Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  "I'm sorry," he says simply. No muss, no fuss. And when he moves to walk away, I surprise myself by stopping him.

  "Kenzo?" His footsteps stop, and I turn around to look at him. I was hoping to see his suffering, but now that I can see how broken he is, I realize that I never wanted this. "Why did you do it? Why did you tell them?"

  "They already knew," he answers after a pause. "They have cameras in the garden. They have cameras everywhere. Not a single corner of this place isn't watched." His eyes go up to the dim corner of the closet, and I follow his gaze to see a small black square.

  "They're watching us right now?" I ask, aghast. Thin tendrils of a new kind of fear are snaking across my skin.

  "They are."

  "And who are 'they' exactly," I ask bitterly.

  Kenzo answers me with silence. Not that I was really expecting an answer, but I had to try. I stare up at the small camera and start to imagine who is on the other side of it. Do they have their hand on a button, ready to call in the enforcers to kill me at any second? Or Kenzo?

  I gasp. "Will you get in trouble for telling me this?" I whip back around to look at him. "Kenzo, I don't want to lose you too." As I say the words, I realize they are true. Over the past year, Kenzo has grown to mean more to me than I would have ever imagined possible.

  He shakes his head sadly. "Telling you this is part of my orders. They want you to fall in line, and they believe knowing you're out of options will give you a nudge in the right direction." Kenzo looks down at the floor.

  "But... if they knew I showed Elyse the garden, then why didn't they kill me? Why not me instead of her?" I try to swallow around my dry throat, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. "Why not kill us both?"

  "You're useful."

  "That's it?" I spit at him. "Useful how?"

  Kenzo shrugs. "You're good with your hands. You're smart and quick. Replacing you would mean having to train someone new in the garage, and… the population is small enough as it is."

  He won't meet my eyes. "That's all?"

  He nods, but it feels as if it's in resignation. "That's not all." Kenzo takes a step towards me, and when he finally looks up from the floor, he raises his hand to trail gently along my cheek. "You're useful for keeping me in line."

  A breath catches in my throat as he leans closer still, our bodies almost touching. He brushes his lips gently against mine, barely making contact, before turning and walking swiftly from the room. I don't have time to stop him this time.

  I have so many emotions warring inside of myself, and I stand by, almost a spectator, to see which emotion will win. The guilt of Elyse's death is slowly being pushed aside, which causes a fresh wave of remorse. A second layer of guilt surfaces when I think of Kenzo's lips on mine. For a brief moment I had thought about kissing him back, which leads to me wondering about his offer of marriage; it would alleviate the suspicion and danger that "they" have dangling over my head, a constant fear. But what about Trey? I mean, in theory he could be dead, but what if he isn't? This may be an opportunity to start fresh.

  Regardless of my inner war zone of feelings, one by one they are all pushed down, filed away for later self-flagellation. For now? The fire is starting to burn again, hotter still, until it's a blazing inferno. I look down and am surprised to see my skin isn't scorched.

  This is it. This is the moment when things change. When I finally put my foot down. The moment when I fight back. I may not be looking at the camera, but I can feel it staring down at me. I force my body to relax, look dejected. I pull some sheets over the cot and turn off the light. I don’t want anyone to witness my rage.

  12

  Lori

  My dad’s plan is simple enough, in theory. All we have to do is walk out the door. If only it were so easy.

  First, there are the guards. We’ve been told time and time again that the guards are there for our safety, but in reality, this is nothing more than a prison, and they, our captors. In all our years here, I’ve seen no evidence that they are here to protect us. It's more like we are their playthings, their reward for obeying and following orders.

  The second problem is the sun. It’s hot. Like, jump into an erupting volcano, skin melted from your bones, kind of hot. I’m exaggerating. Probably. See, I’ve never actually been out there since someone first turned up the heat. Mom's position got us all first-class tickets to this luxury resort, complete with a lifetime supply of scrubs. I think back to the burned bodies I've seen in the hospital, of that boy, Dan, Trey brought back from their supply run. It's obvious that leaving the supposed safety of our compound comes with risks.

