Page 32 of Empowereds

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“ H elp him!” Charity called to Enzo. She was trying to open her door, but he was closer.

Enzo jumped out of the car and rushed to her father. Enzo half-carried, half-pushed him into the back seat next to Blue. Her father slumped there, breathing fast. The blood spot bloomed on his pants, dark and growing.

The door shut, and the car started moving. Charity didn’t see any of it. She’d twisted to see her father. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad,” he said.

Liar. Pain filled his voice. “Switch places with me,” she told Blue and climbed into the back seat.

Charity hoped the wound was superficial. It had to be, didn’t it? The visions would have warned him otherwise. “Blue, search the front of the car for a first aid kit.”

Charity moved her father’s clothing to get a better look. The bullet had left a small hole in his leg below his hip, but the amount of blood meant the wound was serious. Alarm pulsed through her. “He needs a doctor.”

“We don’t have time for that,” her father said. “We’ve got to leave the city. Your mother will know what to do.”

“We don’t know where Mom is,” Charity said.

“She should be at Whitney Farms.” The first stop on the way to New Salem.

Charity made herself think like a nurse. She turned her father on his side to check for an exit wound. There wasn’t one, which meant the bullet would have to be surgically removed. In the meantime, she’d elevate his leg, bandage the wound, and apply pressure.

They’d just come from a laundry room. Why hadn’t the visions shown her father that he would need a clean towel?

She didn’t like the answer that came to her: because taking a towel wouldn’t have made a difference in the outcome. Charity refused to let him die.

Her father shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. She needed to stem the bleeding. The only thing available to apply pressure to the wound was a shirt. Enzo was too busy driving to take off his suit jacket, and it probably wouldn’t make good bandaging anyway.

She pulled off her ruffled blue shirt and wrapped it around his leg the best she could. Any other time she would have been mortified to be in a sports bra in a car with other people. It hardly registered in her mind.

The car slowed. Charity looked up to see they’d reached one of the automatic gates. Across the parking lot, a dozen officers hurried, focused and armed, toward the building. The authorities were still searching for them inside. She caught sight of Milo’s truck still sitting in the visitor’s parking. They’d have to abandon it.

The gates slid open, and the car slipped through.

Her father’s blood had already soaked through her shirt. She put her hands on the wound. If she applied enough pressure, the bleeding should slow. “We need a doctor,” she repeated. “A surgeon. Do either of you know anyone in the city who’d help us?” Her voice came out high pitched, sounded hysterical even to her own ears.

Enzo didn’t even glance back. “We have to get out of sight and take the tracker off this car. As soon as they find Schmitt, they’ll look for us.”

That wasn’t an answer. Although, Enzo probably only knew the law-abiding type of doctors.

“Blue,” Charity asked. “Do you know a doctor we can trust?”

Blue’s lips twitched. “Now you’re asking for my contacts? I still don’t know whether you’re real or whether this is an elaborate production to see if I’m a telekinetic.”

“Look,” Charity snapped. “The government put you in jail because they think you’re a telekinetic. They don’t need more proof than that. Do you know anyone? My father needs a surgeon to remove the bullet and sew him up.”

Her father shook his head. His skin was ashen, and his breaths came too fast. “We don’t have time for that. Even with the tracker off, they’ll hunt for the car. We need to leave the city immediately and be on the road ahead of them.”

“He has a point,” Enzo said.

The Federal building and its walls shrank in the distance behind them. Enzo turned a corner, and they disappeared altogether. A few pedestrians strolled down the sidewalks, unhurried, presenting a deceptively peaceful scene.

“My dad needs medical help.” Charity didn’t want to say out loud what she feared—that the bullet had nicked his femoral artery, and he’d be dead within an hour, maybe half that time.

“That could be fake blood.” Blue, for the first time, sounded more worried than skeptical.

“I used to bring in Empowereds,” Enzo said. “You’re giving us a lot more credit for sting operations than we deserve.” He pulled onto a side street alleyway, a narrow, dingy place with bits of garbage strewn around. Graffiti swooped and slashed against the walls.

