

  The guard groaned out again as the techs lifted the man onto the gurney.

  “So he’s not with your group,” the doctor said.

  “No. We were headed down to a Mexican dude ranch for a weekend church retreat when we found this man about a quarter mile from the main road. He was nearly unconscious. We drove him to Naco, but they weren’t equipped to help him.”

  The doctor examined the guard some more, then said, “Peculiar. I haven’t seen burns like that since . . .” He hesitated, then looked up at Scott. “I saw this in Vietnam. They look like napalm burns.”

  Ostin almost said something, but Scott stopped him. “Like I said, we don’t know what happened.”

  We followed the doctor and techs into the hospital. At the operating room door the doctor turned to Abigail. “Young lady, you’ll need to let go of his hand.”

  The guard gripped her hand tighter. He must have figured out that she was taking away his pain.

  “He needs me,” Abigail said. “For support.”

  The doctor hesitated. “All right. You’ll have to scrub up, though. And get gloved.”

  “Can her power work through latex?” Taylor whispered.

  I shrugged.

  After Abigail and the doctor disappeared into the ER, a nurse led the rest of us out to the waiting room. As we walked down the hallway, the nurse looked down at my arm. “Excuse me for asking, but were you struck by lightning?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally I said, “How did you know?”

  “Lichtenberg figures,” she said. “I’ve only seen them in manuals. That must have been very painful.”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” I said.

  Her brow rose. “Wasn’t too bad? They’re electricity burns. They’re some of the worst kind.”

  “I guess I was a little out of it when it happened,” I said. I quickly walked away from her and sat down on a couch while Scott, Ian, Zeus, and Tessa went outside to keep watch. Nichelle asked for a pencil from the registration desk, then sat in the corner sketching while Jack, Taylor, Ostin, McKenna, and I sat on the sofa across from her.

  “The guard’s name is Billy Ray,” Taylor said. “He was raised by his grandmother. She’s ninety-two and still alive.”

  “Elgen guards don’t have grandmas,” Jack said. “They’re not born; they’re spawned. And they don’t have names. Just Elgen.”

  Taylor continued. “He’s from Huntsville, Alabama.”

  “That’s so weird that he’s from somewhere,” McKenna said.

  “Everyone’s from somewhere,” Ostin replied.

  “I know, but it still seems weird. It’s like thinking about where Colby Cross went to elementary school, you know?”

  “Or Hitler,” Jack added.

  “Where do you think Hatch is from?” Ostin asked.

  “Hell,” Jack said without hesitation.

  “It’s not an accident, you know,” I said to Taylor.

  “What’s not an accident?” Taylor asked.

  “That he’s letting you know about him,” I said. “He’s doing it for a reason.”

  “Why?”

  “So you would help him live.”

  “I don’t get the connection.”

  “It’s harder to kill people you know. That’s why in wars the first thing they do is dehumanize the enemy. They’re not people like us; they’re gooks or krauts, or infidels or Charlie. After you know they have a family, that they’re somebody’s son or grandson . . . it’s a different thing.”

  “He’s right,” Jack said. “My brother was stationed in Afghanistan at a combat outpost when the Taliban attacked them. A Taliban soldier tried to stab my brother, but my brother turned the knife on the guy.

  “While my brother’s squad was waiting for reinforcements, my brother had to sit in the room with the dead man for two hours. He took out the guy’s wallet. The man had a picture of his wife and a little boy. My brother said even though the guy had tried to kill him, it still made him sad. . . .”

  Jack’s words trailed off into silence. A few minutes later Scott walked into the waiting room from outside. “Any word on his condition?” he asked.

  “No,” Taylor said.

  “See anything?” I asked.

  “No. Neither has Ian. It doesn’t appear that we were followed. But that doesn’t explain why they let us across the border so easily.”

  “Maybe we were just lucky,” Ostin said.

  “Since when have we been lucky?” Taylor replied.

  “We’re still alive, aren’t we?” Nichelle said, suddenly joining the conversation. “I’d say we’ve been pretty lucky.”

  Nichelle’s optimism surprised me. “Any word from Boyd?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Scott said. “I’m going to have to drive back to Douglas to check things out. I’ll need some backup.”

  “So after we find him, then what?” I asked.

  Scott sat down next to us. He leaned in, his hands clasped in his lap. “There’s a safe house in Albuquerque,” he said softly. “Assuming we still have a plane, I think we should fly there and wait to hear from the voice.”

  “The last safe house wasn’t so safe,” Jack said.

  “Nothing’s safe anymore. We don’t know what information has been leaked, but it’s still our best option.”

  “I want to go back to Idaho and get my parents,” Taylor said.

  “We will,” Scott said. “But I need to get you to safety first, then go get them.”

  “You should talk to your mother first,” I said. “You need to make sure that they’re still in Boise.”