  We've all heard the stories that the scavengers tell, whispered secrets that we all feel privileged to hear. Now that I know that we've been watched the entire time, I can't help but wonder if keeping us afraid of the outside wasn't just part of the plan. If we're afraid to leave, then we'll be more grateful for the absolute shit standards we've been subjected to so far. I feel like there's a parable in here somewhere, something about biting the hand that feeds... or something equally oversimplified. I guess we'll just have to make sure we're well-equipped with everything we could possibly need. Like, sunscreen and parasols or some shit.

  This leads me to our biggest hurdle. Supplies. As soon as the decision was made, we started hoarding supplies, waiting for this day. We have a small stash of food, spare clothing. But most importantly, we have water. It wasn't easy. With the cameras watching our every move, we've been moving supplies using stealth and misdirection. We weren't even able to speak out loud to each other about our intentions. We communicate using notes scribbled on scraps of paper, pages torn from books, or old reports from the hospital. Kenzo isn't part of our plan, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't know what we're up to. He leaves sheets of paper and pencils out on his desk and then leaves the room, turning his dark eyes pointedly to me. I want to believe that he's turning a blind eye, but I remind myself that he snitched on Elyse. He knowingly had a hand in her death. Doesn't exactly warm the cockles of my cold heart.

  I drag my ass out of bed, another day just like every other, and make my way to the cafeteria, placing myself in the middle of the queue. I've made a special effort to look as cowed as possible. I keep my face limp, my shoulders sagging. I keep my head down when I pass the guards. I say nothing when they "accidentally" brush their hands across my body. I avoid the bolder of the guards, the ones who would actually take it too far, because I'm not sure I can act my way through something like that.

  I take my tray and sit at a table in the middle of the room. Across the space, I see my father. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a barely perceptible nod. He rises silently and his tray gives a clatter as he drops it on the stack on his way out. I know what the nod means. I search out Brent, and when he looks up, a heavy weight seems to press us both deeper into our chairs. It’s time.

  Brent pushes out of his seat and staggers by my table on his way out of the cafeteria. He appears casual, but I know better. I can see the tense set to his shoulders. The heavy grip on his tray. The bead of sweat running down his neck.

  Right about now, Dad will be making his way to the kitchen, where we have found an ally. Lamar agreed to hide some food at the back of the cooler, in an old pickle barrel. It cost us a month’s battery ration.

  Brent’s probably already on his way to the laundry, which was his assignment. Though not a willing ally, Tilly is especially enamored with my brother’s dimples. Brent has been sneaking into the laundry under the pretense of visiting Tilly. Meanwhile, he’s been adding extra layers of clothing on his way out.

  My job is obviously transportation. I finish my meal, not too fast, and head for the garage. All our plans hinge on me being able to go unnoticed. It’s a struggle, keeping one eye over my shoulder while trying not to look suspicious. I have to find just the right balance of comfortable, with a touch of submissive. I relax into a swagger, but it feels too obvious, so I hunch my shoulders a little and clutch my hands together. The g
uards I pass don’t even glance in my direction. Who would suspect little old me?

  When I turn the last corner, the garage is straight ahead, draped in shadows. It's late enough in the day so that the sun has already risen above the skyline. All scavenging is on hold until the late afternoon. Instinct tells me to run, but I have nowhere left to hide. I should get out of here while I have the chance, but instead I square my shoulders and walk in like I own the place. My heart beats wildly, sweat dripping down my back, soaking into my coveralls. My rubber-soled shoes give a squeak on the linoleum, and I resist the urge to duck and hide, like a cockroach when the lights turn on.

  I stick my head into the little storage room at the back and call out, startling Jose. “Hey! Big boss is looking for you.”

