Page 33 of Empowereds

Mile after mile stretched by. Whitney Farms was three hours from Kansas City. In two and a half, they’d be close to Springfield, an outpost that had once been a town and still had some services.

Charity hoped, in desperation, that they would come upon some medical facility or an ambulance that happened to be sitting on the side of the road. Someone who could help her father. Nothing like that occurred.

Blue asked Enzo how a police officer ended up rescuing Empowereds, and he gave her a condensed, child-appropriate explanation of his time with Charity.

“Oh,” Blue said when he’d finished. “So that’s why you didn’t know your wife was a psychic. You probably don’t even know her middle name.”

Enzo’s eyes found Charity’s in the rearview window. “You never did explain how you just became a psychic.”

Charity’s gaze went to her father yet another time, checking for any changes. “He passed his power on to me a little while ago.”

“Psychics can do that?” Blue asked.

“I don’t know about all of them,” Charity said. “But some apparently can when their body is shutting down.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word dying.

Enzo considered this for a moment. “How many people know that psychics can do that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We never made a habit of talking to other people about psychics.”

“I wonder if telekinetics can do that,” Blue said. “Give away their powers.”

“Would you give them away?” Enzo asked Blue.

“Yes,” she said like it was a ridiculous question. “Do you think I want to be a freak? I didn’t try to become this way. I was minding my own business, like everyone else. Then one morning when the alarm woke me up, I wished I could throw my phone at a wall, and it just did.” She smacked her lips in annoyance. “I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

“You didn’t tell your parents what happened?” Enzo asked.

“Nope. They’re not Empowered fans, and I didn’t feel like ruining my life. I planned on never using my powers, and then no one would ever know.”

“What went wrong?” Enzo asked.

She sank down into her seat. “Stuff like the alarm clock. You want something and there it is, flying toward you. It happened once at school. I said someone was playing a practical joke on me, but after that everyone began to talk, began to watch me more carefully.”

“That’s rough,” Enzo admitted.

“Yeah, well, that’s when you find out how loyal your friends are.”

“Were they?” Enzo asked.

“Nope.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“You also find out who the criminals at school are because suddenly they want to be your friends.”

“Did you start hanging out with them?” Enzo asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I can tell when people want to use me.”

Blue twisted in her seat to better see Enzo. “So why did you all rescue me from my cell?”

Enzo coughed uncomfortably and shifted behind the wheel. “I don’t know. Ben told us to do it. Maybe he knew we’d need your help escaping.”

“Oh.” She didn’t sound particularly pleased by the answer. “So you just needed to use my powers.”

“It had to be something more than that,” Charity said. Her father was dying. She refused to believe their trip to the prison had only been to prevent a worse death. “Blue must do something important in the future.”

“Important for who?” Blue asked. “For you?”

Charity sent a challenging look in her direction. “Is that too much a price to pay for rescuing you?”

“Depends on what you ask,” Blue said.

“No one will force you into anything.” Charity couldn’t keep the barb from her voice. “Most people help my family because they’re grateful.”

Blue slouched in her seat, every bit an ungrateful teenager. “What will I be asked to do when we get to New Salem?”

Did she want a detailed list? “You’ll go to school with the other children and work for the community one day a week like the rest of us.”

“Are other Empowereds there?”

“Not that I know of. People didn’t even know about my father.”

Blue sniffed suspiciously. “Will you tell people I’m a telekinetic?”

“Not unless you tell people I’m a psychic.”

Blue relaxed at that, and the group fell into silence again. More miles passed.

Blue and Enzo spoke to Charity every once in a while. She couldn’t carry a conversation for long. Her eyes kept being drawn to her father’s unconscious figure. It was as though she had to keep looking at him because she couldn’t believe what had happened. She’d always thought her father was indestructible. Larger than life.

How could she break this news to her family, to her mother? Charity would have to admit she’d been carrying a gun but hadn’t shot Schmitt before he’d killed her father. Why hadn’t her father told her to shoot sooner? He should’ve known.

Her father’s words came back to her. Sometimes there isn’t a safe option . But there had been. He should have warned her to shoot the man on sight. She would have rather lived with Enzo’s disapproval than with her father’s death.

The heart compression belt and oxygen pump from the first aid kit didn’t have the same power or effectiveness as ones in a hospital. After an hour, they kept flashing warnings that they weren’t intended for long-term use. Charity had no other choice but to keep them going.

