Rafael & the magic DarKNight

Centisom had expanded overnight, and Gateway Hall was now able to accommodate the combined number of Guardians and aspiring Guardians.

Even though it was packed with people, there was only a low-pitched social buzz, and the overall atmosphere was subdued at best.

Rafael was astonished by the large number of Guardians. Their respective ages ranged from late teens to almost elderly, and they all looked surprisingly average. They were people one would meet on the street and overlook, never guessing they were warriors with special powers, holding everything together.

Eve-of-war. What a terrible word, Rafael thought. They were all poised to fight the battle that would decide Dreamland’s future, and the PIC Team’s success – or defeat – would most likely be the decisive factor.

In a moment of fear-driven introspection, Rafael acknowledged the gripping dread of unknown danger and the anxiety from knowing he would maybe have to do something awful that he could never take back.

Grace’s hand found his, pulling him out of his darkness. As planned, they exchanged bags. Their friends, surrounding them in a loose circle, hid them from prying eyes.

She patted the bag, reassuring herself the tablet he had retrieved from their war room was there. “Fully loaded?”

“Yep.”

A few minutes later, the crowd parted, and Mr. Santiago appeared. “I’m sorry, Rafael,” he said with a note of regret in his voice, “I won’t be able to grant your request for protection because I’m needed on the front line. However, my colleague has volunteered to shadow you.”

They gasped in unison when they saw the cloaked figure approaching.

Mr. Zhou. Go figure. He nodded.

Mr. Santiago added, “I trust Mr. Zhou will ensure your safety. Good luck.” And with that, he was gone.

Poppina was the first to recover. “Mr. Zhou, how... nice to see you.”

The Head of Knowledge twisted his mouth in a rictus. “Do what I tell you, and you’ll be fine. We’re last to go. I’ll come and get you when it’s time.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the group of teachers.

Jennifer let out a long sigh. “That’s a big letdown.”

Rafael shrugged. “On the bright side, he will be so focused on me that he won’t see anything you’re doing.”

Kiano’s big frame shook in silent laughter. “Poor Rafael takes another one for the team,”

“Yeah, who knew his disdain for me would work to our benefit?”

Before anyone could respond, the sound of Mr. Demetriu’s stoic voice shook the room. “Good luck,” was all he said. The doors to Dreamland – the portals to war – opened with a dramatic clang, and the phantom mist came pouring in.

They huddled together, watching in terrified silence as the many Guardian Units marched out. Rafael’s heart pounded, his stomach heaved, and his body shook as Dreamland’s pull on him intensified. A good portion of the trainees was pale, and some of them moved their lips, murmuring final prayers to their respective deities.

Rafael’s little group of six was last to go. As he approached the door where Mr. Zhou had positioned himself, their steps echoed through the empty hall with finality.

When he walked past, the teacher grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the group. “Are you sure you want to do this, Rafael? It’s not safe for you. You should stay in Centisom. With me.”

The nasal voice grated his nerves more than ever, but he was resolute. “I’m with my friends all the way.”

The man lowered his voice. “We can’t afford to lose you.” He sounded sincere. “Your gifts can’t be wasted.”

Rafael had suspected Mr. Zhou knew about his dual gifts. He shook his head. “I’m not staying behind.”

But just as he stepped forward, the cold kiss of steel on his throat forced him to stop. The PIC Team protested in outrage.

“You should have accepted the easy way,” Mr. Zhou whispered in his ear as he shifted to face the group. “Go. Rafael and I have a matter to discuss.”

When his friends didn’t comply, the man pushed the blade deeper and barked, “Now!”

Rafael froze, the stinging pain confirming the insane man had broken his skin. He tried to tell his friends to go with his eyes. Grace nodded and pulled the others with her.

When the fog had swallowed the last of their agonized faces, Mr. Zhou flicked his free hand at the door. It closed with a final clang.

The final bet was on.

