Breaking Through Read online

  The ocean whispers to me, quietly encouraging me. I have no idea what it says.

  I pull against the ropes holding my wrists. It’s useless, but I can’t just lie here and die, can I? I have to try something. Someone put me in here somehow. I can escape in the same way.

  I kick my feet. Twist my body. Yank my arms.

  There’s an inch of water under me. With the rate it’s spraying in, I probably have ten, maybe twelve, minutes before it covers my head. If I’m not already a pancake by then.

  Then a voice at the back of my mind reminds me the pressure won’t flatten the capsule until it’s ten thousand feet under. The metal surrounding me is strong. Super strong. The outer coating is water compliant.

  And suddenly I realize I know all of this because—

  I designed this tomb.

  I bolt upright. Sweat drips into my eyes. Before I can wipe it away, someone bangs on my door.

  I drag my palms down my face. Then I get up to answer whoever ripped me from my sleep. Part of me wants to give them a hug.

  I undo the lock. Pull the door open and see—

  “Haskal?” Never mind. I don’t want that hug.

  He peeks around me. “You okay in here?”

  I rotate as if there’s something or someone behind me. There’s nothing.

  “Yeah. Fine. I was sleeping until you decided to pound on my door,” I say.

  “You were screaming, Nautia. Thin walls, remember?”

  “I was screaming?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I always scream during my nightmares. But Haskal doesn’t need any more grenades when it comes to me.

  He pushes a hand through his blond hair. Then he nods. “Nightmare.”

  “Um, I guess,” I answer, shrugging it off.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, wondering why he suddenly cares about my well-being.

  “Okay, well, if you need me—”

  “I won’t. Good night, Haskal.”

  I close the door, re-lock it, and lie back down. The dream spins in my head again. It’s always the same. Trapped in a tube, unable to escape. Dumped into the ocean—into the one thing I’m supposed to be able to control. Except, I can’t.

  My mind loops through the nightmare again. Nate’s death. I’m screaming. I can’t escape.

  I.

  Nate.

  Shit. I’m Nate.

  I excused Britta from training today. With a concussion, she doesn’t need to be working hard this morning. Gibson said he stayed in her room all night while she vomited. I was close to giving him the day off as well when he insisted he’d be fine. A leader indeed.

  Last night after Kray took Nautia back to her room, I pulled the knife out of Haskal’s shirt, but kept my knee pushed against his chest.

  “You don’t want me for an enemy, Special Officer Smith. And I don’t think you want Nautia for an enemy, either,” I warned.

  He grunted from the pressure I had on him. “I was just having some fun, sir.”

  “‘Fun’ doesn’t almost kill people, soldier.”

  “She got it under control. She’s fine.”

  “You got lucky, Haskal. From now on, you even look at that girl the wrong way, I’ll toss you overboard and let her deal with you herself. We clear?”

  Haskal coughed. “Crystal.”

  “Good. Now get to your bunk.”

  This morning, he’s not even standing beside Nautia. In fact, he’s on the opposite end of the line. I snicker to myself. Let’s hope he stays on his best behavior.

  As I take my place in front of my recruits, I can’t help but glance over at her. I tell myself it’s because of last night and she’s my subordinate, my responsibility. But as I take her in, I notice how her dirty blonde hair is pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head, making her look as sexy as hell. Makeup isn’t caked on her face, yet her blue-green eyes stand out by the sheer beauty of them. The curve of her waist gives way to the perfect hourglass figure, and the way her black top dips slightly in the front reveals a hint of cleavage.

  I also notice the light bags hanging under her eyes, and how she refuses to lift her head. The whole assessment only lasts two seconds, but it was two seconds more than it should have taken. We’re here on a mission—to save the world. Whatever attraction I have to her isn’t important.

  I peer down the short line of four. “You will train six days a week, six in the morning to six in the evening. Your day off is yours to spend as you please. From six to noon, you’re with me. We’ll work on military basics, weapons, hand-to-hand combat. After lunch and until dinner, you train with your partner. Your partner is your lifeline out in the battlefield. Know them. Trust them, because your life might depend on them.”

  Kray’s hand slips into the air like he’s in grade school, but he doesn’t wait for me to call on him before he speaks. “Do we get to pick our partners?”

  Unbidden, my gaze teeters from Nautia to Haskal and back again. “No. I partnered you based on your abilities and the job you were recruited for. You will receive your assignments today at lunch,” I say, working to keep my thoughts clear from the telepath. “All right, everyone, let’s get to work. We’ll begin with running laps. Ten miles. Try to keep up.”

  “I think I’m gonna puke,” Kray groans and bends over the side of the railing on the upper deck.

  Gibson’s also hunched over, gasping for breath. Beside him, with her back against the wall, Nautia slowly slides down and sticks her head between her knees. She doesn’t flinch when Kray vomits into the ocean.

  I shouldn’t give them more time to rest. Time isn’t something you get when you’re in battle. I’m about tell them to stand up when Nautia raises her hand into the air, mesmerizing me. Lazily, she twirls her wrist a few times. Then she opens her palm, and a small ball of fresh water suspends above it.

  “Did you just pull water from the air?” I ask.

