Echoes (Book 1): Echoes

by Caplan, A. M.

  Washing down a handful of pills with a tall can of tinny tasting energy drink, waiting for both to kick in, she tended to her arm a little more thoroughly. Biting her tongue against the burn, she smeared the wound with a gob of ointment, taped down a thick layer of gauze, and wrapped it all up with an ace bandage. Then she cleaned herself up as best she could and finally pulled on the new clothes. It was an unfortunate looking sweatsuit, pastel and tacky as hell, but clean and dry at least. If she could find a gray wig, maybe she could hide from Amara in a retirement community somewhere.

  She reached out and poked the button for the radio.

  “…unfolding. The newest reports have increased the number of fatalities to at least eleven, and so far none appear to be related to the fire. Fire departments from as far…”

  Hannah wasn’t safe by a long shot, and she wasn’t certain of anything, except that she couldn’t stay here. In a normal world she could drive back the way she’d come and turn herself in, explain what had happened, ask for help, for protection. Maybe they’d put her in the hospital. Maybe they’d put her in a jail cell. But Hannah didn’t think for a moment there was a cell that would keep Amara out, or that she would hesitate for even a second to pile up a mountain of bodies, if that’s what it took to get to Hannah.

  So there was no turning back. Pulling out of the parking lot, she followed the signs heading south, trading sips of energy drink with scoops of peanut butter from the jar. It was better to be moving. Hannah wasn’t safe but she was alive. She had food and gas and money, and at least a direction in which to drive.

  She hoped it was the right direction. Maybe Asher had been to the bar on the card once and crammed the piece of paper in with his credit cards, swiftly forgetting about it. Considering the neat bundles and organized bag, Hannah doubted it. He said everything she needed was in the bag, and while she couldn’t claim to know him well, she didn’t think he did too many things without intention. He said he would find her, and hopefully this was how.

  Was this what you meant? Are you going to be there when I get there, Asher?

  There was plenty of time for wondering. The angle she was driving across Virginia made it seem endless, and by the time she crossed the border into North Carolina, Hannah was desperate for rest. She’d been riding a wave of caffeine and sugar through the state, but the crash was coming. Things were appearing in the rearview mirror that weren’t there, making her slam on her brakes for phantom police cars and swerve to miss something that looked like a llama but disappeared as she passed by.

  At a rest stop Hannah found a corner as far from the facilities as possible and parked, grateful the windows were heavily tinted against prying eyes. She fell asleep instantly, but the rest was fitful and short, ending when her arm began screaming for attention. The over-the-counter pain medication barely made a dent in the pain, but it was better than nothing, and she quickly chewed another handful, choked down the bitter mouthful, and got back on the road.

  It occurred to her that someone could be tracking the car. The thought bothered her, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Hannah considered stealing a different car, but even on the slim chance she managed to pull it off, there were just too many ways that could go south. Buying one without drawing attention wasn’t a much better idea, and she wanted to conserve the cash, hoping to be alive long enough to need it. Hannah toyed with some other options, places she could go to disappear, cutting all ties to where she had come from, but none of them seemed completely safe. As far as she could tell, she didn’t have a better option than to keep going, driving toward some unknown bar in Alabama.

  Almost there. If this was a bad idea and I’m about to drive a stolen car full of fake IDs and a brick of unmarked bills across yet another state line, you need to give me a sign.

  Nothing. No light from the heavens, no sudden rainbow.

  But there was a sign. It was green and white and it said Welcome to Sweet Home Alabama. Better than nothing. She watched it pass, finally disappearing in her rearview mirror.

  The hills had flattened out into large tracts of featureless land and sunshine reflecting through the window. When she stopped outside Birmingham for gas, Hannah stood for a moment, letting the sun warm her face. She unzipped the jacket and started to take it off, then pulled it back on over the red and brown mess seeping through the arm of her sweatshirt. She hoped with frequent smears of antibiotic cream and flat-out good fortune that she’d managed to avoid getting an infection, but the wound was still mostly open and wept bloody fluid that soaked the bandages and glued the gauze painfully to her skin.

  The GPS in the car could only tell her where her destination was on the map, and the most she could gather was that it was in a wide swath of commercial properties on the outskirts of a town called Falder. Unless it was located in the middle of a war zone, she was going to have to do something about her appearance.

  22

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the window next to her, she decided she was acceptably disguised, barely resembling the person who had driven into town four days earlier. She certainly felt like an entirely different person.

  “Do you want another one?” the waitress asked. Hannah nodded, sliding a ten dollar bill under the empty mug in front of her and pushing it to the end of the table where it was swiftly replaced with a full one. The screen of the tablet propped up against the sugar went black and she tapped it with her index finger to bring it back to life. It was mostly there for window dressing, open to the first free ebook she could find after fighting the urge to look at the news from home.

  Hannah had no idea who besides Amara might be trying to locate her, and she had no idea how sophisticated their means were, so she resisted searching for her own name or any of the people who were continually crossing her mind. Maybe she’d seen too many high-tech espionage movies, but out of caution she stuck to the most visible headline news and worldwide stories.

