Emidrion

By Amy Koumis

Plagued by hallucinations since she was a toddler, Erin Sides figures she might just be crazy. But when a mysterious cell phone makes her foster sister disappear, Erin must strike a bargain with the caller on the other end to get her back. That bargain takes Erin to a world far removed from her New Mexico home.

 

Trapped in an alternate future, Erin is forced to cooperate with a group of genetically altered refugees and criminals known only as the Stance. As Erin fights daily to stay alive among the Stance and their half-mad leader, Asher, her visions, once purely imaginary, begin to affect the world around her in very real ways.

The only way Erin can stop the hallucinations and find her sister is to betray the Stance to the Lady Executive Lilith, a military genius who commands an elite fighting force sworn to annihilate the Stance and their allies.

 

There's just one problem: the Stance aren't so bad.

 

In fact, Erin feels more at home with them—and with Asher—than she ever did in her world. How can she choose between the life of her sister and the lives of the people who have become her new family? And how much time does she have before her hallucinations turn her new chosen world upside-down?

 

Please read the foreword in the preview to understand the genesis of this posthumous novel. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Parker Hayden Media
• Release date: Nov 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215807606

Book preview

1

how it begins

The darkness smelled like pine needles.

Snow cushioned Erin’s pounding head. It melted on her skin. She didn’t want to get up.

Erin’s eyes fluttered open, then shut again as her headache pinched harder. Briefly, she recalled looking up through the snow-heaped needles of a pine tree. Fresh snow lay everywhere, piled on chunks of granite, wrinkling off branches, glittering under a sky the color of mildew. But it was the middle of August, in southern New Mexico. The temperature hadn’t slipped below seventy-eight in four months. What was going on?

She felt her backpack sitting on her foot and kicked it off.

The air crackled with ice, and Erin grew colder by the second, shivering in her cutoffs. For one stupid instant, all she could think about how she was glad to have her sweatshirt.

She lay there for a while, thinking, this is what dead feels like. I died and went to Alaska. It didn’t make sense. Not much made sense anymore. Gripping a low-hanging branch, Erin stood, wobbled, and buckled to the ground. Vertigo hit like a shovel in the head, making the ground pitch underneath her.

Erin leaned against the tree trunk, waiting for her brain to switch back on. She might have remained like that for a long time if someone behind her hadn’t shrieked.

Erin wheeled around, caught sight of a person hunched over in a drift. Her eyes grew wide.

Michelle!

Her foster sister flopped around in the snow like a landed trout, coming to a rest with her hands flat behind her and her eyes fixed in horror on Erin. She screamed again and made a grab for Erin’s ankles, sending them both sprawling. Erin whacked the back of her head on something, a branch or a rock—it hurt, and Erin did not appreciate the addition of pain to her already precarious state. She shoved Michelle off and pinned her to the ground.

What is wrong with you? Stop it!

Michelle said nothing, just stared at Erin, breathing hard. Erin worried she might have been too violent. Shel?

Michelle gulped, then let loose with a shriek even the blanket of snow could not muffle. She yanked her arm back and smacked Erin under the chin, wriggling free while Erin swore over her twice-bitten lip. Ignoring the sting, Erin latched onto Michelle’s foot.

Shelley, don’t—

But Michelle would have none of it. Erin ended up with a broken flip-flop as Michelle stumbled away, sobbing. Pushing the hardening ball of fear down in her chest, Erin chased after her sister yet again.

Fortunately, Michelle wore herself out on her own and dragged to a halt, curling into a fetal ball. Erin touched her arm gently in case she walloped her again. But Michelle just gazed up at her, tears sliding off her cheeks to make holes in the snow.

Erin, what—

I know. It’s okay, I promise. Just another hallucination. Just like when we were kids, right? Behind her, Erin thought she heard something—the distant hum of what sounded like a high-powered microwave. She whipped around, saw nothing, returned to Michelle.

But that wasn’t real, Michelle said hoarsely, All the doctors, they said it wasn’t real, they said...

