Storm of Lightning Read Free Page B

airfield was an eight-foot-high weathered wire fence that, in places, was covered with tumbleweeds and flanked by short, sunbaked palms.
    About a hundred yards from the runway were three arched-roof airplane hangars paneled with corrugated tin. They had rusted metaldoors and hardware. There were no glass windows, just portals covered by metal grates.
    On top of the closest hangar was a pole that extended up into the air with a wind sock and an instrument (Ostin called it an anemometer) to measure wind speed, though it didn’t look like anyone was around to receive its information. The place looked like it had been built a hundred years ago, back when planes only had propellers.
    â€œWhere are we?” Taylor asked.
    â€œBisbee-Douglas International Airport,” Ostin said.
    â€œIt looks deserted.”
    â€œIt ain’t Los Angeles,” Ostin said.
    â€œIt’s not even Boise,” I said.
    The plane came to a stop, then circled back, slowly taxiing toward the hangars. Above the first hangar door, affixed to the corrugated tin siding, was a faded orange logo that read:

    There was a tribal symbol next to the name.
    â€œThat’s ironic,” Ostin said.
    â€œWhat’s ironic?” I asked.
    â€œIt was near Douglas, Arizona, that Geronimo, the last Apache chieftain, surrendered and ended the Indian resistance in the United States.”
    â€œMaybe this is where our resistance ends too,” Tessa said.
    Everyone looked at her.
    â€œYou’re supposed to enhance our power,” McKenna said, “not diminish it.”
    â€œJust sayin’.”
    â€œNo,” Jack said. “This is where our resistance begins.”
    *  *  *
    Partially obscured behind one of the hangars was a faded, aluminum-sided trailer home with a rusted, older-model Yamaha motorcycle parked out front. As our plane powered down, Scott emerged fromthe cockpit. He opened the door, and a stairway protruded from the plane. “All right,” he said. “Everyone off. We have a van in the hangar. I need to get the key; then we’ll load up.”
    Taylor and I were the last to get off the plane. There was a light breeze, and the Arizona air was warm and dry. I stepped down onto the runway, then looked around at the rugged desert landscape that surrounded us. There were cacti and tangled trees with yellow and white blossoms. The air smelled fragrant, like some kind of exotic flower.
    â€œMexican plums,” Ostin said as if reading my mind.
    â€œHow do you know all this crap?” Tessa said.
    â€œI read a lot,” he said. Then, with an uncharacteristic edge added, “Can you read?”
    Tessa stared him down. “I can’t shock you, but I can still punch you out.”
    â€œTry it,” McKenna said.
    â€œYour girlfriend is protecting you?” Tessa laughed. “How pathetic is that?”
    Ostin looked even more pained than he already was. “I didn’t ask for her help.” He looked at McKenna. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
    McKenna frowned. “I’m sorry. It just made me mad.”
    â€œStop it,” I said, looking at Tessa. “There’s enough pain without you adding to it.”
    She wilted beneath my gaze. “Sorry.”
    As I turned away, Taylor gently touched my back.
    â€œDon’t read my mind,” I said.
    â€œI’m not trying to. But you’re too electric right now. It’s like you’re shouting out your thoughts.”
    â€œLucky you,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry. I wish I could help.”
    The sky was streaked with orange and yellow as the sun began its descent on the western horizon. Under different circumstances I would have been moved by its beauty, but inside I felt too ugly to appreciate it.
    â€œNothing out here,” Ian said. “This place is quiet.”
    â€œIs there anyone in the trailer?” Scott asked.
    â€œAn old woman,” Ian said.