Must Remember: Dead or alive, they want her back. (Solum Series Book 1)

by Colleen S. Myers

  In the ensuing hours, I tried countless times to call home, to call 9-1-1, every number in my contact list. No answer. A time or two, I thought I heard people moving around outside, but I didn’t investigate. I kept the door locked and watched the TV for news. If someone identified themselves as police, I’d answer, but not for anyone else. Not now.

  I confiscated a knife from a drawer and waited behind the door. That way, if anyone got in, they wouldn’t see me right away, and I still had a clear view of the TV.

  My heart rate slowed, but my hands kept shaking. Huh. I didn’t know why. I should be calm now. I needed to be calm, but my mind spun like a hamster on a wheel. None of this made any sense. What the hell was going on here?

  Maybe food would help me settle, caffeine. I grabbed a sandwich from the fridge, and a drink. But the thought of food nauseated me even more, and I threw it away, waiting.

  The clock read 8:34 p.m. when I gathered the nerve to venture outside. It would be dark now, easier to hide. I’d managed to nap a little bit, but my mind raced too much for true rest. My eyes felt gritty, and I still smelled carrots. God, that was gross.

  I lived on campus, but my mom was only fifteen miles away. By car, that wasn’t too bad. On foot, the trip would suck, but I could make it. I had to make it. There were no police around, nobody had come. I needed to go home. I needed to see my mom and make sure she was okay.

  I shook out my sweaty hands, then rubbed then down my outer thighs while my gut did internal cartwheels. I could do this. I grabbed the doorknob and stepped across the dried puddle on the floor into the hallway.

  Hatch marks scored the outer surface of the door, and a bloody kitchen knife rested near the outstretched hand of the cook who lay across the threshold.

  I averted my eyes and skirted around the cook’s inert form then walked through the kitchen into the cafeteria, failing to avoid the blood-tinged carrot-soaked air.

  Wait. Red hair.

  Sarah! She sat in a different spot by the cereal dispensers. She’d put her face down on the table, her red hair spread across the plate; some vomit decorated the floor. Guess she didn’t head back to her room after all. And she was so still.

  My heart clenched. Please no.

  Slowly, I approached and touched her shoulder. No response. Did she have a seizure or something? I lifted her head.

  Her hazel eyes were wide and filmed over. Dead. Pancake and puke dribbled down her chin.

  I let go and her head fell. The thunk when it hit the table made me jump.

  Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

  The smell of the sweet syrup made me sick; my vision blurred. I turned and dry-heaved next to the body. The strength went out of my legs and I sat. My head dropped between my knees.

  Sarah.

  My mind flashed to that same image of her hanging off me, saying how much she loved me, how I was her best friend. I saw her running away from me on the playground when we were little, passing me notes in high school, all the sleepovers as kids.

  I brushed the back of her head with my hand. My insides twisting, mouth dry. I should’ve found her. I should’ve taken her with me to that room. But what if she went nuts? I didn’t know, but too late now. She was my best friend. I should’ve looked for her.

  I’m so sorry.

  A sob slipped out, then another until I couldn’t stop. My dad would have been so disappointed in me. I rocked back and forth on my seat.

  Oh god. What was I going to do? Nobody was answering. What the fuck was going on here! What sort of madness was this?

  I rubbed my hands over my wet face, wiping away my tears. Home. That was still the plan. I needed to go home. My heart pounded a sick rhythm in my ears, and my thoughts scattered. I needed to find my mom.

  No room for tears, not now.

  Later.

  I ran toward the street. There were a few pools of blood. No signs of the bear or anyone else. Nobody alive, anyway. The short dude from earlier remained curled on the ground. Cars lay scattered in piles, and more debris littered the asphalt. The same damn car alarm blared in the distance, and the air carried the smell of decay.

  Red lights bathed the ground, and I looked up.

  This time I couldn’t hold back the laughter.

  Holy shit.

  Chapter Two

  My head hurt. A groan slipped out, and my eyelids fluttered open. The sun was directly overhead and way too bright. The suns, rather. Two of them.

  Huh?

