Forecast of Shadows

by Bronwyn Leroux

  Satisfied with my resolution and over the worst of my angst, I go to the mess hall. Breakfast is only starting, and those on duty nod at me as they set out the morning’s fare: powdered eggs and powdered milk, all the more palatable because they’re reconstituted with the water my gang can afford. And bread, though it’s nothing like the bread my parents gave me as a kid.

  But it’s what we have, and a damn sight more than most people. I dish up a plate and head for Trent’s table. He’s the only one there, and no one sits nearby. A golden opportunity to speak freely. After the usual pleasantries, I apprise him of my suspicions about Tom and my plan. However, I’m careful to avoid mentioning the black boxes. No point getting him all riled up just yet.

  Trent is not happy. “Cap, I can’t protect you if I’m not by your side. Can’t you forecast where he’s going? Or can’t Howie tail Tom instead?”

  I bypass the first question with vagaries and a question of my own. “Tom’s forecasts aren’t clear. Do you know how Tom escaped? We never asked him.”

  Trent’s frown doesn’t leave. “I didn’t ask because he told Crystal when he arrived at the gate. Apparently, his kidnapper beat him and then left him for dead on the side of a road.”

  My suspicions were somewhat true then. Except he didn’t escape—KN let him go. “Doesn’t it sound a little too convenient?”

  “Look, Cap, I agree there could be something off about the kid. But let Howie tail him. Why do I have to leave your side for such a mundane task?”

  Trent’s getting that stubborn set to his jaw. If there’s any chance of him doing this, I need to cut to the chase. “While Howie’s excellent at surveillance and you’ve trained him well, he’s not the man for this. No one else is as adept as you at getting themselves out of a bad situation, if that’s what it turns out to be.” Trent grimaces. “Please. I need you to do this for me. I won’t ask you to leave my side again.”

  Resigned, Trent gives in. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.” He shoves his empty plate aside and eyes me. “When do you plan to send him out?”

  “This morning. If KN’s onto me, we don’t have time to waste. I have to get to him before he gets to me.”

  “Done any forecasting for Beth yet? Have you been able to confirm a link between Tom, Beth, and KN?”

  “Not yet. I want to see where Tom goes. It’ll narrow the places I look when I forecast for Beth.” Hoping Trent won’t detect the lie, I pretend to focus on my food.

  Trent grunts. “In that case, let’s send Tom on that errand so we can move forward.”

  I smile, but making it genuine is difficult. My heart aches for what I haven’t told him. For what I’ve secretly planned to do if everything goes right. For my dream of fulfilling the forecast I hardly dare hope might become a reality. Telling Trent my plan will only make him want to come with me, and I can’t allow that. He needs his life back. As long as I’m around, that will never happen.

  It all begins with bringing KN down. This time, my interactions with him will be on my terms. Regardless of whether KN attacks, I plan to kill him. Where he’s concerned, I have no moral code. I’m justified in killing him for killing my parents. With law enforcement non-existent, it’s jungle law. Still, the thought nags me. Is killing KN exacting revenge or executing justice?

  Chapter Ten

  By the time Trent finally returns from trailing Tom, I’m pacing. Repeated attempts at forecasting his efforts only made the black boxes more pervasive. When Trent strides in and shuts the door, I study his face, but it’s an impassive mask.

  “Well?” I demand when he says nothing.

  “You were right. But not quite in the way you thought.” He raises a hand to forestall my next question. “Patience, Forecaster.”

  I roll my eyes, and he laughs, but it’s stilted. I tense, aware the news is nothing I’ll want to hear.

  His laugh ends on a sigh. “Fine, you win. Bottom line is Tom’s not working for KN. He’s working for the Night Hawks.”

  My pacing stalls, and I sink onto my bed, crushed by the revelation. Not because the people who’ve been trying to take over my territory since I set up shop are at it again. Because we didn’t find KN.