The noise was not her imagination now. It doubled in intensity, going from microwave to nuclear reactor. Only then did Erin realize how exposed they were—no shelter, not even a climbable tree. A sudden fear stole over her, and she knew they should not stay in the clearing. She grabbed Michelle by the elbow and shook.

Listen, we can’t stay here. You have to get up.

Michelle blinked at her, paralyzed with fear. The mechanical hum whined to a fever pitch, taking its toll on her eardrums. Erin grabbed her backpack, and tossed it behind a massive boulder standing a few feet away. When her attempts at getting Michelle to walk failed, Erin hooked her under the arms and tried to drag her behind the rock. For some reason, this caused Michelle’s senses to desert her again, and she kicked and howled. The approaching machine, the hysterics, everything...it was too much. She dropped her sister in the snow and dove behind the rock just as a black shape zoomed into the clearing.

It froze, hovering a few feet from the place where Michelle lay. The shape was reminiscent of a sideways teardrop, a blob of oil hanging in space. The air underneath it shimmered and turned the snow into a steaming puddle; it looked to be studying the area, as if it knew they were still there. Erin clung to her backpack and pressed herself against the rock, wishing she could melt into it along with the virgin snow.

She heard something hiss, and a seam appeared around the top of the craft, splitting away like the hatch on a submarine. Then, the top of a head emerged. It wore, of all things, a black stocking cap.

A man’s torso followed, then a pair of legs ending in two sturdy combat boots. He wore sunglasses, gloves, and no expression to speak of. There was nothing remarkable about the man’s clothes or appearance with the exception of his jacket, a parka in a peculiar shade of sunflower yellow. The sleeves bristled with patches and chevrons, too far away for Erin to examine. He dropped onto the snow, drew something from inside the jacket and held it out in front of him, advancing on Michelle.

Erin’s foster father was not a violent man, but during the peak of Erin’s psychiatric troubles, a few kids had taken it upon themselves to come to their house in the middle of the night, breaking windows or tagging the porch with any number of epithets. Shortly afterward, Erin learned that he owned three guns—the Colt .45 in Erin’s possession, a revolver, and one double-barrel shotgun full of rock salt, which he kept by the bed at night. She had only been seven at the time, but learned very quickly to recognize the difference between a gun and a toy. And the thing the man in the yellow jacket now aimed at Michelle’s prone form was no toy.

Erin reached into the front compartment of her backpack, fingers closing around the grip of the .45. Her heart slammed against her ribs, sick with dread. In her world, people who weren’t afraid of getting shot at didn’t carry guns. There was just one, she reasoned. She could do it, she told herself, if it was just one.

She drew the gun and forced herself to breathe as she watched the yellow-jacket cross toward them.

40 minutes earlier

Erin crouched at the edge of a wide chasm slicing through the desert, squinting against the sun. A bead of sweat rolled into her eyelashes; she flicked it off and stuffed her T-shirt into her cutoffs. Although the heat begged for sandals, she wore a pair of sturdy hiking boots that were a size too big, a found treasure from a previous excursion. She picked up the length of nylon cord at her side and yanked. Behind her, the scrub oak tied to the other end rustled and shed bits of bark. Satisfied that her knotwork would hold her weight, Erin tossed the loose end into the crevice and reached for the empty backpack leaning against her thigh. Its former contents—an algebra textbook, her toothbrush, a spare set of clothes wrapped around a lumpy object—lay discarded under the tree where she’d slept last night. She kicked her legs over the edge and climbed the knots in the rope to the bottom, landing in a puff of dust.

Except for a surplus of dirt and leaves from yesterday’s flash flood, the formation was as pristine as ever, sunlight curving off rock the color of sliced cling peaches. Judging by the debris, the water had risen about fifteen feet, carrying whatever washed down from the town center or nearby suburb in its wake. Those whatevers were exactly what Erin was looking for: sunglasses, jackets, jewelry, anything that survived the water in good enough shape for her to sell. It wasn’t pretty work, but her foster mother refused to lend her pocket money ever since Erin had started using it to buy cigarettes. Erin didn’t understand the sudden interest in her health—unless she’d been misinterpreting signals for the past decade, her foster mother would consider it a great windfall if Erin were hit by a bus.