  The brutal murders of every resident of an apartment building in Buenos Aires made her think of Asher and the story he had told her of Roman. The story about the unexplained deaths of an entire volunteer fire department and several other residents of a small town in Pennsylvania made her cry, the drops making pale circles in the artsy leaf swirled onto the top of her drink.

  The shape of a man getting out of a truck and walking through the door of the dive bar across the street made her pause for a moment. Nope. Too small. She adjusted her hat, snugging it down a little more, pulling the strands of her wig in front of her face, nodding.

  “Thanks,” Hannah murmured, but she didn’t make eye contact with the waitress as the woman dropped off Hannah’s change.

  Her scalp was sweating and scratchy, and she thought about taking off the hat, but resisted. She wiggled a finger up into her hairline and itched irritably instead. The hat had enough brim to hide her face fairly well and helped disguise that the dishwater-blonde wig was, on close inspection, cheap and plasticky.

  The backpack was propped up on the chair beside her, but everything else that had traveled south with her was in the trash can of a truck stop bathroom. Staying in one place waiting for Asher to show was risky, so she shed everything that might identify her.

  At a crowded outlet mall she’d done her best to melt into the crowd and purchased jeans and a shirt more appropriate for the nicer weather, and dark, so it wouldn’t show blood from her still-seeping arm. She also bought the cheap tablet and an insanely expensive pair of leather boots. The money in the bag wouldn’t last forever if she had to keep running, but she might not last that long either. When she considered the boots might be her last pair, she let her guilt slide about the cost.

  Her next item of business, at a truck stop off the interstate, had not been at all what she expected; these places were definitely not getting the credit they deserved. Hannah bought a ticket from a machine and wolfed down a smoking hot burrito while she waited for her number to come up.

  After days of sleeping in the car, encrusted wi
th blood, being able to lock herself into a private shower with an unlimited supply of hot water was a blissful experience. She let the water wash over her, dissolving the blood and dirt, stinging as it ran over the wound in her arm. For the first time she saw it completely in the light; it was angry and deep, though there were no telltale streaks of a spreading infection. She stood under the spray until the heat began to make her light-headed.

  Stuffing the clothes she had arrived in deep into the trash can, she re-bandaged her arm and put on her new clothes. She bundled her braided damp hair into a knot at the back of her neck, crammed it up under the wig, pulled the military-looking soft cap over the top. When she reluctantly left the steamy comfort and privacy of the truck stop shower, Hannah was a stranger from the woman who had walked in.

  Since then she had quickly settled into a schedule of vigilantly watching the bar while it was open—which turned out to be most of the time—and fitfully sleeping in the back of the SUV when it wasn’t, waking up to park it somewhere new periodically to avoid notice. Today was going to be different, she finally decided. If she didn’t see Asher walk into the bar, she was going to go in and scope the place out. Then she was going to leave. To where, she hadn’t decided.

  It was Friday night and the quiet weekday street was marginally busier, though not as busy as Hannah would have liked. There wasn’t anything that resembled a crowd to blend into, but that might change. It was early yet, not quite dark. Parked up the street and across from the bar, she had a clear view of the front door, which swung open and shut to let early evening drinkers in and out. She hoped she was invisible behind the tinted windows in the half light.

  Her stomach grumbled, and she wished she’d had something more than a muffin and an obscene number of lattes today, but she tamped her hunger down. She could wait, and besides, this might be it. She might have to make a run for it soon. The thought tightened her stomach and her wallet.

  Speaking of her wallet, a big man with a shiny bald head and a leather vest with no shirt on underneath dragged a bar stool outside of the door and planted himself on it. Guess she was stuck paying the cover charge. It was appropriate really, she mused, paying the charge to get into the bar, because cover was exactly what she needed.

  Hannah kept her head down, hat on, until she came to the door. This was going to be the hard part. She didn’t have an ID, so all she could do was hope she appeared as old as she felt right now, which was closer to a senior citizen. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to look confident instead of guilty, but she was pretty sure the look on her face just came across as deranged.

  “Ladies night. No cover for the gals,” the bouncer said, looking to the next person in line. It was almost disappointing.

  It was more full than it looked from the outside, and Hannah pushed her way into a wall of music. She quickly ducked out of the entry and then had to scoot away again, out of the middle of a game of darts she’d blundered into. Trying not to do anything else to draw attention, she wove her way around the clutches of people and deeper into the bar.

  The four-top tables along the left-hand wall were all taken, with people filling the spaces between them and lined up in front of the bar that ran the entire length of the opposite wall. The back of the room opened up like the top of a T, where a band was pounding out southern rock at a deafening level.

  After threading her way carefully the length of the room, Hannah slid into the small space where the bar made an L against the wall, between two guys with shot glasses in their hands and a busty brunette trying to use her assets to get the bartender’s attention.

  It wasn’t working. The girl leaned farther across the bar with an exaggerated huff. Hannah scanned the crowded room, not seeing any familiar faces, which she expected, and not seeing any turned her direction either, which was reassuring. She looked up in surprise as a glass on a round cardboard coaster slid in front of her.

  “Hey!” the brunette whined.

