Ignition Point (8 page)

The footsteps of the two men crunched closer and then stopped. Lucas took two steps back, allowing them in. His brother would want to check her, to be certain Lucas had done as he’d been told.

Edgar’s oldest daughter was dead. The family would know the cost of their betrayal.

As Jacob inspected the body on the beach, Lucas turned his impassive gaze to the other man. He could see the energy haze of the man’s Spark. Jacob was partnered with a Spark? Jacob detested Sparks.

But we do what we must for the good of the family, no matter how unpalatable.

“Who are you?”

The other man gave him a cocky dip of his head as his lips curved up in an expression halfway between a grin and a smirk. “I’m the man who’s going to train you to be the best damn mid-range agent-in-training Zone Three has ever seen.”

“You’re an agent?” It was less a question than a confirmation. His grandfather used the tools that God provided, as Lucas himself had finally done.

“Marreau.” The man stuck out his hand as he offered his name.

Lucas calmly took it, offering a firm shake. “You’ll be training me?”

“And escorting you down there, yes. Looking forward to a little dry heat.” The man shivered at the damp coolness of the Pacific Northwest’s version of summer.

Beside Marreau, Jacob shifted, his hand dropping from the dead girl’s neck. He nodded over his shoulder at Marreau then flicked a warily respectful gaze over Lucas.

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Spark.” The words were grudging, but honest.

Lucas nodded. “We’re not done today.”

Jacob cocked his head at his brother.

“There’s a little girl being hidden in the Kennels. A strong one. Emma.”

Jacob’s brows lifted. “We can run a sweep now.” He finally offered his brother a smile.

Lucas felt his lips curving in response.

“Grandfather will be proud,” Jacob said, “especially because of the relationship.”

Lucas let the curve become a full smile. Yes. That was the feeling that had blown through him, a wind to push away the grief, leaving behind the purity of their goal. That was the feeling surging in his chest. Pride.

Ghost
Story

Somewhere in the deep desert of Zone Three

Five years before the events in
Spark Rising
…

The Dust wanted to help. Lena truly believed that, even with her fearful heart pounding in her ears. Most of the time it was dormant, waiting for her to call it into action, ready to charge a battery, or spark a flame, or whatever else she dreamed up. Sometimes, like today, the Dust around her woke without her conscious intent. She could hear it at the back of her mind, a sibilance that wasn’t quite a whisper, a rushing that wasn’t quite the wind. Times like that, when it woke up with nothing specific to
do
, it always tried to help.

Lena fought to remind herself of that as she clung to the edge of the roof. Fright coated her dry tongue. Her hard, sawing breaths puffed away the sand in front of her to be caught up by the gusting wind and carried off. She lifted her cheek from the hot roof to look over her shoulder and fought vertigo. There was a good eight foot drop down to the desert below with no guarantees that whatever the sand covered would be safe to land on. Sparks healed fast, sure, but a broken neck would still kill her.

Why the Dust couldn’t have grabbed her attention by pinging a warning in her head, she didn’t know. Instead, it swept itself and the sand up into a dust devil right at her feet on a calm, windless day. Narrowing her eyes against the grit and stepping back instinctively might not have been a problem except that she’d been up on the roof of a long-abandoned house searching for any useable solar panel components. She’d been so focused on her visual inspection that when the Dust made its grab for her attention, it had caught her off guard.

She could still hear the buzz in her head, the equivalent of the Dust shouting at her.

“All right,” she grunted as she spared another glance over her shoulder at the ground below. “You’ve got my attention.”

Apparently whatever it wanted her to see, it wanted her to see it from here.

The front and interior of the house were buried under the dune that had wind-crept its way across the little valley to pile onto the front of the ancient structure. It flooded into the broken windows and doors, cresting over the roof. Lena had walked right onto the roof from that side, drawn by the old chimney pipes sticking up through the sand. The glint of reflected sunlight promised solar panels might be hiding under the layer of sand that thinned as it spread across to the rear of the building. The house had acted as a wind break. This side of it was free of the dune.

Lena craned her head around again, looking to either side. She cast her gaze first over the sandy hills surrounding the little basin that cradled the house. Once she was reassured that there weren’t any Neo-barbs or Scavengers belly down in the sand watching her, she focused closer to the house.

She was so concerned with what was below her that she almost missed the sound of footsteps on the grit of the roof she dangled from. Her eyes flashed up, catching the blur of earth-toned clothes, dark hair, and intent eyes.

She froze.

