Page 38 of Generation One LLR (Lorien Legacies Reborn 1)

“Where is he?” Isabela asked.

“Caleb is getting us a new car,” Ran said.

“Him? Really?” Isabela asked.

“He knows cars,” Nigel replied. “Figures he can get one started all telekinetically.”

“Yes, but he is—what do the Americans call it? The little camper children.”

“A Boy Scout,” Nigel replied with a half smile.

“Not who I would put in charge of stealing a car,” Isabela said with a shrug.

“Wasn’t no Boy Scout last night. Lad fought like he was possessed. Might’ve turned those Harvesters away himself, if . . .”

Nigel trailed off, glancing gloomily in Kopano’s direction. Kopano’s frown deepened and he walked out of the alley. Isabela pursed her lips—she really had missed a lot.

“What’s his problem?” she quietly asked Nigel as they walked, nodding in Kopano’s direction.

“He bloody lost it last night,” Nigel whispered. “We think the knob in the suit used some kind of mind control on him.”

They made an odd-looking group as they emerged from the alley, but luckily the shopping center parking lot was uncrowded this early in the morning. Even so, Isabela felt exposed being out in the open. She’d been on numerous excursions since coming to the Academy, but none had ever spiraled out of control like this. At best, they were in deep trouble with the Academy. At worst, they were being hunted. For the first time since she’d come to the Academy, Isabela felt her confidence begin to waver.

“Shouldn’t we at least call in to the Academy?” she asked. “Tell them that Taylor’s been kidnapped.”

“That lot’s got to have noticed we’re missing by now,” Nigel said. “We give them a ring, they’ll track us down.”

“Would that . . . would that be so bad?”

“We don’t know if we can trust them,” Ran said. “I, for one, am not ready to go back yet.”

“We can’t go back without Taylor,” Kopano said firmly. “I promised her . . . I promised I would protect her.”

Isabela rolled her eyes at the macho posturing, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned to Nigel and Ran.

“Taylor could be anywhere,” she said. “Where would we even start?”

Nigel reached into one of his cargo pockets. “Took the liberty of searching a couple of bodies before we made our escape last night. One’a them wankers had this on him.”

He handed Isabela a pamphlet. It looked like something hastily thrown together in Photoshop and then spit out from an ancient printer. Her eyes skimmed over the imagery—the Harvester logo, bulbous-headed green aliens, the devil, random Bible quotations. More importantly was the message, scrawled in Sharpie on the back. “Apache Jack’s. 4866 Route 15. Gila. Outside Silver City. Ask for Jimbo.”

“Where is this?” Isabela asked.

“Biker bar in bloody New Mexico,” Nigel replied. “We think it’s a spot where these Harvesters sharpen their pitchforks and grope their cousins.”

“How do you know all this?”

Nigel pulled a cell from his pocket. “Nicked this from one of the bikers. Battery’s all dead now, though. Found a bit of cash, too. How we afforded our lovely new wardrobe.”

“That reminds me,” Isabela said. With a bit of concentration, she changed the appearance of her clothes—made the jeans more formfitting and turned the T-shirt into a silky tunic.

Nigel scowled at her. “Not fair.”

Isabela smirked. “So the plan is to track down these maniacs who already tried to murder us once and hope they will tell us how to find Taylor?”

“About sums it up,” Nigel said. He looked to Ran. “Right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Either they tell us, or perhaps we find the girl who creates Loralite. The Harvesters who survived took her when they were escaping.”

“How did we escape?” Isabela thought to ask.

“The baddies hightailed it when their leader all of a sudden decided to off himself. Think the wanker in the suit played a part in that. Otherwise, don’t make any sense,” Nigel said. He glanced at Ran. “The ones who had a mind to keep fighting got their asses exploded.”

Isabela eyed Ran. “You . . .”

She flexed her fingers, knuckles cracking. “I am not a very good pacifist. Especially when men are trying to kill me and my friends. We will find them. And they will talk.”

Nigel smiled at Isabela. She realized he was actually having fun with this. “Going off half-cocked without official approval is the way Garde get things done,” he said. “Or haven’t you heard the stories, love?”

“Oh, I have heard. But you are no John Smi— Oof!”

Kopano stopped directly in front of Isabela and she bumped into the large boy’s back. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Uh . . . ,” Kopano said. “This looks like a problem.”

In the back row of the parking lot, Caleb stood with his hands on the hood of a minivan, not moving. Three other Calebs swarmed around him, all of them speaking over one another.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” said one Caleb, this one rocking back and forth on his heels and hugging himself. “We shouldn’t be doing any of this. We need to go back to the Academy. We need to tell the administrators everything and hope we aren’t in trouble.”

“Imagine how hot she’s going to be for you when you bust in and rescue her,” another Caleb said, this one strutting back and forth. “This is gonna be awesome, bro. Don’t listen to these other shitheads.”

The third duplicate stood a bit away from the others. He stroked his chin ponderously. “Has anyone considered the implications of a terrorist organization having access to the same weaponry as our government? Or the fact that there are Garde being used for violent acts against other Garde? I’m beginning to think we don’t know as much about our situation as we should.”

“We know exactly enough,” whined the first duplicate. He tugged at the silent Caleb’s arm—that one, Isabela surmised, must be the real Caleb, since these duplicates were all trying to coax him to action. “Please! Please can we go back?”

The strutting Caleb slapped his nervous counterpart hard across the face. “Shut up, man! Goddamn. You are pathetic.”

Meanwhile, a Big Box worker pushing a train of shopping carts paused to stare at the arguing quadruplets. Isabela spotted him first and nudged Ran. “We’re attracting attention.”

All at once, the clones went silent, although their many mouths were still moving. Nigel had lowered their volume. He jogged forward, shoving through the duplicates to get at the real Caleb.

“You all right, mate?”

Caleb looked up. “Huh?” He stretched, the movement seeming painful. “Sorry. I spaced.”

Nigel looked around, drawing Caleb’s attention to his squabbling copies.

“Oh,” Caleb said. “I didn’t . . .”

“Quit listening to the voices, yeah?” Nigel said quietly. “We got work to do.”

Caleb closed his eyes. In a blur of ghostly movement, the duplicates became incorporeal and flowed back into Caleb. Isabela shuddered. The Big Box store employee screamed and ran in the other direction.

“Oops,” Caleb said.

With a burping sound, the engine of the minivan came to life. Caleb used his telekinesis to unlock the doors.

“We should probably go,” he said.

“You think?” Isabela replied.

Caleb looked at her, surprise registering on his face. “You look . . . better.”

Isabela groaned. “I’ll tell you in the car, weirdo.”

With that, they piled into the minivan and headed for New Mexico, the Harvesters and whatever waited beyond.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

TAYLOR COOK

A ROOM WITH A VIEW—HOFN, ICELAND

THE HARVESTERS HAD COME FOR HER. THEY WERE going to finish what they started back in South Dakota.

That strange girl they had with them. She killed Isabela. Shot her right in the neck with some

kind of poison that melted her face.

No. No . . . she was panicking. Get it together, Taylor.

Isabela wasn’t dead, just knocked out. The scars on her face weren’t from the girl’s weapon; they were the same as what Taylor had seen that night in the dorms. They were what Isabela was trying to hide.

All that seemed so obvious now, as Taylor dreamily recollected it. Yet, in the moment, she had desperately pumped healing energy into Isabela. It was all she could think to do as chaos unfolded around her.

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