Mr. Zhou repositioned his blade to the small of Rafael’s back and used it to steer him across the cavernous room toward another door. Rafael kept his feet agile to avoid an accidental slice of the knife, and his mouth quiet.

They entered Dreamland through the door, and the jungle of green immediately engulfed them.

He. Hated. The. Jungle.

“Don’t you dare think about rebelling, I’m still quicker with the blade than you are with your gift,” Mr. Zhou whispered.

Rafael moved without any hesitation to create the illusion of surrender and smiled inwardly. The teacher was deluding himself, but he let the charade go on. However, as they hiked deeper and deeper into the green abyss, and he felt the relentless claws of Dreamland yanking his guts, his anxiety rose.

A menacing rumble froze him mid-step. The tip of the blade pierced his lower back before the clumsy teacher could come to a stop. A second later, the king of the Sentinels emerged from the thicket, prowling on silent paws, stopping within striking distance of the two.

It pinned Rafael with his eerie yellow, malicious eyes, assessing, probing, testing his resolve for a long minute. Rafael forced himself to look back, knowing he had already defeated the beast once, yet fighting to suppress a cold shudder when he saw the promise of pain in the Sentinel’s gaze. Without warning, the Sentinel made a thunderous snorting sound and, to Rafael’s astonishment, turned and swaggered away.

Then it hit him: The infernal creature had been mocking him as a payback for their earlier encounter.

“About time,” Mr. Zhou muttered and prompted Rafael to follow the Sentinel with another nudge of the blade.

After another long, tense trek in the wake of the mammoth Sentinel, they reached a large clearing on a hilltop covered in a multitude of Sentinels. In the distance, amid the hellish green landscape, Rafael could distinguish four glowing points. They must be the portals, where the battle was taking place, Guardians against Sentinels – maybe even astral children, for all he knew. Somewhere out there, another entrance was dark, and his friends were probably cut off from any hope of retreat, thanks to his callous captor.

Mr. Zhou’s hot breath on his nape elicited yet another shudder of disgust, but he had nowhere to go. Like a coward, the teacher had trapped him between himself and the army of Sentinels. The promise of painful demise in their silent steps made Rafael’s heart thump in dread.

He pushed back the hairs plastered on his wet forehead with a trembling hand and took a calming breath. He couldn’t give up now – couldn’t fail – when the life of his friends, his brother, and an untold number of hostages depended on him.

The king Sentinel moved through the herd to the center, where a hand rose from a cluster of fur and petted him. A scratchy voice Rafael recognized too well asked, “What have you brought me, sweetheart?”

Rafael couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the soft, loving inflection in Rahima’s tone, and he was equally dumbstruck by how the fierce Sentinels were vying for her attention, adoration in their eyes.

He would need years of therapy to forget that hideous sight.

Rahima rose and her eyes veered to their position. Rafael felt Mr. Zhou recoil when her expression melted into a mask of fury.

“You old fool! How dare you come here! You’ve brought me yet another fake.”

The teacher held both hands up in a placating gesture. Rafael relaxed a fraction when the tip of the knife left his back.

“My dear Rahima, you’d do well to remember I am on your side,” Mr. Zhou said with misplaced arrogance. “This meddling troupe of unruly trainees fooled everyone. But fret not, I’ve brought you the right device this time.”

Mr. Zhou, the moron, didn’t seem to notice how she bristled at his superior demeanor. Rafael took a careful step to the side, putting a healthy distance between him and the teacher, uncertain if Rahima’s narrowed eyes and bloodless lips were foreshadowing an imminent attack. The teacher deserved everything he got, but Rafael had no desire to be part of the carnage.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael said to Rahima, drawing her attention to him. “I didn’t know you were trying to protect Dreamland.” He pointed at the Sentinels. “These are beautiful, fierce creatures, and they belong here.” He put some venom in his voice for good measure. “The Guardians don’t deserve Dreamland. They are no better than tyrants, and I can’t wait to be free from them.”

