Created (Talented Saga) Read online

  From there our antagonistic relationship progressed, well, antagonistically. Snarky verbal exchanges escalated to pointed barbs, which then led to physical altercations. More than once, Crane or Penny had intervened before either or both of us inflicted an injury more long-lasting than a bruise or scrape. But it was only a matter of time until one of us – me – snapped. With the creation drug coursing through my veins, infecting my bloodstream, filling me with unnatural power, I was like a live landmine, and Brand had one foot poised and ready to set me off.

  Today, though, we had a truce. The rescue mission was too dangerous for the two of us to be at odds. Crane had helped to keep the peace by assigning Brand and me to different teams, different hoverplanes, and even different missions once inside Tramblewood. My team was responsible for rescuing Erik who, according to Crane’s spies, was being held separately from the general prison population. While we were doing that, Brand’s team would be freeing the soldiers taken hostage during the Coalition’s attack on Rittenhouse. So, if all went well, our tenuous truce wouldn’t be tested.

  “You want to go over the plan one more time?” Frederick asked, drawing me back to the present.

  I shook my head no. Brand had repeated it in our last meeting, over dinner the previous night, and again on the ride to the hover hangar. During the meeting, he even called upon a male soldier to repeat parts of it when Brand caught him playing with his communicator. The guy was more anal than my teachers at school. And, thanks to his unrequited crush on Penny, my limited down time at Coalition Headquarters was spent in Brand’s company. Spending time with my best friend also meant spending time with the biggest pain in my ass.

  The fighter jets would be the first wave of attack. Once they took out the four guard towers that ringed the prison’s perimeter, the transport planes would be clear to fly in. Both teams were to repel onto the bridge that separated Echo section – the auxiliary building where Erik was housed – from the main facility. At that point our team would head towards Echo section and Erik, while Brand’s team would go in search of the Coalition’s imprisoned soldiers.

  While only twenty people, twenty-three if you included Crane, Brand, and I, had been in the tactical meeting, over thirty soldiers had boarded the two transport hoverplanes. Not all of them were going to be part of the ground attack, though. Each transport hoverplane had a five-person medical team in place and ready to tend to the injured.

  “Come up front with me.” Crane gestured to the cockpit.

  I pressed a large green button in the center of the safety harness. Simultaneously all of the buckles sprang open and I was free to wiggle my way out of the contraption. With Crane already on his way to the cockpit, I shoved the harness upward and hurried after him.

  The aerodynamics on the plane were amazing, the flight smooth, and navigating the walkway between the metal benches was easy. Lucky for me since my legs were like hot rubber and even the slightest bit of turbulence would’ve sent me sprawling.

  The cockpit was a gleaming silver mobile command center with enough blinking lights in red, blue, green, and yellow to give me a headache. Two chairs, one for the pilot and one for the co-pilot, were in the very front behind a semicircular dash and rounded plexiglass windshield. The dash was enormous and fitted with a barrage of screens and electronic dials and gauges. I recognized the navigation system and the radar, but had no idea what the other gadgets or screens were for.

  On both the far left and far right sides of the cabin were four seats – two facing forward directly across from two facing backward – with a square table in the center. All were empty. In the very center of the cabin were two swivel chairs and a flat screen monitor.

  Crane slid into one of the swivel chairs and tapped the center of the screen. I stood next to him, peering over his shoulder. The monitor hummed to life, a blue background with two white boxes appeared on screen. Crane pressed both of his index fingers to the white boxes, holding them firmly in place for a three count. “Authorized” blinked white on the blue background before quickly being replaced by a blueprint of Tramblewood. Crane tapped the screen twice, and a holographic image of the prison shot towards us. This one was a little different than the one Brand had shown us in our strategy meetings. It had pulsing red dots crawling all over the place like fire ants.

  “Heat signatures,” Crane explained. “Each dot indicates one person.”

  “We’re still like 200 miles away!” I exclaimed. TOXIC had similar technology, but nothing with quite so far a range.

