CHAPTER NINETEEN

Late at night, I wake to voices, crawling through the halls. They are dull and whispery, wrapping their invisible bodies around corners, seeping through the smallest of gaps in the doors, the floors. Alert, I slip out of bed. My young feet lead me downstairs, following the source of the sound.

At the base of the stairs, the sound clarifies. I recognise two distinct voices. My father's gentle, warm rasp. And something smoother, something sweeter, more melodious – a stranger's. I follow the noise they make to the kitchen where I peek around the corner, draped in dark. Seated at the dining table, lit by a solitary light hanging directly above them, they speak.

"...swear not to tell anyone. I am trusting you with this, Michael." This is the stranger, dressed in a black shirt and pants.

"I know better than anyone...what it's like..." My father, usually so bright, seems darkened by the night. He clears his throat. "You can trust me. But changing...that doesn't just happen. No one simply wakes up and decides to swap sides – it takes time, it takes thought. You learn to hate what you don't belong to. I know I did. So the question is, can I trust you?"

The stranger doesn't miss a beat. "You know there's nothing I can say that will satisfy you."

It's silent for three loud heartbeats.

When the stranger speaks again, its soft – so soft that I have to strain my young ears to hear. "Listen, Michael. There's something going on amongst the Anarkks. They're planning something – something huge."

"Like what?" my father replies, cautious, suspicious. Since I was born, he had told me one thing over and over again, continuously: Never trust an Anarkk. Now those words circle in my ears.

"I can't say. But I think it best if you leave this place. Don't make a fuss – just get your family, your things and get out. Move as far away as possible. And quickly."

"What's going on over there, Patrick?"

The chair scrapes against the floor as Patrick stands up. He grabs his leather messenger bag, hanging it over one shoulder. My father stands with him. "I'm afraid our friendship only gets you this far," he says. He claps my father's shoulder. "Good luck, my friend."

Patrick walks to the doorway I've been spying through. Instinctively, I pull back around the corner, my young mind understanding that I can't let myself be seen. My father doesn't move from the table.

Patrick turns back. "Oh, and one last thing. Don't trust Thomas."

"Thomas?"

"Your lovely new neighbour. He makes a pretty convincing human, don't you think?"

Then Patrick rounds the corner. At the front door, which opens on a dark, windy night, Patrick looks over his shoulder. Effortlessly, he locates my small form in the dark and winks. Then he's gone.

-:-:-:-:-

"They're handing out business cards now?" Caden asks from the driver's seat. He holds the card with his left hand and the wheel with his right.

"It seems like it," I reply from the back seat. "It's like they don't even care who finds out."

From the passenger seat, Sarah reaches across and takes it from his hand. "Let me see." Her eyes scan the logo on the front before she flips it over and frowns at the number on the back. "This could have ended up in anyone's hands and they know it."

"I think that's the point," Caden says. "They don't care who finds it, as long as someone calls the number and is recruited. It's like my dad said: they're recruiting anyone over the age of sixteen. It doesn't even matter if the person is human – if they can replicate powers, they can turn anyone into a weapon."

"Any theories about the logo? I mean, 'Tomorrow is Endgame'?" Sarah holds up the card. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well I doubt they're implying that their so-called Endgame is literally tomorrow. It's more likely that they're using the word 'tomorrow' as a replacement for 'future'. If we think about it like that, then it means, 'Endgame is the future'."

"Which basically sums up the whole Anarkk belief," I add.

"But why recruit Kalea?" Sarah flips the card over and over between her fingers. "She's dangerous – to herself and other others."

Caden's already shaking his head. "They don't care. They want power, and being a Bloedskaah, she has a hell of a lot more than most people."

Sarah reaches between the seats and hands the card back to me, where I slide it in my jeans pocket. "Recruit her for what, though? Endgame?"

"What else?"

It's my turn to speak. "Caden, we don't even know what Endgame is."

