The Sovereign Era (Book 1): Brave Men Run Read online

  We dropped off Jason, then Lina drove back toward my house. She stopped the car a few doors down, around the corner.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I was nothing like sure. I was scared. I felt guilty, and I hadn’t even done anything. Yet.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “But you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to get into trouble.”

  She clicked her tongue. “Silly. Who’s gonna drive you boys around? Hm?”

  Byron cleared his throat and I heard him shift in the back seat. “Um… I can drive. I have my learner’s.”

  Lina and I looked at him. His eyes were red and wide. There was a raised welt where he had scratched his cheek wiping away tears.

  Lina shook her head. “No thanks, champ. I love my car too much.” She grabbed her chin and cracked her neck. “Besides, if I stuck around, I’d have to cover for you guys. Bad enough if anybody asks Jason where we are.”

  What were the odds of ending up with a girlfriend like that, my first try? She helped me to be brave. I undid my seat belt and stretched in the seat.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  She gave me a kiss and I got out of the car.

  My street was absolutely silent.

  At my house, I walked around to the side yard gate. Very slowly, I lifted the latch. I knew from years of automatic use that I needed to very slightly pull up on the gate or the latch would stick and squeak. It couldn’t stick. I needed no noise.

  I opened the gate smoothly, just wide enough to slip through. I was careful to not let it close itself, and rest it carefully against the latch.

  I was in my back yard.

  Our kitchen had a sliding door that led to the back yard patio. We usually didn’t lock it unless we were both going to be gone. There was a chance my mother locked it when she’d gone to bed.

  She didn’t.

  The sliding door was noisy. I had to open it in tiny increments, a few centimeters at a time. Twice, it squeaked on its runners, loud as a car alarm to my ears.

  After, I don’t know, forever, the door was open wide enough for me to slip through.

  I was in the kitchen. The digital clock on the stove said 2:08.

  I stood still, tried not to breath, and listened.

  The refrigerator hummed. The water heater clicked.

  Nothing else.

  I stepped into the living room. I felt like that martial arts guy on the old television show, trying to walk across rice paper without leaving any tracks. It actually helped me think about how to place my feet. I tried to be aware of every step.

  I found myself wishing I could do this barefoot, but decided against taking off my shoes. No time.

  I moved down the hall toward my mother’s bedroom. I took a step, stopped, listened; took another step. I breathed through my nose but kept my mouth open to take in as many scents as possible.

  Took another step.

  My mother was asleep. I could hear her breathing, shallow and regular.

  I was outside her bedroom door. She had left it cracked open. That was a freebie – I wouldn’t have to turn the doorknob and worry about the click of the latch.

  She was still asleep.

  I pushed the door further open and stepped into her bedroom. The pounding of my heart threatened to drown out all other sounds. My hands shook.

  It was tough, trying to calm down. I’d never broken into my own house before. I’d certainly never stolen anything from my mother, let alone the keys to our cabin. I’d absolutely never run away from home with my girlfriend and the neighborhood Sovereign kid.

  I hated this. I thought I was done running away from my problems.

  I closed my eyes and told myself to mellow out. I opened my eyes and took another step into the bedroom.

  My mother’s purse was on the top of her dresser, across from the foot of her bed. It was open.

  I glanced at my mother. She was on her side, facing away from me, toward the window.

  She was still asleep.

  This was going to be the hard part. How on earth could I take out her keys without making noise?

  I figured out that one pretty quickly, and just lifted the whole purse. Once I had it in my hands, I couldn’t move fast enough. It was torturous to keep cool as I backtracked to the kitchen table. I stopped twice; listened, sniffed.

  My mother was still asleep.

  In the kitchen, I carefully pulled her keys out of the purse. The keys to the cabin were on a separate ring, a clip-on, attached to her house and work and car keys. That was lucky.

  I detached the cabin keys and carefully put the rest back in the purse.

