Vault of Shadows

by Jonathan Maberry

  No sign at all.

  Chapter 12

  It was Killer who greeted them as they arrived at the bolt-hole. The little dog came out of the tall grass like a four-legged missile. He ran past another of the big chunks of debris tagged with the fierce demand of the Huntsman.

  I WANT WHAT YOU STOLE

  Killer ran right at Milo, tail wagging at full speed; then he jolted to a stop at the smell of blood. Killer sniffed Barnaby and whimpered softly.

  “Get Shark,” begged Milo, and the little dog was gone.

  Two minutes later, Shark and Evangelyne came hurrying through the woods. They bent over Barnaby to assess the wound.

  “Oh, man,” groaned Shark, “this is really, really bad.”

  It was only two “reallys,” which was of mild comfort to Milo. Three and he’d have lost hope.

  Evangelyne lifted the compress and studied the herbs. A deep frown line appeared between her brows. “Where did you learn this magic?”

  “It’s not magic,” said Milo. “It’s herbal medicine.”

  Shark looked too. “Is that lobelia and Epipactis? Why’d you put those on there?”

  “I didn’t,” said Milo. “Lizzie did.”

  “When?” demanded Shark.

  “I don’t know . . . twenty minutes ago.”

  Shark and Evangelyne stared at him.

  “Dude,” said Shark, “what are you talking about? Lizzie’s been at the bolt-hole for half an hour.”

  “No she hasn’t. I just saw her.”

  “You can’t have,” said Evangelyne. “She led the wounded there and hasn’t left.”

  “No way,” insisted Milo. “Look, that’s a strip of her blouse.”

  Shark touched the edge of the compress. Blood had soaked it so thoroughly that it was impossible to see the flower pattern.

  “This is strange,” murmured Evangelyne. “That combination of herbs . . . that’s very old magic. Lizabeth could not have known this. Maybe some of it is from your own herbalists, but not this.”

  “And, like I said,” said Shark, “she’s been here the whole time.”

  “You guys are nuts,” growled Milo. “But forget that for now. C’mon, Shark, help me get Barnaby into the bolt-hole.”

  It took ten careful minutes to rig another sling and lower Barnaby down. Mook was already inside. He raised his powerful arms to accept the burden and lowered Barnaby to the concrete floor with surprising gentleness. Then he climbed out to make room for the other survivors to begin working on the Cajun. The bolt-hole was cramped with all the wounded refugees, so Mook, Shark, Milo, Evangelyne, and Killer stood outside. A few seconds later Lizabeth climbed out too.

  “I’m glad you made it back,” she said, touching Milo’s arm.

  He wheeled on her. “What’s going on with you? Why didn’t you tell everyone I needed help?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, snatching her hand back in surprise. “We were waiting for you—”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean?” snapped Milo. “First you show up out of nowhere with those herbs, then you take off without a word, and now I find you here and you didn’t bother to send anyone out to help. And what’s with your blouse? It was covered with blood and now it’s not. What’d you do? Stop to do laundry? What’s with you?”

  Lizabeth stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “Milo, I—”

  “You’re allowed to be weird, Lizzie, but that was just mean.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes and she turned bright red. Shark shifted and put his arm around her.

  “Hey, back off, man,” he growled. “What are you dumping on her for? I told you, she was here the whole time.”

  “Oh yeah? Then how come there’s a piece of her shirt around Barnaby’s wound?”

  “A piece . . . ?” began Lizabeth, but Milo snaked a hand out and tugged the hem of her blouse out of the top of her jeans. The fabric, which must have been washed, was completely dry.

  “See? Right . . . here . . .”

  His voice trailed off because the hem was intact. Clearly nothing had been cut from it. Shark, Evangelyne, and Lizabeth stared at him. Even Killer seemed to give him a skeptical and accusing look. Mook shook his head.

  “Mook,” he said.

  “No,” said Milo, “that’s impossible. Lizzie, I saw you.”

  “Saw me where? What are you talking about?”

  Milo went through the story, and as they listened he could tell that none of them believed him. When Milo was done, Shark climbed down into the bolt-hole and returned later with the bloody bandage and held it out to Milo.

  “This is what was on Barnaby.”

  Before Milo could take it, Evangelyne plucked it from Shark’s fingers, knelt, and laid it out flat on the ground. The cloth was thoroughly soaked, but in the downspill of sunlight they could see a faint pattern. It was exactly the same as the pattern on Lizabeth’s blouse.

  “Okay,” said Shark, “that is really, really weird.”

  “That’s not mine,” said Lizabeth very quietly.

  Milo’s mouth went dry. He looked around at the faces of his friends. “I—I don’t understand . . . I saw you, Lizzie. I spoke with you.”

