Shatter the Darkness Page 3

  I want to curse Hannah, want to blame her for pouring salt on the wound and reminding me of my own misery and loneliness, but she’s gone through enough as it is. The last thing she needs is my brand of bitterness undoing the little comfort she’s found in pouring her heart out.

  After her tears run out, Hannah takes a deep breath and shifts in her spot, one hand digging inside her blue jacket. I look sideways at the exact moment she pulls out a small revolver from the depths of her puffy top layer. I nearly slam on the brakes, expecting her to point the gun at me, but she just lets it dangle between her thumb and index finger.

  “I killed him,” she confesses, though not with regret. She sets the gun on the seat at her side, mouth twisted in disgust. “He shot Josephine and Mom, but I . . . I fought him. I took the gun from him and . . . I used every single bullet. I’m still waiting for the guilt to keep me up at night, but the only regret I have is killing him too fast. I wish I’d made him suffer. I wish I’d let him linger, knowing he was gonna die. I’d have loved to see the fear on his face. Does that make me a monster?”

  This a rhetorical question, right? She must know the answer. Except she looks up at me, her blue eyes full of fear for what my answer might be.

  “You might be asking the wrong person.” I take the next right and notice a car ahead of us. The way is fairly clear on this road. The obstructing debris—shattered glass, broken down cars, chairs, and tables from the nearby restaurants—have been moved to the sides. I don’t warn Hannah or remind her to stay low. She’s scared enough as it is and wouldn’t risk even a small peek out of the window.

  “Why do you say that?” she asks.

  I sigh and bite down my response. Butt out, those are the words that come to mind first, but I make an effort to be civilized. The fact that I live with animals doesn’t mean I should act like one. I would have answered her that way before The Takeover, but only because at the time she would have been able to find someone else to bond with. Post-Eklyptors, not so much. The going is tough. People who love you and understand you drop like flies at your feet. Now it sort of feels like any stranger you meet can be your friend, as long as they’re the human kind, that is.

  “Because I happen to know real monsters. To me, you’re just a girl.”

  The car ahead of us turns onto another road. I don’t get to feel at ease for long, though, because another one appears; this one headed in our direction in the opposite lane. It’s a couple of blocks away, so I still don’t say anything. Instead, I look for a way to turn, but the intersecting streets are barricaded. I clench my jaw.

  Hannah rests a cheek on her drawn-up knees. Blond hair spills to the side, tangled and dirty. She looks like she hasn’t showered in weeks and, judging by the red circles under her eyes, hasn’t slept much either.

  “I keep thinking maybe Dad’s out there, somewhere.” Hannah closes her eyes as if she’s having a daydream. I think she is.

  “Stay down,” I say behind my hand. “A car is going to pass by. Don’t freak out.”

  Hannah holds her legs tighter, going rigid with tension. I keep my left hand on the wheel and the right one on the gun on my lap. When the car passes—a red BMW—I exchange a glance with its passenger. From here, he looks perfectly human, but my head buzzes, letting me know he’s an Eklyptor. He nods and keeps on his way. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  As long as we don’t encounter any morphed creatures with super noses or thermal vision, they won’t detect Hannah. If we run into more scouts, however, we’re screwed. I worry at the leather steering wheel with a sharp thumbnail, leaving marks behind.

  We ride in silence for a few blocks. We run into a few other cars, but we pass them without problems, although not without considerable heartburn. For the most part, the drivers look perfectly human, except for one with colorful, butterfly-like patterns on her skin.

  The older Eklyptors who have managed to develop useful traits are higher in the pecking order. They were the commanders for the different factions during The Takeover. The newer Eklyptors are the regular “citizens.” They are the ones keeping things going, showing up to work to make sure the cities they stole from us don’t fall apart. So the further we move away from downtown, we should be less likely to run into enhanced beasts. I relax a little.

  Finally, I turn onto 15th Avenue East, the road that leads to Lake View Cemetery and my rendezvous with James.

  “We’re almost there,” I say.

  I stop at an intersection. A car comes to a sudden stop on the opposite corner. My gaze locks with the driver’s. I wait for the buzzing to begin. It doesn’t. I judge the distance between us. The guy is close enough. My head should be buzzing.