  It took me a minute to decide if I should return the purse to her bedroom. I decided it wouldn’t matter. She’d know I was gone in a few hours. It wouldn’t be all that much longer before she figured out where I was, and that was okay. In fact, I was counting on it. Where I left the purse wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.

  It took longer to get past the rush of indecision I suddenly felt. Why not just wake her up and tell her what was going on? Wouldn’t she help? Didn’t she hate that Brenhurst guy, for whatever reason?

  I turned and looked down the hall. Listened. Sniffed.

  My mother was still asleep.

  It could have gone either way, I guess. I still don’t know why I decided to leave. That’s just how it went.

  I got out of the kitchen, onto the patio, through the side gate, and back to Lina’s car in a careful hurry.

  I closed the car door and let out a rushing sigh. Lina asked me if I got the keys.

  I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  I was exhausted. I felt like I’d stolen from myself.

  “You okay?”

  “Don’t wanna talk. Let’s go.”

  Lina started the car and headed for the mountains.

  Lester Brenhurst – Eight

  He woke suddenly.

  Agent Pratt said, “Nothing, sir.”

  Brenhurst looked at his watch. It was three thirty in the morning.

  “You two... awake the entire time?”

  Both agents said, “Yes sir.” Turban said, “It's not a problem for us, sir.”

  Their augmentation saw to that, Brenhurst assumed. He rubbed his eyes and thought. After a minute or two, he started the car.

  ~

  The Charters house was dark and silent. Brenhurst got out of the car. The agents followed him to the front door.

  Brenhurst rang the bell. He gestured to Pratt.

  “Knock.”

  Pratt pounded with one massive fist. The door shook on its hinges.

  A dim illumination showed through the curtained windows.

  “Knock again.”

  Pratt assaulted the door a second time, harder.

  The porch light came on.

  Pratt said his lines. “Police officer. We have some news about Nathan Charters.”

  The door opened. Pratt pushed himself in and immediately took hold of Lucille Charters.

  “What are you..!”

  Pratt covered her mouth with his palm.

  Brenhurst and Turban stepped into the house. Turban closed the door behind him.

  “It's almost four in the morning, Mrs. Charters,” Brenhurst said. “Do you know where your son is?”

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty One

  Lina drove straight through, sometimes twisting the radio dials or popping in Bauhaus or Echo and the Bunnymen tapes and quietly singing along to stay awake. Byron slept most of the way. We got to Kirby Lake just as dawn made headlights unnecessary.

  I was numb with exhaustion, but I don’t remember sleeping at all. I stared out the window and fought anxiety. I let Lina hold my hand now and then.

  I wasn’t mad at anyone, at least not anyone in the car, except, of course, myself. I was sure the whole thing was a mistake, a made-up drama that could have been resolved if we’d just been up front with my mother, and maybe with Lina’s folks.

&nbs
p; I just didn’t trust them. How had Brenhurst known? Right then, I didn’t trust anyone but Lina.

  Byron snored in the back seat. Circumstance had closed his own circle of trust down to the freak in the front seat, the very same misfit he’d spent the last few years tormenting.

  Maybe my strongest Sovereign ability was the talent to attract irony.

  I gave Lina brief directions to my grandmother’s cabin. The car’s tires grinding over the gravel driveway woke up Byron.

  “We here..?”

  I undid my seat belt. “Yeah. Rise and shine.”

  I started to get out of the car. Lina stopped me with her fingers on my shoulder. I turned to her.

  She gave me a kiss.

  “Good morning, Nathan.” She smiled at me, and I felt stronger. Stronger to the point of tears.

  “Good morning,” I said. I kissed her back and whispered, “Thank you,” when our lips parted.

  “De nada,” she said.

  We got out of the car. I ached from fatigue and inactivity. Byron stood beside me and took in the scenery.

  The air was crisp, but warmer than when my mother and I had come. The tall pines talked to each other in the breeze, with a birdsong counterpoint.

  “Nice up here,” he said. His voice was thick, like he was still asleep. He rubbed his eyes.

  I nodded. “It’s out of the way.”