More miles passed.

They saw signs for Springfield and went there to get gas and see if they could find a doctor.

No such luck.

Enzo bought a cheap phone and downloaded maps to lead them to Whitney Farms. He also bought some fruit that Charity ignored. She had no appetite.

Ten minutes later, the car turned off the interstate, and they started driving on less maintained roads to reach the Whitney farming compound. Charity couldn’t put off the inevitable. She pulled out her phone, looked at it for several trembling moments, then punched in her mother’s number.

Her mother picked up almost immediately. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” Charity’s voice broke. “Something horrible has happened.”

“What? Where are you? What happened?”

Charity wanted to shove the phone at Enzo and have him tell the story, but her mother deserved to hear it from her. She forced out word by painful word, telling her of their prison break. “I dressed the wound, applied pressure, and gave him a shot from the director’s first aid kit. It said it would slow bleeding. But he just … after a few minutes, I couldn’t find a pulse anymore.” She didn’t say more, couldn’t get words past the lump in her throat.

“What was the name of the shot?” her mother asked, hope—or denial—interweaved with panic.

“Ephedri-something.”

“Has rigor mortis set in?”

“No, but that’s probably because of the oxygen and the heart compressions.”

“I’m getting a doctor. Keep doing compressions and bring your father to the farm as quickly as you can.” Her mother hung up without saying goodbye.

Charity clung to those words, clung to the hope that a doctor could do something. “Does the phone have any internet data credits?” she asked. “Blue, look up what Ephedrioxygenium is.”

Blue took the phone, checked the settings, and shook her head. “The phone won’t get internet unless it’s connected to someone’s system.”

Five minutes before they reached the farm, the battery for the oxygen mask died. While Blue dug a new one from the first aid kit, Charity held her hand to her father’s lips. One warm breath against her palm was all she needed. She willed the warmth to come, could have almost imagined she felt it. And yet, it didn’t seem to be there.

She put the new battery in the mask and replaced it on her father’s mouth. Blue and Enzo exchanged a look but neither commented.

They drove on, bumping over juts and ridges as the road got worse—going too fast and yet not fast enough. Finally, they pulled into the farm’s drive.

Her mother and Mr. Whitney stood outside, waiting for them. Her mother’s face was alight with worry. Enzo parked in front of her.

Charity’s mother opened the door almost before the car stopped. She leaned in and pushed Enzo’s suit coat away to see the wound and the bandage. Charity held out the shot’s packaging. “This is what I gave him.”

Her mother nodded. “That’s what I thought. We’ll take him to the doctor. He may still have a chance.” She and Mr. Whitney carefully pulled her father from the car.

Enzo had gotten out as well. He helped Mr. Whitney carry her father toward the house while her mother strode along beside them. Charity felt cold and exposed. She picked up Enzo’s suit coat from the car floor, put it on, and ran to catch up with them.

“The main bunkhouse is unlocked,” her mother told her. “Wait there and don’t let anyone see you.”

“I can help the doctor,” Charity said. “I’ll do whatever he needs.”

“He brought an assistant,” her mother said. “They’re already sterile and waiting. I’ll be there to help as well.”

“But—” Charity protested.

“Wait in the bunkhouse.” Her mother swept away from her. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.” She followed the others.

Charity watched her go with an odd sense of déjà vu, seeing her vision played out.

Blue climbed out of the car. The phone connected now, and she was reading something off the phone screen. “This says Ephedrioxygenium is a controversially expensive treatment. In order to stop bleeding, it does a bunch of complicated stuff that basically stops the heart.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense.” The treatment killed the patient? She’d given her father something that had killed him? She nearly sank to her knees. She’d caused her father’s death.

“It also slowly delivers a highly concentrated form of oxygen to the brain and other organs to preserve function. However, the longer the patient goes without medical help the more cell necrosis happens. What’s necrosis?”

“Cell death. Tissue damage.”

How much would there be? Perhaps Charity was selfish. She didn’t care if her father was damaged as long as he lived. “Let me see the article.”

Blue handed her the phone. The report didn’t give many more details than the ones Blue had just said. Charity’s mother, who’d been familiar with the drug, didn’t know whether he would even live. Had Charity made things worse or better by giving him the shot?

She trudged to the bunkhouse, a typical sort of building with wooden walls and metal roof. Bunk beds lined up like soldiers in the middle of the empty room.

