Forsaken By Shadow (Mirus)

by Kait Nolan

  The elevator doors slid open to a brightly lit hall. Two additional guards flanked the elevator bank as their group of six exited and turned to the left. Gage chafed at the sensation of being a prisoner as they were escorted through a series of four airlock-type doors. Nearly a dozen turns later, he realized that they were covering the same ground. The bastards were trying to confuse them so they couldn’t find their way out on their own. Gage glanced briefly at Embry, then at a scratched metal girder they’d passed ten minutes ago. She gave a tiny nod.

  At length, they finished the detour in front of a pair of double doors. Mackey punched in a keycode—89763 to judge by the tones—and the doors slid open like something on the set of Star Trek. Inside the cavernous room, bleachers had been set up around a raised wooden platform. Mats covered the top, and ropes marked the boundaries. Soldiers were filing in from two other entrances and filling up the seats.

  As they made their way toward the ring, Embry made a soft noise of distress, wrapping both arms around her stomach.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly, but not so quietly that their escort wouldn’t overhear.

  “I’m not feeling so good.”

  “I told you those tamales looked sketchy. There’s no telling what was crawling around in the kitchen of that hole in the wall.”

  She glared at him. “So not helping.”

  The makeshift ring was a little smaller than he was accustomed to and square. Not the perfect setting, but he’d make it work. He shifted his attention to Mackey. “So where’s my opponent?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here in a bit. Do you need anything before the fight? Water, whatever?”

  The din in the arena was rising as the bleachers filled and more packed in to stand, so Gage shook his head. “Pretty decent crowd,” he shouted. He guestimated three hundred, at least.

  “Nobody wanted to miss this,” said Mackey.

  Gage bent over to zip the legs of his cargo pants off, leaving him with shorts. When he turned to hand them and his t-shirt to Embry, she was doubled over. He sighed in annoyance. “One of these days, you’re gonna listen to me when I say not to eat something.” He looked at Mackey, “Have y’all got a bathroom she can use?”

  With one hand, the sergeant gestured to one of their escorts.

  “Try to make it back for the fight,” Gage called.

  “I may be a while,” she answered, clutching her stomach as she followed the silent soldier out of the room via another door. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched her exit.

  Gage stuck to his role, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Mackey was watching him. He slipped off his shoes and socks, tucking the pants legs and t-shirt into them. “You mind if I go on in the ring to warm up and get the lay of the land?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He climbed through the ropes to check out the space. The fight surface was a series of standard gym mats, velcroed together. Not ideal, but he’d worked out on the same often enough. The ropes were climbing rope, stable, not a lot of give. There were four layers of them, about 9-10” apart. Far more like a boxing ring. He’d done that too. Sweat popped out on his chest and back from the glare of all the lights. Even here, they were taking no chances. Gage wondered if Adan was the only Shadow Walker they had captured or if there was something else the light kept at bay.

  With all appearances of ignoring the growing crowd—up to four hundred by now—Gage went through his warm-up routine, stretching, shadow boxing, until he was loose and limber. Embry wasn’t back. He hoped it was because she was still faking sick in the bathroom. He was twitchy, ready for the fight to begin so he could do something on this mission—the only thing he was actually capable of.

  He heard the squawk of a radio and straightened. One of the other soldiers said something to Mackey, who had acquired a microphone. The sergeant nodded and flipped on the mike with a screech of feedback that silenced the crowd.

  “Welcome to our unofficial Fight Night. As many of you may be aware, we’ve brought in a special treat for you. The Ultimate Fighter, Cade Shepherd.”

  Gage raised his arm in response to the cheer of the crowd.

  Mackey waited for them to quiet before continuing. “We’ve given some thought to who he would face off with. Several of you volunteered. But after some considerable discussion, it was decided that one of our. . . guests, would make a more appropriate competitor.”

  The men began to pound their feet.