  I took my mother’s keys, unlocked the cabin, and we went inside. It had only been a couple of weeks since my mother and I had been there, but there was still that smell of dust and the stale, fading hint that people had been there.

  I found comfort in that. I don’t know why.

  Lina put her arm around my waist. “This is cool.” She took in the wood paneling and my grandmother’s outdated decorating sensibilities. “Cozy. You spend a lot of time here?”

  “Summertime, when I was little, mostly. Not that much, the last few years.” I felt like I was wrapped in gauze. I was so tired. “My dad came here with his folks the whole time he was growing up. I think my parents met up here.”

  She pulled me closer. “How perfect.”

  Byron called from the kitchen. “Not much food.”

  We joined him. He was opening cabinets. There were canned goods – soups and baked beans, mostly – and some powdered milk. Lina opened the fridge. “There’s some bottled water and, like, a six-pack of sodas in here.”

  “We weren’t here long enough, last time, to go to the store.” When I shrugged, the room didn’t keep up with my head. “Aren’t you guys... tired?”

  “Not like you.” Lina appraised me. “But we should eat. You should eat. Then we can sleep.”

  I dropped into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Okay.”

  Lina appointed herself cook. In a few minutes we had plates of baked beans and cans of cola on the table. Since food was in front of me, I ate.

  Byron said, “I can’t believe that Brenhurst guy was waiting for us. How’d he know?”

  “No kidding,” I said. “That was too weird. Fucking weird.”

  Lina said, “Proves it, though. Tyndale Labs is up to something with you guys. With Sovereign.”

  “What was he doing with all those cops?” Byron shook his head.

  “Your dad could have called them,” I said. “We pissed him off, royally.”

  “Not hard to do, dude.”

  “I figure.”

  “What’s your mom gonna do when she figures out you’re gone?”

  I swallowed. My stomach tightened around the food. “She’ll call here. She’ll know, right off. It’s why she brought me up here in the first place, when Donner made his announcement.”

  Lina said, “Even if your dad called the police, why would he call Brenhurst, too?”

  We just looked at her.

  “Fuck,” said Byron.

  “Yeah,” said Lina. “Exactly.”

  “So the police called Brenhurst, or something?” I couldn’t figure it out. I was so tired.

  Lina shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just too much of a coincidence. Too weird.” She smiled slightly. “Carson must have been freaked.”

  Lines creased Byron’s forehead and his eyes squinted. “So, why didn’t we just stay at your place, dude?”

  I reddened, suddenly angry. “I did the best thing I could think of, Teslowski, all right? I figured we’d better get as far away from shit as we could. You were too busy freaking out to be any help, remember?”

  Byron held up a hand. “Dude, I know. I’m sorry. I was… I…” He slumped in his chair and looked me in the eye. “Thanks, Nate. Really.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Sorry.”

  The three of us sat there for a minute.

  Lina said, “So what’ll your mom do?”

  I smiled and stared into the middle distance. “She’ll hit the roof. She’ll kick ass.”

  “I don’t know what my folks are gonna do,” Byron mumbled.

  “She’ll convince them,” I said. “She’ll make them feel guilty for trying to turn you over to that place.”

  Byron let out a long breath. “This is so fucked up.”

  “Yup.”

  We sat around the table and thought our own tired thoughts. Finally, Lina said, “Sack time, gentlemen.” She stood up, took my hands, and dragged me to my feet. “C’mon. We have a few hours before your mother wakes up and this whole thing gets started.”

  Lester Brenhurst – Nine

  It didn't take long to figure it out, once Charters' widow determined the keys to the cabin were missing. Brenhurst let her get dressed while Turban watched her. They got her into the car. Brenhurst drove. In the back with Turban and Pratt on either side, Lucille Charters said very little, but he saw the hate burning in her eyes.

  It didn't matter to Brenhurst. She wouldn't come to any harm unless she brought it on herself. And if she did... well, there were larger issues at stake than her ultimate fate.

