Blood Hunter Page 2

  "They're wearing gloves and proper clothing. I saw to that," Thomas pleaded. "They haven't broken the law. This isn't necessary."

  Where was Scott? Hannah ignored her stiff muscles and stood up straight. The bright sun made her already wet eyes tear up even more. She could see him on the other side of Thomas, who was still arguing with Doctor Johnson. Division Six had him surrounded, each officer with a gun pointed at him.

  "I'm not blind, Carraro. Your wife's report clearly stated that Miranda Dane had your son beaten to coerce Hannah Quinn into surrendering. Even from here I can see he has no bruises. Either Catherine lied or this one — " he jabbed a finger in Hannah's direction — "healed him. A direct violation of our laws."

  "Let her go. You're hurting her." Scott's voice, sounding anguished.

  Thomas appeared in front of her, ignoring the sputtering Johnson. "Officers, listen to me — "

  "Step away," one of the officers ordered.

  "She's hurt," Thomas continued, holding his arms out toward Hannah, to fold her into his embrace. How she wanted to run toward him, but the cop still had an iron grip on her arm. "She needs medical attention. We're going to the hospital anyway. Manhandling her isn't necessary — "

  "Step away, or you'll be arrested as well."

  If they arrested Thomas, what would Catherine do? She created the Committee but clearly she didn't control it. Not if this Johnson guy could show up with Division Six and take her away from everyone she'd come to care about. In her mind's eye she could see herself at the hospital, strapped down to a bed, the door locked behind her just like the freezer door.

  Panic overtook reason. Division Six's clothes and armor kept them covered head to foot. No skin-on-skin contact was possible, so there was no way she could use her bloodsurfing skills to defend herself, unless…she looked up. The cop wore a ski-mask style face helmet to cover his skin, but he still had to breathe.

  This is going to be gross. In a second, Hannah whipped off the glove on her left hand and jammed two fingers up the cop's nostrils.

  Inside. She found herself in the lateral nasal artery, but quickly jumped into the corresponding vein. Traveling down, she swam into the facial vein and eventually the external jugular vein for her trip to the cop's shoulders.

  Just like Miranda's mercs, she knocked out the shoulder, elbow, and knee joints in what felt like a minute inside, but more like a few seconds outside. The freedom to move without pain made her faster, giddy, almost joyful. A piece of her anger broke free and vanished. She swam up to his vocal chords and paused, looking at the undulating muscles. He was screaming. She could hear him over the wind of this breath rushing from his lungs. When she was a prisoner in the quarry, she'd slashed the mercs' vocal chords to keep them from calling for help.

  It would serve the cop right if she denied him his voice, just like they were denying her. She had a temper. It had taken eighteen years and the promise of freedom the Blackwoods had given her to realize just how much of Miranda's abuse she'd internalized.

  Yet, this Division Six officer didn't need to have his vocal chords destroyed because of her anger. Who knew what Johnson had told him about Catherine's report? Hell, she didn't even know what Catherine had reported. She'd never thought to ask because it hurt too much to think about and it was just a preliminary report anyway. She couldn't purge herself of her past. She could only move forward and she couldn't do that from inside someone else's body.

  Part of her wanted to stay in here to avoid having to deal with the consequences of her actions, but no — she'd made this choice. No one was going to hurt her ever again without payback. Even if they were cops.

  When she emerged, she found herself on the ground next to the cop's body. Above her stood the rest of Division Six, all of their guns pointed at her.

  "Let me through."

  Johnson spoke as he shoved his way toward her, his teeth bared, his ugly brown suit disheveled. She rolled off the cop with hands raised, ready to fight again.

  "You've done enough damage as it is." Thomas yanked Johnson back. "You'll get her killed."

  "She just attacked an officer. Look at her." Johnson pulled his collar out of Thomas's grip. "She's ready to attack again. I will have her arrested this time."

  "You'll do nothing of the sort," Thomas insisted. "You've overstepped your boundaries. You were supposed to escort her to the hospital. This is a gross misuse of your position and I'll have you removed from the Committee."