Neo-barb!

A split second later, she regained the use of her body and did the only thing she could. She let go.

He slid to a stop on the roof above her now, looking down at her as she wheezed, panicked and unable to pull back the air the ground had knocked from her. He didn’t jump down, though. He squatted at the edge of the roof, waiting. It took her more time to catch her breath than she would have had if he’d been hostile. Lena pulled herself to a sitting position, bringing in her focus. The Dust waited, just like the man.

He still stared down at her, appraising. She knew she didn’t look like much. Filthy from being out for the last three days looking for salvage she could refurbish and sell, the red hair she’d recently sawed short for the coming summer must be dark with sweat. Of course, she was always skinny, short, and freckled. Those features never changed. He probably thought she was a kid. Most people did.

“
No eres Carronero
.” When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse from dehydration. “Not a Scavenger. Right?”

The wind fluttered his hair back from his face. Under the sparse beard and dirt, he had the baby face of a kid himself. He couldn’t be more than her twenty years. She’d be shocked if he was out of his teens. Of course, that made him no less deadly.

She considered how to answer. Generally speaking, no one had any use for Scavengers, those who lived at the outskirts of civilization preying on the unwary. If you were unlucky enough to meet a troop of Scavengers alone, you could only hope to be lucky enough to be killed. The man in front of her clearly wasn’t one of them. He wore the earth-toned natural fibers of a Neo-barb.

Unlike Scavengers, the so-called new barbarians, those most everyone referred to as Neo-barbs, weren’t criminals rejected by society. They didn’t feed off of the edges like the Scavengers. They were descended from those who had rejected the memory of civilization, preferring to live on their own, far away from the relo-cities that had grown up out of the relocation centers after the Great Disaster. Some were nomadic. Some lived in villages. But they all had one thing in common. Their ancestors had walked away, much as Lena had herself.

Neo-barbs had no use for Scavengers. But Scavengers never traveled alone, and the lie might scare him off. She meant to say yes, but Lena surprised herself by shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “These are Native lands. Scavengers stay away.”

He blinked. “I’m tracking a troop north. Small group, but vicious. They hit my village nineteen—” He shook his head. “Twenty days ago. Took a little boy—my brother, Damar.”

Lena’s heart sank. That wasn’t good. Not for the boy, certainly. Not for Lena, either, if the Scavengers kept heading north. The abandoned gas station she’d converted into a home was a few hours northwest. She nodded at him. “Now you and your village are looking for them.”

Say what you wanted about the Neo-barbs, they had their own code of ethics. If it was possible to get him back, they wouldn’t stop until they had.

“Just me,” he said. Then, softer, almost to himself, “
Yo soy mi pueblo ahora
. I’m all that’s left.” He rose then, one hand holding his side. A dark stain spread across his shirt under the flare of his fingers.

Lena swallowed. Her father had died protecting her. It hadn’t been in a pitched battle on the plains far from so-called civilization, no. But the agents of the Council of Nine who had been responsible for his death were no less two-legged predators than the Scavengers.

“Do you need water?”

“You have extra?” His voice and face showed his shock at the generosity of the offer. One didn’t lightly offer the most precious commodity out here in the desert of what had once been New Mexico, not even in March before the heat truly arrived.

She nodded. “I can spare a little. I can tell you where there’s a good well for refilling, too.”

“I’m coming around.” He turned, trekking along the roofline to the side of the house where the sand had drifted about halfway up to the roof. He clambered down there to head back to the rear.

Lena removed her canteen and offered it to him. He stayed back, clearly not wanting her to feel threatened. He took the water from an arm’s length away. Lena thought he exerted massive control, taking only two long draws. He held the water in his mouth, swishing it side-to-side before swallowing. Lena told him where to find the well after he’d handed back the canteen.

“But you’re hurt,” she added. As soon as he’d come closer she could smell the infection that would kill him in a few days. She was pretty sure the flush across his face wasn’t just from the sun. Even in the best of health, it wasn’t likely that he’d be able to rescue his brother and avenge his village. Like this? It was impossible. A sick boy alone against Scavengers wouldn’t survive. Not without her. She weighed the danger to herself, then sighed. “I can help.”

“You’re a
curandera
?” His doubting scrutiny swept over her.

Of course, Neo-Barbs would be familiar with Native healers. They’d barter for Native training in medicine. But there weren’t many freckled, red-headed Natives in this area.

Lena shook her head. “Spark.”

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Spark?” He huffed a brief laugh. “I’m not a battery.”

