by Talis Jones
Vicinus
A Walking Shadows Novel
Talis Jones
Tri-Blood Publishing
Vicinus is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Talis Jones
www.talisjonesofficial.com
Cover copyright © 2020 Talis Jones
Cover design by StaleJive Design Collective
Map copyright © 2020 Talis Jones
Map design by Talis Jones
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 9798584054526
Tri-Blood Publishing
www.tribloodpublishing.com
Published in the United States of America.
Hebrews 11:1
Proverbs 17:17
The Walking Shadows Saga
Alarum
Solus
Vicinus
Ultio
Initus
Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part II
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part III
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Talis Jones
Thank you
Prologue
O Come, O Come Emmanuel
Harsh light of purest white sucks me back towards consciousness and with a heaving gasp my eyes snap open. No, I cry. Panic seizes me as it always does and I instinctually tug at the metal cuffs binding my wrists and ankles to the cold table I find myself reclined on. A shadow, no, a person approaches and I twist my neck to see a familiar face draw near with a gentle smile and both hands raised in gentle placation, begging me to calm down.
“Please,” he says softly. “Maddy, you’ll hurt yourself. You don’t need to be frightened. We’re friends. Friends, Maddy.”
Something tingles in the back of my brain, a forgotten, weary voice that wants to shake its head and call him a liar. But that can’t be true. He’s always there for me, always makes the pain stop. Besides, after all we’ve been through…
Slowly my limbs relax and a tiny smile curls my lips.
His grin grows brighter and its relief fills me with reassurance like the rays of a summer sun shining in the big blue sky we only catch glimpses of in the city. His hand wraps around my own, lacing our fingers together and everything in me sighs, safe.
And then the door opens.
“Hello, Maddy,” the doctor greets politely. “Are you ready to answer some questions?”
Fear prickles and yellows my veins. My eyes turn towards my personal shield pleading with him to help me.
He gently squeezes my hand and steps away. “Just answer the questions, Maddy,” he encourages.
“I did. I do,” my voice croaks, terror and frustration boldly laced within those simple words that seem to sweat from their climb up my throat.
“No, Maddy,” the doctor shakes her head. “You lie. And here at Sanctuary we need the truth.”
A tear slips out of the corner of my eye as the doctor approaches and leans down so as to stare right through my eyes and into my soul, into that tattered fragment of self that wants to rebel and spit in her face. A fragment that is quickly fading, growing weary with exhaustion and, more importantly, doubt. Would it be so bad to believe?
The doctor straightens, running her hands down the front of her white coat before tucking them behind her back. “What is your name?”
“Maddy,” I respond automatically.
“Where are you from?”
“The Rochester Alliance,” I answer just as easily. They know these things, why must they ask?
“Who are you?”
My brow furrows slightly. That tiny fragment struggles but it is so weak I hardly notice. “I’m an orphan. I was raised in a big, loving family until they were murdered in the Purge after which I was forced to hide and live on the streets.” My gaze drifts towards the hopeful face waiting in the corner. “Eventually he found me, cared for me, and brought me here to be saved.”
I don’t know why I’ve fought so hard against it. They said a neurotoxin had affected my brain and changed friends for enemies. It spun false memories in order to rewrite my perceptions of those who were there to help me. Months and months I’ve spent in a barren cell, forced to endure the doctor’s “re-education” program all while he stood beside me hoping each time that it would be the last so I could be set free and live in Sanctuary, in safety, hand in hand with him. I want that too. I want it so much it hurts and all I’d have to do is relax, pry each claw of the toxin from my brain and let it go…
“What do you want?”
My jaw clenches as a familiar rage burns in my chest. “I want to become an agent of Sanctuary. I want to get revenge on those who caused the Purge, who killed my family. I want to fight until every pin has fallen and Sanctuary can at last cleanse this nation and its neighbors of the evil rooted within.”
“How far are you willing to go to get what you want?”
I force a measured, deep breath to cycle through my lungs before responding. “I would die for it. For Sanctuary.”
The doctor nods once. “Maddy, you were brought here to be saved. Have you been saved?”
No pause shoulders its way into my answer this time. “Yes.”
Both watchful faces relax in unison, one into clinical satisfaction and the other with loving relief. My own soul settles into acceptance. This feels right. It feels good. I was saved. I am saved. I will save.
“Welcome to Sanctuary, Agent Paladin,” the doctor nods proudly. “We’re glad you’re back.”