Enzo parked the car, opened the hood, and disappeared behind it. Hopefully, he could get the tracker off quickly.

Blue checked a console between the seats. “I found the first aid kit.” She held out a large plastic box to Charity.

Charity didn’t want to take her hands off the wound. “Open it and tell me what’s inside.” She’d heard of a new medicine that helped large wound sites. Soldiers used it. Someone as important as Schmitt might have some in his first aid kit.

Blue rummaged through the box. “Small bandages, antacids, anti-nausea medicine, EpiPen…”

Charity’s father lifted his head and looked at Blue with glassy eyes. “If you’re going to leave, this is the time to do it. Otherwise, we’ll…” his voice drifted off either in pain or confusion.

Blue glanced around the alleyway, gulped, and climbed over the seat to bring Charity the first aid kit. “I want to see his wound and make sure it’s real.”

Charity huffed. She didn’t have time for the girl’s doubts. “I’m not taking off the bandage to satisfy your curiosity. I’ve got to apply pressure. What else is in the first aid kit?”

Blue shrugged. “I don’t know what half this stuff is. I’ll apply pressure. You look through it.”

That would be faster. “Ok. Lean into the wound. All the blood seeping from his leg ought to convince you it’s real.”

They switched places. Her father shut his eyes. He was slipping away from her, and she couldn’t stop it from happening.

“Talk to him,” Charity said. “Don’t let him lose consciousness.” She sifted through the kit. Hydrocortisone cream, tweezers, and antiseptic wipes.

“Tell me about yourself,” Blue said. “What’s it like to be a psychic?”

“Right now, not so great.”

Charity found a bottle of painkiller and pulled it out. If he stayed conscious, she could give some to him.

Blue hesitated. “Do you wish you were normal?”

His voice was slow and taut. “I’ve used my power to help people. How could I wish things were different?”

A compartment at the bottom of the kit held more serious medicine. A nitroglycerin shot, a cardiac belt to simulate CPR, an oxygen pump. The words written on a shot stilled her fingers. Ephedrioxygenium. The packaging said it controlled excessive bleeding. Was that the stuff used to treat battle wounds?

Only the briefest of instructions were included. The directions merely said that trained emergency personnel should administer the shot for cases of severe bleeding. After that disclaimer, it said to inject the shot into the vein above the wound site and seek immediate medical help.

How far above? Right above? Two inches above? She only had one dose. She had to make sure she did it right.

Blue said, “If you’ve actually been shot, there’ll be a bullet in your leg.”

“Yes,” her father said, “that’s how it works.”

Charity understood what Blue was really saying a second too late. Blue had stopped applying pressure and moved the bandage aside. She used her telekinesis to pluck out the bullet.

“What are you doing?” Charity yanked her away. “You might have just done more damage!”

The bleeding flowed across his skin, still profuse. Charity returned the shirt to the wound and tied it around his leg tightly.

Blue dropped the bullet on the seat like it might bite her. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t know removing it could make things worse.” She scooted to the far end of the seat by the door and wrapped her arms around herself. “This is all real, isn’t it?”

Charity’s father let out a short laugh. “Have you decided … are you staying with us?”

“Where are you going?” Blue asked.

“New Salem,” he said.

“I don’t know where that is,” Blue said.

“Neither does the government,” he said. “That’s why we’re going.”

She chewed on her bottom lip and didn’t answer.

“We don’t force people to go,” he said, words slurring. “You can stay here. Your parents, they’ll help you.”

She folded her arms. “Doubtful. I guess I’m going with you.”

Two quick gunshots sounded in front of the car. Charity’s gaze flew to the window. The raised hood blocked out everything. Enzo—had he just been shot?

“Actually,” Blue said, “now I’m having second thoughts.”

Charity’s gun lay on the front seat. She was about to catapult over the seat to retrieve it, when the hood slammed shut. Enzo stepped to the driver’s side, unmaimed, and got in. No one else roamed the alleyway.