  She brings the swirling ball to her lips and drinks it down. “Better than bottled water,” she says, her smile brightening at my interest.

  She creates two more balls. One she offers to Gibson, who nods and levitates it to his mouth. The other she holds out to Kray, and he drinks from her palm. After Kray sucks down two, Nautia looks at me. “Do you want some?”

  When I hesitate, she adds, “It doesn’t touch my sweaty skin. The water’s clean, I promise.”

  More than wanting to taste the water she creates, I want to be that close to her, drinking from her. I want to peer into those ocean eyes as I do and thank her just to hear her say “You’re welcome.” But I won’t do that, because it’s a dangerous path to tread for a million different reasons.

  I swallow and reel myself in. I break my gaze away from her to address everyone. “Push ups. Here on the deck. Two hundred, minimum.”

  By ten o’clock in the morning, my recruits stare at me as if they’re praying whatever I have for them next will kill them off. What they don’t know is tomorrow will be worse.

  I lead them to the weapons training center. Lasers scan my retinas at the door. “Captain Riley Barton,” I say clearly for the voice detection program.

  “Access granted,” the computer replies, and the metal door slides open.

  “Officers first,” I say, motioning them inside.

  Like zombies, the four of them stagger forward. Nautia brings up the rear, and I follow her in. Unlike the others, her clothing isn’t drenched with sweat, even though it was soaked ten minutes ago. I snicker, thinking about her reversing her earlier skills. Instead of creating the molecules, she probably broke them down and evaporated them into the air.

  She must have heard me laugh, because she glances over her shoulder. For a second, our eyes lock before she slides her attention forward. I straighten and don’t say anything.

  Once everyone is inside, I clear my t
hroat as I walk in front of them. “There’s a station for each of you. Pick one. Those will be your weapons for the remainder of this mission. Get comfortable with them. I’ll come around to each table to set up your microchips with your fingerprints.”

  There’re ten weapons on each table. Knives and guns, mostly, with one defective grenade to practice aim. Light chemical warfare devices are in a different training room for a later date.

  Gibson, Haskal, and Kray pick up their weapons individually and examine them. Grins on their faces, they nod their appreciation for the power they hold. But none of them have the reverence that’s in Nautia’s expression. She stares at the weapons, not touching them. Her gaze roams over each one.

  Against my better judgment, I walk over to her table. I tell myself it’s to coach her, but deep down I know that’s only half true. “You ever shoot a gun before?”

  Her brows pinch together, her focus remaining on the table. “I…don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?” I repeat. “I’m pretty sure you’d know if you had.”

  She tucks her lower lip between her teeth, then lets go of it slowly, white skin returning to pink. “Yeah. Right.” She looks at me, then says confidently, “No, I haven’t.”

  “How about a knife? Ever handled one of those before?”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. If a steak knife counts.”

  “Pick it up,” I instruct, nodding to the one on the end. It’s the smallest of the three.

  Carefully, she lifts the hilt into her palm and looks at me, uncomfortable. I reach out and touch the top to activate the microchip. As I do, her nostrils flare and her stare becomes more intense. I can almost smell the anxiety pouring off her.

  A small cloud forms above her, but nothing falls from it.

  “Don’t move,” I tell her, working to keep my voice assertive instead of gentle. I slide the access channel open and press the button. The channel closes on its own and won’t reopen for anyone except the knife’s new owner.

  “Squeeze your hand around it,” I say, and she does. In five seconds, the knife beeps to accept Nautia’s fingerprints.

  She peers up at me, her features indicating she’d rather put the weapon down and never retrieve it again. But I can’t let her do that. The North Koreans won’t hold back and neither can she.

  “It’s an extension of your arm. A part of you, so treat it as such,” I say. Then I address the men. “Handling a knife isn’t like handling a gun. Guns will kill someone from hundreds of feet away. A knife cannot. A knife is personal.”

  “Will we actually have to use these?” Kray asks. “Wouldn’t a gun be easier?”

  “You might have to,” I answer. “And if you do, you’ll need to know how to use them.”

  Kray grins. “Are we going to learn how to throw them? ’Cause that would be sa-weet!”

  It took him longer to ask that question than I thought it would.

  “Yes, but that’s not where we’re going to start. Keep in mind, if you throw the knife, it’s gone and you’re weaponless. Throwing it should be a last resort.” I draw my own. Point it toward the dummies at the far wall. “Those are your enemies. Pick the knife that feels best in your hand. The one you’ll be able to control.”

  Nautia doesn’t even touch her other options, whereas Kray, Gibson, and Haskal spend a few minutes with each before deciding on one. I set their weapons for their use, then the guys clutch them as they cross the room. Nautia, though, walks over slowly, her gaze hard on her knife. When she finally reaches her faceless dummy, she stops in front of it and drops her arms to her sides.

  “Show me what you’ve got,” I say, giving them all time to maneuver themselves.

  Kray rips into the cloth. Gibson and Haskal stab. Nautia does nothing.

  I work through some stances and techniques on the middle dummy, where they can all see me. Nautia repeats the footwork, and even some of the fighting moves, but she only slashes at the air. Her form’s really not bad.

