He dumped the casing into his palm and closed his fingers around it. “This was taken off the floor by one of your officers and analyzed by a researcher.” He handed the shell and the bag back to the detective as he spoke to the captain. “The evidence has been tainted. Touched by too many people. I suggest that if you find anything else, you leave it alone.”
“Of course, Micah.” The captain’s tone was polite, but brusque.
“I am finished in here,” Micah told Angela. “If you do not mind, I will examine the other buildings.”
He said it in such a way as to give her little choice in the matter.
“My officers have already examined every building in town, including the residences. There wasn’t anything of any significance.”
The young man settled his azure eyes on the captain. “If I am correct, Captain, there is suspicion of possible laundering of excessive supplies. I imagine that, if that is the case, then they would use a store on this main road as a drop-off point. Easily accessible.” He started for the door. “And in the future, do not question me again.”
Resentment worked at Dyllon’s jaw. He opened his mouth to say something, but Angela bumped his arm. A deep scowl bunched his forehead, but he held his tongue.
Angela waited until the sound of Micah’s footsteps faded. “Be careful what you say or do around him,” she said in a low voice.
“What a pompous ass,” said Dyllon, the words seething into long drawn-out syllables. “Who does he think he is?”
“Shh.” She waved her hand in his face. She edged toward the door and poked her head out. Micah walked along the weathered planks. “You have to be careful.” She waited a moment longer, just to ensure the boy wasn’t going to return.
“So, we were never looking for a Renegade?”
“No,” she said, turning back around toward him.
Dyllon hadn’t moved, his face a mask of awe and anger. His gaze slid from the door to Angela. “I can’t believe that. Are all of The Center’s children so…?”
“Yes, I believe so. They are superior to us in every way,” she said matter-of-factly. Superior to her, despite all of her hard work. Her gut twisted in rage at the unfairness of it all; jealousy tugged at her core. “They’re stronger and faster, and the gifts they possess are beyond comprehension,” she continued.
“Can they all read objects?”
“It seems the subjects of The Center possess many gifts.”
“Like what?”
“My job is security,” Angela stated, her tone terse so there wouldn’t be any more questions from Dyllon. “You do realize that everything you’ve witnessed will be kept to yourself. I need not remind you what could happen without me threatening you.”
“Yes, I do understand that,” Dyllon said, moving toward the door. “I just don’t understand why.”
She lifted a shoulder in response. “I’m assuming they’re the next wave of soldiers.”
“Soldiers? The war is long over.”
“The road to perfection is never-ending.”
23
As afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow gaps of the barn’s roof, Rein woke, sweating. His shirt stuck to his skin and his pants felt heavy and constricting.
Judging by the bright light, there had to be at least another six or so hours until nightfall. He kicked his blanket off and flipped onto his side.
Sleep evaded him. The stifling heat made the task nearly impossible. He rolled over and watched Doc’s chest rise and fall. Perspiration beaded along the older man’s forehead. Soft snores pushed his lips apart.
Jealous, Rein concentrated on the soft, lulling sounds of the sleeping man. Eventually, despite the warm air, his eyes drooped, then closed. He became one with the worlds of in-between, teetering on the edge of reality and dreams, until snapping sounds and shouts roused him. His eyes popped open and Doc was staring straight at him, his eyes bugging.
“Is someone in the barn?” Rein mouthed.
Doc shrugged. “I think it came from outside,” he whispered.
As quietly as possible, careful to avoid the old creaking floorboards, he shifted to his stomach and placed his ear against the loft floor. He stayed still and waited for any sounds at all.
Silence.
Convinced no one was sneaking around below them, he lifted onto all fours and shuffled over to one window. A broken shutter hung to the side, obstructing the view.
Hunkered down, he put his hand on the piece of wood and started to move it away when someone shouted. A man’s voice, deep and young. He stiffened, unmoving. Another man answered. He wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but he knew they were close. Gathering his courage, he pushed the board over and peeked.
At first, he couldn’t see anything unusual, only the old road, where heat waves wafted from the broken asphalt and shimmered like a mirage. Beyond, the remnants of a town curved into view.
“Can you see anything?”
The suddenness of Doc’s voice caught him off-guard. His breath hitched in his chest. “No,” he exhaled.
He shuffled to the side to get a better view. Two figures, in dark clothing, appeared like ghosts.
“Wait.” He motioned for the doctor to come closer. “Over there,” he said.
Doc leaned over his shoulder. “What are they doing?” Barking answered his question, and the doctor pulled back, lengthening his spine. “Dogs. Ellyssa?”
“Yes,” he said while another person leading two dogs joined the first group. The searchers stood next to the road, talking. “They’re searching the town.”
“What are we going to do?”
“For right now, we’re going to stay here,” Rein said, backing away. He picked up his blanket and shoved it in his backpack.
“We can’t just stay here.”
“We can’t leave. Not yet.”
Rein grabbed his rifle and moved toward the shadows in the back of the barn. Behind a pile of wood and rusted tools hid a crawl space. Rein peered inside. Mold scented the air. A hole in the roof let light sneak into the cramped space. Dust particles floated in the sun streams. Spider webs dangled across the opening.
“We can hide in here until night.”
“I don’t know about the floorboards,” Doc said, pointing. The floor buckled across the small space.
“I guess we won’t be moving around much.” He waved his hand in a polite gesture. “After you.”
“Oh sure, let me be the guinea pig.”
Doc dropped his bag and, with Rein’s help, hefted himself through the opening. Scooting on his belly, he turned around until his head faced the opening. “Okay, you’re next.”
“One second.” Rein went back to where they had slept.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
Lifting his finger to his mouth, he opened the trapdoor and kicked the rickety ladder. It cracked but held fast. On the second kick, it was less resistant and broke free, collapsing onto the floor. He retrieved the extra shirt from his bag and, with a back and forth motion, rearranged the decades of dust as he backtracked to the crawl space.
“How are we going to get down?” the doctor asked, his voice low.
“Shh.”
He handed Doc both bags and the rifle, then pulled himself through the gap. The boards protested angrily. He gingerly turned around and laid across the planks, sliding the gun under him, muzzle pointing out into the loft.
Hours passed, and the sun slid across the sky. Shadows lengthened and danced across the loft. Except for
