Dark Divide (Shadow and Shine Book 2)

by Danial Hooper

  “Hey Seth, come take a look at this,” Reyes shouted from a nearby hill. It took Greg a moment to remember his fake name. Greg, or Seth, walked over to Reyes and searched the surrounding area. Reyes was crouched down with a look of concern on his face, but Greg saw nothing. There were trees sprouting fresh greens and moss growing on the ground, but zero irregularities.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Reyes surveyed the stream. “Look up.”

  Above Greg hung thick pieces of rope, with a tarp in the middle, tied to four trees. Greg estimated it to be hanging over thirty feet in the air, nearly invisible unless you are searching. “It’s an observation perch. I’ve never seen one this high up, but it’s built for surveillance.” Reyes crunched a leaf in his hand and threw it to the side. “Someone’s waiting for Conrad to return. We’re not alone.”

  “Who? Couldn’t this belong to Conrad?”

  “Doubtful.”

  All of a sudden, paranoia set in and Greg felt eyes watching him from surrounding trees. Someone was hiding in the distance. A potential foil to his plan. Someone wanted to interrupt Greg’s first meeting with Conrad as he continued to follow Adam’s path. Neither Adam nor Reba mentioned anyone getting in the way. Yet, it appeared there was a threat.

  If it were not discussed, did it signify Adam wasn’t prepared for everything? Did the seemingly omnipotent Alpha have a flaw after all?

  Doubtful.

  Greg decided to listen to Reyes but trust in Adam’s plan. He would be fine.

  *******

  Mickey Kyle

  Daylight

  Eastbound

  She could have done something, anything. Anything would have been better than watching Asher and Shelly get murdered. She was supposed to know things, but she either didn’t know, or didn’t care. Why? What answer would she give, whenever she finally spoke? Mickey wanted to hear what she had to say, instead the rest of the drive was silent.

  Mickey was just as much to blame as her, though. At his core, Mickey felt the weight of regret for another failure. He had the Pulse, at least that’s what Mona said. Of course, Mickey didn’t trust her quite as much anymore. Maybe he just had insomnia after a severe case of static electricity. Maybe zapping the dog was luck before because, whatever it was, Mickey couldn’t do it again. And Shelly died because of it.

  Nino handed Marshall a phone. “It’s him.”

  “Good morning, sir. We’re two hours away… Yes, sir… No, sir… I don’t have access to him. He’s not exactly carrying his cell phone… There is nothing I can do, sir… You made the decision, not me… Sir… Sir… Can we have this conversation in person… yes, sir… yes, sir…. I understand… he’s no good to Omega if he’s dead, is he? Fine. Yes, sir. What time? That soon? What do you need from me? Yes, I’ll be there… Four survivors. Good luck, sir.”

  There was no use in trying to figure out where they were going. There was no use in asking. Mickey, Mona, Tink and Jenna were prisoners. The only person who could’ve saved them was stabbed in his back and died in the open field. Shelly would’ve known what to say, but she was dead too. Harry would’ve been hyper-aggressive and distracted Mickey, but the soldier’s abandoned him in the middle of nowhere. He was too depressed to make it out alive.

  Mickey tried not to blame Mona for everything, but he couldn’t help it. She was supposed to be stronger than Asher, at least that’s what he said. She was supposed to be their leader, but instead she turned into an expressionless mute. Mickey wasn’t perfect, but he tried to make the Pulse come and save the day. But she already had it. Shelly told him about how Mona broke someone in half, using only her words.

  “Something wrong, sir?” Nino asked.

  Mickey looked left to Jordan, he was barely listening even though Nino’s voice sounded concerned.

  Marshall shook his head. “Nothing to lose sleep over. Omega is moving. We have the samples. We’re headed to Union Matis.”

  “Obviously, sir.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he looked like he regretted how he answered Marshall. His eyes were wide and his mouth was pursed shut.

  “Obviously? Excuse me? Well aren’t you special. Do you want to take over? Are you an expert now? Since when have I expressed an interest in your ability to make reasonable deductions?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Apologies live in graveyards with fancy tombstones. Just shut up and let me drive.”

