Isolation (Shadowmark Book 3)

by Alex Bratton

  A man from the crowd shouted, “Where should we go? There’s nowhere else!”

  “That’s up to you,” Nash said curtly. “You have three days.”

  Several hundred voices hollered at once, and Nash had to yell at the top of his lungs for silence. Soldiers lined up in front of the Jeep like riot police. Someone spit on Schmidt, who held his ground.

  When the noise abated, Nash continued, “In the meantime, I am imposing a curfew. When you put your campfires out at dark, you must stay at your tents or campsites.”

  “You can’t enforce that!” Nelson yelled. Lincoln frowned at him.

  Nash puffed up. He scanned the crowd, spotting Lincoln. “Anyone wandering out of the area after dark will be shot, no questions asked. Gather your things. You’re leaving in three days.” Nash motioned to Lincoln.

  Fresh murmuring broke out. A woman questioned loudly where he thought they would go.

  “It’s your duty to protect these people!” Nelson yelled.

  Lincoln nervously glanced at the crowd and grabbed Nelson’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Do you want to start a riot?”

  Nelson jerked away from Lincoln, who pushed his way through the crowd to the Jeep. Alvarez, Carter, and Nelson followed him. The soldiers recognized them and let them through to Nash, who remained on top of the Jeep staring down at the crowd. Three or four refugees looked like they wanted to protest more vigorously but eyed the soldiers’ guns. They reluctantly left in clumps, talking and muttering among themselves.

  Nash jumped down and motioned for Lincoln and his team to follow him back to his tent. Once inside, he took a swig of water and swirled it in his mouth before spitting it out in the dirt.

  Nelson spoke first. “These people are counting on you for protection, Colonel.”

  “I am protecting them! We’ll all starve if they stay.”

  “But they don’t have weapons. They don’t have a doctor. What happens when they run into trouble? Starvation isn’t the only thing they’ll encounter out there.”

  “They made it here, didn’t they? They can make it out.” Nash fixed Lincoln with a sharp stare. “Schmidt tells me you’ve found something.”

  Lincoln pulled out one of the well-worn drawings from his coat pocket and handed it to the colonel, who stared at it for several minutes.

  “What does it mean?” Nash asked finally.

  Lincoln shook his head. “I think it’s some sort of language, but we can’t decipher it.”

  Nash tossed the drawing back to Lincoln. “That’s it?”

  Lincoln stood up a bit straighter. “No. We found a second entrance to the silo. Well, to the mountain. All the doors in are closed, but something made them open at one point. I just don’t know what.”

  “Listen, Colonel.” Carter stepped forward. “We are positive this is alien now, and I believe at some point the Glyphs will come here. With all these reports of attacks in the mountains, maybe they’re looking for it.”

  “There hasn’t been any enemy activity around here,” Nash said.

  “Exactly,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think they know about it. If they did, they would be here already. They’re not related to our current invasion.”

  Nash choked on his water. “How could it not be related? Do all of you think it’s a coincidence?” He looked from Lincoln to the others.

  Alvarez glanced at Lincoln, hesitating, and then shook her head. “It’s too big a coincidence. I think we’re in danger here.”

  Nash was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Or we have a perfect place to ambush the enemy.”

  “With what, Colonel?” Carter asked.

  “Ourselves. If we can get the Glyphs on the ground, we can take them out.”

  Alvarez frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” Nelson said, and they all turned to him, “that’s why you’re sending away the refugees. They’ll get in the way if the Glyphs show up.”

  “You moron,” Nash said hotly. “If the invaders come here, I just saved a lot of lives! And listen, you four, so far we’ve kept the silo quiet. It needs to stay that way.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lincoln said as they left. “The last thing we need is people getting lost in those tunnels.”

  “I’m leaving,” Nelson announced as they walked to the silo a while later.

  “Nelson!” Alvarez said. “Where are you going to go?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know this isn’t what I want. Nash is crazy.”

  “What about all your talk about Nash protecting the refugees?” Lincoln asked.

  “I was speaking for them, not for myself.”

  Lincoln led the group toward the mine entrance even though all of them knew the way by now. Nelson had not been back since they’d discovered the symbols.

  “I wonder what Nash wants to do?” Lincoln asked.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m leaving. I think all of you should go, too. This is bigger than any of us.”

  Lincoln scoffed. “What are we going to do? Just wander around the woods? No thanks.”

  “What about the old idea of finding your sister?”

  Lincoln halted. “Mina is dead,” he said with conviction.

  Nelson turned to face him. “Solving this won’t bring her back! We’ve lost people, too! Friends. Family. I don’t think any of us would have chosen to come here if we’d known what would happen next!”

  “So you want to go back to Boston and find your dad? Because he’s dead, too.”

  Nelson clenched his fists. “I don’t care what you do. Stay here. Figure it all out. But I’m leaving with the rest.”

  “What you said the other day about asking all the wrong questions, what did you mean?”

  Nelson scoffed and tossed his hands in the air. “We stopped asking all the questions we had in the beginning. Where’s Cummings? Why isn’t Nash helping us more? Why’d they send us out here in the first place? Why didn’t ARCHIE decipher that writing before now? Who’s responsible for that mountain being shaped like a cone?” Nelson took a deep breath. “And what are we still doing here?”

