Night Whispers: ShadowLands, Book 1 (3 page)

The sun was starting to set outside and the autumn wind was picking up. Somewhere up on the roof, a tree scraped a sad tune. She didn’t need to go back to the other building to see the bodies, the heads scattered like a pulled-apart doll. “One of the Shadows I killed here had blue eyes.”

He didn’t skip a beat at the abrupt change of subject. His voice, as always, was gentle. Steady. “Recently turned.”

“Yes. She was barely a teen. Might have parents.” Odds were low the girl had come from a great distance away. Shadows didn’t have the brainpower for cars or bikes. They loped when they wanted to travel, and were single-mindedly focused on feeding after they first rose, so she couldn’t have come very far in a few nights.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jules, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You’re thinking it’s a damn shame we don’t have the resources to get to all humans before the Shadows or death do. You’re always pushing to do more than you or anyone is able to do. That’s why you set out on your own across three states when I was stupid enough to mention we were sending a group of soldiers to Cheyenne Mountain to see what was going on over there.”

“I’m no hero, Bennett.”

“No, but I’d say your hero complex is nice and well-developed, Guerrero.”

She rubbed her thumb over the embossed title of the cover. She couldn’t allow him to keep thinking this was some sort of noble, disinterested move. “I came to Cheyenne for a reason. I wouldn’t come all this way on some whim.”

“Oh?”

“When Timothy was dying, his nurse told me he kept mumbling about Erik and ‘the Cheyenne’. It made no sense to me then. I thought he was hallucinating about a tribe or something.” Timothy had been a former soldier who, along with Erik, had done his best to turn Sanctuary into a crude haven for humans when they’d lost all communication with the rest of the government bases. After Erik had disappeared, Timothy had denied knowing where the other man had gone and had taken over until James and the rest of the crew at Raven Rock reestablished contact. Even then he’d remained in charge of operations at their base until his sickness and death last month.

Jules didn’t want to believe Timothy had lied about knowing where Erik was. She was hoping his rambling had been just that.

“When I told you yesterday that we were investigating the fate of any remaining survivors at
Cheyenne
Mountain…”

“It makes sense that he would have tried to go there for help. Erik was a civilian, so maybe he wouldn’t have known about the plan to split the government up, half to Raven Rock and half to Cheyenne Mountain. But Timothy was probably high enough up the chain to know. He could have told him. And Erik would have run here, because we were hungry and scared.” It was the first lead she’d had in almost eighteen months, and damn it, she was taking it.

“So you took off because of Erik? Jesus—”

She tried to head off his irritation. There weren’t many more gifts she could lay at his feet. “I figured this would be perfect. I could check out the place with a troop of well-armed soldiers. I have my own set of skills. I would be help, not dead weight.”

“Congratulations. That’s the same argument I made to Gabriel when he asked why I suddenly decided you were a vital part of this operation.”

The guilt of being the reason he was lying to his superior hit her like a whip. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “And we’re back to square one. Jules. Honey. We don’t know what’s going on at Cheyenne, but Erik’s been gone for almost two years. I understand he was important to you, but you can’t put yourself in danger to go chasing after rumors.”

“I don’t have anything else to go on.”

“Don’t sound like that. Don’t cry.”

Her eyes were dry, but her spirit did feel heavy with melancholy. If she could cry right now, she would. “I’m not. If you only knew—I have to do this.”

“Yeah. I know. No hero complex, huh?”

A tickle of laughter warmed her. “Not at all.”

He let out a groan. “I’d like to talk about this some more, but you need to hit the road.”

“I’ve got to get rid of the bodies first. Can’t leave a contaminated scene out here.”

“But then you won’t get to Denver tonight.”

“The envoy from your neck of the woods won’t be there until tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. They’re scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

“Then I’ll bed down here and head on out in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“No choice, it seems. Don’t worry, I know this is my first time out in the big bad world, but I can’t imagine things are so different here. It’s not like Cali is so damn civilized or anything.” The state was too large and had been too well populated for an uneventful post-Illness world. Sometimes she felt like she could patrol the same square mile and find new Shadows or some human hidden away that she’d previously missed.

“One thing is different. No one who can get to you reasonably quickly if you need them. No outposts or Sanctuary.”

“What would I need? I can take care of myself. Now don’t waste my time arguing.”

“Fine. Find someplace safe to sleep tonight. Check it carefully.”

“I will.”

“Don’t waste the remaining precious daylight scouting for humans. I don’t care if you have a hunch your recently turned Shadow’s parents are in the next neighborhood. And if you do see any, remember not to go running right up to them. Scope them out and make sure they don’t wish you ill.”

“Yes, James.” Lord, was he going to go over all her training again? She picked up her blade.

“Call me if you need anything. I’m always here.”

Yes. He was. “Sure thing, don’t fret.”

His tone dripped with disdain. “Fretting is for old women, not fit, wildly brilliant young men at the height of their physical stamina.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eat something. You’re skin and bones.”

“Goodbye, James.”

The smile in his voice warmed her. “Bye, Jules.”

There was no magic poof to tell her that he was no longer with her, but she knew. She felt empty and tired. She replaced the book back on the shelf as carefully as if a crusty librarian were going to show up and cluck at her for putting it in the wrong place.

She really ought to burn the bodies of the Shadows she’d killed, but she wasn’t certain she had the time to drag them all out of the building. The burning wasn’t to make sure the things stayed dead, but more out of concern over the infectious, untreatable virus the Shadows transmitted through their bite. No one had, as far as Jules knew, ever contracted the sickness from a dead Shadow, but overkill was the name of the game, until someone could develop a vaccine.

