Apocalypse the Blossoming (The Power of Twelve Book 2) Page 14

  “No,” I whisper. “I can’t…”

  “Yes, you can,” he says, voice soft, barely more than a whisper.

  The sound of it caresses my skin, and I shiver. He’s right. I can. There’s nothing here to fear. I can do this. Certainty rises, taking over my fear and pushing it out. Drawing in a deep breath, I nod.

  “Right,” I say. Somehow, I mean it. I can do this.

  “We need to go, now,” Silas says, urgently.

  The ground rumbles beneath us, reminding me that we’re in the middle of a trumpet sounding. Great, no time for my silly fears, we need to be under shelter. Remnants of my vision drift across my thoughts.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I say, gathering my nerve.

  I don’t know what Nathaniel did, but it helped. Efram and Rafe run over to the sorry excuse for a boat and drag it across the shore. They push it partway into the water, and I notice they watch it carefully before either of them step inside. Efram climbs in and Rafe stands to one side holding the boat.

  “All aboard,” Rafe says.

  “Isn’t that for trains?” I ask, climbing onto the boat.

  My stomach clenches as it rocks back and forth under my feet. It feels weird. I can sense the water underneath me, and it doesn’t feel natural. While my fears are no longer paralyzing, they are still there. Picking my way carefully, I make my way to one of the seats, sit down, and grip it with both hands.

  Nathaniel and Silas climb aboard, causing the boat to rock from side to side. Instinctively, I tighten my grip, unsure what good it will do. Everyone except Rafe is on board and seated. Rafe grabs the front part of the boat and pushes us out towards the deeper water. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what happens next. There’s a clattering sound, and then a splash. I open my eyes, certain that I’m about to get wet. Nathaniel, who is sitting in the middle of the boat, has an oar in each hand.

  Okay, we’re okay.

  I look at the floor of the boat, making sure there’s no water there. It seems to be holding. Rafe leaps in, causing the boat to rock violently, and I tighten my grip, yelping.

  “Sorry about that,” Rafe says.

  He takes a seat, and Nathaniel works the oars. The shore slides away as we move out onto the deeper water. My heart pounds, and a cold sweat trickles down my back. With each stroke, I sense the water getting deeper beneath us. It’s filled with unknowns. Anything could be down there. A giant squid or some other apocalyptic horror waiting to eat us. And there’s nowhere to run. We’re on a boat!

  No one else seems to be concerned. I wish I could emulate them. Part of me knows there’s nothing here to fear, but that rational part is drowned out by the fear. Trying to take my mind off it, I look around.

  It’s an idyllic scene. It could be a beautiful painting for someone who had such skills. I’d buy it, if I didn’t live in the Apocalypse, and if I had a home to put it in. Tall, straight pine trees ring the lake and climb the sides of the mountains.

  Happy little trees, I think, laughing out loud.

  Rafe glances back grinning. “A funny thought?”

  “This looks like a scene that painter who used to be on TV when I was a kid would paint,” I say. “You know the one, he had that really curly hair.”

  “Bob Ross?” Efram asks, looking around. “Yeah.”

  “I could see it,” Rafe says.

  “The happy trees guy?” Silas asks.

  “Yeah, that guy,” I agree. “Except… what is up with that fog?”

  I point towards the shore where a thick fog is rolling towards us, fast.

  “Damn,” Silas mutters. “Get ready.”

  “Get ready for what?” I ask, but I barely get the words out before the fog envelops us.

  We’re floating in a sea of white.

  “Row faster,” Silas says, rising to his feet.

  The boat rocks from side to side, and now water is splashing against it. The island has to be getting closer. Fear pounds through my veins; I’m hyperventilating. Get control, Aviella, you can’t lose it like this. Obviously, we’re in trouble. Stay in control.

  A deafening roar sounds, so loud it hurts my ears. I can’t see what’s happening, but there is the sound of water bubbling. Silas utters an incantation. Sounds drift to us from all sides. It’s nerve-wracking, I can’t figure out which direction to look.

