"I just want to always know you're safe."

I smiled. It felt so good to be so loved. He kissed my cheek, and I went to get Jonas, who was going to ride with him back to the house to get the truck. That would give me enough time to pull Starch out of the undead state he was in.

If I could.

I didn't mean to be a doubting Thomasawhat does that really mean anyway?abut I'd certainly never done anything like this before. Starch was in there; I just had to find him.

When Jonas and Christian left, I sat on the end of the bed at Starch's feet. He was lost deep inside his mind, and it would take a lot to draw him out of it. I knew I'd end up unconscious after this, so I made room for myself on the bed. No matter how I fell, I wouldn't end up out cold on the floor and risk hitting my head against something hard or pointed.

They dressed Starch, and some of the other male bodies, in hospital style pants. He wore no shirt, and his feet were bare. I put my hands on his feet and rushed up into his mind.

There was nothing physically wrong with him. The gov scientists pumped him full of drugs, inducing this comatose state, and they kept him there. They probably took blood from him along with tissue to see how it was Starch could light himself on fire and not burn to a crisp. If they even had the knowledge of what he was capable of. Initially, as I dug deeper into his mind to find his consciousness, I thought this might be why Starch survived the fire at the Commune. I thought upon finding him that they tricked us, as Jonas said. Maybe our friends still lived somewhere and those bodies in the desert had not been our friends.

I was wrong.

Starch went looking for Jonas and me. Not knowing where we'd gone, he drove around and around the area of the Commune, searching, not going any farther than a thirty mile radius. He slept in his car at Primm, Nevada then headed back to the Commune. He saw the smoke on the horizon and came across the place before the gov's soldiers left. They shot him with a tranq dart and took him with them. There were no other recent memories in his head.

I also discovered why he never used his powers. Starch, when he was just a kid, had been at the gas station with his mother. He'd never known the lab and his mother was an escapee who was never caught. He didn't know who his father was. Anyway, she was inside the station paying, and she'd left Starch in the car. He was three or four. He wanted to help so he got out of the car while his mother was inside, and he pulled the gas pump out. Gas spilled out onto the ground when his mother came out.

She was a beautiful woman, slim and tall like Starch. Her eyes were as blue as the sky. She wore a loose fitting sun dress. Her hair hung below her shoulders and was as black as Starch's.

She ran over to her son and s.n.a.t.c.hed the gas pump from his hand. "Never do that," she yelled at him, scolding him.

Starch had been told repeatedly never to use his powers in public. She showed him how to do it, snapping her fingers in the living room of their house and had him do the same. She made it a game and taught him to control it. He was only a child, barely more than a baby. He snapped his finger over the spilled gas, and he didn't know any better. A spark fell, and the gas station went up in a ma.s.sive fireball. Starch, being small, was blown clear of the explosion. His mother was not so lucky. He woke in a hospital. He ran away a week later and lived as a street kid until he was fifteen, when he got beaten up so bad he again ended up in a hospital. When he woke that time, Philip Morris was standing over him.

This was about all I could discover as I began to slip under. I drifted into darkness as I drew Starch out of his coma, pulled him back into the land of the living and into the light.

Chapter Forty-One.

I woke on the opposite bed, curled up into a ball. It took a moment for me to realize where I was and to remember what I did. When I sat up, I don't know what I expected to see. What I did see was Starch and Jonas sitting at the small table with a deck of cards.

I saw Starch nod in my direction and Jonas followed his friend's gaze.

"Welcome back," Jonas said, giving me a relieved smile.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Starch also smiled at me. "I should be the one saying thanks."

"Are you okay?" I asked him, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

"Groggy, but fine," he said. "You?"

"About the same," I said. I rubbed my eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours," Jonas said, glancing at the bedside clock. "At least since I've been here."

"Add a half to that," Starch said.

I stretched my arms to the sky then got up to test my legs. I walked around for a minute to regain my bearings. I went over to Starch, put my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He leaned his head against my arm and gripped one of my hands.

"Do you remember anything?" I asked Starch when I let him go.

He shook his head. "Not much. I vaguely remember what happened at home. Smoke and fire, mainly. They killed everyone, didn't they?"

Jonas nodded at him, gathering up the deck of cards they'd been playing poker with. He absently began to shuffle.

Starch sighed. "I knew when I saw the place what they were there for. Chris...I-"

"Don't," I said quickly. "I know it was my fault. I shouldn't have ever healed that girl." I let go of my friend and paced the room.

Starch took a moment before saying, "You can't blame yourself. Jonas told me about Hermione. It was her."

I believed what was in my head. Hermione may have called them out there, but it was my fault she did it. It was still my fault everyone was dead. He couldn't change this.

