Free Storm of Lightning by Richard Paul Evans Page A

Jack sat in back with him. As we approached the Mexican town of Naco, Scott said, “We’ll go straight to the Red Cross clinic and get him help. Zeus, Tessa, Jack, and Abigail will stay with him while the rest of us get our bags from the hotel. Will someone collect the room keys?”
    â€œI’ll do it,” Taylor said.
    Everyone handed their keys to Taylor.
    â€œThey’ll probably need me at the Red Cross to translate,” Ostin said.
    â€œYou’re right,” Scott said. “McKenna, you’re still with us.”
    â€œNo worries,” she said.
    We pulled into the dirt parking lot of the Red Cross building, and Ostin ran inside. A moment later two Mexican men, one of them wearing a blue doctor’s smock, came out carrying a cloth stretcher. Jack opened the back doors.
    The doctor gasped when he saw the guard. “¡Qué espantoso!”
    Jack helped the men lift the guard and carry him inside, followed by Zeus, Abigail, Ostin, and Tessa.
    Scott climbed back inside the van, and the rest of us drove just a few blocks back to our hotel. When we arrived, Taylor, Nichelle, McKenna, Ian, and I went to the rooms to collect everyone’s things. As we carried the luggage out to the van, a young Mexican man standing across the street in front of the hotel suddenly pointed at me and shouted, “ ¡El niño relámpago! ¡El niño relámpago! ”
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” Taylor asked.
    â€œÂ¡Allí está el niño relámpago!”
    â€œHe’s calling you ‘the lightning boy,’ ” Scott said, walking up to me. “How would he know that?”
    â€œHe might have been one of the gang members who attacked me,” I said.
    â€œMight?” Scott said.
    â€œI don’t know. It was dark. We weren’t posing for selfies.”
    People began walking out of buildings to see what the man was shouting about.
    â€œI’ve got this,” Taylor said. “Nichelle, can you amplify me?”
    â€œSure,” she said, taking Taylor’s hand.
    Taylor reached her other hand toward the kid and closed her eyes. He abruptly stopped shouting. Then he and the people around him suddenly looked confused, as if they’d all forgotten why there were standing in the street—which was likely true.
    â€œYou’re so cool,” I said.
    â€œThank you,” Taylor said. “And thanks to Nichelle. I usually can’t reboot so many people at once.”
    â€œNo problem,” Nichelle said.
    â€œWe’ve got to get out of here,” Scott said. “Who knows how many people this clown’s told. Word will spread quickly in a place like this.”
    Taylor and Nichelle kept the crowd confused as we finished throwing the bags into the back of the van and climbed in. We sped back to the Red Cross.
    The small clinic was crowded, and Jack waved us over to where our friends were gathered. The guard was lying on a small cot with an IV going into his arm. A doctor was standing next to him, spraying his wounds with something. The rest of our group was standing a few yards from him, watching.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked Ostin.
    â€œThey gave him some pain medicine and some antibiotics,” Ostin said.
    â€œThey also gave him an IV for his dehydration,” Abigail said. “The doctor says they need to take him to a hospital in Sonora.”
    â€œNo,” Scott said. “We need to get out of Mexico. Does the doctor speak English?”
    â€œI speak English,” the doctor said, with only a slight accent. “Do you know this man?”
    â€œHe was at our ranch in the desert. There was an explosion.”
    â€œWe heard explosions a few days ago,” the doctor said. “Were there others hurt?”
    â€œHe’s the only one we know of,” Scott said. “We’ll take him over the border to Bisbee to the Copper Queen hospital.”
    â€œCopper Queen is