  He’s human!

  My eyes widen in surprise. When he notices my startled expression, his eyes grow as wide as mine and, in the same instant, he steps on the gas and sends his tires screeching and smoking. His car, a white truck, seems to sit still on the spot for a moment, revving, then tears down the street, going from zero to sixty before I blink. I watch him fly by the front of my SUV and disappear down the intersecting street like a bat out of hell.

  “Wow.” In spite of everything I’ve seen since I learned about Eklyptors, I’m surprised by this. It’s too terrible an example of what our once-trusting society has become. It makes me wonder about how it used to be. Did we really use to sit next to each other at the movie theater? Dine in crowded restaurants? Shake each other’s hands and say “nice to meet you”?

  “What is it?” Hannah asks in a trembling whisper.

  “Nothing. It’s fine. Just another used-to-be dying in front of my eyes.”

  I move forward, knowing that guy is feeling pretty stupid right about now, though he’s probably also breathing a sigh of relief.

  We arrive at the cemetery a few minutes later. The main gate is open. I drive through it slowly, the speedometer needle barely moving from zero. I stop by the same statue of a virgin where I met James once before, the day he took me to The Tank for the first time. I look around but don’t see him anywhere.

  “Stay put,” I tell Hannah, then open the door and step out of the car.

  A few clouds float above. They are gray, full of the threat of rain. The sun hides behind one of them, and I wish it wasn’t so. A cemetery has enough gloom as it is. A heavy silence seeps from the tombstones and saturates the air. My soul goes quiet and still with respect for the dead. My heart finds a certain peace at the thought of at least some of us being in a better place.

  The peace doesn’t last that long. Only until a gust of wind whirls around the SUV and ends up right behind me.

  I stiffen. “Hello, James.”

  “Guerrero,” he says, pressing one arm around my neck and a gun to my temple. “Hands up.”

  Chapter 4

  “Who’s that?” James demands, gesturing toward Hannah.

  I’m sandwiched between the open door and the fastest human being on the planet, as far as I know, anyway. Hannah is still huddled on the passenger-side floorboard. She looks up at us, arms wrapped around her knees, visibly shaking.

  I take a deep breath to calm myself. A gun to my temple is a new threat. I wonder if James is serious and took the safety off and everything.

  Of course, he’s serious, Marci. Don’t be stupid! A heart attack is nothing.

  “Um, just a girl. Her name is Hannah.” I remember hearing somewhere that if an assailant knows your name, he’s less likely to kill you. Since he already knows mine, I give him the girl’s. “I was on my way here when I saw her. I wouldn’t have brought her, but two scouts spotted her, too. I couldn’t let them take her.”

  “It’s hard enough to trust you already. This is pushing it.”

  “I know. I know. But what would you have done?”

  James says nothing to that.

  “It’s . . . it’s true,” Hannah says from within the SUV, her voice so weak and shaky it’s barely audible. “She saved my life.”

  “Don’t make any sudden moves.” James removes his arm from around my neck and proceeds to relieve me of my gun. When that is done, he steps back and moves his own weapon from my temple to the back of my neck. “Now, step away from the car.”

  I do as he says. He sidesteps with me, staying at my back. When we are about ten feet from the SUV, he says, “Hannah, I’m going to need you to get out of the car. Hands up in the air.”

  There are no signs of movement within the SUV. I think of the revolver she was carrying and hope she doesn’t try anything stupid. James almost strangled me once. I doubt that, under the circumstances, it would be hard to get him in a trigger-happy mood.

  “Did you hear me?” James’s voice goes up a notch. The kind of deep tone a father might use on his daughter.

  “I did. I’m coming out. I’m coming. Please don’t shoot,” Hannah says shrilly.

  She wriggles herself out of the tight space and pushes onto the passenger seat, her hands up in the air.

  “Now, slowly, open the door and come around the car, hands where I can see them,” James instructs.

  Hannah follows the instructions closely, keeping her hands above her ears as she rounds the front of the SUV. She stops about ten paces away from us and gives James a small nod as if saying: “See, I’m just a girl.”