  The third set of doors opened and a group of seven men came through. Six of them were soldiers, armed to the teeth as they surrounded the seventh who shuffled between them in chains. A bag covered his head.

  They’re going to have me fight a prisoner?

  Gage didn’t like this. He had no problem beating the shit out of one of these asshole soldiers, but he didn’t want to hurt some poor schlub they were detaining. From the way the man moved, he’d obviously been several rounds already.

  They marched him across the room, roughly wrangling him into the ring. The guy swayed as they unshackled him. He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had abraded the skin, but made no effort to attack any of his captors, only turned drunkenly back in the direction of the door he’d been marched through, head bowed. They whipped off the hood, and the man’s head ducked further, as if trying to hide from the glare of the lights. One of the soldiers stripped off the man’s shirt, revealing a patchwork of bruising covering his ribs and back.

  Christ, this guy’s in no shape to fight. What the fuck are they thinking?

  Gage felt his heart beat thick in his chest as his opponent took a few stumbling steps, circling the ring, taking in the audience. The big, reddened hands curled into fists as he made it around to Gage and straightened by infinitesimal degrees. His squinted eyes went wide, his face paling until the bruises there stood out like bull’s-eyes.

  Keeping his face carefully blank, Gage had only one thought. Oh, fuck.

  * * *

  Embry made another gagging noise and dumped some more of the food she’d smuggled in into the toilet. She groaned for effect. As far as her guard was aware, she had a massive and violent case of food poisoning. She’d already been in here for fifteen minutes, and she knew he was getting impatient to get back to the fight. Wetting a paper towel at the sink, she blotted her face so as to appear clammy and ill. Then she sank down to her knees and opened the door.

  “Private?” she croaked.

  He turned, eyes dropping to where she leaned weakly against the doorjamb. “You okay, Ma’am?”

  “I’m afraid not. Word to the wise. Next time you’re on leave, avoid Juanita’s Tamale House.”

  “Do I need to get a doctor?” he asked, frowning.

  “No. It’s just food poisoning. I’ll be fine once it’s all . . . out of my system. You probably don’t wanna wait around for this.”

  “I’m to escort you back to the arena.”

  Embry dialed up her internal temperature and swayed a little. “Look, I’m gonna be—” She feigned swallowing back vomit. “Be a while. You shouldn’t have to miss the fight because of me. Go watch a round or two and come back for me.”

  The private hesitated, looking down the hall at the faint sound of cheers.

  Embry dove for the toilet again, dry heaving.

  “I’ll come back to check on you in a few minutes,” he said at last.

  Not looking at him, Embry waved him away and hunched miserably over the bowl. The door shut quietly behind him.

  She kept up the charade for another few minutes, waiting to see if he’d be coming back soon. When he didn’t, she opened the door and peered out into the corridor. Deserted.

  Embry’s original plan was to worm her way into the air shaft in the bathroom, but the only access point was a narrow vent in the ceiling that she couldn’t even fit her head through. Her only choice was to attempt the halls and pray to God that everybody was at the fight. She needed to find a computer terminal to try to access the main system and find out where her father was being held.
And then she needed schematics to figure out how to get wherever that was. And while you’re at it, why don’t you ask for the cure to cancer and an end to world hunger?

  The sound of her careful, soft footsteps seemed to echo off the bunker walls. A litany of curses ran through her brain to the rhythm, and she wished she had Gage at his peak to muffle the noise. But he was otherwise occupied.

  She met no one. But rather than ease her anxiety, it only wound her tighter. This recon was on borrowed time. She knew it. Gage knew it. It was only a matter of minutes, half an hour at the most, before someone came looking for her specifically or until somebody who wasn’t interested in fighting stumbled across her.

  From somewhere down the hall a door slammed. Heart in her throat, Embry bolted for the nearest door. Locked. Footsteps drew closer as she dove for the next one, silently swearing when she saw the keypad and retina scanner. Fuck. There were two sets of feet, she realized. Frantic, she wedged herself into the profile of a metal girder. She would be hidden if they didn’t look too closely, but if they looked back . . .

