OUTBREAK
Destroyers, Book Three (Release date: May 1, 2012)
Destroyers, Book Three (Release date: May 1, 2012)
Chapter One
"Paul, up. Now.
We don't have time to waste."
He forced his eyes open to his dad, staring
down at him with narrowed eyes and stubble he hadn't had time to shave this
morning. It was still dark in the fields
outside and at the landlord's house next door.
Paul held back a groan that wouldn't make a difference, anyway. That look was his dad's silent signal. They needed to pack yet again.
"Come on. We're not Marines. Ever heard of sleeping in a bit?" Paul yanked the covers over his head. If his Uncle Tanner was catching up with them
again, it wasn't his problem. His uncle
never came over to argue with him.
Only it was his problem, and he didn't
want to deal with it before their farmer neighbors got out of bed. Every time his uncle and his dad got in a
fight, or his uncle figured out where they lived--a move followed, and Paul had
no choice but to go along. Why couldn't
Tanner stop blaming his dad for stuff that wasn't his fault, and why couldn't
his dad stand up to Tanner?
"We've got to leave right now," his
father pressed on, shaking him.
"Now. Up. Grab your textbooks. You can do your history test on the
road."
"Are you serious?" Paul shot out of
bed and stared around at the boxes in his room.
He hadn't even gotten a chance to unpack everything into this
house. "Tanner won't get up this
early, either. I guarantee you. I bet he was up programming until two in the
morning. And we've been here less than a
month. He couldn't have found our
address that fast."
His father bent over, stacking a couple of
Paul's boxes on top of each other.
"It's not him this time."
"Huh?" Paul shot awake, sitting up.
The back of his dad's plaid shirt, still
dusty from helping Mr. Dobson prepare farm equipment yesterday, was his only
answer as he shoved Paul's boxes around.
His CD's rattled inside one.
Somewhere in the next room, his dad's weather radio crackled through a
set of headphones, never quite loud enough to make out.
"Then what is it?" Paul made a show of kicking a box of his
textbooks across the room.
His father kept his back turned, stacking
more boxes. "I just got back from
the pay phone in town. Mobley's mayor
has requested something of us that has to be done today. If we do him this one favor, he'll give us a
huge discount on our house there, and we can finally move in. For good."
The words made him sit up straight. Mobley.
The town they'd been supposed to move to for years, but were unable to
afford. They even had a house reserved
there since before his mother had died.
His father had talked about it on occasion, about how things would be
stable if he could just work something out, but Paul had started to think
they'd never go there, that they'd keep drifting around the Midwest forever.
The anger melted out of him as he stood and
joined his father in hauling his guitar and music books out into the living
room. He didn't even care why his father
had gone to the pay phone in town at this hour, or even what the mayor
wanted. If it meant no more of this, he
wouldn't ask questions.
* * * * *
Paul dropped his magazine in his lap and hit
his head on the back of the seat as his father braked suddenly.
"Dad!" He fished down between his feet and retrieved
his copy of Rolling Stone, which had fallen on top of his textbooks on
the floor. It wasn't his newest, but he
still needed something to read about on this road trip other than the
Reconstruction era, and preferably something that wasn't covered in footprints
or dried mud. These magazines weren’t
cheap, and his lawn mowing money was about gone.
His father didn't apologize. That was strange for him. Instead, the side of his mouth wrinkled as he
stared past Paul and to the horizon.
“We're here. Perfect
timing."
Sighing, he followed his father’s gaze out
the van’s window. Wherever
"here" was, it wasn't Mobley.
Tall grass blew down in the open fields ahead of some turbulence in the
atmosphere. Only a large, low gray
building with guard towers lined the horizon.
It was the middle of nowhere out here, like it would be up in Oklahoma,
too. “Middle of nowhere” was the story
of Paul’s life up until now.
“Is that a prison?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. He’d seen plenty of them sitting off lightly
traveled roads, surrounded by barbed wire, concrete, and signs warning drivers
not to pick up hitchhikers. A bad taste
filled his mouth. "Does this have
something to do with what Mobley's mayor wanted us to do?"
