Twisted (#1 Deathwind Trilogy) Page 21

Highway 54 is almost barren.

  There's nothing but a car or a truck here and there. Weeds wave down in the breeze. The sky goes on forever and high, wispy clouds stretch out like thin spiderwebs. No sign of storms. Even they need some rest. It's the first break I've had in the past two days.

  Tommy drives at forty, eyeing every distant barn we pass. They're all new. Metal. Modern and shiny. “Well, we've got to be close to four miles north of town. I'm bad with directions, though.”

  “Keep going,” Dorian says from the backseat. “We'll find it soon.” He taps my shoulder. “You remember the tree the van got wrapped around? I'm sure it's still got some marks.”

  “Good idea,” I say. We pass a herd of cows grazing. “I think I remember this. This was when Kyle was pointing out where he'd thought the tornado would come down. He drove another minute or two after this. We're almost there.” My heart races. I scan the horizon for crappy barns. Uncle Cassius's car. Any other sign that we're close.

  Dorian leans forward so far his face is above the gearshift. His breath's warm against my neck, making my skin tingle in a way I can't describe. “Is that it?”

  Tommy slams on the brakes and I look. “Yes! Stop!”

  It's the tree, the first one in the line that separate fields. It’s complete with gouge marks in its trunk. Kyle's van is gone, long pried away. The tree stands tall, scarred and defiant.

  We're almost there.

  Tommy brings the car to a stop.

  I scramble out of the car. Run to the tree and run my hand down its ravaged trunk. It’s smooth where the bark's been ripped away.

  That woman can't be far.

  I turn, taking in the landscape. “We’ve got to look around.”

  Fields ripple with crops. A flimsy fence marks the border between one farm and another. The sun beats in my eyes, orange and low to the horizon. Otherwise, nothing.

  “Looks like we have a lot of walking to do,” Dorian shouts from down the road.

  I face him. He points down a muddy road that separates a couple of ditches. Tire tracks run down its length, going to nowhere.

  “How do you know that's the road we need to take?” I ask.

  “Because,” Dorian says, “these tracks are fresh, and they're not tractor tracks. Believe me, I can tell the difference.”

  “So you're saying my uncle might’ve turned down that way.”

  He nods. I'm not sure I like the expression on his face.

  “How do you know he's the one who went there?” My stomach turns.

  “Yeah. We can't know for sure,” Tommy adds, echoing my thoughts exactly. “Let me see those tire tracks. I might be able to tell what kind of car they came from.”

  Tommy knows nothing about car tires.

  I let him check anyway. It’s making him feel more useful, more important. Tommy’s got to be the one feeling left out in all of this. That’s not how I want him to feel after all he’s done for me.

  “While you're talking about what kind of car made those tracks, I'm going to walk this way and see if my uncle's on the other end,” I say, passing them and stepping over a muddy rut. “There's got to be something this way. I don't see anything else we can check out.”

  “Coming,” Tommy says, huffing as he catches up to me. “As soon as I hide my car. I think I’ll park it behind those trees. You know, just in case.”

  We wait for Tommy to move the car behind the line of trees. It’s so well hidden, I can’t tell where it is. I keep my face calm, but inside I'm screaming. They might have my uncle tied up or something. Maybe they even forced him to make that phone call so I wouldn't go after him. Not that it worked. “Tommy, you should really go back and wait,” I say when he rejoins us.

  “Not happening.” He walks faster to keep up. Fighting not to get left behind.

  Dorian joins us. He takes a stride for every two of mine. “Being an Outbreaker sucks, you know. Bad joke. But yeah, new or old. You don't want it. You might want to go back.”

  Tommy shrugs. “Not worried.”

  “Not worried?” I explode. “You're not serious. You saw what happened to me. Twice.”

  Tommy mutters something and we walk, not making eye contact. The ground bounces with each step, stretching into infinity. Grass waves, green and yellow. My legs itch with the heat of the day.