  A tentacle erupts out of the water, swinging at us. Silas, his hands glowing with a golden light, thrusts at the incoming thing. Light bursts from his hands and explodes when it contacts it. The tentacle disintegrates.

  “What is that?” I exclaim.

  “They’re illusions,” Silas answers.

  “Are you sure?” Efram asks.

  “Try it,” Silas answers.

  Power pulses through my limbs making the hair stand on end. It’s more than it ever has been before. I can feel the difference inside of me. When I take a deep breath, my lungs expand, and it feels like I’m inhaling very cold air.

  More tentacles rise from the water surrounding us, waving in the air, and swinging down. Efram weaves magic and Rafe joins him. Streaks of light surge out striking tentacles, causing them to dissipate with a soft popping sound. The problem is that for every one they destroy, two more take its place.

  “Row faster,” Rafe says.

  “I am,” Nathaniel growls.

  I feel helpless. Magic pulses through me, but I have no idea how to direct it in this situation. One of the tentacles slams into Silas, knocking him sideways. Rafe catches him before he goes over the side.

  “I might be wrong about the illusions,” Silas says, doubt in his voice.

  Nathaniel is struggling to keep the oars working. Tentacles are in the way, blocking him from getting full strokes.

  Aviella, a distant voice says my name. I look around but all I can see is fog and tentacles. It’s an illusion. Don’t believe it!

  “Dad?” I ask.

  “What’s that?” Rafe asks, ducking underneath a tentacle.

  I ignore him and try to focus on the soft voice that apparently only I can hear.

  Disbelieve, Aviella. Disbelieve it all, Dad’s voice says, sounding as if it’s coming over a really bad phone connection. Tinny, distant, and almost obscured by static.

  “They are illusions,” I say out loud.

  “Are you sure?” Efram asks.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  I focus and try to see beyond the tentacles. The fog seems thinner and the more I focus, the thinner it gets. It’s not real. I see that now.

  Closing my eyes, I wish it all away. My magic surges and then bursts out of me in a massive pulse. When I open my eyes again, everything is normal. Rafe, Silas, and Efram look at each other before sitting down.

  “Wow,” Efram says, looking at me with wonder in his eyes.

  “How did you know that?” Silas asks.

  I bite my lip, not sure I want to say. It’s probably crazy anyway. Wishful thinking or projecting my own insight onto an external source. My dad is gone. If he could reach out to me, then he should be able to find me too. Since he hasn’t, I can’t believe that he’s talking to me.

  Nathaniel looks at me over his shoulder with unreadable eyes. I think, not for the first time, he knows something, but he’s not talking about my dad. That’s not frustrating, nope not at all.

  Frowning I try to push my will into him, force him to say something. A tingle and then a rush passes between us. Nathaniel’s eyes widen, and he jerks. He shakes his head negative before turning back around and focusing on rowing the boat.

  “I’m not sure,” I lie.

  Now Rafe’s eyes burn into me. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, then snaps it shut. Instead he smiles and nods.

  “That’s a definite increase in your power,” Silas observes.

  “You think?” Efram asks, sarcastically.

  “I do,” Silas says, ignoring or oblivious to Efram’s sarcasm.

  Knowing Silas, I’d go with oblivious.

  The boat mak
es a scraping sound, and I grab my seat gasping. Looking around wildly I breathe a sigh of relief, seeing we’ve pulled up onto the island.

  “Oh, thank God,” I say.

  Rafe laughs. “Told you it would be okay.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Excuse me for having my doubts.”

  Rafe leaps over the side of the boat, splashing into the water that comes up to his knees. He grabs the side and drags it further up onto the shore. The boys climb out first, and then Rafe hold his hand out for me. He helps me over the side and makes sure I’m steady on my feet.

  “Well, here we are,” I say.

  “We need to make it up there,” Silas says pointing.