  “All right, now take off your jacket and throw it aside,” James says.

  Hannah frowns at the request but does as she’s told. It is a puffy jacket. Much could be concealed under it. She’s left in a tight-fitting t-shirt that barely hides her thin frame.

  “Now both of you, move away from the car.” James gives me a slight push.

  Hannah and I walk side by side down the middle of the road, James following but staying a fair distance away.

  “All right, that’s good. Turn around.” br />
  We stop and face him. James reaches into his back pocket and tosses me a pair of handcuffs. I catch them in midair. I get my first good glimpse of him since the attack at Elliot’s headquarters. James looks harried, the crow’s feet around his eyes more pronounced than before. His normally well-shaved head is sprouting a few hairs from the sides, and his shoulders appear narrower. He’s never been a big man, just average height and build, but he always looked fit. I guess this war is getting the best of him. I’m sure getting shot didn’t help either.

  “Cuff her,” James says, his gray eyes as intense as ever.

  “Is that necessary?” I ask though I know it’s a stupid question. We can’t trust anyone.

  “I’m taking no chances.”

  I face Hannah. “I’m sorry. He has a lot to safeguard, but I promise he won’t hurt you if you don’t cause any trouble.”

  She nods shakily and lowers her arms. I clamp one cuff to her right wrist, then walk behind her and secure the other at her lower back. As soon as I’m done, I put my hands up again.

  “Sit on the sidewalk and stay put, Hannah,” James says in a voice that is sounding kinder by the minute. “Like Marci said, just do as I say and everything will be fine.”

  “I will, Mister . . .” Hannah sits with some difficulty. She lowers her head and sniffles a few times, but quickly composes herself.

  “You can call me James.”

  “Thank you, Mister James.”

  He smirks and shakes his head. After a pensive moment, he jerks his head and the gun to one side, signaling me to move away from Hannah. As we walk toward the opposite sidewalk, I notice James’s ultra-firm grip on the gun. It seems he’s taking no chances with my telekinetic powers either. Ha! Like I’ve learned to control them. I can only wish.

  James’s gray eyes drill into mine. “So . . . still Marci?”

  I cock my head to one side and nod.

  He sighs. “It’s a damn thing. I want to trust you, but . . .”

  “Don’t feel bad. I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to.”

  An image of my bloody hands after I failed to stop Azrael from killing Oso flashes in front of my eyes. My heart tightens with the regret that assaults me every time I think of that kind man, and of the way that petty creature took his life. A wave of disgust runs through me as I imagine the parasitic agent lodged, seething, lurking, inside my brain.

  “Report,” James says.

  I take a deep breath, trying to remember everything that’s happened since the last time I met with Aydan—too long ago for comfort. After IgNiTe’s attack at Whitehouse headquarters and the eradication of his Spawners, things have been busy for the Seattle resistance. Without Spawners the Whitehouse faction can’t grow its base—an advantage IgNiTe must fight to maintain.

  “Well, everyone’s still in turmoil,” I say. “Lyra says Elliot has been busy doing damage control. He has been meeting with his captains, making plans few are privy to. He’s being extremely paranoid. He had his tech people check the network, but I made sure they didn’t find any of my hacks. So I’ve been able to watch the security system closely and have seen very little going on in the building. Whatever meetings he’s holding, they must be happening elsewhere. I suspect he has gone low tech. He’s taking no chances. The bastard. I wish you would just let me put a bullet between his eyes.”

  “Stick to your orders, Marci. Killing Elliot would make his faction unpredictable. I know you’ve sworn revenge but, take it from me, you should strive to live for more, find a worthy reason. Revenge will blind you to the things that truly matter.”

  “I know. I know.” Maybe James is right, but, at the moment, nothing sounds better than making Elliot pay.

  James grunts and casts a quick glance in Hannah’s direction, frowning.

  I continue, “Anyway, Lyra suspects he’s planning a trip to England, something in the next couple of months. She thinks he’s going to get the Spawners who survived the attack in the Glasgow safe house. The one the London IgNiTe cell couldn’t destroy entirely.”