  “I thought we said the Glyph attacks interrupted all of Cummings’ plans,” Alvarez said.

  “But we’re just assuming.”

  Lincoln stepped toward Nelson, towering over the small man. “You and your theories—”

  “—are just theories, I know, but what are you doing here, Lincoln? It’s arrogant to think you can solve this mess by yourself.”

  “I don’t think I can solve it by myself!” Blood pounded into Lincoln’s head. He leaned over, pointing his finger into Nelson’s face. “But I haven’t had much choice, have I? When someone who was supposed to be helping me is too scared brainless to see it through!”

  Nelson swatted Lincoln’s hand away. Lincoln shoved him with both hands. Nelson reeled back, trying to remain upright. He regained his footing and charged Lincoln, driving his shoulder into Lincoln’s belly and knocking out some of his wind. Lincoln stumbled back, and Nelson took advantage of the backward momentum to try to trip Lincoln with his leg. Lincoln recovered to grab Nelson’s shirt with his left hand, his right fist already on its way to Nelson’s face.

  Carter grabbed Lincoln’s arm. “That’s enough!”

  Lincoln tried to shake him off. “Get out of my way!”

  “Stop!” Alvarez yelled.

  The three grappled for a moment, Lincoln and Nelson going for each other while Carter forced himself between them. As Carter did, his hand slipped off Lincoln’s arm, and Lincoln’s elbow accidentally connected with Carter’s nose. Blood spurted, and Carter let them both go. Lincoln backed off.

  Alvarez rushed to Carter.

  “I’m all right,” he said irritably, waving her away and mopping up the blood with his sleeve.

  Alvarez glared at Lincoln and Nelson.

  Lincoln cleared his throat and straightened his clothing, his ears still ringing in anger.

  Nelson scowled at Lincoln before turning to the others. “I hope
you two come with me, at least.” He turned on his heel and walked back toward camp.

  Carter and Alvarez said nothing.

  Lincoln ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. It was wet with sweat. “Sorry,” he said to Carter. “Is it broken?”

  Carter pulled his shirt sleeve away. The bleeding had almost stopped. “Don’t think so,” he said.

  Feeling guilty and angry, Lincoln thought that if they didn’t have a breakthrough soon, the team would tear itself apart more than it had already.

  Chapter Four

  Despite Doyle’s frustrating lack of communication, Mina felt safe in their isolation. The invasion seemed like a distant memory now. Days had turned into weeks, and Doyle had taught her how to identify the edible plants and fungi growing in the mountains—wild grapes, scallions, ramps, and chicken of the woods, which Mina was disappointed to learn were not chickens but mushrooms. Mina adapted to gathering rather quickly but recoiled from the live rabbit Doyle brought to their campfire one night.

  “I can’t,” she complained.

  “If you don’t kill it, you don’t eat it,” he said.

  Mina watched in horror as Doyle swiftly broke the rabbit’s neck with his hands and then gutted and skinned it with his knife before spitting it on a branch over the fire.

  “That’s disgusting,” she said. “I won’t do that.”

  Doyle raised his eyebrows and dug into his meal with relish. After weeks of foraging, Mina was famished, but she could not get over her squeamishness, so she watched Doyle in silence, her mouth watering.

  From then on, Doyle caught a small animal every night. Every night, he gave her the chance to clean it, and every night, she refused. More than once, her stomach betrayed her by growling loudly as soon as the delicious smell of roasted bird or rabbit wafted in her direction.

  Finally, one evening when Doyle returned from hunting, she stood up to meet him. “Show me what to do,” she said glumly.

  Doyle handed her the soft, plump rabbit without a word. It squirmed to get away.

  She closed her eyes, whispered, “sorry,” and swiftly wrung its neck. The rest of the process was easier.

  That night, Mina slept with a full stomach for the first time in a long time.

  The next day, Doyle insisted she trap her own food. This skill did not come as easily to her as she had hoped. Judging by his curt, rude comments, she was not learning as quickly as Doyle had hoped, either.

  “You’re in too much of a hurry,” he said as they hunched over a snare. “It’s too short and small to catch anything but a mouse. Get it right.”

  “I’m trying. Just go away and let me figure it out.”

  “It’s a simple snare. Open the loop more and then prop it up.”

  “You’ve already shown me what it looks like. I can’t set it with you over my shoulder.”

  At first, Mina’s feeble traps caught nothing, and she went hungry again for many nights afterward. The first time she got a rabbit on her own, they took the afternoon off from hiking to celebrate.

  “Where did you learn all this stuff about plants and trapping animals?” Mina asked through a mouthful of meat.

  “Camping,” Doyle said.

  “Without food or water?”

  “Sometimes. It was like a game before. To see how long I could camp unaided. It was for fun then. Pretty useful now.”

  “You just woke up one morning and thought, ‘hey, I think I’ll hike up into the woods without food and water and see if I don’t die?’”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s it? You aren’t going to elaborate?”

  All the space Doyle had given Mina at the beginning of their journey was wearing on her now. Yes, her life had significantly improved since she met him, but considering the quality of his company, she might as well be by herself.

