Shatter the Darkness Page 2

  My aim is true.

  Griffin’s inhuman eyes go wide. In slow motion, he looks down at his chest. Blood squirts out from two round holes on a yellow patch of skin. He drops the gun and falls to his knees, wearing a dumbfounded expression.

  Eyes roving from side to side, I look for She-Bird. She’s nowhere in sight. I whirl, thinking she might have sneaked up behind me, but there’s no one, just the trashed sidewalk, and the once-trendy brick buildings.

  Breathing in overdrive, I pull away from the SUV, spinning, the gun sweeping wide circles around me. Slowly, I make my way to the girl, my head snapping this way and that as my imagination conjures shadows in every possible hiding place. I look up, trying to spot a flying figure in the sky or up in the buildings. I find nothing but feel watched. Thoroughly watched.

  “Hey!” I nudge the girl in the ribs with the tip of my boots, afraid to let down my guard and check if she’s breathing. She doesn’t respond.

  God, was this all in vain?

  I poke her again. She moans. I point the gun to the ground and slowly squat, my gaze still jumping from the street to the sky and the top of the buildings.

  “Hey, hey! Can you get up?”

  The girl rolls to her side and curls up, grabbing her neck and sobbing in a weak, broken voice.

  “C’mon, you have to get up. We have to get out of here!”

  My heart is racing faster than ever. Images of monsters dropping from the sky flash in and out of my vision. God, what if She-Bird went for backup? We’re not that far from headquarters. If she did, my cover is blown. Shit!

  “C’mon!” I growl in my most commanding voice. “If you don’t get up, I’ll leave you here, and you know they’ll be back.”

  She rouses at the threat. Her eyes blink open. She swallows audibly and winces. After a moment, she looks up. Our gazes meet. Her blue eyes are bloodshot and terrified.

  “Do you want to live or not?” I ask.

  She nods but looks so doubtful it makes me think she might rather die. Well, screw that. I didn’t risk my life to have her give up on me, so I hook an arm around hers and force her up.

  “Follow me. We have to get out of here. C’mon!” I push her toward the SUV, then move that way myself.

  I give the car a quick inspection, checking its tires and general state. It looks drivable. It’d better be.

  I run to the driver side door and try the handle. No such luck. Holding the gun with both hands to steady my nervous grip, I take a couple of backward steps and shoot at the window. The girl yelps, startled by the sound.

  The bullet drills right through the glass, creating a large spider web of cracks that spreads outward.

  Teeth clenched, I slam my elbow against the fractured glass. It takes a couple of hits before the window collapses inwardly and I’m able to pop the lock. After tossing the sheet of broken glass onto the street, I hurry inside and unlock the passenger side door.

  “C’mon, get in!” I command the numb-looking girl. She doesn’t move. Instead, her eyes dart from side to side as if looking for a place to run.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’ll never outrun them,” I say as I smash the butt of the gun against the plastic that wraps around the steering column. The cover snaps off, revealing a bundle of wires.

  My heart races like a ticking clock in overdrive. We have to get out of here. Stat!

  I set the gun down on the seat and get to work. I’ve just finished pulling the bundle of wires loose when the girl shrieks and takes off down the street at a full pelt.

  Jolting upright, I go for the gun but, before I get a hold of it, there is a whoosh, and I fly away from the car and land in the middle of the street with a bone-shuddering thud. My lungs empty themselves at the impact. I wince in pain but force myself into action.

  In one fluid motion, I bring my knees toward my face then kick-up to a standing position. Just as I get back on my feet, She-Bird tackles me to the ground. I land on my back once more and lose what little oxygen I’d managed to take in. The scout straddles me. Her hawk-like face is twisted in fury. She balls her hand into a large fist and pulls it back. I throw my arms over my face and manage to block the blow.

  “Thought I’d let you get away, you little shit?” She-Bird tries another jab. I block it, too. She growls in frustration and tries to get my arms away from their protective position.

  Pulling hard, she grunts between pointed teeth. “Whitehouse pays extra for Fenders and doesn’t care if they’re bruised up or not. Not as long as they’re alive.”