  I blinked to clear my vision. The suns remained. I brushed the hair out of my eyes. The suns remained. As I stared, I swore I heard laughter, but when I pushed myself onto my elbows and looked around, there was nothing except the breeze and the harshness of my own breathing.

  I lay in some sort of stone quarry. Mounds of rocks at the bottom of a mountain range, snowy peaks in the far distance. A thin mist hung over the area, a few stray clouds visible in the afternoon sky. The air smelled odd, musty, with hints of wind, dust, and rain.

  This place didn’t seem familiar, at all.

  My heart rate picked up. My mouth grew dry. Disquiet shivered through me, making the hair on my arms stand straight up.

  I glanced down. I rested on an oversized boulder on one of those heaps of rock. I could feel it, cold and slimy, underneath me. I could also feel something drip down my neck. I rubbed the back of my head and touched a small cut. When I brought my hand back around, crimson stained my palm.

  Shit, I was bleeding. There was a fair bit of blood on the ground, although I didn’t feel any other injuries. I wore some sort of strange androgynous uniform, shapeless and butt ugly. The fit was loose, and the material seemed sturdy, like satin, but heavier, with no shine to it. Its dark gray color matched the atmosphere. This was so not me. Not that I was a fashionista or anything, but even I had better taste than this. And look at that; I was barefoot. This would be fun.

  I racked my sluggish brain. Last I knew, I’d been going to class. There’d been an accident, and everyone was acting strange, demented. I tried to call 9-1-1. No answer. There was the fight at the cafeteria, the hiding, and Sarah…

  I stopped.

  That couldn’t be right. It didn’t happen. Of course it didn’t. Sarah was fine. Maybe I got drunk or someone slipped me something. That would explain the clothes and waking up in the middle of nowhere.

  Then I remembered the quad, the red lights.

  A nasty taste flooded my mouth. A thought niggled at my brain like a worm. Something. What had I seen? I couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t I remember?

  My head spun when I sat all the way up. I dragged in a deep breath and held it, then let it out over the count of five, leaning forward. God, this day sucked. And I still needed to get home.

  I examined my surroundings again—whole lot of stone, dirt, muck, and not much else. I saw some trees and vegetation in the distance, nothing close. No lights, but it was daytime. No smoke signals, no sign of life.

  Panic skittered down my spine. I wasn’t the type of person to wake up in places I didn’t know. My mom raised me better than that. Mom. My brain shied away again.

  A strong draft buffeted me and I shivered. Well, wherever I was, I needed to move. Safety first. The wind had a chill in it, and it smelled like rain. I needed to find shelter, water, food, in that order; those were my priorities. My memories would come to me as I walked.

  I crawled to the edge of the rock, slid on my belly, then threw my legs over the side. After a fortifying breath, I lowered myself an inch at a time, bare feet searching, arms straining. The surface disintegrated under my hands, and I slipped down the side of the boulder, fast. A scream tore out of me as I grabbed for purchase. My right hand found a small hold and stopped my fall. My shoulder shrieked in protest at the sudden weight as my left hand gripped a nearby crack. Phew, that was way too close.

  I looked down to gauge how far it was to the next ledge and snorted. I was only a few feet shy of the bottom. With a grunt, I dropped off the rock and straightened. My hands stung an
d my shoulder ached, but I was otherwise intact.

  The rock looked weird. A funky dark brown color, unlike anything I’d ever seen, the surface was rough and uneven. If I rubbed at it hard enough, it crumbled. Huh. I studied it a second, then shrugged. I was no geologist.

  I swiped at my uniform. Not a mark on it. Dang, I kind of liked this fabric; it was pretty sturdy for satin. I stooped down onto my stomach and threw my legs over the side. Here we go again.

  When I stood at the bottom of the quarry, I wavered for a second, trying to decide on my direction. I didn’t have a compass, and there wasn’t any moss. Wasn’t there a saying that moss only grew on the north side of an object? Well, no moss here. There did appear to be a hint of a path among the rocks to my left, sloping downhill. Downhill seemed easier. I went that way.

