Valley of the Broken (Sage of Sevens Book 1)

by K. F. Baugh

  Sage watched Storm’s smirk disappear, replaced by a mask of calculated indifference. But the clenched fists negated the casual facade.

  “Guess the Clozapine stopped working after fifteen years of constant dosages,” Tim added. “Psychotic behavior is a pretty serious side-effect, isn’t it? I’m sure that whoever you’re developing this for might see that as a drawback.”

  Storm’s glanced between the two of them, then he stalked to the end of the bed and pushed the button.

  “Yes?” came a tinny voice from over the intercom.

  “I need a refill for my pen, now!”

  A few seconds later a nurse rushed in. Hesitantly, she handed him a vial. Storm pulled what looked like a writing pen from the chest pocket of his white coat and inserted the vial into its chamber. He then jammed the tip of the pen into his neck.

  “Another,” he barked.

  “But, sir, I can’t—”

  “Now!”

  The nurse reached into her pocket and with shaking hands removed another vial. Storm grabbed it. “Go get me three more.”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered and rushed from the room.

  He walked slowly back to the bed. “Interesting.“ He narrowed his eyes. “It appears you two might be slightly less pathetic than these greedy little scientists. But, of course, you only have half the story.”

  “The half with the deaths, murders, and adverse reactions to your serum?” Tim asked.

  Storm smiled. “How easy it is to judge from the outside. What people like you fail to recognize is that there’s never some scientific gain without sacrifice.”

  “Shaun, Tabitha, and Sheriff Davis are the only sacrifices we can expect then?” Tim asked. “Or will there be others?”

  Storm ignored him. “We live in an age where we’ve finally discovered how genetic disorders determine nearly every weakness humans exhibit. Cancer, autism, diabetes, autoimmune diseases, asthma. There’s even evidence to supports the hypothesis that behaviors like mental illness, proclivity to violence, alcoholism, and other addictions are all set within our genetic code.

  “What if someone developed a serum, a vaccine, that could be given to all children at birth, maybe even in utero, that would turn off these mutations? Imagine a world free of mental and physical suffering. Wouldn’t that be worth a few unfortunate casualties?”

  “What are you saying?” Sage asked, interested in spite of herself. “That you could create perfect human beings?”

  “Exactly.” A ghoulish smile appeared on Storm’s face, and Sage shuddered.

  She searched to find the catch. A world free from mental and physical suffering? What was wrong with that?

  “But what about the psychotic behaviors exhibited by Shaun and Tabitha?” Tim asked.

  “And Old Hank,” Sage added. “I saw the vials in his cabin.” Realization dawned in Sage. “And you! You’ve given yourself the serum too, haven’t you?”

  “That was an earlier version of the formula,” Storm said. “We think we’ve been able to eliminate that side effect.”

  “You think?” Sage choked. “Maybe you should know before you start patting yourself on the back about saving humanity.”

  “Oh, we intend to know. That’s what the Dental Clinic tomorrow is about.” Storm smiled. “There’s roughly 8,000 inhabitants in the Black Mills area. Even if half of them come to the event, that’s an adequately sized test population, one made up of widely varying demographics. Their reaction should be enough to satisfy our skeptics.”

  The door clicked open and the nurse appeared, her hand full of vials. Storm walked over and jerked them from her hands.

  Sage’s gaze met Tim’s. Skeptics, he mouthed. She nodded.

  “So these skeptics,” Sage asked when he returned. “Who are they?” She knew the final key of the mystery hung on their identity.

  “I’m not sure that information pertains to you, Broken One,” Storm said, loading his pen and giving himself another dosage.

  “Here’s something that pertains to me,” Sage said, everything finally clicking into place. “Why are you involved in this? You may be doing a pretty good job fooling all the staff here at the Research Station, but you and I both know you’re not Terrance Storm.”

  Tim looked at her in surprise.

  “When did you kill him, Skinwalker?” Sage asked. “And how long have you been inhabiting his body?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “What a strange thing to say.” Storm walked quickly to the machines to her left and fiddled with some of their buttons.

