Dangerous Addictions: Messed-Up Heroes, #1

A terrorist attack poisons the water and leaves hundreds of thousands of Americans dead. Countless more are left with diminished brain function. As the government seizes control, order is restored in the country but freedom is taken away. A nation is quarantined, all citizens regulated to stay within the borders.

For Riley, a genius hacker, that lack of freedom, particularly travel restriction, is not acceptable. When he suddenly develops a bad-ass power and learns he can manipulate electricity, he sets out to use that power to gain back control. The discovery of a murder forces Riley to team up with Danika, an enigmatic woman with her own freaky power and scary secrets. When they find that the dead scientist was working on a machine to uncover more people with superpowers, the adventure begins as they attempt to track the device.

Death and danger shadow the pair as they travel to the waterways of Florida, the mountains of Colorado and places in between. With each of them following their own agenda but compelled to work together, they search for answers in a world shaped by terrorism, and discover buried pieces of themselves along the way.

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Copyright © 2016 Naomi Bellina

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY

A man intent on securing his freedom should not be handcuffed to a table in a police station. Riley tugged at the restraints. Stupid. Sucking down that last drink, plain stupid. Last three drinks, actually. No way could he bypass the vehicle substance detector after pounding down four bourbons, but he got in the rental car, and started the ignition without disabling the device. Damn thing activated a blaring alarm, locked him in, and instantly alerted the cops. So here he sat.

Riley gazed around. Police stations looked the same, no matter what city. Walls painted a sickening shade of infected-snot green, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Like it was mandatory to make the room as unpleasant as possible. The smell of piss, burnt coffee, and disinfectant blended to turn his stomach. And this building in Cape Canaveral had the added charm of splotches of mold on the walls, an extra bit of filth distinctive to the high humidity of Florida.

As he tugged the cuffs again, fighting back a nudge of claustrophobia, the door flew open and a woman in black slacks, a white shirt, and a wrinkled grey jacket stalked in, her gaze flipping from the data board in her hands to Riley. She pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat, studied his face intently for ten seconds, then bent her head back to her board.

Mr. Sanders, you attempted to drive while drunk. Stinking drunk at four o'clock in the afternoon. You shut down the car, let's see, ten seconds after your butt hit the seat. That's a fine of five-hundred dollars or imprisonment.

Yes ma'am, I know. He also knew to be polite to law enforcement. Throw in that title of respect, though the woman wasn't much older than him.

She licked her finger and touched it to the screen to scroll further, an action that triggered a memory from childhood, of a teacher that used that gesture. This cop read paper books and no doubt used that move on her data board when tired or not paying attention. The first one, he guessed, by the dark circles under her eyes.

Says here you don't have your identification microchip implanted. What happened to it?

Shit. Exactly what he did not want. Attention called to his do-it-yourself surgery. Should have known they'd detect its absence. He'd cut the damn chip out once before, a few years ago, to see what would happen. Because he worked at a government agency, an alarm shrieked the minute he'd passed through the front door at his office, his attempt at liberty squashed like a bug on a windshield.

I took it out.

She raised her head and turned that focused stare back on him. You took it out?

Yes ma'am. It bothered me.

Let me see. She came around the table. Pull down the top of your pants.

Uh... He lifted his cuffed hands.

She knelt to one knee and lifted the bottom of his shirt.

Lean to your left, I'm unfastening your pants. One wrong move and you'll be in my jail for a week. The cell with the hungry rats. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a vinyl glove, then opened the fastener on his jeans and gingerly pushed down the waistband, to expose a bandage on his hip. With a quick tug she yanked it away from his skin. He winced, but didn't flinch.

Christ, what did you use, a rusty butter knife? This will get infected.

I'll clean it, put antibiotic on. What's your name?

Lieutenant Foster. Why did the chip bother you?

It itched. A lieutenant is dealing with a drunk guy?

One who comes in without his implant. She frowned and reapplied the bandage. They must be using a different plastic. You're the second person who's been in here, drunk, with your chip cut out. Is the device new?

No. Riley sat up straighter. Another person took out their hunk of spyware?

She stood. Our medic will clean and seal that wound, stick a temporary chip in your other side. Maybe you won't react to it there.

Why would you think that?

She folded her arms and looked down at him. You may have had an allergic reaction to the plastic. Another area on your body might not respond so aggressively. By aggressively I mean...

I understand what that word means. I'm not a DC.

Well, since you came in without identification, the only record I have of you is a photo ID I managed to pull up on our slow-as-hell data base. I have no way of knowing what class you are. And since you climbed into a car, drunk, without enough sense to guzzle a can of Buzz Kill, I can only assume you're a Damaged Citizen.

