Night Whispers: ShadowLands, Book 1 (19 page)

“Seeing through you guys wasn’t so bad. It helped to have a filter in place. Even then, if I spent too long tapped into someone, I had to take a break, sit by myself. Though I did that before the Illness too. I was the weirdo who couldn’t go to a work function without slipping onto the patio to take a breather.” He paused. “Right about now you would make some sort of crack about me sounding like a serial killer. I swear, other than my loner tendencies, and my disfiguring scars that I misled you about so you would like me, and my hermit-like behavior…” He trailed off. “Damn. Oh, damn. None of that helps, huh? I swear, I’ve never tortured a single bunny.”

A sudden yawn surprised him. Crap, he couldn’t get sleepy. He refused to let his body lose the battle with his will. He blinked, trying to get some moisture into his tired eyes. They were crazy dry.

He took his eyes off the road for a minute to lean over and snag an energy shot from his passenger seat. It dropped from his hand when he looked up and saw the Shadow standing stock-still in the middle of the road not three feet from his bumper.

“Shit!” He grabbed the wheel with both hands and swerved, but not fast enough. The right bumper of his car caught the Shadow. It flipped up and over the windshield, momentarily blinding him. That, combined with the panic in his chest, prompted him to hit the accelerator instead of the brake.

For a dizzying moment he spun in a full three hundred and sixty degree circle before coming to a stop. By running into a tree.

His hands were locked on the steering wheel, and he breathed, staring out the windshield. The windshield which was now cracked from the force of the Shadow’s body hitting it.

Cracked. His cocoon was cracked.

Cracked, not broken. You’re cool.

He leaned forward to peer out at the front of his car. The bumper was smashed to all hell, but most of the vehicle appeared to be in one piece. The car was running. That was good, or so he figured.

He breathed deep in an effort to calm his racing heart and put the car in reverse.

His tires rotated, but he didn’t budge. He looked in the rearview mirror, his heart sinking when he saw the flare of mud spinning out. It must have rained here recently. He stopped pressing the gas, fearful of getting stuck deeper in the mud.

“What now?” he muttered.

James knew he had to get out of the car. Or maybe he could stay here until morning.

A quick glance at his handheld killed that idea. He was still too far from Jules, and she wasn’t stopping at all. He couldn’t afford to lose time here.

He eyed the handle of his door like it was covered in poisonous snake venom. There were so many things he’d rather do than open that door. Get a prostate exam. Drive a needle through his eye. Burn the other half of his body.

He reached for it. Snatched his hand back. Looked at the handheld again and cursed.

Do it. Do it fast, like a Band-Aid.

He reached for it again, only to slam back in his seat when the white face appeared at his window. “Jesus Christ!”

Blackish-red blood poured from the creature’s face and body, wounds from when James’s car had slammed into it. Its silver eyes were locked on him, feral with rage and hunger. It struck its fists into the glass, rattling the entire car.

James knew he should act. Knew he should do something. But his entire being was focused on the certain death outside his window.

The thing opened its mouth and roared. The high-pitched scream was loud enough to penetrate his car.

His car, which had been cracked. No more safety. No more protection.

OhGodohGodohGodohGod…

Saliva and blood dripped from the Shadow’s sharpened fangs. When a Shadow bit a human, the virus contained in that saliva and blood went straight into the victim’s veins, quickly taking over the normal blood cells. Intellectually, the process was fascinating. Realistically, it was terrifying.

The Shadow pounded on the window again. And again. Frozen, James watched the glass in the driver’s side window carefully.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

There. A tiny break in the compound, a hairline fracture which would grow.

Pound.

A little bigger now.

Pound.

No. No. Cracked was bad enough. But it couldn’t be broken. He hadn’t come this far to be killed by a Shadow.

Without looking away from the creature’s staring eyes, he reached for the gun in the passenger seat. There was only one choice.

The gunshot reverberated in her ear.

What had happened? Christ,
what had happened?

Distantly, Jules realized that the van had stopped, and she could hear Erik calling her name. She couldn’t check the tears streaming down her face as she doubled over at the waist.

“What’s wrong with you?” Erik placed his hand on her arm. He was gentle, the same way he’d touched her back when she’d suffered through the shakes of drug withdrawal.

She couldn’t speak. When that awful screech and crash had interrupted James’s heartrending words, she’d had a bad moment—until he’d spoken again.

Now this? Had someone shot him? Had he shot someone?

He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t have died for her. Not before she had the chance to call him out on all the misplaced survivor’s guilt he was walking around with. Not before she could smack him for thinking she would be shallow enough to care about a few imperfections of his skin. How could she be, with the shitload of flaws she had?

“Fuck.”

She inhaled at the whisper in her ear. Oh God.
Keep talking.

As if he heard her, a gusty sigh came over the radio. “Close call was close, Bennett.”

He was alive. He was speaking.

Was this what he went through? When he had to listen, even watch her go up against possible death?

It was hard to care for a person. It was harder to know that if not for her, he wouldn’t be facing his fears in the most extreme of ways.

Carrie cried out in the backseat, her high voice bringing Jules back to the here and now.

She straightened. Erik’s hand fell away. When she turned to look at him, her old friend had disappeared, replaced by the stranger who had taken his place.

“Is Carrie all right?”

He nodded, continuing to study her. “She’s probably just restless. What about you? Delayed reaction?”

“Um. Yes.” Let him think it was delayed shock. He couldn’t know that they were being tracked.