  A path makes its way from the beach we’re standing on up through the trees towards the Bunker. It looks well-worn, as if it’s been traveled a lot and probably recently. It’s wide enough for us to walk three abreast if we’d like. As I follow it up towards the Bunker, I can get a better view of the structure.

  It’s a large, stone building, with two massive pillars set beside what looks like a steel door. Whoever built this was ready for something. The walls have black marks on them that looks like somebody tried burning it at some point. There are pock marks in the stone making me think at some point this place was sieged.

  We form a loose group and walk up the path. The mood is somber, so no one is talking. My thoughts go to my dad. Is it really him? If he is talking to me, why hasn’t he come and found me? I’m certain, or at least I was, that he’s alive. He has to be, right? I’d feel it or something if he wasn’t. I think. I hope.

  I can’t escape the circle of my thoughts that are consuming me. I’m barely aware of the world around me. So much as happened, so much loss, so many failures. It would be a huge win to find my dad. Just knowing he’s out there safe or at least alive would take a great weight off me.

  “So, do we knock?” Rafe asks.

  “Seems as good as anything,” Efram answers.

  There are definite signs on the heavy metal door that there was some kind of a battle here. Deep gouges, burn marks, and impacts are evident. Rafe saunters forward and raises his hand to knock. Before his hand hits the door, it swings open and there’s a rustling sound around us.

  A man in a suit stands in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand. Flanking him on either side are heavily armed men in what looks like riot gear. Stepping out of the woods along the path are more men in similar gear, all of whom have weapons trained on us.

  “Shit,” I say.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I look at Silas, mouth agape. “You said it would be safe.”

  “It’s fine,” Silas says. “Everything is as expected.”

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you,” the man with the clipboard says.

  “Obviously,” Rafe says, sarcastic as he looks around at the armed men. “It’s also obvious that we’re a very dangerous bunch.”

  “This is standard procedure,” Clipboard Man says.

  “Silas?” I ask.

  “Trust me, Aviella,” he says. “It will all be fine.”

  Efram and Nathaniel shift from foot to foot but don’t say anything. I look at Rafe, and he shrugs, shaking his head negative. It’s not like we have any options. Another trumpet has sounded, staying outside is beyond foolish. We need the protection of the Bunker.

  “If you will all just come with me,” Clipboard Man says. “I will take you to processing. We need to get you sorted.”

  Tingles run up and down the skin of my arms. Processing. As I’ve learned, that can mean so many different things depending on where you are. It doesn’t sound particularly ominous said by this man, but it doesn’t lessen my pullback. I don’t want to be separated from the boys.

  The worst part is not having a choice. We need protection in the Bunker. Frowning, I nod, and we allow ourselves to be herded through the door. Inside is a short hallway that ends in a set of steel doors.

  “Is that an elevator?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Clipboard Man says.

  He says this as if it’s the most run-of-the-mill thing ever. Maybe it is, here. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the Apocalypse, there is no such thing as normal. The shiny steel doors slide open and we file into the box. The armed men stay behind, taking up positions to either side of the doors but even so it’s crowded.

  The elevator jerks into motion causing us to sway back and forth, bumping into each other in the tight quarters. I take pride in the fact that I don’t yelp. At least I’ve got something going for me. There are no indicators to show the passing floors, so I have no idea how far down we go. At last, after what feels like a small eternity, the elevator rumbles to a stop, and the doors slide open.

  Clipboard Guy walks out first and goes some distance before stopping as if he suddenly realizes we’re not following. He arches an eyebrow.

  “Coming?” he asks, when we don’t move.

  I poke my head out of the elevator and look around. It’s another long hallway but this one is carpeted, with expensive-looking dark paneling on the walls. Clipboard Guy says nothing, waiting more or less patiently. There’s an oppressive air to the place that I don’t like. It’s nothing I can put my finger on exactly, but it makes me a little uncomfortable.

  “Everything will be fine,” Silas says, reassuring us again. “The Dragon who runs this Bunker could not care less about you or us.”