He put his gun in his pocket, took off his jacket, and handed it to Charity. “To keep your father warm,” he said and started the car.

“What did you shoot?” she asked.

“I couldn’t get the tracker out. I had to destroy it and the entire navigation system. But I know ways out of the city.”

Charity lay the jacket across her father’s chest. Her shirt and his pants were entirely blood-soaked. Pressure alone wasn’t working. She’d try the shot. With shaking hands, she ripped off the packaging and injected it an inch below the wound.

Nothing happened. The bleeding didn’t even seem to lessen. Had she given the shot the wrong way? They couldn’t head off on a three-hour drive while he was bleeding like this. “If we don’t get him help soon, he might die.”

Her father’s breathing was fast and shallow—a sign of pain or of shock. “Two Empowereds just escaped,” he rasped, “and you shot the special ops director. If we stay anywhere in the city, we’re all dead.”

Charity shook her head, trying to shake away his words. “Your visions will show us how to be safe.”

Her father’s eyes went to hers, and they seemed older than usual, heavier. “I haven’t had any visions about leaving the city.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“There isn’t…” He took a long breath. “There isn’t always a safe option. That’s why we go. It’s what we planned. Don’t deviate.” His voice grew louder, calling to Enzo. “Promise not to stop until she’s safe.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Enzo said.

Part of Charity knew her father was right, but she still wanted to argue. She wanted to scream and insist on another answer.

Her father smiled faintly. “I understand what the last vision means.”

“What?” She hoped, desperately, that it was something that could help them.

“They weren’t my eyes. They were your eyes.”

Her eyes looking shocked? “Why would you have a vision about my eyes?”

His voice had gone raspy. “You’ve been the best daughter. I’ve had the best family.”

He was saying goodbye. She couldn’t bear it. “You need to hang on until we get help. The family needs you. New Salem needs you.”

He put his hand on her arm. His grasp was weak. “What do you want most in the world right now?”

“For you to live.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “For all of us to be safe. You have to try.”

“That’s a good thing,” his voice was no more than a slow whisper. “You’ll be fine then.”

That’s a good thing. You’ll be fine then. Those were the words the psychic had said to her father before he died. Her father wanted to pass the power on to her.

“No,” she said. “I can’t do this. I can’t be you.”

His eyes flashed white, like a camera taking a picture in the dark, and a current rushed up her arm, tingling all the way to her heart. When the light left his eyes, they were staring and dilated.

Had he had a vision? Something that could help them.

“Dad?” she asked.

No response.

“Dad?” She gently shook him. He didn’t answer. She couldn’t have lost him that fast.

She checked for breathing. It was so slow it was hardly detectable. In serious wounds, the heart stopped working before the lungs did. She checked his pulse. Either he didn’t have one, or her fingers trembled so badly she couldn’t feel it.

“He’s crashing,” she said. CPR. She could revive him. She attached the heart compression belt around his chest and strapped the oxygen pump to his mouth. It would temporarily keep oxygen flowing through his body. “We need to find a doctor.”

Enzo hesitated, sighed. “I promised him I wouldn’t stop until you’re safe.”

What were the chances her father would hang on until they reached Whitney Farms? Not high.

Hot tears of frustration streamed down Charity’s cheeks. Enzo said something. She didn’t hear what. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She wanted to shut down, to turn off. But she couldn’t. She had to fight her way back from shock. Enzo was right. They had to leave. Her family couldn’t lose both of them.

“I’m sorry,” Blue said.

Charity had forgotten the girl sitting in the car. She glanced at her and suddenly saw something completely different. A scene played in front of her eyes like a movie.

Charity was wrapped in Enzo’s suit coat, speaking to her mother. The stolen car stood in the background. Her mother, face pinched and pale, said, “Don’t worry. I know what to do.” She hurried away, leaving Charity standing there.

Then Charity found herself back in the car.

Blue stared at her, her mouth an O of surprise. “Your eyes just went white. You’re a psychic too?”

