فصل 8

Chapter 8: Bulletproof

Lunch was fried chicken, mashed potatoes with white gravy, and a homemade soda the lunch lady called sarsaparilla, which tasted like root beer. Taylor and I sat next to Jack and Abigail.

“So what’s the story on this Gervaso guy?” I asked. “He looks like a Marine.” “He’s tougher than that,” Jack said. “He was Delta Force, the army’s elite tactical-combat and antiterrorist unit. They only take the best of the best. They’re trained in marksmanship, demolition and entry, hostage rescue, espionage, surveillance, and diplomatic protection. He’s like a one-man army.” “Like you,” Abigail said to Jack. He smiled.

Taylor looked at Jack for a moment, then asked, “How are you doing?” “Fine,” he said. Then he flinched a little. “You mean, with Wade?” Taylor nodded. “Yes.”

“I miss him.”

“We do too,” I said.

Jack took a deep breath, then said, “Around four summers ago I went over to Wade’s house. He was still living with his old man back then. I didn’t get along with his father, so I usually just went around back and climbed in through Wade’s window.

“This time, after I climbed inside, I couldn’t find Wade. Then I heard him. He was in his closet. There was blood all over the floor and his face and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His father had almost beaten him to death. I helped him out and wiped off some of the blood, then I went out looking for his dad. I was only like fifteen, but I was already more than six feet and a hundred and ninety pounds. His father was a little man. He was drunk, sitting on the floor in the hall.

“The dude came at me with a bottle. I was crazy mad. I knocked him down, then started waling on him. Then Wade shouted, ‘Stop! Please stop.’ He had crawled out of his room to save his father. If it wasn’t for Wade I might have killed that drunk.” Jack slowly shook his head. “I was so pumped with adrenaline that I lifted the guy with one hand and shoved him against the wall. I told him if he ever touched Wade again that the next time I wouldn’t stop.” Jack looked down. “Child services took Wade out of the house the next week.” Abigail reached over and took Jack’s hand.

“From then on, I felt like it was my job to protect him. That’s what I can’t get over. Failing him.” Jack looked into my eyes. “I relive his death over and over. If I could just have those five minutes back. Just five minutes . . .” Taylor’s eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack looked up at her. “Can you take the pain away from me? Like you did with Zeus?” Taylor frowned. “Maybe. But I’d have to take away all your memories of Wade. Do you really want to forget him?” Jack thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No. It’s all I have left of him.” He put his hand over his eyes.

Abigail put her arm around Jack. I think she was using her power because I noticed that he relaxed a bit. We finished eating in silence.

About fifteen minutes later Gervaso walked into the dining room looking for me. “Are you ready?” “Sure. How long will we be?”

“About half an hour.”

“I’ll be in my room,” Taylor said. “Come find me when you’re done.” I followed Gervaso outside the dining hall to a warehouse near the stables. He grabbed a green metal ammo box from a shelf, and then we got in one of the jeeps and drove about a half mile from the house to a shooting range. There were targets scattered all over the terrain and the ground was littered with brass bullet casings. Gervaso parked the jeep next to a gun mounted on a turret.

“Come,” he said. We walked about a hundred feet to a round bull’s-eye mounted to a bale of hay. “I’ve been speaking with Jaime,” he said. “He told me that he saw you push an army truck with your magnetism. Is that true?” “Yeah. It wasn’t moving too fast; it was in a convoy.” “I want to try something. When I say ‘now,’ I want you to push like you did that jeep. That direction,” he said, pointing away from me.

“What do you want me to push?”

“Just the air,” he said. “Don’t move, just push when I tell you to. Understand?” I nodded. “Okay.”

“Stand right here,” he said, moving me toward the target. He turned and walked back to the mounted gun, then looked through the gun’s scope and put his finger on the trigger. The gun was pointing right at me.

“Wait!” I shouted. “You’re not going to shoot that thing at me are you?” “Not at you. The target.”

“Yeah, and I’m like six inches away from the target. No offense, but I don’t know how good of a shot you are.” “It won’t hit you. The gun’s been calibrated to hit the target dead center each time.” “This is crazy,” I mumbled. “How many bullets?”

“This is an M16 automatic, so I’m going to fire a thirty-round clip.” I stepped back. “Wait, you didn’t tell me you’re firing a freaking machine gun at me. What if you’re off a few inches?” “Don’t worry, they’d definitely fire me if I killed you.” I just stared at him.

He grinned. “I’m joking.” He looked back through the scope. “I’ve already tested more than three hundred rounds.” Shaking my head, I stepped back toward the target. “Whatever.” “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I said. I started ticking, blinking my right eye.

“Are you ready?” he repeated.

“All right. Ready!” I shouted.

“Now!”

I pulsed. Fire leaped from the gun barrel as it spit bullets toward the target. I suppose I was pretty hyped up from adrenaline because I pulsed hard enough to knock over a metal ammo box almost twenty yards away.

“Clear!” Gervaso shouted. He raised his head from the gun as smoke drifted up from its barrel.

I stepped back and examined the target. None of the bullets had hit the bull’s-eye. Not one. “I thought you said this thing was calibrated!” I shouted.

Gervaso walked up to the target, counting the holes as he approached. “You’re right. Only eight of thirty rounds even hit on the target.” “You could have killed me,” I said, still ticking.

“No,” he said calmly. “Not if I wanted to.” He ran his finger down the target, then looked back at me. “The gun wasn’t off. You moved those bullets.” “You’re saying it’s my fault you missed?”

He smiled. “I’m saying that with a little more practice, you’re going to be bulletproof.”