  Ostin said, “If the Elgen have their phone lines traced, they’ll track the call back here. Just seeing a call this close to the border, they’ll know we’re back.”

  “Then we should make the call just before we leave Arizona,” Scott said.

  “What about the guard?” McKenna asked. “He’s not going to be ready to go by tomorrow.”

  “We can’t all stay here until he’s better,” Scott said. “It’s too risky.”

  “Abi and I can stay with him,” Jack said. “Then we’ll meet up with you.”

  “I don’t like breaking us up again,” I said. “The last time we did that, we were captured.”

  “It’s better than all of us being captured,” Jack said.

  “We don’t know if what he knows is worth losing any of us,” I said.

  “Michael’s right,” Scott said. “We’ll all stay in Douglas tonight, then fly out in the morning. We can come back for the guard later.” His brow furrowed. “But first I need to find my copilot.”

  We left the hospital in Bisbee and drove from Bisbee twenty-three miles back to Douglas to the hotel where we planned to spend the night: the Hotel Gadsden, a tall, historic building that looked as old as the city and was, by far, the largest structure on the aged main street
.

  “I’ve heard about this place,” Ostin said. “It’s on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places. It’s been used in a bunch of movies. They say that room 333 is haunted.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes. “Haunted? Really? I thought you were smart.”

  “I am,” Ostin said. “And yes, I believe in ghosts, spirits, and paranormal beings.”

  We parked on the street in front of the hotel and walked inside. The hotel’s lobby was high ceilinged and surprisingly beautiful, with tall, marble columns extending to the ceiling. Across the wall on the split stairway leading up to the indoor balcony was a forty-foot-wide Tiffany mural of the Mexican desert.

  “I want to stay in room 333,” Nichelle said. “I’ve always wanted to see a ghost.”

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” Tessa said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Nichelle said. “You can be my roommate.”

  We followed Scott up to the check-in counter. “Do you have any vacancies for tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the clerk said, looking us over. He was a fortysomething blond man with a name tag that read TOM. I noticed that his eyes lingered on the scars on my arm.

  “I need six rooms for the night,” Scott said. “Double occupancy.”

  “We can accommodate that. May I see a credit card?”

  Scott took out his wallet and showed the man his ID. “We should have an account here.”

  “Just a moment,” he said, looking at his computer. “Of course. It’s good to have you back, Mr. Allen. Shall I put all the rooms on the same account?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I see the last time you were here, you stayed in 110, our Jacuzzi suite. Would you like the same room, or do you have a preference?”

  “We’ll just be staying in your regular rooms this time,” Scott said. “The historic rooms.”

  “I want room 333,” Nichelle said.

  Tom looked over at her with a half smile. “So you’ve heard of our ghost.”

  Nichelle nodded. “Have you seen a ghost?”

  “Once,” he said. “In the basement. The power had gone out, so I went down there with a flashlight to check the fuse box. Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck rose, and I had this feeling that I was being watched. Then I saw a cloud in the shape of a man come toward me.”

  “That’s creepy,” Taylor said.

  “A cloud in the shape of a man?” Tessa said. “That’s bogus.”

  “Ah, a skeptic,” Tom said. “At least once a week I hear something about a ghost from a guest. Especially from those staying in room 333. Once we had a movie crew stay here while they were filming a documentary on the old West. One of the cameramen said his room’s light kept flipping on and off all night; then something threw all of his clothes off their hangers in the closet.”

  “I’m pretty sure that was an episode of Scooby-Doo,” Tessa said.

  Tom just smiled. “Another time a woman, a college professor, told me that she felt someone get into bed with her. When she rolled over to see who it was, no one was there.”

  “She was probably just lonely and dreamed it,” Tessa said.

  “Maybe, but she certainly believed it. She had reserved the room for three nights, but she packed up and checked out in the middle of the night. We have an entire binder filled with supernatural accounts recorded by our guests. Most are simple things, lights or televisions turning on and off in the night, or strange sounds coming from the radiator. Especially in room 333.”

  “All old radiators make strange sounds,” Tessa said. “Old buildings make noises.”

  “You may be right, but after hearing these stories for the last ten years, you begin to think that there must be something going on.”

  “Logically, I’d come to that conclusion,” Ostin said. “Though it’s possible that the expectation created by previous ghost stories might create an expectant psychological environment for mob hysteria.”

  Tom just stared at Ostin.

  “He always talks that way,” Tessa said. “It’s annoying.”

  “Actually, I was admiring his vocabulary,” Tom said, handing out our room keys. “And here is 333 for you,” he said, handing the key to Nichelle.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Is there a restaurant nearby?” Ostin asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Yes, sir. We have our famous Saddle and Spur Tavern just behind you to your right.”

  While we were getting our keys, Scott took out his cell phone to make a call. I glanced over at him. He looked as frightened as if he had seen a ghost. He hung up his phone, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  We all turned to him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The plane is gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?” Zeus said.