Part One
Silver Bells
One
4 YEARS AGO
Lives lost and concrete shattered still echo in my ears as I at last allow my legs to slow from an escapee’s bolt to a survivor’s shuffle. As a group we continue our journey to the border, to freedom. I’m not sure how we’ll know it’s the border when we reach it, none of us know a thing about this world beyond what we remember from before the trials and as most of us were taken young it isn’t much.
With a twist of my stomach I realize I don’t even know most of the others’ names and that they likely don’t either. 42 knew. Dahlia, who refused to be a number, knew all of our names yet only slipped me hers as a final goodbye. Somehow she’s still 42. “Dahlia” feels like a life that no longer fit her, a life she had no interest in resurrecting, but without a new name to be chosen out here in freedom she’s entombed 42.
My stomach gives another sickening clench at the thought of the girl with dead eyes who set us all free. She murdered the guilty and innocent without thought. No, that’s not true, she thought more than any gave her credit for, she thought through every detail, every win and loss, every death and life. She thought, she
knew, and she decided.
And if she hadn’t then I’d be dead or tortured right now, I remind myself. The memory of her delicate face staring into mine as our prison bid this world farewell and she abandoned us to take her own path rises up. Only God knows what path that could be.
We walk in tattered clothes smeared from sleep found on the ground. We walk with the rising sun our only guide. The buzzing of thoughts and intentions is a maddening hum in the back of my skull and it grows ever stronger the louder our stomachs rumble. Did 42 only set us free to suffer a slower death?
“I’m starving,” one of the boys moans with one hand clutching his middle. “It’s like a knife stabbing me with every step.”
With a sigh I stop, throw my head back, and I pray. “Amen, Amen, Amen,” I whisper reverently. Faith is the only thing my mother could give me that they could not take away, illegal or not.
The others collect around me, slowing like a stagnant stream. “We need names,” I decide. Their faces turn puzzled surely assuming I would put food higher on the list of priorities. “Everyone has a name and it’ll be weird if we don’t. What if we come across people who ask?” More importantly we need an identity, something to motivate us and rebuild purpose in our bones. People often underestimate the power of a name, of identity.
“Maybe we should go back…” a tiny voice murmurs and her deep grey eyes refuse to meet mine.
“We are not going back,” I declare simply. “42 chose us. She chose each of us to escape that Hell hole and we aren’t going to spit on that gift by giving up.”
No one needed me to explain who 42 is. Her designation was “42” but she was more than a number. She was a quiet force within that place. The kind sensed like the secret whispered in the air that sends animals scurrying for shelter before a storm. The kind protected even while innately feared. 42 knew enough to run that place or destroy it. It was the best-kept secret that every inmate knew like a brand on their flesh.
“My name is Maddy.” I turn towards the boy who’d been complaining of hunger. “What’s yours?”
After far too long our group settles into its new identity of The Chosen Twelve:
Marta the doubter, Ramses the proud, Ignacio the tall, Risa the clever, Sam the small, Piper the perky, Tola the wise, Jax the sneaky, Nathan the hungry, Katy the tired, Liza the thirsty. (The last three are seriously getting on my nerves).
Oh…and myself, Maddy the lost, who despite not being the oldest has somehow become the leader of this misfit crew.
With names out of the way I begin to beg my brain for an idea of how exactly to keep us all fed, watered, sheltered, and safely across the border instead of dead, arrested, or worst of all, back where we just came from. In a hurried command I shush the others, my ears perking at an impossible sound.
“Quick,” I command. “Everyone get back to the trees and hide.”
Fear paints each face that looks back at me and I make another gesture urging them to obey. The trees here are scraggly things, more shrub than tree, but they’ll do so long as they don’t become too curious and blow their cover. In the distance I watch cautiously as a strange looking truck growls closer. Unlike the ones I remember from before, this one has big tires that seem to eat up the sandy dirt like a treat.
We won’t make it anywhere without help and if these goons kill me, at least the fate of the others won’t be on my shoulders anymore. Careful not to run and spook the driver, I make my way towards the path-maker with even strides and waving an arm to catch their attention.
The moment we meet I let my frame go soft, meek…desperate. It isn’t something I need to fake. “Please,” I beg exhausted. Lifting my eyes I take in the driver and his companion, both who look friendly enough until I notice the guns propped up between them. A bullet is quicker than starvation, I shrug. Usually… my brain adds unhelpfully.
“What are ya doin’ out here kid?” the driver asks gruffly.
“Trying to reach the border,” I confess. My dry tongue scrapes across my chapped lips at the slosh of water in a canteen.
Noticing my fixation, he tosses me the canteen. “Take a drink before you evaporate.” I waste no time doing so and he watches me thoughtfully. “The S.C. is home to the strong but friendly to none. Why would a kid like you want to go there? Don’t this place give everyone free shit?”
