Forecast of Shadows

by Bronwyn Leroux

  My sudden bout of laughter startles my crew into silence over the comm. Then, as if this was their sign to release their own inner tensions, howls erupt. Hoots and calls litter the quiet night, mingled with raucous laughter and banter.

  I let it ride. They should enjoy it while it lasts. Before tonight is over, some will be dead. Thinking of the coming death makes me shiver. While it’s a necessary part of everyday life in this hellhole of a world, I’ve never enjoyed killing. But you can’t hope to survive if you won’t defend yourself. Every single person I’ve ever killed would’ve killed me first. This time will be different.

  Trent’s voice cuts in on our private line. “You ready for this?”

  I swear, the man can read my thoughts. Then again, after three years living and breathing and moving in each other’s space, it’s no surprise. He knows how I feel about this. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “I’ll be right there, by your side.”

  I hear what he doesn’t say. If I can’t pull off the kill, he will. But it won’t come to that. I’m bound and determined to see this through. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Close to four in the morning, we reach the refinery. Taking out the scouts is too easy. Again. It gives me pause. Is this another of KN’s ploys? Does he know we’re here and want to lure us deeper into his lair so the noose is around our necks before he reveals any strength?

  Trent’s face reflects my concern. But his jaw hardens with determination, and I agree. Now is no time to draw back. I have the man who’s terrorized my every waking and sleeping moment for the last three years within my grasp. I can’t let this opportunity slip away.

  My crew sneaks in, and our units deploy to various strategic points, the places our enemies probably already occupy—the high ground provided by the trusses enclosing the ground paths below. Death traps for the unwary.

  My group reaches our designated spot, a small machine room on the eastern edge of the complex, and we hole up there. Far enough from the high girders so we aren’t targets and with enough angles to prevent stealth shots from the surrounding buildings.

  Tension radiating through the room, we wait. My glaive is heavy in my hand. The crackle of the two-way radio makes several people jump. I’m not one.

  Howie’s voice comes through. “Baby arrived with no complications.”

  His team made it to their scouting location at the very top of the main building without casualties. With their thermal equipment, they can scout enemy numbers and relay the information.

  We wait until the next communication comes through.

  “Baby has ten toes and ten fingers.”

  “We were right. The Hawks are here, and we’re outnumbered.”

  “Apgar score of eight.”

  “Outnumbered two to one,” since ten less eight is two.

  “Putting the baby in the crib and tending to Mama now. She’s still in bed and needs some help to get out.”

  “We’re sending runners with numbers for each area, but Beth appears to be here.”

  Seconds later, a “runner” sneaks up so quietly we would’ve missed him if we weren’t expecting him. “What’s the word, Jones?”

  “Three directly ahead, Cap. After that, your path is clear to the main compound. Howie figures the kid is there. He found one room with an odd configuration of people: a few squatting one above another, one unmoving on a chair, and others walking around.”

  KN hasn’t changed his ways, then. The squatters mean he’s still keeping his captives in cages. The person on the chair could be anybody. The others milling about are KN’s guards.

  “Thanks, Jones. On your way to the next group, then.” He turns to leave. “You be careful.”

  Jones’s face lights up with a smile. “You too, Cap.” Then he’s gone.

  I nod at the others, but before I can move, Trent takes the lead. I hiss. The position isn’t his. “What are you doing?”

  As he slides into the dark alley, Trent doesn’t even look at me. “You have a score to settle. You can’t do that if you’re dead. And you will die if you’re in the lead and trouble finds us.”

  I feel rather than see the confused glances between the others in our group. They’re wondering who I have a grudge against. Leaving them guessing, I slip after Trent. The others follow wordlessly.

  We haven’t gone ten paces when the vision comes, startling after the empty expanse generated by the black boxes. I stop walking. Trent’s immediately alert, his eyes inquiring.

  I lift one finger. Trent’s face tightens with disapproval, but he allows it, his eyes roaming the area for any sign of danger. I indulge the vision: a single route, glowing bright—more than bright—showing a clear path to the door on the opposite side of our alley. Revealing how we can use this door and access the prisoners’ room without engaging our enemies.

  Dubious, I try shaking the route away. But it persists in my mind’s eye, beckoning, promising deliverance. Its call is almost tangible, enough to make me want to ditch it.

  Again, I’m reminded of the last time a route was too easy. Will those young parents who wanted that baby never leave me?

  Bitter memory fresh in my mind, I resist the shiny route in front of me now. But then the route blinks, like someone’s turning a light on and off. When it turns off, black boxes fill the space. Blink. The light’s back on, no sign of the box. Blink. The black box consumes the route. Blink. Shiny path showing a way in. Blink. Nothing to see.

  Realization hits hard enough to knock the air from me. My men instantly cluster around me, backs toward me, facing the danger I might’ve sensed.

  Putting a pacifying hand on Trent’s shoulder, I whisper loudly enough for the others to hear, “No danger. I saw a clear way in.”

  Trent isn’t the only one with misgiving stamped all over his face. “Different to what we planned?”

  Meaning am I sure? But he can’t question my leadership in front of the others. I grin. “The person making the black boxes is a prisoner here. He’s showing us the way. He wants out as much as we want in.”

