Planet Heist (The Dunham Archives Book 1) (9 page)

“Ready?” He asked with a smirk.

“Always.” I replied.

He lunged at me head on, an obvious move of someone who has little training. I respond by sidestepping and waiting for his next attack. This is simple, really. I would beat him in one move once he leaves his guard open.

And in a moment, he does.

He swing the flat of the blade sideways at me, but too low. He does not anticipate it when I jump over the blade and crack the hilt of my sword on his shoulder. Momentarily stunned, Salah did the expected and blindly swung in my direction. I smacked the flat of my blade on his side, leaving a burn, and then stood, a swords’ length away, with my blade at his neck.

“How many times do I have to beat you for you to admit you need training?” I pondered aloud.

“More than twice.” He responded seriously, “Again? No weapons.”

“Fine. But know this: I can break every bone in your body without laying a hand on you.” I warned him.

“I seriously doubt that. You’re powerful, but not that powerful.”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

I closed my eyes.

“You’re so confident that you plan on beating me with your eyes closed?” Salah asked.

“Yes.”

I focused all of my energy on him, and when I heard him move, attempting to be stealthy, I used my will on him. Concentrating my chakras, I opened my eyes, knowing that they would be glowing – literally – with the red light of my will.

Suddenly, Salah fell to the ground, holding his arm. I was slowly breaking it, but I would stop eventually.

“Stop! Please, make it stop!” He pleaded, looking pathetic. At once, I curtailed the pain that was in no doubt crippling his arm in agony. An arm, unlike most things, wouldn’t bend that far before snapping slowly in two.

“I warned you.” I told him, offering my hand.

He was hesitant.

“Come on. You have to trust me if we’re going to work together.” I beckoned.

He took my hand and I pulled him up. Without any shoes on, I realized that Salah’s about four inches taller than I.

“How can I trust you knowing you’ll break my arm with no hesitations?” He asked.

“Fear is a big part of trust,” I smiled, “You already fear me, so it’s time we trust each other.”

“That’s a lesson I’m willing to learn.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but was interrupted.

“Kairee!” Rowan’s voice rang from the bottom floor, so quiet all the way up here, “Get down here!”

“Coming Row!” I yelled back, and stalked off to the door. Once I was there, about to open it, I realized that Salah wasn’t behind me.

“Are you planning on gracing us with your presence?” I said.

Salah began walking towards me.

“Alright.”

When he reached me, I took his hand and began running. We weren’t down very far down when he stopped me.

“This would be faster if we slid.” He informed me, running his hand along the smooth railing.

“I hope you don’t mean what I think you do.” I said suspiciously, “I haven’t slid down a stair railing in a long time.”

“Well, then this can be special.” He responded, “Coming?”

Sliding down the rail was strange, as I had not since I was five or six, racing Rowan from the top of the house to the bottom, and I realized it was much faster. And it still was, I reached the bottom floor quite a few times faster than I would have on foot. When I finally did touch down at the bottom, I ran at full speed to the room where I knew Rowan was waiting – the center of the living room, in front of a sixty inch plasma screen. There was a news report on.

“A news reporter recently told us of a climactic new twist on the Dunham crime sequence. As you all know, Kairee and her brother have been on the mission for their three-hundredth crime, and there have been some serious speculations,” The reporter said in a voice filled with inflection, “But now, we have confirmation that Kairee plans to steal the Xeron, the latest in technology, stored on her home planet, Saize, under heavy security and literally under the earth – thousands of feet below the Institute of Technology.
And,
” She continued, more excitedly and somewhat suggestively, “There’s a new accomplice involved. The delicious native Egyptian criminal Salah, the Younger. Guesses have been made about mixed feelings between Rowan, Kairee’s younger twin, and Salah, about Kairee’s obvious infatuation with the tanned hunk,” At this, my eyes widened, “Between all the drama of her life, Kairee has gone a terror spree around Egypt, threatening police, killing originates, and taking hostages. The experts suppose that Kairee is planning the big theft for the next few months, so the leaders of the Institute have increased security by a hundred fold. More measures have been put in place in an attempt to keep out this cunning mastermind. But, knowing Kairee, it will take more than a thousand armies to stop her from getting into that building. Stay tuned to see the measures taken against Kairee, Amy Perkins, ABC News, Signing off.”

