Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  “No need, child.” He reaches out and gives my hand a pat. “You remind me a bit of her. You have that same spark.”

  And with that, we sit in a circle, severely overdressed and surrounded by a long-dead era, listening to musak and eating food that resembles melted traffic cones. Which may or may not taste really, damn good.

  Never have I slept so well in my life. At least, until I’m woken up just before dawn. I open my eyes in the grey light, and it takes me way too long to figure out where the hell I am. The mattress is too soft to be my cot, and the blankets too thick. For a brief moment, I’m even disoriented enough to miss my threadbare sheets and paper-thin pillow. But then I remember where I am, nestled into a mattress priced at $229.99, and hunker back down into the fog of sleep, intent on appreciating this bed for as long as possible. Not even the scratchy fabric of my coveralls—a better choice of sleeping attire than the sequined dress—can dampen this bliss.

  Just as I’m about to drift back under, I’m jerked out of sleep by a soft murmuring. I’m instantly alert, my heart hammering under my ribs. I hold my breath and strain my ears in the dark. My body is tense. I reach one hand out and close it around the closest weapon. Obviously, it’s a lamp.

  I hear it again, but this time it’s clearly someone speaking. At first I think it must be Dad and Bob, still up talking, but when an unfamiliar voice joins in, I freeze. It’s high-pitched and nasal, but muffled so I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t sound overly menacing or anything, but something drives me to pull back the blankets and tiptoe out of bed.

  One voice is clearly Bob; I would recognize his southern twang anywhere. The other voice, however, is more feminine; higher, with a softer accent, and rounded edges. The voices are coming from somewhere in the maze of furniture. The bedroom area, basically just a few mattresses pushed into the corner, is draped off with some spare sheets, giving it an air of privacy.

  Now that I’m out of bed, I can clearly see Dad and Brent, two lumps under another comforter. Their soft breaths are faint and even. Bob’s bed is empty, and it doesn’t even look slept in.

  The floor changes from a well-worn carpet to the higher-traffic linoleum, and I suck in a breath. Damn, it’s cold on the toes! I sneak a peek around the privacy sheet. Bob is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a faint electric light coming from deeper into the department store. The warm light leaves a glow against the ceiling tiles far above, and draws me forward, as surely as a moth to the flame.

  Hopefully I’m not about to get burned.

  I slip silently through the aisles. Or, at least I hope I’m silent. I’m a little behind on my ninja training. At least the two voices are loud enough that they’re drowning out my furtive footsteps. The closer I get, the more words I can make out. And the more obvious it is that I made the right decision. Something isn’t kosher with this whole situation.

  I prop myself against a black shelving unit and hunker down for some good, old-fashioned eavesdropping.

  First, Bob: “What are we going to do with them?” Uhhh… maybe he doesn’t mean us?

  The unknown woman says, “You never should have saved them in the first place. You know that, right?” I do NOT know this.

  “We could just invite them to stay? We have plenty of food, solid walls, and a roof over our heads. Safety in numbers?” Yes, let’s listen to Bob. Bob is wise.

  “You’ve known them for a few hours, and all of a sudden you want to share your life with them? You can’t trust them! They will kill you, just to take what you have. This world is far more brutal than you will ever know. If you had spent as much time outside as I have, you would know. It’s kill or be killed.” I wish she didn’t sound so damn convincing. And I wish I could say something to refute her words, but from what we've seen out there, she's not wrong.

  I’m a little concerned by how long Bob’s contemplative silence is. He is actually considering her words. Not a good sign.

  I step back, silently, edging back towards the bedroom. Now that these two villains aren’t discussing our ultimate demise, it’s too quiet for my not-so-ninja moves. My coveralls rustle as I brush against a chair, and Bob calls out, "Who's there?" He’s on to me! In my panic, I take a quick leap, trip over an electric cable, and take down two nearby lamps with a smash.

  So graceful.

  Suddenly, there are shouts, stocking-feet slipping and sliding from all directions, and then I’m surrounded. Dad is instantly by my side. “Are you alright, Lori?” He waves his hands over my body like he's trying to check me for injuries.

