Breaking Through Read online

  Silence fell around them, save for the crackling and popping of the fire which had engulfed the skiff, and all three stared at each other in amazement. Very slowly, they all got to their feet and brushed themselves off.

  John took in the carnage around them, still trying to process it all. “Who…”

  “There.”

  Michael pointed and John followed his gaze to the edge of the building across the alley. A shadowy figure appeared at the edge, something propped over one shoulder.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tom said.

  The voice was high-pitched, like that of a young teenage girl. “Hey!” she called. “You boys want to quit screwing around down there, my Pale’s getting warm.”

  The girl leapt from the roof and glided down through the air like a bird, arms spread wide. The short jacket she wore billowed out behind her like a cape.

  “Damn it, Sis. You scared the shit out of me!” Tom pointed an accusatory finger at her as she touched down lightly on the pavement.

  The boots she wore were oversized, and the orange and white-striped socks sticking out of them ran all the way up over her knees. A layered red and black skirt was pinned to her right side by a holster that hung loosely around her hips. Her jacket hung open, its sleeves rolled up to just under her elbows, a dark red shirt underneath. Burnt orange hair stuck out from either side of her head in stumpy pigtails, and a grin that spanned from ear to ear covered her pale face.

  John didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone clash as much as this girl. She was pretty, but in the schoolgirl way that made him almost embarrassed to think so. Realizing he was staring, he looked away and failed to make it seem natural.

  “Who’s this?” she said, nodding to John. She lifted the weapon to her shoulder again and stepped toward them. It looked like three shotgun barrels attached to each other, arranged with two large bore barrels below the single. Multi-colored cables wrapped back around the length of the barrels to the main body, three-quarters of the way down the weapon. It was about the length of a large automatic machine gun. A pistol grip extended below the main body, and a second from a rail underneath the barrel assembly. She held it by a steel A-frame that served as the weapons butt-stock.

  “Came through the Portal,” Tom explained. “Care to explain?” He motioned to the weapon.

  “Huh? Oh, my latest toy,” she said holding it out for them to see. “I call it a tribarrel.”

  Tom scratched the back of his head. “Clever. Where’s Tim?”

  “He’s coming,” the girl said, reaching for something on her belt. “What happened to your Com?”

  Tom gave John an irritated look. “Lost it.”

  She followed Tom’s gaze and considered John for a moment, then spoke into the device in her hand, “Tim, hurry your ass up. We don’t have all day."

  The voice that answered her was barely audible over the static, “I…oming … oks...you ha…company.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said, slamming the small com unit against her leg. “Tim? What’s going on?” she shouted into the comm.

  “…mo…Dust…com…”

  She shoved the com back into its pouch on her belt. “Shit.”

  Michael slumped back against the car. “You know I could really use a drink right about now.” His voice was slurred and drawn out.

  “Michael!” The girl tossed the tribarrel at Tom, who stepped back surprised, barely managing to hold on it.

  “Watch it, Sis!”

  She ignored him and knelt down beside Michael, examining the bandages around his leg. “Are you okay?”

  “Who, me?” Michael said with a smile. “Never better, I’m super-good.” He motioned to John. “Thanks to him.”

  The girl glanced at John for a moment, then glared at Tom. “What happened? It was supposed to be a simple in and out.”

  Tom waved the butt of the tribarrel at John. “He happened.”

  Way passed caring, John simply held out his hand and said, “John McNeal, Day-Ruiner Extraordinaire.”

  She raised an orange colored eyebrow. “Stupid looking outfit you got there, John.”

  “Well, call the fashion police and lock me up.”

  Michael’s head wobbled lazily. “I feel funny.”

  The girl put a hand around the nape of his neck, steadying him. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “It’s the betadyphanol I gave him,” John explained. “It’s got a pretty good kick to it.” The girl gave him a questioning look and he said, “Pain killer.”

  “We’re going to get you outta here, okay,” she told Michael, looking straight into his eyes. Michael returned her look sleepily, his eyes unfocused. She pulled the com out of her pocket again. “Anytime now, Stupid.”

  Tom chucked. “You know, he really doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

  “I know,” she said with a grin.

  “Kee…amn…pan…on.”

