But instead of running at the sight, she felt a strange calm sweep through her and recognized it instantly. She’d experienced the same sensation in the past, when things were out of her control. It was acceptance. Either she would die in the canyon, or she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t going to climb out of the canyon and take her chances with Enforcement. If she was going to die, she’d do it on her own terms. And she’d do it attempting to be free.
The path narrowed and twisted down to the bottom. Friday could barely make out shapes around her as the lights from the wall above them dimmed. Soon, the light wouldn’t be able to reach them, and she would be left in the dark—with the scorpions. Her breathing became shallower with every step she took, and she clung to Striker’s hand as though it were a lifeline. Their descent defied logic. There was no evidence, in over a hundred years, that anyone had survived this trip. And yet, here she was, desperate and terrified, getting deeper with each passing step.
It didn’t take long to reach the bottom. The canyon wasn’t as deep as she’d thought. But what it lacked in grandeur, it made up for in atmosphere. There was an eerie stillness that made her skin crawl with the awareness that something was waiting—watching and thinking in the dark nooks and crannies.
Scorpions.
Her hands started to tremble as the darkness engulfed them and her other senses became acute. She heard the first scurry of tiny feet as they made their way along the water’s edge toward the gap in the border wall.
“Shouldn’t we walk in the stream?” she whispered. Although, common sense told her that the arachnids already knew her exact location and she would give nothing further away by talking.
“The scorpions in this canyon don’t mind the water.” Striker didn’t whisper. Nor did his voice tremble with fear.
In this canyon. Like they weren’t normal scorpions at all.
“Do you have protective suits stashed down here?”
“There isn’t a suit on the planet that would keep out thousands of determined scorpions.”
More scurrying to her left made her head snap around. She pressed closer to Striker. Without breaking his stride, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her to him. The darkness became thicker. Friday stumbled on the uneven ground.
“I can’t see,” she whispered, aware her voice was shaking.
“I can.”
“You keep saying that. It doesn’t help.”
The scurrying sounds came from every direction now. Her breathing grew shallow, making her a little light-headed. She felt Striker squeeze her waist. She curled a fist into his belt and held on tight.
Her mind whirled, throwing facts at her. Reminding her of everything she knew about scorpion stings. Their venom was a neurotoxin, which attacked the nervous system. She’d feel pain when they first struck, but it wouldn’t be agonizing. The agony would come later. First there would be vomiting, muscle cramps, paralysis, and convulsions until her lungs and heart stopped working. An excruciatingly painful death, and that was assuming she only received one sting. Each additional injection of the toxin would speed up the process. Maybe it would be better to be attacked by several scorpions, rather than just one—less time suffering. Images of herself lying on the ground, covered in scorpions, flashed in her mind, and she decided one would be enough. She couldn’t even think about her body becoming food after she died…
“You’re gonna be fine. Just focus on breathing normally.” Striker’s words cut through her impending hysteria. “Once we’re around this bend, I’ll turn on the flashlight, and you’ll be able to see where you’re going. That will help.”
She couldn’t see the bend he was talking about, or even a path in front of them—it was that dark. She shook hard now, each step on the uneven path becoming perilous. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sound of scurrying—a hurricane of tiny feet, building in volume and speed, all coming straight for them.
They swerved to the right, and the flashlight came on. She instantly scrunched her eyes closed, terrified of what she would see if she didn’t.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “You can look.”
No. She couldn’t. She turned into him, pressing her face into his chest, wishing she could crawl inside him and hide forever. But the noise wouldn’t let her. All she could hear was the scurrying. They were surrounded, and the sound was deafening.
“Look,” Striker said. “You’re safe. You gotta look, bébé.”
Clasping her fists into his shirt, she managed to look up at him, terrified of looking anywhere else.
“Not at me.” He smiled at her. “Look around you.”
Her lips were trembling hard, making it impossible to speak. To tell him that she didn’t want to look. That she might die if she saw eyes staring back at her.
“Bébé, trust me. If you look, you’ll feel better.” It was his tone, more than his words, that convinced her. The gentle conviction. The power in his voice that said he’d stand between her and her fear.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look down at the area illuminated by the beam of light. At first, she didn’t see anything, only rocks and dried-out grass, but then, at the edge of the light pool, she saw them. Scorpions. She stopped breathing at the sight, shaking so hard she thought she might pass out. Her eyes shot back to Striker.
“No, no bébé. It’s okay.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “They won’t come any closer. I promise. Look. But you’d best breathe while you do it, or I’ll have to carry you outta here.” His smile was reassuring.
For a minute, she stared into his dark eye while she fought to get air into her lungs.
“That’s it,” he soothed. “Deep, even breaths. It’s gonna be fine now.”
He rubbed her back, slow and firm, in time with her breathing. “See? That’s much better.”
Friday’s fists were still clamped in his shirt, her fingers over his steady heartbeat. She felt the calm rise and fall of his chest and tried to follow his lead, breathing when he did.