I'm an Unchanged Citizen, a security engineer at Frontier Authority. My badge, credit card and Identcard are in the pocket of my jeans. Were in the pocket of my jeans.

She whipped a phone out of the holster on her side and barked into it. Simpson. Where is Simpson? Okay, whoever you are, bring me prisoner Riley Sanders's belongings, room three. Yes, now. They should have been here before me. She smacked the phone down on the table.

Where are you from?

Kansas City.

What brings you to Cape Canaveral Florida?

I need a vacation.

Came here to take a cruise?

He shrugged. No. Just want to look at the water. Why did the other person take out their chip?

The door opened and a young man came in and handed Foster a plastic bag. Stick around, outside this room. I'll need you for transport in a few minutes.

The kid, who couldn't be over twenty, nodded his head, an eager smile on his suntanned face. Sure thing.

That's 'yes ma'am.' What the hell are they teaching you in cop training? You want to make it past errand boy on this force?

Uh, sorry ma'am. I'm still in the first part of the program. I've only had two classes.

She shook her head. Trainees on the floor of my station. Lord help us. Wait outside.

She dumped the bag on the table, picked up his Identcard, and scanned it over her tablet. Riley almost drummed his fingers, thought better of it, waited silently the three minutes she took to examine his file. The pleasant bourbon buzz had worn off an hour ago, and a headache pressed the back of his skull. He badly wanted a large glass of water, a pain pill, and fresh air.

So you're an ex-hacker, got sent to prison. Pulled out of jail after The Annihilation, trained in technology skills, working at Frontier Authority. Been keeping your nose clean the six years since then. Why the sudden urge to travel and drink enough booze to light up a substance detector like a Christmas tree?

He slouched in his chair, trying for nonchalance. Told you, I needed a vacation. Hoped she wouldn't look deep into his eyes, see the desperation there.

She scanned her board further. Your supervisor is looking for you. You took off without giving him notice?

How did you know? More stupid on his part. Of course she knew. She accessed his email. Cops were all part of the big government hive of information.

You up and left your post.

Yeah, I did, I need a break. I told my boss I'd be back in a few days.

She crossed her arms. We all need a break. If everyone left their job whenever they wanted, we'd be in trouble. We have to work for...

The betterment of mankind. I'm aware of our national motto. He laced his fingers together. Don't let her see the anger.

"You could be put back in prison, are you aware of that? I could turn this incident into an arrest. And these. She took a bottle of pills from the pile of his belongings on the table. Medulamax. Mighty potent drug. You have issues with pain?"

Headaches. They're prescription. Doesn't your inquest get you into my medical records too? Couldn't stop his mouth from shooting off. He tightened his fingers.

Don't get smart with me. Maybe I'll check, make sure you're current with your doctor visits, give you an extra hoop or two to jump through to get your meds.

He blew out a breath, tried a charming smile. Hey, I'm sorry. Had problems with a woman in Kansas City, got me kind of screwed up. I only need a few days down here, to clear my head. I'll report in to work, call my boss, and tell him I'll be back next week. How's that?

She flipped his card and badge back into the plastic bag. You'll get on a plane tonight and be back to work on Monday.

While she tapped her data board, he closed his eyes part way. A little push should get him what he needed. Ignoring the throb that had now moved behind his eyes, he gave a nudge with his mind.

A sudden, piercing shriek tore through the air.

Damn it. Foster pulled out her phone and punched the keypad. What the hell is that? I'm on my way.

What's going on? Is there a fire? He tugged his hands. You can't leave me chained up here.

No, that's the carbon monoxide alarm. It's never gone off, so I'm sure it's a malfunction. I'll be right back. She dropped her board on the table and hurried from the room.

Take your time, Riley muttered, and leaning across the table, put his face flat on the surface.

Almost. He could almost reach it. He rose from his chair and stretched further from his waist, extended an inch farther, one more, till his forehead touched the edge of Lieutenant Foster's board. Nudging it bit by bit, he dragged it back to his hands.

He'd never hacked while handcuffed before. First time for everything.

Fast as his fingers could fly, he dug through the police records. The piercing alarm stopped ringing, but with another push of his mind, he set it off again. He needed more time. Foster didn't see him as a high-risk threat and no doubt trusted the security of his restraints, but she wouldn't leave him alone much longer. There. The other person who had come to Cape Canaveral and cut out their chip. Danika Williams.

The alarm stopped again. He scanned Danika's info, memorized her phone number, set the screen to its earlier position, and slid the board back across the table as the door opened and Foster strode in.

I don't have time for you tonight. She picked up her tablet, danced her fingers across it. Simpson! She leaned out door and around the corner.

Simpson's not here. I'm...

