Burnout (The Invasion Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

  She rubbed the grit from her eyes and scooped her jeans off of floor, making a mental note to do laundry today. Or at least, get as close to doing laundry as she could. She missed automatic laundry machines almost as much as she missed coffee. Dressed in yesterday’s clothes, she stepped out into the hallway, shoving her messy hair back up into a ponytail as she went. Hushed voices came from the kitchen—Andrew and Grandpa by the sound of it. Iris, Jill, and Emily were probably still upstairs, unless Jim and Eric had given the all-clear signal during the night. She started to head that way, but paused as she passed the arch that opened into the living room.

  No one had wanted to let the boys out of the sight of whoever was keeping watch, even after it became evident that they weren’t going to Burn. Jill Royce had been in the process of making up the couch for the Reeds when Grandpa shooed her and Ava off to bed. Caleb and Zack weren’t in the living room, though their duffle bag was sitting on the end of the couch with the blankets folded neatly on top of it. She was about to continue on into the kitchen when her grandfather entered.

  "Morning," he said, running an affectionate hand over her hair.

  "Hey," she replied. "Everything okay?"

  "For the moment...Jim and Eric said a pretty big group of Burnouts showed up just after we cleared the street. Some of 'em moved on during the night, but there's still about a dozen up near the Garrison house."

  "What are we gonna do?"

  "For now, sit tight,” Grandpa said, frowning. “Everyone stays inside unless it's an emergency; you and Ava decide if you want to stay here, or go on back to the house. I'm going to head over to Eric's place and help them keep an eye on things. Hopefully, they'll leave on their own. If not..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

  Lydia glanced towards the kitchen and lowered her voice. "I could do something. Maybe?"

  Grandpa went still, his frown deepening as he ran a hand through his iron gray hair. He, too, shot a narrow look at the kitchen, tilting his head to listen for any voices. "Lydia.” He rested one hand on her shoulder. "Not unless there's no other choice, you understand me?"

  "But Grandpa, I can help.” She wasn’t sure she could get a group as big as the one Grandpa described moving away from the barricade, but she was willing to try. “I could try to get one of the cars out in the street moving, maybe slam some doors.”

  "It's too dangerous,” Grandpa insisted, his eyes pained.

  Lydia bit her lip, looking down at her shoes for a moment. “Do you really think they wouldn’t understand?” she asked in a small voice. “They’re our friends! It’s not like being a Psio is illegal. I’ve never heard any of them say anything bad about us! You really think any of them bought into those people saying people like me caused this?”

  “Lyddie!” Grandpa said, “Lyddie, sweetheart, no. No, I don’t think that. I just—” He laid his hands on her shoulders, gripping them tightly. “I don’t know, all right? I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t know how they’d react. Especially with strangers in the mix. We have to be careful.”

  Up until Invasion, Psios were something that belonged in science fiction stories. There were many things that existed only in the imagination before Invasion, but Psios were certainly the strangest of them. It wasn’t a common thing—most scientific studies estimated that somewhere between three and five percent of the global population displayed measureable psionic abilities. It wasn’t a statistically insignificant number, but it wasn’t as though people bumped into Psios everywhere they went.

  Still…up until Invasion there hadn’t been any at all. Well, not any that science could confirm. No one was still quite sure how Psios had come about; if it was some talent humanity always had that had somehow been brought out, or if it was a product of the Invaders. There were a ton of theories, of course: chemical weapon detonated in the atmosphere, exposure to Invasion tech. The real crackpots (the ones that liked to blame Psios for everything from hang nails to hurricanes) theorized that it had to be secret experiments performed on unsuspecting humans by the Invaders themselves.

  Whatever the reason, Psios started appearing in the population a year or two after Invasion. A Psio’s ability varied from person to person, with little to no rhyme or reason that anyone could find. Some people could sense emotions, some could pick up stray thoughts or project their own to people close by. Some could move small objects by looking at them, or light matches with a thought. In some of the more famous and sensational cases, people had been able to make plants bloom, or predict what a person in another room was going to do.

