Free Burning Darkness by Jaime Rush Page A

didn’t stop to question. He’d already taken in the situation and knew acting was better than figuring things out.
    Westerfield was trying to push the boards away.
    She pulled out the gun and aimed it at him. Remember how to do this. She’d practiced a few times with a friend’s gun when she was a teenager but never aimed at anyone. She squeezed off three shots, punching holes through the boards and getting thrown backward with the kick. Eric took the gun and squeezed off three more. Blood splattered on the aged wood. Westerfield groaned, his fingers sticking out between the boards.
    Eric grabbed her hand again and started running toward the woods. As they ran, boards flew into the air, one next to her head. She spared a glance back, seeing Westerfield struggling to get up. He was flinging the boards with flicks of his arms.
    What the hell was he?
    Eric flung his hand back and shot at him. Westerfield ducked out of sight. As they ran alongside the buildings, boards exploded from them. Westerfield was making the motions of smashing everything and sending it toward them.
    One board hit her in the back, sending her flying forward. Her hands skidded across the hard ground and dried grass. The air was filled with debris, as though a minitornado had hit. Eric shielded his head as another board flew past, ducking down and pulling her to her feet. They both looked back. Westerfield was walking toward them. Walking, not running, in no hurry, which was the scariest of all. No, the scariest was the smile on his face.
    Her back ached, but she pushed forward. Eric, still gripping her hand, led her to a sharp left. Her hand ached, too, but she wasn’t about to complain. Once again it felt as though she wore a boxing glove, but this one was two sizes too tight.
    Her brain screamed. Pressure. Crushing pain. She looked back as they entered the edge of trees. Her legs went weak, but Eric jerked her to the right. Her vision began to blur, and then Westerfield was out of sight. The pressure eased. She shuddered at the thought of him getting into her.
    Eric kept looking behind them. “I don’t see him, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to check on him real quick.” He came to a stop, and so did she, nearly stumbling into him.
    He closed his eyes and his face tensed for a few seconds. His eyebrows furrowed. She knew better than to interrupt him. When he opened his eyes, he said, “He’s still there. No sign of any wounds, though there’s blood on him. I wonder if he can heal himself like my sister Petra can.”
    “She can heal herself?”
    “I don’t think she’s ever tried to heal herself.”
    So that was why Eric wouldn’t die.
    He said, “I saw him on the phone reporting to someone that we’d gotten away. He’s definitely not working alone.”
    “Does he look like he’s going to come after us?”
    “No, but I’m not taking any chances.”
    She trailed her hand against the trunk of a tree as they passed. The canopy allowed the early sun to stream through in places, warming her as she walked through the sunbeams. “I don’t think he can use his skills unless we’re in visual range. That squeezing in my head . . . as soon as we were out of his sight, it stopped.”
    “Good. We need to know his limitations.” He slid her a glance. “Especially since he knows about our abilities.”
    “Sorry,” was all she could say. “I grew up in a neighborhood where the cops weren’t always to be trusted. But FBI, CIA . . . I figured they could be.”
    He huffed, a hard expression on his face. “Mostly they can, but there’s corruption everywhere. The government has been doing people wrong for a long time. BLUE EYES was only a small chapter in the book of Heinous Crimes Against U.S. Citizens. There have been all kinds of secret programs that infected people with biological chemicals, smallpox, you name it.” His mouth tightened. “Darkwell was probably the worst. He used our parents, and then he tried to use us