Whoever you are, take this man to medical for a temporary chip and an injection of Buzz Kill. I've ordered his implant. Make sure he gets the correct one. She held her palm up. Give me your board. I'll transfer his data from mine. Mr. Sanders, I trust you'll have a permanent chip implanted as soon as you return home from your vacation. Which will be tomorrow.

Riley bit back the response he wanted to let loose. Nothing good came from antagonizing cops. Yes. I'll leave tonight.

Apparently satisfied she saw truth in his eyes, she gave the rookie cop back his device. Tell medical to send him to out-processing when they're done. Here are his things. She handed the bag to the young man, then turned to Riley. Don't let me find you drunk in Cape Canaveral again.

****

He'd wait to take out this temporary chip, Riley decided, rubbing his hip. So far, it wasn't sending those sharp blasts of pain down his leg, like his original one did, the minute he'd stepped out of his car in Cape Canaveral earlier in the day. He'd fought past the agony, checked into a hotel, swallowed an extra pain pill, then had driven to the nearest drugstore and bought rubbing alcohol and bandages. Biting a washcloth, he used his knife and cut till he found the implant. Deeper than he remembered from the first time he'd performed self-chip removal. As soon as he yanked the device out, the pain stopped.

At least that particular searing ache. Sharp edges of iron spikes still poked at his skull, as they'd done for two years. The reason he took a potent painkiller, and one of the reasons he needed to find answers.

Right now, he needed his car and per the officer at out-processing, he could pick it up in the police station garage. He walked around to the back of the cop building.

Sanders, Riley Sanders, he yelled to the attendant. The speaker hole in the bullet-proof plastic wouldn't carry his voice in a normal tone. You've got my rental car.

The woman in the booth chomped her gum, punched her keyboard and stared at a screen. Yep, there it is. I'll have someone bring it around. That will be five-hundred dollars fine plus fifty dollars for the impound fee.

Impound fee? The police are charging an impound fee?

One of our officers took his valuable time to drive your vehicle back here. Tax money barely pays our salaries. Be glad you weren't arrested. Bail is a lot more than five-hundred fifty dollars, you know. She blew a bubble, sucked it back in, tapped more keys. How will you be paying?

Riley slapped his credit card on the moving metal tray device, and the officer pulled it in. Take a seat. She pointed to a wooden bench.

Resisting the urge to punch the wall, the plastic window, anything, he paced the patch of concrete around the bench instead. She was right. He should be glad they hadn't charged and held him. He made decent money, had more stashed, but didn't need to throw it away on tickets and lawyers.

Didn't need to drink so much either, but he did. Ever since The Annihilation six years ago, since a quarantine was smacked down on the whole country, alcohol became his best friend. Then, even more, after his mind suddenly developed an extra skill two years ago, and headaches made it impossible to function without pain meds during the day and booze at night.

Back home, he took a shuttle or walked if he left his house to drink, but preferred to stay in the house with his whiskey. Why he stopped at a bar here and drank so much... sheer stupidity. He should've stuck with his mission, his reason for coming to Florida. Driven straight to the marina as soon as he got to town, found that boat, Siren of the Sea.

He'd wanted to scope out the area more, get a feel for the place. And sitting on the deck of that bar, the wind playing across his skin, listening to other tourists laugh, he'd let himself relax. He'd enjoyed the fruity specialty drinks the cute server with the tight ass insisted he try, and one drink led to another, which eventually, led to the inside of the jail.

Nervous energy somewhat sated, he sat, took a deep breath, and let his head fall back. In his travels, Riley had spent some time in Florida. Hotter than hell in summer, he remembered. Now, in April, the night air rolled over him, teasing with a hint of ocean salt, lowering the temperature, and making him want to go back to that bar and stare at the ocean. And the server's rear end.

Cape Canaveral was a medium-sized tourist town, not ruined with horrendous traffic, but with enough amenities to keep its many visitors busy. The beach, for those wanting to veg out, a tour of the non-functioning space center, for anyone interested in history, plenty of restaurants and bars to eat and drink the time away.

Not one of the ultra-luxury seaside spots in the country, but visited by plenty of Unchanged and Damaged Citizens on vacation, and the nearest beach town to the big amusement parks in the middle of the state. There were plenty of moderately priced hotels and motels, including the one he'd checked into.

Where he should go now. Head to the fitness room, hit the sauna, pump and sweat that shitty Buzz Kill out of his body. Wait till daylight, visit the marina then.

What he shouldn't do was hunt down Danika Williams.

Mr. Sanders, your car is here. The attendant officer motioned him over.

He signed the required forms, retrieved his credit card and keys, slid behind the wheel and pulled out his phone. Calling Danika tonight would be a bad idea. Really bad.

She answered on the third ring. Hello? Noise in the background.

Danika Williams?

That's me. Who's this?

My name's Riley. I understand you pulled out your microchip implant.

Silence.