  Her tall wings blotch the sky above, shining, translucent. It’s a beautifully cruel sight.

  With the high-pitched cry of an eagle, She-Bird digs her sharp claws into one of my wrists and pries the arm away from my face. Through the opening, she uses her quick, avian reflexes to sneak in a powerful blow. I growl between clenched teeth, feeling as if a boulder has smashed against my cheekbone.

  But there is no time to wallow, not when the punch has unbalanced her, and countless karate sparring matches taught me the required moves to escape this sort of situation.

  The technique comes to me as second nature. In a brisk, strong move, I thrust my knees into She-Bird’s butt. The unexpected thump unbalances her further. She lurches forward. Her hands move to brace the fall and land right above my head. I follow up by sweeping her arms from under her and pushing her sideways with all I’ve got.

  To my surprise, all I’ve got is too much. She-Bird is lighter than I thought, surely a trait required by all flying creatures. We tumble over and over and, when we stop, the scout ends up on top of me again.

  Shit!

  With a jerk, she pulls out her gun and aims it at my forehead. I freeze.

  “You sure are more trouble than I thought you’d be,” she says between sharp breaths. “Maybe too much trouble to take you in alive.” Her face twists grotesquely as she seems to ponder what to do with me. Her orange eyes pierce mine, hatred burning in their depths.

  I see the instant she makes up her mind to kill me. A cold shock bursts in the middle of my chest with the knowledge that I’m about to die. I close my eyes and, for a moment, regret my decision to fight for the girl. The regret only lasts for an instant, though. Confronted with the choice again, I’d do the same thing. Any other decision would be one I couldn’t live with.

  The shot explodes with a deafening bang that sends a jolt through my body. I jerk, startled by the loud crack and a wet splatter on my face. My eyes blink open. She-Bird wavers over me, her forehead blown open, brain matter dangling from a jagged hole. She tips forward and crashes on top of me.

  I lie still for a moment, uncomprehending. All of a sudden, She-Bird’s dead weight turns into a suffocating force. Desperately, I push her off me and sit up, swiping at my face over and over. My heart thumps in my ears. I spit blood and wipe my tongue on my sleeve, vomit rising to my throat.

  I don’t know how long I sit there—wild and horrified by the fact that I’m wearing someone’s death all over my face—before I realize I’m still alive. Eventually, I come to and look around, wondering how come my brains are not the ones splattered all over the pavement.

  A pair of blue eyes looks down at me from behind the barrel of my own weapon. The girl I planned to rescue stands in front of me, legs shoulder-width apart, gun gripped tightly between trembling hands. The SUV sits behind her, the driver side door thrown open. Two parallel streaks run down each side of the girl’s face as tears spill freely down her face.

  Her mouth trembles. She looks scared out of her mind and doesn’t seem willing to aim the gun in any other direction but the bull’s-eye between my eyebrows.

  In a shaky voice, she asks, “What . . . what the hell are you?”

  Chapter 3

  I snake the SUV between abandoned cars and debris, expecting to run into an impassable section of road sooner or later. Still, I don’t dare take the viable roads Eklyptors cleared for their purposes, not while carrying strictly human cargo.

  “What’s yo
ur name?” I ask the girl.

  “Hannah,” she says from her crouched position at the foot of the passenger seat.

  I can’t afford to let her sit where an Eklyptor might spot her. If they see two people but sense only one, they’ll give chase. Our chances are precarious enough riding on these roads. My hope is that the Igniter battle She-Bird mentioned will keep the skies and streets clear for now.

  “I’m Marci,” I say.

  “Where are you taking me?” Hannah’s question is full of suspicion as if I didn’t just save her life and she decided to repay the favor.

  “To safety.”

  “Why had they let you go?” She’s surely having second thoughts about putting herself in my charge. Her eyes are wide and scared. She looks as frightened and paranoid as a mouse. But who can blame her? Only God knows what she’s been through, what she’s had to do to survive. Very likely it’s the paranoia that’s kept her alive this long.