“Watch your mouth, foolish child,” Mr. Zhou snapped, his face blushing in ire.

Rafael took a decisive step toward him and was gratified to see him twitch. “The better part of valor is silence, Mr. Zhou,” he whispered, hoping his words wouldn’t reach Rahima. “If you want to survive, you’ll be quiet and hope she forgets you’re here.”

Sadly, the teacher didn’t value his life and shouted, “As if I would follow the advice of a child!”

He seized Rafael by the arm and, lifting the dagger at his throat again, dragged him toward Rahima, who now stood with a quizzical look on her face.

The Sentinels parted to let them through. A final shove sent Rafael tumbling through the velvet grass until he came to a rest at her feet. When he looked up, all he could see were her pants, the holes and rips within inches of his faces.

“Give it to her!” Mr. Zhou shouted, punctuating his order with a vicious kick to Rafael’s back.

He felt something snap and agony shot through him. The teacher’s idiotic arrogance was going to be his death. Cradling his ribs and fighting for air, he stretched his neck to meet her eyes. “Tablet... is in my bag... you’ll need... password.”

His chances of survival were diminishing fast, but he felt a flicker of hope when her face seemed to soften a fraction.

She reached into his bag and retrieved the tablet. “Password?”

He gave it to her. She hummed to herself while the device powered up.

Mr. Zhou’s high-pitched voice interrupted her singsong. “It’s time for you to deliver. Now.”

The man had no sense of restraint whatsoever.

She threw him an indifferent glance. “Sentinels are mine. Children are his. You wait.”

She returned her attention to the device in her hands, entered the password, and her face lit up when the device beeped to indicate a successful login. “That’s it!”

As soon as she touched the screen, Rafael started counting in his head.

At the count of twenty, she stopped humming and began drumming her fingers on the tablet. At fifty, she hurled it to the ground and paced back and forth, her Sentinels following her every step.

At sixty, a spot on the ground next to the tablet began to glow. Rafael inched away from it, being careful not to draw her attention. Mr. Zhou was rooted in place, muttering profanities under his breath. The fool was on the verge of ruining everything.

The glow finally faded out, and in its place stood a handsome teenager with baby blue eyes and a dark, artfully unkempt mop of jet black hair on his head.

“Henry!” came Rahima’s ecstatic voice.

Rafael welled up with hate. The twisted freak, who called himself The Prince Of Dreamland, who had ruthlessly snatched Lennart and countless others and caused so many people so much pain, was now within a sword’s strike to the jugular from him. However, Henry’s immediate demise wouldn’t save his brother, he reminded himself. Patience.

Henry and Rahima flew together and kissed with the eagerness and desperation of cross-stared lovers.

Yuck. Rafael looked away in disgust. Maddox had been right – it was a sick, diabolical love story.

Pushing aside his loathing, Rafael started the next countdown, hoping Grace’s so-far-impeccable programming would continue as planned.

Sixty.

Just as he began to count, throngs of zombied-out astral kids flooded into the clearing and fell into the Sentinel ranks. Rafael couldn’t believe how very young some of them were. What kind of irresponsible parents allowed those vulnerable and impressionable minds to play such dark games? No wonder there were so many Leon’s and Bobby’s in the world.

The zombie kids gazed at the face-sucking pair with a look of pure adoration on their ghostly faces – double yuck.

Rafael knew Lennart could be anywhere in that crowd, but he couldn’t spare the time to look for him if he wanted to succeed.

Ten.

He looked at the tablet on the ground.

Three, two, one...

The screen went blank.

He lifted his head in anticipation and – praise to Grace and her genius – the Sentinels were fading away. He felt a colossal weight lift from his shoulders as the last vestiges of the creatures winked out. His friends were safe. If his ribs weren’t hurting so bad, he would heave a sigh of relief.

He restarted the countdown.