“Correct,” his father said. He had that tone of voice, like he was planning
something. His mustache wrinkled. His dad looked as uncomfortable as he
felt. “It’s the North Texas Women’s
Correctional Facility, to be exact. We
have a pit stop to make right about here, and then we’re on our way up to
Mobley. Of course, there's something
else, too.”
Something else. Paul wasn’t sure what to say, or what his
father was even saying. Ahead, the
cracked road stretched away into infinity.
“Um, Dad? There’s nothing else
out this way.” Unless you planned on
taking a leak out in the field, and that didn’t count. “What are you pulling now? Is there someone we have to visit in
there?” The thought sent a shudder down his
spine.
"No," his father said, staring hard
at him. "Don't panic, Paul, but
there's someone we need to get out of there.
A friend of the mayor. Someone
who's going to be executed for a crime she didn't commit."
"What?
You're joking, right?" His
father hadn't joked about anything for years, not since that horrible
morning. "Who, exactly? And how?" It sucked that he never got to watch
television and his dad never bought papers.
Paul felt like a caveman in the Ice Age.
His father readjusted his position but didn't
speak. His gaze stayed on the fields
ahead.
That’s when he noticed the darkening on the
horizon, a color between blue and black.
Paul wanted to smack himself for not noticing it before. The waving grass grew bright for a second in
the last of the sun before fading to a dark, ominous green. Suddenly, the magazine in his lap lost all
its importance as his heart started to race.
This was the second reason his dad had stopped.
His father’s hand clamped down on his
shoulder. His tone lightened. The prison break must have been a joke after
all. “Today might be the day. Feel anything?”
Paul concentrated as much as he could over
the thudding of his heart, feeling for the signs his father had drilled him
about millions of times already.
Heaviness in the limbs? No. A sudden urge to take a nap? No.
Tingling? Well, he was breaking a
sweat, but it was the first big heat wave of the year. “Nothing.”
His father yawned, then glanced at him and
sighed. Disappointment welled up between
the two of them. Nothing had changed in
Paul over the past winter. “I was a year
younger than you when I had my first Outbreak.”
He yawned again, a sure sign that one was coming on. No wonder he’d pulled over. They really didn’t need him to fall asleep at
the wheel and get in an accident.
“Dad, you need me to drive?” Paul fingered his fresh new driver’s license
in his pocket, squeezing the life out of it and trying to hide his anger and
disappointment at the same time. How
embarrassing. Almost seventeen and no
Outbreak yet, while his dad was probably on his fortieth. Paul was probably going to be the only one in
Mobley, which was going to suck.
“No.
We need to be here. This is
timing to kill for.” Another yawn, a
silent one, filled half his father's face as he eyed the prison again.
Paul sighed, studying his reflection in the
side mirror. His brown eyes, flecked
with pure black, stared back at him.
Everyone who was ever going to Outbreak had those eyes. But maybe he was a fluke, and he hadn't
inherited the ability after all. “Are
you sure you turned Mom into an Outbreaker before you guys had
me?” The trait wasn't always passed
down, unless both parents were Outbreakers.
Only then was there a hundred percent chance. Paul had entertained that possibility since
last year.
Silence followed for a second. Mentioning his mother always brought a sad,
distant look to his father's eyes. He
wished he could take his question back.
The van felt so empty without her there, shuffling through the dash for
Paul's favorite CD's. “I’ve told you before, Paul. Yes.
There’s no chance that you aren’t one, too.” His voice, normally stern when he gave this
lecture, sounded heavy and tired. It was
almost time, and once again, Paul would get to sit there and watch.
A crack of thunder washed over the van,
making the windows rattle. The first
droplets of rain splashed across the glass.
The storm was moving fast, faster than most of the ones his father had
taken him out to last year. The wait
would be short, at least.
“Watch the van, Paul. I'm sure she's out there waiting,” his father
said, and slumped into unconsciousness.
Watch the van. He’d heard that line countless times, every
time he’d failed to Outbreak last summer.
Paul sighed and slapped the magazine down on his lap as the rain beat
harder on the van, turning the pattering into a roar. But who was she? A prisoner? Maybe his dad hadn't been joking after
all? Wow, his day had just managed to
suck more.