  But the thing about Psios—the thing that had probably kept them safe, and kept people from panic-fueled witch hunts—their abilities were small. Limited. There was a noticeable increase in the strength of abilities if they got handed down through generations, but nothing truly Earth-shattering. Psios, for all that some people hated them, feared them, were still basically just parlor tricks. There were only a few records of people developing a psionic ability to the point it could be dangerous, and even those instances hadn’t been recorded in decades.

  It was supposed to be as close to impossible as you could get in world where Invasion had happened.

  Lydia was supposed to be impossible. Her family was supposed to be impossible.

  Psios weren’t supposed to be able to hold a full conversation from any room in the house, all without ever speaking a word, the way Grandma had been able to. Psios weren’t supposed to be able to touch an object and instantly know its entire history, no matter how far back that history stretched, the way Mom had been able to. Psios certainly weren’t supposed to be able to do what Lydia could.

  Lydia hadn’t actually encountered a limit to what she could lift and move with her abilities, and she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been able to use them. According to family tradition, Jennifer St. John found out her daughter was also a Psio when she came upstairs to wake a two-year-old Lydia from a nap and found her entertaining herself by levitating her toddler bed a few inches off the floor and zooming it from one side of the room to the other with her still sitting on it. Lydia didn’t even need to have eye contact with whatever she was using her powers on, like most telekinetic Psios she’d seen records for. Psios at Lydia’s level, at her family’s level, weren’t unheard of…but they were the next best thing. That was the reason they went to so much trouble to hide what they could do. How strong they were. That was the reason Grandpa was still reluctant to tell the others about Lydia’s abilities.

  It was easy to dismiss a Psio as a quirk of human genetics when the best they could do was roll a pencil across a desk after staring at it for five minutes. When that Psio could probably pick up a car and throw it up the street, it got a lot harder not to be afraid. Still…

  “We’re going to have to tell them someday,” she said, and couldn’t quite keep a shade of rebelliousness out of her tone. “Sooner or later, something’s going to happen and I won’t have a choice. I’m not going to let you or Ava or anyone get…I’m not going to let anything happen if I can help it.”

  Grandpa’s forbidding expression gentled. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “And maybe you’re right, but now’s not the right time. Just trust me, okay? We’ll talk about this after things have settled down some.”

  Lydia huffed, but subsided. This was a fight she’d had many times with her family—ever since Ava had accidentally found out she was a Psio—and she’d never won it.

  "Now," Grandpa continued, "one thing you can do is help Andrew keep an eye on those boys."

  "Caleb and Zack?"

  Grandpa nodded. "Talk to ‘em; see what you can find out from them."

  Lydia smirked, raising one eyebrow. After a moment, he seemed to realize what that sounded like. His eyes widened.

  "Not like that," he hissed. "Jesus. Give an old man a heart attack, why don't you?" He tweaked her nose.

  "I know what you meant, Grandpa...but why? Did they say something last night?" Her heart sped up at the tho
ught that she and Ava might have put them all at risk, after all, that Caleb and Zack could turn out to be people like those in some of the horror stories they had heard on the broadcasts. Grandpa seemed to read the panic in her expression.

  "I want to know a little more about them before we drop our guard completely, but they seem like good kids. Don't—Christ, kiddo, I'm not going to get angry at you for helping people."

  "So you don't think they're like those people we keep hearing about?"

  "I doubt it. They didn't have much ammo on them, and they handed their weapons over right away. Besides...if they were up to something, letting themselves get chased by a pack of Burnouts is about the stupidest way to go about it. Especially with the kid. How they've managed out there when one of them can't see." He shook his head with a look of slight admiration. "Anyway, they aren't going to be going for their truck anytime soon, obviously, so we might be stuck with them for a while. There's oatmeal in the kitchen. Andrew dumped about half a jar of cinnamon in it, so it's almost good."

  "Long as it's not vegetable medley," she replied with a half-hearted smile

  Grandpa smirked at her, before turning for the front door. Lydia watched him a moment before taking a deep breath.

  "Are we really almost out of food?" she asked. For the second time in as many minutes, her grandfather froze. Then his shoulders slumped.