  How many days have passed since Mickey’s accident? Five? Six? Has it been a week yet? However long ago, the world was a different place now. It kept changing, kept getting worse. Mickey thought the worst thing possible were the Wolves, then it was the bomb, and then he met the soldiers.

  They were more dangerous than the Wolves.

  *******

  Greg/Seth

  11:38 a.m. (Eastern time)

  Mill Creek Hollow, PA

  Greg wasn’t in denial, Adam’s machinations were unpleasant by societal standards. Some would call him immoral, others would call him evil. Greg viewed him as amoral. An amoral man is not held down by cultural principles of right and wrong. Adam didn’t enjoy death, he saw people as chess pieces and believed sacrificing pawns better exposed his opponent. Greg wasn’t sure who was sitting on the other side of the chessboard, but he accepted his role as a bishop. He would move diagonally while the rest of the board was restricted.

  If Conrad were important to Adam, then someone would target Conrad. Greg wasn’t sure if he was a pawn or a rook in this analogy, but Greg was going to utilize his skill-set until his service expired. Conrad Greene, the newly appointed General of all military forces, was going to help usher in the New World. Thus, the individual spying on him and his cabin was a piece from the other side of the board.

  “Is the person still here?” Greg asked, as he followed Reyes down the bank. Before Adam touched him, Greg would have fallen over as he went down the steepness, but his legs were strong and his balance was solid. He wasn’t up to the standards of Asher or Ben, but he became a satisfyingly better version of himself.

  Reyes spoke over the running stream, his voice carried through the trees. “Nope. Gone. Probably followed Greene when he left. So he’ll be back soon.”

  “Are you sure?” Greg asked, noticeably quieter than Reyes.

  “If he’s like me, yes. We should get inside, try to catch some rest before Conrad gets back.”

  Greg crouched down and ran his hands through the water. His reflection made him smile. There was life here, survival, and it was looking back at him. Greg made the correct decision and was headed in the best direction.

  The risk of someone interrupting his plans made him feel angry. It wasn’t rage, not the kind of fuel that leaked out of Ben’s personality, but indignation. He couldn’t understand how someone dared to interrupt, dared to stand in the way. Whoever it was, they were in for a rude awakening when they came back.

  “Come on, let’s get up there. Door’s unlocked. You can have the couch, I’ll take the recliner.”

  Greg’s mind remained sharp, but his body became exhausted the moment he relaxed onto the couch. He was healthy, but fatigued. Adam may have saved his body, but the stress on his mind was unavoidable. It was reminiscent of the feeling Greg felt as he fell asleep while studying the notes of Dr. Lucas and Dr. Simon. The same debilitating fatigue which caused him to oversleep the most important meeting of his life.

  Those days were gone though. The Old World was an obsolete organism dying in denial. Greg was ushering in the New World by using two men in power. Conrad Greene was hours away from beginning his oblivious service to the New World’s king. Greg would approach the other man, the one Adam called the Voice, once he felt in satisfactory control over Conrad. Other than the spy, the plan was lined up. Greg’s mind was able to ease enough to sleep.

  His eyes became heavy, he could feel the cool darkness slide over him.

  Until Reyes moved the recliner and left the room.

  This shouldn’t have b
othered Greg; they went over two thousand miles with only two stops to the bathroom, it was biologically probable Reyes needed to use the bathroom. However, Reyes didn’t say anything before leaving, and he should have noticed Greg was still awake. Reyes offered constant updates, yet he didn’t feel the need in this particular instance.

  Greg was likely over-analyzing Reyes. The soldier wanted to protect him and understood Greg as a vital piece of America’s future. He may not believe everything Greg has said, but Reyes knew Greg was a survivor of Salt Lake City, which was more important than his suspicion. There would come a time when Reyes would ask questions to clarify Greg’s previous insincerity, and Greg would be prepared, but that was not why Reyes was no longer seated on his recliner.