  And then, I spot the first sign of something behind a line of trees.

  It's covered in red, peeling paint and choked by tall grass. The roof's caved in like somebody just slammed a giant fist down into it.

  It's the barn.

  Where they turned me into this.

  I stop. Tommy and Dorian do too.

  “That's it, isn't it?” Dorian asks.

  I nod, feeling exposed on this track.

  “I've never been back here,” Dorian says. “Doesn't look like anything, to tell you the truth.”

  “Maybe they picked this place because it's so far back from the road,” I say. “I don't even know if anyone's here. We should cut through those trees. Just in case.”

  “That's what I was thinking,” Tommy says. He bites his lip and his gaze darts around. His tough guy act is melting away like an ice castle under a blow dryer.

  I'm glad. Tommy wouldn't enjoy a trip to that altar in the barn. No one with sanity would.

  We get off the road. Or path. Or whatever it's called. The trees block out the sun, making everything dark. Bugs swirl into my eyes. Branches poke at us. I watch every step I make, avoiding every twig that I can.

  The trees clear and the barn stands—or droops—before us.

  No one's here. Some bugs make a loud buzzing sound. The door's wide open like an ancient mouth begging for something to eat. From here I can see a sliver of the concrete floor, swept and tidy. It's ready for someone.

  “I don't like this,” Tommy says.

  “You'd better not,” I say. If there are any cars, they're parked in the back. “Maybe now's a good time to look around. Uncle Cassius might be here.”

  Dorian takes the first bold steps into the open. He strides right for the barn, not bothering to look around first. Then he stops and peeks in through the open door. “You're right. Empty.” He nods to us. “You might want to come look at this.”

  I follow, letting out a breath. Tommy joins me.

  I stop next to Dorian and look into the place where my life changed for the worse.

  The altar’s still there. I can’t tell if it’s a table or slab. It’s covered in white cloth that teases the floor and blows in the breeze. The hole in the ceiling casts a circle of light in the middle of it even though the sun's too low in the sky to do that. Shudders run along my skin, trying to escape. This isn’t natural. It doesn’t feel right.

  “Creepy,” Tommy says. “So this must be where they worship the tornado gods.”

  Dorian bites his lip. Pales. “There had better not be any.”

  “Agreed,” I say. “But what else would that force be that slammed into my chest?”

  Dorian blinks and looks down. “Don't know. It's weird.” He steps into the barn.

  A low growl sounds through the air and the breeze rushes in like a chime announcing his presence. It dies a second later and he stiffens, turning to face me.

  Dorian waves his hand through the air. “Looks like whatever's in here knows what I am. Anyone else care to come in?” He holds his hand out like a gentleman, nodding at me. “There might be something here that'll give us a clue about where your uncle went.”

  “Doubtful,” Tommy says. Translation: I am not going in there.

  But there's nothing left for me to lose. I step into the darkness. Breathe in the musty air and the dust.

  The breeze snaps into the barn again, ruffles my hair, and dies. I turn my gaze up to the ceiling. The hole above remains orange in the setting sun. The circle of light stays on the altar, unreal. A swi
rl of panic rises in me and I look at the ceiling, terrified that force is going to appear and stab down at me again. I suck in a breath when nothing but the ceiling spreads over my head.

  I can’t freak out now. We have to look around.

  “I wish we had more light. Other than that freaky stuff.” Dorian nods at the altar and walks away. “Wait—there's something on the walls over here. You might want to check it out.”

  I do. I squint in the deepening darkness and peer through the dust swirling through the cracks of light.

  Orange lines decorate the back wall of the barn. It's spray paint. They're tick marks, some so old that they're peeling. Above it, crude writing in pink spray paint reads TURNED.

  “Looks like they've been keeping track of their victims,” Dorian says. “What else could this be? I don't think it's wins from a card game.”

  I reach out. Run my hand down the splintering planks, counting the tick marks in groups of five. Twenty.

