Chương 49: Ch 28b – Danger

Cara lingers as long as possible beside the hanger doors, keeping out of the way of those rushing back and forth between the hall and the trailer. The sky is darkening with every passing moment; an ominous cloud looms large above their heads. Crathsun continues to yell orders as they work in unison, handing off the cargo down the line into the hall in a race against the impending rain.

The arrival of Magse and Erro, on what Crathsun referred to as a rider, had created a welcome excuse for all to take a break from yet another failed shard trial. Cara had trailed Crathsun and Wyndeer to the hanger doors and the urgent unloading process. Her offer of help was immediately shut down by the stern look Crathsun gave her as he hoisted a box from the trailer. Instead, she watches, enjoying being the person to observe them for a change.

The wind blows fiercely through her hair, already damp in the peaking humidity. The rider is a vehicle much like a slimline snowmobile, behind which Magse and Erro have towed a trailer almost overloaded with boxes and tubs. Both the rider and the trailer rest not on wheels but long runners that protrude underneath on short legs. A smattering of large wet drops pelt Cara's head, an ineffectual warning of the downpour that unleashes moments later.

It is the type of rain from which you can either flee in annoyance or surrender to and embrace an exhilarating drenching, either way an unavoidable soaking is the result. After the hours spent under observation in the hall, she opens her arms to the dark cloud and lets it happen.

"Get inside!" Wyndeer barks, still handing off boxes to Crathsun as he fixes her with a look of incredulity. His hair clings to his forehead, dripping heavy drops over his thick eyebrows to merge with the slick surface of his face. She immediately scampers towards the hall. It takes the transition from wet to dry for her to realise she too is as soaked as Wyndeer. Drops flow off her clothes, splashing down to enlarge the puddles already forming on the floor.

Behind her Crathsun yells for her to move as he makes his way in with a heavy box. She steps further into the hall, squeezing the water from her hair as she goes, leaving a trail along the floor.

"Go sit at the table," Crathsun snaps at her, already stomping back out into the rain. She moves to the centre of the hall, to where Crathsun had replaced the two stacked trunks with a small metal table and chair. It is the chair she has sat at for most of the afternoon, being stared at by Crathsun and Wyndeer while she tried, and failed, to use a shard. Draig had stared too, though he had become bored quickly. He had continued to watch whilst taking up some training in the gym area.

A move that had irritated Wyndeer, causing him to bark orders at her to try harder every time Draig clanged weights as he changed exercise. It is a sign of how often she has failed, she thinks, that they have now all become so complacent when she holds a shard. Draig is still in the gym area, having declined to join in the unloading effort despite the urgency to escape the weather. He is bare chested, towelling off the back of his neck as she reaches the table. He is even more beautifully sculpted than Erro.

His defined, but not too prominent pecs sit above a rack of perfectly formed abs, framed at the bottom by deep cut v-lines leading down into his waistband. He looks up at that moment and catches her staring at him. Alarmed, she immediately turns around, fumbling a step backwards as she pretends she had intended to perch on the edge of the table. A hot flush bursts up her cheeks. Mortified that he has caught her staring, she is grateful her back is now to him, so she does not have to endure his reaction.

In front of her Wyndeer and his team bring in the final remnants of the cargo. Through the doors the rain falls in sheets which combine with the run-off cascade from the roof to create waterfall conditions in the doorway. Their bodies glimmer under the hall lights, not an inch of them remains dry. Cara tries to wipe drips from her forehead with a wet hand. Pulling her hair into a ponytail she tries again to squeeze out the water, succeeding only in transferring it onto her already sodden jumper.

Carefully she pulls her injured arm back up the sleeve, into the body of the jumper. Even though Crathsun had succeeded in finding her a smaller sized thermal, there is still plenty of room to manoeuvre her way out of it. She slips the jumper over her head, tries feebly to wring out some water, gives up and slings the waterlogged garment on the back of the chair.

"Looks like you need this more than me." Draig appears by her side, holding out a towel. She cringes.

"I'm fine thanks," she replies, beginning to ease herself slowly along the table to increase the distance between them. She is relieved, and possibly a little disappointed, to see that he has put his top back on.

"Take it," he insists, draping the small towel across her shoulders.

"Thanks," she mumbles, still edging along the table. Her hand misses the corner edge, flailing instead across the side. She quickly moves it behind her as if she had intended to prop herself up. Her fingers brush the edge of the shard that she had discarded on the table in her rush to move outside. To her dismay Draig sits down next to her, crossing his arms over his chest, not caring as he brushes her wet arm. They watch the scene unfolding in front of them.

Wyndeer and Erro stand dripping in a puddle that is fast becoming a pond. Behind them, Crathsun slides the large door shut on the sound of a low hum as Magse drives the rider away. Around them are strewn the hastily discarded boxes and tubs, half of which glisten from the downpour. Wyndeer disappears between the shelves, reappearing a few moments later with some cloths to help them dry off.

"I think the only way they could get wetter would be to jump into the sea," Draig remarks casually. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. He turns to her, trying to encourage her into a conversation. She still can't look him in the eye, instead her gaze falls to where a small smile tugs at his lips. The rollercoaster nature of his moods makes her head spin.

Their encounters jump from gloomy warnings to uncaring stares to jovial conversations and even to moments of tenderness. She never knows which Draig will engage her next.

"Don't you agree?" he prompts. She blurts out the most neutral thing that comes to mind as if she is making polite conversation with a stranger about the weather, "Yes, they look like drowned rats."

"Drowned rats," he repeats, as if committing the phrase to memory. Annoyance sweeps over her at the thought of him writing the phrase in his next report. She shifts further on the table, gaining an extra centimetre away from him. Behind her, her fingers absently curl around the shard. She brings it forward, happy to have something for her hands to fidget with.