  The car phone rang just as they reached the city limits of Kirby Lake. Brenhurst looked at his watch. It was a few minutes after seven thirty. He answered it.

  “Brenhurst.”

  “Doctor.” It was Tamara. He had asked that she sleep in one of the apartments at Tyndale, and she was already back on the job. Good soldier. “I'm transferring you.”

  Something in her voice disturbed him. Was Uldair back already, come to carry out Quince's discipline? He tensed as static flowed across the lines.

  “Doctor Brenhurst?”

  He didn't recognize the voice. A woman. “Yes? Who is this?”

  “Doctor Brenhurst, this is Ms. Heller. I'm sorry, but your mother passed away during the night.”

  His stomach clenched. In the space between breathing in and breathing out, ice spread through his veins. His head pounded. The muscles of his neck and shoulders cramped. Pain shot up his spine and across the back of his skull.

  He found himself remotely astonished at the intensity of his anger. His arm shook so severely, he hung up the receiver rather than drop it.

  The car decelerated.

  “Are we there?” Agent Pratt asked from the back seat.

  Brenhurst realized he had taken his foot off the gas. He slammed it back down. The car lurched.

  “Doc?”

  He looked in the rear view mirror. Lucille Charters stared at him, a tight-lipped smile on her face. He realized his tension must be evident. He forced himself to appear relaxed.

  “No,” he said. “Not quite.” He pulled over to the shoulder of the road. “Agent Turban. I'd like you to take the wheel. Agent Pratt, I'll be fine with our guest in the back.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Brenhurst slid into the back seat as Pratt stepped out. Now that he was almost touching her, Lucille Charters stared straight ahead, her face a mask.

  “I am armed, Mrs. Charters,” he said to her. “Behave yourself when it comes down to it, would you? I'm in no mood for shenanigans. Truly. No mood. Do you understand me?”

  She said nothing.

&
nbsp; Brenhurst directed Turban the rest of the way, and in a matter of minutes, they pulled onto the gravel driveway of the Charters cabin. The nearest neighbors were acres away, it seemed. That, and the early hour, would be to their advantage if things got messy.

  Turban and Pratt got out of the car.

  “Come on, Mrs. Charters,” Brenhurst said. “Just like we're old friends, now, right?” He stepped out of the car and pulled her out by the arm.

  From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Forty Two

  Lina and I were a hundred miles away from our parents, in bed, together. We had to at least try to mess around, but I was just too tired to get serious. I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickled my cheek.

  I didn’t dream. I was awake, I was asleep, and then, I was awake again.

  Lina was not in the bed. She was somewhere else in the cabin.

  Screaming.

  My nostrils filled with the pungent, wild scent I last experienced in the Glen.

  I shot from the bed and almost collided with Byron in the hall. Together, we came into the living room.

  Lina had her back against the wall to my left. She kept her eyes on the bestial figure crouched just inside the half-open front door.

  At first, I thought he was some kind of mountain bum, a homeless person who scavenged the dumpsters and lived off charity. His hair and beard were long, overgrown, and matted. His sweatshirt was torn and soiled; his pants ragged and stained.

  He wasn’t wearing any shoes. His filthy, almost furry bare feet had long, jagged, black toenails.

  He stood ready to fight or fly, bent at the elbows and knees. His fingers were curved to accentuate long, black fingernails.

  His eyes caught the ambient light of the room, and glowed.

  Just like mine.

  Byron and I positioned ourselves between the intruder and Lina. I found myself in the same stance as the ragged stranger. I was a cleaner, thinner, younger mirror.

  He met my eyes. His pupils were huge, and noticeably oval. His lips curled to reveal pointed, brown teeth. Smile or grimace, I couldn’t tell.

  “You little rats wouldn’t stand a chance,” he rasped. “Good thing I’m not here to fight.”

  His scent choked me. I tried to break it down, control it. Old meat. Dirt. Gravel. Blood. Urine. Animal spoor. Under all that, deep in the foundation that was his sweat and pheromones, was something familiar.