  Since I’m fairly certain that he doesn't have magic X-ray hands, I assure him, “I’m fine, Dad. I just tripped.”

  Dad and Brent carefully pull me up, but when Bob offers a hand, I shy away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

  Confused looks all around. “Lori,” Brent says, “are you sure you’re okay? It’s just Bob.”

  “Except it’s NOT just Bob!” I shout, probably a little louder than necessary. “He’s got some crazy lady behind that sheet over there, and they’re plotting our deaths!”

  Now that the words are out of my mouth, I realize how insane they actually sound.

  Dad, bless his heart, takes in my panicked state, and without hesitation or dramatic sigh, walks over behind Bob, who is looking decidedly shifty. “This sheet?”

  I give a weak nod. Dad whips off the sheet with a flourish, and we all gape at… nothing. A big, fat empty space. That’s it. Honestly, I’m not surprised to find that the room behind the sheet is actually empty. I mean, ideally, the woman could have been standing there with her hands in the air, ready to confess. But since when does anything work out in my favor?

  "Maybe she slipped out the back?" I offer weakly.

  Dad goes so far as to check under a desk in the middle of the curtained area, but he just shakes his head. Nothing.

  I look at Bob, accusingly. "Where is she?" I bark.

  "I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about, Lori. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" He molds his face into an innocent expression, all wide eyes and gentle smile.

  I know what I heard, there's no way I was dreaming.

  Dad puts his arm around my shoulder and gently coaxes me back towards the bedroom. "It's totally natural to have nightmares after the day we had. Let's just go back to bed. You'll feel clearer in the morning."

  Oh, I'll be clear, all right. Crystal.

  I look back at Bob as we walk away, and he narrows his eyes at me. Yeah, I'm not going back to sleep tonight.

  19

  Lori

  It’s early; the sun has barely crested the horizon and is still shadowed by the buildings surrounding us. The air retains a muted crispness to it that I know will quickly get stomped out by the overwhelming afternoon heat. Best to enjoy it while it lasts.

  And what better way to enjoy it than with sleeping. I mean, I know I had good intentions for staying awake and alert, but I didn’t exactly get the best sleep last night, interrupted as it was. And after the whole mysterious disappearing woman incident, I did my best to stay on guard but kept dozing off in my chair and then jolting awake, imagining Bob was lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Or even worse, that the woman was still hiding in here somewhere, watching me.

  I crawl back under the covers of my borrowed bed, and instantly feel the pull of sleep. Until Bob comes in. Even with my eyes closed, it’s hard to miss him. He wears his cologne like his clothes, in too many layers. The result is an offense to my nostrils.

  “What do you want, Bob?” I ask. No point in feigning sleep.

  He lingers awkwardly over by the makeshift doorway, which is nothing more than a slit between sheets. “I was just wondering… No, never mind, you’re trying to sleep. I’ll leave you be.”

  “Seriously?” I bark at him, flipping over for maximum glare. “I was trying to sleep in the middle of the night too, but that didn't seem to stop you from secretly plotting my death. By all means, please disturb me.” The thing I’ve noticed about Bob
is that sarcasm is lost on him. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.

  “I don’t really want you dead,” Bob mumbles, staring glumly at his feet.

  “What was that?” I shout.

  Bob heaves one of his trademark sighs, as though apologizing to me is somehow my fault. “I’m sorry, okay? You weren’t meant to hear any of that.”

  “Wow. That was the single most pathetic apology I’ve ever heard.” I wait, hoping that maybe Bob will offer up a more genuine attempt.

  Nope. He just stares at me while I stare back.

  Okay, now this pause is just getting long and awkward.

  Although he isn't about to apologize any further, he does come forward to sit on the edge of my bed. He lowers himself onto the corner of the mattress with as much grace as an under-socialized, overdressed hermit can muster. It's odd to see Bob restrain himself when it comes to speaking. Since we arrived yesterday, he's done nothing but talk nonstop. Now he seems to be bursting at the seams with words unspoken. I sit up against the headboard, ready to accept confession. “So, I’ve decided that I’m willing to accept your lame apology if you tell me who that woman was.”