  Jose gives a leap, banging his head on the shelf above him. “Dammit, Lori!” He rubs the back of his head with a calloused hand. He looks tired, and I’m sure it’s mirrored in my own expression. Minus the mind-numbing terror I feel, of course. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  I manage what I hope is a casual shrug. “You know Magnus. I don’t rank high enough to matter.”

  “If only he knew your true value.” Jose winks, and it’s entirely different from when the lecherous guards wink, more ‘caring grandfather’ than ‘gross pervert.’ A pang of guilt stabs through me, knowing that I’m betraying my mentor. For years, Jose has been more than just a boss, or even a friend. He's been family. He has taught me everything he knows about mechanical maintenance, and together, we’ve been keeping these vehicles on the road. It’s not always an easy job; sometimes we have to get a little creative with replacement parts. It’s not like we can just run down to the local store and buy the parts we need.

  If I had only asked Jose for his help, I don’t doubt that he would have given it. But he has a wife and daughter, and that’s exactly why I have to get him out of the garage, far away from any blame. He needs this job, or their worth in the compound would plummet. For his family’s sake. If the government decides he can’t be trusted, he would end up being a liability... just like Elyse.

  I can’t help but wonder… what makes me think that we’ll make it out there? Do I really want to do this? My eyes trail the defeated slump of Jose’s shoulders as he leaves the garage. He’s doing this for his family, just like the rest of us. But ever since Mom died, my family and I have nothing left to tether us here.

  I take a moment. Just one beat. Two. And then I fly into action, a new sense of urgency in my limbs. I need to get out of here. No more being contained. No more rules and the punishments for breaking them. No more fear tactics, poor hygiene, and starvation. From here on out, it’s all freedom, all the time. It’s unknown destinations and certain death! Right on!

  First things first, I “accidentally” move a ladder in front of the camera in the corner. It would be a quick end to our shenanigans if security is tipped off too early.

  I wish I had access to military vehicles, but they've all been lost with the missing scavenger parties. We still have a collection of vans and sedans, rigged to withstand short restocking trips. My eyes scan the vehicles in the garage. I don’t have the time or space to rearrange them, so we have to take the closest one to the doors.

  Shit. The ‘67 Chevy Impala they just brought in. You can tell it used to be a beautiful car in its glory days. Now? Not so much. Its body is rusted through, so that it more closely resembles swiss cheese than an apocalypse vehicle. We won’t get far in that thing. But… the vehicle right behind it is a massive truck, with high suspension and reinforced grill. The windows are so heavily tinted that I can’t even see the interior. It was a recent find. The scavengers brought it back, and they looked so damn proud of themselves. I guess they let it get to their head, because they all went missing the very next trip out. The tinted windows should hopefully be enough to filter out the sun, since I haven’t had a chance to add the steel panels over the windows. We haven't really had a chance to test it yet, especially with the sun directly above, but I guess now is as good a time as any. Right?

  My eyes dart back and forth between the vehicles. Hmmm… are you thinking what I’m thinking? If you're thinking about how truck beats rusty Impala in a game of chicken, then great minds clearly do think alike.

  I quickly grab a hand cart and start loading up the flat bed with everything we could possibly need: fuel drums, oil, spare parts. While loading, I try to envision Jose’s progress across the compound, ticking down the minutes. By now, he’s probably past food storage and is rounding towards the office district. When he reaches Magnus’s office, Magnus won’t be there, because Dad will have called him to the other end of the compound for some made-up excuse. Jose and Magnus will eventually find each other, put two and two together, and realize that we needed Jose out of the garage for a reason.

  Brent casually saunters into the room with a laundry bag slung over his shoulder, just as I’m loading the last of our gear. His hair is mussed, and his lips are red and swollen. I pause long enough to give him a look, eyebrows raised. “I take it Tilly was glad to see you today?”

  Brent at least has the decency to blush. “What can I say? I had to give her a proper goodbye, right?”

  “Alright, Romeo. Throw that bag on top. We’re running out of time.” I hop down from the flatbed and run over to the Impala. I throw it into neutral; I’m going to need it to move easily when I push it. Then I grab the truck’s key from the lock box. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat when the alarm sounds.

