Shadowfall: Shadows Book One

by TW Iain

  When his head struck the rock, nausea raced through him as a brilliantly dark light flared and died.

  Then he was on the floor and he could hear heavy, trembling breathing.

  “What the hell was that thing?” Tris screamed.

  The roar in his ears became the background drone of pumping blood, and other sounds reached him. He heard steps, and a gasp. There was the soft rustling of fabric, then something tearing. He could smell sweat, and blood, and something sharp and acrid that left a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to vomit.

  And he still could not see.

  Brice called up his lattice, scanning for filters. But he couldn’t find them. He saw the usual options, but they faded and slipped away when he reached out. He blinked hard, holding his eyes shut tight and then releasing, but still nothing. His eyes itched, like they used to when he first had the lenses implanted.

  His shoulder throbbed. The lash had been on full power‌—‌without looking, and without confirmation from his lattice, he knew he’d thumbed the intensity as far as it would go. He knew there would be kick-back from such a blast, especially at point blank range, but it shouldn’t have been so harsh and uncontrolled. His lattice should have compensated.

  Brice reached a hand round to his neck, searching for some kind of sign, like the usual flare of heat beneath his skin’s surface. But he found nothing.

  There were more sounds now, maybe a few metres from his feet. Someone was tapping, or maybe it was tools or some other kind of equipment. But he couldn’t hear voices. Hadn’t done since Tris cried out in fright.

  he called out.

  Nothing.

  Pain jolted through his thigh, like someone had kicked him. It wasn’t hard, but Brice winced anyway.

  “You staying there or what?”

  That was Tris, and he was standing over Brice. He sounded out of breath.

  “You need to kick me?”

  There was no response, but Brice heard more steps. He felt pressure on his arm, and was about to pull away when fingers squeezed.

  “You okay, Brice?” said Keelin, and she sounded close, like she was right by his side.

  “Don’t know. It just me, or is it dark down here?”

  Again, there was no response. Then Keelin spoke again.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Any of it.” She paused. “Did you hear what Tris called you?”

  Brice took a breath. He suddenly realised how cold it was.

  “I haven’t heard anything since‌…‌since whatever the hell happened.”

  “Did you see it come for you?”

  “See what come for me?” Something leathery, with foul breath and a stomach that could withstand a blast from a lash.

  “It ran right into you. I thought‌…‌we thought you were going to be next.”

  “Next?”

  There was another pause. Another part of a conversation that did not include Brice.

  “Can you walk?”

  Brice nodded, assuming Keelin could see him, and rose to his feet. His legs were fine, if a little shaky, but he swayed, and might have fallen if not for Keelin’s grip. He brought a hand up to his head, feeling the tenderness to one side, where it had struck the rock. His fingers came away damp.

  “Can’t see where I’m going, though.”

  “I’ll guide you.” Her hand moved to his elbow, and another reached across onto his forearm.

  “Brice, you ready?” This was Ryann’s voice, and she sounded more distant than usual. If that was possible.

  “Sure. What for?”

  “We’re leaving. Tris, you want to get Cathal with me?”

  What was up with Cathal? That was the only voice he hadn’t heard.

  “Let’s go.”

  The tone was wrong. Cathal’s voice was gruff and sounded disinterested. But Ryann’s voice was light and uncertain. It didn’t sound right, Ryann giving the order.

  In the darkness, Brice shuffled, trusting Keelin to guide him. He had no other choice.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  Maybe her fingers twitched on his forearm. “Not yet. Let’s get out first.”

  She squeezed his arm. Brice felt that, but only through his jacket. He received no message from his lattice, and couldn’t isolate the synapses that had been triggered. It was like his lattice was no longer keeping him informed.

  And the noises around him were off, too. He heard boots striking rock, but the sound was smothered, like his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. He couldn’t even distinguish individual treads, not even Tris’ normal clomping. When Brice counted the sounds, he thought he heard five sets, but the muffled echoes confused him.