She was hardly aware of Blue beside her. She noticed, in a detached sort of way, that she had blood smears all over her. She walked to a sink wedged in the back corner and mechanically washed off. The red on her skin faded away, ran down the sink, but remained on her skirt. His blood.

Blue sat on the bunk, scrolling on the phone. Charity sank onto the opposite bunk, wrapped her arms around her knees, and waited. The world was spinning like a roulette ball, and she could only wait and see where it landed. See if everything turned black.

A few minutes later, Enzo strode through the door, carrying a pile of clothes. He handed them to Blue and Charity.

“What’s happening with my father?” Charity asked.

“The doctor is giving him something to restart his heart. They’re hoping he’ll remain stable while they tend to the wound. They’ll know more once he regains consciousness.” Enzo didn’t add: if he regains consciousness, but the word seemed to be there, hanging at the end of his sentence.

She put on a sweatshirt with numb hands. Enzo stood nearby with a strained, uncertain expression. Was he thinking about Schmitt and wondering if he had survived? Enzo hadn’t been willing to shoot the man, but she’d done it. “Are you angry I shot your boss?” she asked.

“Are you angry I didn’t first?”

A little, although that wasn’t fair. “You told me all along you wouldn’t shoot anyone.”

Enzo sat beside her and put his arm around her. She leaned against his chest. “Why didn’t my father tell me to shoot the man beforehand?” Before Enzo could answer, she supplied her own reason. “Maybe if he had, I wouldn’t have been able to shoot someone unprovoked, and my guilt would be even worse now. Or I would’ve shot Schmitt first, and then you would hate me for just shooting a civilian without cause.”

“I don’t think that’s why,” Enzo said. “I don’t know a lot of people who would take a bullet to ease their daughter’s conscience or help out her marriage.”

She shut her eyes. It was hard to make sense of anything.

An hour and a half later, Charity’s mother walked into the room carrying a bag of food. By that time, Charity was pacing back and forth, convinced her father had died and her mother simply didn’t know how to break the news to her.

Her mother looked exhausted, and blood spotted her shirt and pants. She handed the bag to Charity. “He’s alive. The good news is he can speak and respond so we have high hopes for his cognitive function.”

Charity went limp with relief, and a sob burbled from her lips. She had to sit down on the bed so she didn’t collapse. He was alive. He could speak.

“What’s the bad news?” Enzo asked.

“Although his brain and organs received sufficient oxygen, his muscles weren’t equally protected. The lack of oxygen affected his extremities the most. The doctor doesn’t know how much use he’ll have of his hands and his feet. Right now, he can’t move them much. That may change with time and therapy. But even if it does, recovery will be a long road for him.”

He was crippled. Her father who’d always been such a hard worker, so active.

Charity put her hand to her throat. “It’s my fault for giving him that shot, isn’t it?”

“He might have bled to death if you hadn’t,” her mother said. “You did your best to help him. If I’d been in your place, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

Charity wasn’t sure whether her mother was telling the truth, but her words felt like forgiveness.

“Unfortunately, you can’t stay here,” her mother went on. “The government is broadcasting your pictures along with a reward of 60,000 credits for your capture. It’s making Mr. Whitney nervous about having us here. You can fill your car with gas, but then you’ll have to leave. We’ll follow you as soon as your father is able to travel.”

From the bunk, Blue gasped, her attention riveted to the phone screen. “She’s right about the reward. There are pictures of us and the car too.” She flashed the phone at Charity. Their faces shared the screen with the headline: Dangerous Empowereds on the loose.

“Mr. Whitney left hats on the porch,” Charity’s mother said. “They’ll help hide your hair, but I’m not sure how much good that will do as long as you’re driving that car around. I’d have you switch, but Mr. Whitney won’t allow a government car to stay here. Perhaps now that your father is awake, he’ll have a vision that directs us what to do.”

And now Charity would have to disappoint her mother again. She suddenly felt as though she’d stolen her father’s gift. She swallowed hard. “When Dad’s heart slowed and he thought he was going to die, he transferred the gift to me. I don’t want it.” She hurriedly added, “I’ll find a way to return it.”

Her mother’s face froze in shock. “You … what?”

Charity had to repeat herself, to tell her mother exactly what had happened. “I’ll give it back,” she reiterated.