  The others are too busy grinning at this stroke of good fortune to notice Trent’s barely audible question. “You sure it’s not a trap?”

  I glance at the route again, feeling its warmth. “Yes.”

  “Lead the way, Cap.” Trent takes his usual position behind me. His subtle gesture of confidence in the forecast touches me. It also speaks volumes to our team, renewing their belief in me.

  Each corner we round without encountering resistance, each door we open without contest, each corridor we traverse without meeting another person confirms my belief in this route. We finally reach the end, and I allow myself a second to forecast.

  “This is it,” I tell my crew. “The prisoners are on the other side of this door. We must fight to get through. Three men are along the left wall. Jackson, you take those. Two up on the walkway to the right. Charles, you handle them.” I continue handing out orders until we have the room covered. “Ready?”

  Nods, no words. Trent slips in front again. This time, I don’t question him. He knows things are about to get interesting. With a solid thrust, Trent flings the door open, and we charge through.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I feared this point the most. The part where the mysterious Abbie could’ve manipulated the vision.

  But the forecast is true. We planned for everything. The men guarding the prisoners fall as my crew takes them out quickly, quietly, efficiently. I don’t lift my glaive or fire a single shot. In seconds, the room is ours without casualties. After the assault, the abrupt silence is so absolute it’s deafening.

  Someone wheezes, “It took you long enough.”

  Striding into the room, I locate the speaker, the person on the chair. He’s not simply sitting there. He’s tied to the chair, limp as a rag doll. Every line of his body sags with exhaustion. Perspiration drips down his face, and his shirt has damp spots. “You led us here?”

  “Yes.”


  “You’re the one creating the black boxes?”

  “I am.”

  “How?”

  “Get the others out, and I’ll tell you.”

  The boy—he can’t be over fourteen—has a stubborn set to his chin. I nod at my waiting crew, and they hurry to the cages, opening the locks with keys taken off one guard. I wait until they help the prisoners out before returning my attention to the boy.

  “Hello, Nylah.”

  His use of my real name stops me in my tracks. It’s the first time I’ve heard it since I was kidnapped. Since I gave up everything I was to become Forecaster. Fitting, I suppose, I should hear it again here, in the place where I have the chance to reclaim the identity I lost.

  “You have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?” Nudging the dead guard in front of the kid out of the way with my foot, I gasp when his head lolls to the side. Suddenly, the kid’s condition makes sense.

  The dead “guard” is the same man KN used to torture me. The man with the ability to make me do things against my will. Who created such excruciating pain when I resisted that even the memory of the agony makes me wince.

  I gaze at the kid with new respect, my earlier question forgotten. “He was forcing you to make the black boxes?”

  “You’re familiar with Kane’s gift, then?” He spits the word.

  “I am. But he’s dead now. He can’t hurt you—or anyone else—anymore.” I kick Kane, each kick harder than the last until he’s out of the way. Then I stand in front of the kid. “Start talking.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  The kid’s question startles me. Then I realize my view of the future is no longer impeded. Countless routes flow before me. I gape at the kid. “How do you do that?”

  “Tell me how much time we have, and I’ll answer what I can.”

  Accustomed to tracing available routes rapidly when needed, I figure it out. “At least ten minutes before serious hazard comes our way.”

  “Not enough to tell you everything, but enough to pass along what’s important. Vaughn took me a year before he took you.”

  Thoughts crash over one another. The kid was eleven the first time he made those boxes? Vaughn? The name chills me and sets distant bells clanging in my head. I’ve heard that name before, but I don’t know where or when. “That’s our kidnapper’s name?”

  “Yes. He spent that year before he took you perfecting my skills.” His face tells me exactly how pleasant that was. “Then he used Kane to make me to block your visions.”

  “How did you create those blocks?”

  “They call me Time Bandit. I steal time and store it away.” I frown. “When I steal time, you can’t see it. That’s why it shows up blank—or as a black box. Vaughn needed me to stop you from forecasting your kidnapping and everything after.”

  I could blame the kid for my parents’ death, but that’s unfair. He had no more control over the situation than I did. KN—no, Vaughn—killed my parents. There’s only one thing I want to know. “Why?”

  The Time Bandit grimaces. “I don’t want you to see this, but you have to if you want to understand.” Seeing my confusion, he adds, “I can steal time from anywhere. Not just the future. I’m about to steal time from the past and show you so you know the truth.” I open my mouth, but he interrupts. “We don’t have time. Just . . . just watch.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It feels like someone’s pulled a plug out of my brain. Images surge in, images either the trauma of the event or the head injury I suffered blocked from my memory. Or can the Time Bandit steal memories too if he steals time from the past?

  My parents arrive to pay the ransom and demand to see me before handing over the money. Vaughn unlocks my cage, and I sprint to my parents. My father swings me up into his arms, and my mother orders my father to take me away. My mother stays behind, speaking to Vaughn, but we’re too far away for me to hear what she says. Besides, I only have eyes for my father as he tucks me into his shoulder, scurrying for the car.