  Kray is a natural. He strikes hard and fast, and I bet hand-to-hand combat will be easy for him. Haskal catches on fast too. Gibson struggles, though. His equilibrium isn’t as solid as Kray’s, and his moves aren’t as smooth and precise. His kill shots miss the mark ninety percent of the time.

  “A close hit won’t work. You have to be exact. An inch can be the difference between your opponent dead or you dead,” I tell him, sticking my blade into the dummy’s chest cavity at the exact center of its heart.

  “If someone comes at me, I’ll just hurl him up in the air. Spin him around until he pukes,” Gibson says, and I can’t argue with that. In a fight, no one should even get close enough to touch Gibson. Still.

  Kray spins around the back of his dummy and slides the knife across its neck. “Kray four hundred twelve, dummy zero. I’m a fucking ninja, man,” he celebrates.

  “If you make a kill in close combat, you’ll see the lights go out of a person’s eyes, and it’s not something you’ll ever forget. Killing a human being should never be taken lightly,” I say, stopping in front of Kray’s dummy.

  Kray puts his arms down. “Yeah. No, of course. I wasn’t…I was just…” he stammers.

  Smack.

  My attention snaps in the direction of the sound. Nautia’s knife slides across the floor and comes to a halt at my feet. And face down on the floor, lies Nautia.

  Even before I open my eyes, I know something’s off. Massive energy surrounds me, reverberating off my skin, my bones, my soul.

  It takes me a second to identify my surroundings. I’m in a bed, but not in my own bunk. And I don’t remember losing control of my powers before I blacked out.

  I see the bed I’m on, my torso lying over the duvet, and the nightstand to my left, but surrounding me is a giant ball of water, blurring out everything on the other side. It’s like a bubble. No water on the inside, none on the outside, though the water flows as though it’s alive—a wave—encapsulating me.

  I don’t recall creating this sphere, but it had to be me. Water doesn’t act like this naturally.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I swivel my head in the opposite direction. Captain Barton stands casually on the other side, staring in on me. I raise my arms and concentrate on breaking the water molecules and evaporating them so he can come through and not get wet. I assume that’s what he’s waiting for. Why else would he be here? I’ve evaporated water a million times, and it’s easy. Except this time, I can’t do it. Nothing happens.

  “What’s going on?” I say, examining my hands. If Barton heard me, he doesn’t answer.

  Bringing the wall down will create a mess, but what other choice do I have? I focus on the water. Focus on becoming one with it. Then I swipe my palm across the air, expecting the water to crash down into a puddle on the floor.

  Nothing.

  Strange.

  “Captain, can you hear me?” I holler.

  Again, he doesn’t respond, and for a moment I wonder if I’m dreaming. That maybe I haven’t woken up yet. But this isn’t what I dream about; I’m not in a dark coffin that’s sinking into the depths of the ocean.

  Nope. This is real. This is happening.

  I slip off the bed and walk toward him. His gaze remains on me, and I’m sure he regrets his choice to bring me aboard. So far, all I’ve done is cause trouble.

  “Why am I in here? What happened?” I ask.

  Barton touches the water wall, but as soon as his fingers hit, a small wave throws his arm back. He shakes his head instead of speaking.

  He can’t hear me.

  “The water is protecting me,” I mutter, theorizing the only possible answer. “It won’t let anyone in, unless …”

  I repeat Barton’s action, pressing my fingertips against the wall. Instead of throwing me back, the water separates and lets my fingers glide through to the other side.

/>   Barton glances down, and I retract my arm. I’m not surprised it’s completely dry. I step forward to simply walk through since apparently the wall seems okay with me breaking the barrier, but when I press my body against it, a wave bursts and pushes me back.

  What the hell?

  I study the bubble for a second and an idea comes to me: if the water won’t let me out and it won’t let Barton in of his own action, will it allow him entrance if I’m the one opening the door? It works with my water-protecting-me theory.

  With both palms outward, I slip the tips of my fingers through the wall again and separate the water like a curtain. My protector obeys, giving a small passageway into my bubble.

  “Come in,” I say cautiously.

  Barton moves forward, examining the opening. Another step and he’s inside the doorway. Then he grins as he walks inside. Once he’s through, the wall seals closed. “Nice digs.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I sit back down on my bed. “I wish I understood why I’m in inside said nice digs.”

  “You passed out during training two days ago. As soon as we picked you up to bring you to the infirmary, this balloon began to form around you. We barely got you in bed before it expanded and pushed us all out.”

  “Wait. Two days?” I’ve lost two whole days?

  Barton nods.

  I shake my head in disbelief. That amount of time is normal had I lost control of my powers, but I hadn’t … had I? “And the ocean? Other water, has it … been fine?”

  He points above us. “This is it. My only guess is that it formed from the air. Can you tell?”

  “Um…” I close my eyes and hold my hand up in the air. Silently, I will a drop of water to come down to me. When I feel the wetness, I compel it to absorb into my skin. Then I open my eyes. “Yes. It’s pure. It’s not saltwater.”

  “Do you know why this created itself?” he asks, gesturing around him. “We couldn’t even get in to give you medical attention.”