Chapters 1 through 3 of BREATHE

BREATHE

Episode 1 of The Devastation Series

A Science Fiction Romance

This excerpt contains adult language,

ONE

* * *

LEXA

The first suck-ass moment I remember happened the summer I turned eleven. My best friend Gabe and I were on vacation with our parents in New York City.

When he used the chair to boost up onto the balcony railing, I frowned. “You’re gonna fall. Hello? Third floor, dummy.”

“Naw. It’s all good. Look, no hands.” Both of his fists pumped in the air, champion style.

I shrugged and hopped up next to him. He might’ve been a year older, but if Gabe could do it, I could too. I’d always been a determined little shit.

He poked my leg. “Don’t you fall, Lex.”

“Stop it.” I gouged his arm with my elbow.

Gabe batted thick lashes. “Stop what?”

I twisted to smack him. Instead, I slid. Backward. Gasping. Flailing. Oh, God. My stomach left behind, I plummeted to the ground.

Gabe’s eyes bulged over the balcony while I squeezed mine tight. Hair blew into my face. A scream grew in my throat, but didn’t make it out alive. Thump. Whoosh. More flailing. Thump. Crack.

My lungs didn’t work. Stabs to my back stole the air.

I’m dying.

Blurry faces. Icy hands touched my neck. Tears rolled into my hair from my lashes.

“Call the ambulance,” a woman said.

Nausea sloshed through me.

“Is that Lexa?” Mom’s voice drilled into my throbbing head. More tears.

The gritty sidewalk burned, still my teeth chattered.

“You’re going to be okay.” Brows together, Dad bent over me. “Breathe, Lexa. Just breathe.”

My eyes darted from Mom to Dad, muscles straining. Sirens wailed. Gabe’s dark head hung over the rail, his face crumpled.

Some man leaned around Dad. “She bounced off that awning like a ball.”

“Thank God we were in the lobby. Is she okay?” Mandy gave Mom a one armed hug.

“She’ll be fine.” Dad’s tone was so certain I nearly believed him.

Finally, air seeped into my lungs. Each breath deeper, less painful. The beating inside my skull faded. 

Men in white shirts tried to push Dad aside. “Please move, sir. How old?”

Dad didn’t budge. “Almost eleven.”

Able to gather enough air, I said, “I’m okay.” I didn’t want them to make Dad leave. Plus, they might have given me a shot. I’d heard about those. No thanks.

Dad shoved his palm under me. “Can you sit up?”

Nodding, I strained to pull up. And again. On the third go at it, Dad helped. I sat, trembling.

Another.

Deeper.

Breath.

To keep from crying, I bit my lip. Salty metal warmed my tongue.

“Sir, please let us through.” The second man in a white shirt laid a hand on Dad’s shoulder, but he shrugged him off.

“She’s fine, sir.” Dad never sounded like that; threatening.

Softer, he asked me, “Okay now, Bunny?”

The shooting ache in my ribs had dulled to a twinge. My headache was only a flicker. I took another deep breath, testing. “Yeah, I think so.”

Dad stood, pulling me to my feet. Mom swooped in with a crushing hug. “What on Earth happened?”

I shrugged, not understanding. Three stories down and my only pain a light headache. I flexed shaking hands.

Once more, the guy did his best to push between us. “It’s our job to make sure you’re healthy.”

Dad picked me up and made his way to shove past the men, but they pressed their shoulders together and blocked our way. “Sir, put the girl down. She needs to be taken in and x-rayed. You can’t leave until she’s been properly examined.”

Dad stepped back, tightened his grip, and pushed forward again, shouldering between them. “Really? She’s my daughter. She’s fine. Thank you, gentlemen.”

The second guy shook his clipboard in the air, saying, “But—the paperwork.”

Mom stayed behind, reaching for the papers. Dad and I moved away from the crowd. The white shirted men stared at us, shaking their heads.

Now, seven years later, I’m flying down the highway at seventy miles-per-hour, my ass tingling in miserable anticipation of disaster. My mind dissects every logical reason I shouldn’t be concerned, but I am. Dawn breaks while I try not to think about where this road leads.

Dad’s green eyes catch mine in the rear-view mirror. “It’s not like we’re driving up the side of a mountain, Lexa.”

The backs of my eyelids aren’t enough of a distraction. I wipe the scribbles off the whiteboard of my mind, set my music to shuffle, and turn the volume down. I still can’t rest, even though I want to sleep, at least until we’re across that stupid bridge.