  Embry didn’t breathe, didn’t blink as the two soldiers moved past her down the hall.

  “I can’t believe Mackey’s getting away with this. If the big wigs find out that he brought in a civilian, they’re going to flip.”

  “A civilian, hell, have you seen the way Cade Shepherd fights? Twenty bucks says he’s got military experience of some kind.”

  Something like that.

  “Mackey better hope the general doesn’t get back earlier than planned. He’ll get court martialed for this. And so will everybody else who’s left their post to go to this fight.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Lattimer. You wanna go back?”

  “No. I wanna see this as much as anybody else. God knows this post is boring as shit unless you’re on Level 36, and I ain’t got security clearance for that.”

  The rest of their conversation faded as they continued down the hall, never looking back.

  Embry exhaled softly. Level 36. Security clearance. That sounds like classified paranormal beings to me.

  Moving faster now, she found her way to the elevator bank. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t have a security badge to activate the damn thing. Her window was closing. She could feel it at the back of her neck like a Hunter in the night. Stalking her.

  It was sheer luck that she found the stairwell. By virtue of the fact that there was no key pad or retinal scan or other security measures, Embry was dubious that it would take her anywhere useful, but she needed to get on another level in hopes of finding an unmanned computer terminal. She slipped inside with barely a sound, then stood taking shallow breaths until she was certain no one was in the stairwell with her. Then she headed down. And down. She was thirteen floors up from the mysterious Level 36.

  Down. Down. Down. Pausing every few steps to listen for footsteps. Moving again when there were none.

  There was no door to Level 36. She went down another level, found the door labeled SL-37, then went back up a flight. It was simply a blank wall. Embry ran her hands over the cinder blocks, searching for some hidden mechanism or any indication of a camouflaged entrance. Her fingers traced only the rough, painted surface of concrete.

  She could blow her own access point. Being the daughter of an elemental had its benefits. But that would hardly be subtle, so she retraced her steps back up to Level 35 and tried the door. No additional security measures. No alarms blared as she tugged it open an inch. As with every area she’d seen of the base, this hallway was flooded with light. But she saw no guards stationed.

  Her skin prickled. This was too easy. But still, she slipped from the stairwell and made her way down the deserted hall. The fourth door on the right yielded access to a lab. The stainless steel tables were scrubbed clean and gleaming. Assorted equipment lined the walls. Microscopes, refrigerators, a centrifuge. And in the corner, screen dominated by a revolving geometric pattern, was a computer.

  With a quick glance back at the door, she tapped a key on the keyboard. The screensaver disappeared, revealing the expected login screen. Now what?

  A notebook lay open beside the keyboard. Taking a closer look, Embry could see a series of experiments listed. There were dates, amounts, chemical formulas, and what was probably subject numbers covering the page, but she didn’t understand the shorthand used. She paged through it, looking first in the front and working her way back. And there, taped into the back cover was a list of passwords.

  She said a brief prayer of thanks that even government scientists couldn’t remember passwords and typed in the relevant one. A new screen popped up showing some kind of analysis that was 56% complete. She minimized the process and took a quick inventory of the machine and the network. As she’d hoped, this unit was connected to the broader network running through the base. They might pull this off yet. Making one last check of the corridor, she paused to lock the door to the lab and close the blinds on the windows facing the hallway before pulling up a chair and setting to work.

  Chapter 9

  The auburn of his hair was shot through with silver. His face was narrower, more haggard and lean, the strain of the last decade etched around his eyes and mouth. Beneath the patchwork of livid bruising, his cheeks had gone white, and his mouth opened in silent question. Son?

  Gage drew on all his training to keep reaction off his face. He shifted his attention to Mackey. “What the fuck is this? This old guy’s already been beat to shit. He can’t fight.”