Wiping my mouth with my filthy sleeve I fix him with a steely glare that has him recoiling. “At a cost.”
After another sweep of his gaze he leans over to murmur something to his buddy and after a minute I’m still standing there waiting in an almost demanding manner what my fate is to be.
“We’re not a taxi,” he begins. “We happen to be crossing the border and we can’t afford to waste any more time about it. Hop in if you want but you get out when I tell ya, got it?”
I can’t keep the relief off my face. “Got it,” I nod. Looking over my shoulder I give a sharp whistle and the others pop their heads up. “Come on!”
As the Twelve swarm the truck I hear muttered curses inside. “Where the hell did they all come from?” When Jax starts to pry open the back hatch of the truck the driver’s buddy jumps out.
“Hey! You go where I put you and you don’t touch nothing.”
“How can I touch nothing? Everything is something,” Jax starts.
“Shut it, Jax, or starve,” I snap.
Eventually we manage to fit everyone either in or on top of the truck and I follow the other guy to the front cab and hop in. “How do you make your tracks disappear?” I ask curiously.
The driver smirks. “There’s a sorta fan fixed underneath that blows the dirt enough to cover ‘em up. And these tires are made for treading lightly though we can’t do nothin’ about mud or broken branches.”
With a sudden frown he looks out his window to see the stampede of tracks we left behind and without the truck’s path it’ll look like we vanished into thin air. “Maybe a wind will kick up and cover those,” he mutters. Giving a shrug he kicks the truck into gear and suddenly we’re traveling miles in minutes instead of hours.
Day turns to night and I swear dawn is nearly ready to break when I get a sharp elbow in my ribs. “Time to get out.”
Blearily I try to look around but the world’s just shy of navy and it does me little good. “Where are we?”
“Border,” the driver grunts.
“We’re not crossing it?” I ask puzzled.
“We have a check point and can’t have unknowns peeping into the business. Now time to get high steppin’.”
With a nod I tumble out of the cab, my legs not quite awake, and begin giving quiet commands for the others to emerge. In the dark we walk with fear of falling or colliding into something we can’t see and it turns our pace into molasses. A sudden gasp halts my tracks and I feel the others slam into my back. The sky is just light enough now for me to make out a massive wall too tall and smooth to climb and reaching so wide I’ll bet it spans the entire border.
“Do we keep walking until we find a gate or something?” Ramses asks.
“To be this close and die of starvation anyway,” Marta mutters ruefully.
“Shut up,” I whisper but it’s so quiet and lost no one hears.
“Wait,” Tola gasps and I can practically feel the excitement of an idea radiating off of him. “Those men were clearly criminals, likely smugglers with that truck, so there must be a way through this wall that is not a gate because a gate would have guards.”
“So they have a secret gate,” Jax suggests with a note of bitterness.
“I don’t think so,” Tola shakes his head. “The wall looks too well maintained, which makes me think they’d notice a breach.” He tilts his head, his hand reaching out. “In fact, it looks brand new, but that doesn’t seem possible unless…” His words fade with a triumphant gasp and my eyes widen along with the others’ at the sight of his hand disappearing into the wall.
“Tola!” I shout, snatching his arm back relieved when I see his hand
whole and unharmed.
Jax grins. “An illusion. Hot damn!” And with that he sprints right through.
“But I touched that wall myself,” Risa puzzles. “It felt solid!”
“An illusion in belief,” Tola suggests. In a blink he disappears too.
The rest of us just stand there more than a little dumbfounded until Jax walks back through easy as you please impatiently gesturing for us to follow. With morning at last lending sight I look around and do a sudden double take counting and re-counting. “Where is Nathan?”
We turn and pivot and search and panic begins to coat the group in a suffocating lacquer while Liza’s face turns ghost white. “He was hungry,” she whispers in horror.
“What?” I give her shoulders a sharp shake. “Where is he, Liza?”
“He said he was hungry,” she repeated. “We found some sort of candy bars in one of the boxes in the back. He said he wanted to bring some with us… He was right behind me…” She turns her teary eyes up toward mine. “He was right behind me!”
I snap my head in the direction the truck had taken off. “Damn,” I snarl. “The truck only left like five minutes ago, if I run maybe I can–” An explosion cuts off both word and thought. In the distance a fiery inferno burns away the last of the dark.
“NATHAN!!” Liza wails collapsing to her knees, sobs choking off her breath and twisting it into gasping heaves while Katy wraps her arms around her.
