Leah Giarratano - Disharmony

Instead, she said, ‘My name is Mirela. And I’m the most famous movie star in the world.’

She spoke as loudly as she could manage, and she was sure that only a few people could have heard her. But it would have to do. The energy inside her demanded urgent release. She stood up straight, focused on the heat, and pushed .

The sphere of light exploded and for a mind-blowing second she felt as though she’d splintered into a billion points of energy. She stood there, trembling. Unable to breathe, let alone think clearly, she wondered whether it had worked.

And then the screaming began.

Sam cried out as the mob swarmed her. She couldn’t hear her own voice, and the sound made absolutely no difference to the noise level – the decibels were already through the roof. All of them had their mouths wide open, screaming and sobbing her name – well, not her name. Mirela’s. Mirela had always wanted to be famous, so she’d used hers at the last minute. But not even Mirela would want this much adoration.

The only thing keeping the pack of hysterical people from tearing her apart was the big bloke with the guitar case and the man she’d pushed over, both of them using their luggage as battering rams to keep people back.

What have I done?

Sam could feel that the men saw themselves as her personal bodyguards and would die fighting before they’d let anyone touch her. Unfortunately, that was beginning to look like a possibility. The crowd was in an absolute frenzy. They surged forward, and hands from everywhere reached for her. She screamed again when, from behind her, someone grabbed a fistful of her hair. She stumbled backwards, and, panicked, struggled to stand upright before she was dragged into the crowd. Too late. Whoever it was had a full handful of her hair, and terrified, face streaming with tears, she was yanked into the riot.

Blurred body parts. People kissing her, groping her, trying to shred her jacket, rip her bag away from her – its strap digging into the skin of her neck. They fought each other, scratching and punching, scrabbling and climbing to reach her. And their emotions – lust, greed, envy and an insane desire to possess her, to be her – choked her airways, until she lost all sense of direction, of who she was. Her senses reached maximum capacity and tripped out. She no longer knew whether she was standing or being carried along, upside down. And she felt nothing. Nothing more than a faint sense of regret that she was about to be torn apart and she would never again get to kiss Tamas.

Dimly, she heard air sirens. The hands around her stopped grasping as people covered their ears, trying to block out the noise, moaning and wailing. Samantha was sure she was doing the same thing, but it just didn’t seem to matter any more.

And then she saw the commandos. Heading straight for her, two blue-uniformed men with buzz-cut scalps and necks the size of her waist cut through the crowd like butter. They had batons in their hands and ear-mikes to their mouths, and they seemed oblivious to the deafening roar of the sirens. The darker-skinned of the two reached her first, and with a single arm, scooped her up from the tangle of writhing people around her and slung her over his shoulder.

Bumping along upside down, peeking under a boulder-like bicep, Samantha saw three things.

She saw that they were marching straight for the exit to the airport – outside, into Sydney.

She saw that standing in a cordoned-off section by the doors, Kirra, Scarface and company did not look happy.

And she also saw that waiting outside the doors were three vehicles resembling army tanks, with the letters AFP stencilled across the front. She recognised the acronym from the airport website – Australian Federal Police. She’d read that they were trained to handle just about any terrorist situation, and she figured that even the ninjas were a little under-equipped right now.

A wave of relief washed over her. Looks like I’m going to make it out of here today, after all.

When she and the man-mountain were parallel to the barricade, Samantha raised her head, exhausted.

With the very last of her energy, she gave Kirra a smile and a special single-digit salute.

Samantha pressed her chipped, orange-painted fingernails into the flesh of her palms. She tried to smile at Mason and Ruben, the two AFP officers who’d just dragged her out of the deliriously murderous crowd.

Mason and Ruben. They smiled back at her, eyes glazed, goofy-looking.

I really must learn to control whatever it is I did back there, she thought. I wonder when it wears off?

The relief she’d felt at escaping the mob and the ninjas had dissipated, and now she was beginning to wonder how on earth she was going to get out of the back of this truck. She took another look around the insides of the AFP urban military vehicle. With bench seating for maybe twelve normal people and six Mason-Ruben-sized people, the rest of the space was occupied by computer screens, blinking lights, riot shields, facemasks and racks of weapons. She could hear the muffled sound of rain beating down on the armoured truck.

She stopped forcing her fingernails into her palm when she felt them break the skin.

‘Um, this is a great… place you have here,’ she said.

Mason grinned wider. His blond hair was cut so close to his skull he seemed bald. She imagined that would look pretty scary to a bad guy, especially when the body underneath the bald head was the size of a fridge-freezer combo.

‘But I think you can send the other cars away now,’ she said to Ruben, the other giant, who’d slung her over his shoulder and carried her through the airport.

Ruben looked as though he could bench press the truck. And like he ate a whole cow for breakfast. He pressed a finger to his ear.

‘Yeah, we got her,’ he said quietly into his mike. ‘Make sure the crowd’s dispersed and then report back to base. Roger that.’

He swung his face back towards her, awaiting further command.

Cool, she thought, in spite of herself. My own private tank. The thought gave her another idea.

‘Um, Ruben,’ she said. She felt Mason sulking because she hadn’t talked to him. ‘And Mason,’ she continued.

He snapped his eyes to hers, gave her full attention.

‘There are these four fans in there who kinda follow me everywhere,’ she said. ‘And they’ve been a little, um, threatening. I wonder whether your guys could ask them to…’

‘Describe them,’ they said, in unison.

So she did. It wasn’t too difficult. Two minutes later, Ruben had issued instructions for Kirra and Co to have a bad day at the hands of the AFP.

‘Now, where can we take you?’ said Mason.

‘And where are your handlers?’ said Ruben. ‘Why don’t you have bodyguards here to protect you?’

All very good questions, she thought.

‘Well, there was a mix-up,’ she said, thinking fast. ‘And my entourage ended up booked on the wrong flight, but I absolutely had to get here for an engagement, so I came alone.’

As she spoke, Mason nodded and Ruben shook his head.

‘And they’re all waiting for me at the, um, hotel.’

‘Which hotel?’ said Ruben. ‘We’ll escort you there.’

Samantha just wanted to get out of the truck before the magic spell thing wore off. Problem was, she didn’t know the names of any hotels and she didn’t think these guys would just drop her in the street.

‘Oh, you know, it’s the…’

‘Ritz-Carlton?’ said Ruben.

‘Park Hyatt?’ said Mason.

‘That’s the one,’ said Samantha.

‘ I got it riiight,’ said Mason, poking his tongue out at Ruben.

Ruben flexed a bicep and his jaw twitched.