  A deep reverberating thrum washed over them as another skiff appeared overhead. It flew across the garage and out over the street, then made a wide arcing-turn back toward the small group. John was surprised when they weren’t subjected to violent engine-wash as they had been from the last two. Instead of powerful blasting engines, these were wrapped in very distinct energy bands; green and yellow lines wrapped around the casings pulsed rapidly in sequence. The distinct thrumming grew stronger as the skiff descended.

  “About time,” the girl said, moving to help Michael to his feet.

  The pulsing slowed as the skiff neared the surface of the lot, rotating around so its side was facing the group. Through the clear windshield, John saw the pilot adjusting his controls to keep the skiff level. A mirrored visor, attached to a grey helmet, covered the top half of his face, a microphone extended down in front of his lips.

  The front rose up slightly, stopping its decent, and the skiff came to a hover several inches above the dirty concrete. Two hatches on either side of the main fuselage folded up and away, revealing a small cargo area. A small hatchway separated it from the cockpit at the front of the craft.

  Something clanged off the skiff’s hull and a rock bounced off the concrete below. Angry voices drew the group’s attention to the crumbling remnants of the Landen and Kotch exit. Several people had fanned out from the gaping hole in the side of the building, contempt and hatred spread across their faces. One of the old men from the first room they’d passed stood at the far end, hands wrapped around a tall cane for support.

  Another rock sailed through the air. John had to duck out of the way. “Son of a bitch! What is their issue?”

  “We destroyed their home,” Tom replied, propping the tribarrel over his left shoulder. He pulled out his pistol and fired off several shots at the crowd. Puffs of powder and specs of composite exploded into the air just ahead of the angry mob.

  “You guys waiting for an invitation?” a male voice crackled from an unseen speaker on the skiff.

  The girl, who was already pulling Michael across the roof, shouted, “A little help here.”

  John stepped forward and grabbed ahold of the man’s other arm. They pulled him to his feet and walked him the fifteen feet to the waiting skiff. Tom followed close behind, sporadically firing back at the angry mob. Several more rocks, and whatever else the mob could find, were lobbed through the air, bouncing harmlessly off the skiff. Several long pipes clattered on the ground around them.

  As they reached the open compartment Tom’s gun clicked empty. “Oh, great, fantastic.”

  The girl shifted Michael’s weight, tried to life him up on the hard metallic floor but didn’t have the leverage. He giggled as she moved her arms underneath his.

  “Seriously, Michael?”

  His head slumped sideways and he replied with a grin, “Don’t tickle.”

  “For shit’s sake.”

  John turned to Tom, “Hop in, we’ll lift him up to you.” The look Tom gave him was pure contempt. “Come on!”

  A baseball-sized rock flew past them, inche
s from the girl’s face. She jerked her head back. “Damn it, hurry up and get in there!”

  “If we could get moving sometime soon, that would be great,” The pilot called back from the cockpit. He had twisted around in his seat to watch them load up through the hatch.

  Tom cursed and moved around them. He tossed the TriBarrel up into the compartment and jumped in after it. With Tom pulling, they lifted Michael’s body up and in, then both John and the girl followed him in.

  “Let’s go!” Tom shouted as he pulled Michael toward one of the benches at the back.

  The thrumming of the engines sped up and the skiff began to climb. Tom and John lifted Michael into a seat and strapped him in. The compartment doors folded down and sealed with a hiss, as they lifted higher into the air leaving the angry crowd below.

  The compartment was about thirty feet long and half that wide. A row of four seats ran along the back bulkhead with two groups of double seats, separated by the cockpit hatch, at the front. Wires and cables snaked around ceiling of the compartment, attached by ties and what John thought was tape. The whole thing looked like it had been pieced together with spare parts.

  John moved across to one of the window seats at the front and strapped in. The girl took the one next to Michael as Tom moved to stand next to the hatch. He grabbed ahold of a cluster of cables running along the ceiling and leaned through the opening. “Thanks for not taking your time, or anything.”

  “Hey, you’re welcome. I’m here for you, brother.”