  Bob freezes. “The woman?” His voice comes out in a squeak; not suspicious at all. “She’s no one important. Just passing through.”

  His reassurance does not reassure. “Uh huh.”

  “Look," Bob leans forward to whisper, "can you just tell me one thing? This woman, she's never willing to tell me anything, and I have questions, dammit!”

  “It depends what you want to know, I guess," I say with a shrug, pushing back against the headboard in an attempt to distance myself from Bob's offensive odor. "To be honest, I’m not really the person with all the answers. I mean, I like to pretend that I know everything, but really, I’m a low-level nobody. It’s my dad you should be talking to.”

  But Bob is already shaking his head. “No, this isn’t classified military stuff, just… I was wondering if you had seen my daughter out there.”

  “Carrie?” I guess, thinking back to our conversation last night.

  “Kelly. I keep praying that she’ll come back to me, but it’s been so long… I’ve started to doubt.” He’s fidgeting and shuffling, and I rest a hand against his arm to stop his constant motion. He bends his knee up with great difficulty so he can swivel around to look at me. “I haven’t seen anyone around here in months, and I was starting to believe that maybe I was the last one."

  "But we're not the last ones, Bob. What about the woman you were talking to?"

  "Huh? Oh, she doesn't count," he says, flapping his hands around to wave my question away. "Like I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted," —cue my barely restrained eye roll— "I found myself wondering, if I was the last one left, then why continue on with it, you know what I’m sayin’? And I was sittin’ there, considering the end, and I look up… and there you were!”

  “Wait a second… where were we?” Something niggles at the back of my brain.

  “Like a sign from God!” He ignores my interruption and lifts his arms up towards the heavens, a look of intoxication crossing his face.

  “Yeah. Sure. Sign from God. But where were we when you received this blessed message?” I lean forward and snag his sleeve.

  Bob gives a start, and his eyes come back into focus. “Huh? Oh, you were across the alley at that hotel next door.”

  Uh, this can’t be good. There’s this rational part of my brain telling me to get out of there, to find Dad and Brent. I really should learn to listen to that smart version of me. But the problem with that half of my personality is that it lives right next door to the part of me that’s tired of being a pushover. And the stupid, reckless part of me is about to start pushing back.

  “Bob,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Did you happen to see someone else out there? Say, someone with a gun?”

  Bob looks confused, which isn’t making me feel any better. He just shakes his head. “No, it was just me and the three of you. Why?”

  “Wellllllll… someone shot at us…”

  “Oh, yeah. That was me,” he says with a bob of his head.

  I’m stunned. I really expected him to deny it, but he’s so matter-of-fact. And not fazed at all.

  “And why were you trying to kill, uh, God’s messengers?” I try not to wince. I'm trying to play along with his delusion, but it's almost physically painful.

  Now Bob’s smiling, still shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, silly girl. I was trying to direct you, guide you. Trying to show you the way!” His wide grin doesn’t hold a single ounce of malice, which sets me alarmingly at ease.

  I settle back into my pillows. “Alright, Bob. So, what you’re saying is that you don’t mean us any harm, regardless of what that woman said?”

  “That’s right! Because I know in my heart that you’re going to lead me to my Kelly.” And with that, Bob gets up from the bed and leaves the room. He looks back once, giving me a friendly neighborhood nod, before disappearing between the sheets once more.

  I don’t even know where to start. I want to be able to trust Bob, even though logic says he’s a nut. But maybe I’m just trying to trust him because I’m so ridiculously tired, and it’s the only way I can feel safe when I close my eyes.

  Safe or not, I drift off to sleep as the sun rises once again.