  “Forecaster?” Trent’s face mirrors the concern in his voice.

  “Give me a minute.” I take time to compose myself. “I thought we’d finally found him. I thought this would finally be over.”

  Trent places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you were hanging your hopes on Tom leading us to your kidnapper.” He waits. “What do you want to do about the Hawks?”

  “Why did they send Tom here?”

  Trent blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they know the layout of our place. They know our defense systems, our strengths and weaknesses. None of that has helped them achieve their goal yet. So why send Tom?”

  “Huh, a great question.”

  I rise and resume pacing. Thinking aloud, I run through options. “What could they possibly want to know that they don’t already? Unless they think we’ve changed things up and want to be prepared?”

  Trent shrugs. “They know as well as we do how effectively our system works—and that’s why we haven’t changed things. They’ve yet to come up with a way to break through.”

  I nod thoughtfully. “You’re right. The reason they never succeed is me. I forecast their plan every time before they arrive, so we have the right people in the right places. They’ve never been able to surprise us.” I inhale sharply as I realize the problem. “They’ve never been able to surprise us.”

  Frowning, Trent scratches his stubbly chin. “Didn’t you already cover that one?”

  My pacing stops, and I stand, staring at him, eyes wide and heart thumping. “That was before.”

  Trent’s eyes sharpen. “Before?”

  I wave an impatient hand. “There’s something I should’ve told you. Something I’m suddenly thinking was the most important element of the past few days. Something I didn’t give the credit it deserved because I was too caught up in my memories.”

  “What? You’re scaring me.”

  For a second, I want to laugh. The thought of Trent fearing anything, other than threats to his family, is ridiculous. But the urgency of the situation forces me on. “What if we’re wrong? What if it is all connected?”

  “You really do have to back up. I’m not understanding where you’re going—”

  “I’ve been seeing the black boxes again.”

  Trent’s mouth snaps shut. For a moment, he’s silent before his eyes turn stormy, blue ice tossing in a turbulent arctic sea. Cold, biting, glittering. “You’re only telling me this now?”

  “Calm down. I didn’t think they were the black boxes initially.”

  “Really? The one thing you could never get over, and you thought their reappearance was a figment of your imagination?”

  I keep my tone measured, although my temper is sparking. “Initially, I convinced myself they were the product of Tom nicking that old head wound I sustained when . . .” I can’t finish the sentence. Even after all this time, it’s tough to say the words. When KN took me. When my parents died.

  Trent’s eyes soften. “You know the stats. I know you do because I taught them to you. Wouldn’t a fresh blow to an old injury make you pass out? Or cause the headaches you suffered after the initial injury?” He crosses to me and takes my shoulders in his massive hands, holding me far more gently than such hands should be capable of. “Why did you wait to tell me?”

  I sigh. “Because I didn’t want to believe it was KN.”

  Trent steps back with a satisfied nod. “Now we’re getting to the root of it.” He crosses his arms. “So, with that knowledge, what deductions can you make?”

  I consider his question, and the bigger picture comes into focus. “KN is back. There’s no doubt about that. The black boxes were only ever an obstacle when he was around.”

  “Keep going.”

  My feet want to mov
e. This is too much to stand still for as I digest it. Pacing again, I talk. “The black boxes are preventing me from seeing the future again. If I can’t see the future, I can’t stop the Hawks. Which means KN’s connected with the Hawks.”

  Trent grunts. “While you’re probably right, the Hawks could have found or acquired whatever KN used to generate the boxes.”

  A derisive snort escapes. “KN would never give up anything he owns. His possessions are everything to him, including all those witless Abbies who serve him.”

  “Fair enough. If KN is working with the Hawks, why did they send Tom?”

  I chew on my lip. “Perhaps to confirm whether they could trust KN? That he really could help them get my turf if they helped him find me?” I finally hit the nail on its irritatingly tiny head. “They sent Tom to find out if the black boxes are working. If I don’t stop Tom, I can’t see the future, I can’t see them coming, and they get our turf.”