  Keelin pulled Brice’s arm back, and they stopped. “Tunnel’s narrower here,” she said. “Put your hands on my shoulders. And try not to step on my ankles.”

  She took one of his hands and placed it on her shoulder. Water oozed out as he pressed down. He hoped she wasn’t this wet inside, and then realised that was a stupid thing to think. They’d been in the water‌—‌of course she was soaked. But her jacket would be helping, along with her lattice. It would be keeping her warm.

  He shivered again, cold seeping into his whole body. His jaw shook, and he knew that if he relaxed it his teeth would start chattering. He didn’t want Keelin to hear that.

  “Keep your other hand out,” she said, “and your head low. We’ll take it slow.”

  “Okay.” Then thinking he should say something else, he added, “Thanks.” It didn’t seem enough, but he could imagine her smile.

  “Let’s go.”

  He shuffled on, one hand running over rock. He hunched over, his head forward. He could smell something‌…‌not exactly fresh, but comforting, and he realised this must be Keelin. He tried to picture her. Hair fell over her collar, but he couldn’t remember if it was dark or light, and he felt bad about that. He tried to remember the colour of her eyes. But they were usually half-hidden by her hair, so how was he supposed to notice details like that?

  He should have been able to call up an image from his data store.

  Brice’s neck felt sore. He assumed that was down to the angle at which he held his head, but he wasn’t sure if his neck muscles were cold or warm. He took his hand from the chilled rock and placed it on his skin, just beneath his hairline, and he rubbed.

  He needed to attempt a reboot.

  Brice took a breath and delved inside, thinking of a pattern he’d been shown and told to remember. The sequence wasn’t numbers or letters. That might appeal to someone data-driven like Tris, or even Keelin, but Brice needed something more physical. His sequence involved‌…‌levers, that was it.

  He saw them now, in a dingy, dust-thick hut with no windows. The levers themselves reached up to his chest, and sat in a frame that was not as rusty as it should have been, although the paint was peeling in long, sharp flakes.

  He grabbed the first lever in the sequence, the furthest to his left, and pulled. He tightened his arm and leaned out, using his body weight, and the lever moved with a grinding creak. Then it clicked into place, just before it hit the frame.

  Brice moved on to the next in the sequence, then the third, running through the pattern without thinking now. Seven levers, because seven was a good number for memory. Or so he’d been told.

  The final lever was the central one. The rubber on the handle was starting to perish from years of sweat and neglect. He grasped it, feeling rough edges around the smoothness, and he pulled. The lever moved with a metal-on-metal grinding that set Brice’s teeth on edge, and when it slammed into place the pressure yanked at his shoulders.

  For a moment, nothing happened. A few dust motes flickered as they fell to the ground.

  And then his skin ignited as a million flames danced beneath the surface. The fire tore along neurons and blood vessels, a surge of intense power flooding through him
. Every synapse fired, his limbs jerking rigid, and for a fraction of a second Brice could feel every single cell in his body, a torrent of data that flared and burnt out with a magnesium after-burn that made his eyeballs itch.

  He must have clenched the hand on Keelin’s shoulder, because she gasped, and he saw her head twitch.

  He saw her.

  Her hair hung in night-vision green tendrils, and her jacket was a deeper shade, stark against the surrounding rock. Brice looked down, and he saw her boots, with one lace starting to slip free. Then he saw‌—‌and felt‌—‌her turn. Her eyes might have only been green because of his filters, but they looked at him.

  He smiled. “Back on-line,” he said. The words felt anti-climactic, but they’d do.

  She nodded, like it was the most common thing in the world. “So we can go a bit faster now?” She turned her head, and he caught her message to the others.

 

  Brice had never been so pleased to hear voices in his head. Even Tris’ angry tone couldn’t drag him down.

  The tunnel roof wasn’t as low as Brice had imagined, and he straightened up. He could see over Keelin’s shoulder now, but what he saw didn’t make sense.

