Foreseen (The Rothston Series)

  FORESEEN

  TERRI-LYNNE SMILES

  PlotForge, Ltd.

  Copyright

  © 2012 Terri-Lynne Smiles

  Cover design by Daniel Brewer

  Published by PlotForge, Ltd.

  1650 Lake Shore Drive Suite 225

  Columbus, OH 43204

  www.plotforge.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Foreseen

  ISBN: 978-1-937979-04-1

  LC Control Number: 2012909996

  Rendered in the United States of America

  Acknowledgements

  A novel comes into being from every person who has touched the author’s life, and I cannot name all of those who have had a larger hand in this one. But to all of you, especially my beta readers, I thank you. A handful of people, however, were vital to the birth of this novel and have my deep gratitude: my law partners, Beth and Todd Collis, for putting up with my sometimes vacant expressions in the office when my brain wouldn’t stay in this world; my assistant, Michelle Palumbo, for putting up with reading many drafts and still being encouraging; my writing partner, John C. Brewer for putting up with my tantrums, never letting me off the hook, and pushing me to be better than I was; and my husband, Mark Smiles, simply for putting up with me. And I give special thanks to my son, Andrew Smiles, who does not understand that it was his belief in me that kept me going when I didn’t believe in myself.

  Dedication

  For

  My father, William Baird, who never told me I couldn’t fly,

  and

  Taylor Elliott who dared me to grow wings.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Opening Thoughts

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  CHOICES

  About the Author:

  Opening Thoughts

  A man should look for what is,

  and not for what he thinks should be.

  ~ Albert Einstein

  Prologue

  The stocky man pumped his flannel-covered arms around the steering wheel as the white box truck he called Bessie rounded the corner. He shifted her gears, watching the narrow road straighten out in front of him. His iPhone teetered on the edge of the passenger seat, so he stuffed it into a cup holder before taking a quick glance out the driver’s side window. Glimpses of a frozen pond peeked through the barren trees at the bottom of a long, steep hill. Mason Chastain had driven this road a hundred times, a thousand perhaps, and knew it looked deceptively simple, especially in the winter. He could see far ahead on the straight, open road, but it was banked wrong, so an icy patch could send him skidding. With a full load of sheet rock and flooring, that could easily send him off the road.

  A quarter mile ahead, Mason spotted a lone person – a man in a green down vest, it looked to be – trudging along the side of the road. He watched the man’s breath rise in billows through the frigid December air. He was older, Mason guessed from the gait, because he walked the same way as his granddad down in Bristol. He smiled at the thought and brought his attention closer to the truck. Animals were the menace along this stretch, not people. He’d seen a guy swerve once to miss a fox and careen off the edge, bouncing down the slope into the deep water below. Poor slob had never had a chance. Keep a sharp eye, Mason told himself, scanning the sparse brush on the roadside ahead for any sign of movement. Be prepared. Wasn’t that the Boy Scout motto? It fit here.

  WHUMP! The sound from the front of the truck jolted him upright, followed by a heave as the tires went over something. Shit! The fingers on his left hand gripped the wheel tightly as his right one worked the gears down to bring the truck to a slow controlled stop. Damn animals, he thought as he pushed his hands into his gloves and pulled down the earflaps on his hat. Better not have done any damage to the truck. There was a garage half mile up the road from here, but getting more repairs on Bessie wasn’t in his plans, or his budget.

  Mason stepped out of the cab and walked to the front of the truck. His hand ran over the hood where a small dent creased it just above the grill, but everything else seemed fine. Strange place for an animal to hit. Unless it was moose, but with something that size, he wouldn’t be standing here to worry about it. He checked underneath. No damage – just the dent at the edge of the hood. Strange, but he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe it was just his lucky day.

  He patted Bessie’s hood and turned to get the carcass out of the road before someone hit it and wasn’t so lucky. He rubbed his gloves together as he walked. Man, it was cold. But when he rounded the back of the truck, all thoughts of the weather vanished. Mason couldn’t feel the biting wind or his legs or the spittle that flew from his mouth from yelling as he ran toward the body that lay yards behind the truck.

  “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he swore, not really knowing what he was saying. It was a man, his head smashed under the truck tires. “Oh shit. Oh shit,” Mason said, looking up and down for help, but no one was there. He froze for a moment, staring at the road in front of the truck. The old man in the green vest. But … it couldn’t be. Not him. He’d been farther down the road. Yet, the lump on the road before him and the patch of snow stained red told a different version of events. His eyes dropped to the dead body beside him and his stomach heaved.

  Mason ran back to the cab of his truck, emptying his stomach of the remains of his breakfast along the way. He ripped open the driver’s door, climbing halfway in as he fumbled for the phone. It fell to the passenger-side floor and he stared at it for a moment as the world began to move in slow motion. He watched his arm reach out to pick up the phone and, slowly, he pressed 9-1-1.