  Trent grins. “And how would they know your forecasts weren’t working? He hasn’t seen you forecasting since he joined us.”

  “So we let him see my gift in action. Pretend the black boxes aren’t happening. That will have him reporting KN’s plan isn’t working. With any luck, the Hawks will take KN out for me. But even if we’re not so lucky, it will stop them from coming here before we go there and deal with them once and for all.”

  “Since time isn’t on our side, may I suggest a quick, practical solution?”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Late that afternoon, dread and exuberance churn inside me as I sag onto my perch in the gathering chamber, glaive in hand. The inner turmoil makes me nauseous. I swallow my weakness, pretending it’s business as usual for our weekly huddle. The crew will expect orders for the upcoming week.

  They don’t know I’ve already scoped out our future. Usually, I do this in real time during the meeting. However, the return of the black boxes could’ve raised hell, and if I wanted the plan Trent and I came up with to work, I had to be sure I could still forecast. So after Trent left, I spent a few hours tracing routes, hunting down income sources.

  Imagine my surprise when the only routes blocked by the back boxes related to Beth, Tom, and the Hawks. My relief made me want to flop onto the floor like a limp noodle.

  Scoping out a few sweet deals, I made mental markers for the routes so I could find them later in the gathering chamber. Then I set to work tracing a roundabout way to get to the Hawks. That took most of the afternoon, and I still can’t quite believe I found a way. Whatever KN uses to generate the boxes isn’t infallible. It just takes more work to get to the endpoint. If only I’d known that three years ago—but I was a different person then.

  Raised by loving parents in a sheltered environment, how could I have guessed my kidnapping would lead to their deaths? What sort of kidnapper kills the people paying the ransom? Normally, they murder the hostage, take the money, and run for it. So why did KN kill my parents? And has he killed the parents of others he’s kidnapped or only Tom’s for effect?

  As my crew filters into the gathering chamber, I stow the thoughts. Trent strides in, standing next to me. He relaxes when Tom strolls in with a few others. I wait the extra minutes for everyone to arrive. Then I raise a hand, and silence descends.

  I need no preamble. “Let’s see what we have in store for this week, shall we?” Closing my eyes, a precaution Trent and I came up with to make people think I can’t forecast without the action, I locate the marked routes and allocate tasks.

  Running through the week’s gigs, I keep the “task” we’ve allocated to Tom until the end. When I finish and pretend to come back to the real world, pleased murmurs circulate. Will they last past the next ten minutes?

  “Tom, since your task is time-sensitive, you should get started.” He looks so eager to get out of here I want to clip him, but that would defeat the purpose. He needs to leave so Howie can track him and make sure he’s reporting my “unaffected” ability to the Hawks.

  I wait until Jones signals he’s left the compound before I address the waiting crew again. Suspicion already glazes a few faces. It’s not like me to tarry before dispersing them.

  “I appreciate your patience. The rest of what I must tell you had to wait until after Tom left.” An excited babble washes through the room. My raised finger flattens the sound to silence. “As you know, Tom came to us under dire circumstances. What you don’t know is they weren’t all they seemed.”

  As I lay out the details of Tom’s betrayal, a cross between grim satisfaction and despair fills me when I note the angry faces. Tom will get what’s coming to him, and I can do nothing to stop it. My crew doesn’t take kindly to traitors.

  I wait for the irate muttering buzzing around the room to die before laying out our plan for the Hawks. Glee wipes all traces of resentment or uncertainty about my leadership from every face. My crew are ready for war.

  It’s more than I can say for myself. Suddenly nervous about finding KN with the Hawks, my heart hammers. The odds of catching him at the Hawks’ HQ are almost zero. It’s likely the only people we’ll find there are the Hawks. There’s no way they would’ve promoted him to their leadership.

