The Power of Five Oblivion

different corners of the world.
    And yet of all the travelling companions he could have chosen, he had considered Lohan the best equipped. Lohan had spent his entire life working inside one of Asia’s most dangerous criminal organizations. He spoke five languages, including Portuguese. When the two of them had been attacked by a street gang on the outskirts of Belém, just a few days after they had arrived, Lohan had responded with a speed and ruthlessness that had astonished Matt, leaving one man dead and two more in need of intensive care. Lohan had also refused to allow Matt to blame himself for what had happened after the escape from the temple.
    “You had to get us out of there,” he said. “And you did. There was no time to sit down and look at a map, so why waste your energy going over it? It would have made no difference anyway. If we had all gone to one place, the Old Ones might have been waiting and we would have all been captured. Maybe it’s better this way. At least no one knows where we are.”
    They had gone south together with only two aims: they had to avoid the Old Ones, and they had to survive. They had no money and were forced to steal food – again, Lohan was completely cold-blooded and efficient, and Matt soon saw that he would kill anyone who got in his way. Not that he was going to argue about it. There was no point, not with a man like this. As they had travelled, they had learnt that there was an airport still operating in Salvador and that it might be possible to buy a flight to another South American city or even to the United States. But Salvador was more than two thousand kilometres away. And a flight would cost thousands of dollars they didn’t have.
    The slave markets were the only fast way to make money in Brazil. When people became desperate, they sold their children. If they were really desperate, they sold themselves. After five weeks on the road, when they had run out of food and knew that they could go no further, Lohan had sold Matt. It was as simple as that. There had been no other way.
    Matt drank the water. It was warm and tasted of chlorine, meaning that it had probably been purified just as he had expected. He wondered about the other boy and wished he could help him but knew there was nothing he could do until later in the night. Eventually he dozed off, not so much sleeping as floating on the very surface of sleep. He wanted to go back to the dreamworld – but not tonight. He had enough to do already and it had been so long since he had seen Pedro, Scarlett, Jamie or Scott that he wasn’t sure what he would say to them if they met. When he opened his eyes again, he guessed that three or four hours must have passed. It was enough. It was time to make his move.
    There was a chain on the other side of the door. Matt hadn’t seen it but he had heard the rattle as it was drawn through the bolts, somewhere above the handle. Still lying on the mattress, he visualised the bolts, the screws connecting them to the wood. He had the picture in his mind. He held it there, then sent out an instruction. How else could he describe it? A thought wave? A guided missile? He simply ordered the metal to break and a moment later he heard it do just that, cracking open as if someone had used a bolt cutter.
    His power had increased ever since he had arrived in South America. As the days passed, he found that he could use his mind as effortlessly as he had once used his fists. He could move objects – even if they were several times heavier than himself. If he had wanted to, he could have stalled the vehicle that had brought him here, by simply telling the engine to tear itself apart. Maybe that would have been the easier way, but he had been interested to see where it would take him. And he was going to need the truck later on.
    The door of the room swung open. Matt saw harsh electric light, leaking into the passageway from the arc lamps outside. He needed darkness. He thought about the generator building, imagined the mechanism inside, the turning cylinders, the wires. Once again, he pushed. The lights died instantly. The darkness was followed, seconds later, by the sound of shouting.
    Matt stood up and finished his water. He felt good. He was in control.
    It was time to go.

TWENTY-FOUR
    There was no moon, no stars. The compound was utterly black. As Matt left the storage room where he had been kept, he heard voices – men shouting at each other in Portuguese – and saw the beams