Ten minutes later, after continuing to pace a rut in the carpet, I made a decision. Starch and Jonas listened to me and agreed. Starch would go back to California to find Philip. He was in no shape to do what Jonas and I were going to do. He didn't protest. We gave him what money we had, forced the files upon him and sent him on his way an hour later, after saying more difficult good-byes. I knew he'd be safe.

Jonas and I then checked out of our hotel room and headed back to Cannon Air Force Base one last time.

Chapter Forty-Two.

It was stupid. I know it now and I knew it then. Sometimes I get things in my head and they won't leave. I knew what I wanted to do. I should have known they'd be waiting, and they'd be ready for me. I had to do it.

We left the pickup where we had the first time. We walked to the base with the intent to save as many as we could or to simply burn it to the ground. The place seemed empty at first. There were no soldiers on duty outside. It was easy to get in, but they were waiting. G.o.ds in h.e.l.l, they were waiting.

We climbed the fence.

We walked past no one.

We made it a hundred feet from the doorway.

Twenty of Holt's blank minded soldiers rushed out at us.

I should have known they would be waiting, and they would be smarter this time. Yet I didn't lock onto a single mind. Holt had to be watching, in control like always. I was stupid. I was filled with a desperation I could not control, one that should have ended with Cannon becoming a smoking hulk like the Commune. It didn't end this way.

Being stupid is what got everyone killed at the Commune and is what got Jonas taken from me. Not that he didn't fight tooth and nail.

A man grabbed me around the waist as he rushed me, and he took me to the ground. Breathless, I struggled under him then kneed him in the groin. He held his private spot and rolled off me, groaning. When I stood, I saw Jonas surrounded by seven of the men. The others gathered around, cheering as Jonas swung and kicked at anyone who came at him. It was like any other fight, like any barroom brawl, but this one could only end one way.

Two more men came my way. Taking my gaze off of Jonas, I tried to run. One of them grabbed my arm. We grappled until we both toppled over in the dirt, but I came up with his gun. He stepped back from me as I held it towards him. It hadn't been that long of a time since I'd fired a gun, but I wasn't ready for this one. I fired point blank, hitting the man dead center in the heart. I fell back with the recoil of this powerful weapon. The other man took the gun from me and dragged me by the arm, with me struggling all the way, back to where Jonas still fought.

The man held me tightly with my arms behind my back, and he forced me to watch.

I watched Jonas begin to lose.

Jonas had one arm- thankfully the left since he was right-handed- pinned behind him and was swinging with the free arm. I realized the arm he held back had been broken above the wrist. Two men rushed him but he swung his fist and connected with the first, taking him down to the ground instantly. The man who fell did not move again. The second backed away. There were three or four other still bodies surrounding him. Someone appeared then with a length of metal pipe.

The crowd backed off from the whirlwind that was the love of my life. He faced the man with the pipe, his chin held high, blood dripping from a split in his lip. There was a cut beside his eye and blood ran down his face. He grinned his horrid grin, his sharp, pointed teeth making his face a devil's mask.

He was no match for a piece of metal.

The man holding it was dressed in a typical black suit. There was blood on his white shirt from a cut on his chest, but that didn't stop him. He came forward and, with the pipe, he was out of Jonas's reach when he swung. Jonas ducked the first swing but the Man in Black returned quickly and the pipe connected with Jonas's back, hitting him about kidney height. Jonas went to one knee. That was enough.

While I watched, my eyes filled with stinging tears, the Man in Black swung the pipe, and it struck Jonas under the chin. I swear I heard Jonas's jaw break. Jonas went down to both knees, and the men all swarmed around him. I lost sight of him as I began screaming his name. I could see the pipe rising and falling as they beat him. I couldn't see him; he was lost in the center of a ma.s.s of men.

When I began giving up my struggle against the man who grasped me, determined to be taken with Jonas no matter where they took him, the crowd fell back. Three men held my Jonas, one at each arm and one with his own arm around Jonas's neck.

I clearly heard Jonas say, "Run." I saw his lips move and heard his voice in my head. I didn't move until his voice rang out over the din. "Run!" he yelled again.

I whirled around, catching my captor off guard, and shoved him as hard as I could. Using skills I'd learned long ago as a child, I struck his neck with my elbow, grabbed his gun, for some instinctive reason, and ran. I hurled myself at the fence, climbed up and vaulted over. I ran.

Like a coward.

Chapter Forty-Three.

I am a coward. I had a gun. I have training. I could have fought tooth and nail like Jonas, only giving up when they resorted to using weapons other than their hands. I didn't and for this I deserve to rot in h.e.l.l.

I didn't bother going back to the truck. Jonas had the keys and I figured they'd be watching anyway. With a military gun in hand, I began trekking across the deserted plains of New Mexico, headed back to Christian. If Jonas and I were in danger, so was he, and I needed to get to him before they did.