As miles tick off the odometer, my stomach sinks into the seat.

Maybe we’ll get a flat tire.

Maybe an earthquake will split the road in front of us.

Maybe a black hole will suck us away.

A girl can hope, right?

After a while, Mom says, “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

My eyes fly open and I strain against the seatbelt, pushing forward to stare out the front windshield. Then I wish I didn’t. We’re hundreds of feet in the air. Only a little concrete spread over stacked matchsticks lay between us and certain death as we barrel across the expanse.

Blood thrums in my ears. My imagination uploads its best horror film. The car sails off the bridge. Crumpled wreckage. Crushed bodies. Crimson water.

The air evaporates. The leather on the front-seat headrest is cold and hard under my palms. Twin bridges cross the gaping wound in the Earth, like two arched spider-webs stretched to their limit. My stomach rolls.

Mom turns to me, wide eyed. “Take a breath. Breathe. It’s just a few more seconds.”

A few seconds my ass.

Invisible clamps tighten on my chest. The massive wall of the canyon draws my eyes. Ridges are hewn into the rocks like exposed muscles, bulging and bleeding rust-red. The car shrinks and closes in on me.

One-hundred.

Ninety-nine.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Bunny.” Dad’s big hand covers mine, but I shove it away. Keep your hands on the freaking steering wheel, man.

Ninety-four.

My heart panics as it siphons blood from my lungs.

Ninety.

“Here, breathe into this.” Mom pushes a sack into my face and I grab it with both hands. I try to get more air, but like molasses it’s too thick.

She looks into my eyes. “Now, do it with me. Inhale. Hold. Two. Three. Okay, slowly exhale.”

We repeat the exercise twice more. Crinkling paper scratches my eardrums. My brain is swathed in cotton as I count down to thirty-four. Then Dad says, “Open your eyes.”

“See? We made it.” Mom’s tone is an over-bright light bulb, shining to the point of pain.

Dad pulls into a deserted visitor’s center. As they get out, chilled morning air sweeps through the car. 

He opens the backdoor and leans in. “At least come and stretch your legs.”

That is so not happening. I stare at Dad over the brown paper as it inflates and deflates. In. Hold. Out. Repeat.

A few minutes tick by before I’m able to breathe with ease. Finished with the sack, I pitch it over the front seat. Mom leans into the car, grabs the bag, and folds it. “Babe, it’d be good if you take a look. Just try. Hey, maybe we’ll see a California condor.”

I scroll through my texts. “You guys do what you want. I’m not getting out.” Cranking up the volume, I nestle deeper into the soft cushions of the backseat.

Mom swings open the door on my right, reddish-blond curls flying untamed in the wind. “This is silly. You won’t fall into the canyon from the parking-lot.”

They straighten, both leaning on the roof, faces hidden from my view. But I already know what expressions they’re wearing: exasperation. Cutting me from the conversation, they whisper about my phobia. The word counseling pops up. Again.

Dad’s deep timbre vibrates through the roof of the car. “Vicki, she has to get past this. It’s time. It’s going to hold Lexa back from so much in life if she doesn’t conquer it. We’ve got to help.”

I examine the soft fabric on the ceiling. What does he think I’ll miss out on? Rock climbing? Base jumping? Tightrope walking between skyscrapers? Screw that.

“How? Drag her to the edge? Don’t ruin the whole day by arguing with her. This is her last Spring Break at home. Let’s make the best of it.”

Dad ducks into the car and sits next to me, bumping my shoulder with his. “Come on, Bunny. You don’t have to go onto the bridge.”

This conversation is old before it even starts. We’ve had so many versions of it over the last few years I’ve lost count. I really do hate to disappoint him, but I cross my arms, refusing to budge.

“Okay. We’re headed to check out the walking bridge, the smaller of the two.” He shifts to leave. 

“Maybe, if you do this, I’ll take you with me on my boat trip.”

I kick at the bottom of the seat in front of me. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s a reward. Limited time offer. Going once—” He stands. The opportunity slips through my fingers, but I won’t do a thing about it.

In a last effort to sway him, I say, “That’s not fair. I should be able to anyway.”

“Going twice.”

It’s like I’m twelve years old all over again, back when he tried to coax me to go up the observation tower at the amusement park. “Come on, Dad. Don’t do this.”

“Going twice and a half.” He winks through the open door.