  Plus three fresh orange lines at the bottom.

  For me, Uncle Cassius, and Kyle.

  “Yeah. That's what this is,” I say, backing away. I feel like ants are crawling all over my skin. “Looks like I'm New Outbreaker number twenty-three.”

  “What do you see in there?” Tommy asks.

  “We'll tell you when we come out,” I say. “It’s not pretty.”

  “There's more over here,” Dorian says, waving me over. “This wall's worse.”

  I turn.

  More orange tick marks line this wall, some crossed off with pink, but far more left untouched. There's a lot more here. A hundred. Maybe more.

  And above it, two words read: TO GO.

  It's their hit list.

  My stomach turns.

  These freaks won't stop until they've turned that many people.

  “Guys,” Tommy shouts in his best we're in trouble voice. “Get out here. I hear a car.”

  I suck in a breath. Run outside. Tommy’s backing away to hide behind the barn. We join him. The sound of an engine grows louder. Tires bump across dirt. Somebody’s coming up the dirt road.

  “Crap.” I squash myself against the barn. There’s nowhere to run. There’s no old farmhouse. No other buildings out here. The trees are too far away to get to in time. They’ll see us if we go for them.

  “Can’t tell who it is.” Dorian peeks through a crack in the wall. He’s close. He smells like spring and summer. My skin heats with something that has nothing to do with the sun on my back.

  The crunching of gravel gets so loud I’m sure the car’s going to roll back here. Then, it stops and the engine goes dead. Whoever’s here must be parked in front of the barn, in sight of the entrance.

  Doors open and close. Feet hit the ground. Someone scrapes theirs and gives a muffled shout. It’s a man.

  I have to look. I nudge Dorian out of the way and press my eye against the crack.

  The woman walks in, dressed today in an orange summer dress. There’s a bandanna tied around her face like she’s some sort of bandit and she’s wearing an ugly baseball cap. She and the bearded, older guy (who’s also hidden behind a bandanna) clutch the arms of a blindfolded, gagged man in a plaid shirt and dusty jeans. A farmer. It looks like they’ve kidnapped him right out of his field.

  The woman and the bearded man stop. The farmer leans over, trying to stall, perhaps trying to see through the blindfold. He’s silent. Reviewing his life, maybe.

  A third figure walks into the barn behind them and stops. It’s another man in a ski mask and jacket who stays in the darkness. Then a fourth man enters, face bare.

  I bite my lip to keep in some bad words.

  It’s Kyle. Our tour guide.

  “Honey,” he says to the woman. “I’ve been gone for two days, and now you’re changing the whole plan? Why didn’t you tell me about this? He’s not even a storm chaser. It’s hard enough for them to take this. What’s this going to do to everyone else?”

  The woman turns to face him, keeping hold of her latest victim. “What choice do we have? We’re running out of time. You haven’t brought in enough people. Only two during your last chase.”

  “Three, Madeline.” Kyle pounds his chest with his fist. “Do you think I’d offer to get turned myself if I didn’t think we were falling behind? I don’t know how I’m going to run my business now.” He sighs and shakes his head. “We’d better find another chaser to bring them in. I won’t be able to get near a storm now without transforming and killing my customers. It’ll be years before I gain the control that you have.”

  I fill with ice.

  Kyle’s the roper for these freaks.

  He put us in front of that tornado on purpose.

  Madeline shakes her head. “Another chaser isn’t going to keep up fast enough. I want this to be over.” She looks at the captive nods to the bearded guy. “Set him down, Dad.”

  “No.” Kyle rushes in front of the farmer and sits on the altar, blocking the way. “Let me find another chase company. A few, even. We can threaten to turn them if they don’t bring us people. Sweetie, listen to me. I know you’re scared, but it’s better to stick with people who like severe weather. It’s more humane.”