  “Yeah, that was unfortunate. The Takeover was more effective there, and our IgNiTe cells are weakened. I wish they’d been strong enough to carry out the job.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “But I can’t blame them, I suppose. They did their best. I wonder how many Spawners survived.”

  “Don’t know.”

  “At least we’ve slowed down the rate at which they’re infecting people.” The way he says this lets me know he thinks it’s not enough. “I wish we could destroy Hailstone’s Spawners, too.” A muscle jumps in his jaw, showing his frustration. “Anymore on Whitehouse trying to reach out to Hailstone to form an alliance?”

  “No. That’s not going to happen. Lyra killing Zara Hailstone took care of that possibility. I doubt Luke would be up to working with his mother’s murderer.” The bitterness I feel is obvious in my voice.

  Zara was not Luke’s biological mother. Her faction kidnapped him right from the NICU the day he was born, sending my family into lifelong turmoil. Karen is his real mother. The woman who, in spite of raising me and supposedly giving birth to me, isn’t my genetic match. Talk about an identity crisis. I don’t even know where the hell I come from. It turns my head and stomach just to think about it, and something tells me I don’t want to find out.

  God, what a freakin’ soap opera.

  “Even if Luke was game, Elliot would rather destroy them for daring to attack him. He’s dying to find out where they are hiding. He even has a task force dedicated to it, a small one, but still.”

  James rubs his chin. “Is that so?”

  I nod.

  “We definitely need to keep an eye on that situation in case we can take advantage of it. What else?”

  I pull out a thumb drive from my jacket pocket. “I’ve found some info I’m sure you’ll find valuable. Every day there’s less and less going through the network, especially this type of stuff, but I caught this.”

  James holsters his gun and takes the thumb drive. I give him raised eyebrows as if asking “so you trust me, now?” He shrugs. It’s not like he really has anything to fear from me. I don’t have a weapon, and he could run a million circles around me in the time it would take to make up my mind to attack him.

  “So what is it?” He gestures toward the thumb drive as he slips it into the breast pocket of his brown leather jacket.

  “Weapon and ammunition delivery dates and routes,” I say, a huge smile spreading over my lips.

  James’s eyes go wide. He puts a hand over his breast pocket protectively. For a moment, he looks on the verge of saying something but, instead, he presses his lips into a tight line. I know he can’t trust me with any details, but it’s better this way.

  “It should be a win-win all around,” I put in. “Fewer weapons for Eklyptors, more for Igniters.”

  His gray eyes narrow in assent, and I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get. If IgNiTe is hurting for weapons, that’s not something I need to know—not when I sleep in the lion’s den every night, and I’m a prime candidate for “Deranged Agent Takeover Syndrome.”

  “We’ll check it out thoroughly. Thank you. Now . . .” He sticks his hand inside his jacket and pulls out an orange zip bag. “I need your blood.”

  I frown. “What for? Kristen’s tests don’t work on me. She must be checking for antibodies, so I’ll always test positive after that crazy fucker took over me.” I gesture toward my head.

  “We know that, but—”

  “Look, I’m not an Eklyptor.” I know the conviction in my tone is useless after all the trouble Azrael caused for IgNiTe, but it’s there nonetheless.

  “You can’t blame me for wanting more proof than your word,” James says firmly, though not unkindly. “Kristen wants to take another look at your blood. Maybe there’s a marker that sets you apart from Eklyptors, and she can develop a test that puts you in the clear. Wouldn’t that be nice? For all of us.”

  I scoff. “Sounds too good to be true, but yeah . . . it would be nice.” I dare not think of what could happen if James and the crew were certain that I’m human. Would they let me go with them? Would my stint with Whitehouse come to an end?

  James gestures to my arm. I take off my jacket and let it fall to the ground. He pulls out a thick elastic band from the bag and wraps it around my bicep. With surprising practice, he prepares the syringe, finds a vein and sticks the needle in the crook of my elbow. I wince, watching as he presses a glass vial into the cartridge and blood begins to flow and fill the tube. He removes the elastic band and draws two more tubes of blood.