As she scanned the distance for anything besides leaves and rocks, something caught the light. An insect? She looked down. Yes, there was something. Green, like pulped grass.

The second she bent to investigate, she heard an unmistakable sound bounce off the canyon walls: a car engine. And a car engine out in the sticks meant only one thing.

Erin shut her eyes. Crap.

The car grumbled across the packed earth until Erin heard the tires squeal, spitting gravel. Silence when the engine shut off, then a slamming door, and light, brisk footsteps. They stopped at the edge of the crevice.

Erin!

Erin winced. Of all the voices in the world, none could dig into her ears like her foster sister’s.

I knew it, Michelle called down. I knew I’d find you here. Are you out of your mind? It’s Wednesday, you idiot—you missed three days of summer school.

Better than missing three days of summer, Erin said under her breath. If Michelle had come here, she’d been searching for a while—of Erin’s many haunts, the gulch was the furthest from civilization. Steeling herself for the lecture, she stepped toward the rope.

Under her foot, something crunched.

Erin lifted her boot away to reveal a green cell phone—the tiny touch-screen kind, like they gave to kids who shouldn’t have cell phones in the first place. It looked all right for its unexpected trip downstream. No marks on the screen, all the plastic shiny and intact. She brushed the dirt off, turned it over in her hand. When she flipped the screen up, it played a cheerful scrap of music and the display glowed blue. Erin frowned. Her phone sure wouldn’t have survived a flash flood. Maybe this one was waterproof or something. Waterproof usually meant expensive, and she made a note to have it appraised as soon as she could ditch Michelle for the pawn shop.

Erin! Michelle’s voice made her start. If you aren’t up here in ten seconds, I’m calling Mom.

For a moment, Erin considered mentioning the phone to Michelle but decided to keep quiet. Her foster sister didn’t have a problem with most of what Erin found and sold, even nice things like jewelry or sunglasses, but insisted Erin return anything with an identifier—names, wallets, whatever. Erin had lost count of all the expensive gadgets, handbags, and kid’s toys she’d been bullied into leaving on various porches just because some genius got their hands on a Sharpie. But not this time—she wasn’t going to call off her scavenging without something to show for it. After stuffing the phone in her pocket, she braced her foot on the rock. Michelle kept her tirade going full blast while Erin scaled, something along the lines of don’t know how much trouble you’re in, can’t believe you ditched class again, what were you thinking.... A fairly mild reproach, by Michelle’s standards.

At length, Erin clambered over the edge and got shakily to her feet. A little support wouldn’t hurt, Erin said. I’d split fifty-fifty.

As soon as Erin emerged, she longed to be back down in the shadows. The one o’clock sun perched on her shoulders, leaching saltwater from her skin by the bucketful. Michelle didn’t look much better; her smooth black hair, courtesy of her Korean mother, hung lank and sweaty. A ribbon of moisture spread down the back of her tank top. Erin grabbed her water bottle, now blooming with condensation.

Fifty percent of whatever you find under a rock and pawn isn’t going to fund my college education. Erin offered her the bottle, and she took a long drink. Where were you? Mom was going to call the cops.

Erin finished the bottle. Mom threatens to call the cops if I track mud on the floor, she said. Besides, I had my phone.

Michelle raised the phone in question, tapped the blank screen with a matter-of-fact expression. It helps if you turn it on.

Did you cover for me? Erin asked.

I told her you were sleeping over at a friend’s. She didn’t buy it.

Probably because I don’t have any friends besides you. Erin grinned at her and opened her arms. Admit it. You missed me.

Like a drunk misses Prohibition. Can’t you even try to look guilty?

I will if I get a hug.

Michelle made her pinched face, but reluctantly stepped into Erin’s arms. Erin lifted her clear off her feet, making her squeal. She squirmed free and dropped back to the earth. Erin laughed. Prude.

Truant, Michelle shot back, dusting her shorts. Come on, we need to go.

Erin packed, stuffing her possessions into the infinite pockets of her bag. Can we stop for lunch?

No.

Please?

Okay, maybe. Michelle squinted around the tree, nudged the corner of the dusty Pendleton blanket laid out under the branches. She wrinkled her nose.