“How far do I have to walk out?” I scoot a few inches toward the door and my pulse increases its pace again.

“To the bridge.”

My backbone wilts. “No.”

“Going twice and three-quarters.”

“Really, William. Do you think this is the best way?” Mom closes the back door.

“Going twice and four-fifths.”

I throw the back of my head against the seat and frustration boils out of the top of my brain. “Dad! 

No fair.”

“Gone!” He shuts the door on my growl.

They head off to look into the river, from something like four-hundred and seventy feet in the air, according to the internet. The Grand Canyon and the freaking Navajo Bridge can go to hell. I hate them. Even more, I’m disgusted with myself that I’m afraid of heights. Now it’s cost me the deep-sea trip with Dad and his three friends. This sucks.

TWO

* * *

GABE

My little brother, Carson, hands his kid-sized fishing pole to Dad. “Here, you do it.”

He runs down the bank, squatting here and there, inspecting the leaf-littered water. With jet-black hair, clear blue eyes, and a lopsided smile hovering over the cleft of his chin, Carson’s a tiny carbon-copy of Dad. And, according to Mom, so am I. Still, Carson’s a hell of a lot cuter at five than I was at that age.

“Don’t fall in. Your mom’ll skin me alive if you drown.” Dad gets to the business of untangling Carson’s line.

I reel in and check my bait. Half of a limp worm hangs from the hook, waterlogged. Carson works his way alongside the edge of the lake, poking the mud with a stick. Heat and humidity press in, even though it’s only late March. Summer is already trying to push its way into Texas. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades, gluing the shirt to my skin. I peel it off and toss it aside.

Birds squawk overhead, water laps the dirt at our feet, and a light breeze tickles the bobbers floating on the water. The fish aren’t biting, but that’s why it’s called fishing, not catching. I don’t mind; after all, I came for the down time with Dad and Carson.

The quiet is good, especially after the noise all my roommates tend to make at any given time. It’s going to be great to only have one other person living in the new apartment with me next year. Lexa will be much more considerate, I’m sure. If nothing else, she’ll probably clean up her own pizza boxes.

“It’s good to have you home, son. Summer can’t come soon enough; your mom’s been missing you. You think…” Dad’s eyes flit in the direction Carson went. My gaze darts across the way too. With my breath held, I scan the edge of woods. Not there either. My gut drops to the dirt.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Carson, where are you?”

Dad waits a breath. “Carson James!”

Nothing.

We take off. My heart races and leaves crackle underfoot. Dad rushes into the woods, pointing me to the shoreline. I tear along the lake’s bank. By splitting up, we’ll cover more ground. My stride eats the earth and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I hurdle downed trees and brush, while adrenaline pumps as fast as my legs.

Twenty yards ahead, a little heap lays at the edge of the water. Still and lifeless. I lengthen my stride. 

I get to him, wiping the sweat from my brow. His eyes are closed. His face relaxed. I slide to my knees and try to shake him awake.

“He’s here.” I put my head to his chest. Bla-bump-bla-bump-bla-bump thumps in my ear.

Dad falls to his knees beside us.

I jump up and clear out of his way. “His heart’s beating. Why won’t he wake up?”

First Dad checks Carson’s breathing, and then he feels along his limbs for injuries. His voice is panicked. “Carson, wake up!”

Dad runs his hands through his hair, as though he doesn’t know what to do next. But Carson’s pinkie twitches and, before I can blink, his arm lifts. My muscles let go of their death grip on my bones, and I finally get a good deep breath.

Dad says, “Oh, thank God.”

Carson’s eyes squeeze tight, and then flutter open, focusing on Dad. In a moment, Carson’s eyes find me and go wide, and then even wider. Tiny eyebrows shoot to his hairline. His mouth opens and closes again. “Did I die?”

The twenty-five pound dumbbell balanced on my chest lightens.

Dad lets out a ragged breath, fist at his forehead. “No. Why?”

Carson points at me. “Because, God sent an angel who looks like Gabe.”

Poor kid, must be delirious. “What’re you talking about?”

Dad turns to me. His head pulls back a fraction. Then his smile spreads wide.

Carson sits up. The puzzled look on his face is almost comical as he tilts his head. “Did Gabe die?”

“No, he’s fine. But how are you? You feel okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”

Carson narrows his eyes. “Dad! What happened to Gabe?”

Me? What’s wrong with him?

Dad turns back to me, saying to Carson, “Don’t worry, son, he’ll be okay.”