  “See how some of the dots are brighter than others?” Crane asked. He pointed to one blindingly bright dot that nearly burned my retinas, it was so intense.

  “Yeah,” I said uneasily.

  “The software searches for talent-related power surges. The stronger the Talent, the brighter the signal. It’s able to locate exceptionally strong Talents from hundreds of miles away. This area is sparsely populated with very little interference, so even weak Talents register on here.”

  “This one,” he continued, tapping that insanely bright dot again, “is most likely Erik.”

  I swallowed hard. Right. Erik’s dot was glowing like a damned supernova because he, like Penny, had been injected with multiple talent signatures. His power dwarfed that of those around him. I prayed he’d be able to control that power, instead of letting it control him.

  When I awoke, locked in that stupid cage, the accommodations had been irrelevant because I’d heard her voice. Penny. My best friend, and the person I’d condemned to death. Only her execution, the sentence she received for spying for the Coalition, was never carried out.

  Flanked by her uncle, Crane, and the omnipresent Brand, Penny had explained how even before she’d been sentenced, Mac decided she was too valuable to kill. Mimics were rare, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to experiment on one.

  TOXIC’s medical research team, under Mac’s orders, had been trying to improve the creation drug – a highly unstable, illegal drug that allowed the non-talented to become talented. Or, in Penny’s case – in my case – the talented to become more talented. The problem with the drug was that it wore off too quickly. According to what Mac told Penny, usually it was only a matter of days before the talents started to fade, and within a week they’d be gone completely. Some recipients displayed a low level of talent for months, and in rare cases years, after the initial injection. But in general, frequent injections were necessary for the recipient to remain talented.

  Apparently having a Mimic, who had the natural ability to replicate other’s talents, at his disposal, gave Mac the brilliant idea to inject her with the creation drug. Unfortunately, the idea was brilliant and Penny’s created abilities didn’t fade. Even now, two months after the original injection, her created talents were exceptionally strong. That was when Mac decided the real problem with the creation drug was that it was missing an ingredient – Mimic blood.

  Losing Penny as a guinea pig and blood donor must have been a huge blow to Mac’s pet project, until Erik fell into his lap. Erik and I “kidnapping” Alex had provided Mac with cause to arrest us, and he’d done just that to Erik. Now, Erik served as Mac’s number one test subject and donor. Beating my whereabouts out of Erik was just a bonus for Mac and his cronies.

  Crane’s near certainty that Mac was using this new version of the creation drug was part of the reason he’d agreed to rescue Erik. The sooner we removed Erik, and his Mimic blood, from the equation, the fewer people Mac could inject. I found the practicality of his motivations reassuring. Had Crane claimed altruism, I’d have been suspicious. I both understood and appreciated his pragmatism.

  “For now, he’s exactly where my inside man said he’d be. It’s possible the guards will try and move him after the attack begins, but let’s hope not. If they do, we might have a difficult time locating him again. With Frederick the task will be easier.”

  Crane’s words broke into my mental musings.

  “I’ll be able to track him,” I sa
id firmly. “Our connection is strong. I’ll feel him the moment we land.” At least our connection used to be strong. Would all those chemicals pumping through his veins change that?

  Crane gave me an appraising look, his eyes zeroing in on mine. He looked as though he wanted to say something, maybe ask me a question, but wasn’t sure if now was the right time. I forced my breathing to remain even. Without reading his mind, I knew what he wanted to ask. Crane wanted to know if I could track him.

  After one of his men shot me, I’d transferred the pain to Crane. Our minds had become so intertwined that a strong connection was inevitable. He was extremely vulnerable where I was concerned. It worked both ways, though. I might have an all-access pass to his thoughts, but he also had one to mine.

  “Good,” Crane said finally. “Between you and Frederick, we’ll be covered.”

  Crane paused and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. I waited patiently to see what powerful thought had finally cracked his stone-faced expression.

