11. Willa
CHAPTER 11
WILLA
B rad’s older, like Lionel, but he’s not what I imagined, with his shaved head, tattoos, and military demeanor. As he listens to Lionel, his eyes never leave the area around us. His friend is pretty quiet, too, his voice barely above a murmur when he asks for my keys. I bite my lip, looking around the abandoned gas station off an exit in the middle of nowhere.
“Give Mace your coat and phone,” Brad orders me.
I glance at Lionel and see him nod, so I hand my phone and coat to the other guy. Cold sweeps around me, making me shiver, but it’s eclipsed by the oversized dark hoodie tossed into my arms. When I look at Brad, he motions for me to put it on.
“Mace is about your size. With a wig and some modifications, the cameras will think he’s you,” Brad’s voice is clipped as he explains the reason for the switch. “We’ll try to buy you a day or two. Make the most of it.” This time, he’s looking at Lionel.
While I put on the hoodie, Lionel and Brad talk quietly about the plan. Their low murmurs are almost impossible to hear, but I catch the words train, major, and Raven. Headlights shine as a vehicle takes the exit, and we all tense. Lionel moves me to the rear of the car and pulls out his handgun. Brad slips into the shadows of the building. When it passes by without slowing, I breathe a sigh of relief, but none of the men do.
“What?” I ask, bewildered by the expressions on their faces.
“Keys,” Lionel barks without answering me. Brad tosses him a set of keys, and hands him a small black backpack. “Go pack has cash, IDs, couple of burners, and a few other necessities. I’ve tagged it with a tracker. Train station is two clicks to the east. Watch your six. I’ll let Phoenix know you’re on the move and hand off your coordinates. Good luck.”
Phoenix? Is that a person? I wonder but don’t interrupt.
The two clasp hands, and Lionel gives him a quick salute. “I owe you.”
Brad snorts. “Hell, I owe you at least a couple of life debts. See you on the other side.” He walks over and slips into my car, which has been running with the lights off for several minutes.
Lionel motions for me to join him. “We’ve got a little over a mile to walk. Let’s get moving before the car comes back.”
My eyes dart around the dark parking lot. “Why would it return?”
He shines his flashlight onto a small dirt path on the side of the highway, and I walk toward it.
Lionel’s voice is gruff as he answers, “It might not, but we don’t believe in coincidences. Too many close calls.” An engine revs in the distance. “Pick up the pace.”
I start jogging, and as I get to the bridge, Lionel pulls me under it. A car passes by, then a few minutes later, another follows.
“Slide your backpack onto your shoulders and carry this one for me. I’ll take my duffle and your suitcase,” he informs me in a hard voice as he hands me the pack Brad gave him. “Let’s go. Double time.”
Having grown up with Lionel, I recognize his order to pick up the pace and start running. Thankfully, we’re both in good shape, so it doesn’t take us long. Eight minutes later, we’re slowing to a walk on the outskirts of a train station parking lot.
“It’s a commuter stop,” he informs me. “We’re going to change directions once we hit the main line.” His eyes dart around the surprisingly busy terminal.
With gritty eyes, I glance up at the board. Six o’clock. These must be people getting home from work. When Lionel motions for me to follow him, I tighten my grip on the backpack in my hands and board the train he indicates. Once we’re on, he dives into the pack in my hands and pulls out two tickets.
Destination is… Philadelphia, but I doubt we’ll go that far. I want to ask Lionel, but the seats around us are filling with people, and I’m too scared someone will hear me, so I just lean my head on the window and stare out at the station.
Minutes later, the train rolls out of the station, and it isn’t long before I see the outskirts of Philly. We get off at a stop in the suburbs. Lionel buys two tickets to Chicago, but on the way to board, he steps to the side, points to the restroom, and hands me a bag. “Put it on. Throw the hoodie in the trash. I’m going to switch too. If you come out before me, don’t move from this spot.”
Nervously biting my lip, I nod and take the bag from him. The restroom is full, so I dart into one of the stalls. Reaching into the plastic sack, I pull out a red jacket and a ball cap. After putting it on and using the restroom, I throw the hoodie into the bag and emerge from the stall to an empty room. Tossing the bag into the trash, I wash my hands and pull my hair into a low bun to hide it better, then put the cap back on. Lionel’s waiting when I come out. Instead of the green jacket he had on earlier, he’s wearing a navy windbreaker and a knit cap.
He throws an arm around me and leans down to whisper, “Head to the parking lot.”
Confused, I glance at the train to Chicago but instead of boarding, I turn toward the exit. Someone in a dark hoodie bumps into me, and I let out a little scream, but when I hear a low voice apologize, I shake it off and flash an embarrassed smile in their direction.
Lionel digs into his pocket and pulls out the set of keys Brad tossed him. “Lot C. We’re looking for a blue Nissan Rogue.” When we get to the parking lot, we head to the section. Once there, he repeatedly clicks on the fob until one of the nearby vehicles answers back with a chirp.