Running his finger across his lower lip, Dad’s eyes roam over me, the creases at their corners deepening.

“What do you mean I’ll be okay? He’s the one we should be worried about.”

Not to be ignored, Carson raises his voice. “But, Daddy, Gabe’s an angel. You have to die to be an angel.”

A strong breeze blows and a bird flutters past my ear. I jerk to the side. Something dark lurks in my peripheral. “Whoa.”

I whip around.

It’s not a bird and it’s still here. Shivers skitter up my spine.

Dad says, “Be careful. You’re going to hurt someone.”

A dark figure hangs at the edge of my vision. “What’s there? Something’s behind me.”

“Calm down.” Dad backs up, pulling Carson away.

“What is it?” I twist to see what’s behind me, but Dad lunges, grabbing my shoulder in one hand, my 

jaw in the other.

He holds tight. “I’ll explain. Be still.”

River rapids crash through my ears.

“There’s stuff about our family I haven’t told you.” Dad says.

A sinkhole falls through to my feet, sucking my lungs into its depths. “What kind of things?” I struggle, but he won’t let go.

Looking directly into my eyes, he says. “There’s no gentle way to say this, so I’ll just lay it out. I’m from another planet—and galaxy.” He lets go and steps back.

Like tennis balls, the words bounce off my brain, making no sense. He’s speaking a foreign language and I’m not fluent.

I’m still chasing the words when Carson says, “Cool, we’re AYE-LEE-ANS!”

Wait a damned minute. Am I being punked? I search the trees for hidden cameras. It has to be a prank. Are my friends in on it, too? Images of them laughing their butts off flit through my mind.

“Ha-ha. That’s a good one. Yeah—aliens.”

Dad jerks his chin toward the water. “Go take a look.”

“This is twisted.” Biting the inside of my cheek, I draw a long breath.

My reflection peers back from glassy water, but it’s not me at all. I back-pedal, fall over my feet, and land on my ass. “What the hell?”

“Hey! Language.” Dad nods toward Carson. “Don’t worry, you’re still you. There’s just more to you.”

I inch back to the water, squinting so I can hardly see. Gradually opening my eyes, I wait for the creature to jump at me. My reflection looks through leaves and specks of dust floating on the water. His black hair and strong jaw are mine. Everything from his build to his eyes are mine. But the pair of black, feathered wings, extending at least seven feet in either direction from his back—those are definitely not mine.

Holy-fucking-shit.

I rub my eyes, but nothing changes. My heart pummels the inside of my ribcage. “Dad?”

“Let me show you something.” Dad pulls off his shirt and prods Carson with his fingertips. “Go stand by Gabe.”

Carson runs over and skims his finger along the bottom edge of my wing. My freaking wing. A flag snaps in the wind and a pair of dark wings, like the ones in my reflection, appear behind Dad. As they flap, their breeze stirs the dust and grass at my feet.

“Wow!” Carson jumps around like he’s on an invisible pogo stick.

Trapped in a bad joke, I push my fingers through my hair, pausing with my palms pressing the sides of my head.

“See, it’s not just you.” Dad points over his shoulders with his thumbs.

I suck in a deep breath. “Holy fuck.”

Tossing me the look, Dad says to Carson, “Don’t you dare say that word.”

A shit-ton of other words come to mind right along with that one.

“Why is this happening? Aliens? Wings? Why now? Can you make them go away? Will mine go away?” A hundred other questions jostle together—bumper cars crashing through my brain.

“Think about your wings folding. They’ll retract. Relax.” The flag flaps again and his wings disappear. Just like that. Poof.

“See? They go away the same way they come out. Carson, come here.”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, slow breath and hold it. Focus. I think of the wings closing, and then opening. They move with my thoughts like arms or legs.

A few seconds go by and I open my eyes. Snap. When I edge to the water, they’re gone. My shoulders sag as a relieved breath rattles from me.

“How come I just got wings? When did you get yours?”

“I was about your age, maybe a little younger. It has to do with hormones and other chemicals. Yours probably manifested because your adrenaline was up. Adrenaline is similar to a Zellan hormone that causes this reaction. Any kind of excitement can cause manifestation.”

Hormones. Excitement.

Shit.

It’s a good damn-thing I wasn’t kissing some girl with this happened.

Dad’s shirt is back on. Had his wings even been there? Maybe I had a mental break. With just a thought and a slight pull between my shoulders, I have wings again.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I lean over, hands on my knees, sucking deep breaths. “Aliens? Outer space? Flying saucers? Seriously?”

