Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  Jose shrugs awkwardly, and Ellis leans in even closer and whispers conspiratorially, “I work in the lab. You’ve heard of the lab, right?”

  Jose looks like a cornered rat, eyes searching for a way out.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything, I’ve heard the rumors. But I’ll let you in on a secret…” I put my ear closer to the speaker to hear him say, “The rumors are all true.” Ellis finally moves out of Jose’s personal space, his chair creaking beneath his weight as he pushes it back to balance on the back legs. “So… you’ve heard about the experiments, yes?” Jose gives a wracking shudder. “Well, one of my jobs is to come up with test subjects, but I seem to be coming up a little short lately. You don’t know anyone who’d be interested in volunteering… do you?”

  Ellis brings his chair down with a loud SLAM! Jose’s butt leaves the chair with how high he jumps, but Ellis doesn’t even blink. He’s up and out of his chair, making his way to the door. “Let me know if you can think of anything I might need to know about the Fishers, would you? Or anyone else who’s not happy with their current living situation? I’m sure we can find some new accommodations for them.” And just when I think the interrogation is over, Ellis mutters under his breath on his way out, “I wonder what the virus would do to a child…”

  The threat is clear. For Jose, and for me.

  Inside the room, Jose is left staring down at his hands, and Ellis sidles up to me to watch his handiwork play out.

  “Don’t you think that’s maybe going a bit too far?” I ask him bitterly.

  “It’s not me who’s issuing the threats. You get that, right?” When he turns to me, I see a twinge of guilt behind his emotionless exterior. He’s wordlessly begging for me to understand, to forgive and forget.

  I’m just not sure who it is I’m supposed to forgive.

  Ellis turns away, but before he does, he whispers, “Be careful. I can’t protect you if they find out you helped with the Fishers’ escape.”

  I can’t stop the scoff before it pushes its way past my lips. “Are you joking? Now that Lori’s gone, they don’t have anyone close to me left to threaten. They’re the ones who need to be careful. I might be struck down with a sudden case of altruism.”

  “Why do you think we’ve moved on to threatening kids?”

  14

  Lori

  “There!” Brent’s voice breaks into my daze. The sun is so bright I’m slowly going blind from it, and the gentle rocking of the car over the pitted pavement is lulling me to sleep. The pain across my neck has settled into a dull ache, so even that can’t keep me awake.

  “What? Where?” I jerk my head up, but there isn’t much to see. I follow Brent’s pointed finger to a strip of pavement running off the road under a tattered overhang. I jerk the wheel to the right, and the car goes careening over the curb before I can direct it into the driveway. I may be a whiz at fixing up cars, but the theory of it is a far cry from reality.

  The car jerks again as I narrowly miss the wall of the building and slam on the brakes. We are literally six inches from the front door, but at least the right side of the vehicle is safely under the shaded awning.

  “Shit, Lori. Why didn’t you just save us the trouble of opening the front door and just drive straight through?” Brent groans with muted sarcasm.

  “Let’s see you do better, smartass.” I give Brent a punch on the arm, and instantly regret it, seeing him wince and cradle his burned arm closer to his body. “Sorry, bro.”

  “It’s all good. Let’s just get Dad inside.” I back the truck up enough to give us access to the front doors, which have been boarded over with slabs of plywood, long weathered. The large windows on either side of the doors have also been covered, and though it's clear that it was done years ago, it appears to be solid. Brent carefully puts one of Dad’s arms around his shoulder, and I slide across the bench seat to help from within. Dad gives a little groan, lifting his head. His eyes open and he makes an effort to walk, but he doesn’t have much to say. I could really use some words of encouragement here. I’m in uncharted territory.

  Supporting Dad between us, we stagger as I kick the door open. I know that sounds really impressive, and I would love to tell you that I’m totally badass enough to kick down a door. But I promise it wasn’t cool. And it certainly wasn’t graceful. With a clatter, the door’s rusted hinges give way, and I promptly fall onto my ass.