“That’s good. You’re doing good. Now, look at the scorpions. See how they stay a few feet away? They won’t come closer.”
She followed his gaze and shuddered at the sight—thousands and thousands of moving bodies, black and red, a carpet of arachnids as far as she could see.
But none within touching distance of them.
She gasped, and her eyes flew to his. “Is it the light? Are they afraid of the light?”
“No. Scorpions are nocturnal and don’t like the light, but it isn’t the light that scares them.” He paused. “It’s me.”
Her mind reeled at his quiet assertion. A million questions flooded it, the first and foremost being, why were they afraid of Striker?
He unpicked her fingers from his shirt and took her hand. “We’ve got a long walk out of here and no time to waste. Stick close to me, and you’ll be fine.”
At his words, her attention flew back to the ring of scorpions, and she held him tightly as they trekked alongside the stream bed. Slowly, they moved deeper into the canyon, all the while surrounded by a crawling carpet of scorpions. The noise was something she would never forget—the sound of a million scurrying feet as they clambered over rocks and dirt, the faint clacking of pincers as they rubbed together. It was unnerving. The sound of nightmares.
“I’m glad I can’t see their eyes.” The thought of millions of eyes reflecting through the darkness was too much to contemplate.
“Especially seeing as they have about twelve each.”
She poked him in the ribs. “That doesn’t help.”
They walked on in silence, making steady progress. When they reached the narrowest part of the canyon, the spot that should have run under the border wall, the scorpions raced up the sheer faces on either side of them, forming a moving gate for them to pass through. They inched forward, passing the scorpions and crossing under the cool glow from the wall lights that came from eac
h edge of the ravine. Friday’s heart stuttered as they crossed the few short feet that took them past the border wall. They were officially out of the Northern Territory.
And heading into the Red Zone.
“Just a little farther,” Striker said.
“Why do the scorpions stay away from you?”
He shot her a look she couldn’t quite read. “Maybe, if we get that poison out of you and you survive, I’ll let you in on that little secret. Right now, we gotta focus on getting out of here. Soon, we’re gonna start the climb out of the canyon and the scorpions will stay behind.”
“They never leave the canyon?”
Now that her terror had eased, she wondered if someone had studied the creatures. Their behavior was off. But then, she didn’t know a whole lot about arachnids in general. She glanced at Striker out of the corner of her eye. It seemed he was something else that might need some investigation. In the logical part of her brain, the part that never stopped working, she was already trying to figure out a reason for the scorpions’ aversion to the man, and she didn’t like any of the theories she came up with. Because each one meant she was in far more trouble with the man than she would have been on her own.
“No, they never leave,” he said, turning her attention back to the scorpions. “Why would you leave a cushy home like this when your prey keeps walking in and presenting itself to you?”
It was hard to believe anyone would be that stupid. “You can’t mean that people still try to get through the canyon?”
“People, animals, insects. They all wander into Scorpion Canyon, but very few wander back out.”
As they climbed the steep path out of the canyon, the sound of the scorpions following them began to fade. By the time they had reached the rim, she was fairly certain they were alone. She grasped the hand Striker held out to help her climb up onto the ridge, and with one hard yank, she was out of the canyon.
And into something far worse.
In front of her, not more than twenty feet away, was the cloud of poisonous red mist that made up the zone. It sat before them like a thick fog, heavy and impenetrable and dense. She looked up but couldn’t see where it ended. To the right and the left, it seemed to go on forever. There was no getting past it. No going under it, or around it. And Territory restrictions meant flying over it was out of the question. That left Friday with only two choices—allow Striker to lead her into the red mist or head back through Scorpion Canyon to take her chances with Enforcement.
With a shaky breath, she looked up at him. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go back. This isn’t going to work.”
“Have a little faith,” the reckless outlaw said.
Chapter Nine
CommTECH headquarters,
New York City, Northern Territory
“We believe the suspect is heading for Galveston.” The life-size image of the Enforcement agent tasked with retrieving Friday Jones stood at attention while he gave his report.
Miriam Shepherd was unmoved by his disheveled appearance and obvious injuries. The man deserved pain for having failed, yet again. Actions had consequences. It was a rule the CEO of CommTECH lived by. And she especially enjoyed the consequences when she was the one dispensing them.
“You believe?” Miriam arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
The perspiration on the man’s brow pleased her. He was right to sweat. He should be the one to feel stress from this grossly mishandled operation. Not her. It grated that this mess had landed in her lap for her to solve. If it hadn’t been for Ju-Long’s fears, the incompetence of her staff, and Enforcement’s mishandling of the situation, Miriam wouldn’t have had to get involved. Once again, she was cleaning up after other people. And she did not like it. Not at all. There would be consequences for everyone who’d dragged her into this mess.
The Enforcement agent cleared his throat. “We lost the suspects in South Munroe. There was a firefight. Our agents were attacked.”