  “Since you arrived at my cottage, I’ve tasked several of my people on this side of the border with calling in ‘Talia sightings’,” he said.

  “Talia sightings?” I repeated weakly. I did not like the sound of that.

  Facing forward in his chair, he said, “Director McDonough is offering an attractive reward for information leading to your capture and return to TOXIC.” Crane tapped an icon on the lower left side of the screen, and a news bulletin replaced the image of Tramblewood. “ALERT” was printed across the top with a picture of me underneath. “The way I figure, the farther he thinks you are from Tramblewood, the more likely he’ll be to let his guard down. Don’t misunderstand; he’s prepared for a rescue attempt. But not one of this magnitude. He’s arrogant. Even now that he’s lost you, he hasn’t anticipated you coming to me for help.”

  Crane’s words barely registered. I was too busy gaping at the wanted poster on the screen.

  Below my picture were the words, “Rogue Talent. Believed to be highly dangerous and possibly unstable. Do Not Approach. Contact TOXIC Director Danbury McDonough if seen.”

  Rogue Talent? Highly dangerous? Possibly unstable? Seriously? I’d show him just how dangerous and unstable I was. Just wait until I unleashed all the crazy bottled up inside of me. Maybe killing Mac would prove easier than I’d thought.

  “Save it, Talia,” Crane said, placing a calming hand on my arm. “Hold on to that anger until you need it. And you will need it.”

  I glanced at his hand and then back up at Crane’s iridescent irises. I opened my mind and found his unblocked. Feelings of warmth and affection flowed freely from his head to mine. Despite everything I’d done, the grudge I’d harbored for years, my attempt on his life, he cared for me. I found in Crane what I’d never received from Mac. I’d thought Mac cared about me, loved me even. But Mac felt the same way about me that he did about his son. And as it turned out, that wasn’t saying much.

  I’d inadvertently been exposed to the creation drug after receiving an unfiltered blood transfusion from Donavon. After the transfusion I’d begun to experience what I’d been led to believe were seizures. But they weren’t. Donavon’s blood contained the creation drug, which was what made Donavon talented – a Morpher, to be precise.

  My seizures were actually the result of my body trying to morph but being unable to do so because of a suppressant TOXIC’s doctors were giving me. Once I’d stopped taking the suppressant, I’d learned of my new ability to morph. It was uncertain when this gift would begin to fade, but at least for now, I was a hybrid. Half talented, half created.

  I shook my head disgustedly. Mac was selfish and greedy and incapable of loving another person. Not me, and most certainly not Donavon.

  “Five minutes from destination,” a voice from the front of the cockpit called.

  Crane stood, the moment that passed between us gone. I followed him back to the main cabin. The other soldiers were already on their feet, securing their weapons and performing last minute preparations. The tension in the small space was stifling. Everyone knew the severity of what we were about to do. The Coalition’s last attack on a TOXIC facility had resulted in numerous casualties on both sides. Chances were good that for several of us, we’d not be making the return trip.

  “We all know what we need to do,” Crane began, adjusting an earpiece that had been dangling around his neck to fit into his ear. I did the same with mine. “We have one job: free the Mimic. Once he’s been secured, we get out. No heroics. Let Meadows and his team worry about the other hostages. This mission is dangerous enough. I don’t want anyone taking unnecessary chances.” He looked from one face to the next, searching for understanding in each.

  “Doors open in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight,” the mechanical voice said over the loudspeaker.

  Let the game begin, I thought. The first move was ours, and we had to be the first to score, otherwise we’d be playing catch-up. I knew enough about strategy to understand that luring your opponent into a false sense of security was a good one, and this was the closest we’d get to doing just that. After this attack, Mac would know I’d joined forces with the Coalition, with Ian Crane. He would know to expect the unexpected.