  After picking myself up from the ground, I push the door open the rest of the way. It’s nearly impossible to see anything in the dim interior. It’s surprising that for so long we lived in the dank gloom of the compound. For so long this was normal. But I’ll never be able to live in the shadows again. My eyes have been opened.

  The three of us hobble into a cavernous space. I can’t even see the ceiling, but I can tell its size by the echo of my voice. “Hello?” I don’t really expect an answer; I just want to hear my own voice repeated back at me. My voice sounds weaker and weaker with each rebound, and it feels foreboding. Something skitters in the dark. Probably a squirrel or rat.

  Dust motes float through the shaft of light coming in through the busted doorway, and I can’t help but wonder how long this dust has rested here, undisturbed. Even I resent our presence. We don’t belong here.

  Something crunches underfoot. I lift up my foot and see something that looks like broken glass. As I bend down to inspect it, the light catches more shards of glass scattered across the floor. Ahead of us, a twisted frame of metal appears through the gloom.

  “What is it?” Brent asks.

  Before I have a chance to guess, Dad speaks up. “It’s a chandelier.” The word sparks a distant memory.

  See how they spin?

  Mom and I at the ballet, to see The Nutcracker. I remember the foyer was lit up like a Christmas tree, all twinkling lights and tinsel. The chandelier hung from the ceiling, larger than life, refracting the glistening light.

  I look back down at the heap of glass fragments, and my beautiful memory evaporates. “Come on,” I say hollowly. “Let’s find somewhere to get settled. We’ll get some rest and see what we can find. Tend to these wounds.”

  Dad and Brent neither agree, nor disagree. They just follow. On the other side of the front hall is a flowing staircase, rising up into the gloom. With nowhere to go but up, we pull ourselves up the stairs. The stairs must have been glorious, once upon a time. There's carpet beneath our feet, no longer plush, but instead moth-eaten and disintegrating. Dad’s trying his best, but he keeps tripping and needs to take frequent breaks. By the time we reach the second floor, too much time has passed and we’re out of breath.

  “Where to now, oh fearless leader?” Brent’s trying to keep it light, but his voice carries so much weight.

  Directly in front of us is a bank of elevators, dead along with the electricity. One of the doors is open, but there's no elevator, just the shaft, leaving a gaping maw into the bowels of the building. “Well, it looks like we’re not going up. So I guess that leaves left… or right…” We look back and forth between the two directions, identical hallways mirroring each other. If I had a coin to flip, I would. With a shrug, I randomly move left.

  What appeared pitch black from the stairwell is actually a mild shade of misty grey. There is a small line of diffused light drifting from beneath doors, giving us just enough to make our way down the hall.

  Brent voices my own question before I can ask it. “Which door do we pick?”

  “Eenie meenie miney moe?” I’m clearly running on fumes here. I couldn't care less. I grab the closest doorknob.

  “Wait!” Dad calls. Too late.

  I swing the door open before I can register how hot the doorknob is and get blasted by a wave of blistering heat. The brilliant sunlight blares in from the south-facing windows. I barely jump back in time, and stumble into Dad and Brent behind me. We all stagger a few steps back from the doorway. I swear I can smell burning hair, and I look down to see my arm hair smoldering. I pat my arm d
own in case it starts a blaze. Luckily my skin came through intact.

  “Are you okay?” Dad’s hand feels cool compared to my skin.

  “Of course," I giggle through my faltering adrenaline rush. "When have I ever been anything but okay?” I flash him a weak smile.

  And now, we’re standing in front of the brightest flashlight I’ve ever seen. The entire hallway is lit up by the stream of sunlight pouring in, the extra wattage steadily warming the air by degrees. Our path down the hallway is now entirely blocked, until dark, anyway. We can’t get through without getting scalded. “What now, genius?”

  “Seriously, Brent?" I snap. "I’ve had just about enough of your shit. I never asked to be leader of this little expedition!” I give him a good hard jab to the chest. “Tag. You’re it.”

