The Tempest A.J. Scudiere (books to read in a lifetime .TXT) 📖

for that. He dropped low, almost as a reaction from the shock of what he’d done, and waited to feel the burn of a bullet searing through his brain. There wasn’t time to wait and see if he died first, so he jammed his hands upward, grabbing at her arm and shoving it skyward. It was not the best execution of the move, and not anywhere near as clean and superhero-like as he’d done it in his mind.

The sound and the movement of the gunshot rocked him, almost throwing him off his feet. He felt the reverberation through her arm and the air the second she squeezed the trigger and the bullet flew upward into the sky.

He could swear he heard another blast. Was she just pulling the trigger over and over? But he was already hearing the rough “Oof!” of someone being tackled, and he was pretty certain it wasn't Dev.

Joule must have aimed for the man in the overalls with the gun. He just hoped she was staying clear of the embers that sparked and burst into the night like escapees on a prison break.

The woman with the ponytail toppled as Cage struggled with her, pulling them both to the ground in a tangled heap. He was equally petrified by both the gun she was waving wildly and a piece of burning wood that landed next to them and began sizzling in the damp grass. The woman didn't look strung out or high, but she was certainly in a rough place where she was making crazy decisions. He felt her poor choices as thumps to his torso and kicks to his shins as she attempted to fight back.

He pulled back a hand to clock her, hoping to get her under the chin, but he spotted her hand still holding the gun. If he hit her the wrong way, she might jerk and shoot off another bullet. So he held himself in check.

He wanted to look back over his shoulder and check on the barn, to be sure it wasn’t about to collapse in their direction, dusting them all with wood and embers, but there wasn’t time. Looking away might mean losing this fight.

He struggled to get into a stable position on his hands and knees. The moment he achieved it, he jammed his elbow into her forearm, hoping to keep her trigger hand pinned to the ground. He could only hope that would keep her from shooting anything more than an ankle.

Then, as he lifted up his head to see where her gun might be aimed, he saw a boot plant itself across her wrist. A hand came into view, and the small semiautomatic was forcefully removed from her grip.

“Noooo!” she howled, as though she were the wronged party.

In his anger, Cage pulled back again to offer a good “shut-up” punch, but again he was thwarted.

“Everybody up! Hands in the air where I can see them!”

Cage shook his head. Who said that? Who was trying to take control of this asinine melee? As he rolled off the woman, who was still trying to shake him, he caught sight of Joule.

The man in the overalls was also trying to toss his sister off himself, but Joule appeared to be remembering some of the martial arts they had studied as kids. And she wasn't quite tossed like a rag doll. It was more that she jumped and scrambled out of the way, avoiding kicking legs, flailing arms, and crackling pieces of burning wood.

Cage could only hope that she’d managed to get the gun out of the man’s hand as well. Hell, Cage would trust the old farmer or even Jerry with the gun far more than this guy.

“Everyone on your feet, hands in the air!”

He thought he heard the voice again, through the ringing that vibrated his eardrums and his skull.

Cage turned a circle, looking wildly in all directions, but he still wasn’t upright. He counted far too many pairs of feet and was still unable to hear clearly after having a gun fire so close to his unprotected ears.

He clapped his hands to his head now, trying to stop the roar. The voice must have been very loud or very close, but he still hadn’t seen who was saying it.

He could only hope that, while he and Joule had started the chaos, someone else was ending it. He checked his sister as he scanned the small crowd. Joule looked fine—no blood. And she moved appropriately, indicating nothing was broken or too badly twisted as she stepped further from the barn.

Good. Her silhouette against the firelit sky filled him with relief. He’d never been happier to see her.

Jerry, next to her, also appeared uninjured, and so did the two people that had come bursting out of the barn wall right before them. Cage next watched as the man in the overalls and the thin woman with the ponytail stood up and slowly, angrily, put their hands into the air.

But then he spotted the person ordering them around. It was Dr. Chithra Murasawa with a rifle in her hands and an angry expression on her bruised and battered face. She aimed at the center of the small crowd, ready to swing and shoot at whoever displeased her. And she looked very displeased.

Next to her, Izzy stood with a handgun gripped fiercely. Her feet were braced apart, her arms out, elbows locked, and the gun shaking frightfully in her grip. Izzy was alive! He breathed a sigh of relief mixed with fear. Izzy wasn’t good with that gun, not a very convincing as an authority figure.

Cage stepped forward, motioning to the gun. “Do you want me to take that?”

He wasn’t sure if he asked it or maybe yelled. The buzzing in his ears still hadn't quite quelled. But Izzy nodded and said—or maybe he read her lips—“Oh God, yes! Please.”

She handed the gun to him, barrel first, and with a few deft moves, he checked the piece. It was loaded and the