He flopped onto his stomach, got his hands beneath him, and pushed up to jump to his feet. He slipped and slid as his arms windmilled, fighting to gain his balance on the small hill. He’d just gained solid purchase when there was a clicking sound right behind his ears. The noise sent a burst of terror through him, though he didn’t understand why, and he burst into a sprint, not even taking a chance to look back.
He’d only gone a few yards when a thin cable of something strong slipped around his stomach, coiled tight, and ripped his body up into the air.
Chapter 39
A Rebound of Power
Tick’s initial shout turned into a strangled grunt as the cord pinched into his stomach and he vaulted away from the ground. His body doubled over as he grabbed the ridged metal of the thing that had captured him—it felt like a wire on an old telephone pole. He twisted and kicked with his feet and tried to pull the thing loose, to no avail. He continued to rise, the sight of the road replaced by the tops of trees, all of it making his head spin and his stomach flip. Giving up on the cord, he tried to turn so he could see what held him.
The blocky silver rectangle was pulling him along, the metal cord coming out of a hole just big enough for it to fit. There was a moment where everything seemed to freeze, and Tick searched his mind for a possible explanation of what was happening. If anyone was watching from below, what else could they think except that a UFO had zapped down from outer space to steal the first human they could find in order to perform experiments? It was all just so . . . odd. Tick was surprised at how little terror he felt now—much less than when he’d first heard that clicking sound.
Because he remembered that he had an untapped amount of power inside his body.
He closed his eyes and let the Chi’karda flow into his chest, into his heart and nerves and bones and muscles. The surge of it was like a rushing river, somehow cold and hot at the same time, filling him with a rapturous clarity and a sense of being unstoppable. Like he could crush mountains or drink up the entire ocean and spit it back out. He wanted to roar and pound his chest. When he opened his eyes again, the familiar orange mist spun around him and clung to his skin, particles of light bouncing along his clothes, untouched by the wind.
With both hands, he grabbed the trailing length of the cord that connected his waist to the boxy contraption that flew through the air. He wrenched his body around until he’d twisted enough that he faced the long cube of silver. After pulling in a deep breath, he blew out the power that had boiled and churned inside of him, letting it flow like an open faucet, throwing every ounce of power at the box that had captured him. A great rushing sound filled his ears, and the world blinded him with orange light.
A thunderclap shook the air, along with a massive jolt of power.
Tick was suddenly plummeting, his hearing deafened, his senses completely out of whack. It was like he’d been flooded with numbing drugs. On some level, he felt the tops of trees scratching his back, felt the cord still cinched tightly around his waist, but his vision had gone from orange to bright white, and he could hear absolutely nothing. The pulse of his blood was a pounding in his head, a thump-thump-thump that he could only feel, a vibration that rattled down his spine.
He was still being pulled along. Somehow he knew that. The branches weren’t suddenly gone—nothing tore at his clothes or bit at his skin. His eyes darted wildly, trying to see anything but the whiteness that seared his sight. The calmness and sense of invincibility from earlier completely vanished, replaced by a fiery panic that lit up his nerves. What was happening to him? He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. He barely felt the motion of flying through the air or the metal rope wrapped around his middle. How could all that power he’d thrown at the long, silvery coffin not have freed him and dropped him to the forest floor?
He didn’t know what else to do but try again. Though weakened from whatever had happened the first time, he concentrated on his internal self, pooling the Chi’karda once again. It came as only a trickle, a weak stream of power that barely made a splash compared to what it had been before. It had no form or substance. It couldn’t take shape. It wasn’t strong enough for him to do anything with it. And he still couldn’t see.
His panic erupted into anger. Rage tore through his body and weakened some of the dam holding back the Chi’karda. He screamed and tried again, pulling on whatever lever he sensed that controlled the link between him and the Realities. The surge came, rushed through him like a flood, filling him with relief as strong as the power itself.