For once, Mr. Zhou’s tactlessness was useful. At the count of thirty, the man bellowed: “Stop that distasteful kissing at once. I request my due. Right this second. I have places to be.”

They shot him a hard glance and kissed again in defiance before Henry finally spoke with malice in his voice.

“Should I reward the very Guardian who threw me out like trash?”

Rahima elbowed him. “Well, it started with his idea, after all. I say, let him reap the benefice.”

A wave of dread crawled down Rafael’s back when he saw the glee in her eyes.

Mr. Zhou, oblivious to the wicked undercurrents, drew himself up to his full diminutive height and puffed out his chest. “Your evil pets were most certainly not my idea. Now deliver what you promised.”

Rahima and Henry exchanged a glance before Henry turned to the quiet zombie kids crowding the clearing. “Save the planet. Plant trees,” he commanded in a bored tone.

As soon as he finished the word, the children chanted in unison.

“Save the planet. Plant trees.”

Rafael stared at Mr. Zhou in disbelief as it all clicked together in his mind like another math equation. That was the reason for this insanity? A short-cut to save the planet?! Admittedly, the current state of the planes wasn’t good but, by all accounts, Rafael couldn’t see how it demanded such an extreme measure.

When he saw the look of intense satisfaction on the man’s face, it dawned on him that Mr. Zhou’s motive all along was to be the savior of Earth. Of course! Rafael’s presence and Planeweaving gift were threats to Mr. Zhou’s long-term environmental plans. That’s why the teacher went ahead with the harebrained scheme despite how wrong, how evil it was.

And why he wanted Rafael dead.

Filled with red-hot rage, Rafael lost count of the remaining seconds. The heartless dimwit was robbing a whole generation of their free will, and lives, and relishing every second of it.

“And now, it’s time for my reward to you,” Rahima announced, turning her cold stare on Mr. Zhou.

When nothing happened, her sinister expression turned to a contorted frown of confusion. “Wait! Where are my Sentinels?”

Rafael’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He was sure that, by now, the countdown should have reached zero. But when he looked around, the zombie kids were still crowding the clearing, spellbound, and chanting “Save the planet. Plant trees.”

For some reason, the trojan horse hadn’t reached its target, and he had failed to free Lennart from astral captivity. Grace had warned them that Henry could have safeguards in place in the event something went wrong.

A growl at his back startled him, and he sat up in a panic, unsure if all the Sentinels were gone. But when he looked up, he was shocked to see scores of gray beasts surging into the clearing with great leaps, weaving with feline dexterity through the crowd of zombie kids.

They were smaller than the Sentinels, almost catlike in form, around the size of panthers. Where the Sentinels had been shaggy and scruffy, these beasts were healthy, alert, and had silky, groomed fur and eyes that glowed in multicolored hues.

Nightterrors.

In a blink, they had swarmed the clearing, sending Mr. Zhou to the ground to protect himself. Rafael didn’t sense malice from them, though his brain couldn’t process what they were doing there. He sat still while they streamed past without even brushing him. They surrounded the wannabe prince and princess, whose jaws were slack in dawning horror.

Rahima shook herself to lucidity and hissed vicious expletives. She and Henry looked at each other. She raised her arms skyward while he shouted to the astral kids, “Kill the Guardians!”

After one heartbeat of quiet, the zombied-out astral bodies pivoted toward Rafael and Mr. Zhou, malevolence glinting from the depth of their eyes.

“Save the planet. Plant trees. KILL the Guardians.”

Rafael froze in horror. The worst-case scenario was unfolding in sickening clarity before his very eyes. The Guardians would never hurt the astral children they had sworn to protect. Now they – and all his friends – were in even greater danger than before. His plan had backfired and made everything worse.

Rahima and Henry jumped into the basket of a hot air balloon she had manifested. The Nightterrors snapped in vain to keep it from rising.

Rafael huffed in disbelief. That masterpiece of low-tech escape would cost him everything. He pushed to his feet, aware that time was slipping away.

