Joshua Graham - Terminus

From the corner of her eye, she could see the tears on Jonathan Hartwell’s face. His wife held his hand and dabbed the corners of her eye with a tissue.

“Whether it’s the pain of the past, the hurt you’re feeling now, the worries about tomorrow, He’s saying to you right now, “I AM THERE!” She turned and pointed to the crowds in each section of the stadium, saying each time, “with you, and with you, and you!”

As she turned back to the camera, a flash of light from the shadows of the private boxes caught her eye. A half-second later, something hot whisked through her hair just above her ear.

That was when the screaming began.

THE FIRST THING NICK FELT AFTER HE CHARGED at the sniper was the butt of the rifle slamming into his gut. His stomach felt like it was imploding. Flat on his back and stunned, he could hardly breathe. But he was pretty sure he’d disrupted at least one of the sniper’s two shots.

He swung his rifle around at Nick’s head. Nick managed to block it with his arm, then tried to stand.

But the distinct clack of a round being chambered stopped him.

“Who are you?” The shooter’s voice was intense but quiet. He pinned Nick’s shoulder down with a heavy foot and pressed the rifle’s muzzle into his chest.

“Wait,” Nick said.

The hammer cocked.

Nick squeezed his eyes tight, grit his teeth against the pain, and focused on the cold barrel through which a bullet was about to end his mortal life, short as it had been.

Just as the shooter pulled the trigger.

The gun vanished.

“What—?”

A fraction of a second later, it reappeared—somewhere near the door, judging by the flash of light and loud shot. Nick swung his foot under the astonished sniper’s legs, collapsing them behind the knees so that he fell back with a thud.

His whole body throbbing with pain, his powers pulsing intermittently like a dying star, Nick thrust his hand down on the sniper’s forehead as he struggled to get up. Whether he was human or Nephilim, Nick couldn’t be certain.

He only hoped his next move would work.

The shooter became deathly still. Then he hugged his chest, shaking violently while emitting a wheezing sound meant to be a scream. Nick’s construct made him experience the terror of a coiling forty-foot python crushing the life out of him. Every breath he took would cause the huge serpent to squeeze harder.

But his pain, unlike Nick’s, wasn’t real. Battling the nausea and pain from the latest flare-up of his failing supernatural power, he focused on the podium where Hope had been speaking and prayed he wasn’t too late.

IT SOUNDED LIKE A FIRECRACKER. But Jon knew someone had fired a gun when he saw one of his wife’s security guard’s chest erupt in a crimson spray.

“Elaine!” He ran to her and Matthew, throwing himself over them without a thought for his own safety.

Another shot.

Something hit him between the shoulder blades.

His head struck the ground as he fell.

A scarlet puddle widened around him.

The last thing he saw was his wife and son kneeling over him, Elaine crying, Matthew screaming.

“Daddy!”

NICK HAD TELEPORTED TO THE STAGE, but the pain was so intense he could barely see past the glowing flecks swarming before his eyes.

“Oh my God, Nick!” Hope buried her face in his chest. He thought she was crying—hard to hear with all the chaos on the stage. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the steps where people were fleeing.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She pointed down to Jon. “What about Pastor Hartwell?”

He lay motionless, the white shirt under his navy jacket soaked with blood. The bullet must have gone straight through his chest.

Nick had taken care of the sniper, but greater threats loomed. And if Lena hadn’t seen Nick by now, her cohorts surely had.

Nevertheless, he went over and knelt by Hartwell, who grasped his hand with icy fingers.

With a gasp, he uttered his last words.

“Elaine…Matthew…” But security had rushed them away, out of the line of fire.

The rage and sadness Nick felt rivaled the pain in his head. Lena’s heartless machinations had taken the first victims. Had he his full strength as a guardian, he might rather enjoy destroying her as he had so many of the Dark Dominion’s more formidable agents. But time was running out, as were his powers.

He had to get Hope to safety.

“There isn’t much time.” He grabbed her hand rushed her over to the steps at the edge of the stage, and crouched behind a wall of equipment crates. Catching his breath, he said, “We’re going to have to leave unconventionally.”

“Nick, what’s happening?”

“I’ll explain later, first I’ve got to get you out of here before…” He glanced up at the thousands scrambling to leave the stadium. Lena had recruited mortal and supernatural help to kill them all with the bombs. There was no way any of them could simply walk out.

“Before what, Nick?”

It wouldn’t be a complete lie if he told her that hers was the only life that mattered to him. But the thought of leaving all these innocent people to die troubled him.

“Hope, listen. I’m losing my powers even as we speak. I might have just enough to take us to safety before…”

Throughout the stadium, the sound of automatic gunfire rang out. Hernandez and Suarez men brandished assault rifles and blocked the exits, every passageway a narrow tunnel of death. A couple of brave fools rushed the gunmen but were shot before they got within striking distance.

The lights in the entire stadium went out.

Terrified screams filled the air.

Save for dim ambient light coming in from the translucent panels of the stadium dome and cell phone cameras acting as flashlights, the entire place was dark.

“Before what ?” Hope said.

“They’ve got the stadium rigged with nuclear explosives.”

He couldn’t see her reaction, but he did hear her gasp.

“Why would anyone—who’s doing this?”

“My former supervisor. Can’t tell just how many humans and angels—or demons, rather—she’s got working with her. It turns out I was one of her unwitting recruits.”

Hope was speechless.

“We need to go, now!” A spike of pain that struck his head kept him from saying more.

The sounds of panic grew louder. Gunshots, screams, cries for help. Hope was shaking, her breathing staccato.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

But even in the darkness, their mutual pause confirmed that it was not so simple as leaving.

“Hope…”

“Are you thinking what I am?” she whispered.

“I must be insane.”

It didn’t take supernatural abilities for either of them to know how the other felt.

Or that they agreed.

THE PAIN IT COST NICK TO TELEPORT with Hope to a corridor across the stadium was excruciating. He could barely pick himself off the concrete with the daggers impaling his skull through his eyes and ears. Another power surge. Slightly weaker than the last one but agonizing nonetheless.

“You’re bleeding.” Hope pulled a tissue from her pocket and blotted his upper lip.

“Part of the process,” Nick said. “The more mortal I become, the more it hurts to use my powers. Especially teleporting.” He put his head in his hands. “Any idea where we are?”

As she looked around, screams and gunshots echoed through the corridors.

“All I can see is a big letter C painted by the doorway.”

Sublevel C.

“Good.” He steadied himself against the wall.