  “We won’t be able to turn people fast enough that way!” Madeline shouts so loud it might make the barn come down. “If we fall behind even a little…I don’t want to think about it. This needs to end. Evansburg has at least a hundred and twelve human people in it. They’ll have to work. Whether or not they like storms isn’t important anymore. We can’t discriminate. If this experiment works tonight, I can send the Deathwind into town. I know where everyone lives. We won’t have to kidnap anyone else. And if we have to, we can explain it all to the old Outbreakers and they might even help us. About fifty of them live in the country around here.”

  The Deathwind. It’s a name that sends shudders through my being.

  The captive tries to say something through his gag again. He pulls against Madeline and her father, but it’s no use. Even the guy in the ski mask stiffens.

  Kyle eyes the ceiling and glares back at Madeline. “Send it into town?” He stares at the opposite wall. “I don’t think the old Outbreakers will want a part of this. We should keep it quiet from them.”

  Madeline keeps her gaze steeled against his. “If this works. Maybe the Deathwind can turn people in their own homes. I grew up in Evansburg. Everybody knows everybody here. As long as I know where someone is, I think I can send the Deathwind after them. I know exactly where everyone lives and where they sleep. The middle of the night would be best. They’ll all just think it was a bad dream in the morning. Most of Evansburg will be back from the state fair by Friday. That’s when it’ll have to strike.”

  I swallow. My heart’s on a runaway course.

  She’s going to turn everyone in Evansburg. Everyone who’s not already an Outbreaker. Every man. Every woman. Every child.

  Kyle screws up his face. Sighs. “Okay. We might as well try. I for one can’t wait for this to end.” He stands up from the altar. “Set him down.”

  I can’t move. Fear paralyzes me. I’m ice. Panic. I don’t want to see the Deathwind again.

  Tommy reaches around me and pulls me close. Heat fills me enough to let me breathe, even though I can feel him shaking right along with me.

  Madeline and her father force the captive down on the altar. She holds his arms. He keeps his legs down. The man thrashes and screams, growing weaker in his losing battle. He sounds like a tortured animal. The sounds tear into me and burrow, where they’re sure to pop back out the moment I go to sleep again.

  “The blindfold.” Madeline nods to the guy in the ski mask.

  Ski Mask obeys, steps forward, and tears it off, leaving the farmer no shield from what’s about to happen to him.

  Dorian shoves his way to my peephole and we share it. Our faces touc
h. I’m left a sliver to look through, but it’s enough.

  The ceiling’s gone and storm clouds spin in its place. They form a cone pointing down at the farmer’s heart. He thumps up and down, trying to escape, his muffled screams from behind his gag whipping away into the roar.

  The Deathwind.

  “Now,” Madeline orders.

  She and her father let go.

  I jump. The farmer rolls off the altar, scrambles to his feet, and bolts from the barn. Dorian backs up and crashes into me, but I slap my hand on the planks and stay up. Tommy leans over, getting a better look. I join him.

  The farmer runs out of the barn. Past us, huffing for the weeds on the other side of the dirt path. Tommy grabs my arm and pulls me down so we’re crouching in the grass. The farmer doesn’t see us. He tears at his gag, tossing it to the ground and plows into the overgrowth.

  Madeline shouts, “After him!”

  The storm silences inside the barn.

  A second later, dark clouds explode above the farmer’s head, swirling and hungry. The roar rolls across the field at us, warning everyone to stay away from its prey.

  “What the—“ Tommy starts.

  The funnel slams down. The man falls. Screams. The Deathwind spins harder, driving down into the field where he’s lying. Drilling. Descending. Draining into him.

  Turning him.

  It happens so fast.

  I blink and the storm clouds are gone. Grass waves back and forth in the fading light as if nothing’s happened.

  A low groan sounds from the weeds.

  They’ve claimed another victim.

  “It…it worked,” Kyle says from inside the barn. “M…mark another line on the wall, will you? At the bottom there.”