“By the smuggler?” Sandrine asked from her perch on the sofa.
“No, ma’am. We think it was drug dealers. They mistook our hunt as an attempt to shut down their operation, which was not our aim at that time. In the confusion that followed, the suspects slipped out of Munroe. Agents were dispatched, and we thought we caught sight of them heading west into the desert. I sent a team to check the lead, but it went straight to Scorpion Canyon.”
Serge waved his whiskey in her direction. “If they’re in the canyon, they’re dead.”
Miriam clenched her jaw to stop from thanking him for stating the obvious. Unfortunately, because of the vast number of scorpions in the canyon, attempts to scan for bioreadings were always pointless. There was no way to know for sure if anyone went into the canyon. But they did know for certain that no one ever came out.
“Did you find evidence they’d taken that route?” Miriam asked the officer.
“No, ma’am, and while we were scoping the area, word came in from another team. The duo had been spotted on their way to the coast. With this new information, we’ve concentrated our efforts in the region around Galveston.”
“Do they think they can get to the Southern Coalition countries by boat?” Miriam shook her head at the stupidity. “Shut the coast down. Turn all satellites to that area and identify every person they reveal. Arm the drones and send them out to cover the gulf. Stop all shipping traffic. Find them. Do not fail.”
The man paled at the clearly implied threat. With a disgusted shake of her head, she cut the link, and he blinked out of existence. If only it were as easy to get rid of someone in reality.
Before anyone in the room could give her more useless advice, Miriam contacted their mole within the smuggling organization. The shadowy figure of the Broker appeared almost instantly.
Miriam didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. This conversation was costing her money. “Our information says they’re heading for Galveston and the gulf. Is that correct?”
“That’s what I heard.”
She almost breathed a sigh of relief at having her facts confirmed. If they were headed to the gulf, she’d get them.
“If you hear anything different, please contact me immediately.”
“At double the usual cost.” There was a smirk in the voice. Their informant had them over a barrel, and they knew it.
“Of course.” She inclined her head in polite acceptance of their new deal before cutting off the communication.
She looked over at her three co-conspirators. “As soon as this is over, I want to find out the identity of the Broker and have them removed.”
There were nods of agreement, as well as smiles filled with relief.
Chapter Ten
From a sealed box that had been left beside the canyon rim, Striker retrieved a lantern and switched it on. He also pulled out two bottles of water and yet more unappetizing meal bars. He offered both to Friday. She took the water but shook her head at the bar. Striker couldn’t blame her. He tossed both bars back into the box.
Friday sat on the ground, her back to a rock, staring at the thick red cloud in front of them. Her face, which had been filled with emotion minutes earlier, was now carefully blank, the mask she wore when she was terrified. Obviously, she was resolved to follow him into the Red Zone but didn’t think she’d make it out the other side alive.
The lack of faith in his abilities was depressing.
“It’s so thick,” she said, her eyes glued to the sea of red. “When they talk about it, they always call it a mist. It’s nothing like a mist.”
“Yeah, it’s more like deadly red cotton candy.”
She glanced up at him, then back to the red cloud. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s bright pink spun sugar. You eat it. It looks like fluff, but it’s sticky and thick. Like the cloud.”
“Is this something you’ve seen in the Coalition Countries outside of the Territories?”
“Something like that.”
Silence fell again as s
he stared at the red void. Striker was familiar with the sight, but for someone who’d only heard about it, he could imagine it would take some getting used to.
“Six million people.” The whispered words broke the unearthly stillness that permeated the Red Zone. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “That’s how many people were killed.”
He felt a strange tightening around his heart at the sight of her grief. In the three years he’d been taking people through the zone, it was the first time anyone had commented on the destruction the cloud had caused. And it was definitely the first time he’d seen someone moved by the overwhelming loss of lives.
She wiped away a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. “The people couldn’t get out of the blast zone in time.”
“They weren’t given any warning.”
“There was warning. But there were too many people to evacuate.”
He knew better but kept his silence. This wasn’t the time, or the place, to argue about the past.
“They’re still in there,” she whispered.
For a second, he could see the Red Zone through her eyes. It must seem like one vast graveyard.
“The people who were responsible for releasing an unknown and untested weapon were put to death shortly afterward,” she said, as though he didn’t know. “Theirs were the last executions carried out in the old United States.” Her eyes held heartbreaking sadness. “The government shouldn’t have done that. We needed to keep the scientists alive to find out what they’d done in order to undo it. Such a waste.
“They destroyed their research when everything went wrong, and their deaths took their knowledge with them. It was only years later, when the cloud didn’t disperse as the scientists had promised, that the authorities regretted their hasty actions. Now we’ll never know what’s in the mist, and we’ll never be able to combat it. It’s impossible to get close enough to study it. It’s like a huge time bomb from our past, just sitting there waiting to go off. What if it expands? What then? We’re no better equipped to deal with it now than we were a century ago.”
Red Zone Page 6