Piling our luggage into the trunk, he points to the passenger side, and I slide in and wait for him. The dome light shines briefly on his face as he gets into the driver’s side and starts it. Deep lines bracket his mouth and eyes. He looks tired.
“Do you want me to drive?” I offer, although I don’t know where we’re going.
He pats my hand. “It’s not far. Once we’re in D.C., we’ll grab the 11:30 train to Atlanta. Why don’t you catch some sleep? It’s going to be a long night.”
I shake my head. Sleep is the last thing on my mind. “Can’t. There’s too much I need to know.” He glances at me but nods. “How do you know Brad?”
I don’t know why that’s my first question, but it helps to start with something… simpler than the subject of psychic powers. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around that part.
His shoulders relax a bit. “Army. Your father knew him, too. We served together on a few missions. After your father got out, Brad and I stayed in.”
“And the other guy? Mace,” I ask, thinking about the fact that Brad knew my father. I wish I’d known earlier.
“He served with us on the last few missions,” Lionel says with a shrug. “Good guy.”
“Do they have powers, too?” I ask, almost afraid of hearing the answer.
“Yes,” Lionel says with a lift of his chin. “I can’t tell you what they are, though. We tend to keep our abilities to ourselves, and they’re not here for me to ask permission.”
Fair enough. “Did you and my father get your powers in the military?”
“No,” he quietly answers, then continues. “Thirty-five to forty years ago, random people started exhibiting powers. Most of them were low level. Telepathy. Clairvoyance. Precognition. The government ran a few tests, then dismissed them. But when the powers became more complex, they started to investigate further. It took them a while, but the government discovered the common factor was RH-negative blood. Some think our abilities were triggered by gamma rays from a meteorite that swept by earth, others theorize it was a natural evolution of the human race.” He shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s something we haven’t thought of yet. There are a lot of theories and few answers.”
Trent had mentioned something about RH-negative blood. “I’m O+,” I remind him, confused.
He wipes a hand down his face. “I know. The first generation was purely Rh-negative. Once the second generation, our children, started exhibiting powers, we realized it was evolving. The second generation could either be Rh-negative or a carrier of the Rh factor. Because of your father, you’re a carrier.”
The numbers are mind-boggling. “If all of them have power and their children are inheriting it too, you’re talking about a quarter of the human race.”
He shrugs. “At a minimum.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “A third generation is being born,” he reminds me. “World leaders took immediate action when they realized how much of the population was impacted. In the United States, Congress created two groups. One to study us, led by Senator Thomas Hightower, and the other to support our rights, led by Senator Jack Harrison. Sort of a check and balance system.”
He continues. “We call Hightower’s military group Raven, because they’re the harbinger of death for our kind. Hightower is supposed to use his position to find answers, not kill us, but after his wife died, he went off the deep end. Normal humans getting eclipsed by those with powers is his biggest fear, so he’s made it a mission to hunt us down, especially the individuals with rare, almost unstoppable powers.”
Taking a deep breath, he finishes. “When you first told me about being stalked, I thought they’d somehow found out I changed your records.”
“What do you mean, you changed my records?”
“At your dad’s request, I changed your birth certificate so they would think you were adopted,” he admits with a sigh. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure it would work, but Hightower never came after you. I didn’t realize you’d run into his son.”
“Trent knows I’m not adopted. Do you think he told his dad?” I ask, even though I’m scared to know the answer.
“I don’t know. You’ve never used your power before last night, right?” he replies, asking for me to confirm.
“No,” I answer. “But I have an idea of what might have first triggered Trent.”
My fingers run lightly across my shoulder as I explain my theory. “The day I ran into him, my shirt came off, exposing my scar. He kept staring at it, but a lot of people do, so I didn’t think much of it. I told him the truth; it was an old scar from the accident.”
A line forms between Lionel’s brows, and I shrug and continue, “Trent said the mark made him wonder if I had powers. Apparently, his father keeps files on everyone who has powers, so he looked up my parents. Dad was in there.”
“It would have said adopted parents, but maybe he figured out my ruse. I don’t know anything about a mark. Neither I nor my son had one,” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thinks about this new development. “We’ll pass the information on to Phoenix.”
“Who’s Phoenix?” I ask.
“That’s what we unofficially call the group led by Jack,” he replies absentmindedly. He must still be thinking about the mark. “Over the last few years, I’ve worked with them to get people to safety. That’s where I’m taking you. Phoenix will help you establish a new identity and help you figure out how to wield your powers. Until we get there, Brad created a couple of IDs for you with Greer’s name on them. They’re in the pack he gave us. Keep it close at all times.”
I nod. “It sounds like you know him.” When he raises an eyebrow, I clarify. “Jack.”
“I do,” he answers, then further explains. “We served together. And I worked with his son too. He’s a major in the Army. They’re men with integrity.”
High praise coming from Lionel. “And they’re in Atlanta?” I ask, watching the miles fly by. We’re a little over an hour outside of D.C. I grab my backpack and pull out some bottles of water and snacks for us.