  My mind drifts to one particular client who came for a forecast about a promotion. I assured him he would get the position if he bided his time. But he couldn’t wait. He took the route lurking in the shadows, and the gun he stole to kill his competitor was turned on him instead.

  Why has this come to the forefront of my mind now? It can’t mean anything good.

  There’s no time to dwell on the matter. A scant hour later, near twilight, we’re in position. My crew fans out around the old tannery the Hawks use as their base. On my signal, the advance team slinks in: quiet, lethal, effective. They take out the Hawks’ guards. I’m surprised how easily they go down. I had expected at least a few Abbies in their number, but they’re all normal people.

  Done with their work, the advance team gestures. I signal the rest of the crew, and as one, we storm the Hawks’ fortress. Annihilating the base takes only minutes. Personally, I encounter just two adversaries, both so green I don’t even have to use my glaive. When we reach the hub of the base with no casualties and no confrontation with Abbie Hawks, I don’t need Trent to tell me it was too easy.

  Trent doesn’t insult my intelligence. His eyes roam the hub, seeking access points, positions the Hawks could use for an effective ambush. His voice is barely above a whisper. “You think they bugged out or have something else planned?”

  I pluck at the future, hastily tracing the most immediate routes. Black boxes obscure almost every one, and I don’t have time to find ways around them. I speak so only he can hear. “I can’t see. We should return to base and regroup.”

  Trent nods and gives a long, low whistle. My waiting crew seep out of the tannery, alert for new threats thanks to the whistle. Following Trent down a different path out than the one we took in, we pass Tom on the floor, throat slit. His tongue is pierced and pinned onto his face by a small dagger.

  A pang of pity pulses through me. The kid was a pawn in a game he didn’t even know he was playing, and he paid the ultimate price. About to turn away, I notice something shiny in his hand. Prying his palm open, I jerk back, hissing. A locket. Not just any locket—my mother’s locket!

  I snatch it out of Tom’s hand before Trent tugs me away, his face grim despite the curiosity lurking in those icy eyes. Trent drags me along unfamiliar paths twisting around the old tannery equipment. I don’t register he’s leading me outside until we’re in the watery sunshine, light leaking away as night storms in.

  Trent doesn’t let me rest. He yanks me again, pushing me down behind an old, wrecked car. Only when I smell the husk of the burned-out shell do I realize where I am and what I’m seeing. No, it can’t be. How have I never realized this before?

  Chapter Twelve

  “Forecaster, speak to me.”

  Trent’s use of my moniker sn
aps me awake. The bland statement could easily be interpreted as a request for a forecast by those who don’t know me as well. But he’s warning me to pull myself together. Other gang members are near.

  With an effort, I do. “Anyone see Caden?” As I ask about the Hawks’ leader, my voice almost sounds normal. I warned Caden’s predecessor not to accept Caden into the crew. If he’d only listened to me, he’d still be alive. Or would he? There’s no way to say for certain he wouldn’t have gone off half-cocked, like almost every other person I forecasted for, and still have ended up dead.

  A voice answers, but it’s so dark now, I can’t tell who it is. “Yes, Caden was here, and we let him escape as you instructed. Howie’s already tracking him.”

  “Excellent.” My voice is brisk, and I sound more like myself. Time to act like it too. I give the signal for the retreat to our base, and my crew slinks away into the surrounding buildings. I glance at Trent. “Let’s get home before we encounter any other surprises.”

  Back at the bunker, I bypass the gathering chamber and lead Trent to my room. I don’t want others hearing what I have to say. They’ll have questions, and I need to hash this out with Trent before I face them.

  Barely inside my room, I loosen the tight grip I’ve had on my emotions since we left the tannery. “That was where it happened. Where my parents died.” There, I said it. And it hurts like the devil dug all his horns and claws into me and ripped my heart out.

  Eyes skittering around the room, Trent fidgets with the ring on his finger. He wants to ask if I’m sure but doesn’t want to hurt me more.