Charity’s question hung in the air. They all knew the obvious answer.
Zia gulped. “Do you think an Empowered was hiding at the market?”
Psychics weren’t the only ones the government hunted. Officials had identified three anti-human abilities: telekinetics, psychics, and fortes—people with extra strength.
If you believed the news reports, the special ops department had eradicated all but a few of the Empowereds and promised not to rest until the job was complete.
No one ever argued that Empowereds ought to have rights. They’d been to blame for the Third World War and therefore were also responsible for the civil war that followed. DuringWorld War III, groups of Western states had lost faith in DC’s ability to run the country or protect them and had declared their independence. The government hadn’t taken kindly to that. The civil war was still ongoing, although for the last six years, it had mostly settled down into political posturing and the occasional border skirmish.
Milo gripped the steering wheel, letting the Jeep idle. “If an Empowered turned up at the market, it’s nothing to us. We’re just here to trade. Same as everyone else.”
They were definitely not the same as everyone else.
“What if military people are still there?” Charity asked. “What if they got intel that an Empowered worked in the area, and they’re testing people?”
The government had truth serum they used to catch criminals. If an officer touched someone’s skin with it, the person would be compelled to honestly answer each question put to them for the next seven minutes. Not a long period of time but long enough to betray her father.
Milo shook his head. “The government wouldn’t have attacked the place just because they were suspicious of the area. And they wouldn’t waste truth serum on every passing shopper.”
One batch of the serum cost six thousand credits, more than a third of a year’s salary for a farm worker. But who knew how desperate the government was or what means they would employ?
“Whatever they did,” Milo said, “they finished doing it.”
And not long ago, judging by the ragged piles of dirt. Rain had stopped work on the farm four days ago, but no water had softened the edges here. “What if the market isn’t there anymore?” Charity asked.
Milo rechecked the GPS. “Then we’ll turn around and hope we can find someone selling gas who’s willing to barter for vegetables.”
Not a pleasant thought. Charity didn’t like that prospect or the idea of disappointing the harvesters about the supplies they’d come to barter for. Several of them had given her and Zia cash and lists of their own.
Milo still let the Jeep idle. He glanced at Zia, probably considering her safety. She’d have to lock their father’s gun in the glove box soon. Market rules stated if the officials saw customers with guns, security could confiscate them.
“We’ve come this far,” Zia said. “We ought to at least check to see if the market is still there. Your father would’ve warned us if we were in danger.”
Milo tapped the steering wheel, thinking. “It’s not as straightforward as that.” Zia had only recently been told about their father’s abilities. Their secret was too dangerous to let anyone outside the family know. “He doesn’t control his visions. They just come. And they don’t tell him about every hazard. If psychics could predict those, more of them would’ve avoided government executions.”
It was ironic that most of the psychics had been killed. Well, not ironic. Frightening, really. It meant the government excelled at finding people and hunting them down.
Milo took the Jeep out of gear, finally making up his mind. “Dad must have had some sort of premonition about today, though. He told us to pick up something not on the list, which means the market has to still be there.”
“And we’ll be safe,” Zia added, relieved.
Milo guided the Jeep off the road and around the worst of the holes. “We should be there in a few more minutes.”
Charity let her book sit on her lap, unfinished, and scanned the area for other signs of destruction. More branches had been torn from trees and lay in bits on the ground. Gunshots wouldn’t take those down. Had to be something bigger. That meant raiders probably weren’t responsible. Except for the rare caseswhen raiders managed to steal from the government, they only had guns.
In places next to the road, the plants had been crushed. People had come through here, so many that they didn’t all fit on the road. Charity pointed out these signs to Milo.
“Something happened,” Milo agreed. “But that doesn’t mean the market hasn’t popped back up, and if it has, it will be in the same place. Buyers know the location, so sellers will go there.”
He was right. Her nerves still stood on end, though, and she strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. The only sound was the engine thudding along and the birds squabbling in the trees.
The Jeep rounded a bend, and the entrance to the marketplace came into sight. The trees hid the bulk of it, but a row of tents peeked out, square in shape and big enough for a couple of stalls. Gasoline tanks would be waiting on one side of the market so customers could fill up before leaving.
Zia put the gun in the glove box, locked it, and slid the key and its chain over Milo’s neck. If the need for a weapon arose, he was the most practiced shot.
As they drove closer, more rows of tents became visible. Only a small crowd walked among them. All men. A few vehicles were scattered around—not in the dirt parking area, but in between the tents.
Was the trading post not opened after all? Or were these people setting up a new market? They seemed to be loading items onto trucks rather than unloading them.