“Delicious?” Salah muttered quietly, “Am I really a tanned hunk?”

“No.” Rowan snapped back quickly.

When the report finished, a man came on the screen with a tear-stained middle aged woman, and began speaking in a sad, tenor voice, “Here’s Melinda Bradford, the mother of Jason Bradford, a waiter at an Egyptian Bistro,
The Mauve
, that Kairee recently killed.” They went on and on about my killing spree and interviewed her about her son and raised money for them, since they were in need of funeral money, and all the classic stuff surrounding my murders.

I had to sit down. The magnitude of the report slapped me in the face like a ton of bricks. The breath of my lungs was gone and back erratically in hyperventilation.

“Kairee? Are you okay?” Salah grimaced, sitting down next to me and laying a hand on my shoulder.

“They know.” I said in a panic, but I attempted to swallow it, and then, failing, “Everyone knows. It’s going to be impossible to get in the Xeron room. We won’t even be able to get in the Institute.” I rambled on.

“Snap out of it!” Rowan barked, “Kairee.” He looked into my eyes, a mirror of his own, and was so soft that I wanted to cry, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll make it in, and make it our, with our prize. It’ll just take more effort than we’ve ever put forth for something, but as you well know, it’s never impossible. Not for you, and not for us. They don’t know the day, the hour, or even an idea of what we can do.
Dunhams never lose.
”

“But we don’t know what’s down there, we can’t know. It could be protected by the police or even dragons and demons, and everything in-between. For all we know, each of us could be pitted against each other in some unknown challenge of will.” I replied.

Salah rolled his eyes, “That’s not even possible. Only you can control your willpower.”

“We can’t dwell on the unknown, but we can rely on what we know – our selves.” Salah told us, “We need to train, I need to be trained. So, until we know all we can, let’s get to work.”

“Alright then, oh wise one,” Rowan mocked, “Then is it time for our fight?”

I was confused as they seemed to be mentally bantering about something.

“I’ll win.” Salah replied with an undertone of some kind in his voice.

“You wish.” Rowan smiled.

“Can I watch?” I pique up.

“Of course,” They reply, in unison – Salah smiling in an almost suggestive manner and Rowan glaring at him.

“Fantastic, let’s go.”

When we were back upstairs, I sat down on the floor as Rowan stretched and Salah psyched himself up. Rowan and Salah glared at each other as they prepared to fight, giving way to many suspicious thoughts rumbling through my head. I was still baffled at the reason for their hatred, though there have been the obvious rumors about my affection, but those are ludicrous; Rowan knows that he’s my brother, my one true confidant, and Salah knows that he’s my only real friend, if that’s the right word. My affection for them has no overlap, so it shouldn’t be fought over. With these thoughts running around my mind, I almost missed the beginning of the battle.

There was no countdown of any kind – Rowan simply ran at Salah, shaking me out of my reverie. Row sent out a barrage of moves so fast I hardly followed them. His left elbow hit Salah square in the jaw, a distraction. Salah knew this, somehow, and jumped as Rowan attempted to kick his knees in. Mid jump, Salah landed on Rowan’s ankle and twisted his arm around. Rowan responded fluidly with a shoulder to Salah’s stomach, leaving him winded. The return from Salah was spinning around and punching Row in the throat, leaving my brother coughing. Salah continued to beat him down with hits to his shoulder, stomach, and legs. Rowan was on the ground, retching, when Salah finally kicked him in the side. Salah smiled at me, his lower lip bleeding. I grinned at my brother, knowing what he would do. It was truly a classic family move. Rowan wasn’t hurt at all, simply using an evident distraction to his advantage. Rowan jumped up when Salah wasn’t looking, taking him in a headlock and slamming him down on the floor. When his opponent trying to get up, Rowan smashed his fists into Salah’s previously damaged ribs and then right in his neck, where Salah had hit him earlier. Unlike Rowan, Salah stayed down for a few moments, truly pained by a punch in the neck.