  Someone—probably Ski Mask—shakes a spray can and goes to work. It hisses. Number Twenty-Four.

  Oh, god. I exchange a look of horror with Tommy and Dorian.

  The Deathwind isn’t trapped in the barn after all. Evansburg is hosed.

  “Let’s go. We’ll take him back home before he wakes up. He’ll just think it was a nightmare.” Madeline’s voice is relief. “This is what we’ll have to do. I’ll give the orders tonight. I know where everyone will be on Friday night. Then it’ll be all over.”

  Feet scrape against concrete and the four of them exit the barn.

  I hold my breath. We’re standing at the side of the barn, with no time to run around and hide. They’re going to turn towards the farmer and walk right past us, and then--

  Too late.

  Kyle appears first. He freezes and his gaze lands on me. Shifts to Dorian and Tommy. He swallows and looks away like he’s trying to think fast. But then the rest of them come around the side of the barn, Madeline smacking right into him. “What?”

  She turns. So does her father and the guy in the ski mask. Madeline’s eyes narrow behind the bandanna.

  My mind goes blank. I leap in front of Tommy. Dorian does the same. The two of us have nothing to lose. We’re already doomed.

  But Tommy isn’t…yet.

  “What are you kids doing here?” Kyle asks. The horror of his discovery's right on his face. “Allie...did you drive all the way from--”

  “You ruined my life!” My lungs burn. I'm shaking. Out of control. I hate Kyle and Madeline both. “Why did you do this to me? To my uncle? Why?”

  Kyle holds up a hand. “Whoa. If you'd just--”

  “Wait,” Madeline says. She peers around me. To Dorian. “This boy's an old Outbreaker, but the one behind them...he's human.”

  Tommy curses.

  Kyle blinks. His mouth falls open. The guy in the ski mask shifts leg to leg. Madeline's father waits there like he’s not sure what to do.

  Madeline stares us down, expressionless. She closes her eyes. Mutters something.

  Dorian and I turn to Tommy. He’s the color of overcooked pasta.

  I shove him back. “Run!”

  He does, pounding his feet and pumping his arms.

  I bolt after him. Dorian stays on my heels. Tommy darts for the open field, then turns for the woods. Cover. He might be safe from the--

  A low whooshing sound fills the air. Darkness spreads over Tommy's head like someone's pouring smoke into the air above him. It keeps pace. Swirls. Prepares to strike. He looks up. Screams. Ducks his head and covers it with his arms.

  “Crap. He won't make it,” Dorian puffs.

  He's right. I know what I have to do.

  “Tommy!” I shout, sucking down gulps of air. “Stop! Get down!”

  He skids, diving to the ground. The funnel forms and descends.

  I dive for Tommy. Land on top of him. I pin him down, driving his face into the dirt, ignoring the roar all around me. “Dorian!”

  He crashes into the pile and we form a shell over Tommy. Tommy shouts something into the dirt. A plea. A curse. I can't tell in the noise. I crane my neck. The funnel lingers over us, trying to find an opening to spear its victim.

  “Go away!” I shout. But my words blast away. I have no control over this force. Not like Madeline. I tighten my grip on Tommy. Wrap my other arm around Dorian. The funnel drops lower, picking at my clothes, spinning harder in frustration. It won't get Tommy. I won't let it.

  “Stop! Madeline, call it back! Just this once.”

  The voice booms across the yard, loud and commanding.

  It's the man in the ski mask. Madeline runs behind him, skirt flapping. She shouts something that's lost in the wind and the funnel breaks apart.

  The air's clear. Quiet.

  But inside me, a cry rises up.

  The man in the ski mask freezes feet away.

  Madeline stops next to him. “You said your niece wasn’t supposed to come out here.”

  The cry explodes out of me and I sit up with the shock.

  The man pulls off his ski mask.

  It's Uncle Cassius.

  “Sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging with defeat. “I should have known.”

  Chapter Fourteen