Ignoring the whimpering Mr. Zhou next to him, he took a deep, painful breath and sent a thread of consciousness into the fabric of the balloon. When his mind connected with the newly manifested material, he yanked as hard as he could with his power, trying to disperse the matter and cut a hole in it.

“No!” Rahima shouted and flicked a hand at him.

The wave of compacted air she blasted forth lifted him off his feet and knocked him to the ground.

A fresh surge of pain took his breath away. His body gave up and went limp, his eyes closed, and a wave of despair drowned his remaining hope. The next moment, a mass of programmed astral zombies began to descend on him. Like his fellow Guardians, he couldn’t bring himself to harm the hostage children, especially since any of them could be his brother.

Now he would die.

His body was too weak to initiate a transfer.

A hot tear escaped.

Sorry, Lennart.

A shadow fell on him. A hand clamped his shoulder.

“Rafael, can you hear me?”

He knew the booming voice. His eyelashes parted, revealing Mr. Santiago’s face, a frown of worry conjuring a mono-brow above his prominent nose.

Rafael giggled and winced.

The man sighed in visible relief and stood up. “I’ll return to you in a moment.”

Rafael watched in awe as Mr. Santiago strode into a cluster of children in the middle of the clearing. Nightterrors were encircling and pulling at their clothes... but in a docile manner. Weird.

Even weirder were the few astral children that roamed the clearing, their eyes wide in apparent disbelief. Rafael noticed they were more life-like and lucid than the others. How had they escaped the hijacking of their minds?

New hope surged in him at the thought that his brother had maybe also managed to return to lucidity. But he couldn’t find Lennart’s familiar face among the crowd.

Mr. Santiago proceeded to untangle and detach children from the cluster of astral zombies that had piled on top of Mr. Zhou. The rescue operation was tricky because he didn’t want to harm the children. While Mr. Santiago plucked them out one by one, taking care to pin their arms to their torso before releasing them a few feet away, Rafael watched the escaping hot air balloon, hate and rage burning a hole in his stomach.

Mr. Santiago had almost reached Mr. Zhou. It was a good thing the astral zombies were sluggish, almost trancelike; otherwise, his strategy wouldn’t have worked.

All the while, the eerie chant droned on, “Save the planet. Plant trees. KILL the Guardians.”

Rafael mustered up just enough strength to roll away from the group of oncoming zombie kids who had targeted him.

Mr. Santiago grunted and plunged his hands into the remaining cluster. He tore a flailing Mr. Zhou from the bottom of the huddle, dragged him like a bag of laundry over to Rafael, and dropped him. Just then, the Nightterrors formed a protective circle around them, causing Mr. Zhou to sit up and spew insults.

Mr. Santiago sighed, winked at Rafael, and rocked Mr. Zhou with a blow to the head, which sent his eyes rolling back and his body crumpling to the ground.

The Guardian grinned and pointed at the still figure. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

Rafael grinned and winced again when he tried to move.

“You’re hurt. Where?”

“Ribcage, back. Mr. Zhou kicked me.” He gulped. “You’re late.”

“I know. Darn Nightterrors got in the way. Don’t worry, though. I’ve seen and heard enough.”

Rafael nodded. Mr. Zhou wouldn’t be causing any more problems in the future – if there was a future.

“Healing isn’t my forte but let me give it a try.”

Mr. Santiago pressed his big, warm hand on the bruised area, and although Rafael could tell it wasn’t on par with Maddox’s gift, it still did an excellent job at dulling the pain.

Just when he took his first free breath in a while, a menacing growl came from the Nightterrors. The volume rose with each passing second.

“What’s going on?”

Mr. Santiago shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s go.”

He pulled Rafael to his feet and hoisted Mr. Zhou.

The Nightterrors in the circle turned and snapped at a kid. Then another, and another.