  “Um, okay?” I take satisfaction in the look of bewilderment that crosses his face. I also see the determination, and then a certain smugness. I know what’s coming. “I guess we have no choice but to go back and try the other hallway.” He gives a hard nod. Dammit, it's so obvious. Why couldn’t he have come up with a bad idea?

  “Fine.” I stride back the way we came, practically stomping, leaving him to support our dad all by himself. Don’t give me that look. I’ve come to grips with how petty I am, and it’s about time that you did too.

  I’m already back by the staircase when Brent calls me back. “Lori?” I stop and heave the biggest sigh I can manage. It echoes through the front foyer, and I know that it will be the most overly dramatic moment of my life. I take a pause to bask in its glory.

  Then I turn back and see Brent collapsing under Dad’s weight. “I’m sorry,” Dad whispers, and I know that the time for drama has passed. I jog back and drape Dad’s other arm around my shoulders.

  Together, we make our way past the elevators to the opposite hallway. This time, when we reach the doorways, I use my head. I start by reaching for the north-facing rooms, more likely to be in shade. I touch the door with the palm of my hand, feeling for heat. It’s warm, but not unbearable. I turn the knob, and… nothing. It’s locked. Seriously? It couldn’t have been the last door that was locked?

  Fine. Moving on. I try three more doors before I find one that’s already cracked open, something wedged into the doorframe. I slowly ease the door open, keeping my hand well back. Indirect light greets us, but nothing that will cause third-degree burns. We exchange glances and with a nod, agree that it’s worth the risk.

  “Wow,” I whisper. It’s the largest bedroom I’ve ever seen. It's practically the same size as our entire apartment at the compound, and almost as big as the dorms which house dozens of cots. “There’s only one bed in here!”

  Dad chuckles at my naive statement. “We didn’t always have to live in such tight quarters.”

  “Duh. I know that, Dad, I’m not stupid.” I give him a wink to soften my snarky attitude before turning back to stare at the room in awe. It’s like time has simply stopped in this room, like a held breath. Judging by the faded shades, I’m guessing the room was once red and gold. Certainly lavish, even by past standards. The bed could sleep four comfortably. The open space is large enough that I take a moment to spin around with my arms outstretched, never once touching the walls.

  Brent clears his throat behind me. “Are you finished?”

  “Almost.” I give another couple spins on my way over to them, and then help lower our dad onto the bed. The springs groan in protest, and dust rises in a cloud around us.

  “Sit up, Dad.” I try to pull him up gently and prop the pillows behind him.

  “I’m not completely infirm, you know.” He waves me away with a wince, and a thin sheen of sweat forms on his face.

  “Could’ve fooled me.” I look over at Brent who is rummaging through the drawers and cupboards. “Anything we can use?”

  “Not unless we need to read Dad his last rites,” he says, holding up a copy of the Bible.

  Dad swipes the book out of his hand. “We’re not going to need that for a good long while.” Even though he sounds so certain, I can’t help but notice how he cradles the book against his chest. He’s never been what you would call devout, but I can’t really blame him for having a momentary crisis of faith.

  Leaning closer to Dad, I take a good look at his burns. The light in this room may be brighter than the hallway, but it’s still too dim to get a good look. I need a flashlight.

  “Brent, can you run down to the truck and grab the first-aid kit under the seat? It’s a little metal box, should have some bandages and some burn ointment. Also, can you grab the flashlight in the glove box?”

  “Yeah, I think I can manage that.” I can tell he’s a little disgruntled by me taking charge again, but honestly, I can’t help myself. Bossing him around just comes naturally. Not only that, but there is no way that I’m walking back through the dark by myself. Not happening.

  As Brent leaves the room, silence settles over Dad and me. I don’t want to move and break the bubble around us. For just one moment I feel a sense of calm wash over me.

  We’re free. We actually did it.

