HERO

22 / Children

Thomas had known home to be an apartment. He had his own room with a comfortable bed. He had a father and, once, a mother. There was food. Warmth. Security in the triple locked door and barred and shuttered windows.

That Bren saw this single, cold room as home saddened him. There were no blankets or a bed. He couldn't see what she would eat or anywhere food might be stored. This wasn't a home, it was a hideout. But from what?

"Sit down, kiddo," Bren said, indicating the sofa.

"Don't call me that," Thomas said. "I hate it."

"What, kiddo?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry. It's habit. What about 'Tom'?"

"What about 'Thomas'?"

"Formal as shit, eh? Fair enough. Just don't ever call me 'Brenda'."

Thomas nodded and sat down next to her. He stared at his hands and, when they gave him no answers, his feet. He didn't know what to say now they were seemingly safe. He could thank her or ask why she was helping him. What he wanted to talk about was how she'd managed to throw Stan across the alley when she was meant to be a Chameleon. What he didn't want to speak about was himself.

"You gonna start?" Bren asked, breaking the silence with a hammer.

"Start?"

"Yeah. Are you going to start talking. You gonna tell me about yourself?"

"How about you tell me about yourself? You shouldn't have been able to do that to Stan."

"Are you complaining? He was after hurting you."

"I know. No, I'm not complaining. I'm just wondering."

"Ain't we all, kid... Thomas?"

He didn't answer. She was right. They both had questions about each other. It looked like Bren had no problem talking about it. It was Thomas who was reticent and, if he remained that way, she'd no doubt lost patience with him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"OK," he said."

"OK?"

"Yeah, OK. I'm a Nomad. So what?"

Bren shrugged. Since Stan had revealed Thomas's secret, she'd been on edge around the boy. The stories of Nomads losing their minds without warning were rife. And then they'd gain their powers and have no knowledge of how to use them. They'd wreak havoc. Kill innocent people. They had to be contained.

Or put on television for fun.

She was right, she felt, to be wary of him. He seemed fine, with no indications he was going off the rails. That didn't mean anything, though. Many people would profess to being perfectly sane, right before they killed someone.

Bren had thought, after powers failed to appear, the afflicted were taken away more or less straight away. They were held, just in case they turned. She knew of children who were returned to over zealous parents when their abilities came out and they were still in full possession of their wits. It didn't happen often, and the oldest she'd heard of was about eight and a half.

Once insanity took over, they were let look in The Spot and never returned. Spotters had a 100% kill rate. They were empowered individuals who were able to, and paid for, kill and it be OK.

She had yet to hear of a ten year old Nomad who wasn't crazy. Or one who hadn't been 'relocated'. She found Thomas to be intriguing. She didn't like mysteries she couldn't solve.