“Aliens? Yes, but not like people think. Outer space? Yes. Flying saucers? No.”

I straighten up, shake my head, and cover my face with shaky hands, attempting to wipe away my confusion. The instant I imagine them folding away, the wings disappear. “If we’re from another planet, why are we on Earth?”

“That’s a long story. Let’s load up. We’ll talk at home.” His eyes dart along the tree line again and across the lake, and then he heads back the way we came.

Carson takes my hand. “This is so cool. I wish I had wings. I’d fly all over and never walk anywhere. I can’t wait to tell Mom.”

Shit. Mom. What about Mom? I touch Dad’s arm.

“Yeah?” He glances back, but keeps moving.

I try to swallow the clump of oh, crap clogging my throat. “Is Mom, you know, like us?”

“No. She’s human.”

The clump dissolves.

“So what’s that make Carson and me? Hybrids? How does that work? Does she even know?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I hide something like this from my wife?”

Heat sears my chest and nails bite into my palms. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know anything? Nobody bothered to tell me shit. You hid it from me for, oh, eighteen years or so!”

Dad stops and lays his hand on my shoulder. “I get it. You’re upset and don’t understand. We didn’t know how you’d develop, so we waited to tell you. We didn’t want you to feel different from other people, especially if there was no reason. Plus, knowing is a big responsibility.”

Why didn’t I just stay at school? Spring Break at home is over-rated. Especially when this kind of fucked-up shit happens.

We pick our way along the bank toward our gear. My mind whirs with questions. Wrapped up discovering my whole life was a lie, I’d forgotten what upset me in the first place.

Carson tramps along next to me, singing a made up song about being an alien. He seems fine, but he was out cold just a short while ago.

“What happened with Carson?”

Dad stops Carson, squatting in front of him. “Yeah, Carson, what happened?”

With my breath held, I lean closer.

His tiny brow wrinkles and his chin wobbles. “Something picked me up and took me away. I couldn’t see it. There was just a funny sound.”

Carson’s tears fall to the ground.

I open my mouth to ask more questions, but Dad shakes his head and pats Carson’s back. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re all right. Let’s get home. Your mom wants some help with the house before the Castiel’s get here tomorrow.”

The crunch of our footsteps is the soundtrack for the questions ricocheting through my mind. Worms crawl over one another in the deepest part of my gut. Lexa. Fuck. This it the one thing I can never tell her.

The entire drive home, I try to remember my parents talking about anything that could’ve clued me in. Not one thing comes to mind that would’ve made me think my dad wasn’t as human as everyone else.

Nothing.

THREE

* * *

LEXA

I crack the top on a water bottle. While I quench my parched throat, my eyes follow Mom and Dad as they head toward the walking bridge. Clouds block the sun, but daylight creeps up anyway.

Digging under the seat, I grab the bag of snacks we packed for the trip. I open a granola bar, but put it away before I take the first bite. My stomach is still inside-out. Self-loathing doesn’t make a good breakfast buddy.

Shifting in my seat, I look toward the twin bridges. Mom and Dad have gotten a good ways out. My already sour stomach lurches, while my fingers find my favorite song on my music player.

I look back up from my task and Mom’s in the middle of the bridge, leaning over the side, staring into the canyon. Alone.

My heart rocks and falters, but only for a second, before it gets traction.

Oh, my God. Where’s Dad? Did he fall over?

I push the door. It won’t open. With ten thumbs, I try to pull the handle. Locked.

Diving across the front seat, I hit the switch. Scrambling out, I fall to my knees in my haste. Finally, I get my feet under me and take one step toward Mom. When I raise my eyes, Dad’s standing next to her, pulling on his t-shirt. I stop dead.

What the hell? Where was he before? Mom turns to me and waves. Dad looks up and lifts his hand, motioning for me to come to them. I inhale until my lungs are as full as possible and hold it.

Oh, HELL no.

I return the wave as my brain puzzles over what Dad was doing.

When they get back to the car, I ask, “What were you doing out there? When I didn’t see you, I thought you fell over the side.”

Both of them turn me. Dad looks at Mom. She glances at the toe she’s drawing circles on the pavement with and shakes her head. He grimaces, but only for a nanosecond. “Nothing. I laid down, because I wanted to see the underside of the other bridge.”

Because he does it so rarely, he sucks at it— he’s lying.