  Or why Greg could hear him searching through Conrad Greene’s bedroom.

  Reyes was not a part of Adam’s plan. At least, that’s what a gas station attendant said. Thus, he would be removed from the situation soon. Reba said before Conrad arrived. Greg didn’t see that as possible. He wasn’t about to fight an armed soldier.

  Greg drifted off thinking about Reba. Her perfect face. Her harsh words. He feared seeing her again, but hoped it would happen.

  *******

  Harry

  Late Morning

  Kilbroth, Iowa

  The pick-up was driven by an old farmer. He said he was over seventy years old, but he moved around better than most in their forties. He wasn’t a big man, just an average looking fella with short grey hair, but he lifted Harry and Asher like they were his grandkids. His body’s ability to reject the poison and keep him alive must have exhausted him, though, because he didn’t fight back when old man Mason picked him up and put him in the back of his truck.

  Mason was a good man, he brought them back to his farmhouse for a chance to rest up. Asher didn’t sleep. Harry didn’t feel a need to sleep, either. Outside their room, the man left a fresh change of clothes for them. They were on a farm, so of course it was flannel and blue jeans. He enjoyed a clean cloths and the smell coffee in the morning.

  Harry was grateful for the breakfast and comfortable seating, but he couldn’t eat or get comfortable. His leg was causing a lot of issues, hopefully it wasn’t infected. It was unexpected to have Asher alive and, hopefully, join him in the quest to save their friends, but Harry couldn’t afford to be weakened anymore. If he was going to die from gangrene, then so be it. He just wanted to die after Marshall.

  The old man came in from the kitchen with orange juice. Harry thought he looked like an older version of Asher, with his thick hair and lady-killer eyes. If it weren’t for the bad timing, Harry would’ve joked about the old man being his dad.

  “Not hungry?”

  Harry forced a bite of his eggs. The flavor was savory, but he could barely swallow it down. He nodded at the old fella and hoped it was enough not to hurt his feelings.

  Asher didn’t bother faking it. He pushed his plate away and sighed. Harry stared at the once-handsome man, and wondered if he remembered anything from last night. He barely talked since they were found, and didn’t say a word about being poisoned or being covered in Shelly’s blood. Instead, Asher looked uncomfortable and angry.

  He couldn’t believe it. Asher was dead, and Harry was ready to die, too, when the old man showed up driving his pick-up truck. The poison killed him. Harry watched him die. Black streaks of poisoned veins scattered along his neck up to the left side of his face. Even his left eye was black.

  He looked like a Shadow.

  Mason pulled Asher’s plate across the table and began eating from it. Asher didn’t mind. “Ah well, no worries. I shoulda asked if you men wanted anything before preparing a meal.”

  Harry smiled. “We appreciate it though, buddy. I haven’t had a cooked meal in years. Just no appetite with all that’s happened.”

  “Understandable. And how are you feeling?” He turned his attention to Asher.

  “I’m not hungry, if that’s what you’re asking,” Asher answered.

  Harry didn’t like the way he was rude, but tried to smooth it over. “He don’t eat much. That’s how he stays so thin.”

  The old man nodded, “What happened?”

  Asher answered before Harry couldn’t speak. “Bad men made a decision. They killed our friend. They tried to kill me. They left Harry out here to die. We’re lucky you found us.”

  “I can’t understand how you’re still alive.” Harry asked.

  The old man smiled. “What do you remember from last night, young man?”

  Asher cleared his throat. “A man poisoned me.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  Harry thought that was a weird question to ask. The old man didn’t have much reason to want to know what poison feels like.

  Asher’s eyes widened. “At first, it felt like a snowball went inside my chest and was turning my insides into ice. I remember my fingers tingled and my skin grew goosebumps. I felt cold. My stomach started exploding. My eyes felt like they were ready to fall out. And cold. A lot. A lot. Of cold.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then it got warm. There was heat, the ice melted. I could hear my heart beat. I could smell my blood circulate. I could feel my veins thaw out,” Asher said, rubbing against his neck.