  One of the other officers lowered his gun. Hannah thought for a second that Thomas was getting through to them, so she lowered her arms. Instead, the cop grabbed her by the back of her neck. Her neck couldn't handle the violent movement and the sharp resistance pulsed through her muscles. She protested again, with a shriek of pain. She reached up again, looking for skin, anywhere she could make contact.

  Before she could blink Scott appeared, out of the blue, right in front of her.

  "Scott, where did you — "

  Before she could finish, Scott punched the cop and ripped her out of the cop's hold. Scott had her back in his arms, but the whiplash movement was too much for her to handle, and blackness returned as the world swirled to darkness.

  Scott held onto Hannah for dear life, his face buried in her neck, expecting to get shot or at the very least, tased. Nothing happened for a minute. He could hear his own staccato breaths, but nothing else. No shouting, no shooting, not even the smell of salt or the sound of waves crashing into the harbor.

  He lifted his head a half-inch to look over Hannah's shoulder. Instead of the wooden boardwalk, soft light-blue carpet cushioned his knees. He knew that color. He lifted his head the rest of the way and saw he was in his childhood bedroom, the one at the Blackwood estate.

  "Hannah?"

  She pulled her head away from his shoulder, her face buried in his shirt, her eyes squeezed shut, wet with tears.

  "Hannah it's okay. We're okay. You can open your eyes now."

  She moaned and her head flopped to one side.

  "Hannah, don't pass out on my now. Please." He tapped her cheek as gently as he could. "C'mon, Hannah, stay with me.

  Her eyes opened, the bright green still stunning even with tears. He could tell the exact moment when she recognized where he'd brought her.

  "Scott, we're — "

  "Yeah, I know."

  "How — oh, my God. Your Alt power. You translocated us from the harbor back here."

  The wonder in her voice dried her tears and matched his own shock. "Yeah. Not just from the harbor to here, but away from the cops trying to 'cuff us."

  Hannah turned to him. "You're amazing."

  Scott would have debated the amazing part, except they didn't have time. Division Six would track them here first, even if it was just a guess. "We need to get out of Thunder City. If we stay here, they'll arrest us for attacking the cops."

  He adjusted his arms around Hannah, to give give her more leverage to remain standing as she remained pressed against his whole body, not just his arm.

  "I blew it," she said. "I let my temper get the better of me. Why couldn't I just go with them?"

  "You shouldn't have had to." He guided her over to his bed. "This isn't the way Thunder City treats Alts. Catherine wouldn't have allowed this. If she hadn't stayed behind at the quarry, she would have defended you."

  "How do you know?"

  Scott shook his head, once again amazed that he would defend his mother. "The Star Haven Newcomers were given gloves and clothing, and were assigned to trainers to help them along. Johnson is twisting the law to make it cold, ugly. Something else is going on around here."

  "How are we going to get out of town?" Hannah pulled away to sit on his bed. Scott remembered the last time she'd been in his bed. He tucked that wild memory away while he reached over to help her lie down, but she waved him off while she toed off her sneakers, groaning.

  Scott shed his gloves and knelt next to Hannah, his hands massaging her arms. Why shouldn't he? They were already want
ed. How much worse could it get? "Division Six has my guns, my comm, and my wallet. We can't take any of the cars in the garage because the cops will just put out an APB for all of the Blackwood vehicles."

  Hannah closed her eyes. "And I don't have any guns, phones, or money. How long before you think they'll find us here?"

  "Not long enough." Scott’s mind raced. He had no friends in Thunder City, no one he could call on who would put their own freedom on the line for him. There was Juan back in Star Haven - no, those bridges were burned when the news media exposed him as an Alt. There were other ways out of town, but first he'd need money. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

  He brushed his lips on her forehead before he headed down to the first floor. It only took a minute to get to Thomas's office. The office offered the comfort of the same warm colors found on the Elusive Lady. Books lined the bookshelves and a small bar stocked with Thomas's favorite liquors.

  Scott gripped a set of books and pulled them off one of the bookshelves. Using his thumb, he forced the back panels to pull away from the shelving. Behind the panels, a safe appeared. He keyed in the combination along with his thumb print.