  ψ

  Flashing blue and red lights reflected off the back of Bessie. Mason shivered in the back of the police cruiser despite the blanket wrapped around him and the heat blasting on full. “Shock,” one of the officers had told him and made him stay put. He stared out the windshield as the officers spoke with two men – one older with white hair, one middle-aged – apparently consoling them.

  My god. He’d killed a man. His entire body was numb. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t have happened. He’d seen the old man. He was nowhere near the truck. How …? Mason’s mind kept spinning, replaying every moment over and over. This couldn’t have happened. It didn’t make sense. Twenty years of driving rigs told him it was impossible. And yet, here he was.

  The door to the back of the patrol car opened and the middle-aged man climbed in. He studied Mason for a moment but said nothing. Mason shifted uncomfortably as the silence lingered. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, not sure why the gu
y was here. “I never saw him coming. I mean, I was watching the road and he wasn’t there. He just …”

  The man raised his hand calmly to silence Mason. “It was an accident,” he said with a look of both loss and understanding.

  “Who are you?” Mason asked, shivering again.

  The man held out his hand to shake. “I’m Bradley Jamison from The Rothston Institute. I’m here to help you.”

  Chapter 1

  Kinzie

  We were the only survivors. What happened now – what we did in the next few minutes – would determine the fate of humanity. From my perch on the marbled window sill, I stared out at the October day, searching for signs of movement. The red-tinged leaves of the oaks rustled in the breeze, as if this was just a normal day. But it wasn’t normal. A chill ran down my back as a bush at the corner the building opposite mine rustled out of time with the wind. I let out a slow breath and ran my finger along the trigger, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

  Bring it on.

  I turned quickly at a scuffle behind me, squinting at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Kip?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he answered, flipping on the lights. The overhead fluorescents sprang to life, revealing the wiry eighteen-year-old near the doorway of the oak-paneled office. “You can’t shoot from here, you know,” he said nodding at the weapon trained out the tall window.

  I shrugged. “Just aiming for practice.”

  “Where are the others?”

  I blinked as I looked around, trying to remember what they had said when they left. “Bathroom, I think. How does it look from down the hall?”

  He crossed the room to stand at the window next to me and waved to the left, beyond where we could see. “There’s four watching the path in from the South Quad. We’ll already be past them when we come out of Bishop.” We both glanced down from the third floor window to where three granite steps rose to the main entrance of Bishop Hall below us.

  “That’ll help. But there isn’t a lot of cover around the entrance. We better not all go at once.”

  “Agreed,” Kip said with a nod. “Have you spotted any others?”

  “Some of them. I think one is in the bushes at the corner of Edwards, ready to ambush anyone who comes that way,” I said.

  Kip grinned. “I guess we won’t go near there, then.”

  I pointed across the academic quad to the space between the brick structure of Edwards Hall and the stately granite façade of the library. “Two of them are there, guarding that gap.”

  Kip leaned down, putting his face close to share my perspective. The air filled with a faint, soothing scent – like cloves and nutmeg – and the warmth radiating next to me threatened to make my head spin. Not for the first time since we teamed up, my eyes were drawn to the fine line of Kip’s jaw and the hint of blondish-brown stubble. It fascinated me. But this had happened too much over the past few days, and I needed to stay sharp. We all did.

  I inhaled deeply and kept going. “Between Edwards and the library,” I clarified. “And three are in the middle of the quad in front of Edwards. That leaves …”

  A giggle came from behind us, followed by my roommate’s sing-song voice. “Don’t let us interrupt.”

  Kip straightened, and in one movement, I grabbed a balled-up sock sitting on the sill and pelted it at the door, nailing Sasha Reynolds firmly in the arm. The lanky girl beside her jumped at the speed of the attack.

  “Ow,” Sasha protested, rubbing her arm. “That wasn’t necessary. It just looked like you two were having a private moment,” she cooed, her eyes dancing with delight. She would have liked that, but not because it was Kip. Sasha would have liked to see me with any guy, just for the experience. I didn’t really care, although sometimes I thought maybe Kip … No. Stay focused.

  I studied my fellow survivors. Rebekah Devoie’s unusual height and dark brown skin made her easy to spot. She was clumsy as well. She’d made it this far simply by hiding, and we didn’t have that option now. My roommate, the beautiful Sasha Reynolds, languidly spread her arms across the bookshelves that spanned one wall, posing like some Hollywood movie star. Sasha had an unexpected knack for not getting tagged, but otherwise, was fairly useless. She refused to take any part of this seriously. And Kip McPherson. A quiver spread through my stomach as I studied Kip leaning back against the mahogany desk in the middle of the room. His sandy hair was tousled in loose waves, and one leg was bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation of what came next. Kip had survived by running – he could keep going forever. Plus, he was a decent shot with the weapons. Still, glancing between them again, this wasn’t an optimal set of skills for a final showdown to determine whether mankind would survive. Good thing this was just a game.