Have you been sleeping out here since the weekend?

Again, Erin didn’t reply, just grabbed the blanket and rolled it up. Michelle’s stream of questions continued.

How did you get this far? You didn’t walk.

Only until I hit the highway. Erin strapped the blanket to the outside of her bag.

Then what?

Erin stuck out her thumb. Michelle clapped a hand over her eyes.

Oh, Jesus.

What? Erin asked incredulously. He was a nice guy.

Nice guys don’t pick up hitchhikers, Michelle said. And nice girls don’t hitchhike.

Erin laughed at this, reaching for the bundle of clothes. Am I nice?

And what if he’d tried something? Michelle asked. What were you going to do, hit him with your algebra textbo—

Michelle stopped abruptly when she saw what had rolled out from the bundle of clothing. Erin glared at her as she snatched the Colt .45 Auto and stuffed it in her waistband.

Guess you just answered your own question.

Michelle’s mouth hung open like one of the fish in Erin’s hallucination. That was Dad’s...

He gave it to Mom before he left. Don’t look at me like that. I just borrowed it.

Finished packing, Erin swung the backpack across her shoulder. Michelle’s eyes stayed wide and fixed on the gun. She pointed.

Is it...

Erin whipped the gun out and fired. The shot left her ears and the desert ringing, muffling Michelle’s shriek. A fresh hole lay in the bark of the tree, surrounded by blond splinters.

She slipped the gun into her bag. Looks like.

As soon as the shock wore off, Michelle’s face went red. She made a sound like an overheated bull. I can’t keep putting myself out for you, Erin. Do any idea how much trouble you’re in?

Erin rolled her eyes. Come on, Shelly. Three days of summer school is—

They kicked you out.

Erin froze. She turned to Michelle, questioning. Michelle crossed her arms, and there was no laughter in her eyes.

Principal Velasquez called Mom this afternoon, said Michelle. She said you’ve missed too many classes to earn a grade.

Erin frowned. She hadn’t been keeping track. How many is that?

Try two weeks’ worth.

Her stomach twisted, but she pushed her anxiety down—Michelle worried enough for five of her. She gave another shrug. Fine. So, I’ll be in high school another year. It’s not like I have anything else to do.

Michelle squished her lips together until she took on the appearance of a very irate goldfish; she crossed to Erin and prodded her in the chest.

This. Is. Not. Funny, Erin! She prodded after each word until Erin stumbled backward into the tree. Mom’s throwing you out as soon as you get home. And if you don’t take Queen Elizabeth with you, she’s going to the pound.

Queen Elizabeth was Erin’s orange tabby, rotund and of indeterminable age. Erin had found her as a stray behind the local mini-mart and promptly adopted her, to her foster mother’s enduring dismay. The idea of Queen Elizabeth at the pound bothered her more than being kicked out of her own home...not that her foster mother would kick her out. After all, she needed someone to yell at when Michelle went to college.

She’s full of it. Why would she kick me out now?

Well, here’s my theory, Michelle said. You cut class, you wander home at three a.m. with either a shiner or a backpack full of junk, you keep losing your shoes, you get suspended for calling the principal an asshole to his face, twice, and you steal my credit cards. Oh, and you smoke in the bathroom. Did I miss anything?

As usual, Michelle had a point. Ms. Seung—formerly Mrs. McGovern—stood five-foot-zero, weighed about as much as a large Labrador and had passed down an exact copy of her personality to her natural daughter. Since the beginning, it had always been Michelle’s soccer trophies on the mantelpiece, Michelle’s student council flyers on the desk, Michelle’s acceptance letter from Vassar pinned to the fridge. All Erin had to show for the fourteen years since her tweaker mother dropped her off like a newspaper at her old school buddy’s house was a 4-H rifle team plaque and a drawer full of found junk.

Erin was a good sister—she kept the bullies away when they were in middle school, let Michelle borrow all of her music, fixed her hair for homecoming and prom. But if their world was a paper towel commercial, Michelle was the super-absorbent type that sucked up every drop of the mysterious blue spill, while Erin the nameless leading brand that fell apart into sloppy bits all over the counter.