  It’s a heck of a good question, anyway, one I cannot answer. I got her in the car with a promise to tell her everything, but now that we’re on our way, I don’t have to tell her jack. The situation is too complicated to explain. I can’t tell her I’m a Symbiot. Not when I’m hoping James will take her with him. There are very few Symbiots among James’s ranks, and their identities are revealed on a need-to-know basis. I know only three others: James, Aydan, and Rheema. If there are more within the ranks, they’re hidden from me as well. I doubt IgNiTe, the group of human rebels who openly defy Eklyptors, would appreciate the news. Everyone is doing their best to keep their spirits up; there is no point in giving them more to worry about.

  “Well, um . . . I’m a spy.” I can’t think of anything else to tell her. Besides, it’s not a lie.

  She shakes her head, looking as if I just told her I’m a hungry werewolf with rabid thoughts of taking a chunk out of her.

  “I’m with IgNiTe,” I add, hoping this will ease her fears.

  “IgNiTe?!” she exclaims. From the excited ring of her voice, it seems I have quickly risen from werebeast status to saint. “Are you serious?!”

  Man, I feel like a celebrity. I nod and keep driving north. The further away from downtown we go, the clearer the streets become and the slower my heart beats. Scouts keep closer to headquarters. Their numbers are limited, and Elliot likes to keep them close. He won’t be happy to learn that two of them are dead. It’s not like he can easily replace them—not when it takes years to morph and grow additional appendages.

  Hannah seems content for a few minutes, then the questions begin again.

  “But how does that work if . . . if you’re human?”

  Smart girl. Surely another reason she’s still alive. She should make a nice addition to James’s ranks. This fight can use every person we can get, especially if they’re intelligent.

  “Uh, some of them like to keep humans around, like pets.” My stomach twists. The simple idea of being a traitorous, Eklyptor pet makes me want to retch.

  Hannah’s nose wrinkles with a disgusted grimace. “That has to be horrible. How can you stand it?”

  I shrug.

  “And what if they decide to turn you?”

  “It’s a risk, but these are desperate times.”

  She puts a hand over her mouth. “I couldn’t do it. I would just . . .” She muffles her words and shakes her head, looking horrified.

  “It isn’t easy. I assure you.”

  We don’t speak for a few blocks. I’ve managed to take us completely out of downtown, and I’m well on my way to my rendezvous spot with James.

  Hannah hugs her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees, looking pensive. “Will IgNiTe take me?”

  “If you’re willing to fight. If you’re not, they’ll find a safe place for you. One of the underground human communities.”

  “They really exist?!” she asks as if I just told her Sasquatch is real, and she can’t wait to meet him. “We heard rumors, but we never saw them.”

  “We?” I ask, then immediately regret it.

  She stares down and pulls at her jacket as if it’s out of place, which it isn’t. You’d think I would have learned by now. I’ve lost enough people in this fight to understand the touchy subjects.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t . . .” I trail off. There’s nothing to say.

  The silence between us is heavy for a long moment, then Hannah speaks, “Mom, Dad, my sister, Josephine, and Mack, our dog.” She worries at a hangnail, pretty much obliterating it.

  I don’t want to hear this. I don’t. If she expects wise words from me I have none. If she expects sympathy—I have plenty of that, heck, I even have empathy—but I’ve never been good at expressing it.

  “We lived in a condo right on Olive Way. We were at home when all hell broke loose. We stayed holed up in there until the food ran out. About two weeks.” Hannah pauses and takes a deep breath.

  The Eklyptors never bothered searching people’s houses. A good number of citizens just came voluntarily at the beginning of The Takeover, believing the lies the beasts spread through the news channels, the ones that said the authorities would provide answers and help. They were like mice crawling inside the lion’s mouth. They never stood a chance, because Eklyptors took control of everything that was important: hospitals, government, police. They had their infected monsters in place, ready to assume power as soon as hostilities began. As for the humans who stayed hidden, Eklyptors knew they would soon have to come out in search of food. The creeps are in this for the long run. So why hurry?