  “How much longer can you keep this up, yee naaldlooshii? You’re obviously beginning to lose control. I imagine it’s pretty hard to rein yourself in here day and night, working in a lab. Aside from killing some of your mistakes, you can’t have allowed yourself many fresh victims. It would have raised too much suspicion if people were dying by the droves in a tiny mountain town.”

  Storm spun away from the monitors, and his face twitched, briefly transforming into the shape of the Skinwalker’s. Sage forced herself to watch the gruesome transformation. As Storm fought to regain his human form, an idea took root in her panicked brain.

  With the careful, calculating Storm in charge, she and Tim didn’t stand a chance of escaping. But if the Skinwalker took over? More than likely, it would kill them. But maybe, in the chaos created by the enraged creature, there was the smallest possibility of escape. It was more than a long shot, but the only option she could see.

  She glanced at Tim. He watched Storm carefully, but without fear. He looked at Sage, and she crooked her fingers to him. Slowly, Tim scooted his wheelchair to the edge of her bed and leaned toward her.

  “Make him lose control,” she whispered. “It’s our only chance.”

  Tim nodded and straightened. “I bet that hurts. Do you need someone to call the nurse again?”

  Storm writhed, his contortions growing more violent.

  Sage gulped away the last of her fear. “Hey, quick question. Are you house trained? I can’t help but notice this terrible smell every time you come around. Maybe you could get some of the orderlies to change your litter box.”

  “Enough!” Storm roared and this time his entire body wrenched.

  “Don’t go to any trouble on our account,” Sage yelled over Storm’s snarls of pain. “Looks like someone wants to come out for a visit.”

  The wailing stopped and a dark chuckle sounded. With the grotesque pop of bones and tendons, Storm’s twisted body uncurled to a staggering height at the foot of Sage’s bed. The unholy union of his face, neither fully human nor fully wolf, contorted in a vicious snarl as he ripped the torn shirt from his chest. His body was covered in mange-like fur, greasy and falling off in dark patches. The overpowering scent of decay assaulted Sage, and she gagged.

  “Do you think I cannot sense your fear, Broken One? You reek of it, as the dead reek of rot. It feeds me. All of you pathetic, disgusting Broken Ones, your fear feeds me. Your father’s did. And your mother’s. Even your small, pathetic brother’s.”

  “What?” Sage cried, her brain refusing to accept the words. “What are you saying?”

  “Oh yes,” the Skinwalker chuckled and lunged to the side of Sage’s bed, knocking over several machines as he did so. “I recognized your scent when you came into the gift shop. You evaded me as I lay pinned to the ground by your protectors. I have always regretted that you escaped.”

  Distorted memories slashed Sage’s terrified brain. A little girl, alone in a tent listening to the last agonized groans of her family. Being crushed under yards of silky fabric and unable to take a breath. Blindness. Emptiness. And dark howls of rage that echoed around her as she floated away.

  A sob tore at Sage’s throat. Memories long suppressed awakened the agonizing grief she had forced into deep slumber. Visceral, heart wrenching pain tore through her, and something between a wail and a whimper escaped her lips.

  The Skinwalker leaned toward her greedily as if absorbing her angui
sh. “That you would be led here, to this town, almost like a gift? It is more than I could have hoped,” he said, stroking her leg through the blanket. Sage tried to pull away, but her restraints held her steady.

  “Leave her alone.” Tim struggled in his chair.

  “Or what?” The Skinwalker’s piercing laughter echoed around the room. “What threat do you imagine you hold over me?”

  Tim steadied himself against Sage’s bed and swayed as he rose to stand. “Sage was led to this place because she’s going to destroy you. You’re fighting a losing battle. You’re the smoke and mirrors of the final act, but no one’s fooled. What you’ve hidden will be revealed. Everything you’ve concealed will be brought to light. Ultimately, you will fail, and the innocents you have destroyed both now and in the past will have their justice.”

  The Skinwalker let out a low growl, his eyes glinting red in the sickly hospital lighting.

