Lost Energy (12 page)

If he didn't stop talking to me as
if I were slow, I'd have to rearrange his handsome face. "Okay, you've
never explained it and why didn't you take us to my room in the first place?"

He stalked to his old room where he
still kept a lot of his stuff. "Because I didn't want to chance a
Protector waiting for us there."

"Did you ever think they might
be waiting at the theater or here?"

"They'd be dumb to wait here.
No one wants to go against Wilma in a one-on-one, and… I guess I didn't think
it through all that great."

I crossed my arms, the sweat and
grime from the stay in Arcus mixing with the summer heat of the mountain. The
feeling crawled under my skin. A shower was a must, even if I had to change
back into these clothes. At least I could wear one of Wilma's shirts.

When I didn't say anything, he
shrugged. "Hey, I'm not used to being on the other side. Give me some
credit."

"We don't have room for
mistakes, agreed? Think things through from now on, Ging–damn! What're you
doing?"

He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed
them down his hips. "If you don't get out, you're getting a show."

I covered my eyes and pulled the
door shut. "You're a pig."

His laugh echoed through the door. "And
you're annoying."

Touché.

∞
∞ ∞

As far as plans went, ours sucked. All
we needed were five minutes to get in and out. Unfortunately, Farren spotted
the two unmarked police cruisers sitting near my driveway. I highly doubted
they'd be nice enough to let us attempt to save the universe by giving a blind
eye.

Okay, maybe that sounded dramatic.
A little. Their lives wouldn't be too affected. This life, anyway. They'd thank
us if they knew there was a solid chance they could spend the next few lives as
a squid in Arcus or worse in another place.

Whatever. That didn't matter now.
The list did.

The plan involved diversion. A
small fire–actually, a big one was the first option. Farren wanted to torch the
theater, said Jake would understand. I disagreed. The place had more memories
in it than the Smithsonian. At least it did for Jake. If all went right, Wilma
could persuade local law enforcement and Belva's parents to forget the dead
body and kidnapping thing. Didn't give justice to the poor guy chained to the
radiator, but we'd take care of revenge for him. I wished we had his name. The
first casualty in the attack on Earth and no one even knew it.

"Hey, dream girl. You want to
get out of your head and join me for a second?" Farren's terse whisper was
as gentle as his jab to my shoulder.

I squatted lower next to the neighbor's
porch across the street from mine. "Sorry."

"All right, listen. I'm going
to backtrack, get closer to the car." A red sedan parked a block from my
doorstep was our unfortunate target. "As soon as the thing goes poof and
those bastards take off, you get in, get the list, and get the hell out,
understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Make
sure you disappear before they make it to the car."

His amped-up face scrunched into a
wounded stare. "Where's the faith, kid?"

"Calling me a kid when you
look exactly the same age sounds stupid, Ginger. Can you even grow a beard,
yet?" Mostly because I hated to swell his head, I grudgingly added, "I
do have faith in you."

"Hey, no need to get salty
because I age better." He squeezed my knee. "And thanks."

"Whatever." I snuck a
glance at the closest unmarked. One cop poured something from a thermos while
the other read the paper. The guy in the driver's seat had to be about fifty
and that many pounds overweight, but the one in the passenger seat sipping his
drink looked to be about twenty-five and completely in love with being a cop. All
muscle and buzz cut, like he spent his free time watching
Cops
reruns
and
NCIS
. I hoped the two in the car farther down the street resembled
frumpy cop. It'd be easier to get away if the blow-up routine didn't work. "Do
you feel any Protectors?"

"Not from here." He
scrubbed his hair, tension tightening the skin around his eyes. "Shit.
Okay, new plan. I'll backtrack farther, take a trip behind your place, and if I
feel anything, I'll let you know."

"How?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "If
somebody's there, you'll know. Trust me."

When he went to leave, I grabbed
his forearm. "Wait a second."

Concern etched his brow. "What?"

His face, the Arcus color making
him look deceptively deadly, twisted my heart. If anything happened to him… "Don't
get killed, okay?"

He squeezed my hand with a grunt,
his eyes going to my house. "You can't get rid of me that easy, kid."

"Promise?"

Farren didn't answer, his jaw
developing a tic.

"Farren, you promise? Promise
me, right now."

His eyes found mine, emotion swimming
in his dark eyes. "I will if you will."

My arms snaked around his neck, the
weight of what we were doing finally sinking in. "Deal."

"Get in, get out. Easy peasy."
He pulled away and scanned the street one more time. "If anything does
happen, you need to stay strong. We have to end this shit, with or without me."

"I get it, really." Maybe
I did, but if anything did happen, I didn't know if… It was a lot to ask,
giving up the guy who slid so easily into the role of my brother. Not to
mention it'd kill Belva. "Remember: I have faith in you."

Farren tapped his temple with a
grin. "Got it right here." He rubbed his hands together. His face
shined with excitement, like that same enthusiasm most guys have on football
Sunday.

So not right in the head, but
whatever. I'd rather him be excited about possible chaos. Shaky knees and
skittish nerves would get us killed.

After a wink, he faded into the
shadows, careful to avoid the streetlights. The sidewalks had a few stragglers,
most looking a bit wobbly as they tumbled from a house a few yards down. I
guess the cops didn't give a shit that a raging party with a few people I
recognized from my graduating class was in full motion. Under-agers and public
intoxication wasn't as important as a dead body and kidnapped girl.

I kept my focus on Farren as he
waited for the few people to trundle off, talking way too loudly into their
phones. For a big guy, he moved stealthily. If I weren't paying attention to
his every move, I would've missed him. A glance in the direction of Frumpy and
Robocop allayed any worries. Neither one perked up with a glance in Farren's
direction.