Mr. Santiago let go of Mr. Zhou, who landed with a thud. The snapping ceased, and the circle of beasts turned inward to fix their mesmerizing, cold eyes on Rafael.

The Guardian sighed, fished an object from his pocket, and offered it to Rafael. “They think you still have something to do.”

Rafael’s fingers closed over the USB stick containing the copy of Grace’s trojan horse code. He had given it to the Guardian for safekeeping the previous evening. Mr. Santiago was supposed to hand it over to Grace if the plan didn’t pan out or if the tablet got destroyed. Rafael was no computer genius, but he knew how to copy files.

He lifted his gaze to Mr. Santiago in question.

“Do your thing, Rafael.”

“How did you know?”

“I had a close friend who died a while ago. A friend like you.”

That was all he needed to say.

Rafael considered the USB stick. He was holding their last chance to finish off the nightmare. His spirit lifted even while the weight of responsibility settled onto his shoulders.

Given enough time, Grace could worm her way into Henry’s backup server. She was that good. But he could also end it now. The Nightterrors’ growls intensified as though they sensed his hesitation.

“All right,” he whispered. He rubbed the stick on a scratch to smear it with blood, dropped it in his pocket, and brought his palms together.

How difficult could it be to slip a stick into a slot?

Darkness. Muffled stillness.

Rafael landed in a crouched position. Much better. He blinked a couple of times, and the room came into focus. Scouting the location via maps and mirrors had gone a long way to ensure his safety, but it hadn’t provided a layout of the house.

He stood up and made a visual sweep. It was a gloomy place, only saved from total darkness by a weak light filtering through small windows near the ceiling. He was in a basement.

To his left, green and red lights danced on a black box. It must be the server, he thought – emitting an innocuous hum while ensnaring countless innocents with each passing second. Hatred rose within him as he imagined himself blasting the machine into a cloud of molecules. But Grace had stressed the critical data was stored somewhere else in the cloud, and for the trojan horse to wipe it, he needed the server. It was a one-two punch operation.

He suppressed his impatience and finished surveying the room. The soft breathing he could hear must belong to Henry, the wannabe prince. Very well.

He tiptoed in the direction of the bed to confirm his assumption. There he was. Strange, the Henry he saw in Dreamland had been neat, while the one now in front of him looked disheveled and smelled like dirty socks. At least, Rafael would smell him coming if the guy tried to creep on him.

He went next to the server, careful to take slow, quiet steps, and sat on the futuristic gaming chair. The light was weak, but it would do. A moment later, he slotted the USB stick, the screen woke to life, and the soft sound of crunching data joined the hum of the machine.

He closed his eyes in relief. His job was almost done.

Grace had programmed the trojan horse virus to look like a harmless, automated download from Dreamland. By now, it was chewing through all of Henry’s codes and backup files like termites.

Rafael stayed to verify the auto-destruct routine executed as planned. It was programmed to annihilate any chance of salvaging the rogue code and to self-destruct afterward. As soon as it was done, he would transfer out of there. He was not eager to face – and smell – Henry after the rude wake-up call that was awaiting him.

Just another minute or so now.

“You. Are. Mine. Now.”

Rafael stiffened. It was her voice – the madwoman, star of his worst nightmares. How could she be here?

He spun around. A closet door stood ajar at her back.

The words fell out of his numb lips. “What are you doing here?”

The lamp was throwing shadows on her face, elongating her nose, deepening the hollow of her cheeks. But it was unmistakably her.

Mrs. Zadi.

A smirk deformed her lips. “They told me you’d come, that you are my responsibility. Mine.” She yelled the last words.

His eyes darted around the room. There was only one exit, and she was blocking it.

Chaotic images of his friends flashed through his mind. Poppina’s lips were moving, asking him: What are you?

Survivor. I’m a survivor.

And then, all he’d been through since he set foot in Centisom rose in his mind – the last image of him and Grace standing hand in hand in Gateway Hall on the eve of a war.

Scratch that. I’m a warrior.

