Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) by Craig Andrews Page B

winter fell upon them. They didn’t talk. They didn’t plan. They didn’t do anything . Jaxon found a place upstairs where he could keep a lookout, and after checking on Nyla’s condition, Leira joined him.
    Allyn sat in the living room, leaning against a gas fireplace. He wished he could turn it on and feel the warmth on his back—his damp clothes would never dry in the cold, moist air. Nyla sat across the room from him. She had her eyes closed, and her breathing was steady. He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or just resting. He slid the computer in front of him. Unlike the rest of them, he was still burning with curiosity. He opened it, and his insides tore apart when he saw the screen.
    A large crack ran from one corner of the monitor to the other. He laughed bitterly. Laughing kept him from crying. From taking the computer and throwing it out the window. From jumping and stomping on it like an angry Yosemite Sam. It kept him from walking out the door and turning himself in. From walking away and disappearing.
    He pushed the power button, knowing deep down that it was pointless, and was shocked when the monitor glowed with life. Hope flared briefly in his chest, warming him to his bones, and was almost immediately dashed when the screen dimmed and went black. It took him a moment to realize the computer had gone into power-saving mode. The battery was dead.
    He slammed the laptop closed and slid it out of his immediate reach.
    What do I have to do? Sometimes, he felt like the world’s punching bag, always taking its blows and unable to fight back. Whatever he touched, whatever he did, he only made things worse. He was a fraud, someone who jumped at random noises and saw ghosts of death and misdeeds everywhere he turned. He didn’t belong. The McCollum Family was better off without him. Why can’t they see that?
    Stop , he told himself. Just stop. Complaining is only good for one thing—identifying the problem. You’re dwelling on it. Move on.
    Carrying on a one-sided conversation was crossing farther into Crazy Town than he was willing to venture, so he didn’t respond, but he did lean forward and slide the computer back in front of him. He couldn’t stop himself from jumping at shadows or becoming nauseated at the smell of burning meat. He couldn’t answer who had uploaded the video or why. And he didn’t know what to do about the McCollum Family or the police.
    But he could push forward. He could keep trying. Because when it came right down to it, he had only two options. Give up or keep going—and he wasn’t the giving-up type.
    He ran a finger around the edge of the computer, touching the various ports, until he came to a small rectangular one with five small prongs. Not a USB, HDMI, or Ethernet port, this was for the AC power adapter. If the computer’s battery was dead… Allyn wielded, projecting the energy into his hand. He tried to hold back and keep the power as low as possible. The computer wouldn’t be able to withstand more than one hundred watts.
    The red coils didn’t dim, but there were fewer of them; only one or two circled from his hand to his fingertips in a figure-eight pattern. He extended his index finger and pressed it against the five prongs of the AC power port. A click was followed by a high-pitch spinning noise. Allyn nearly withdrew, but the light on the front of the computer glowed to life, and then the monitor a second later.
    The monitor flickered, and Allyn smelled something burning. It reminded him of the smell an old baseboard heater made when it was full of dust and hadn’t been turned on since the previous winter. Something popped. The monitor sparked. Allyn jumped, cutting off the power as if he were unplugging it from a wall. Smoke curled out from the thin vent along the backside of the computer.
    He pushed the power button. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing.
    He inspected the port. The silver casing was blackened where it had been burned, and the