  “We’ve got fifteen minutes. You think this is going to work?” Rebekah asked with almost a tremble in her voice.

  “Don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “But I guess we have to decide who is doing what.”

  Sasha’s eyes popped open. “I thought that’s what you were doing!”

  My eyes dropped to the rich patterned rug on the floor. “I …” I hesitated, not willing to tell them the conclusion I’d reached. It didn’t seem right. After all, I had come with the plan for this last stage of the game – a plan that was likely to knock out three of us. How could I tell them that I was the one who should survive? It sounded self-serving, even if analytically it was correct. I was the smallest, thus least likely to be noticed. I could think on my feet to adjust to the unexpected. And I was the most unremarkable, making it more likely I could slip past the waiting enemy unnoticed. I was the right choice, but didn’t want to risk my new friendships simply to win.

  I turned back to the window to study our goal. Between now and our ten o’clock class, at least one person, having not been tagged by a bandana-scarved zombie, needed to make it to the grass strip between the sidewalks and Edwards Hall where our Freshman Studies class was held. More importantly, that person needed to have as many of the remaining crystals as possible. The crystals were the key to this weeklong Humans vs. Zombies variation we’d been playing. We’d started out in teams for different regions of the world, each assigned to protect a unique resource that was necessary to cure the zombie plague. Any region that could capture all five of the resources would win the game instantly. But the initial all-out warfare, as regions tried to capture the others’ resources, gave the zombies an upper hand and two of the resources were lost to their horde. So now we were down to this: the four of us – survivors from South America, China, Antarctica and West Africa – holding crystals of three resources. If we got them to the safety zone outside Edwards Hall in the half hour before class, humanity as a whole had a sixty percent chance of surviving. But under my plan, only one of us would. And the remaining humans were waiting for me to decide who that would be.

  “Kinzie?” Rebekah prodded behind me.

  I turned to look at them again, their faces eager with anticipation. I couldn’t pick myself and look like I’d planned it that way all along, nor could I choose someone else and betray their trust that I’d do the best for the game. “We vote,” I announced, absolving myself of the decision. “I can’t pick three of us to become zombified.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes and laughed. “You take this too seriously.”

  “Yeah, but that’s why I’m glad I found you guys,” Rebekah added with delight. “It’d be no fun if we didn’t give it our best shot.” Despite being one of only twenty-one students in our Freshman Studies class, neither Sasha nor I had ever spoken to Rebekah before this game. And now, I half wished that I’d drawn her as a roommate instead. She seemed more down to Earth. In fact, she fit into the Sasha-like crowd who dominated Hutchins College almost as badly as I did. Maybe I’d try to spend more time with her once this game was over. Perhaps then I wouldn’t feel so out of place.

  Kip tore a piece of paper from a pad on the desk, and I glanced over quickly to make sure it wasn’t anything we shouldn’t be
touching. This was my faculty advisor’s office which provided an excellent view of our target. Uncle Mark, a life-long friend of my dad, had let us borrow it to stage our last stand. And since academic buildings were no-play zones, it was a good refuge.

  Each of us took a shred of paper, wrote the name of the person we wanted to be the crystal carrier, folded them and set them on the desk, staring silently at the four scraps for a moment. Finally, Kip moved forward, shuffled them and began to read.

  “Kinzie,” he stated firmly reading the first note. My heart leapt as if this decision actually meant something. “Kinzie,” came the next one. My heart sped up. Kip’s eyes shot over to me briefly with a curious expression as he unfolded the third. “Me?” he asked quizzically. Maybe he recognized my messy writing. Then he opened the last paper. “Kinzie,” he said with finality. “Well, that’s pretty clear. Come on, let’s get ready.”

  ψ

  The plan was going smoothly. I had the crystals of all three resources in the assigned felt pouch that dangled from a belt loop. So that they’d look the same, we’d weighted the other pouches with a few small marbles from a vase on Dr. Collier’s shelves. I’d have to remember to return them to Uncle Mark when this was over.

  Thirty seconds ago, Rebekah and Kip had made direct approaches, trying to run for the goal from opposite sides, and now the zombies were pursuing them. Kip twisted, blasting a salvo of foam darts backwards as he ran, stunning two of the zombies. Good. That knocked them out for a few minutes. Plenty of time.

  I began my walk across the quad, head down, trying to look even more unnoticeable than usual. I had only twenty yards to the branching walk that formed the boundary of the safe zone. Home base. And victory. But I twitched, uncomfortable at being unarmed for the first time all week. No dart rifle. Not even a sock or two in my pocket. The telltale bulge would make me stand out, and we couldn’t afford that. I felt naked. Completely vulnerable.