Jules made the sign of the cross as she passed the building that had become the Shadows’ final grave. In the parking lot, she took a minute to spray her blade with flammable liquid and struck a match. The blaze licked along the long blade, cleansing it and purging it of impurities. She had a gun, but she had always preferred the efficiency and security of steel. You could run out of bullets, but you couldn’t run out of a blade. Plus, bullets only worked against the Shadows if they went right in the brain. Hardy little bastards could still attack while they bled out from other, less mortal wounds. She hit the switch on the side of the handle. With a couple of clicks, the blade folded up into the leather hilt.

She had disturbing fantasies of dousing entire cities with fire, destroying the Shadows completely. Sick, horrible fantasies she chalked up to her messed-up mind.

Practically, she knew that would also kill her mission objective, which was, as James had reminded her, search and rescue with a side dish of combat. Plus, if they took out a few of the Shadows, all the better, but this first stage of protecting their race was all about getting their feet back under them. TPTB wanted the remaining infrastructure intact whenever possible, for humankind’s triumphant return to civilization once the threat was eradicated.

Every day she wondered more and more if that would ever happen.

She was about to get into her large utility van when she made the mistake of glancing back at the library.

Calling herself all kinds of foolish—she still needed to find a safe place to rest for the night, and the sun would set soon—she jogged back inside. Pulling the Frost book from the shelf, she tucked it under her arm and dashed back to her van. Traveling light was a necessity in her world.

Touch them.

She pushed the book gently into her sack before starting the engine.

Chapter Two

James flexed the fingers on his right hand, wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually feel what Jules felt. Her voice rang in his head, that inexplicably beautiful voice, melodic and soothing. He loved hearing the reverberation and rise and fall of her tone. When she’d stroked her fingers over the book, the calluses and scars had caught his eye. The hands of a killer and the voice of a poet.

James shook his head to get rid of the fanciful thought. He’d been having far too many of them in the last few weeks. Months. Year.

He certainly didn’t banter or flirt with any of the other intelligence agents. There weren’t many—his resources were limited insofar as creating surveillance equipment, and very few people, understandably, were comfortable in going off to explore on their own. Still, he had about half a dozen or so agents here in the Northeast whom he’d actually met at Camp David. There were even a couple of attractive females around his age.

But, no, he had to go and fall for the scrappy girl who had been one of a few running daring and borderline suicidal rescue missions for West Coast’s Sanctuary when they’d reestablished communication.

Jules could deny it, but she did have a hero complex. They’d learned that the Sanctuary residents had a very Wild-West style, don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in place, so not much was known about any of their backgrounds, Jules included. From working with her so closely, he knew she’d had a troubled past that had been marred by violence. There was a reason she could fight Shadows harder and better than most men who had been trained as soldiers. Only someone who had personally fought in the streets could be that adept and comfortable with their fists and knives.

He’d grown up in a suburb. His knowledge of gangs had been gleaned from television, and his ability to fight came from a combination of the karate classes his father had bullied his skinny son into attending, his CIA training and the simulations he’d participated in to test their training equipment. Never had he been in a real fight, one where his life depended on beating the other creature.

So he was pretty awed that she’d turned her skills to saving others, when she could have easily made the world an even worse place.

It would be nice, though, if she wasn’t so dead set on saving Erik Jafari.

It was nothing personal. Jafari had disappeared about six months before they’d reestablished communication with Sanctuary, so he’d never met the guy, not even remotely.

All he knew was that Jules and Erik had had a history between them, a very tight bond. He didn’t think it was a romantic history. No, he hoped it wasn’t a romantic history, and if it was, he didn’t particularly want to know.

Jules rarely let a few weeks go by that she didn’t ask if one of the other agents or anyone else had heard anything about the man who had mysteriously disappeared overnight.

What does it say about you that you’re jealous of a man who is, most likely, dead?

Yeah, this wasn’t his finest moment. Even his worries over Jules leaving the relative safety of California couldn’t justify this level of dislike.

He glanced up at the large screen above him, but it was blank now, as were the other five that gave him a 360-degree view of everything going on around her. Jules’s vitals beeped, reporting her signs. On the bottom of each screen was a green symbol representing each of his other agents. They would turn red and pulse should they try to contact him or if their GPS or vitals went wonky. Jules was such a cool cucumber, he sometimes had to poke at her to make sure she was still breathing.

For a system he’d rigged in a hurried couple of months, he was pretty proud of it. He figured someday they could mass produce enough of the collars for all of the front-lines people to wear—soldiers, ration scouts and agents. That way, they could be tapped in 24/7 in all ways, vitals, sights and sounds. Right now, though, between all of the pies he had his fingers in, their priorities and limited resources, they would have to make do with what they had. Plus, he would need more handlers to serve here if that did happen.

Jules would stay his agent, though, no matter how many people this program got. He lived for the moments he got to virtually see out of her eyes.

Especially if there was, as he’d joked, a mirror or some sort of reflective surface around, and he could catch a glimpse of her reflection. Not for any prurient interest. Okay, not for much prurient interest.

It was another way to connect with her, another way to pretend he was standing there with her. The pixie cut of her hair revealed the vulnerable nape of her neck, the high cheekbones and pointed chin that made up her face. She reminded him of a wary fox sometimes, always balanced on the edge of fleeing. Her eyes were an almond-shaped dark brown as inky as her curly hair. From what he’d gleaned, her body was compact and muscular, with small breasts and long legs. His imagination filled in the blanks.