  I try to imagine a life outside the compound. Where do we go? Anywhere we want! What will we do? Whatever we want! Whenever the hell we want!

  Dad must’ve seen the brief look of joy pass over my face because he reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

  The pet name brings a smile to my face. “You haven’t called me that since I was little.”

  He chuckles. “Well, you’re not a baby anymore. You haven't been for a long time.”

  “No. I’m not.” My childhood ended the day we walked through those reinforced doors.

  “Your mother would’ve been proud too. You’ve grown up to be so strong, just like she was.” Dad’s voice cracks.

  I don’t know how to respond. When I think of Mom, I can't help but remember her how she was in the end, wasting away in a hospital bed, with needles and tubes sticking out of her. She wasn’t strong then. The memories of her weakness have slowly obliterated the ones that matter most, of her with her hands in the soil, a smile on her face. “What are we going to do?”

  We stare into each other’s eyes, looking for impossible answers. “North. We can’t stay here, and in the north, the days will be shorter.”

  I cringe from the thought of going back outside. “Why can't we just stay here? I’m sure they won’t bother looking for us. Not for long, anyway. Their resources are stretched too thin, they can’t afford to waste them on a wild goose chase.”

  “It’s not the military we need to worry about.” Dad’s hands are white-knuckled around the Bible now, trying to squeeze some extra faith out of it. “We’re not alone out here.”

  “Do you think there could be other survivors? Maybe we can meet up with another group.” I don’t exactly want to rush into living with a bunch of potential wackos, but our supplies won’t last long.

  “No, Lori. Not survivors.” His eyes are wide, and I feel goosebumps raise along my skin. "You've heard the rumors, Lori."

  “What do you mean, Dad?” My stomach lurches. I know what he means, but I try my best to ignore it. I think about the claw I pulled from the vehicle, about how easily it had opened the steel door panel like a can opener.

  He opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by Brent’s echoing footsteps. “Dad! Lori!” The door slams open and Brent stands in the doorway, panting. “We have a problem.”

  “We have lots of problems. Whatever new problem there is, it’ll just have to get in line,” I snap at him.

  “The truck. It’s gone.”

  15

  Lori

  “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you right.” Brent may not always be the shiniest apple on the tree, but there’s no way he could’ve possibly missed the truck parked just inches from the door.

  “Gone. Like… gone.” Brent holds his hands up in the air as if to demonstrate all the empty space between them.

  Dad’s posture, wh
ich had been tight just a minute ago, is now a rubber band under too much pressure. He shoots up from the bed, stumbling. I just barely manage to brace myself against him to stop his inevitable tumble to the floor. For now, adrenaline seems to be lending him some strength.

  “We need to leave. Now,” he gasps. He grips my arm with agonizing force.

  I pat his back soothingly and find myself calming him as I would a toddler. “It’s okay, Dad. We’ll find the truck. I’m sure it can’t have gone far. Maybe I forgot to put on the parking brake? Maybe if we just look... downhill?" Trust me, it sounds ridiculous to me too.

  “Umm, Lori? I don’t think the truck’s going to be coming back.” Brent is already edging his way back out the door and down the hallway.

  “But… the truck had all our supplies. I don’t suppose the supplies are still there?” I don’t really expect them to be, but a girl has to have a little hope, right?

  And with a look, Brent stomps all over that hope. “Everything. Is. Gone.” At least I don’t have to look at his bewildered expression anymore as we move back into the dark once again.

  We race down the steps as fast as is possible while essentially supporting the weight of a 180-pound sack of potatoes. A sack of potatoes with legs made of silly putty, having a panic attack. Potatoes get anxiety, right?

  Brent’s dour news and Dad’s frantic blubbering are starting to freak me out. Is this it? Was our truck stolen by those survivors Dad was talking about? Are we just royally screwed, or what?

  Down the steps, past the chandelier, and out into the daylight. Sure enough. No truck. Huh. “I guess they didn’t have second thoughts on that truck.”