  He flings the back door open and straps me in. Starts the car. Then I hear the screams. My mother sprints toward us, Vaughn chasing her. “Go, Fred, go! Don’t wait!”

  My father’s strangled cry. “Rose!”

  He opens the car door, tears out, and grabs my mother’s arm, dragging her faster than her feet can go. My mother stumbles. Vaughn shoots past them and leaps into the driver’s seat through the still-open door.

  I stare at Vaughn. The man who used me. Who forced someone else to exert their power over me to control my gift. My breathing stutters. My heart falters. I can’t be his captive again! Not again. Never again.

  Screaming rips my gaze from Vaughn. Bellowing, my father runs toward the car and dives into the front seat. As the two men scuffle, my mother finally makes it to the car and crawls in beside me. I grab her hand, my eyes involuntarily flicking back to the fight in the front seat. Vaughn punches my father so hard his head snaps back and hits the window with a loud crack. My father slumps in his chair.

  Vaughn revs the engine and tosses the car into gear. The car bucks, and the tires squeal as we screech away.

  My mother weeps. “Vaughn, you’ve killed him!”

  Vaughn glances back, his face gleeful. “Not yet. But if you don’t want him dead, come with me. Rose, come with me! We were meant to be together. Fred was never the one for you.”

  My horror knows no bounds. My mother knew Vaughn? The images stream on, not waiting for me to catch my breath.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone? You know I don’t love you. Let me go. Let us go.”

  The glee on Vaughn’s face morphs into fury, and he snarls. “It’s not your fault you can’t see. You’re too blinded by this fool. It’s our time to be together. You and me and the girl. We’re a family now—or we will be as soon as I deal with him. Permanently this time.”

  “No, Vaughn, please, no! If you really love me, let me be happy. Fred makes me happy.”

  Vaughn’s face purples. “And I don’t? I can give you the world, and you choose him?”

  The car’s swaying now, veering from side to side as Vaughn dodges the wrecked cars littering the old road. With each new spike of anger, the car’s speed increases. I clutch my mother’s hand tighter. My other hand grips the armrest in a useless attempt to keep me in my seat.

  My mother screams at him again. “Vaughn, slow down! Please, let us go.”

  Vaughn’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “If you won’t stay with me, you can join your husband in death. It’s your choice. But the girl’s mine, even if I’m not her father.”

  The way Vaughn says the last sentence makes me quake. If he can’t have my mother, he’ll take what part of her he can. And his intentions for me are neither fatherly nor benevolent.

  My mother must realize this too because she turns to me and plants kisses on my face. Taking my face in her hands, she says, “Remember, your father and I love you. No matter what happens, we love you.”

  Before I can respond, she snatches at the door handle and shoves me out. Flailing wildly, I fall sideways out of the car, my mother’s locket the last thing I glimpse. Pain explodes through me as I smack down. I roll several times, every part of my body banging against the unyielding tarmac. When I finally stop rolling, I’m dazed, but still, I lift my head to find the car.

  It swerves. Two figures struggle within. Then the tires screech as the car skids off the road. With a sickening crunch, it smashes into the streetlight. A fiery ball erupts when the car explodes.

  The brilliant, flaming image fades, and I whimper, tears flowing unchecked down my cheeks. I blink the tears back, focusing on the kid in front of me. He’s distraught, his own face streaked with tears.

  “I’m so sorry. But you needed answers. Stop Vaughn. He won’t stop until he has you and everyone else like us. His need for power is insatiable. He’ll carry on like this until there’s nothing left. Until he controls it all. And that will not be a world worth living in.”
r />   Apprehension claws at my insides as I sense more. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I’m the only one who could give you answers. I would want them if it were me. And now that you have them, I want you to kill me.”

  Shocked, I stare at him. Is this what I would’ve begged for if Vaughn had kept me as long as he has the Bandit? Or would I have cracked sooner and resorted to taking my life? “But why? Kane’s dead. He can’t make you use your gift against your will anymore.”

  The kid crumbles. “You don’t understand. You don’t know the things he’s forced me to do. The things I can never undo. The lives I’ve destroyed for him.” His voice rises as he continues. “And for what? So he can have a little more power? A little more money? Even if Kane is dead, others will want me for what I can do. Others who will hurt me. Please, I can’t live with the knowledge others will use me the same way. I already can’t live with what I’ve done.”

  His defenselessness reminds me too acutely of my own at the hands of the monster who took us. Of having my ability turned against me. Of having a supposed gift turned and used for evil. The inability to stop it. How I wanted to die rather than be complicit in evil. There’s only one solution. Vaughn has to go.

  His pleading eyes track me as I walk behind him and slice his bindings with the knife I carry on my thigh. “No, you think you can’t live with it. It wasn’t you who hurt those people. It was Vaughn. And Kane. They’re the ones who have to pay.”

  The ropes fall away, but the kid remains on the chair, face glazed. “Please, I led you here so you could free me—free us.” He glances at the other captives, huddled together at the far end of the room.

  One of four other groups heading this way from different directions has joined us. Some form a perimeter around the freed hostages to keep them safe in the event this room’s breached, while others take up offensive positions around the room.