  Tim leaned over Sage’s bed and rested his hand against her cheek. An eternity existed in that moment as she gazed into his eyes.

  “Sage, don’t listen to his words. They’re lies. You were brought here to defeat him, and you will. You’re the bravest, strongest person I know.” With a trembling hand, Tim traced a gentle cross on Sage’s forehead. “The Sun of Righteousness shine upon you and scatter the darkness from your path.” Tears traced down his cheek and dripped onto her face where they mingled with hers and became one. They burned a pathway across the torn skin on her cheeks and forehead. “Don’t give up, Sage, and don’t be afraid. You will find your peace.”

  The Skinwalker’s growl escalated into a roar, then in one swift motion, he vaulted over Sage’s bed and lifted Tim up in his arms. Tim dangled limply before the Skinwalker sent him flying through the air. Sage heard the sickening crunch as Tim crashed into the wall and slid into a heavy heap onto the floor.

  “Tim, NO!” Sage screamed.

  “You are defeated, Broken One. You are mine. There is no priest, no dog, no interfering Wind to stand in my way. Your protectors have all deserted you.” He moved back to Sage’s side and lowered his face inches from hers. Sage tried to turn her head away, but he held it fast with his sharp claws. “Your choice in allies is pathetic. But then, the Wind has been a weak adversary from the beginning. If the Wind truly cared about you, why would it lead you here, of all places? Right to the doorstep of your family’s murderer.”

  Sage flinched as the words hit her in waves, seeking to destroy any spark of hope or grit that remained within her.

  “When I stumbled upon your family, I was far from home and yet, it was a very pleasant surprise. They suffered much. You have suffered much.” He bared his teeth in a hideous smile and inched closer until his muzzle nearly touched her. Sage screamed and jerked against her cuffs until she felt the warmth of blood against her wrists and ankles.

  The door crashed open. Anders Benson stood in the doorway with a look of horror on his face. “What are you doing?” he gasped, his gaze darting between the Skinwalker and Tim’s crumpled body. “The final formula has to be ready in three days or else we’ll lose the contract. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself. We can’t afford for this to fall apart!”

  The creature roared, sprang across Sage’s bed and picked up the protesting Benson.

  “Stop. You’re ruining everything!” Benson screamed, but his cries were cut short as the Skinwalker flung him into the wall, only a few feet away from where Tim had crashed. Benson’s body crumpled like a rag doll and thudded to the floor. Bits of the broken sheetrock wall rained down over the two bodies.

  An awed horror at the creature’s strength and brutality overwhelmed her. Sage knew it was close to completely losing control, but she couldn’t give up yet. Either through escape or death, she was getting out of this room. “Was killing your staff part of the plan too?” she choked out. “But what’s one more cover up? You’ve got to be an expert at that now.”

  The Skinwalker spun around and leapt on top of her bed. “Silence, Broken One,” he snarled, his voice now barely intelligible. He grabbed hold of bed frame and snapped the restraints at Sage’s wrists and then her ankles. Grasping her arms, the creature flung Sage’s limp body over his shoulder, and she cried out as the many tubes and wires ripped from her. The Skinwalker then gave Benson a final, savage kick before he crashed through door.

  He slid into the hall, knocking over carts, IV stands, and monitors. Medical staff first gaped, then screamed and fled through the large metal doors at the other end of the hallway.

  “We’ve got a code red on the fourth floor,” Sage heard a nurse yell frantically into a phone before the Skinwalker silenced her with a well aimed medical tray.

  “Stop!” several voices shouted. The creature turned. Sage saw a few doctors and several armed security guards racing toward them. The rest of the staff escaped in the other direction.

  The guards paused a few feet away and glanced at each other, obviously unsure how to proceed. One of them shouted, “Put the patient down now, and no one has to get hurt.”

  The Skinwalker’s retching snarl filled the air, and he tossed Sage down the hallway behind him. She crawled underneath a gurney and watched the creature open his arms wide as if to embrace the guards. “Go ahead, hurt me if you dare.”