Did it send shooting pain down your leg when you got here?

How did you find that out?

Cops got me, I heard from them.

Those morons, they're not supposed to give out personal information. Who are you?

They didn't give it out, I took it. I'm just a guy, nobody special. My chip burned too. Felt like a hot coal in my hip. I dug mine out. Are you still in Cape Canaveral?

More silence and he thought she'd hung up.

Yeah.

How about we meet, talk for a few minutes?

Where are you?

At the cop station.

Perfect. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.

No, I'm getting out of here right now. I'll come to you.

The background noise faded. I'm at a bar. I don't meet with men I don't know at bars.

We'll stay out in public. I'm not up to anything, I promise.

Hard to pick up much from her voice on the phone, but he sensed curiosity tinged with caution.

All right. I'm at the Green Lizard. On A1A.

I'll be there soon. What are you wearing?

Same thing everybody else is. A tank top with a palm tree, blue shorts, and flip flops. You?

Jeans and a t-shirt. I'm tall. Look for me to come in.

He plugged the Green Lizard into his phone, set it to give him directions, and took off.

Probably nothing would come of meeting this woman. Some defect in the chip material likely caused that searing pain. Why it started when he got to this town... Maybe the salt air reacted somehow. But his instincts, the ones that kept him one step ahead of trouble for so many years, suggested there was more. Told him to find Danika.

So he listened.

The Green Lizard looked like most of the other watering holes in the area. Painted with palm trees and a wave on the outside to enhance the tropical ambiance, a few pictures and knick-knacks slapped on the interior walls to continue the theme. A live three-piece band played blues music, and many patrons sat outside on the deck to enjoy the ocean view, get away from the music and chat, or to smoke.

The faint aroma of pot reached his nose, and he thought of trying to score a joint and taking a few hits. Florida passed marijuana laws years ago, and the medicinal strains worked great to dull the pain in his head to a tolerable level. He couldn't risk bringing the herb into Missouri, however, where it was still illegal. And his workplace, Frontier Authority, frowned on their employees taking non-prescription drugs. The Medulamax, however, the medication his doctor prescribed that slowly destroyed his liver, was considered perfectly acceptable to pop like candy.

He sat at the bar and ordered a bottle of water. Not going to make the same mistake twice. At least not in one night.

A petite woman with her hair in a messy bun tapped his arm. You Riley?

Yes. You Danika?

Yep.

He rose. Let's go outside and talk.

You sure are tall. She looked him up and down, her expression neutral.

He bit back the first comment that came to mind. She didn't want to hear that she was short. And cute. From her tone during their phone conversation, he suspected Danika wasn't the kind of woman who liked to be considered 'cute'. But anyone with freckles on their nose, no matter how faint, fell into that category in his book.

They walked outside and found a table at the edge of the deck. She set her plastic cup, filled with an amber-colored drink, in front of her.

So what do you want to talk about? And how did you get my info from the cops?

I hacked into their system. They didn't give it to me willingly, don't worry. You're visiting Cape Canaveral, right?

Yeah, taking vacation. You?

Same thing. Felt like looking at the ocean. Why did you cut out your chip? Did it bother you when you came here?

She twirled her straw in the cup. Why do want to know?

Of course she wasn't going to spill her information first. Why should she trust a total stranger? But he wouldn't give up his whole story either. My implant sent this pain down my leg when I got here. Bad pain. I needed to get it out, so I got a knife and cut. You?

Same thing.

I guess, I want to learn more about you. See if... He stopped, took a long pull of his water.

See if what? She cocked her head and studied him, her eyes narrowed. Green eyes, catching the reflection from the lights that hung in strands on the ceiling of the deck, and shooting a glint of fire at him.

See if you've experienced any other problems.

With my microchip?

No, with... forget it. He drained his bottle, then stood.

Bad idea. Neither of them wanted to share their stories, to take a chance.

Wait. That curiosity and caution, battling each other, radiating from her. She put a hand on his arm and leaned in. What do you mean, other problems?

Do you drink a lot of alcohol? I'm guessing you do.

Because?

You sucked down that drink in no time flat, you were drunk at the cop station. And your eyes.

What's the matter with my eyes? She shot the words like a bullet, but didn't take her hand off his arm.

Your eyes look identical to what I see in the mirror every day.

Removing her hand, she leaned back. Yeah, I've got a weird problem. Tell me yours first.

The last thing he wanted to do was share his secret with Danika. But if she was the same as him, he needed to find out.

Turn around. Watch inside the bar.

With a small push, the lights flickered, went out, came back on.

She turned back and faced him. What? You did that? With the lights?

Yes.

How?

"I don't know how. Two years ago, four years after The Annihilation, it started. I can manipulate electrical and other kinds of circuits. Now show me