  As I walked, a burst of cold flowed around me. Someone—something watched. I stood stock-still. A thunderous boom sounded to my right, and I whirled. Faint mocking laughter drifted from the same direction, flat and cold.

  My lungs seized. I ran, instinct riding me hard. That laughter was bad. The land distorted around me. The ground grew slippery. I tripped, skidded, and then slammed hard into the dirt.

  The cold intensified; I scrambled up and took off. My breath shortened. Sweat pooled between my shoulder blades as I flew away from that horrible sound. More crashing followed behind me, but I wasn’t looking back. Nothing would make me look back. I tucked my arms against my body and lengthened my stride.

  I stumbled into a clearing—more dust, rock, and muck. I spun around and chose a direction at random.

  Must keep moving. I had to escape that awful sound.

  I followed the impression, a faint trail etched into the ground for five to ten minutes or so, until a stitch in my side forced me to a halt.

  The cold had faded, yet everything still felt wrong.

  I panted and looked around. There was no vegetation, no water, and no life. Come on, there had to be something nearby, some place to hide.

  Determined, I started jogging again until fatigue forced me into a slow shuffle. Time passed, and I put one foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. I marched along like a good little soldier, or maybe a drunken one, given the way the land swayed around me. Not that I was ever in the military. Being in the military took pride and talent. Neither of which I had, according to my daddy. I was good at school, but not an ace. I wasn’t a girly girl or a super athlete. That made me a failure in his eyes. Maybe that was why he left us.

  I kept trying to remember how I got out here, but everything was a blur. That wasn’t good. I needed to find civilization as soon as possible. And there was that laughter. Maybe it was my imagination or the head injury, but I felt like something was after me. I had to get away. Everything inside me screamed get away.

  The path opened up, and I stumbled out of the quarry onto a rocky mountainside. No more looming piles of rock. At the edges, I saw sparse patches of dark blue grass. Finally, some landscape, but there still weren’t any clear markers of development. Where the hell was I?

  I circled around and tripped over a loose rock, toe throbbing

  Oh, screw it. I rolled onto my back in momentary defeat, arm over my face. My head still hurt, and my mouth felt like sandpaper. I was so thirsty. God, I couldn’t think about food and water right now.

  Shivers wracked me as I lay there. A faint breeze blew my hair in my face, and tears burned my eyes. I screamed and kicked the ground. What the hell was going on here? My breath stuttered in and out. Black spots filled my vision.

  No.

  I couldn’t afford to panic. I’d figure this out. Control was imperative; it wasn’t optional. If I’d learned anything from my dad, it was that panicking never made the situation better. You have to push yourself if you want to succeed. I could handle this; I just needed to relax, and I’d figure out what was going on. Deep breaths, in and out. My heart rate slowed.

  Yeah. That was better.

  Gazing upward, I found myself imagining shapes in the cloudy haze. Look, a bunny. There was more life in the clouds than on the ground right now. I hadn’t seen, heard, or felt anything at all indicating—

  Wait.

  I pressed my hands down. There, a faint tremor. I flipped over and put my ear to the ground, my breath disturbing the dirt. I felt a tickle against my cheek. There. I waited. There. And…again. It was hypnotic. Something must be causing that thumping. I staggered up. Hell, yeah. I turned right, touched the ground to confirm I still felt the vibration, and moved forward.

  The prospect of civilization lent speed to my movements. I stumbled faster and faster, following the sensation. As I got closer, I could hear the thumping, as well as feel it travel up my calves. I turned to the left; the noise faded. Not that way. I swung back around. Come on, I can do this. I grimaced. Those were my dad’s exact words when he forced me into some sports activity I knew I wouldn’t be any good at. Jeez, why was I thinking about my dad so much today? He left us years ago.

  Rounding a corner, I entered a box canyon. A field of blue grass swayed before my eyes, and a few barren, spiky trees peppered the edges. Toward the far end of the clearing, four men grouped around a machine of some sort, facing away from me.

  I moved close enough to study them and regained my breath. Caution kept me from calling out. Hello, solo girl running into a group of guys in a strange place. And something seemed off. Come to think of it, there was something off about this whole place. A sick feeling churned in my gut. This didn’t look like anywhere I knew of on Earth. What did I know though? I’d never been anywhere but Pittsburgh in my life.