  Gun shots sounded for only a few seconds before the Skinwalker had either killed or knocked the guards senseless, their broken bodies scattered across the floor. Sage cowered under the gurney, but the Skinwalker kicked it aside and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “None will stop me!” he roared and loped down the hall with Sage dangling over his back.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Not again, not again, not again.

  The thought thrummed through Sage like a dull drumbeat. Moments of that last night with her family flashed into her mind with gut-wrenching realism. Enveloped in the terrible memories, she found it hard to focus on the chaos surrounding her even when the creature slid into doors and crashed Sage against walls as he raced through the maze-like hallways of the research complex. She felt her weakened body becoming numb with pain and resignation.

  Interwoven in her anguish were the Skinwalker’s words about the Wind. She didn’t want to believe him, believe that the Wind had betrayed her, or worse, maliciously lead her to live practically next door to the murderer of her family. But did any other explanation really make sense? When she was a teenager, social services forced Sage to relocate to this town after several failed runaway attempts, adamant that it was the safest place for her to live. Once Sage had reached adulthood, she could have left if she wanted to. But no matter where her missions had taken her, the Wind always led her back to Black Mills.

  The creature took her deeper into the complex, down staircases and elevators, through a bewildering network of hallways. She needed to pay attention, remember the route so she could escape. But another part of her felt collapsed, incapable of caring about anything ever again. If only she and Tim… but wait. Tim was dead, just like Gus. How could that be?

  Sage tried to replay the moment the Skinwalker had attacked Tim, but her brain wouldn’t let her see the conclusion. It was as if the incident had been a dream, and Sage could change the outcome, if only she created the right alternative in her mind.

  Numbness was winning. Her mind, like her body, was shutting down. Why couldn’t she just let go? Let it all go. She closed her eyes, her forehead and nose chafing against the wiry, greasy hairs on the Skinwalker’s back as he dashed down another set of stairs.

  Tim’s face filled her mind once more. She could still feel where his tears seared a path of fiery beauty down her cheeks. His last words broke through the chaos of her tortured thoughts: Sage, don’t listen to his words. They’re lies. You were brought here to defeat him, and you will. You’re the bravest, strongest person I know.

  The conviction of his words began to resonate through her, like a trumpet, louder and louder until finally they drowned out everything else. She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t. Ti
m deserved justice. Her family deserved justice. And they weren’t the only ones. A long line of people all the way to Naomi’s ancestors cried out to have their suffering, meticulously orchestrated by the Skinwalker, brought into the light.

  Then she remembered her whispered promise to the Wind, right before she and Tim had gone to meet with Naomi Notah. Sage had vowed to trust the Wind. And in turn, it had promised to be with her and help her. But how could it do so here, miles underneath Oriel and probably halfway to hell? If only Tim were here. Even in the darkest parts of the underground bunker, he’d been able to sense the Wind’s leading.

  But Tim wasn’t here, and this was her battle. Sage clenched her fists. “Wind, if you’re here,” she whispered, “if you’re a part of all this destruction, then talk to me. What should I do? Show me what you want … please.” She felt the faint rustle of a breeze, from where she couldn’t imagine, gently brush her cheek.

  “Wait,” It whispered. “You must wait a little longer.” An electric jolt shot from her cheek and blazed a trail through the rest of her body, lighting it up with the familiar sting of healing.

  As if realizing this, the Skinwalker suddenly stopped and threw her to the ground. Her head rang from the impact against the floor, but the rest of her body felt relatively pain free. The Wind’s healing had worked.

  Sage’s senses snapped with clarity. Gingerly, she sat up and looked around. The creature had brought her back to the cavernous warehouse she and Tim had discovered just days ago during the Honey Festival. But this time, they’d come by an entrance at the back of the structure, near where she and Tim had scaled the wall.

  “Why are we here?” she asked, searching for the creature in the dim light of the computer monitors.

  “Because I need something from you,” came a voice from behind her. Sage turned and saw that the Skinwalker had morphed back into Storm. His clothes hung in tattered shreds around his body, but Storm quickly pulled a lab coat from a small cupboard and shrugged it around his shoulders.