When he disappeared behind my house,
tension tightened my shoulders. The longest five minutes ever ticked by. Finally,
I spotted Farren's red hair in the first hints of dawn's sky. He sided up
against the house next to mine, giving a quick thumbs-up in my direction. His white
smile flashed in the shadows, causing me to roll my eyes even as I relaxed with
a long exhale. I understood courage. What I had a problem with was the crazy.

Farren pulled the hose from his
back pocket and took off for the car. He swore our archaic crap could blow up
fine with a hose and a match. Something about the stupidity of gas in
combination with machinery. Solar power, he always said, gave enough energy to
run everything without a flammable liquid.

As long as I saw a street-side
bonfire, he could light the damn thing any way he wanted.

When he disappeared, I got ready to
run. Track helped my speed–it also helped me take off at a moment's notice.
Wilma's shirt ballooned around me, and so I tucked in the edges until the ends
peeked through the leg holes of my dirty jean shorts. No need to have a
parachute slowing me down. My concentration stayed on the car parked by my
doorstep, house key held pointed and ready in my right hand. Frumpy and Robo
looked to be in a heated conversation with the younger cop's hands waving while
the older shook his head and kept his eyes on the paper. Mount Pocono's finest
at its best.

The blast came quick, as if Farren
had pre-soaked the car before siphoning out the tank and lighting the match.
The cops jumped, Robo's flailing hands smacking Frump in the face while his paper
smashed against the window. In seconds, sirens blared and the car skidded,
making a U-turn with expertise. A quick glance at the second unmarked showed
them doing the same thing.

I was off. Though I pumped my legs
as fast as I could, dreamy slow motion plagued me the thirty yards to my house
and around the back to the stairs leading to my kitchen door. I skipped steps,
leaping more than climbing, and stuck the key in the lock. A twist and a push
and I was in, heading straight for my bedroom. I refused to look at the chalk
outline on the floor by the living room radiator. Acknowledging the dead guy
made his sacrifice too real.

The house looked like a rave party
took place. Furniture lay busted and scattered all over, the door to my mom's
room dangled from its hinges, and my room wasn't any better.

Trying to remember the place wasn't
important, even though it represented the freedom Mom and I fought for, I
pushed through the rubble to get into my room. A snort escaped when my eyes
fell on the tipped mattress. Did I say the list hid under my mattress?
Correction. It hid
inside
, sewn in to be exact. Home Ec taught me a
little.

Whoever decided to give our place
the hurricane treatment didn't get what I needed, thankfully. I ran into the
kitchen and grabbed a steak knife off the floor. Wasting no time, I stabbed the
memory foam, digging in the blade until papers crinkled. The knife dropped to
the carpet as I felt for the thick, folded notes. I tugged the yellowing stack
free before finding my bag and shoving it in. I then went to my closet and
searched my little hidey-hole, covered by some loose drywall the same blue as
my walls.

"Yes!"

All the money I had saved for
college and my ID were still there. At least I had that. My phone was nowhere
in sight. I threw what I had in my bag, along with some clothes, and went to
the living room window, forcing myself to stand in the dead guy's outline.
Still no sign of any cops near my place, but a few were racing toward the show,
along with a couple fire trucks. Turning on my heel, I went to the back door,
flew down the stairs to our designated meeting spot, and waited.

And waited.

Waited some more.

Night disappeared completely and
dawn snuck in to spoil our cover. If Farren didn't show in the next few
minutes, the sun he swore by would give us away. As all the bad ideas crept
into my brain, from him blowing up with the car to getting arrested by Frump,
his red head bounced in my view. Relief brought me to my knees, my only cover
the bush beside the local bank's ATM. When he caught my eye, his smile
stretched wide and his gait turned into a cocky saunter. Shaking my head, I
stood to meet him.

Before I could take a step, Farren
stopped, a hand going to his head.

Shit.
Shit!

The unmarked that wasn't by my
house, squealed to a stop, not three feet away from Farren. Impressive, seeing
as how Farren stood in a backyard, complete with an herb garden and swing set.

Over the din of the sirens, Farren
waved his hand, and mouthed,
Go to Wilma's
.

I threw my bag into the bush and
went to stand by his side.

He wasn't having it, shoving me
hard toward the bank. "Don't be fucking stupid."

"I'm not leaving you."

Two men left the car, doors staying
wide open, and approached us, interrupting our argument. Both had smirks on
their plastic-looking faces. Before I had a chance to get into the fight,
Farren charged both with one of those war cries heard in movies involving angry
Highlanders.

The noise surprised the two
Protectors for seconds. But seconds were all Farren needed. Holding his arms
wide, he clotheslined both in their necks. They dropped, but jumped right back
up, double-teaming him.

I raced to one, kicking him behind
the knee before smashing my elbow in his back. He screeched, rolling off
Farren, who got busy bashing the face of the other one he managed to hold under
his weight.

My guy wasn't done, either. He
stumbled to his feet and charged me. Before he could tackle my ass to the
ground, Farren grabbed the guy's ankles, which unfortunately helped free his target.
"Run!"

I still didn't want to listen,
especially when both guys pounced on him, giving Farren a proper beating.
Feeling desperate, though, I ran. Ran until I made it to the fire–and to all
the cops standing around said fire. I had to hold the edge of my T-shirt
against my face, the smoke invading my lungs and stinging my eyes. "Help!
That guy from TV's beating up two cops!"

At least five cops turned in my
direction, including Frumpy and Robo. When they didn't move, I repeated, "The
guy. From TV. Is. Beating up. Two cops."

They finally sprang into action,
following me as I took them to Farren. Right as we got there, one Protector had
his arm raised about to open his fist, while his other arm curled around Farren's
neck.