  I don’t think I can ever get used to the glare. I know that I lived outside for my entire childhood, but it's been overshadowed by the time spent in the compound. Pun intended. And now that we're out here, it’s just… So. Damn. Bright. Like, sunburn on your eyeballs. It doesn't at all feel like the homecoming I had hoped it would be.

  I’m sitting on the windowsill on the north side of the building, still largely shaded. I peek around the particleboard slab used as a barricade during the day, watching the world do pretty much nothing. I reach a single finger out and touch the window with my fingertip. It's like touching the door of the oven. Or maybe a frying pan; not hot enough to blister the skin, but enough to have me pulling my hand back with a gasp.

  I give a half-groan, half-sigh. No sign of the monsters from last night, which is good. Also no sign of any scavengers from the compound, though I'm not sure if that's good news or not. After what Bob said, I guess I don't need to be watching out for any gun-toting rogue survivors anymore. Dammit, I’m so bored, I would almost welcome a bit of excitement and danger. Bob tried to coax me into playing parcheesi with him, but that almost seemed worse. I left Brent in Bob’s “workout room” which is basically a mishmash of exercise equipment, none of which I know how to use. There are lots of pulleys and handles, and I had to stifle a giggle while watching Brent’s bodily contortions while he tried to figure it all out.

  I have no doubt that he will injure himself. Well deserved.

  Dad shuffles over, all fake-casual, to come and sit down beside me on the narrow ledge. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I respond.

  “Can we talk?”

  Oh god. Here we go. “Isn’t that what we’re already doing?”

  Dad sighs, but he continues as if I weren’t being a smart-ass. “Lori, I’m a little worried about something… but honestly, I don’t even know how to bring it up.” His breath comes out in a huff, and his whole face pulls down with his frown.

  “Geez, Dad. How bad could it be?” But already my brain is working double-time. Have I done something wrong? Does he think it’s me that’s crazy, instead of Bob? Or maybe it’s just the plain everyday survival stuff that’s stressing him out. It’s just that we could have died a few times over, and we’ve only been outside the compound for two days. Maybe it’s time to go home…

  “Lori? What are we going to do about… boys…?”

  Huh?

  Dad takes in my blank stare and tries again. “I mean, there’s going to come a day when you’re older, and maybe you want to start a family…”

  “Oh my god, Dad. Are we really have a birds-and-bees tal
k right now? You have noticed I’m already an adult, right?”

  His face goes red like a sunburn, and I swear he’s sweating. Too cute. But not cute enough to convince me to take part in this conversation. “It’s okay, Dad. Let me save you the embarrassment and just assure you that I already know everything I need to know.”

  Dad doesn’t crack a smile. He just gives a slow nod, but he’s still looking at the floor. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. “It’s not so much the mechanics of it that I wanted to talk to you about. It’s… more about the fact that there isn’t anyone out here for you.” His eyes start to tear up. “I was never a fan of Trey's, I didn't disguise how I felt, but he was still better than nothing.”

  My guts give a twist at the mention of Trey, and I grip onto the windowsill, digging my nails into the old wood frame. Dad doesn’t seem to see my stress, he just keeps talking. “I’m so sorry, Lori. I didn’t even give it a thought. I don’t know what I expected to find out here, but I just assumed there would be… something. More than this,” he says, sweeping his arm at the barren streets below. “Instead of thinking things through, I acted rashly. And now I’ve taken away any chance for a future that you may have had back at the compound.”

  “Future?” I can’t help the bite to my words. “What kind of future did you expect me to have stuck in that place?! It would have been a life of constant longing; for better food, for a better bed. Hell, for basic human rights! Any decisions I would have made for my future would have felt more like settling, no matter how you sliced it.” My pulse is racing as I think of all of the mistreatment I had witnessed. Of what I had experienced. I may not have had to bear the brunt of it, since my parents were integral to their work, but I had seen horrible things, and been powerless to stop it. “That wasn’t living, Dad. It was surviving, and barely that. Besides, Trey was already gone, so that potential future didn’t even matter.”

  He finally looks up at me, his eyes glassy. “What about that doctor? I thought there was something going on between you two.”