Capture Page 4

  The recording of my dad on TV said, “Absolutely. All species of life are constantly evolving to better suit the changing climate and environment in which they reside, and the human species is no different. In the case of the development of special human abilities, I believe it’s more likely that we’d only see the evolution of these new abilities within a few segments of the population based on their geographical location, genetic characteristics, and their family’s predisposition towards exhibiting certain…anomalies, if you will. And of course that evolutionary reaction would probably depend on what kind of exposure they had and how long that exposure lasted to a wide array of environmental factors.”

  “What sort of environmental factors are we talking about here?” the reporter asked, still off screen.

  The televised version Dad let out a heavy sigh. “Where do I begin? It all comes down to—"

  But in my living room Dad suddenly shut off the TV. As Mom tried to protest, he shook his head. "No, no, absolutely not. There's no need to hear my reply now, because they've made me look like an idiot. I went on and on about how pollution and fracking and genetically modified organisms in our food and groundwater could be inhibiting human's evolutionary capabilities, when all along what they really wanted from me was what I just said. That new abilities in humans could show up in certain genetically predisposed family lines." With a heavy sigh and a grim set to his mouth, Dad dropped the remote onto the table at his elbow. "What a waste of my time. I spent hours showing those people charts and graphs and countless pages of research!"

  I bit my lower lip. I could just imagine the tidal wave of data Dad had probably poured onto them. The first time he introduced anyone to his theories, it was always a bit like being swallowed whole by a whale...overwhelming and way too much to comprehend at first. I'd been working with him on delivering his supporting evidence for his ideas in easier-to-swallow bite-sized chunks. But he'd been this way for decades before I came along. I doubted the transformation would happen overnight.

  Then I thought of my own mountain of evidence hidden in my closet.

  I was halfway across the room before I even realized I'd decided to stand up.

  “Tarah?” Mom said. “Is everything okay? This show didn’t...upset you, did it, hon?”

  Her voice had slipped into that careful psychiatrist tone calculated to both soothe and get me to spill my innermost thoughts and feelings.

  But I’d fallen for that trick once before and learned the consequences of telling her my secrets.

  I turned to face her with a smile pasted on my lips. “Nope, I’m good, Mom. Just going to get caught up on some homework, is all. Sorry about your interview, Dad.”

  Mom’s gaze searched my face for several long seconds, checking for signs I was lying, before she finally nodded.

  Dad caught my eye before I could turn away. He cocked his head an inch to the side in silent question.

  But I shook my head. Mom's quick dismissal tonight of Simon's abilities as nothing more than a hoax made it clear she still hadn't changed. Her inflexible mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that there might be more to human capabilities than she could fathom. So it would be pointless to push this issue with her again. If we tried, it would only lead to a lot of yelling and Dad sleeping on the couch and all of us going through yet another long round of family therapy sessions with one of her peers. And I’d already had more than enough therapy to last a lifetime.

  I gave Dad a sad smile then made my escape.

  In my room with my door safely shut and locked behind me, I walked over to my closet then hesitated, my hands resting on the bifold doors' plastic knobs.

  There is no such thing as magic, Tarah, my mother’s often repeated argument echoed through my thoughts. That’s just your father’s crazy love for fantasy books stirring up your imagination.

  I slid the doors open then used both my arms to shove back the clothing that hung inside, parting them to reveal my own "research lab" of sorts...two black framed bulletin boards I’d secretly had Jeremy screw into the closet’s back wall for me before he left home. Mom never saw them since I'd been doing my own laundry for years now. Which was a very good thing, because if she'd seen these, she really would have insisted on more family therapy sessions.

  The boards were covered with news articles printed off from the internet, each one held in place by clear plastic push pins. Around each push pin, a red string looped and stretched, connecting causes with their events throughout history. Taken at a glance, anyone else might see only a crazy, tangled up mess of a spider web. Unless they took the time to see the dates I'd circled in red ink on each news article.

  But what alway drew my focus and made my heart hammer like crazy was the length of time that stretched between each historical cause and effect event.

  It was getting progressively shorter.

  Tonight wasn't the first time I'd heard about the Clann. East Texas was full of rumors about it. In fact, just a half hour's drive from Tyler was a mid sized town called Jacksonville, which was rumored to be the Clann's headquarters and full of all kinds of strange people and even stranger things going on. A few years ago, Jacksonville had even been nearly destroyed by what locals claimed to be some sort of Clann civil war, though the news had blamed it on gang violence instead.

  Until tonight, I'd always thought it was the Clann who should be blamed for the rising disastrous pattern of cause and effect tragedies. I'd never considered the possibility that the Clann might have outcast members who could be behind it all.

  Simon's theory made sense, though. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense. I'd never been able to find a good motive for the Clann to cause all those disasters. Why create so much chaos and pain and death and loss and risk bringing attention to themselves in the process?

  But untrained outcasts could easily be making things happen worldwide accidentally without even realizing the power they were wielding against their fellow humans. Especially if certain events in the news managed to stir them up collectively and lead them to feeling a kind of group negativity in the same direction at around the same time.

