Free Storm of Lightning by Richard Paul Evans

about.”
    Taylor nodded. “Napalm. That’s it.” She looked up at me. “He hates the Elgen.”
    â€œSo do I,” I said. “And he’s still one of them.”
    The man grimaced. “No . . .”
    â€œHe says he’s no Elgen,” Taylor said.
    I turned to Abigail. “Get him some water. And get Scott.”
    Abigail ran back to the van. She returned with a bottle of water. Scott was with her.
    â€œIs there a hospital in Naco?” I asked.
    â€œThere’s the Red Cross clinic in Naco, but he’ll need a hospital. There’s a good hospital in Bisbee.”
    â€œCould we save his life?”
    Scott looked at the man. “Maybe. If he can survive the ride.”
    â€œHe’s lasted this long,” Zeus said.
    â€œDo you want me to help him?” Abigail asked.
    I didn’t answer but glanced at Taylor. She nodded. “We’re not like them, Michael.”
    After a moment I turned back to Abigail. “All right. Help him.”
    Abigail knelt down next to the man and touched him on the shoulder. He gasped out in relief, and his eyes filled with tears. I opened the bottle of water, then put it next to his cracked lips and slowly poured it into his mouth. He drank greedily, choking a little on it.
    The man looked up at me, then Abigail. “Thank . . .” It was all he could get out.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said.
    â€œWhat are you thinking?” Jack asked me.
    â€œHe knows all about the attack. He knows all about the Elgen. The Elgen think he’s dead, so if he really hates the Elgen, he won’t be afraid to talk. He can help us find them.”
    â€œIf we can keep him alive,” Jack said.
    â€œThen let’s keep him alive,” I said.
    Scott looked at me, then nodded. “All right. Let’s get him back to America.”

I had assumed we would return from the ranch knowing what had happened to my mother and friends, but now I had more questions than answers. I didn’t know what to think. No one could have survived an attack of the magnitude that destroyed the ranch. But why hadn’t we found any sign of our friends? No bodies, no bones, there was not one shred of evidence that anyone had been there.
    And then there was what the guard had said—or thought—about no one being there. Could they all have gotten away? For the first time in days, I felt hopeful.
    I looked down to see Taylor running her fingers along my arm across my new markings. “I hope it doesn’t go away. I think it looks cool.”
    â€œI hope it fades a little. I look painted.”
    â€œYou’re pretty painted.” She ran her finger along my arm for a little while longer, then said, “Do you really think they’re alive?”
    I suppose that I was getting used to her reading my mind, as her question didn’t surprise me. Half the time I don’t think she even knew she was doing it.
    â€œI don’t know. There were at least fifty people there. How could there have been no sign of anyone? And what the guard said . . .”
    Taylor shook her head. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. But why would the voice tell us there were no survivors?”
    â€œDo you think the voice always tells the truth?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWould you lie to save my life?” I asked.
    Taylor didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
    â€œWould you lie to save the world?”
    â€œOf course,” she repeated.
    â€œMe too,” I said. “I think the voice will say whatever he has to to help the cause.”
    â€œBut why would telling us everyone’s dead help the cause?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe the guard knows something.”
    â€œI just hope he makes it to the hospital alive.”
    *  *  *
    We had laid the guard in the back of the van on the floor of the cargo area, and Abigail and