Erin set her jaw. Fine. I’ll get a job.

Oh, like the last five?

Then I’ll move in with Dad.

Michelle snorted. Right. As if he wants you.

At the look on Erin’s face, she backtracked. I didn’t mean that.

Erin stared hard at the hole in the tree.

Did she tell him?

Michelle sighed. No. She wouldn’t call him up unless one of us needed a kidney.

Despite their lack of a blood relation, Erin’s foster father had more in common with her than anyone else in her family. He’d taught her about cars at a young age, took her for rides on his Harley, and even went to her shooting matches when she’d done 4-H rifle sports. Like her, he had a gift for charming people, fixing things, and running away, which he had done three years ago with the twenty-four-year-old caterer for his fiber optics company. He currently had two small children and a new Lexus to replace his Bondo-brown Ford and saw Erin and Michelle every other weekend.

Deeply, Erin had hoped he would help if his ex kicked her out, but it was almost certainly in vain. He might not even take Michelle, his own flesh and blood, if she asked. As if she ever would.

Erin pushed past her and climbed into the car without a word. Michelle joined her on the driver’s side and started it. Erin did not own a car due to her preference for motorcycles of the dubiously constructed crotch-rocket variety, something she and her one-time foster father shared. Michelle’s mother had made it clear to Erin that she would drop dead before letting her within ten feet of one of those suicide machines. Typical Mrs. Seung—one little joyride and no more learner’s permit for the family delinquent.

Michelle merged onto the almost-road leading to Lynchwood. Your GPA was two-point-zero last semester. Does that even matter to you?

Erin didn’t reply, busy digging through her backpack. Michelle gave her a dirty look when she tossed a pair of yellowed socks on the floor.

The desert crawled by outside her window—it was a testament to Michelle’s law-abiding nature that, despite her anger, she still drove five miles under the limit. Erin lapsed into stubborn silence. She put up with a lot from Michelle, but the harping and her own growing dread at what she would find when they got home was finally getting to her. They were on the edge of town, near the highway. Desert whizzed past on either side, occasionally interrupted by rock formations or stands of scrubby trees.

What were you doing out there anyway? said Michelle. Erin fiddled with the radio. The car filled with the breathless vocalizations of a Juarez Motors salesman. Zerointerestnopaymentsfortwelvemonthscomeintoday!

Looking for stuff. Sleeping. I don’t know, I wasn’t keeping track.

They were close to town now, as evidenced by the presence of pavement and a few sad mobile homes crouched in the distance like packages left out in the rain. Michelle came to a four-way stop, at which point she looked at Erin sideways.

Have you been taking your medicine?

Try our new smokin’ jalapeno poppers, oozing with melted cheddar and a plate of our famous spicy wings—

Erin gawked at her.

Have you been taking it or not? she repeated. Are you seeing things again?

Dumbstruck, Erin could only gape in disbelief. Michelle never brought up Erin’s medication, not when she knew how it galled her. She did not mention she had, in fact, forgotten to take her pill that morning, seeing as it was none of her damn business in the first place.

Exclusively from Whitney Windows and Siding! Call today for your free quote—

She tried and failed to recover from her incredulity, which quickly devolved into anger. It was too much. Michelle had crossed a sacred line and worst of all, did not appear to care. Erin fixed her foster sister with a look of unfiltered loathing. Then she grabbed her backpack, threw open the door, and stumbled out into the desert.

Erin heard her swear, then the tires screech as Michelle reversed. She didn’t turn around when Michelle jogged after her, leaving the car running.

Erin! Erin, I didn’t mean it, I’m—

Erin whipped around, glaring at her foster sister.

Olanzapine is for hallucinations and delusions, she said bitterly. And since you’re not growing a pair of antlers right now, I think we can assume I’m not hallucinating or delusional. But thanks for calling me a freak.

I didn’t call you a—

Michelle reached for her shoulder, but Erin jerked away.

I don’t care. She kept walking. Go away.

But Erin had underestimated her foster sister. Michelle walked straight up to Erin and shoved her, anxiety and her own brand of deeply potent anger giving her an almost comical expression.