Enzo’s head whipped around to look at her. “What?”

“I…” The vision didn’t make any sense. It hadn’t told her what to do. And yet it gave her enough hope to breathe, to function. Her mother was alive. Her mother would know what to do.

Enzo turned his attention back to the road. “I gave you serum. How did you keep the truth from me? Why didn’t you tell me…” He still spoke, but his words sounded as though someone had lowered the volume until it went off.

Another vision came to her. From a vantage point outside the car, she saw Enzo gripping the steering wheel. Blue sat in the passenger seat beside him. Charity perched in the backseat, leaning forward and looking intently at their surroundings.

They drove through a different section of the city. Instead of the tall buildings crowding around them, sprawling warehouses lined the street. “There’s Lemon Street!” she heard herself exclaim. “To the right.”

Enzo turned the car that way.

Blue straightened and said in an astonished tone, “I do know what to do.”

The next moment the vision ended. Charity was back in her body, back amongst the tall buildings. She felt dizzy and breathless, tossed from one reality into the next.

Blue blinked at her. “How often does that happen to you?” To Enzo, she said, “How could you not know she was a psychic? Her eyes keep glowing white like fireworks. That’s how they catch psychics, isn’t it?”

Enzo’s eyes found Charity’s in the rearview window, staring at her in shock. “How did I not know?”

“I just became a psychic,” she said. “I wasn’t one before.”

Enzo muttered something under his breath. She wasn’t sure he believed her.

“We need to find Lemon Street,” she said. “It’s somewhere in the warehouse district. Once we get there, Blue will know what to do.”

“Me?” Blue sputtered. “I have no idea what to do.”

“You will,” Charity said, “Now get into the front seat.”

“Why?” Blue asked.

“I don’t know why. You were sitting in the front seat in my vision.”

Without another word, Blue crawled over the seat.

Enzo said, “There isn’t an exit out of the city in the warehouse district.”

“Blue will know what to do,” Charity repeated.

Enzo grunted. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a kid who’s probably never cooked dinner by herself let alone come up with a viable escape plan.” He glanced at Blue. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Blue said. “I’m with you on this. I don’t know how to get out of the city. I would assume roads with actual exits are our best bet.”

“They’ll be looking for us there,” Charity said.

Enzo muttered something under his breath. “Fine. We’ll go to the warehouse district.” He changed lanes.

Blue turned to him, her mouth hanging open. “You’re siding with her now?” She lifted both hands. “You’re right about me not making dinner, and now you’re expecting me to come up with an escape plan for a car full of wanted fugitives?”

Enzo didn’t answer, just drove faster.

Charity’s gaze kept bouncing between the window and her father, checking for any change in his condition.

Enzo glanced at Blue. “Some of the warehouses back up pretty close to the city wall. Can you lift the car over a fifteen-foot barrier?”

She scoffed. “No one can do that. Telekinetics can lift maybe five hundred pounds max.”

“I met one who lifted a car with three people in it.”

Blue dipped her chin. “More likely, you met a telekinetic who liked to brag about his abilities.”

“I was one of the people in the car when he lifted it.”

She blinked, intrigued. “Really?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see the video,” Enzo said. “Enough people filmed it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been living in a small room for the last two months. I haven’t seen a lot of news.”

“Once we get to the warehouse district,” Enzo said, “try to lift the car off the ground and see how that goes.”

Blue leaned back in her chair with a thud. “You’re about to be seriously disappointed in my abilities.”

The buildings outside seemed to loom over them, pushing in toward the street. Enzo’s gaze constantly swept the area, checking for signs of trouble. “The walls are covered with electrified razor wire, but it may be possible to scale them. Could you use your telekinesis to make some sort of ladder over the wall without touching it?”

“Maybe,” Blue said. “Like, if there’s a truck unloading ladders or something.” She twisted in her seat to see Charity. “I need more information about what I’m supposed to do.”

