TODAY

Tecun Uman, Guatemala

'Relax,' White said. 'The knife's only to cut your restraints. They get a little excited with high profile resistance members.'

'Resistance?' Damien surveyed the three border control officers. 'I'm not with any resistance.'

The other two officers, Price and Gray, exchanged glances.

'No?' White arched an eyebrow. 'No plans to overthrow your government?'

Damien swallowed. 'I'm here for the coffee.'

White folded his arms. 'I prefer Starbucks.'

'And I preferred that bus,' Damien said. 'The one you're supposed to put me on.'

'We're not putting anyone on that bus.' He approached Damien and leaned in to whisper. 'We're changing things. You should be honored, the change starts with you.'

'So I'm a terrorist now?' Damien asked.

'No,' White said. 'You're worse.'

Standing off to the side, Price sliced his own forearm. Damien watched blood well across the laceration on his arm.

'Let me guess,' Damien said, 'I attacked you with a knife.'

'And we responded appropriately.' White removed the radio from his belt, ready to make the call.

Price took a knee beside Damien and tugged on a cable tie around Damien's duct-taped wrist. Gray stood nearby but she didn't assist, her hand resting on her belt. Damien gripped both plastic armrests and tried to pull free, but it was no use.

'Is this what you call responding appropriately?' Damien asked.

Price and Gray ignored him. White stepped back and placed his radio on the table. Price slipped the knife blade under Damien's cable tie. Under Damien's fingertips, the plastic armrests felt soft and hot.

White smiled. 'Tell me, what would you call responding appropriately?'

His gaze shifted to the wisps of smoke coming from Damien's hands. Damien's wrists were still fastened to the armrests, but Price dropped his knife and cursed.

'This,' Damien said.

He pried the gooey armrests from the chair. White went for his pistol. Molten plastic splattered his face and he screamed.

Above White's head, a globule of liquefied plastic hit the sprinkler, melting the glass bulb underneath. The sprinkler blasted water into everyone's faces. Damien flicked his armrest, hoping to spray molten plastic in Price's face. Both armrests fused rapidly, becoming jagged batons in his seared hands.

Well, that didn't work.

Price and Gray spat water and reached for their projectile stun guns. The guns were black and shaped like spiked cow bells.

Damien slapped a jagged armrest down on Price's arms. The gun dropped to the wet linoleum floor. Damien bent his other elbow and knocked Gray's aim off. She fired her gun. Two electrode darts missed Damien's nose by an inch and struck Price.

Damien stood between them. Through the downpour, White drew his Heckler & Koch pistol. But Gray's arms were in the way, still sending an electric current through to her partner. By the time Gray had realized what she'd done, it was too late. Damien whipped the armrest over her arms and sliced across her neck. Simultaneously, he rammed the other armrest into the back of her leg. Gray shrieked until her voice cracked.

White sidestepped, searching for a clear shot. Damien kicked Gray in the hip, sent her crashing into White. Damien's sneaker, missing its shoelaces, went flying.

Price, with conductive wires dangling from a bleeding cheek, regained control. He lunged for Damien, his wet knife gleaming. Damien retreated quickly. The knife cut air. Damien moved closer. The knife cut below his ribcage. He stepped around it, used an armrest to guide the knife and sent Price stumbling forward. Damien pushed him into White. Damien's other sneaker loosened and he almost tripped. White circled around Price and aimed.

Damien discarded both armrests and charged behind Price. He snatched a dangling conductive wire from the stun gun and looped it over Price's neck, then slammed him into White, pinning them both to the desk. They struggled for oxygen. White dropped his pistol and Damien saw it skitter across the water-slicked table.

White clawed for his firearm. Damien pushed harder. White's fingers knocked it farther across the table, past the radio and tablet. It wobbled near the edge, just out of reach. White gave up on his firearm and shoved Price back into Damien.

Damien slipped, lost his other sneaker completely. He moved around Price, his wet socks sliding on the linoleum. Blood and water stung his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Price slump to the floor. White rolled over the table to rescue his pistol. He faced Damien and exhaled sharply, unclogging his nose. Between them, his radio and tablet on the table.

Damien and White—soaked from sprinkler water and diluted blood—watched each other. He knew White might try to shoot him at close range. Or he might call for assistance. But he couldn't do both. Not before Damien got to him.

White dived for the radio.

Damien slid feet-first under the table. White yelled into the radio. He was mid-sentence when Damien kicked his ankles out from under him. There was a hollow clonk as White's head struck the table. Damien got to his feet behind White and saw the radio bounce across the floor.

He closed on White, squinting through sprinkler water. White grasped his pistol and turned to strike. Damien ducked and grabbed the tablet. It was slippery in his grasp. He slammed its edge down on White's wrist, then into his elbow, then across his neck. White's grip on the pistol loosened, but he didn't let go.

Damien knocked White's legs out from under him and slammed the tablet flat on his head, pinning his head to the table. He twisted the pistol and White's index finger broke inside the guard. From underneath the tablet, White roared in pain. Water spilled off the tablet and Damien pressed harder, hard enough so White couldn't even think of resisting. Just the right amount of pressure on his skull and White stopped wriggling.

Damien leaned over and spoke loud enough so White could hear over the sprinkler.

'Where does the bus go?' he asked.

White grunted and wheezed. 'You're wasting your time.'

Damien discarded the tablet. 'Who takes the people on that bus? Where do they go?'

White spluttered water, mixed with blood. 'I don't know!'

Damien pressed his bare hands into White's head.

'Thermogenic genes,' Damien said. 'I can fry your brain in seconds.'

'Get bent,' White whispered.

Damien could feel the twitches and muscular contractions along his arms, transferring hundreds of degrees of heat through his fingertips and searing White's face. His mouth was open and he gurgled something.

'Three days ago, someone on that bus route disappeared,' Damien said. 'His name was Jay.'

White caught his breath. 'His passport ... flagged like yours. But I didn't touch—'

'No shit. Where was he taken?'

White's skin turned purple and red. His gasps became ragged under Damien's burning fingertips. Damien looked over at the other officers. They were crumpled on the floor, soaked in water and blood.

It took White a few breaths to respond. 'Facility.'

Damien pressed down on White's skull.

White dribbled blood. 'Colombia.'

'Where in Colombia?'

White's body convulsed. There was a clear red imprint of Damien's fingers on his face that looked like sunburn. Damien removed his hand, peeling a layer of pink skin from White's neck. There was something small and dark with a hard corner. Damien peered closer. It looked like some sort of tracking chip.

***

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Nathan