  “Oh, man,” Michael said, drawing out the “oh” like an off-key musical note, “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

  The pilot leaned around to look back at him. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s alive,” Tom said. He reached into a compartment above the seats and pulled out several bottles of water. He tossed one each to Michael and the girl, then twisted the cap off his own and took a long drink.

  The girl caught hers in one hand, took a drink, then wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket. “What happened, Tom?”

  Michael tried to take a sip of his but only managed to pour a quarter of the bottle down his shirt. “Fell down.”

  Tom shook his head and glared at John. “Came through the Portal after the Snatcher went up.”

  “Oh, wow, really? From the other side? Cool.”

  “Glad I could make your day,” John replied. He considered asking for a bottle of his own, then decided against it. He wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of these people.

  Tom moved across and held his own bottle to Michael’s lips. As he took a sip, the skiff banked and the bottle slipped up into his nose.

  “Ow. Easy Tom, that hurt.” Michael snatched the water bottle out of Tom’s hand.

  Tom muttered an apology, and moved back across to compartment to sit across the hatch from John. He strapped in, crossed his arms and starred out the window next to him.

  “Rats found you guys pretty quick,” The girl noted. “Even with the beacon it took us twenty minutes to track you down.”

  Tom shrugged and flipped a thumb in John’s direction. “Wouldn’t’ve been off course if we hadn’t had to bring him along.”

  “Hey, go fuck yourself all right,” John said.

  “You know the rules,” Michael said. He tossed his bottle to John. “Here.”

  It was a horrible throw, and John almost fell out of his seat trying to grab it. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah,” Tom replied, his gaze fixed on the buildings flying by outside. “I know them.”

  “How’d he even get through?” The girl asked.

  John felt like he’d just broken his mother’s favorite lamp and now Mom and Dad were discussing his fate. “Hey, you know I’m right here.”

  Michael reached down to his injured leg. “Hey man, you wouldn’t have any more of that great stuff would you?”

  “I do,” John answered, after taking a drink, “but unless you want to turn into a zombie for the next few days, I’d advise against it.”

  “Zombie?”

  “Forget it.”

  “So, how did you do it?” Michael asked.

  John scoffed. “Do what?”

  The girl rocked her head side to side. “You know, come through the Portal. It’s been years since anyone has come through, you know.”

  “Watch it,” Tom warned.

  She shrugged. “What? He’s here now.” She glanced back to John. “So…?”

  John sighed. “Look, all I know is this giant-swirling-electric-black-hole-thing appeared out of nowhere, my Falcon went bingo then I was sucked through and ended up here. You’re saying it’s some kind of portal?”

  Michael nodded. “That’s what we call it.”

  “What’s a bingo?” the girl asked.

  “My fighter crashed.”

  “And?”

  “And, that’s it.” John held his hands out palms up. “I have no idea what happened or how I got through whatever it was, much less what the hell is going on right now. I don’t even really know who you people are.”

  “You don’t need to,” Tom muttered.

  “Tom,” Michael said.

  “Ahh.” He waved an irritated hand through the air, then sulked like a child who’d just been told he couldn’t go outside and play.

  The girl shook her head. “She’s going to be pissed.”

  Tom let out a knowing laughed. “You think.”

  “She knows the Rules, and so do both of you.” Michael pointed a finger at them both in turn. “You might not like it, but this is happening.”

  John held up a hand. “Hey, so, I know that I’m not in-the-know around here, but is there some kind of rule that prevents you from telling me what the hell is going on? I mean, can you tell me where I am at least?”

  Michael and the girl exchanged reluctant looks, then he turned to John and shrugged. “Well, honestly, there are a lot of names for this place. I don’t have any idea what people from your side call it, but we just call it, Neverland.”

  Second Star continues in:

  Follow the link to continue your journey!

  http://amzn.to/1flCBW9

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  I want to thank you for taking a chance on a first time author, it means a lot that you took the time to sit down and read this book. My hope is that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed (most of the time) writing it.

  If you would, please consider writing a short review of Second Star: Breaking Through (Book 1) wherever you bought the book. It doesn’t have to be a long deal, just a few words, your honest opinion means everything to me. Reviews are the lifeblood for indie authors and are appreciated more than you know.

  Please, visit me on Facebook at:

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  Thanks again for reading!

  Josh H.

  October 2014