“We’re staying in the car,” Charity said. She wouldn’t abandon her father. Besides, she’d seen the car in the background during the vision with her mother.

Blue sighed and turned back around. “I can’t lift a car.”

No one said anything else for several minutes. Charity checked on her father repeatedly. No change. Streets went by, people and stores went in and out of focus. Everything seemed to be going too slowly. Charity constantly strained to hear the sound of sirens, a sound that meant the police had located them and were closing in.

Finally, they reached the warehouse district. The buildings all looked the same—huge rectangles plopped onto the pavement without a thought of aesthetics. Workers stood in front of a few of them, unloading semi-trucks.

“We need to look for Lemon Street,” Charity said.

They drove through an intersection. Neither sign said Lemon. How long would they have to aimlessly drive around?

“Try lifting the car,” Enzo told Blue. “See if you can lift it an inch or two.”

“I’m trying right now,” she said. “I still hear pavement.”

“Keep trying.”

Blue shut her eyes and grimaced. The first aid kit lifted into the air, as did a water bottle that had been in the side compartment. The car remained firmly on the ground.

They drove down one street, then another. They turned and came back the other way. One building replaced the next.

“I can’t do it,” Blue said. “And the police will find us, and you’re going to blame me because I can’t lift a freaking car.”

Enzo batted the drifting water bottle away. “Maybe you just need to believe in yourself more.”

“I do believe in myself,” she snapped. “I’m a big believer in me. In fact, I’m my number one fan. Telling myself I can do it won’t make it happen.”

A crash sounded in the distance, the screech of metal hitting something. The first aid kit and water bottle dropped to the ground. “What was that?” Blue asked.

Enzo’s head swiveled back and forth. “I don’t know. It might not have anything to do with us.”

Everything seemed normal. They kept driving and silently searching. Perhaps no one wanted to ask the obvious question—what did they do if they couldn’t find Lemon Street?

Could Charity have misinterpreted the vision’s timing? Perhaps what she’d seen referenced an event on a street in another city. Maybe the group was supposed to have left this city by one of the main exits and found Lemon Street somewhere else. Charity might have told them to do the wrong thing. She was a novice at all of this.

Two more minutes went by.

Then she spotted the sign. It stood close to the edge of one of the larger warehouses and had been bent back, making it unreadable until the car neared it. “There’s Lemon Street—to the right.”

Enzo turned the car that way. Once they faced that direction, the crashing sound they’d heard earlier made sense. Down at the end of the street, an armored semi-truck with a crumpled front parked not far from a large hole in the city wall.

Two men hefted a ramp toward the back of the truck to unload it. Another man stood by the cab, yelling at the driver and waving in the hole’s direction. Chunks of cinderblock lay in a pile of rubble behind the hole. A strip of razor wire dangled down over the opening, swaying either from the impact or from the wind.

If they could make it over the rubble, they could drive through the hole.

Blue straightened. “I do know what to do.”

“The ramp,” Enzo said. “You’ll need to?—”

“I know.” Blue cut him off. “Let me have my moment of knowingness. I just started believing in myself again.”

Charity sat back and buckled her seatbelt. The vision had worked. They would make it out of the city.

Enzo continued driving down the street, picking up speed. The ramp slid away from the men who’d been hauling it. They stumbled back and watched in astonishment as the ramp skidded along the ground toward the hole. Even the man who’d been yelling at the driver stopped to gawk as it bumped over the ground, smashing into rocks and weeds.

“This is so much easier than lifting a car,” Blue said.

The ramp draped over the rubble pile and came to a halt. The men’s startled faces turned from the ramp to the approaching car. They’d noticed it wasn’t slowing.

Enzo gunned the engine. They tore through the hole, went over the ramp, and flew for a couple of seconds. They landed with a jarring thunk onto the ground. A weed-strewn field sprawled out in front of them, and beyond that, the black line of the interstate.

They bumped and rattled across the field. Charity turned in her seat to see if anyone followed them. She only saw the men who’d been near the truck, peering out at them with puzzled expressions.