  The question was...if the outcasts learned what they could do, would this stop the cause and effect pattern?

  Or would it only make things worse?

  Monday, November 23rd

  Hayden

  Kyle slammed his tray down beside me on the table the next day in the cafeteria. Everyone at our table looked up.

  “What's up with you today?” I asked around a mouthful of pizza while Kyle flopped into the plastic chair beside me.

  He looked at me like I was some kind of alien. “Seriously? You don't watch the news, do you?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. Why, did I miss something new?”

  Kyle's girlfriend Becky, captain of the Raiderettes Varsity Cheer Squad, laughed at me and shook her head. Her short, curly red ponytail with its extra shellacking of hair products never budged beneath its crisp red and black bow. “Uh, yeah. The father of those D.C. terrorists is claiming he's some kind of real life Merlin.”

  I froze. “You're joking.”

  “Nope,” Kyle replied. “It was on TV last night, and Yahoo's been running news features on it ever since.”

  Someone bumped into the back of my chair, but I barely felt it. “You mean like he's saying he can make broomsticks dance and turn lead into gold?”

  Becky jumped in again. “No, like real stuff. He made a ball of fire appear right there on his open hand in front of the cameras and freaked the reporter right out of his chair. And he claims that's how his sons blew up the president and that airplane. That they just lost control or something.”

  “Yeah, and now there are hundred of people on YouTube claiming they’re outcasts from some group called the Clann, and posting videos supposedly showing what they can do,” Kyle hissed.

  There was that term again...the Clann. Goose bumps raced down my arms.

  “They have to be making it all up though. Right?�
� Becky asked.

  An uneasy silence formed at our table.

  “That reporter ought to be jailed for not helping the police catch Simon during the interview,” Kyle said, glaring at the empty center of our table's fake wood grain laminate. “He was right there! Now he's out running around on the loose somewhere. Isn't there some law about aiding and bedding a wanted criminal?”

  “Abetting,” I corrected him even as the pizza turned into cardboard in my mouth. “And since the dad's not being directly blamed for the D.C. explosions, technically I think the reporter wasn't really aiding a wanted criminal. But even if he was, why are you so ticked off about it?”

  Kyle scowled. “Dude, think about it! What if there's more outcasts and descendants out there running things from behind the scenes like he claims? What if these freaks are all around us, and we don't even know it?”

  A couple of guys at our table nodded in agreement.

  What if one of those freaks was sitting beside you right now?

  The thought made my mouth twitch. “Okay, so what if they are?”

  Kyle stared at me. “We'd have no idea what they could do to us. Blow us all up in a second, like the D.C. bomber brothers.”

  “Or drown us inside a building,” someone else suggested.

  “Or read our minds and rob our bank accounts,” Kyle added.

  “Exactly!” Becky said.

  I couldn't decide whether to laugh or feel sorry for them. Or just feel sick with worry. “Y'all are really that worked up about this?”

  “Everyone should be,” Becky replied. “Look at what these so-called outcasts have already done! Hundreds died on that plane in D.C., and hundreds more at the White House. They even killed our president!”

  Kyle's scowl darkened as he slammed a hand flat against the table. “I tell you, man, if we don't find a way to track down all these freaks of nature and exterminate them, the rest of us are history.”

  Exterminate them? He had to be messing with me.

  I searched his face.

  Nope. He was serious.

  And everyone else at our table was nodding right along with him.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tuesday, December 1st

  Hayden

  As expected, my family’s first Thanksgiving holiday without Damon was grim, in spite of how hard Mom and Dad worked to keep things upbeat with all their forced smiles and too cheerful chatting about nothing of any importance. I still hadn’t gotten used to Mom's continued habit of setting a place at the dining table in memory of Damon, and it was all I could do to choke down even her excellent cooking while staring at that empty plate and chair. Watching the annual football game between Texas A&M’s Aggies and the University of Texas Longhorns with Dad was worse. I kept expecting Damon to stroll into the entertainment room with the usual bowl of seven layer dip and platter of little smokies on toothpicks that we’d always end up fighting over till Mom made more.

  By the end of the break, I was all too ready to return to school where I figured things would be a little more chilled out and back to normal.

  I was wrong.

  I had hoped all the talk about the Clann and freakish abilities would die out over the break. But then on Tuesday I discovered Tarah and a group of her weird friends gathered near my locker. In her hot pink sweater over a bright blue tank top and blue jeans, Tarah stuck out like a neon light in contrast with all the black the others wore as she leaned against the wall of red lockers.

  Yet again, I had to wonder why she wanted to hang out with them. Clearly she didn't fit in, and not just because she liked to wear a little color now and then. The girl I'd once known was always happy, upbeat, nothing like the emo crowd she now called her friends.

  Usually the closest I ever managed to get to Tarah was in World History class. But not today. Her back was so close to my locker that when I opened the door, my hand brushed her thick ponytail. She glanced at me over her shoulder, her ponytail swishing over my fingers again. Then she went back to comforting some girl who was crying. The girl was really laying into it too, the black rings around her eyes melting into dark rivers down her cheeks.