  Thomas had never kept any secrets from Scott, including access to his private safe. Thomas had a history of playing fast and loose with the law, and always kept cash, phones, and fake IDs handy for the entire Blackwood handy. "Just in case," he'd told his newly adopted son with a coy wink, trusting him even as a young teen to make good decisions.

  Scott scooped up two of everything, but as he did, his fingers brushed up against something in back of the safe. He pulled out a Ruger, a newer model than the one Division Six had taken away from him. Scott reached in again and pulled out a box of ammo. Thomas never used guns. He preferred to outthink his opponent. It also kept his father in compliance with the agreement Catherine had signed to not arm T-CASS in deference to police training. Scott wasn't a part of T-CASS and Thomas knew that. It was a clear signal that this gun was for Scott's use. He loaded it now and slipped it into his holster.

  The weight of the gun against his chest comforted him. Next he headed toward the guest room given to Hannah when she first arrived at the estate. He grabbed a pair of black yoga pants and a blue athletic shirt from the closet. Then he headed for the master bedroom, grabbing one of his mother's oversized beach hats and a pair of sunglasses, before he raided Thomas's side of the bedroom for jeans and an oxford shirt before returning to his bedroom. He'd owe both of his parents a new wardrobe before this came to an end. If it ever came to an end.

  Don't think like that. Hannah deserves peace. I'll find it for her. If I have to translocate us to the opposite side of the planet, I'll find it.

  The old rock posters ruffled when he breezed past them back into his bedroom. "I have money, phone, and a fake ID for me. The problem is — Thomas doesn't have an ID that will fit you. You'll have to use the one he created for Catherine."

  "As if anyone is going to mistake me for Captain Spec." Hannah sat up with a wince, giving the beach hat a side eye. Regardless of what she thought about his sense of fashion, she took the clothes, the phone, and her new ID.

  "Don't worry about that part. We just need to get to the train station." He stripped off his shirt and slacks. He knew Hannah watched, but now wasn't the time for that. Still, he couldn't help but show off as he slipped on Thomas's jeans.

  "The train station?" Hannah looked a lot less scared and more interested while he zipped the fly.

  "Yeah. It's still early enough for the morning rush hour. Hundreds of commuters milling about, noise from the trains, and lots of families leaving for a weekend getaway before school starts. If we're lucky, no one will notice us." The jeans fit fine, but the shirt was a little tight.

  "How are we going to get there?" Hannah slid off the bed and reached for the yoga pants. Scott couldn't help himself — he watched Hannah get dressed, just as she had watched him. Instead of enjoying the view, the bruises on her body stoked his anger. He remembered pushing the bullet into Miranda's forehead. The satisfaction of that memory was the only reason he didn't put his fist through the nearest wall.

  "I'm going to translocate us there."

  Hannah paused before slipping on her shirt. "No. Scott, you can't."

  "Obviously, I can. I got us here didn't I?"

  Hannah pulled the shirt down and stood there, arms crossed, snap and color returning to her face. "Look, I get it. Your ability is amazing, but it's not a toy. All the dangers Thomas had warned you about — getting us stuck inside a wall or halfway sunk into the ground — "

  " — and told you about," Scott interrupted.

  "We had a brief conversation." Hannah admitted. "All those dangers aren't something you can ignore. You got lucky pulling me away from Miranda. You got lucky translocating yourself toward the cops, too, and then both of us here. At some point though, your luck will run out. You've only translocated us to places you could see or that you knew would be empty. A train station filled with people is something entirely different."

  "I know that, but it's either the train station or we just wait here to be arrested. You can't run, not in your condition."

  He could see the fear return to her eyes. Arrested meant locked doors and worse.

  She sighed. "If only I had kept my temper."

  "It's not your fault." He hugged her. He needed to feel her next to his heart, her head tucked right under his chin. They were a perfect fit.

  She stayed there for a moment, but only for a moment. "All right. If we're going to do this, let's do it."

  He watched while she piled her hair on top of her head, tucked it under the hat, and slipped on the sunglasses. His doubts returned when she stepped back into his arms. "You're familiar with the train station?"

