Midnight Sky (Dark Sky Book 2) (7 page)

There were no bodies, no smoke, no sign of survivors. If there were any, they were probably hiding in the dilapidated buildings to avoid being seen. With the darkening clouds forming over our heads and the bitter, winter wind snapping at our faces, I couldn’t blame them for wanting to be indoors.

Looking at the state of drafter district weighed down my heart, but I was glad Abby had never seen it. I couldn’t imagine the heartbroken look on her face when she looked at the destroyed remains of the place she could have called home.
 

I stood to the right of the helm without looking at Sawyer, my eyes trying to piece the broken streets back together to match the images in my memory. Nash and Gemma were near the bow, huddling together for warmth. Both of them were whispering quietly, casting grim looks at Sawyer. The captain stared straight ahead, but I had the feeling Sawyer saw them all the same.
 

“Is…” I hadn’t meant to bring the topic up, but Sawyer was already looking at me, expecting me to continue. “Is everything all right with you and Gemma and Nash?”

Sawyer’s eyes became shadowed, the darkness vanishing so fast I was half certain I’d imagined it.
 

“It’s fine,” he smiled thinly. “Gemma’s just thinking I should be more lenient and less suspicious, and Nash is agreeing with her.”

“Well, you could be, you know,” I prompted.

He turned his eyes to me, a smooth grin sliding across his face. “And lose my reputation as a cynical bastard? What fun would that be?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, pretending not to notice the way his gaze traced over my face.

This was the first time we had really spoken to each other since arguing about Riley. The tension hadn’t completely dulled between us, but I was hoping to at least remove the awkwardness it left behind.
 

“How long do you think it will be before the storm hits?” I asked.

Sawyer and I looked up at the sky, watching the thick grey clouds bring heavy snowflakes and harsh winds.
 

“Another hour, maybe,” answered Sawyer. “But it’s going to be a nasty one. If it gets bad, we might have to seek shelter here for the night until it passes.”

That made me turn and look at him. “We can’t leave Abby alone that long,” I said sharply. “What if the Vesper gets into her mind again and she hurts Moira? What if she hurts herself?” The image of her attacking someone as strong as Nash flickered through my mind again. Moira was a small, fragile woman with a broken mind and an open heart toward my sister. If the Vesper invaded Abby’s mind and made her react violently again, Moira wouldn’t be able to protect herself. She might not even try.
 

“We can’t help Abby if we freeze to death,” Sawyer reasoned. “We don’t have the tools to predict the weather weeks in advance anymore. The search will go faster with all of us, so maybe we can miss the worst of it, but I’m not driving the skiff back in the middle of a blizzard.”

I scowled at him, marching away from the helm and sitting on the deck next to Riley. He watched me silently as I folded my arms over my chest.
 

“Are you all right?” he asked me, shifting closer to I could hear him over the wind.

“I’d be better if Sawyer sped this damn skiff up,” I complained.
 

Riley glanced at the captain. He returned his gaze to me. “He’s doing his best, Claire. A sterner, saner captain wouldn’t have gone out in a storm at all. But he did so because you asked him.”
 

I tightened my arms over my chest, refusing to look at Sawyer even though I could feel his golden gaze on me.

“I know you’re worried about Abby,” he continued, “but she’ll be safe as long as Moira’s with her.”

I wanted to believe that, but the knots of worry in my stomach wouldn’t untangle. Abby was barely eating, unable to sleep through her nightmares, wracked with cold sweat and chills, and bleeding red into her irises. She was slipping away from us, becoming something I couldn’t dare think about. I didn’t know how much time she had left, if there was anything Moira could do to delay her morbid transition. If there wasn’t, and the Abby I knew and loved disappeared into something else...
 

Riley reached across the skiff and gently squeezed my knee. His gentle, trusting smile reassured me. Like the rest of us, he was bundled in a heavy, fur-lined coat and pants, thick leather gloves, and fleece-lined winter boots. His hair was tossed wildly from the breeze around the skiff, his ears, cheeks, and nose rosy from the cold, but he looked content. Happy, even. I managed to smile back at him, grateful for the comfort he was offering me, even if it was hollow in the end.