  He reached for more filters. Many were unresponsive, and he couldn’t zoom in, so he had to focus manually.

  Tris and Ryann walked at an angle, not quite sideways but twisted. At first Brice couldn’t make out why, but then he saw Cathal between them, his arms round their shoulders. They each had hold of a hand, and Cathal’s head hung down, lolling between them. His eyes were closed. His boots dragged along the ground.

  And the side of his jacket was covered in a dark stain. There was a discoloured bandage on his shoulder and neck. Part of the tape was already coming loose, and Brice saw liquid oozing round it.

  Brice sussed, reaching out. He wasn’t surprised when there was no response.

  Maybe if he had tracker training, like Ryann, he could reach out and feel Cathal’s lattice.

  But he didn’t need to do that to know his commander’s condition was serious. His skin was pale. He was unconscious, and bleeding.

  Brice shivered, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

  They walked in silence. Brice kept his eyes on Keelin, directly in front of him. He didn’t want to look any further.

  And then the air moved across his face. It carried a fragrance that brushed away the staleness of the tunnels, a staleness he hadn’t been aware of, but now realised had been all-encompassing, like the rock pressing in. He drew the aroma in‌—‌damp leaves, and something vaguely compost-like.

  The others must have felt this too, because they increased their pace. And when they rounded the next corner, and the cavern opened up, cool refreshing air rushed over them, and to Brice it felt like life itself. He took a long, deep pull, and then ran towards the lip, jumping up the rock, barely brushing it with his hands. He lifted his head and looked to the sky, water spraying his face and trickling into his mouth. He’d never tasted anything so good.

 

  Tris’ suss dripped with angry sarcasm, and Brice turned to see him and Ryann dragging Cathal across the cave, boots scuffing on the ground. They reached the base of the lip and set him down, easing him into a sitting position.

  Brice climbed down to join them, avoiding Tris’ eyes. Data-boy was just being pathetic. Brice would only have got in the way.

  Besides, Tris wasn’t the one whose lattice had shut down, or who had that thing push into him. He needed to man up.

  Ryann was by Cathal, crouched down, reaching for his neck. Brice watched, a step back. Cathal’s eyes, still closed, flickered.

 

  Ryann’s fingers found the edge of the bandage, and she pulled it free. The sodden material came away with a sucking sound. The wound was deep. Through the crimson, Brice saw what he imagined must be tendons and, far down, something solid that might have been white.

  The wound reached down to his bone.

  Ryann took the medikit from Keelin, opened it and removed a vial that she attached to a needle-less syringe. She held the syringe over Cathal’s wound.

 

  They did as Ryann asked, Tris on one side, Keelin on the other. Brice dropped to the man’s legs, placing a hand on each ankle.

  As Ryann pressed the plunger and the liquid splashed into the wound, Brice struggled to keep his grip. Cathal’s whole body buckled violently. Tris cursed under his breath. The shaking intensified. Brice twisted his body to lay across Cathal’s spasming legs.

  Ryann placed a clean bandage over the wound. She ripped off the side tabs and stuck it into place. Cathal shuddered, spittle flying as his head rocked violently.

 

  The shaking subsided, and Briced eased off Cathal’s legs. He didn’t know if the warmth was from him or Cathal. But the man was still now, and he looked strangely at peace. Ryann had one hand on his forehead. Brice assumed this was some medical thing.

  “What now?” he asked.

 

  Brice shot Tris a look. Tris sneered in return.

 

  Brice turned to Ryann and nodded.

  “But you’d prefer to talk?” she said. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard his suss or not.

  “I’d prefer to be back in Haven.”

  “Think we all would.” Ryann around, then down to Cathal. She opened her mouth, like she was about to say something, then shook her head.

  Rain fell on trees outside, and water dripped from the roof of the cave. The storm rumbled on. For a while, those were the only sounds. When Ryann spoke again, her voice was stronger.

  “Keelin, anything from the Proteus?”