Another crash of thunder rattled his
surroundings. Wind howled past, whipping
down every blade of grass outside and blowing waves of mist across the road
ahead.
His father snored in the driver’s seat. He was no longer there. His awareness had left, gone soaring up into
the turbulence above. They were going to
be sitting here anywhere between two minutes and an hour, depending on how long
the storm borrowed his dad for.
Well, at least he had his magazine.
Paul opened his magazine, flipping to the
concert schedule for Executioner. April fourteenth in Oklahoma City
The rain abruptly stopped after a few minutes,
and the space around the van cleared and opened up. The field snapped back into view, and Paul
closed his magazine. He'd seen this on
dozens of expeditions last spring and summer, but he couldn't help but watch
every time.
The grass in the field had stopped
waving. Clouds hung low over the horizon
now, and one section of sky had dropped lower than the rest, slowly rotating
like an upside-down top. Paul gripped
the armrest while his father—well, his father's body—continued to breathe
heavily next to him.
Then the gray cone descended, hanging there
at first as if it wasn’t sure where it wanted to land. Then it took up the distance between itself
and the ground in a second. Brown dust
rose and swirled around the newly-formed tornado as it slowly approached,
looming larger and larger. Paul’s heart
started to race—he couldn’t help it—but he sucked in a few slow breaths,
forcing himself to calm down. He was
perfectly safe. No Outbreaker could hurt
another. The tornado couldn't come over
here.
The grass kept waving gently at him, as if
laughing at the fact that Paul wasn’t out there with his father. Again.
Behind it, the tornado seemed to grow in size, a swirling wedge ripping
the dust from the ground and flinging it hundreds of feet. It had to be an experience nothing short of
awesome, one that he would never have.
It was also getting awfully close to the
prison.
Paul seized the armrest, dropping his
magazine again and not even caring this time.
The gray building and guard towers barely stood out against the swirling
dust, and it didn’t look like the tornado was going to move in time. He'd never seen it happen before--every
tornado he'd seen had been out in endless fields--but he could only imagine
that this wouldn't have good results.
“Dad!”
He slapped his father’s shoulder, to get no response other than a loud
snore. “Careful! What if you do some dam—”
Too late.
A bluish-white ball of light erupted from the
edge of the prison. A transformer had
blown. Paul held his breath as it faded
a second later, to be replaced by something worse: chunks of something flying
through the air, darkening the funnel even more. Pieces of building. Maybe even cars, joining the swirl of dust
around the funnel. He'd seen plenty of
tornadoes, of course…but nothing like this.
Paul slugged his father on the arm this time,
hard enough to leave a bruise, but he didn’t care. Not now.
This wasn’t right. His father had
never had an Outbreak near buildings. It
was always in a field somewhere, where there was room. “Dad!
Knock it off! Do you realize what
you’re doing?”
Another snore. His father’s head lolled to the side,
empty. Meanwhile, the tornado continued
its approach, looming larger outside the window. Debris fell to the ground all around it,
littering the landscape as it slowed.
“Dad!”
The tornado slowly grew more transparent as
it approached the road ahead of him, letting dust and debris plop to the ground
and into the ditch on either side. The
tornado was dying, so his dad would return to his body any second now. Paul's fists clenched as his stomach
threatened to heave up the McDonalds he'd had earlier. He was going to have a talk with his dad as
soon as that happened. He didn't care if
his dad was the parent and he was just the kid.
This demanded some answers.
Paul's heart stopped.
Something orange slowly fell to the side of
the road ahead, as if being lowered on a falling feather. Something orange…with flailing arms and
legs. Something dressed in
orange.
No.
Someone.
The tornado died, and his father grunted next
to him, regaining consciousness.
Paul paid no attention. The person remained still on the ground
ahead, facedown. Dead? No.
His father wasn't a murderer.
Was he?
"You okay, Paul?" His dad blinked at him as if he hadn't plowed
through the prison a few minutes ago.
He lost it.
Paul hit the glove compartment with his fist, making it pop open. Maps and CD's toppled to the floor. "No, I'm not okay. What the hell were you doing? You could've…could've hurt
somebody!" His own words made it
all real to him somehow. He pointed to
the body lying on the side of the road ahead.