But then, after a few painstaking seconds, Salah came back with a murderous look in his eyes, slowly standing up, and then doing a technically unfair move – but in our rules, anything and everything goes. Salah jabbed his index finger into the pressure point on Rowan’s shoulder, pressing him to his knees. Next was a salvo of kicks to Rowan’s stomach.

“Stop!” Rowan cried.

I was shocked – Rowan didn’t believe in losing, or quitting.

Something was off.

I scanned the room, looking for something, anything that would alert me to a problem. Then, I saw it, or rather heard it. A small tapping sound was coming from the wall directly opposite me, and upon further notice over the next few milliseconds, I saw that someone – or something, as the case might have been – was shooting my bulletproof window. There was a tiny crack, maybe a centimeter long, growing across the plexiglass. The small plink of the shots was hardly noticeable, as neither of the boys were paying it any attention. But I knew that’s what was wrong with my brother. He was still on the ground, gagging and convulsing.

“Kairee!” Salah yelled, worried, when Rowan suddenly stopped moving, “What’s going on?!”

I ran over, nervous, and checked Rowan’s pulse.

“Unconscious.” I confirmed, “But alive.” Always alive. “Listen Salah, there’s someone out there and they’re trying to get in. We need to get-”

The lights began to flicker, and I heard the emergency generator beginning to go on. Every light near me went out, leaving us the dim light of twilight shining through the windows.

“They’re draining the power, trapping us inside! We have to get out!” I shouted over a sudden noise coming from outside.

“Take the stairs,” Salah shrugged, oblivious to my situation.

“The stairs are behind electronically locked doors. Without power, they stay locked.” I explained, “In simple terms, we’re screwed.”

“No. There’s only one way out. Down.” Salah gulped.

There was a scream from behind us and I whipped around. Rowan’s body was twisting and convulsing, and I knelt by him. He writhed and held his head.

“Kairee?! Kairee! It’s inside my head! Get it out!” Tears were streaming down my brother’s face, and he was shaking.

“What’s inside your head?!” I asked frantically, “What’s out there?!”

“It’s
her
!” He yelled, and I could swear I heard his heart beating through his chest.

“Zenda?” I cowered, shaking on my knees.

He nodded, trembling. “She’s…she’s screaming.”

“Calm down. Rowan, listen to me,” I said softly, “we have to get out of here. Now. Zenda’s drained the power and we have to …jump.”

“Jump?!” Salah quipped, “We’re six stories up!”

“Then what were you suggesting we do?!” I snapped.

“Well we could-”

The window shattered behind us, sending a shower of glass over our heads. Some of it crashed down near us with an unearthly clatter. The window in front of us collapsed in front of my eyes, falling out of the room instead of in to it – a controlled explosion.

There were footsteps behind me, fast and furious.

I scanned for a way out besides the obvious. The window was six stories above our pond, which was sixty feet deep. I did the math in my head while I ran to the door and looked out. If the average person can jump off the Golden Gate Bridge in a perfect pencil dive and live, which is a fall of 220 feet, give or take a few if the tide is right, we could theoretically live from a 120 foot fall into sixty feet of water. As long as the almost unconscious boys next to me could pull off a perfect dive. Although, on the flip side, once we reach terminal velocity, if the air pocket around us ruptured, hitting the water could be worse than hitting cement.

The footsteps came closer, and I panicked.

“We could jump! Now!” I screeched, grabbing their hands and running out the window. I dragged them behind me until we were out in the air, free falling.