Go away? I go into your room at eight on Sunday morning, all your stuff is gone, not even a note on the dresser, spent three days looking for you in a complete fucking panic, thinking you were chopped up in some serial killer’s trunk or something and you tell me—you have the nerve to tell me ‘go away’?

Her expression changed, became grave. She sucked in a rough breath.

Mom isn’t kidding this time; she went in your room and put everything in boxes, and if you don’t give up your key, she’s having the locks changed. I heard her calling about it. Your furniture is in the basement. She even tore down the motorcycle posters. This was it, Erin, your last chance. And you blew it.

Erin reeled back in shock—it wasn’t like Michelle to snap like that. Was she serious about their mother? She couldn’t possibly kick Erin out; she didn’t have the guts. Miss Seung might threaten, she might posture and sulk and boss, but she was her mother, not a landlord. Erin was more or less a daughter, and that had to count for something. Right?

Michelle was breathing hard, sweat beading on her forehead. She grabbed Erin’s arm. We’re going home.

She yanked free. What home? I thought you just told me I don’t have one. I can spend the whole goddamn week out here and she and her house can go to—

At that moment, the green phone, loosened from all the motion, slipped out of Erin’s pocket and landed at Michelle’s feet. Michelle stopped mid-rant and looked down blankly.

What’s that?

Nothing. Erin reached for it, but Michelle got there first. She frowned at the little green phone.

Where did you get this?

In the gulley. Erin put out her hand. Give it back.

Michelle ignored her, turning the phone over and over. She pulled her shoulders back, resolved.

I’m giving it back to whoever it belongs to, she said. And you can apologize for lying to me.

I didn’t!

Does this look like it spent the weekend in the mud? Michelle brandished it at her. There’s not a scratch on it. What’d you do, take it out of someone’s pocket?

She tried to pass Erin, but Erin’s arm shot out and stopped her. Her hands shook from balling her fists.

Yeah, that’s right. Erin the liar, thanks to you. You, the only other person on the planet who knows the things I see aren’t just some schizo daydreams, and not once did you ever stick up for me.

She leaned in close to Michelle’s astonished face and hissed, you know they’re real. Don’t you, Magpie?

Michelle recoiled as if Erin had just slapped her. For God’s sake, I was five years old. Everyone has a make-believe world when they’re five.

Is that what you think it was? Make-believe?

Yeah. Michelle was on the defensive, but even she didn’t sound sure. Yeah, I do.

Erin snorted. Lucky one of us outgrew it, huh?

Michelle couldn’t stop her lower lip from quivering. If not for the anger, the indignity of her accusation, Erin might have felt bad for her.

She drew a rattling breath. Okay. You want me to call you a freak? Congratulations; you’re a goddamn freak.

Erin gave herself credit; she did not flinch. She didn’t even blink as the words washed over her. She laughed. Feel better?

Michelle nodded. Erin laughed again.

Good, she said, and lunged for the phone.

Erin was taller than her sister, but what Michelle lacked in size, she made up for in soccer muscle. They hit the dirt with bruising force, and a welt rose on Erin’s hip—she forced Michelle’s arm off her collarbone and reached for the phone. Michelle shrieked and brought her knee up hard into Erin’s side. Winded and furious, Erin yanked her hair more roughly than she intended, because Michelle caught her across the face with the back of her free hand. Erin rolled halfway off, blood on her lip—the phone lay inches from her nose, tight in Michelle’s grip—she stretched out her hand, fingers around the warm plastic—

She smacked the earth with an oof. The phone clattered and spun out at arm’s length. Panting, she leaned on her elbows, squinted at the skid Michelle’s body had left in the dust.

No Michelle.

Erin blinked, then fell back. For a moment, she laid still, staring up at the sky. The blue seemed to radiate inward, curving up and into a point in the distance. It didn’t feel real.

After five, ten seconds passed, Erin got up and looked around. Stop sign, car, desert. Still no Michelle. Just the sound of her own breathing. Calmly, more calmly than she thought possible, Erin walked to the car and turned it off. Without the puttering of the engine, the desert fell silent. Not even a gust of wind rustled the dead weeds clinging to the edge of a nearby culvert. Blood from her cut lip soured her tongue. Was it a hallucination? No, she always felt them coming before they hit her. Right?

