4. Finn
Blood.
There was so much blood everywhere.
Sticky and still warm.
Every time he pulled up his boots, the squelch twisted his stomach. Finn didn’t want to take another step into the massacre. The metallic scent hung heavy in the air.
Collect yourself. Don’t stop moving. Go.
Finn ordered two Conductors to go around the back and scout; he needed a minute alone.
He ordered the remaining Conductors to enter the surrounding woods to look for footprints of anyone who might have fled.
There would be no evidence. Never was. But it kept his people busy and as far from the crime scene as possible.
Their dreams were haunted by their own nightmares after they lost their families.
Finn didn’t want to add more images to their heads.
Frustration welled up inside him, and a bitter knot tightened in his chest. How many times had they arrived after Legion struck?
How many more lives would be lost because they couldn’t get there in time?
Finn couldn’t figure out their endgame or why they targeted the people they did.
Hell, they didn’t even know where they were based.
For all he knew, Legion was hiding out with Santa Claus at the North Pole, working side by side with the elves. Legion was always one step ahead.
They heard whispers of a leader, someone called the Voyant.
But they never had proof of her existence.
The Voyant was never seen, yet the remnants of her orders were found splattered across the walls, seeping into the cracks of the old wooden boards.
Finn had never lost anyone to the Voyant, but the people he called his family had. That was good enough for him.
“Do you see this broken window latch?” Sabrina whispered. “It must have been how they got in.”
“The blood spray is heaviest here. That makes sense. It’s where they’d been caught by surprise,” Charlie said. Sabrina reached into his backpack.
“I’ll get the kit and see if we can find any residue on the windowpane,” Sabrina said.
“Maybe we’ll be able to match tread patterns in the database and find out where they’re storing their supplies.
” The pair worked closely together. Their joking demeanor gone, replaced by another side he admired, they worked well together.
Charlie photographed the evidence while Sabrina dusted for fingerprints.
If I ever found someone, I would want to work with her in the field, too.
His heart spasmed at the thought.
No.
He wouldn’t want her anywhere near this.
Nobody should have to see this, he thought, kicking a torn-up teddy bear aside.
He clenched his fists. This could have been the feeling he had about the week being big.
He knew something bad was going to happen.
Something always went wrong. He was a bad leader.
A bad general. What sort of “general” led his army into a battle already lost before they even got there?
“Bingo.” Sabrina’s voice cut through Finn’s thoughts.
She held up a black backing card with half of a boot print centered on the page.
Size fourteen. Big guy.
As she covered the lifted print with another protective sheet, Charlie pulled out an evidence bag.
“We should consider working more closely with Atlas,” Charlie said. “We can’t keep going in blind.”
Atlas was the sister company of the Way Station.
It was based in DC and specialized in domestic terrorism.
All Conductors had to complete field training there.
Finn excelled in every test they put him through, including infantry skills, languages, leadership, and combat.
Henry had been so proud the day Finn took the oath.
After graduation, Finn was promoted at the Way Station and became the “general,” overseeing training and security.
Finn wanted to protect the only place he called home.
Many people looked up to him, and he didn’t want to fail.
Technically, he was the only one who wasn’t supposed to be there.
If he messed up, what if Henry kicked him out?
Finn shook his head without looking back at him. “Atlas won’t help. They’re too busy with their own agendas. We’ll figure it out on our own. I’m just . . . missing something.”
“But what if we’re not?” Sabrina’s voice was calm, but it carried an edge. She tucked her hands into her Kevlar vest. “What if we keep missing something because we’re not seeing the whole picture?”
Finn frowned, his eyes still fixed on the bloodstains. “We’ve seen enough. We know what they do.”
“But—” Charlie said.
“We just need to move faster,” Finn pressed. “We don’t know whether the shoe print belongs to a family member. It’s probably a dead end.”
He winced—bad choice of words.
“The boot print is on a windowsill on the second floor. It rained yesterday, so any other traces would have been washed away. This is from tonight,” Sabrina insisted.
“I’m sending the boot print to Atlas. Their databases are larger than ours.
I’ll also ask for a list of who is buying them in bulk, and Charlie and I can cross-reference it. ”
Lousy shoe prints? Is this what it came down to?
Sabrina exchanged a look with Charlie but didn’t press the issue. They’d gone over it enough in their weekly lead meetings. They’d had this conversation before, and they knew it led nowhere. Finn was stubborn, and once he’d set his mind on something, it was nearly impossible to sway him.
“The other Conductors will be back, and crime scene cleanup will arrive soon. Let’s do another sweep and leave,” Finn ordered.
The three of them moved through the house, careful not to disturb the scene any more than necessary. They worked with the local cops, explained the signs of a Legion attack, and gave them fifteen minutes to look around before they entered.
Nothing.
They found nothing.
A big fat steaming pile of nothing.
Four bodies. One missing. And all they had to show for it was a lousy half-boot impression.
How many nights had they been like this, with their tails between their legs?
How did Sabrina and Charlie still have it in them to get up day after day?
Finn let out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenched tight. “I’m going on a supply run,” he blurted. He didn’t want to go back home, back to an empty idea board, and to write a report to Henry saying he had failed.