  “Boyd flew out the same night we landed.”

  “Why would he do that?” Tessa asked.

  “There’s no reason. . . .” He stopped, the look of concern evident on his face. “There’s no good reason.”

  “Could he have been working with the Elgen?” Zeus asked.

  “I’ve known him since he was nineteen. He wouldn’t leave without us unless”—he closed his eyes—“something bad happened.”

  Taylor looked at Scott. “What do we do now?”

  “I need to go over to the airport and see if anyone knows what’s going on,” Scott said. “Ian, could you give me a hand?”

  “No worries.”

  “And, Tessa, we could use some amplification powers.”

  “Yeah, I’m down.”

  “I’ll go too,” Zeus said, taking Tessa’s hand. “In case we need some firepower.”

  “We should all go,” I said.

  “No,” Scott said. “I think it’s best we not keep all our eggs in one basket. I’ll take Ian, Tessa, and Zeus. Michael, I want you to keep everyone else together.”

  “How long will you be?” I asked.

  “It’s only twenty minutes from here, so no more than two hours. If you haven’t heard from us by then, you’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “All right, we’ll stay together until we hear from you,” I said. “Call our room if you have news.”

  “Which room will you be in?” Scott asked.

  “The haunted one,” Nichelle said.

  After Scott left with Ian, Zeus, and Tessa, the rest of us followed Ostin over to the hotel restaurant, the Saddle and Spur Tavern. The restaurant appeared to have been newly renovated, and the textured plaster walls were painted pale yellow and decorated with the markings of dozens of different cattle brands. The floor was made from stained, dark wood planks, and against the main wall there was a long bar with chrome-and-black-vinyl barstools. On the opposite side of the room was a brightly lit jukebox.

  We pushed two tables together and sat down. Less than a minute later a waitress walked out to us.

  “Hi, y’all. I’m Carla. How are you youngsters tonight?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Taylor said for all of us. I don’t know how long it had been since anyone had called me a youngster.

  “You must be headed to Mexico on vacation.”

  “We just got back,” Taylor said.

  “Oh? What did you see?”

  “Carnage,” Ostin said.

  McKenna gave him a scolding look.

  “Mexicans,” I said. “Mostly.”

  The waitress laughed. “I suppose you would.”

  “So is this place really haunted?” Nichelle asked.

  “Sure is, honey.”

  “Have you seen a ghost?”

  “Not the headless phantom you hear everyone talk about, but every now and then the electricity in here will go kind of haywire, blenders turning on, lights turning on and off, lights flickering.”

  “Sounds like bad electrical wiring,” Ostin said.

  “I thought you said you believe in ghosts,” I said.

  “I do. But I’m logical about it.”

  The wom
an grinned. “All the electrical was redone last January when we remodeled the dining room. A while back we had a ghost expert come through here. He was from one of those ghost hunter TV shows. He said that ghosts and poltergeists are really just electrical energy, so they’re attracted to electricity. Some say they eat electricity.”

  “Great,” I said. “That makes us a banquet.”

  Taylor playfully punched me on the arm.

  “We’re definitely going to see some ghosts tonight,” Ostin said.

  The woman looked at us with a quizzical expression, then said, “So, down to business. What can I get y’all to eat?”

  “We all want lemonade,” Taylor said.

  “Except me,” Ostin said. “I’ll have a root beer.”

  “Six lemonades, one root beer.”

  “. . . And throw in a couple of orders of these bacon-wrapped jalapeño poppers,” Ostin said.

  “All right. I’ll get those going; then I’ll be back to get the rest of your order.” She walked away.

  After she was gone, Nichelle said, “If ghosts are electric, I should be able to feel their presence. Maybe even affect them.”

  “That would be cool,” Ostin said. “You could be like the ghost punisher.”

  “Can we stop talking about ghosts?” Taylor said. “It’s creeping me out. And we already have enough to worry about.”

  “Yeah, like paying for dinner,” I said, realizing I only had Taiwanese NT and pesos. “Does anyone have any American dollars?”

  “I’m sure we can charge it to the room,” Ostin said.

  When our waitress returned, we ordered bean-and-cheese burritos, a taco salad, beef tacos, and chicken fried steak. After we finished eating, I said, “We better go up to the room, in case Scott calls.”

  “I’m going to stop at the front desk and see if they’ll let me borrow their ghost binder,” Ostin said.

  “I want to read that too,” Nichelle said.

  We charged our meals to the room, then stopped at the front desk. The clerk let Ostin sign out the ghost book, and he took it with him as we went to the third floor, room 333. The room was at the end of a long corridor, lit eerily by green lights.

  “Look,” Taylor said when we reached the room. The door had been painted dark green, and people had scratched names and messages into the door. Someone had scratched a 666, and someone had crossed it out and scratched the word “JESUS” above it with a cross.