I don't know why I wasn't chased, why they didn't just corner me in the desert and kill me there. They could have easily left my sorry body to decay or be eaten by carrion birds. I can never claim to know the inner workings of Holt's mind or those of his blank soldiers. If I did know Holt's mind, I would know he was there, that he had me right where he wanted me. Had he wanted me, I knew I would be at his side at that moment.

I wasn't.

I walked, keeping to corners and alleys once I reached the town, until I reached the familiar neighborhood where Christian lived. It hadn't been too much more than twenty-four hours since I'd last seen him, but they'd gotten to him.

Well...not him.

The house was deserted. The doors were locked, and I couldn't get inside, but I knew no one was there. My mind told me as much. I peered in through the living room window, trying to get a sense of anything, but all I saw was an empty room. I moved around the house looking for something that would give me a clue, but there was nothing.

I backed away from the house, searching as far as my mind would let me. Nothing. It was as if they vanished into thin air. If only this was the case.

A woman came out of her house and called out to me. "What are you doing over there?"

I turned to her, holding my empty hands up; the gun was tucked into the back of my jeans, hidden by my shirt. "I'm looking for Christian North," I said.

Before the words escaped her mouth, I knew what happened. My heart sank into my stomach. I sank to my knees. Her words echoed thin on the air.

"Their little boy..." she said, clasping her hands to her breast. "He was killed yesterday by a hit and run driver. Right here on this street. Such a shame. They're probably taking care of funeral arrangements. Poor dears. Would you like me to give them a message if I see them?"

I shook my head, kneeling on the concrete walk that led to the front door. There was no message I could give. A moment later I got to my feet and took a breath. "It's okay," I said. "Thank you." With that, I turned from her and walked away.

I knew what happened. It was the same thing happened to Jonas and I. Ambush. They had known where we were, what we were up to. They had been ready at the base, and right in this neighborhood. Life was taken when they could take life. Jonas was probably dead. Reagan was dead. G.o.ds, he was just a baby! Who knew where Christian was, but definitely not preparing funeral arrangements. They probably took him, too.

They'd left me alive to suffer through it all.

My decision to return to California was hard. I couldn't stay in New Mexico. They knew I was here. Besides, if Jonas was dead then I could find no reason for me to stay. I walked from New Mexico to California, from Clovis to the outskirts of Los Angeles, until I found myself on Philip's front doorstep. After a while, I didn't really know what I was doing. I concentrated only getting to my destination. There was no reason for me to head there, knowing I would be putting Philip in as much danger as I had put everyone else. I kept going. I kept the facts of what I had done on the surface of my mind.

Somewhere around Fontana, in California, I began to develop a headache that threatened to take me out, but I kept going. I kept walking. Day and night. I lost track of how many days it took me. On the last day, as I hit the border of the city of South Pasadena, where Philip lived, I could barely lift my feet. Exhaustion was overpowering me and the pain in my head excruciating. Starch would be there. Philip would be there. They'd know what to do. They'd help me.

Knocking on Philip's door was like knocking on Death's. I barely had the strength to lift my fist to the door. I stood there, swaying like a half-dead tree in the wind until Starch opened the door. Then I collapsed.

Chapter Forty-Four.

I woke alone, curled up on yet another bed in yet another unfamiliar room. I looked around with tired eyes. The bed was oak with small carved posts. The lamp on the nightstand had a simple wooden base and a white shade. The bed linens were a nice, deep blue.

Examining the decor was just my way of distracting myself from the things recently destroyed in my life. It took only a few days to turn my life upside down. Who knew how many more days pa.s.sed to get to Philip's home. Jonas was long dead. And Reagan murdered on the street by an anonymous person in a car. Christian was gone and probably dead, too.

I'd just led them to Philip and Starch.

I rose from the bed, and the world spun around my head. I held my head in my hands until the spinning slowed down to a tolerable speed. My feet were bare when they hit the floor, but I found my shoes quickly enough. I slipped into my socks, put my boots on my feet, and realized my gun was missing. I poked around for it for a moment before giving up. There weren't many places in this room for it to hide. I went out the door.

Philip's home was simple and neat. His wife was a good housekeeper. I don't know why this thought suddenly came into my head, but then I knew. As I made my way down the hall, I felt his presence. He was one of the few who could get into my head.

Philip, my blessed saviour, stepped in front of me as I hit the end of the hall. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

I would have thought something else was going on entirely if he not been smiling. "Not very far, I guess," I said.

Philip stared at me for a moment before putting his arms around me. I heard Starch's voice from somewhere else in the house, and I vaguely saw him out of the corner of my eye. When Philip let me go, Starch took his place and kissed my temple.

"How're you feeling?" Philip asked when Starch let me go.

I shook my head. "I'm okay. How long was I asleep?"

"Over seventy hours," Philip said.