“My baby brother. He's gone!” he murmured as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Your brother was down there?” Cell phone girl asked. A hand appeared from behind the phone to touch the man's shirt sleeve in comfort. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry. But maybe he wasn't hurt. He could still be okay—”
The man shook his head. “He's gone. I know it. I should have been there to stop him. But I was too late, and now all those people...”
“Ma'am, please, your phone,” the flight attendant said off-camera.
Cell phone girl ignored her. “Your brother blew up the White House?”
“He didn’t mean to!” the man in the window seat shouted. “I know he didn’t. He probably just lost control again. But what do you expect when the descendants keep punishing us for being outcasts?” He paused, his eyes widening. “Oh God. An attack on the president... And the Clann will see it and know... They’re going to come for all of us now, aren’t they? They'll never let the outcasts keep our abilities outside the Clann now. They'll hunt us down and strip us of our powers, or worse, kill us just to keep their precious secrets!"
“Sir...” The flight attendant again. “Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down or else the air marshal—”
“It’s too late to calm down,” the man said. “Don’t you get it? My brother’s dead, I’m dead, we’re all dead once they start hunting us!” He jabbed a finger, its nail black with dirt around the edges, at the glass window. His eyes narrowed a second. Then he grabbed the cell phone and began to scream at it, “Outcasts, take back the power that was rightfully yours from birth! The Clann has no right to hog all the money and power in this country just because we don't want to play by their rules anymore. Stand up, end the lies and show the world what you really can do! Make it so that everyone knows about the Clann so that we can all share the wealth equally again. It's not the one percenters who are our enemy, it's the Clann hiding behind their masks and controlling everything from the shadows. Help each other, help yourselves, band together so we outcasts are too strong for them to wipe us out or deny what is ours anymore!”
In the background the flight attendant shouted for help. A man in plain clothes shoved past the holder of the cell phone camera, attempting to grab the nutcase by the window and drag him out into the aisle.
“Don't be afraid, outcasts!” the man continued to shout. “There's more of us than them now...thousands, maybe even millions! If we stick together, they can’t wipe us out—”
The air marshal managed to flip the man face down in the aisle, apparently knocking the wind out of him because he stopped shouting with a loud “oomph”. The cell phone must have fallen out of his hand, because the video's view flipped around for a few seconds before its owner picked it up, righted it once more and began a fast running commentary on the mid-flight arrest.
But I could no longer hear the girl on the video. All I could hear were the echoes of what the man had shouted.
The Clann...
Outcasts...
Descendants...
Where had I heard those phrases used together before? And why did they make my heart pound?
Suddenly the memory of a hard hand gripping my upper arm made me flinch and freeze in my desk.
You are never to discuss the Clann or anything else you just heard, the memory of a voice echoed through my mind. Do you hear me, Hayden? Promise me!
I must have been really young when it happened, because I couldn't even fully remember the moment beyond that one bit of shouting and the feeling of that hand on my arm. But I recognized that voice. How could I not? Dad had yelled at me hundreds of times over the years when I screwed up, which was way too often.
But why would he get so upset about my overhearing those specific terms? What did they even mean, and where would I have heard them before?
Frowning, I glanced down at my desk, saw my phone still in my hand, and remembered something else. There were way more important things to focus on right now instead of some lunatic terrorist's ravings on TV. Dad. I had to get a hold of Dad and make sure he was okay.
Dad's aide wasn't answering. Time to try reaching Dad directly. He didn't usually have his phone on while Congress was in session, but I'd run out of other options. I started to hit Send, but my shaking fingers, normally able to pass a spinning basketball from tip to tip without fail, fumbled and nearly dropped the too small gadget.
Calm down, Shepherd, I told myself.
After a few deep breaths, I managed to dial the number, only to hear yet another recording, this one tell me the lines were busy and to try again later. I slammed a finger on the End button to stop the call, then hit Send to redial.
And then the sound of an explosion on TV made my head jerk up again in time to see the screen go red then fill with static. Just like the video of the White House explosion.
Thankfully my muttered curse was lost beneath the louder reactions of everyone else in the room. Even Tarah turned back towards the front of the room to see what had happened.
“Hayden Shepherd,” Principal Thomas called out from the doorway. Was he yelling at me about my phone? We weren't supposed to have them out during class.
Though I hadn’t moved, my desk wobbled again, nearly dumping me out onto the carpet. In my ear, the same recording told me my call couldn't go through to Dad.
Gotta calm down quick before someone notices.
I looked over at the principal. He jerked his head towards the open door and the hall beyond.
Maybe he had news about Dad. Someone from Dad's office might have called the school.
I jumped to my feet and joined him at the door.
“Did someone call you or...?” I asked as we stepped into the hall and he shut the classroom door behind us.
“No, not yet. But under the circumstances, I assumed you'd need to be excused early.” He gestured down the long hall towards the front entrance, and we headed that way.
“Right. Thanks. I'm trying to reach my dad now, but I haven't been able to get through yet.”
I hit Send again to redial, and finally the phone began to ring. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Hayden,” Dad answered.
I had to stop walking. “Dad! Are you all right? Where are you?”
“I'm okay. They're moving us to a secure location.”
“Is this a terrorist attack? I just saw on the news that the White House and a plane blew up in D.C. Were y'all hit too?”