  "You heard that."

  "I'm sorry. Ava and I heard you arguing with Jim."

  "No, no, you need to know." Grandpa’s voice turned weary. "Our supplies are getting pretty thin. None of us thought we'd have to last this long. But we’ll figure something out. We're going to be okay. I promise."

  Lydia gave a hesitant nod. She knew that no one could promise that anymore. Still, if there was anyone who could figure out a way to keep everyone safe, it was Grandpa. She shoved her hands into her pockets and watched her grandfather continued down the short hallway and out the front door. Going back to their house didn’t hold much appeal—there was nothing waiting for her there but chores. At least here, she had people to talk to.

  And speaking of talking to people...

  She found Andrew in the kitchen, standing at the counter with mug of steaming oatmeal. He was staring out the window over the sink, but Lydia could tell most of his attention was behind him. Caleb and Zack Reed were seated at the small table in the breakfast nook, heads bent together as they talked.

  They had taken advantage of the limited (very limited. As in buckets-and-ditches-dug-out-in-backyards limited) bathroom facilities. They’d both shaved, and a little bit of water still beaded on the twists of Zack’s hair around his ears. They'd apparently had some spare clothes in the duffle bag, as they were both much less dirt-and-gore encrusted than they had been last night. A half-eaten bowl of oatmeal with two spoons sat between them, and a dark gray towel was spread out on the table in front of Zack. Caleb’s gun lay in pieces on the towel, along with a bristle brush, a pile of cotton swabs, and a small bottle of cleaner. The blaster’s charge cartridge had already been disassembled, thoroughly scrubbed free of any dirt or particles that could interfere with the complicated reactions that formed the bolts the blaster fired. Surprisingly, Zack was the one cleaning it.

  "Morning," Lydia said, sliding past Andrew to grab another mug from the stack by the sink.

  The clean-burn camp stove that they cooked most of their food on had been set up over the real stovetop. A lone pot sat on it, the warm scent of cinnamon wafting from it. Andrew grunted an acknowledgement, saluting her with his mug.

  Ava finally appeared as Lydia was scooping out a ladle of the pasty stuff, still looking mostly asleep. Flecks of toothpaste gathered at the corner of her mouth, and she was braiding her dark hair on autopilot. Lydia hid a smile. Not even the end of the world could turn Ava into a morning person. She grabbed two spoons from the pile by the sink, raising them and the mug so Ava could see. Ava nodded, stifling a yawn behind one hand.

  Lydia decided she missed bagels, too. Coffee, washing machines, and bagels. Those were what she considered civilization.

  Well okay…toilet paper was nice, as well.

  "That all you're going to eat?" Andrew asked, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concern. He glanced over at Caleb and Zack. "We're tightening some belts around here, but for God's sake, you can each have your own."

  Lydia laughed as Caleb jerked his attention away from his conversation with his brother. "Huh? Oh. Oh, no, we're good. Thanks, though."

  "It's fine, Andrew," Lydia added. Andrew nodded doubtfully.

  "If you say so," he muttered. "Listen, I’m gonna head upstairs and try to clean up a little bit." He rubbed at the whiskers on his chin. “Come and get us if you need anything.” He shot a look at Caleb and Zack, but he didn’t seem overly concerned about leaving her and Ava alone with them. He bustled out of the kitchen, and she and Ava dropped down into the seats across from the boys without being asked.

  "Hey," Caleb said cautiously.

  "Morning," Ava yawned, a small frown creasing her forehead as she realized what Zack was doing.

  He was about halfway through cleaning their gun, everything laid out precisely in front of him. He flitted from part to part with barely a hint of hesitation, his movements quick and sure. "Wow...isn't that hard?" Ava said, sounding impressed. Immediately, she cringed. "Crap, I'm sorry—I just meant--"

  Zack just chuckled. "Not as long as I know where everything is," he responded. "Gives me somethin’ to do." His smile turned mischievous. "Besides, if I let Caleb do it, the firing pin gets all gunked up and he tries to put the barrel on backwards."