Charlie exchanged another glance with Sabrina.
“?Cállense!”
“We didn’t say anything,” Charlie said, shrugging.
“Yes, you did. I can practically hear your twin telepathy,” he seethed, rubbing his eyes.
“We’re just worried,” Sabrina said, coming to his defense.
“I need a break,” Finn said, waving them off.
“I’ll come with you,” Charlie said, stepping toward him.
“Alone,” Finn said, ripping at the Velcro on his vest. Shoot him now. Who cares?
Sabrina opened her mouth to speak, but Charlie laid a gentle hand on her arm and shook his head.
Finn stormed outside, the evening air doing little to ease his frustration.
That word made his eye twitch. We. Grow up. If he had someone, they would be separate entities. He loathed it when couples did that.
We’re worried about you.
We’re going to breakfast.
We only eat our French fries dipped in a milkshake.
Well, he was going to get into his Jeep and drive far away from here.
His blood pressure dropped by only a fraction of an inch as the engine in his car purred to life. Finally, something made sense in the world. Alternators, ignition, suspension, wheel bearings, all working together in perfect harmony. Engines made sense. People? Who the hell knows?
He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he started the engine. Admittedly, he didn’t care where he went. He just needed to drive. Bring him that horizon, and everything would make sense again, washing away the failure that clung like a second skin.
Daryl’s Dash and Fast? Bleugh.
The name left a bad taste in his mouth. He had driven until the sun rose over the horizon—miles from the crime scene—but he still couldn’t shake the thought of failure. If they had had better intel and more time, those people could have lived.
His tactical uniform was strewn throughout the car. His bulletproof vest was somewhere on the floor, traded for his dark leather jacket. He didn’t even want to look at the offending articles of clothing. His uniform protected him, yet it did nothing to protect those he was supposed to take care of.
He drove until his problems were far behind, to the one place where he could truly breathe and be himself: the ocean.
A couple of years ago, he stumbled upon a stretch of the coast. The sand was soft, like powdered sugar.
Waves dared him to surf. The donut shop alone could negotiate world peace; the donuts were hot, sugary perfection that melted in your mouth.
But his gas tank was nearly empty; this was the only place for miles, and his hunger clawed at him.
He’d do horrible things for the breakfast burrito just a few blocks away.
The neon sign and the peeling paint of the one-stop shop seemed like the kind of place tourists stumbled upon and left with kitschy souvenirs they’d later find at the bottom of a dresser drawer years later.
Finn eased his car off the road anyway, tires crunching on the gravel lot that looked like it hadn’t seen help since the roads were first paved. Nobody was here. Figures.
Even the lone gas pump looked like it was surviving purely out of spite.
Finn wasn’t even convinced it still worked.
Somehow, it took his card. He took off the fuel cap, put it in his pocket, inserted the nozzle into the tank, and prayed for gas to flow.
The pump groaned as if it resented the effort, but the numbers started ticking up.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Coffee. He needed coffee. And whatever chocolatey, peanut-buttery snacks they had.
He reached into his car and pulled the dark green Forest Ranger hat with yellow stitching over his mop of sweaty curls to hide his face.
Once, he supposed, it must have been a pretty place.
There was an old beachside charm, bold given that the actual ocean was still a couple of hours away.
One entire side of the sun-bleached wood was covered with an old mural—waves, a sunset, a picnic, maybe a lighthouse, though large chunks of paint were missing.
Somebody needed to fix that front step. That was a suable offense. Grateful that there were no security cameras that caught his trip, he walked through the front door. That might have been the final straw.
The little bell jingled as he pushed open the creaky door. The shop was quiet, except for a pop song crackling from a radio speaker. Dusty postcards, novelty mugs, oversized T-shirts, and snow globes surrounded him. They also sold . . . barley. What the hell is barley?
Finn scrunched his face in disgust. The worm bait in a refrigerator that rattled and wheezed must have gone rancid.
He let out a tired sigh, about to turn back.
There was still time to pretend he hadn’t come in.
Nobody greeted him. Gypsy could make it a couple more minutes down the road.
Then he heard a noise from the back of the shop?—
“I’ll be right with you. Let me know if you need help finding anything,” a gentle voice called out to him. The voice stopped him in his tracks, settling deep in his chest, as if it had always known where to land.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he’d forgotten how to talk or why he was there in the first place.
The voice reminded him of a flower cracking through concrete to bloom. Someone that happy and bright didn’t belong among peeling paint and faded dreams.
A moment later, she stepped from behind a curtain that led to the back of the shop, into the sunlight.
The woman wore a white turtleneck sweater over a sunshine-yellow sundress patterned with tiny daisies, the dress swishing and swaying as she moved. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun, with strands framing her face. But he couldn’t look away from her bright blue eyes.
After she smiled at him, the world tilted on its axis, with her at the center—he would never make fun of Charlie ever again.
Nothing but her existence seemed important.
He belonged to her. He knew it. Every cell screamed it at him. It was as if his very soul had led him here to her. Finn had been searching for her his whole life. Some part of him had known she was here all along; he just had to find her. He had finally found her.
And he didn’t even know her name.