Lionel grabs a bottle and chugs half of it down. “That’s where we’ll meet them. Oliver, the son, runs Phoenix.”
“If they’re supported by the government, why do I need IDs with Greer’s name on them?” I ask, confused by the whole thing.
“Tickets on public transportation require a government issued ID, and Greer’s was the easiest option to pull together quickly,” he replies. “But once you reach Phoenix, they’ll likely help you establish a new, more foolproof ID and background to keep Raven from finding you.”
“Will that mean I can return to school?” I ask softly, hoping that’s the case. I know it’s silly, but for years I’ve thought about nothing but helping others, especially kids.
I wait for him to answer, but he simply lifts a shoulder in response. For the rest of the drive, I can’t help but think about everything. There are so many emotions bombarding me, thoughts bouncing all over the place, I can’t sleep. Yes, I’m angry and scared, but a part of me feels blindsided by the truth that has been hidden from me for all these years.
My dad had the ability to control air. Even saying it to myself doesn’t make it feel real. I never remember him doing anything out of the ordinary. He was my dorky dad who told jokes and loved us. I frown. He could have at least warned me. I was a teenager, not a child, and quite capable of understanding. Now, it’s as if the past has ambushed me.
At the worst possible time, too. Twenty-three, ready to graduate, start my new life, and in a blink, everything blows up. My dreams gone. If I’d known it was a possibility, I could have done a better job of hiding or going to school far away from the Hightowers. If I hadn’t been late for work and collided with Trent, I’d still be living a normal life, doing boring things like studying, not racing to hide from the government. If, if, if.
“We’re close to the station,” Lionel tells me in a tired, gravel-filled voice. “But we’re not getting on the train. I don’t like the idea of being trapped for fourteen hours. We need to be mobile. Stay here. I’ll get us another car.”
Before I can ask questions, he’s gone. I sit in the quiet car, waiting for him to return, my eyes darting from one end of the parking lot to the other, scared someone will find me. Every time someone comes toward the car, I nervously duck down.
The door opens, and I jump, but it’s only Lionel.
He eyes me for a second. “Leave your jacket here. Red is too noticeable.” After I take it off, he gives me the navy blue one he’s wearing. “After I leave, wait five minutes. There are cameras everywhere. Pull the collar up and your hat down low. Don’t look up or around. There’s a grey Nissan Altima three rows back and five cars to your right. Grab the backpacks and make your way to it. Crouch down beside the passenger door when you get there.” He takes the red jacket and slips it on. It barely fits, but he doesn’t seem to care. He grabs my suitcase and his duffle from the back and closes the door.
I watch him cross the parking lot and enter the station silently counting down the minutes. My heart races as I wait. Five minutes is an eternity. Finally, I hit the mark. Easing out of the car, I grab both packs and make my way back to the Altima.
It's more humid in D.C. than it was in Philly but still chilly. When I find the car, I follow his instructions and crouch down beside the passenger door, praying nobody comes along. I glance at the car beside me and find peeling grey paint. It’s definitely seen some miles.
Laughter drifts in the night air but never comes any closer. I hug the packs to my chest, barely breathing, as I try to listen for footsteps. Minutes go by, and a bead of sweat rolls down my temple and falls to the ground.
A hand clamps around my mouth, and I let out a muffled scream.
“It’s me,” Lionel says harshly. “Once I start the car, get in and store the packs up front with you.”
I nod, and he disappears. Seconds later, the car light comes on, and I hear my door unlock. The car starts, and I slide into the passenger seat.
He turns off the interior light but not before I see the wires sticking out from under the dash. “Are we stealing this car?” My voice is high-pitched in disbelief. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he orders me. When I continue to stare at him, he heaves a sigh. “We’re borrowing it. I’ll make sure we leave it where it’s easily found.”
Appeased, I smile. Unlike the last vehicle, this one smells old and a bit musty, which makes my nose wrinkle in protest, but the floor is surprisingly immaculate when I place the two backpacks on it. Someone takes really good care of this car. I hate the idea of stealing, or borrowing, someone’s only car.
“This sucks. What if it’s their only mode of transportation?”
A line appears on his brow. “Better their car than your life.” When I don’t answer, he lifts a shoulder. “The newer models are harder to steal.”
I raise an eyebrow at this piece of knowledge but also reach for the seatbelt. “Fine. But maybe you can find out who they are and send them some money.” When I turn to buckle myself in, I see my suitcase and his duffle in the back seat.
His lips quirk up in a smile. “Deal.” He puts the car in reverse and slowly drives out of the parking lot.
“How long is the drive?” I ask him, stretching out my legs.
“A little over nine hours,” he says with a glance out the window. “Get some rest.”
Exhausted from the last few days, I take off the jacket and stuff it under my head. Eyes closed; I can’t help but think about everything he’s told me and sadly wish I didn’t know any of it. All I want to do is go back to being normal.