  “What do you think caused it?” the old man asked, smiling. Harry was beginning to get half annoyed at his questions.

  “I’m different. I heal different, move different, breath different. It all started a few days ago. It’s hard to explain. But… yeah, I heal faster than others.” He gave Harry a subtle nod. Harry wasn’t sure if the nod was about what happened, or if he was signaling that he was ready to go.

  “Oh, you didn’t heal on your own. It was him. He saved you,” the old man said, gesturing towards Harry.

  They shared a look of confusion.

  “I checked your heartbeat when I first got there. I thought you were dead, but didn’t want to be wrong. Right away, I was surprised to see you were livin’, with your color being whiter than a bag ice melt. You were even breathin’, though. I loaded your friend onto the bed of the truck, and when I came back to you, your heart stopped. Did you remember that?”

  Asher shook his head.

  Harry didn’t remember it, either.

  “I checked twice. No breathin’, either. Still, I put you in the bed of the truck too. I was going to bury ya. The instant you laid beside Harry, your heart started beating… and your lungs followed.” He shook his head. “Crazy talk, I know.”

  ”Me? I healed him?”

  “You sure did.”

  Silence fell over the table.

  Harry healed someone. He fixed Asher. He saved the day. It meant so much to know he had a Pulse, but still hurt knowing he didn’t save Shelly. She should be alive too. Harry couldn’t be too happy about the news because he felt guilty for not being strong enough to save her, too.

  Asher stood from the table and admired pictures on the wall. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Mason. And you’re Asher, you’re Harry.”

  Asher answered, “We are.” He pointed up to one of the pictures. “And who is this?”

  Harry was surprised he could even see out of his eye. It looked dead. Maybe even as if his eye socket was empty.

  “That’s my boy. Goes by Rabbit,” Mason answered. He was proud to be a dad, Harry could hear it in his voice.

  “With all due respect, he doesn’t look like you.”

  “Adopted. I met his mom when I was in Korea. Never dated or nothin’, just good friends. Her son tracked me down when he moved to the states. After she passed, he snuck outta the country and needed a place to live.”

  “That’s really nice.” Asher smiled. “He seems interesting, where did he go?”

  “Moved out west, said he was chasing his dream… fulfilling his purpose. Rabbit was all about being someone, someday. He wanted to be a hero. A good guy. But never joined the service like I did. He had other ideas.”

  “I kn
ow the type.”

  “There’s no type like Rabbit. He’s got a way… make ya believe in everything he says. Rabbit is the best I know.”

  Harry was confused by their conversation. Asher seemed to be mightily interested in this stranger, despite there not being much he could offer.

  “Alright, so, Asher, ready to go?”

  “Not yet,” Asher answered.

  “Does your son have weapons here?”

  Harry looked at him, bewildered. “Huh?” Who goes into a strangers house and asked for a gun?

  “Funny you should ask—”

  Harry interrupted, “Yeah, funny—” He didn’t like the way Asher was acting. Poison changed him.

  Mason didn’t let him continue, “Rabbit had quite the little sword collection back in the day. Used to have more, when he moved out a few years back, I sold ‘em on the internet. But, there’s one left. Why?”

  “May I have it?”

  Harry spoke up, Asher wasn’t being rude on purpose, but he sounded bad. “Well… now… we don’t need to take anything from this nice man. You’ve done enough.”

  “We’re not taking, Harry. He’s going to give it to us. Isn’t that right, Mason?”

  “That’s right,” Mason answered. He was happy to listen to whatever Asher said. Harry didn’t like hearing him manipulate the old man, but he didn’t know how to argue either. Asher asked for a weapon, and Harry knew why. That was a good thing, not a bad thing. So Harry would be okay with Asher getting some fancy sword.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Mason disappeared up the stairs.

  Harry whispered, “What are you doing?”

  “I know what has to happen. His son’s sword is mine now. We’re going to save the others. W leave in five minutes, deal?”

  Before Harry could answer, the old man returned with a long, curved sleeve covering what Harry guessed was a giant sickle.