  "That was one time!" Caleb protested, punching his brother's shoulder. "And we were in a little bit of a hurry."

  "Excuses, excuses," Zack sighed. He set the brush aside and held the part up towards Caleb. "Good?" Caleb inspected the piece, nodding.

  "Looks fine to me."

  Zack grinned and adjusted his sunglasses before tapping his fingers along the towel until they connected with the gun's barrel. "So, Lydia and Ava, right? Which one is which?"

  It took Lydia a second to realize what Zack was asking. "Uh, I'm Lydia...Ava's sitting across from you."

  Zack tapped two fingers against his forehead in a salute. "Caleb says you got a really smart setup. I mean, I assumed it was good since none of us, you know, died last night. Sounds like you're walled off pretty good. How long’ve you guys been holed up here?"

  "Zack," Caleb warned, his body jerking. Lydia would bet money he'd just kicked his brother under the table.

  "We've been here the whole time," Ava offered.

  "Since June?" Caleb said incredulously, his disapproval vanishing. Lydia drummed her fingers on the tabletop as Ava nodded and took a large bite of the oatmeal.

  "Evacuations got a little wild in Columbus—there were all these news reports about people getting into wrecks, stranded on the roads, that kind of thing. Things weren't too crazy here, so Grandpa decided to wait it out. One of the neighbors left, but everyone else stayed, too," Lydia said. "When they started talking about what the Burnouts really were...everyone decided it would be safer to just barricade ourselves in until the military got the city back under control."

  For the first time, Zack's fingers faltered in their movements, and he nearly dropped the barrel. At the same time, Caleb pulled a strange face. The expression vanished almost as soon as it appeared, though.

  "Yeah, that worked out real well for everyone," he said. The words carried a bitter edge, sharp and biting in a way Lydia wasn’t quite sure he meant for them to hear.

  "How bad is it out there?" Ava asked. "I mean, we've heard a lot on the broadcasts…but it's mostly just naming off places that've gone dark and telling people to stay off the roads."

  Caleb and Zack snorted at exactly the same time. "You been listening to the official channels," Caleb said, his fingers twitching like he was about to make air quotes.

  "What's that mean?" Lydia demanded.

  "You know,” Cal
eb said, quirking an eyebrow. “Stay in your homes, avoid large metro areas, remain calm, help is on the way!” He let out a disgusted huff. “All they want’s to head off another panic. Whatever military’s left is losing ground fast. Far as we can tell, only about half of the 'green zones' actually still exist. When was the last time you actually heard an official talk, and not just someone telling us what officials are saying? And what officials? The President hasn’t made a live statement in going on a month, now."

  Lydia’s eyes got wider as Caleb spoke, and Ava went still and silent. They’d noticed. Of course they had noticed. Everyone knew that there weren't nearly as many emergency broadcasts as there had been when the Burnouts first appeared. She’d heard some of the adults talking about it in whispers. Heard Grandpa and Jim discussing whether things were getting better or worse when she was supposed to be asleep. She’d been thinking about it just yesterday. She'd hoped, though. They all hoped they were wrong. Zack nodded as Caleb talked, his face pinched.

  "How...how do you know the green zones are disappearing?" Ava asked in a quavering voice. "Why would they tell people to try and get to them if they aren't there anymore?"

  "Crowd control," Zack said cynically. "We were in Charleston when everything started going crazy. Been on the road since June. We've seen it.” His smile turned wry. "Well...Caleb's seen it. I hear it, mostly. But there’s herds of Burnouts on the roads, just wandering around all the dead cars. Cities are no-man's-land; I don't care how many people are still broadcasting from ‘em."

  "We passed six green zones before we got to Columbus...four of ‘em were overrun and the others were turning people away at gunpoint," Caleb added. "People are already turning on each other for supplies...how much worse you think it'll get if word gets out that the Burnouts are winning?"

  "There's other channels broadcasting from places weren't hit as hard; a couple out of Canada have good info. You have to hunt for ‘em, but it's better than what they're feeding you on the official network." Zack waved a dismissive hand.