He steeled himself and pushed away from the desk.

“What do you want from me? I didn’t do a thing to you,” he said. He hoped to gain a few precious minutes by coaxing her to talk. At least, that’s how they did it in movies.

He didn’t even know if he could use his manifestation gift in the real world for something of this magnitude, and he wasn’t about to try. Plus, his energy reserve was low, and he’d need every drop of it to hightail out of the dreadful place if he got the chance.

While his brain was pondering his options, she prowled toward him. As she stepped into the light, he noticed her face was bruised in several places. His mum packed a mean punch. The dragon inside him chuckled in approval.

“Stop,” he raised a firm hand to stall her.

Holy snabarca, the authority in his voice worked.

“I want to know why you’re after me. Now.”

She threw her head back and shook with a long, broken laugh. “You were so easy to break. So sweet, so eager to please. They told me: Don’t let him grow into his potential.” She shrugged, unbothered by her callous tone. “Whatever that means. Then, they told me: If you want your life back, you will kill him. He’s as good as dead anyway.”

Her eyes glared into his. “And now you die.”

She lunged and missed. But her hand dislodged the USB stick. He wasn’t sure if it mattered at that point, but he had to reinsert it just in case. He swirled the game geek chair squarely between them and pushed it into her with as much strength as he could muster. She staggered back a step, just enough for him to reach over and push the stick back into the slot.

The wild-eyed woman climbed on the chair and clamped her hands around his throat. But with a well-placed kick to the base of the top-heavy chair, he sent her tumbling to the floor.

“Who are they? Why me?” he shouted.

She wiped her nose and blinked at the sight of blood on her fingers. “Now, you’ll suffer.”

He scrambled back when her eyes zeroed on him, her gaze screaming bloody murder. His hand clamped in reflex on an object, and he brought it forth. Uh, a plastic lightsaber. Say hello to Star Wars. Nevertheless, he knew from experience that these things could hurt. He swung it in front of him, forcing her to stop.

She snatched the weapon. He let it go. Reaching back for something, anything, he pulled a heavy cylindrical object from the shelf and threw it at her. His aim wasn’t perfect, but the can of honey whacked her on the shoulder. Seeing there were more cans on the shelf, he hurled one object after another. She didn’t retreat, but she wasn’t making progress either, busy deflecting the volley of canned food.

The intense battle of wills continued, but his arm began to hurt as he dug deeper and deeper into the shelves for ammo. She used his increased delays to advance.

When her hand gripped his arm to jerk him forward, he noticed a new smell permeating the air.

Something was burning.

A glance at the computer confirmed Grace’s dark sense of humor. Now he knew why she had named the trojan horse Scorched Earth. His new favorite hacker was thorough.

And his job was done. It was time to leave.

He brought his palms together, but before he could activate his transport, the maniacal witch tackled him, sending the two of them crashing to the floor. She slammed her body on top of his and clenched her hands around his throat again.

He swung and grabbed and pulled and wrenched, but nothing loosened the vice grip of claws pinching his life away. His vision blurred, his lungs burned, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he blacked out.

“Say hello to the old man in the mirror,” she hissed in gleeful triumph.

Feeling his life slip away, he summoned the energy to lift an arm above his head. The other one stayed low, unable to move past the reawakened agony in his ribs. If he only could connect his palms...

At least he had saved Lennart. At least...

Suddenly, her head jerked sideways, her eyes bulged, and she toppled over.

Gasping for air in the smoke-filled room, he coughed several times.

“Who are you?” a bewildered voice asked.

Rafael turned his head to see a figure framed in a grayish cloud looming over him. It was Henry Price. Recognition flashed in Henry’s eyes, and he lifted his baseball bat in preparation for another swing. But before he could bring the bat down, his breath faltered, and a cough seized him.

Rafael didn’t hesitate. He clasped his hands together, and, thankfully, the light of imminent transport lit up his face.

Thank you, Grace.