  Keelin’s eyes glazed for a moment. She swallowed, her throat bobbing, and shook her head. Ryann’s face softened. Then she climbed up to the cave entrance, scanning the forest below. Her hands wavered by her side, before she placed them on her hips.

  “Let’s talk this through.” Ryann turned, and her eyes dipped towards Cathal. “Options.”

  “How serious‌…‌I mean, what’s wrong with him?” Tris said.

  “Unsure. Wound’s deep, and the healing’s not taking like it should. Probably a toxin. Nothing I’ve come across before.” Her chest rose and fell between each sentence, like she was squeezing the words out.

  “Call for help?” Brice suggested, but he knew it was the wrong thing to say when Tris snorted.

  Ryann held up a hand. “Tris, try.”

  “Won’t work,” he said, shrugging the pack from his back and unzipping a pocket. Brice recognised the box he produced as a relay, something that would boost a signal. Tris played with it, his head shaking the whole time. “Nowhere near a strong enough signal. I can read the Proteus, but power’s too weak to ride. And the storm’s not helping.”

  “Nyle and Osker?” Tris looked confused for a moment, so she refreshed his memory. “You said they were at a hold-out nearby.”

  Tris was still for a moment, then shook his head again. “Nothing.”

  Ryann’s lips smacked in annoyance. “We can’t stay here. Nearest hold-out’s ninety minutes.” She glanced at Cathal again. “Probably take longer.”

  “Warths?” Brice recalled how Cathal hadn’t been keen to head back into the forest.

  Tris put the relay back in his pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders. “Oh, yeah. The ones Brice got all riled for us. How about we send him out as an offering? About all he’s good for.”

  “How about you go down first, you’re so tough.”

  “At least I haven’t screwed things up for us.”

  “Haven’t done anything useful either.”

  “Stop!”

  Ryann rarely raised her voice, and it was like a slap to Brice’s face. She continu
ed, in her usual tone. “Focus on the problem.”

  “Can you sense the warths, Ryann?” Keelin asked. “They still upset?”

  Ryann closed her eyes. “They’ve moved off, but not far. One of them is in pain. Hard to tell how they’ll react.”

  That would be the one climbing the tree, or maybe the one Brice had caught with his lash. He waited for some comeback from Tris, but there was none. And he wasn’t going to say anything. If Tris wanted to be childish about this, that was his outlook. Brice was better than that.

  “So we head for the hold-out?” He desperately wanted Ryann to give a positive reply. But Tris spoke first.

  “You really want to face those things again, Brice?”

  “You want to hang around for whatever comes out of those tunnels?” Brice raised a hand as emphasis. Data-boy glanced towards the back of the cave and swallowed.

  “So how do we get Cathal down?” Keelin asked. Brice hadn’t noticed her move, but now she stood on the lip, dark clouds behind her, a boot nudging a protruding boulder.

  And that gave Brice an idea. The rock was uneven, and his eyes followed a number of cracks. He thought of the kit in his pack.

  He walked forward, inspecting the rock, and climbed up next to Keelin. Just behind her, where the cliff fell away, the edge was smooth. Brice leaned forward and looked down to the soil below. He calculated the distance.

  “You got something, Brice?” Ryann asked.

  “We climb.” The solution was obvious.

  “You going to carry Cathal, then?” Tris snorted, and muttered something under his breath.

  Brice shrugged off his pack, and pulled out the micro-rope. It was barely the width of his little finger, but he’d used it before. He knew how strong it was.

  “We lower him.” He smiled, and noticed how Tris avoided his eyes. “I can set up a system, no problem. If we‌…‌I don’t know, strap his arms and legs up, maybe wrap his head. I’ve done it in training. I can lower him.”

  “So we feed him to the warths? You’re an animal, Brice.”

  “They’re further off,” Ryann said.

  “But still around, right?” Tris turned to Ryann, taking a step forward. “We only just made it away from them last time. We go down there, and who knows what’s going to happen?”