"Wh--"
"Paul.
Calm down. She's perfectly
okay. Just dazed. I did not hurt anyone. I have more control than that." The ignition started as his dad turned the keys. His voice took on a tremor as he spoke, like
he was unsure, scared, or both.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want
you to see that, but we had no choice. I
should've warned you about this beforehand.
It's the only way we can get into Mobley."
A chill rushed over Paul. The tremor in his dad's voice matched the way
he felt. He hadn't been joking a few
minutes ago. He'd broken a real convict
out of prison. Suddenly, he felt dirty
and guilty. This was a federal offense
or something. Paul had a sudden urge to
jump out of the van and hitchhike with the first vehicle that came down the
road, regardless of the warning signs on the highway. "Dad--that's illegal! We could get busted for this. And how do you know for sure you didn't hurt
anyone?" A bad taste rose in his
mouth as the van rolled past a piece of metal on the side of the road. A chunk of barbed wire. Papers.
But thankfully, no one else.
His father stared straight ahead, as if
trying to see something in his own words.
“I...I only scraped the side of the prison, Paul. She was outside on recreation hour. Ready."
Ahead, the figure on the side of the road
began to stir, pushing herself up on her hands.
Short brown hair, growing out into blond, spilled around her head. Just then, Paul realized the stupidity of
what he'd said. Nobody could tie the
tornado to his dad.
At least the woman was alive. Okay.
The thought helped to dispel the sickness gnawing at Paul's
insides. And the side of the prison...it
definitely looked like his dad was telling the truth there. What he'd seen matched what he said. The building was still intact, although the
fence might have taken a beating. “But
she's a prisoner, Dad. How do you know
who she is? How do you know she's innocent?” He didn't like the thought of one getting in
the van with them.
"They accused her of breaking a man's
neck in an airport parking ramp last October," his father continued as he
hit the gas, racing up to the now-standing woman on the side of the road. She was in a prison jumpsuit, all right,
complete with a number on the front of her shirt. "Tell me, Paul. Does that look like someone who has the
strength to do that? She's not even an
Outbreaker."
He squinted.
The woman had a thin frame, thinner than most. Skinny arms.
Small bones. "They think she
did that with her bare hands?" Paul
felt stupid. If only his dad would buy a
television or get a computer, he might actually know what was going on in the
world. But he'd gotten rid of theirs
after his mother died. Said they were a
waste of time. Not that he'd let Paul
watch it much to begin with.
"They're not sure, but they accused her
anyway. Figured she must have done it
some way, because she had the guy's car.
I think she bought it off the murderer like she said at court, personally. But you know how Texas is with
executions."
The words swam around Paul's head. He stared at the prison in the distance. The first red lights of emergency vehicles
spun around it, no doubt inspecting the damage.
The whole world was crashing around him.
He could see his dad's point, "but was this necessary? All this?
How did you carry her without hurting her?"
At least, she didn't look hurt. Dazed, yes, with hair flying everywhere and
her jumpsuit ruffled. Hurt, no. His father pulled the van up to her and
unlocked the doors with a click.
Paul shook his head. The world suddenly made even less sense to
him. The woman scrambled to the van, as
if she'd been expecting it for a very long time, and slid the door open without
a word. He fought back the urge to jump
out.
Leather creaked as the door shut. "Go," she ordered, sliding across
the seat.
The engine revved as his father hit the gas
to continue their journey to Mobley.
Paul stared at him, all words flying out of his mind and his life falling
out from under him. Yes, Mobley would
mean that they wouldn’t have to move anymore, but was it worth risking
this?
In the rear view mirror, the woman's eyes
seemed to peer into his soul. They were
a dark gray color, like the storm that had just gone through, but nothing like
Outbreaker eyes at all. Still, they were
strange, different somehow, and Paul couldn't decide why.
His father glanced at him and smiled, then
back at the woman, but it seemed awkward, forced somehow. "Ma'am, my name is Earl Collins. This is my son, Paul. We'll be taking you to Mobley. Paul, this is the mayor's girlfriend, Andrina
Morgen."