  I studied the group. The two bigger men stood, while the two smaller men leaned down and sifted through the grass. They hunched around the device. All of them had dark hair, tanned skin, vivid tattoos, and were dressed in tight black leather vests and pants. They each carried some type of weapon, knives for the most part, though one daring fellow toted what looked like a mace. Their limbs seemed disproportionately long, their movements sinuous, graceful.

  That was the end of the similarities. Of the two men standing, the taller one had long, wavy charcoal hair, tipped in blue. His hair seemed thick, almost like twine, but not dreads, and reached the small of his back. He gestured at the man beside him, who was shorter, thicker, stouter but not fat. He had a Mohawk with red and green streaks. Santa came to mind, but I had trouble imagining Santa armed and sporting a ’hawk.

  The two smaller men wore their hair cut close to their scalp. One kept his long on top, but cropped on the sides and painted yellow, the other had a bowl cut with streaks of pink. Their position kept me from seeing much more, and their attention never wavered from the ground.

  The contraption they surrounded had to be what made the rhythmic noise. It looked like a press, with a large weight suspended by a rope over a flat surface. They wound up the rope, then released it. The weight hit with a loud boom. Rocks split and debris showered the area in an arc. Loose gravel jumped on the ground with each impact.

  In front of the men, a cave entrance loomed in the mountainside. A wooden frame supported the opening with a track running out, ending at the machine on the right. It reminded me of an old-fashioned mine.

  At this distance, I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but the tall guy seemed excited about something. He kept gesturing at the machine and at the mine, then the ground.

  I sensed no threat from any of them, yet I feared calling out; something—instinct—held me back.

  I wandered closer and braced myself against a nearby tree, gray and spiky. A thin branch cracked and fell as I leaned against it.

  The tallest guy’s head rose, and he pivoted to look at me, his head cocked to the side. It was a toss-up who was more surprised. Pretty sure it was me.

  Chapter Three

  His eyes were ghost white, with slit pupils, face smooth and hairless. A large tattoo on his neck spread up onto his cheek, and resembled claw marks. His eyes appeared much too big for
his face; the brow pronounced, jaw thin, cheekbones sharp.

  Those eyes rooted me; their milky color caused a distant memory to tug at my mind, and then fade away. They could have been fake lenses, but his slit pupils contracted as he focused on me, and a sinister smile wreathed his face.

  Nope, those puppies were real, and his expression was not reassuring. His eyes glistened with what looked like glee. I watched those eyes track up and down my body. His nostrils flared, and he stalked in my direction, his movements slow and deliberate, but a little disjointed given the length of his limbs. He reminded me of a predator that had sighted its prey. I froze, his eyes mesmerizing me for a second before looking away.

  Then it dawned on me. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. I should’ve realized it sooner. I kind of did realize it sooner. The suns, the rocks, the grass, the everything. This was not Earth. This guy was not human: the posture, the movement, the eyes. He was definitely not human.

  Holy shit!

  The fear I suppressed earlier rushed through me. My hands shook and my heart raced. I stumbled backward and turned to run, barreling smack dab into the tree. Graceful-R-Us.

  The tall guy reached me as I staggered back, and he blocked my escape. The other men twisted to stare then glanced at each other. Nobody looked happy to see me. The ones hunched near the press appeared frightened, their eyes wide.

  “Who are you? How did you get here? Are there others?” The tall guy’s voice was strange, echoey. With a sick start, I realized he wasn’t speaking English, but I could still understand him. His voice was deep and rich, like aged whiskey, the echo the same. The effect was odd, a bit off-putting, and not even a little attractive. Nope.

  The tall guy pressed close, just short of touching me, his slit eyes alert and a snarl pulling at his lips. He had his hand on his knife but was not brandishing it. Santa slid to my right, flanking me. The other two men remained crouched by the apparatus.

  I backed up and held out my hands. My ass smacked the tree behind me. A chill raced through me. I stared at him until his questions registered.