He pulls the car to a stop at a red light. "We don't have to. We just have to make sure it never begins. Speaking of," he says, and looks to Sarah, his gaze one-part casual, two-parts unwaveringly suspicious, "what'd you get from Katherine?"

Sarah reaches down into the backpack situated between her feet and retrieves an A3 sheet of paper. "This," she says, rolling it out on the dashboard. "It's a street map of where the intercept is to take place. The council must have handed them out to everyone involved. Mum had several."

I lean forward between the seats to get a closer look as the traffic-light turns green. There aren't many roads on the map. A single highway leads from the bottom-right corner into a small town at the centre, before speeding onwards to the far top-left. On what seems to be the outskirts of the town, someone has circled an intersection in red, labelling various surrounding localities: pub, motel, petrol station, housing. A red line follows the highway straight through, labelled path of device, and several blue dots are marked on roads that intercept it, each numbered 1 though 12. A single blue line bisects the red path at the circle, arrows on either end pointing inwards.

Sarah says, "The blue dots represent individual teams of council members, and the blue line represents the paths of two vehicles, which should meet at the circle, blocking the road forward. A third vehicle will come from behind once the device is between the pub and housing, essentially blocking off all exits. I'm not sure what the plan is after that, but at least we have a general idea of what's going on."

I nod. "Good enough. How far away are we anyway?" The question is directed to Caden.

"Not too far. It'll be another half-hour drive. When is the intercept scheduled to take place again?"

"Half-an-hour," Sarah answers unconcernedly. "We'll be right on time."

-:-:-:-:-

When we reach the town, we take the long way round, driving only on small streets on the outskirts. Sarah directs us away from any road with a blue dot or red line, until we come to a side street running down behind the pub. The car crawls to a stop.

"Remind me what we're doing here?" Caden says, none of us moving from our seats.

"We're here to help," Sarah replies confidently. "To be apart of whatever's happening. To make sure we don't get left behind."

"Right." No one moves.

A minute later, Sarah swings open her door. "Let's go." Caden and I follow suit, quietly shutting the doors behinds us. Caden leaves the car unlocked.

A small footway wedged between two buildings connects the street to the main road. It's drenched in shadow and full of garbage bins. Sarah waves us over. She points to two windows, one on the second floor of each building. "Blue dots there and there," she whispers. She means: be quiet.

As silently as possible, we step into the lane, dodging the bins in our way. We come to a stop a metre from the main road and crouch down. Sarah points at the two-story housing opposite us. "Blue dot in that building and one on either side of it."

"At least they're not leaving anything to chance," I say. "All the bases are covered."

"Not this one," Caden says.

"We've got this one," Sarah points out. "I hope."

Sarah wasn't lying when she said we'd be right on time. My ears pick up a distant grumbling, like that of a large truck rolling into town. Everything else is silent.

I whisper, "Are we sure everyone is here? Wouldn't there be more noise?"

She raises a finger to her lips and shakes her head.

Then the ground grumbles and the air vibrates with the noise of oncoming traffic. It grows louder and louder, until finally its upon us. Hidden in shadow, we press up against the wall as the nose of the truck rolls into view. From our position wedged between two buildings, we can only see one rectangular slither of it at a time: a dirty, white cabin with tinted windows; wheels kicking up the dirt of the country road; a large green box body; the tail end, locked shut.

Once it's passed, I edge forward to watch it continue down the road. It's moved barely twenty metres when I hear the grumble of more engines. At the intersection, two vehicles – a white van and a dark four-wheel-drive – block off the road. With a screech, the truck slams on the breaks, and starts reversing. The dust billows up like a low-hanging cloud, and I pull back as it roars past us for the second time. Not a moment later, a dark red SUV careens around the corner at the opposite end of the road, blocking off all exits. The truck comes to a halt

At the top of the street, people emerge from the vehicles, making their way towards the truck, several with guns raised. Scott and Ethel step out of the van wearing matching expressions of unease. The truck, which had been speeding down the road not a moment before, now sits silent and unmoving. Where's the resistance? Even I find it unnerving.