“Is that it up there?” Gemma asked, shouting over the howling wind.

I turned in my seat to look at the female marauder, then let my eyes slide over the bow of the skiff to the winding road ahead. I scuttled to the front of the ship, holding onto the mast so I could gaze at the hillside estates. The secluded, peaceful part of the city where I grew up.

The elegant gothic homes that once stood on the hills were reduced to splinters. Pieces of shattered stone tumbled down the hill to create a crude path. Oak trees that once stood proud between the houses were now bare, blackened fingers poking up from a desolate earth.
 

Sawyer tilted the skiff, pushing us up the hillside and past the first line of demolished houses. The harsh snow scratched along my face as the wind whipped my hair. The speed of the skiff almost matched my racing heartbeat. I dug my nails into the cold metal of the ship’s mast, barely feeling the chill that seeped through my gloved fingertips.
 

Almost all of the houses now seemed to be under some kind of renovation. Ladders and planks of wood rested against the sides of each house. The beams looked newer than the blackened, weary houses, and most of them had construction equipment on the outsides, leading me to believe that new owners had taken up residence.
 

My heart ached at the sight of the neighborhood I lived in for eight happy years. It stopped completely when I saw the one house that mattered more to me than the others.

“There,” I said, pointing to the far left.
 

Sawyer gently swerved around the bend and sailed up the hillside. It had been over ten years since I had last been here, but as we drew closer, it felt like I had never left. I would recognize this house anywhere. The simple two story brownstone house, warm and welcoming. The detached garage where my father stored all of his tools. The open windows to let in the sun and the summer breeze…

I jumped out of the skiff before Sawyer pulled it to a full stop. My friends shouted my name, but I didn’t listen to them. I was trying to understand how my home had been destroyed. Why the house had a chunk missing from the roof and why the garage was caved in.

Subconsciously, I knew what had happened to it, but imagining my home was lost and seeing it gone were two different things. I didn’t expect the pain to be so great.
 

When I carved out a smidgen of life for Abby and myself, I never sought to go back to our family’s house. I didn’t want to revisit the memories or show her the wreckage of where she was born. I made excuses, lied to myself, concentrated on Abby’s survival. Now I was here, staring at its ruins because I was failing to uphold those grim, naïve promises.

A hand curled over my shoulder. I glanced back, meeting Riley’s concerned blue eyes.
 

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he whispered.

“I’ll be all right,” I mumbled. A sob lodged in my throat. “I just need a minute.” I looked at the house.
 

Sawyer, Nash, and Gemma pulled up beside me, eyeing the house without any emotion.

“Most of these pretty buildings have probably been looted of all the good stuff,” Gemma commented. “All anyone could do now is hunker down.”

I whipped my head over to her. “You think the looters are still here?”
 

“Sure,” she said innocently. “I would be.”

“We’ll check it out,” Sawyer said, eying my house warily. He glanced at me. “Don’t suppose I can convince you to stay here?”

I glared at him. “This is my
home.
”

He sighed, then muttered, “Thought not. Can you at least stay close to Riley this time?”

I nodded.

“Good, glad that’s settled,” Gemma remarked briskly, shoving her hands under her armpits. “Can we go in now? Some of us are freezing out here.”

Sawyer took the lead, his hand going inside his coat to take out a flintlock pistol. The silver skull with black gems for eyes gleamed on the butt of the weapon. He held it by his side and stood by the door. Nash and Gemma glanced at the boarded-up windows, then followed him. Nash hovered behind Sawyer, his bulk almost obscuring his commander. I looked up at the house, standing off to the side so I could watch the marauders attempt to get in.

Sawyer used his free hand to rattle the doorknob. He pushed and pulled, but it didn’t budge.

“Locked,” said Sawyer. “Gemma?”

She moved gracefully up the steps, giving Sawyer a sly look. “And to think, you once thought having a thief on your crew was a bad idea.”

He glared at her as she knelt in front of the doorknob. “What were you just saying about the cold?”

