Death 07 - For the Love of Death by Tamara Rose Blodgett Page B
Authors: Tamara Rose Blodgett
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, dark fantasy, High Tech, Dystopian, Hard Science Fiction
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watching. His tail is still.
*
Gramps stands like the Lone Ranger in a sea of guys in suits, and an eerie calm descends over me.
It reminds me of before.
Before they administered the sterilization. Before we were Randoms. When there were so many paranormals it was just a variant of normal.
I know a Graysheet when I see one. It feels like a twenty year hiatus has come to an end.
Hover cars zip above their heads, the thirty-foot invisible safety ceiling disallowing casualties.
But that can’t be an absolute. As I make my way in my own vehicle, the beeping of the parking security begins as my car descends.
Gramps, plus whoever these clowns are, back away.
< Twenty seconds to engagement > The automated voice recites by rote.
< Five seconds to engagement >
The car locks into invisible pulse-activated brackets. It rocks as it engages and stills.
< Disengaging door locks >
My ears pop as the doors unlock and sweep up like wings. Kind of reminds me of the antique Deloreans of the twentieth.
I climb out, and my car bounces with the loss of my weight.
Gramps’ gaze meets mine. I remind myself again how it sucks to have AFTD and just enough precog to frustrate. What I wouldn’t do to have some telepathy. When I want it.
It’d definitely suck ass to have all the time.
“Gramps.” I flick my gaze to his. A holographic card hangs around his neck via a lanyard. It’s his “ get out of jail free ” card he calls it.
The guys in black look pretty nervous. Not too many of them have met a free bird twentieth before.
With a twelve gauge shotgun.
Gramps maintains all his amendment rights.
I sling my power out like a net and get a hit from one of the chumps in black.
Nice little round-out there.
They have an AFTD. That means there's a Null. But I'm blind to that. I can only recognize my own brand. Like a fart.
I chuckle.
Gramps clamps his lips around a cig and lights it one-handed, his shotgun tucked underneath his arm. The white noise of the highway above our heads drones like a low-level vacuum machine.
“Hey, son.”
My eyes take in my kids’ vehicle. The roof looks like a shark bit the center of it, didn’t like the taste, and spit it out.
I walk closer, keeping one eye on the suits.
There’s a bump in the center where the driver would be. Knuckle-shaped imprints push out the roof.
Paxton.
Chicken skin rises on my bare skin. Our son tried to stop him and Dee from being pancaked.
I’m so glad I didn’t bring Jade.
I continue to circle the car, trying to squelch my rising panic.
The government lurkers are here.
My kids conveniently total an untotal-able car.
Things are adding up. Paranoia Central comes online.
Breeze from the traffic overhead lifts my hair as I cruise around the perimeter of the once-pristine car. I finally look up from the wreckage.
The first guy ( not the AFTD) says, “Net’s been deployed.” His face is cool, aloof. Hard.
I glance inside the driver’s window. Remnants of high-density tensile netting coat the interior like antique Silly String.
I zero in on Arrogant, keeping my temper in check for the moment. “Two questions.”
The man’s eyebrows rise.
Don’t like him already.
Give me a break. Panic is a close friend to Rage, and right now, they’re tag teaming me.
My power swells in response.
The voices of the undead grow louder. Of course, they’re louder now because so many more people have died since the undead fun began.
I breathe deeply. In. Then out. “Why did my kids’ car crash? With a billion avoidance measures, in theory, that’s a no , guys.”
He opens his mouth, and I glare.
He smirks, holding his hands together and rocking back on his heels. Amused. Confident.
Silent.
Neither amused nor confident I smile, more a baring of teeth.
I’m just pissed.
I take in the five Randoms of mixed abilities and know they’re involved. They’re close to Pax’s age. It’s surreal how little things have changed since I ran
*
Gramps stands like the Lone Ranger in a sea of guys in suits, and an eerie calm descends over me.
It reminds me of before.
Before they administered the sterilization. Before we were Randoms. When there were so many paranormals it was just a variant of normal.
I know a Graysheet when I see one. It feels like a twenty year hiatus has come to an end.
Hover cars zip above their heads, the thirty-foot invisible safety ceiling disallowing casualties.
But that can’t be an absolute. As I make my way in my own vehicle, the beeping of the parking security begins as my car descends.
Gramps, plus whoever these clowns are, back away.
< Twenty seconds to engagement > The automated voice recites by rote.
< Five seconds to engagement >
The car locks into invisible pulse-activated brackets. It rocks as it engages and stills.
< Disengaging door locks >
My ears pop as the doors unlock and sweep up like wings. Kind of reminds me of the antique Deloreans of the twentieth.
I climb out, and my car bounces with the loss of my weight.
Gramps’ gaze meets mine. I remind myself again how it sucks to have AFTD and just enough precog to frustrate. What I wouldn’t do to have some telepathy. When I want it.
It’d definitely suck ass to have all the time.
“Gramps.” I flick my gaze to his. A holographic card hangs around his neck via a lanyard. It’s his “ get out of jail free ” card he calls it.
The guys in black look pretty nervous. Not too many of them have met a free bird twentieth before.
With a twelve gauge shotgun.
Gramps maintains all his amendment rights.
I sling my power out like a net and get a hit from one of the chumps in black.
Nice little round-out there.
They have an AFTD. That means there's a Null. But I'm blind to that. I can only recognize my own brand. Like a fart.
I chuckle.
Gramps clamps his lips around a cig and lights it one-handed, his shotgun tucked underneath his arm. The white noise of the highway above our heads drones like a low-level vacuum machine.
“Hey, son.”
My eyes take in my kids’ vehicle. The roof looks like a shark bit the center of it, didn’t like the taste, and spit it out.
I walk closer, keeping one eye on the suits.
There’s a bump in the center where the driver would be. Knuckle-shaped imprints push out the roof.
Paxton.
Chicken skin rises on my bare skin. Our son tried to stop him and Dee from being pancaked.
I’m so glad I didn’t bring Jade.
I continue to circle the car, trying to squelch my rising panic.
The government lurkers are here.
My kids conveniently total an untotal-able car.
Things are adding up. Paranoia Central comes online.
Breeze from the traffic overhead lifts my hair as I cruise around the perimeter of the once-pristine car. I finally look up from the wreckage.
The first guy ( not the AFTD) says, “Net’s been deployed.” His face is cool, aloof. Hard.
I glance inside the driver’s window. Remnants of high-density tensile netting coat the interior like antique Silly String.
I zero in on Arrogant, keeping my temper in check for the moment. “Two questions.”
The man’s eyebrows rise.
Don’t like him already.
Give me a break. Panic is a close friend to Rage, and right now, they’re tag teaming me.
My power swells in response.
The voices of the undead grow louder. Of course, they’re louder now because so many more people have died since the undead fun began.
I breathe deeply. In. Then out. “Why did my kids’ car crash? With a billion avoidance measures, in theory, that’s a no , guys.”
He opens his mouth, and I glare.
He smirks, holding his hands together and rocking back on his heels. Amused. Confident.
Silent.
Neither amused nor confident I smile, more a baring of teeth.
I’m just pissed.
I take in the five Randoms of mixed abilities and know they’re involved. They’re close to Pax’s age. It’s surreal how little things have changed since I ran
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