  "It's been a while." More like a decade. He'd never really had a reason to use the train to get anywhere.

  "What do you remember about it?"

  Scott had to close his eyes to think. "The clock tower. In the center of the lobby. It's huge so everyone can see it. It sits in the middle of a small garden. The garden is decorated for the change in seasons or for a holiday, but it's roped off so no one tramples over it."

  "Aim for the garden, then, so we don't wind up inside the tower."

  "Right."

  Hannah tilted her head back, looking him in the eyes, while wrapping her arms around his waist. The faint sound of sirens wafted through the window.

  "Close your eyes," Hannah instructed. "Think about the clock tower garden. You know you want to be there. We need to get there. Make it happen."

  He closed his eyes and thought about the garden, calling up a vague memory of stanchion ropes messing his hair as his toddler-self made a beeline for the rocks lining the garden. He wanted to pick up the rocks so bad, to collect them for whatever childish reason he'd decided was important at the time. He'd almost made it too, until Catherine noticed he'd wandered away and pulled him back to the right side of the ropes.

  Nothing happened. The sound of sirens grew louder.

  "It's not working." Why? It worked just fine at the harbor. He hadn't even thought about what he wanted to do, it just happened.

  Hannah placed a hand on his heart. "What were you thinking about when you translocated to me at the harbor?"

  "You. I was thinking about you. They were hurting you and I wanted to make it stop. Next thing I know, I was right next to you."

  "And after you punched the cop?"

  "Safety. I wanted to get you somewhere safe."

  "So, your bedroom was the first thing to pop into your mind?"

  "Yeah. This room," he looked around, "It was my safety net until — " He stopped. Evan had apologized for almost killing him during a teenage prank. He didn't want to think about it now. He didn't need anger. He needed focus.

  "So, if I'm in danger, it works?"

  What could he say? "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be sorry, just — " She looked over his shoulder. Her green eyes went wide. Her scream damn near shattere
d the windows.

  Thinking about sharpshooters, Scott grabbed Hannah and closed his eyes.

  The high pitch of brakes squealing and a loudspeaker announcement melded with Hannah's scream. He opened his eyes to see short clipped grass under his feet. Hannah was still cradled in his arms. Next to him was the faux brick of the clock tower.

  "Hannah?" He unwrapped his arms from around her shoulders.

  She looked around. "It worked. You did it."

  "I guess I did. What did you see out of the window?"

  Hannah gave him a confused look. "What?"

  "What made you scream? Was it Division Six?"

  "Oh, no. There was nothing outside your window. I just screamed so you'd think we were in danger and trigger your power."

  Scott almost laughed, but settled for shaking his head. "Let's get out of here before we attract attention."

  3

  Hannah stared at the train rolling into the station from under the brim of her hat, willing it to move faster. She'd hidden in the restroom while Scott had bought their tickets at the window. News from the quarry raid played on the overhead televisions in a repeated cycle, but so far no one had recognized her.

  Just a few more minutes and they'd be on the train. There were at least four major cities south of Thunder City. This train was a commuter and stopped at each of them before it reached the end of the line. It didn't matter where they got off the train, as long as they could remain anonymous.

  As long as they could stay together.

  "Don't move."

  The words were quiet, whispered just loud enough for both her and Scott to hear. Scott had heard too because he stiffened beside her. Hannah closed her eyes. It was too much to have hoped that they'd make it onto the train. Scott didn't turn around either as the train glided to a stop.

  "You're going to walk off this platform without giving me any fuss, or I will take you down hard."

  Hannah risked looking over her shoulder, pulling her sunglasses down her nose. Hard brown eyes stared back under a large scar through the guy's left eyebrow. He was shorter than Scott, but wider in the shoulders, giving him the look of a brawler. Overconfidence rolled off him like steam. She didn't remember seeing him at the Arena before the quarry raid, so she guessed he was Neut, a neutral, working for the Oversight Committee instead of T-CASS. She could work around overconfidence, though. Whoever he was, he wore regular clothes — blue jeans and t-shirt — which made her think he really didn't care specifically about her or Scott. This was just a job.