  Janelle began securing ropes with carabineers to hooks dangling from the ceiling. I felt my palms grow clammy underneath the suit. My heart raced, and I tried to calm the rising hysteria in my chest. I took deep breaths through my nose and blew them out through my mouth. Frederick grabbed a newly-hung rope and offered it to me. I took it without thanking him, and secured the rope to the knife belt at my waist.

  “You know how these work, right?” Frederick asked.

  I nodded. I’d never repelled out of a plane for a mission, but had learned how while pledging the Hunters.

  “Ten, nine, eight,” the voice called overhead.

  Erik, Erik, Erik, I chanted mentally. I could do this as long I kept his face front and center in my mind. I could kill whoever stood between him and his freedom.

  I positioned myself on the seam of the plane’s floor. Frederick stood on one side and Crane on the other. Janelle stood directly across from me. I met her gaze, and she smiled and gave me a thumbs up. The gesture made me grin. Fire burned in her marbled eyes; the flickering flames danced higher and higher the harder her adrenaline pumped. She was excited, drunk on thrill and anticipation. I opened my mind to her. I hadn’t established a connection with her, but I could still touch her emotions. I drank in her exhilaration until it drowned out every last fear about what awaited us down below.

  “One.

  Chapter Two

  The plane’s underbelly burst open in a rush of cool air. Wind whipped through up through the chasm with a deafening roar. Beside me, Crane jumped. Janelle followed a split second later, winking a marbled eye at me as she did. On my other side, Frederick nudged me with his elbow before making the leap. I stared down into the black abyss, squinting to locate the bridge below. The main building was aglow with orange fire from the fighter jets’ missiles, but only the hoverplane’s lights illuminated my target. Now or never, I told myself. Without further hesitation, I stepped over edge and released the catch on the rope.

  I dropped like a stone; the cooler air from the high altitude quickly gave way to the humidity the southern states were known for. I pursed my lips and scrunched my eyes to keep from inhaling the suffocating concoction of smoke and dust wafting from the main building of the prison. The free-fall was exhilarating and for a moment, I longed to morph into the bird and fly away from the chaos below. But before I knew it, my body jerked to an abrupt halt, my head snapping back painfully.

  I blinked my eyes open. My feet dangled two feet above the slanted roof covering the bridge. A yard to my right, Crane and Janelle were crouched low with their hands protectively over their heads. I quickly unhooked the carabineer and dropped the short distance. I landed on all fours, scrambling to grip the smooth stone surface with gloved hands. Just as I’d become convinced I wasn’t going to slide
over the edge, a grenade detonated. Large chucks of stone erupted from the roof like a geyser. Pressing my cheek to the roof, I closed my eyes and prayed nothing would hit me in the back of the head. Bits of rubble rained down, coating the back of my suit and hair.

  “Talia? You okay?” Crane’s voice asked in my earpiece.

  Not wanting to risk losing my tenuous grip by freeing one of my hands to respond in kind, I sent my reply mentally. “Yeah, I think so. Nothing big hit me.”

  Fingers closed around my wrists, and I was being hauled to my feet. Other hands were patting my head, dislodging dust and debris from my curls. Once I was standing, I stared up into Frederick’s worried brown eyes. “You good?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I snapped, even as the smell of burnt hair filled my nostrils.

  “Just a few singed strands,” Janelle informed me. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  Great, I thought, the first time Erik sees me in a week – god, had all of this really happened in a week? – and I was going to look like a burn victim. I shook off the ridiculous thought; my appearance was the least of my worries.

  “Let’s go. Ian made a hole.” Frederick began heading towards where Crane was lowering himself through the jagged opening he’d made in the roof.

  Jared and the curly-haired boy – definitely Marcel, I decided – were close on his heels. The larger of the two, Jared, had a trouble squeezing his wide frame through the opening and managed to snag his suit on a pointy edge. He swore loudly before dropping out of sight.

  “Let me go first. Then Talia. Then you, Janelle,” Frederick said, glancing to Janelle for confirmation. She nodded and Frederick descended without another word.