His hand went to the keys in the ignition.

“Maybe we should take a break,” she blurted out. If they stopped for a while, James might be able to catch up with them.

“In the middle of the night?” Erik shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, but we can’t risk you driving, remember?”

“But you can stop. And you can sleep a little.”

The engine started. “I don’t sleep much anymore.”

James stared at the neat bullet hole in the glass of the driver’s side window. The black blood and pieces of the Shadow’s brain had splattered it.

He was an excellent marksman, but this hadn’t needed any particular talent. It had been a simple point-and-shoot situation.

It had been so easy. The Shadow was dead. He was alive.

But if James had been loathe to get out of the car before…

He gritted his teeth, girding his proverbial loins. After scoping out the surroundings as well as he could from inside, he opened the door fast.

The Shadow’s body was right outside, sprawled on its back. It took but a glance to confirm that it was, in fact, dead.

The brisk autumn wind slapped him in the face and bit through the cotton of his shirt. He would have grabbed his jacket, but he refused to be outside any longer than absolutely necessary. It wouldn’t be long enough for him to get cold.

Gun securely tucked in his hand, all of his senses open, he got out of the car.

The knowledge that he would be outside longer than the time needed to take a leak made his muscles want to freeze. What if there were more Shadows out there? What if there were humans, bad humans, who had been alerted by his gunshot? What if this was a former minefield and he was about to step on a hidden mine and blow himself up?

No more Minesweeper for you.

Okay, but the first two were credible threats.

Small, deep breaths
.
Work through this. The only thing stopping you is your own brain.

He was careful to avoid touching the Shadow’s body. Protocol was to destroy the remains, but he didn’t know much about starting a fire this close to vegetation. It was probably better for everyone if he left it. The car was the priority. He needed his wheels.

The night was quiet, but that meant nothing. His eyes restlessly scanned his surroundings, his adrenaline and all of the caffeine in his system making him hypervigilant. Focusing on encroaching attackers oddly made it easier to be outside.
Just keep thinking. Problem-solving. Don’t focus on anything but the problem.

He rounded the hood to check out the damage. The tree had mainly hit the left side of the car. One headlight was shattered, which was a shame, but overall, the damage might have been worse. Further assessment would have to wait until he could get the car unstuck.

He stooped down to look at the tires sunk into the mud. Calling Gabriel was an option, but what would the man tell him? Get the car out, James? Hell, he knew that.

He had read about this problem. Somewhere. Where?

He flipped through his mental files. It wasn’t that he had a photographic memory—he just had an odd affinity for remembering the gist of most things he read.

A novel, from high school. The protagonists had solved a similar situation by using wooden boards under the tires.

He had no boards. James cast an assessing glance at the tree he had hit. The branches were thick and dense.

With another look around, he dared to tuck his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabbed hold of the lowest hanging branch. Using his body weight, he broke it off. He threw it on the ground and did the same to another one.

Praying this would work, and quickly, he pushed the tree branches so they were right behind his front tires and got back inside the vehicle. Immediately, some of his panic receded. He raked his hand through his sweat-soaked hair and shoved the car into reverse again.

The tires spun. He was about to ease off the accelerator when the front tires found an iota of traction on the branch. “Yes,” he whispered. “Come on.”

It was enough to inch him out of the depression and away from the tree. He pressed the gas harder, and the car heaved itself out of the mud and back onto the road.

He kept his foot on the accelerator and cranked the wheel, not willing to wait a second longer than necessary.

A good ten miles went by before delayed reaction set in. James slowed to a stop in the middle of the cracked pavement, staring out the window. His hands were shaking.

It wasn’t fear, he realized. It was exhilaration.

He’d killed a Shadow. He’d fixed his car. God damn.

Still. He opened the middle console of the car and removed the roll of packing tape buried underneath the rest of the supplies.

When the bullet hole had been sealed shut, he was able to continue onward.

Chapter Twelve

It had taken her a while to sleep, since she’d been straining to hear of any further activity with James. The purr of his engine had come over her headset, and she’d been comforted by the noise. He was still driving, still coming toward her. He wasn’t speaking much anymore. Jules couldn’t imagine how tired he must be. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t stopped at all. Occasionally he made a noise or she caught the sound of his breathing. She hugged those moments close.

Finally, her body and her encroaching sickness took over her will, and she drifted off.

When she opened her eyes again, her eyeballs felt like she’d dipped them in sand. The fire in her arm had grown, spreading down her arm.

She looked at her gauze-covered wound, scared of what she would find. Sure enough, the red lines of the rash had spread down her arm to her elbow, more than visible under the thick bandage.

The GPS display was still on. Apparently, Erik no longer cared if she knew where they were now. And they were very much in Canada. She didn’t know if Erik had a particular destination in mind, or if he was simply driving as far from the scene of his imprisonment as possible. Hell, if the Midwestern United States was a wasteland, Canada was no-man’s land. Literally.

She popped the dashboard and pulled out the bottle of aspirin and the spare packet of energy gel she kept there.

“That probably will not help you,” Erik said, his voice gravelly.

“As long as it doesn’t hurt me.” Grimly, she chewed the aspirin dry and chased it with the energy pack. Both made her want to gag. A thought occurred to her as she tried to swallow the offensive items. “Wait. Do you mean the pain pills will not help me, or that human food won’t help me?” She swiveled, horrified anew. “Am I going to need to drink blood now?”