  “Oh I think you’ll find that he can,” said Mackey. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

  Gage looked appraisingly back at his mentor, who’d managed to cover his own surprise. He lifted his hands, cracking his knuckles to hide the quick, jerky message he signed to Adan. Here to rescue you. Fight now. Questions later. At the barely perceptible nod, Gage rolled his shoulders back, popped his neck and danced a little from foot to foot. “Okay then, let’s rumble.” He paused. “But I can’t be held responsible if I break him.”

  Adan backed up and began to circle. Gage fell into opposite step, studying his foster father’s movements, assessing his injuries and weaknesses. Despite his appearance, his gait loosened as he moved. He favored his right side in a way that suggested he had a cracked rib, but that was nothing he hadn’t fought through before. They could pull off an exhibition match. But then what? And God help them, what would happen if Embry came back to find her father in the ring?

  Conscious that he had to appear to fight as normal, Gage held back, waiting for Adan to make the first move. But his mentor only continued to circle, loosening his muscles. He hadn’t gone up against anyone in the last ten years who fought like he did—careful, analytic, waiting for his opponent to telegraph his intentions. It dialed up his adrenaline another notch. At the sound of the first catcall, Gage struck, his right hook snaking under Adan’s guard to slam into a kidney.

  With an ooph, Adan stumbled back two paces before he righted himself. Barely even an attempt to block the blow. His fist snapped out, the breeze of it brushing Gage’s cheek as he bobbed to the side. This was not good. If Adan didn’t kick things up, the fight wouldn’t be believable.

  As if hearing the thought, his mentor jabbed a knee up and into his side.

  Gage jerked back, following the fight sequence in his mind and deliberately making the wrong move to draw it out. Adan landed more blows, keeping him at a distance with the reach of his kicks. It was like being a trainee again, falling into the traps, and he struggled to hold himself back.

  A whistle blew. They separated, going back to their respective corners, though no one offered bottled water or towels to mop off the sweat and blood. He bent to stretch, surreptitiously checking the clock. Embry had been gone for nearly twenty minutes. He didn’t know how much more time he could give her. The sentiment of the crowd was shifting, unsatisfied. They expected to see an ultimate fighter, and he was letting Adan kick his ass like a newb. So when the whistle shrilled again,
he changed tactics.

  Focusing on the uninjured parts of Adan’s body, Gage moved in and hammered on his mentor, knocking him back on first one shoulder, then the other before dropping him to the mat with a sweep of his leg. Adan was ready for it. Almost as soon as his back hit the ring, he whipped his body up again, using that momentum to snap a punch that made Gage’s jaw sing. The crowd roared in approval.

  They circled, trading blows more evenly now, moving so quickly that none of the observers should be able to see how they pulled back at the last second. It was Adan who moved the fight into grappling. Here Gage had to be more careful of the damaged ribs and other injuries. He needed Adan in good enough shape to move, if they had an opportunity for escape. Minutes ticked by. They continued to trade the upper hand, waiting for the end of round whistle. But none came.

  As he rolled to the top, working for an arm bar, Gage caught sight of Mackey’s face. The sergeant looked grimly satisfied, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes holding a gleam of bloodlust that Gage recognized from people who came to fights only to feed on the violence. Mackey wanted Adan brutalized or dead. He wasn’t going to blow the whistle.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Adan got loose. Gage felt his leg a hairsbreadth away from a leg bar and rolled to mitigate the hold. They couldn’t keep this up forever. He couldn’t actually hurt Adan, and whatever orders he may have been given, Adan wasn’t about to really hurt him. Maybe if one of us feigned unconsciousness . . .

  An alarm rang out, shrill and repetitive in a tone that Gage fully expected to be echoed by the metallic thunk of mechanized bunker doors sealing shut. He froze.

  Embry.

  Above him Adan stilled, blood dripping down from his temple onto Gage’s chest. Abruptly he was snatched back by a couple of soldiers who’d climbed into the ring. Another pair roughly jerked Gage up by his arms.

  “What the fuck, man? We weren’t finished,” he complained, eyes searching the room.