Tremble (Denazen #3)(53)
I stopped for a second, shocked it’d actually worked. I’d tried it several times on Dax, and the most I’d managed was a sprained shoulder and a ton of embarrassment. My lips twisted into a goofy grin, thrilled over my accomplishment, before I realized I was doing it again. Losing focus. But it was too late. One of the guards came running up from behind and threw his arms around my torso, pinning both arms stiff at my sides. Head back in the game, I didn’t hesitate. In one of our training sessions, Dax showed me a trick to throw an opponent off balance. I drew my knees up, forcing the guard to support all my weight as well as his own. He didn’t anticipate it, and the move sent him teetering—as planned—and stumbling forward.
We hit the ground in a heap and I wriggled free, but he refused to give up. Clutching a handful of hair, he yanked back, and a painful scream built in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time someone pulled my hair. Kindergarten maybe? And definitely not a guy.
I twisted and kicked out, catching his shoulder with the heel of my sneaker. I couldn’t hear anything above the noise the crowd made—people were screaming and talking all at once—but I felt something give, accompanied by a sickening crunch. The guard released my hair and let out a scream that would have done an opera singer proud.
“Oh, man. I’m seriously sorry,” I said as I scrambled to my feet. He was just doing his job, and I felt bad. He didn’t understand what was going on.
The Denazen agents, on the other hand, did.
I made it to the edge of the crowd as they closed in. Four of them, one approaching from each corner of the mob.
“Everyone calm down,” the one to my right called out and the crowed hushed. “We’re Homeland Security. We’ve got this under control.”
Homeland Security? Were people really that stupid?
The crowd shrank back ever farther, quieting, and I had my answer. Yes. Yes they were.
The agents came within four feet, and the one who had addressed the crowd spoke in a voice only loud enough for me to hear. “Where’s Ben Simmons?”
“Ben Simmons,” I said, tapping my chin. “Simmons. Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s he look like? Is he hot?”
“Don’t play games, little girl,” he growled. “Simmons is dangerous. You’re not doing yourself any favors by helping him.”
I shrugged. “I like danger.”
“Do you?” He took a step closer, grin stretching to remind me of a freaky clown I’d seen as a child. Good thing Kale wasn’t seeing this. He hated clowns. “Do you like pain as well? This is your last chance. Tell me where Ben Simmons is.”
I was about to tell him to check all the spots the sun didn’t shine when a woman from the crowd let out a horrific shriek. Everyone’s attention went from me to the front of the room. I didn’t see it at first and wondered what the big deal was as the crowd scampered to either side of the room like the floor was on fire. But when I did, I was filled with an even mixture of fear and elation.
On the other end of the room, crouched low by the door, was Kale. Moving away from him—and speeding toward us—was a dark, churning thing just below the tile floor. It reached the brim of the crowd and separated into four distinct trails, zooming around me and settling beneath each agent.
As an entire room full of fearful Nixes watched, the agents exploded into puffs of dust, sending the crowd into a crazed panic. Suddenly the door—the place we needed to get to—was the place everyone wanted to get to. The entire room rushed the exit, screams erupting. One woman behind me shrieked something about aliens, while a younger man called out a warning about terrorists.
Seriously?
I didn’t know how we were going to explain what happened, but I wasn’t worried at that moment. One disaster at a time. I propelled myself from the building, along with the crowd, and made a beeline for Dax’s waiting car.
21
Ginger hobbled around the table and set the glass of water down in front of Ben. “Feeling better?”
He grabbed the glass with both hands but didn’t bring it to his lips. Instead, he sat there staring over the rim of the cup, mouth open slightly like he expected the liquid to boil and fizz.
“Mr. Simmons?” Ginger tried again, taking the seat across from him.
At the mention of his name, he started, looking up from the glass and flashing us an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ve been having a hard time focusing lately.”
“That’s the drug,” I said, tapping the side of my head. “Same thing’s been happening to me.”
Ginger didn’t say anything, but Mom’s head swiveled like a woman possessed. “What?”
“It only just started,” I admitted, focusing back on Ben—I didn’t like the look on her face. Somewhere between fear and anger. Now wasn’t about me. This was about Ben. “What else is different?”
We’d been sitting at the table in the kitchen for the last two hours now. By the time we arrived back at the cabin, Ben was calm and seemed to be more himself again. He’d wanted to rest, saying he felt wiped, but Ginger had to explain things while he was lucid. We didn’t know how long it would last, and if there was any chance he could help things along for Kale, we needed to find out while there was still time.
Ben must have decided the water was safe because he lifted the glass and took a tentative sip. I got the impression he didn’t like being the center of attention because he kept his head down, not looking any of us directly in the eye.