  “Sometimes other people went camping with me.”

  “So, you had friends, then.”

  “Something like that.” Doyle smiled uncharacteristically. “I had friends, yes. Surprised?”

  Mina tried to imagine a social situation in which Doyle would be comfortable chatting around the fire, surrounded by friends, but the image would not form.

  “No, I’m not surprised.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Well, I suppose people put up with all sorts of abuse for friendship.”

  “Ah, there it is. Do you think I’m rude, Mina?” he asked without looking at her, putting another log on the fire as if her answer meant nothing to him.

  “Yes.” She said it definitively so he could not misinterpret her. Yes, he was downright rude when he wasn’t ignoring her completely.

  “What were you expecting when you came with me?” he asked. “A best friend? Or maybe you were looking for a knight in shining armor. Someone to carry you across puddles so you don’t get your feet wet?”

  “Ha, ha. I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor, but if I were, he wouldn't be like you. No offense.”

  “And here I stole this suit of armor so you would think better of me," he said dryly. “Turns out you think I'm just an average guy.”

  “Joke all you want. There aren’t many men who would help someone else without expecting to gain something for themselves.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you!” Mina blurted it out before she could stop herself then quickly tried to backtrack. “I mean, I guess you fit that description. I’m grateful, but I was thinking about another person.”

  A figure in white surrounded by smoke and ash.

  Doyle looked amused rather than offended. “Who were you talking about?”

  Mina hesitated. He would scoff, but wasn’t this what she wanted? Conversation? Still, she didn’t want to go into the details of that fateful day now. Doyle sat expectantly, but he didn’t press her immediately.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the birds singing in the trees. Mina finished her meal and leaned against a fallen log. They had camped partway up the mountain slope near a gap in the trees, enjoying a spectacular view of the green mountains. The air smelled of wildflowers and golden sunshine. Mina unclipped her gun from her waistband and laid it on the ground to lean back more comfortably as she looked up through the trees to the hazy mountains rising up around them. She felt safe here, but maybe it was her full stomach talking.

  “Your brother?” Doyle guessed.

  “He wasn’t who I was referring to.”

  Doyle shrugged, but he watched her, waiting for an answer.

  She sighed. Of all the things to talk about with Doyle, she wouldn’t have chosen her family. She hadn’t yet worked through the guilt of postponing her search for Lincoln.

  “My brother is a computer engineer. He started a company, Interface Labs. You know it?”

  Doyle shook his head.

  “He got me back to the States during the first contact. I still don’t know how he managed to get me on that flight, but I was on one of the last planes out of London, as far as I can tell.”

  “You were in London? Why?”

  “Oxford, actually, for a semester. Doing research.”

  “What kind of research?”

  Mina hesitated again. Doyle was so practical about everything.

  “Literature. Romantic period.” She smiled.

  Doyle did laugh, long and hard. She waited it out. Her choice of career seemed ironic now even to her. How many times lately had she wished she had chosen a more practical field of study?

  Doyle looked at the frown on her face and stopped laughing, but he wasn’t about to drop the subject.

  “All this time I thought you didn’t think much, that you were just floating around in a sea of ignorance and despair, but you are an academic! All you do is think!” He snorted as another thought occurred to him. “You really were looking for a knight in shining armor. Tell me, did you believe it would be romantic to die by drowning yourself in a creek?”

  Mina wi
nced.

  Doyle nodded at the mountains. “It’s different to read about something in a book than to experience it firsthand, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. You’re wrong about me, though. My life was small and insignificant at best, with my research and papers and marathons, but I was happy or as happy as anyone has a right to be. Because I was happy, I’m all too aware of what we’ve lost. The entire fabric of our society has unraveled. Not just literature but everything.”

  These thoughts had been with Mina for some time, and they spilled out of her mouth like a spring bubbling out of the mountainside.

  “I know I should just concentrate on surviving,” she continued, “but what are we surviving for? To run another day? I see what we’re running from, but what are we running to, Doyle? That’s what bothers me most. I’m not looking for romance because there is nothing romantic about this.” She looked out at the break in the trees. A raven soared over the valley, searching for prey.

  “If you are looking for purpose, Mina, there’s not much to be found out here except to survive.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Doyle scoffed. “Suit yourself.”

  Mina sighed. “Lincoln was supposed to meet me in Atlanta, but my flight was diverted to Charlotte. People were panicking. There was no way to contact him after the Glyphs attacked. I had no choice but to just… run.”

  “And now you’ve found someone to keep you safe and feed you,” Doyle said pointedly. “So you’re resigned to the fact that you will never know your brother’s fate.”

  That stung.

  “Of course not!” Mina stood to face him. “I knew where I wanted to go. Getting there was the problem. I didn’t even know how to find food!”

  “It sounds like an excuse to me.” Doyle stood, too, but his tone remained even. “Like you were afraid of going all that way by yourself. Afraid of not finding him.”

  “Don’t pretend to know me! What are the chances of finding him, anyway? Because he isn’t the type of man to sit and wait for me to find him. More than likely—”

  That sentence refused to be finished.