Gemma ignored him, pulling out a slim, foldout lock picking kit from her belt. She bent it in half and placed both pointed edges into the keyhole. A concentrated look came over her face as she gently turned her wrist. After a couple minutes, she relaxed and pulled the lock picks away, snapping the metal case closed and standing up.

“All yours, captain.”

Sawyer lifted his flintlock until it was directly in front of him, then pulled open the door and stepped inside. Nash and Gemma followed. I started running for the door, but Riley slipped in front of me, engaging his role as my bodyguard.
 

I stumbled inside my old home, closing the door behind me and blocking out the howling sound of the wind. It was still cold, but now it was bearable without the gale. I turned to check on the others, and halted abruptly.

Sawyer and his marauders were fully armed now, the captain drawing out a cutlass sword with a grinning silver skull on the end of the hilt, which matched the design on the butt of his flintlock. Nash also had a pistol, though I expected he would have preferred his brass knuckles. Gemma held a smaller flintlock and a knife. Riley held onto a pair of knives Sawyer had reluctantly given him after his first month working on the
Dauntless
.

Yet it wouldn’t be enough against the ten armed survivors pointing blunderbusses and pistols at my crew. Kerosene lanterns illuminated them, as they stood scattered between the rooms with the stairs at their back. They were layered from head to toe in mismatched clothes, their bodies losing all shape. Most of their faces wrapped in thin cloth, but it was impossible to miss the alarm in their eyes.

“Were you expecting visitors, Firecracker?” Sawyer asked, never moving his gaze from the ten people.
 

“Visitors?” the tallest man in the middle echoed, his voice muffled by the homemade scarf. “This is
our
home, boy, and we didn’t invite you.”

“Call me ‘boy’ again, and my finger might slip on the trigger.”

The survivor sucked in a breath to rebuff Sawyer, but I shoved through the crew and put my hands up.
 

“Wait, wait, we aren’t going to stay,” I said. “We just need somewhere to hold out against the storm, and… I’m looking for something.”

The tall man narrowed his eyes. “We’re not sharing with strangers.”

“That’s fine, we’re not here to take your supplies.” I lowered my hands. “I’m trying to find something else. A family heirloom.”

He blinked, confused.
 

“This used to be my home,” I clarified.

“Convenient,” muttered a man beside the leader.

“You think we’d travel through that mess out there without a reason?” Gemma argued. “Or did the cold freeze what little brains you have left?”

The blunderbusses and flintlocks across from us were cocked back with ominous clicks. The air seemed to get even colder.
 

“Not helping, Gem,” muttered Nash, who moved closer to his lover’s side.

“I’m cold and have rude bastards pointing guns at my face. Forgive me if I throw away my manners.”

“You have manners?” Sawyer teased. She shot him a scathing look.
 

Their banter didn’t settle the gun wielding survivors like they hoped. The guns hadn’t even wavered.

“Please,” I tried again. “I’m only here for a couple journals. I promise I won’t take anything–”

“There are no journals.”

My breathing stopped as my heart began to plummet. “What do you mean?” I whispered.

“We had to make fires. What else were we gonna use?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. He had to be lying. Yes, they were cold, but burning my parents’ books and notes seemed extreme. Wouldn’t they have looked inside the journals and seen that they were important? Those notes could have helped them. What good were they in ashes?

Did they realize they could have killed everyone in Aon if they burned the notes I desperately needed to help save them?

“You seriously going to cry over some paper?” the leader said. I hadn’t even felt the tears lining my cheeks.
 

I hardly heard his disdainful question. My crew seemed to droop with defeat. I showed my back to the survivors and pushed my hands through my hair roughly. “This can’t be happening,” I mumbled to myself. “What am I going to do?”

“It will be okay, Claire,” said Riley, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I whirled and threw him off. “No, it won’t! You heard him! Any chance of finding the machine is gone!”

“Machine?” someone asked. “What machine?”

“No point in telling you, because odds are it’s never going to be found now,” shot Gemma. I heard her sigh and watched as she lowered her arm.
 

“Look, just let us stay here until the snowstorm dies down,” offered Nash. “After that we’ll leave and figure out a new plan.” He sighed and quietly muttered. “We’re going to have to anyway.”