It didn’t change the facts. Michelle was gone. She had not driven away or been sucked into the earth or grown wings and flapped into the sky. One second there. Next second, poof. The phone had fallen from her hand because the hand wasn’t there anymore.

Gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Erin squeezed her head, teeth clenched. It isn’t real, it isn’t real—

A sound made her jump. At first, she thought it was another car, but then it happened again. At her feet, the phone buzzed and lit up. It seemed like such an impossible thing to happen, she almost thought about ignoring it. She stared flatly at the phone as it hummed, waiting for it to stop.

It didn’t. She broke from her trance and picked it up. New text message.

From: 272-4837. Put your sweatshirt on.

Instinctively, Erin whipped around. For three hundred and sixty degrees, she saw nothing but the endless stretch of the Jornada del Muerto. Unless the person reading her mind was invisible or a cactus, she was still alone.

Erin swallowed hard. Calm washed over her, and why not? It wasn’t like weird shit hadn’t been following her around like a government spook since the age of four. Of all the people in the world who could pick up a phone on the ground and have a conversation with an invisible psychic, she’d be it.

Or—a tremor went up the back of her neck—maybe the Crazy had finally caught up with her. It didn’t take much to sever her already pathetic grip on reality. Would it be such a huge shock if her mind had snapped like a worn-out hair tie? And if so, she guessed it couldn’t hurt to pretend.

Erin removed her sweatshirt from her backpack, pulled it over her head. Then, she held her breath and waited. She did not know what she expected, but had a feeling it would hurt.

Five seconds went by. Ten. One minute. Hot, tired and overloaded, she shook her head.

She’s right, she said bleakly to no one in particular, I’m a goddamn freak.

Laughing, Erin pulled back her arm to chuck the possessed phone into the ditch.

And it was at that moment no one in particular chose to call her.

Hardly daring to breathe, Erin leveled the device with her nose. It rang and rang, buzzing against her fingers. She frowned. It wasn’t real She should still toss it, quick, before her curiosity got the better of her. Five rings. Six.

She took a deep breath and answered the call.

And the world disappeared.

Erin’s fingers shook on the grip as the yellow-jacket paused over Michelle. He nudged her with his foot. She did not move. He nudged again, then lowered the weapon and waved a gloved hand in the air. Something rectangular and translucent appeared there, and Erin knew without asking that it was a kind of computer. His mouth moved; the screen flashed an image or two and vanished. A few seconds later, another man in a yellow jacket emerged from the hatch and joined him.

So much for only one.

They spoke to each other in words Erin couldn’t hear. Then, the second man produced two halves of a thick metal ring. Erin thought she saw a glint of silver around the outside, like needles. Whatever it was, they weren’t going to put it anywhere near her sister.

Erin fired.

The shot reverberated in the silent clearing, filling her nose with the smell of spent powder. It shoved the first yellow-jacket backward, left him scrabbling in bewilderment at the hole in the fabric...but it didn’t bleed. While his partner ran toward her hiding spot, the first unzipped the jacket and picked the bullet out of a quilted black vest. Body armor. Who the hell were these people?

She didn’t have time to wonder. The yellow-jacket reached her rock just seconds before she dragged herself to the tree line. But he saw her—two shots splintered the wood behind her head, left her ears ringing. Crunching footsteps told her his partner was close behind. Erin cursed herself. If she’d thought for more than a second, she might have come up with the words outnumbered and outgunned, and they probably had backup on the way. She had four rounds left in her .45. Have to think I have to think—

You are under arrest by the EAF, he shouted. Put down your weapon and lie on the ground!

The tempo of her heart increased until her head fizzed, and blackness interrupted her vision. It wasn’t like the movies—no fancy tricks, no upper hand, just someone who wanted to kill her, and she couldn’t do anything to stop him. Strangely, the thought calmed her. Thinking through the blood pounding in her temples, she made up her mind; if she was going to die, at least it would be trying to save