  “Hey. What's up with her?” I asked Tarah, leaning in towards my locker so I wouldn't have to yell over the noise of the crowded hall.

  After a long pause, Tarah answered me with a sigh. “Aimee's cousin, aunt and uncle are all missing.”

  “They're not missing, they were taken!” Aimee wailed through her hands. “You heard the phone message.”

  “Phone message?” I kept my voice lower this time so only Tarah could hear, trying not to set off Aimee again. With a wail like that, she must have descended from banshees.

  “It did sound kind of…suspicious,” Tarah murmured. “Aimee’s cousin was in the middle of leaving a message. Then she just stopped, made this weird gurgling noise, and then it sounded like she dropped the phone or something. You can hear some people shouting in the background. Then it just ends.”

  I frowned. “Anyone stop by their house? Maybe they went somewhere for the holidays and got stuck there by bad weather or something.”

  Tarah frowned. “No, they were staying home for the holiday since Aimee’s aunt had a bad cold. Aimee’s mom went to their house to check on her sister and said the front door was wide open with all the lights still on in the middle of the day. Aimee’s mom said she talked to the neighbors too. They claim some men in camouflage uniforms with big guns showed up, busted into the house, then took the whole family off in a military-style truck.”

  “When were they last seen or heard from?” I asked.

  “Friday night.” A hint of pink spread over Tarah's cheeks. I noticed she was careful not to turn her head towards me. If she had, our mouths would have been inches away from each other.

  “Military types, huh?” My fingers itched to touch her thick hair, see how soft it was. “Was the family connected to terrorists or something?”

  Tarah scowled. “According to your buddy Kyle, they are. Aimee’s aunt posted a video on YouTube showing how she could...um...”

  “Play with fire?” I suggested without even the slightest urge to smile.

  She watched me for a few seconds, seeming to debate, before shaking her head and saying, “Before showing how she could create water out of the air without anything other than her mind.”

  Suddenly, Tarah's hair was the last thing on my mind. I straightened up. “You’re screwing with me. Right?”

  Tarah shook her head. “I warned Aimee days ago that her aunt ought to take that video off the internet.”

  “We shouldn't be afraid to be ourselves,” Aimee sobbed. “You heard what Simon and that Phillips brother said. We outcasts have to speak up, reach out to others like ourselves, or we’ll never learn how to control what we can do!”

  The short, wiry guy beside Aimee hugged her to him, his dark eyes narrowing. Over her head he told the group, “Aimee's right. Why should we be afraid to be ourselves? We need to rise up and fight back, not hide.”

  I swallowed down a curse, my skin tightening all over.

  “Don't be stupid, Gary,” Tarah said.

  “Don't be a doormat, Tarah,” Gary fired back before leading Aimee and the rest of their group away.

  Someone bumped into me from behind. Ordinarily I would have turned to see who it was. Today I was in too much shock. At the last second I realized I was about to collide with Tarah, and my hands snapped out to catch my weight on the lockers at either side of her shoulders.

  She tilted her head back, staring up at me with wide eyes, and everything inside me knotted up into an even bigger tangled mess. I froze there, our faces inches away from each other, unable to even breathe.

  Was this why she'd stopped being my friend all those years ago? Because, like me, she'd felt the friendship start to change into something else?

  For what had to be the millionth time, I wondered what was going on inside that head of hers. I used to know everything about her. Or at least I’d thought I did, till one day
out of the blue she told Damon and me that we couldn’t hang out together anymore. No eye contact, no emotion, and no explanation either while she ended what had once been the best part of my life.

  I searched those eyes now for answers, but only found more questions.

  “Sorry. Crowded in here today,” I muttered.

  “I…” She hesitated, took a deep breath. “I have to go.”

  She was running away again. From me? From herself?

  I pushed off from the lockers, stepped back and let her go.

  As she headed down the hall, she glanced back at me, her eyebrows drawn. In confusion? Or was she just annoyed?

  If only I could read minds too.

  Thursday, December 3rd

  Two days later during lunch, things got even crazier at school.

  Something had Tarah’s crowd riled up more than usual in the cafeteria. Everyone at her table, including Tarah, had their heads down, hunched over their phones and tablets. I stopped in the aisle behind one of them, trying to sneak a peek over their shoulder to see what was going on.

  Before I could see anything, Kyle walked over and clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rock me. “It's finally happening!”

  “What is?” I asked.

  Tarah pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, then glanced up across the table and caught my stare. Her eyes were wide open, rounded as if in shock, and shiny, tears at the edges ready to fall.

  I froze. Unlike most girls, Tarah never got weepy.

  Once when we were kids and Tarah's family still lived beside mine, Tarah cut her hand on a rusty nail that was poking out the side of her family’s back deck, which we’d been playing under and pretending was a fortress under siege from an enemy wizard. Her dad had let Damon and me go with them to the hospital so Tarah could get the cut cleaned. The nurse had also given her a tetanus shot. And throughout it all, Tarah never cried. Even Damon had said she was the toughest girl he’d ever met.

  So if Tarah was upset enough today to nearly cry in front of the entire school, there had to be something seriously wrong. Had someone said or done something to hurt her?