  “Lulu, I know you aren’t even close to twenty-one. Now get out of here before I call your father.” Lulu’s eyes widened, and she melted backward into the crowd.

  “Now I asked him what you drank and he didn’t think that was pertinent information, but I take you for a vodka girl.”

  Looking up in surprise, Hannah saw the bartender smiling at her with kind, faded blue eyes. His wild chocolate-brown hair was curling down in front of one of them, and he flipped it away with a practiced toss of his head, grinning impishly.

  “I’ve been wondering how long you were going to sit and window shop before coming in,” he said. “I was about to step across the street and get you myself.”

  Hannah started to back slowly away, hemmed in by people on all sides.

  “Don’t worry, Hannah, the big guy warned me you might be coming. You’re safe with me. I’ll keep your glass full and you just stay put until I close down this madhouse.”

  “Hey dude, dude.” A loud young man wearing a backward baseball cap was standing on the rail, waving a twenty.

  The bartender sighed with a mock beleaguered look and went back to work, deftly popping the caps off bottles two at a time, pouring drinks without seeming to pay attention. He managed it all effortlessly while chatting up flirting women with a roguish glint in his eye.

  Before the space vacated by the underage Lulu was squeezed shut, Hannah slid onto the cracked black leather bar stool, still scanning the crowd. This could be the opposite of what it seemed to be, but if Amara or the bartender or anyone else was a part of this and that far ahead of the game, then Hannah was trapped and screwed. She might as well enjoy what could be her last drink.

  Besides, the bartender was right. Apparently she was a vodka girl. Who knew? Sipping from the deliciously sweet drink in front of her, she tried to will away the feelings of unease and claustrophobia, find something enjoyable about the music in all its off-key, rowdy glory.

  A fresh drink replaced the unfinished one in front of her, this one an artificial turquoise color with a flashing plastic ice cube in it, making it turn purple then back to blue at a steady tempo.

  “They aren’t poisoned. Promise.” The bartender winked, leaning an arm on the bar. The noise was all voices now, laughter and loud drunkenness while the band took a break.

  It had crossed her mind. But if it was drugged or roofied or whatever you could put in a drink, it was slow acting. She felt fine, except for being the slightest bit buzzed from drinking on an empty stomach.

  “I’m Gabe, by the way.” He smiled and was gone again, catching up the impatient backup at the bar while the band pretended to tune up before their next set.

  The flashing colors were hypnotic, and the new drink was so delicious that she’d drained half of it in one long pull, watching it shift from color to color as the level dropped. There were scattered dots of flashing drinks all over the bar, held above swaying hands on the dance floor, sliding across the bar. One of them was flying.

  The glass sailed through the air and shattered against the wall. A human wave surged toward the dance floor as a man grabbed another man by the shirt and took a wild swing at his head. Someone slammed into them from behind, the fighters quickly growing to three then to six as the brawlers’ friends lunged in. The leather-vested bouncer pushed his way through and launched himself into the fray, then went down, disappearing into the pile and not emerging. Bottles were flying, one smashing into the line of whiskey bottles behind the bar. Gabe ducked another projectile glass, then, pushing off on one hand, gracefully cleared the bar and jumped into the middle of the melee. It didn’t appear to do much good. Even the band stopped to enjoy the entertainment.

  Suddenly the fight surged in her direction and she tried to squeeze herself out of the way. There was nowhere to go but into the wall. A body hurtled toward her, and she cringed to avoid the impact.

  It never came. Instead a human form flew in the opposite direction, the people closest to her falling back, shoved clear.

  “You cannot stay out of danger a
nywhere, can you?”

  23

  Hannah clung to Asher for a full minute, unembarrassed, not caring at all if he stood still as a statue. He had picked her up and bulldozed his way through the crowd, putting her down in the small office through the back, the chaos from the bar now just a dull roar through the closed door.

  Asher was here, in front of her. That she was relieved was an understatement. That she was slightly intoxicated was not, but it wasn’t enough to completely dull the pain that made her whimper involuntarily when he grabbed her by the shoulders to look at her.

  “What it is?” He looked concerned, drawing back.

  “Nothing. Gunshot. It’s fine, really. I’m so glad you’re here.” She threw her arms around his waist again, and he patted her back awkwardly. After tolerating it for a moment, he gently unclamped her arms.

  “Let me see.” He sat her down on the desk and motioned for her to pull up her sleeve.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Do not act like a child. Let me see it. Maybe Gabriel can find a physician that can be trusted, if we need to.”

  “Fine.” She slid her arm painfully out of her sleeve and hiked one side of her shirt up over the bandage.

  “My, my, not here for five minutes and already the clothes are coming off.” Gabe stood, hands on his hips, leaning against the doorframe. Hannah pulled her shirt down quickly and tried to stuff her arm back in the sleeve, wincing with the movement.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” He threw her a naughty smile.

  “Gabriel, she has been shot, for mercy’s sake. And when I arrive I find her about to be crushed in a bar brawl. I was hoping she would find her way here and you would look out for her.” Asher was glaring at Gabe, who looked no less amused than he had a moment ago.