  “Sounds good on paper,” I mutter, stepping out. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

  Clipboard Guy takes off again, and we follow. This hallway has heavy wooden doors, all of which are closed. There is no sound coming from behind them. There’s barely the sound of us as we pass thanks to the extra-thick plush carpet. It’s so thick I sink partway into it with every step. It creates a sense of luxury and excess.

  The hallway turns to the left, and I see two guards waiting for us ahead. They’re dressed in full riot gear like the ones above, but have their automatic weapons pointing at the floor. Clipboard Guy pulls a card out of his pocket and holds it up as he approaches. The guard on the right nods and steps to one side.

  There’s a keypad on the wall behind him. Clipboard Guy walks up to it, and there’s the sound of buttons being pressed, although he carefully blocks our view. The two guards stare at us with cold hard eyes while he punches in the code.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling tentatively.

  They frown deeper if that is even possible, apparently offended by my attempt to be friendly.

  Jerks.

  Rafe snorts and Efram steps closer, protective as ever. The door slides open with a whoosh and Clipboard Guy walks through. He doesn’t wait for us or look back, so I follow, half-expecting one of these burly guards to stop me. I figure if he does, he’ll be in for one hell of a surprise.

  Although I brace for it nothing happens. They barely look over as we walk by. The door slides shut behind us and the air pressure changes. My ears try to pop so I yawn to ease them.

  Now we’re in a waiting room. The same thick carpet and dark paneling decorates the twenty-foot square room. There are chairs lining the walls on the left in the right. The wall straight ahead has wooden swinging double doors with small round windows in them.

  “Central processing is through here,” Clipboard Guy says. “You will need to be sorted.”

  “But we’ll still be together, right?” I ask, looking at Silas more than Clipboard Guy.

  “I cannot guarantee that,” Clipboard Guy says. “Everyone is sorted by their skills and the Bunker’s needs.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “We have to remain together.”

  “Aviella, it will all be fine. I assure you,” Silas says.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. I trust him, even if I don’t trust this bureaucrat. He hasn’t lied to me, and I think I would know it if he did. The connection between us is very strong, and I’d be able to sense it. Besides, I don’t think they’re going to be doing any kind of investigation into what happened to the guy
who was running Wormwood. First rule of the Bunkers is that no other Bunker matters.

  I’m also certain that the Dragon who runs this Bunker couldn’t care less about me. Silas has said as much, and it lines up with my impression of the Dragons when I met them.

  As with most things in my life, it’s not like I have a choice. I roll with the punches and do whatever it takes to survive. I know everyone around me believes I have some great destiny. I sure as hell hope they’re right, otherwise what is the point of all this? I never considered myself to be special, but my life is certainly turning out to be different than I expected.

  “Fine,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Clipboard Guy smiles and nods. “Follow me, please.”

  The worst thing you can do to somebody who is trying to give you a death stare is act like nothing’s happening. I decide I like this guy even less than I did.

  As a group we walk through the wooden double doors that swing silently open on well-oiled hinges.

  Emerging on the other side is like stepping into a massive factory.

  The carpet is gone as we step out onto a concrete floor. Bright yellow stripes demarcate walking paths stretching off as far as I can see. There are white offices lining the walkway on the left and right, each one a small, stand-alone building with a single door and a window that has soft light streaming out.

  Guards are on duty every few hundred feet, all in full riot gear with weapons resting casually in front of them. In front of each office there is a bench with several people sitting there. They look like survivors. Dirty, torn clothes. Faraway looks on their faces. The guards watch them carefully.

  The bench to my left has a family sitting on it, a mom and dad with a little girl who looks like she might be five or six years old. She’s playing with a rag doll that is missing an eye. The parents have a shell-shocked look, but the girl seems happy enough. How happy can you be in the Apocalypse?

  “You are to be given priority treatment,” Clipboard Guy says.

  “Priority?” I ask, looking at the family to my left.

  “Yes, of course,” he says, his eyes on Silas.