  I guess that's our cue.

  Except Dad isn’t here yet. I grip the steering wheel, knuckles blanching. For the first time, I really don’t know what to do. Dad told us to leave without him, if that’s what it came down to, but now that we’re here… I don’t think I can do it. I can feel Brent fidgeting on the bench beside me. He’s looking at me, expectantly. Even though he’s older than me by two years, he seems to be waiting for my words of wisdom. Fantastic. Somebody get me a shovel, I need to dig us a hole.

  “Shit!” I slam my hands into the steering wheel, bruising my palms. “Okay,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “Raise the garage door.” Brent’s hands are shaking as he fumbles with his door handle. He jumps down from the truck and slides around the rusted Impala.

  Brent’s shoulders are hunched, his body rigid. Why isn’t he opening the door? He turns back to me, and I can barely hear his voice over the blaring alarm. “It’s locked!”

  “Double shit!” I kick open the truck door and jump down, racing over to the lock box. The klaxon sounding, my heart pounding, I imagine I can hear the stomping of soldiers’ feet as they close in on us. I’m faced with dozens of keys; which one, which one… I grab a handful, but they slip through my fingers, slick with sweat.

  I growl with frustration but scoop the keys from the floor and dash back across the garage to the sliding door. Sure enough, it’s held closed by a small padlock. Just one small lock is all that’s standing between us and freedom. Brent and I shuffle through the keys. “There! That one!” He pulls out a small brass key. His hands are shaking so badly that it’s hard to fit the key in the lock.

  For one brief moment, time is frozen. I can see it all laid out before me. The key won’t fit. We’ll be trapped in this garage as the soldiers swarm in, guns drawn. If we’re lucky, they’ll shoot us. It would be a quick death, a noble death in the fight for freedom. But I know better. They won’t shoot. They’ll drag us away and lock us in that room, the one we’ve heard so much about. The one with the skylight. And then…

  My nightmare is interrupted by the lock popping open. Brent turns his triumphant eyes to me, and together, we haul the sliding door up to the ceiling.

  I gasp. It’s like opening the door of the oven, a blast of superheated air, except it’s too bright! I've caught glimpses of dawn and dusk when the crews come in, but it's been years since I've been anywhere near the sun's full strength. All this time I tried to imagine what it would look like, but I couldn’t have been further from rea
lity. It’s blinding! And as I turn back to the garage, I can see nothing but the glare of the sun still burned into my eyes. I reach out and clasp onto Brent’s shirt. His hand closes over mine, and together, we stumble back into the garage, hands outstretched so we don’t trip.

  Slowly, in shades of orange and red, our eyes adjust. We climb back into the truck, but I can’t bring myself to turn the key. The alarm has been going off for minutes, but still no soldiers. What does that mean?

  “Lori?” I can’t look at Brent. I can’t see his face, with eyes so much like our father’s. “We have to go, Lori.” I know he’s right. I know Dad’s lost to us now. He did what he had to do to stall them, to give us this chance.

  “Okay.” My voice cracks, but it’s lost beneath the rumble of the truck’s engine as I crank the key. “Okay,” I say again. I wipe my tears away from my cheeks and take a shuddering breath. This is it. “You’d better buckle up. The ride’s about to get a little rough.”

  “Do you even know how to drive?” Brent asks in a small voice.

  “Sure,” I say with as much false bravado I can dredge up. I hope he doesn’t hear me as I mutter, “In theory.” He has every reason to be concerned. It’s not like we’re given lessons on how to use vehicles that most of our population will never lay eyes on again. Lucky for us, Jose has had me moving the trucks around the garage for years. I have to say, I’m a little excited to go faster than five miles per hour.

  I throw the car into gear. And as I’m about to ram the truck into the Impala, the alarm cuts off, plunging the garage into an unsettling silence. The garage lights go out. Someone has cut the power.