Cautiously, they tread forward. Then Ethel raises a hand. Everyone halts. At her hip, her radio sputters. She pulls it to her ear. From my close proximity, I hear every panicked and disjointed word: "This is team 1. There's...a....se...cle." The words crumble into fragments, intermeshed with static.

Ethel speaks, voice firm. "Please repeat, team 1."

"The...a...econd...cle..." The voice comes again, louder, but still only as a jumble of sounds.

"I can't hear you. There's too much interference." Ethel raises a wary eye to the truck. Its silence is like a taunt.

"...nd...ve...ming...." The voice on the other end continues on in the background, pitch increasing. In the distance, an engine groans, growls, growing louder with each passing second. Scott's radio splutters to life, doing much the same as Ethel's.

Loudly, she says, "Can somebody please just tell me what's going on?"

And suddenly, a breakthrough: "There's a second vehicle!"

It's too late. At the other end of the road, the red SUV explodes into flames, an eruption of glass and metal shooting outwards. Even from where we crouch, I can feel the heat brushing my skin. At the same time, the truck bursts into motion. The cabin doors swing open and two men jump out, guns raised and shooting. A dozen more come rushing out of the back. Ethel throws up a force field immediately, and the bullets shatter in mini explosions as they hit the invisible wall.

Across the street from a second story window, council members start firing at the truck and its men, felling one of the Anarkks. At the other end of the road, people use the burning hull of the SUV as a shield while they shoot towards the back end of the truck. The air is loud with gunshots. It's anarchy.

With the aid of Ethel's shield, people have managed to get close enough to be able to make physical contact with the Anarkks. One man in particular throws a punch. His hand goes halfway through an Anarkks face. When he pulls back, the person crumples to the ground, dead. My stomach revolts.

"We shouldn't be here," I say, edging back from the street. A second later, Sarah says, "Katherine."

I look out. Sure enough, Katherine crouches behind a car, whipping up the wind. Hair blows into my face and I have to tuck it repeatedly behind my ears.

"What is she doing?" I ask.

Sarah doesn't respond. Before I can stop her, she's up and running across the street, smoke from the blaze crawling around her ankles. "Sarah!" I yell, but everything is too loud. My voice gets lost among gunshots and shouts.

I can do nothing but watch as she rams into an older man, gun out and about to shoot Katherine. Katherine spins around. Her shocked face is the last thing I see before the smoke billows up and swallows them both.

I'm on my feet before I know it.

"What are you doing?" Caden asks, grabbing my arm.

"Sarah's out there. I can't just sit around and watch her get killed. She doesn't even have any p–" I stop myself, realising that she does, in fact, have powers.

Strangely enough, at that moment, my vision comes back to me – the darkness, the blood, the fear. I look at Caden. "Just promise you'll stay here. We don't need all three of us risking our lives."

He doesn't look very happy with the idea, but nods anyway. He lets go of my arm and I run in Sarah's general vicinity, praying that I don't get shot. The smoke swirls up around me, sliding into my lungs with each breath. I cough, my eyes watering, and stumble forward, half-blind.

"Sarah!" I say, followed by a cough. It doesn't take me too long to reach the car, and when I do, there's no one there.

I spin back around. "Sarah!" Cough. "Where are you?"

By this point, my eyes are stinging. I stagger forward, able to hear the grunts and shouts of people around me, but unable to see anyone. The smoke almost acts as a barrier, muting the sounds of the fight. It dawns on me that out here, I'm alone.

Suddenly, I see a figure through the white, calmly approaching. At first I think it's Sarah – same height, same slim figure. But then I realise the colours are all wrong. Sarah had on a light-blue shirt and leggings. This person appears to be wearing maroon and black.

They grow closer. I squint through the smoke. Someone dashes straight past on my right, not even realising I'm here, and my muscles tense, ready to flee or fight if need be.

Turns out I needn't do either.

A slight breeze blows away the last of the smoke between us, and the person comes into focus, stopping before me.

My heart skips a beat.

It's Lauren.