"No progress today," he says, nodding down at the shard.

"Perhaps you have an idea of something else to try." She'd spent most of the session earlier trying to move the table they were perched on. The table had remained, as it should, perfectly still and unaffected by her efforts.

"Not a scooby," she mutters irritably, disliking the focus on her continual failure.

"Not a scoo-bee?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. She curses under her breath, declining to offer an explanation. Let him and Wyndeer and whoever else who reads the reports be the ones trying to figure out what something means for a change. Crathsun's voice is getting louder. Flavitt has emerged from hiding and is nervously trying to explain something to Crathsun about one of the tubs. Crathsun is demanding Flavitt put down the tub, reminding him he is no longer allowed to store items in his room.

Despite visibly shaking, Flavitt seems adamant that the tub be moved elsewhere. The disagreement is becoming heated. As Crathsun tries to grab the tub, Flavitt backs further towards the centre of the hall. Draig stands up and moves forward, preparing to intervene if necessary.

"Put it down," Crathsun yells, quickly making up the ground to Flavitt.

"There's- There's too much w-water," Flavitt stammers back, clutching the tub to his chest.

"Flavitt," Crathsun growls, his hands slipping easily around the tub. His hold brings him nose to nose with the quaking man.

"Give it to me." Flavitt must know this is a battle he is not going to win but he continues to grasp the tub tightly. In her hand the shard buzzes. She looks at it curiously, letting out an exhale to confirm she is not holding her breath. The shard glows faintly, the buzz vibrates in her hand again. Her heart begins to pump fast, responding to a surge of panic that tears up her spine. She feels a desperate need to get away from the room. To get away from a danger in the room.

She looks around but sees nothing to fear. Crathsun has yanked the tub out of Flavitt's hands. He is glowering at Flavitt as he turns to take the tub back towards the entrance. Uncomfortable to watch, she thinks, but not enough to cause a surge of panic.

"You d-don't understand," Flavitt says desperately. He launches himself at Crathsun, grappling wildly for the tub. Crathsun, surprised by the young man's tenacity, fumbles his hold on the tub. Both men scramble but neither manage to secure a hold of the slippery tub as it tumbles to the floor. With a crack the lid spirals off as the tub hits the ground. Thousands of tiny black balls spill out, bouncing and scattering in every direction.

"No!" Flavitt shrieks. Fear awakes in every cell of Cara's body, confusing her reactions and leaving her frozen to the spot.

"Idiot!" Crathsun shouts. He grabs Flavitt by the back of his collar, dragging him across the floor, lifting him onto his toes.

"What is it?" he demands.

"Ar- R- R48 boo- boodretal alkali pellets," Flavitt stammers, "It's- it's highly reactive with water." They all turn at his words, watching as two dozen or more of the balls reach the giant puddle where Wyndeer and Erro stand. Draig slowly starts to backtrack towards Cara, carefully judging each step so that he does not tread on any of the black balls.

"Is it dangerous?" Crathsun demands with a shake of his fist. Flavitt sways as he dangles from his scrunched-up collar in Crathsun's fist. Cara's heart pounds hard in her ears. She raises a hand to her chest as if to stop it breaking free but detects only a mildly faster thump. A dizzying sensation swirls around her head. In her other hand the shard buzzes.

"Don't- don't br- breathe the gas," Flavitt says feebly, his face so pale and drained he looks to be on the verge of passing out. As if waiting for his words, the balls in the puddle crackle and hiss, releasing grey smoke and bright white sparks. The reaction bubbles violently in the puddle, spitting water wider across the room and the carpet of balls. Smaller reactions erupt haphazardly across the floor where single balls meet drops of water.

At the end of the hall Wyndeer crosses the large puddle in two strides, pushing Erro back just as he starts to cough. Cara holds her breath against the seeping gas. The shard explodes into a frenzy of buzzing and tingling, pushing its energy into her hand and up her arm. Across the room the little black balls begin to rise. They float higher and higher. She tilts her head back as she tracks their ascension to where they stop on a level plain a metre above her head.

She doesn't know how she is doing it, but she knows without a doubt that she is controlling them with the shard. The thought causes anxiety to grip her stomach. She fights the urge to gasp knowing that she must not release her breath. She looks across to Wyndeer, unsure where to move the balls to. If she can move them at all. The gas in front of Wyndeer is dispersing, the reacting balls breaking down and burning out quickly after their initial frenzied reaction.

His top is scrunched into his hand and held tight over his nose and mouth. His eyes are narrow slits against the gas. She raises her hands and shrugs her shoulders, praying that he will understand her question. He scans the room quickly. Leaping over the puddle and the dying hiss of smoke and embers, he runs quickly to the two trunks Crathsun has left stacked against the far wall. Pulling the top one down and flinging open the lid, he points into the empty trunk. Doubt floods her.

In every trial she has concentrated hard on the object she wants to move. In every attempt she has failed. She looks back up at the floating balls, forcing herself not to think about moving them. Instead, she thinks about the empty trunk. Above her the balls vibrate in the air. She almost lets out a cry of despair thinking they are about to fall. The vibrating evolves into a gentle swirling.

The balls clump together into pulsating clusters that swirl and conjoin, only to separate and conjoin again in larger formations. The movement reminds her of birds flocking together in a twilight sky, swooping and swirling individually but moving as one. The now single cluster of balls dips and curves, streaming down into the open trunk as if poured carefully from a jug. Wyndeer slams the trunk shut.

Cara lets out her breath in a powerful release, quickly followed by the drawing in of a noisy intake of air to sate her aggravated lungs. Draig takes hold of her wrist as he eases the shard out of her hand.