Lena took a deep breath. The voice in the back of her head was shrieking at her—not the Dust, but the voice her father had planted there when she was very young. He’d told her over and over that she must never show anyone what she could really do or the Council would come for her.

“Actually,” she told the young Neo-barb, ignoring the desperate voice, “you kind of are to me.”

Lena raised her hands, letting her expression ask for permission. He stared at her a moment, then nodded, turning slightly so that his injured side was toward her. She could see a matching wide stain on the back of his shirt now. It was a through-and-through wound, made by either a sword or an arrow. She lifted his shirt and took out her knife, showing it to him before she sawed away the dirty cloth he’d wrapped around himself as bandages.

The wound was ugly, jagged, clearly not made by any arrow. This was a blade designed to inflict maximum damage, although it had clearly not done its job well or the boy wouldn’t still be walking. The smell of the infection that had set in made her gag in spite of her best efforts.

She looked away, breathing quick and shallow to reclaim her focus. When she turned back to him, his face was knowing. Devastation lurked behind his dark eyes. He knew he wouldn’t make it.

“Do you have medicine for this, Spark?”

She slowly nodded, holding his eyes. “Yes.” She swallowed. “But it would take a lot from me. If I do this, I’ll be weak afterward. Too weak to protect myself.” She started to shake her head, slid one foot backward.

His hand grabbed her wrist. His skin on hers was dry and hot as the fever worked its way through him. “But you can make me strong again?”

Lena said nothing.

He must have taken her reluctant silence for confirmation. “How?”

She didn’t want to answer, but she did. “Your body—all our bodies—runs on electric pulses. Our nerves. Our muscles.” She wasn’t sure he’d understand. If she didn’t
see
inside with the Dust every time she sank down into herself to heal, she doubted she could have understood. “We’re like batteries. Or more like machines. The Dust that’s in us…I can tell it what to do, where to go, how fast to work. That’s how I heal. But it demands a price from me.”

She stopped there. He didn’t need to know how complete her control over a body could be. No one needed to know that. Just like he didn’t need to know what could happen if she overreached.

“If you do this, I’ll stay. I’ll stay until you’re strong again. I’ll protect you.”

Lena shook her head. Without the ability to protect herself, he could do anything. She’d be like any other small woman in this world, vulnerable.

“On my honor and the souls of my people, I will stay and protect you. Just give me this chance.” His eyes, dry from dehydration, nevertheless shone with emotion. “
Please
. Give me this chance.”

“But you’ll die anyway!” The stark truth of the words rang out.

“No, I won’t. I’m not going to take them all on. I’m going to be smart. Lure them out. I can do it.” He gripped her wrist. “Even if they kill me, at least I won’t die of fever. I’d rather die trying. I can’t just let them have him. You know what they’ll do.”

She did. Scavengers were slavers. They hit villages, outposts, trade caravans. Those they didn’t kill or keep for personal use were sold—as laborers, as breeders, as chattel. If the Scavs had killed everyone in the village to take just one child, they were filling an order. Someone wanted a boy of a particular age, and they wanted him quickly, or the Scavs would have taken their time so they could sweep up more of the village’s children for their own purposes.

“Help me, Spark.”

Lena sighed. Of course she would. If she knew who to pursue to take vengeance for the death of her father, nothing would stop her.

“My name isn’t Spark. It’s Lena.” She gestured with her chin, indicating he should sit. “This will take a while. Make yourself comfortable.”

He nodded, easing himself to the ground, hand clutching his side. “I’m called Ghost,” he said. At her look, he smiled. “I move so quietly. No one ever knows I’m there, like a
fantasma
.”

“Ghost, huh?” Lena kneeled at his side. “Let’s see if we can keep you in the land of the living a bit longer.”

She gently pulled his hand from his side, curving her own to hover just above the filthy, oozing wound. “You’re going to feel warmth,” she murmured, then reached with her mind for the Dust that lived within him.

After the Great Disaster, when the fires spread the Dust into the sky to follow the wind currents around the world, the Dust settled everywhere. It was in the air, the water, on the surface of everything, invisible. It was in the people who breathed, drank, and ate, too. That didn’t matter to other Sparks. All they could do, regardless of their strength or skill, was manipulate the Dust in and on inanimate objects. They could charge a battery, or run a turbine, or make a capacitor. Lena could do more. She could talk to the Dust, even the Dust that was dormant deep within another human being. She could ask it to do anything for her. If it could, she knew it would.