Z: The Abilities Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Cold droplets of sweat slide down my back like ghost fingers. My heart stutters and breath hitches. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to bolt. The Lackeys shouldn't be home for another hour and a half. I'm never wrong about these things. Fridays are family bowling nights. Like clockwork, at five o'clock, Papa Lackey, Mama Lackey, and Baby Lackey pile into their 2015 Hummer, professional bowling gear in tow, speeding off. They'll be gone for exactly two hours.

I know deep down stealing is wrong, but our supplies are completely out. The situation is dire. One might ask, "Why not just get a job?" Well, when a person is wanted for murder, they try to stay out of sight. It was either a few burglaries here and there to get by or going back to selling drugs. Let's just say I went with the lesser of two evils. I only target small families that have plenty to spare. I'm like a modern-day Robin Hood, except I keep my spoils.

That was definitely the garage door I heard.

"Shit." The word sneaks out on a shaky breath.

Three car doors slam at once as a pubescent voice drifts through the closed door.

"Dude, Dad, how could you forget your bowling ball?"

With my two dirty, patched-up duffel bags filled to the brim, I sprint out the back door and hurdle over their low fence. I take pride in my lean, long legs and natural speed, which have saved me from many sticky situations. I run full speed for about ten minutes before slowing to a jog. I hold my breath, listening for the sound of sirens. All is quiet. I let out a sigh of relief. That was a close call. Thank you once again, wonder legs. I will be sure to pay tribute with the vanilla body cream I just acquired from Mama Lackey. Just two more blocks until I reach the hideout. We are currently squatting in an abandoned brewery in Seattle, Washington. Six months are almost up; it will be time to drift to a new location soon.

Just as I catch sight of the brewery, the sky opens up. Within ten seconds I'm soaked through. My wife-beater and holey skinny jeans turn into a second skin, and my well-worn combat boots make a loud squelching sound. Ugh, gross. Thank the gods I have my long, dark chocolate hair in a high pony or I would probably look like the girl from The Ring. I make my way to the back of the building and duck under the tarp covering the broken window, aka our entrance. I make my way up to the attic that was at some point the owner's loft.

"Hey, Z, how did it go? You look like a drowned rat that barely escaped the cat's clutches."

"Toenail, you have no idea! I was so close to being caught this time."

I dump my duffels on the cold cement floor and head into a pair of familiar, dark, outstretched arms. Toenail is my roommate and best friend, but most importantly, my brother. His real name is Toby. Unfortunately for him seven and a half years ago, I caught him in the act of chewing on his toenails. Apparently he thought it was easier than finding nail clippers. Ever since then I have dubbed him 'Toenail,' or T for short. T is a giant of a boy, six foot three inches and black as night. His gentle, warm eyes and big, toothy smile are his best characteristics. He has the kindest heart in the whole world and has always been there for me.

"That's my Z! Always cutting it close yet managing to scrape by in the nick of time." He steps back, ruffling my hair, letting out a deep chuckle. "How about we get the goods unpacked and some grub cooking?"

He waltzes over to our most prized possession, an old iPod and battery-operated speakers. Music is our shared passion, our escape. Whenever one of us is having a tough day, we crank the music up, sing at the top of our lungs, and jump around like a couple of fools. Toenail's favorite, "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy, blares through our tiny loft. He immediately bounces over to me, grabbing my hands, swinging me around. Laughter bubbles up from my chest, and I instantly feel lighter. I honestly don't know how I could survive without my best friend. No matter what this shit-hole of a life has thrown at us, he makes everything feel as if it will turn out all right in the end.