  “We tried to talk to the neighbors,” she continues, “but the few that were still there wanted nothing to do with us. One guy even threatened us with a gun, saying we wanted to steal his provisions. The empty units had already been raided by them. We found a few cans of soup, but that was it. So Dad . . . he decided to go out to find stuff to eat. He took Mack with him and made us stay back. It was so hard waiting for him, not knowing if he was all right. We were so relieved when he came back. He ran into no trouble, was even able to fill a backpack with enough food for a few days. Stuff like canned tuna, crackers, and Slim Jims.”

  A vivid image of her family huddled together, dividing up the few items, pops into my mind. How many families went through the same? How many are still together?

  “Of course, the food didn’t last,” Hannah continues. “Dad felt confident he could go out and get more. He hadn’t run into any problems the first time, so he assured us it would be fine. We still didn’t like it. He had no idea how awful waiting for him had been. I told him we should stay together, but he wanted to make sure we were safe. He said that was his priority.”

  Hannah doesn’t need to say what happened next. Her story is charged with the power of an awful punch line.

  Her father never came back.

  She cries silently. Her hands flutter to and away from her face as she wipes tears off her cheeks and jawline.

  I clench the steering wheel and look straight ahead. I doubt there’s a human left on Earth who doesn’t have a nightmare story to recount. I have my share of them, but I’m not burdening her with mine, am I?

  What does she expect me to say?

  Apparently, nothing because she goes on, oblivious to my discomfort.

  “We stayed there for two days, eating little more than cracker crumbs and crying ourselves crazy. Finally, I convinced Mom we had to go out and look for him. In case Dad came back, we left him a note that said we’d be back every night. We packed what we could. Flashlight, matches, first-aid kit, stuff like that.

  “We were terrified, but at least we were doing something, instead of just waiting like useless fools. First, we went to the convenience store where Dad went the first time. He’d said there was nothing left there, so it was unlikely he’d gone back, but it was all we had to go by. It was so hard moving through the streets. We kept expecting someone to jump us from every door and alley.” She gives a dry laugh. “I saw people watching us from their condos. They just stared at us from
behind their curtains. No one offered to help. No one.”

  She lifts her chin and looks over at me. I throw a quick glance her way. The wonder and gratitude in her eyes let me know how surprised she is that someone, namely me, gave a damn and risked everything to save her life.

  Yep, it was nuts. Even I can’t believe it, so she should shut up before she makes me regret it.

  But Hannah is on a roll, and I don’t have the heart to tell her to stop. Maybe she needs this, maybe it’s therapy. Too bad I’m not a shrink.

  “I used my cell phone to navigate us, snapping pictures of the areas we had checked. It’s so odd that phones and TVs and all that crap still works when everything else’s gone to hell.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, it was slow going. We hid and crouched more than anything else. We almost got spotted a couple of times by . . . people driving past. Then, just when we were about to go back home, we . . . we found Mack. He was Josephine’s dog, a good-hearted black Labrador. He was dead. Shot in the head and laying by the side of the street.

  “Josephine lost it. She went hysterical, screaming and crying, clinging to Mom. We tried to calm her down, but we couldn’t. ‘If Mack is dead. Dad is dead,’ she kept saying over and over again.

  “Then, all of sudden, this man comes out of one of the buildings. He looked furious and dangerous. At first, I thought he was one of them, but he was mad because of the racket Josephine was making. Not like he made it any better by yelling at her to ‘shut the fuck up unless you want the Eklyptors to show up.’

  “When Josephine wouldn’t shut up, he tore her away from Mom and slapped her across the face. He looked like he was ready to kill her. Mom and I pulled him away and that’s when he pulled out a gun and he just . . .” Hannah trails off, too choked up by her tears to continue.

  The corners of my eyes prickle. I think of Dad, Mom, Xave, all gone. The pain of their absence smarts like a wound freshly opened. It always rides right under my skin, but it hasn’t resurfaced in some time—not when hatred and revenge-lust are my prevalent emotions while living among Eklyptors.