  Lizabeth shrank against Shark’s side and shook her head.

  “Mook,” suggested Mook.

  Milo turned to Evangelyne. “What did you mean when you said those herbs were old magic?”

  The wolf girl looked uneasy. “There are as many kinds of magic as there are leaves in a great forest,” she said. “Earth magic and ice magic and fire magic and—”

  “Yeah, got it. Lots of kinds of magic,” interrupted Milo. “Get to the part that makes sense.”

  “I’m not a healer, but I know some of the properties of herbs and roots. I could have made a compress that might have helped, but . . .” She shook her head and, Milo thought, looked deeply uneasy. “That combination is strange. I’ve only seen something like it once before.”

  “Where?” asked Milo and Shark at the same time.

  “It was tied into a bundle and placed as an offering at a shrine honoring the Daughter of Splinters and Salt.”

  “The who?” asked Milo.

  “The what?” asked Shark.

  “Mook?” asked Mook.

  Lizabeth whimpered and pressed more tightly against Shark.

  “The Daughter of Splinters and Salt was a very powerful witch who belonged to the Chitimacha people, who lived in southern Louisiana many years before the Europeans came to these lands. It’s said that she’s seen sometimes wandering in these woods.”

  “Then maybe it was her you saw,” said Shark.

  “Why would she pretend to be Lizzie?” asked Milo, but Evangelyne shook her head.

  “We don’t even know if that’s what you saw,” she said. “This is a mystery.”

  Lizabeth looked deeply frightened by this conversation, and Milo certainly couldn’t blame her. But not knowing the answer was driving him nuts.

  “Has to be something like that,” insisted Shark. “’Cause Lizzie was here with us, right?”

  She nodded mutely.

  “Besides,” added Shark, “lately there’s been a whole lot of weirdos running around in these woods.”

  Instead of taking offense at Shark’s comment, Evangelyne shook her head again, very slowly. “No, that’s not possible. . . .”

  “Why not?” asked Lizabeth in a tiny voice.

  “Because,” said Evangelyne, “the Daughter of Splinters and Salt died a thousand years ago.”

  The others stared at her. Even Mook seemed unnerved. Then one by one they looked at Lizabeth, and finally at each other.

  The little blond girl stood there, looking not at any of them but down at her own fingers as she slowly traced the faded outlines of flowers on her blouse.

  “Okay,” said Shark, holding up his hands, “I got nothing. Anyone else have even a clue as to what’s going on here?”

  “Mook,” agreed Mook. His head made a grinding sound as he sh
ook it.

  “How does any of this make sense?” asked Milo. “Are you saying a ghost of some dead witch showed up pretending to be Lizzie and did first aid on Barnaby? ’Cause, seriously, Evangelyne, even though things have been weird lately. that’s really weird.”

  “That’s really, really, really weird,” Shark said emphatically.

  Evangelyne turned away and stared into the forest the way Milo had come. “There are many mysteries in the world,” she said. And that was all she would say on the subject.

  What’s she hiding? he wondered. His next thought was far more disturbing. What’s she afraid of?

  Lizabeth went back to the bolt-hole without saying another word, though she paused at the top of the ladder. Milo saw the expression on her face and it chilled him to the bone. Her eyes were so cold and so strange that for an instant, she did not look like Lizabeth at all.

  She gave him the smallest of smiles and then vanished into the bolt-hole.

  Chapter 13

  Mysteries, even ones that raised goose bumps all over Milo’s body, had to wait.

  “We got to make sure no one’s tracking us,” said Shark, and the others nodded. They split up and went into the woods, each taking a different direction. After ten minutes they met again outside the bolt-hole. The good news was that the woods seemed to be empty of Dissosterin ’troopers or any of the Swarm’s mechanical hunter-killers. They knew that this didn’t mean they were safe, just safe for now.

  The bad news was that Barnaby was still hovering on the edge of death. None of the survivors had the skill to remove the spike and do the surgery to save the Cajun’s life.

  “What do we do?” asked Milo.

  “Death comes for everyone in the end, boy,” suggested Evangelyne, but Milo barked at her.

  “Whoa, don’t you dare say that. We’re not going to let him die. Not him or anyone.”

  The wolf girl cocked an eyebrow. “And how do you propose saving them, boy? None of us are healers of that kind.”

  Milo chewed his lip, then cut a look at Shark. “Dude, that circuit board you were working on . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that really all we need to get the ship to fly?”

  Shark snorted. “Sure, it’ll get off the ground, but that’s about it. No way it would make it to orbit. Pretty sure the coolant circuits are close to being fried, so starting the engine might blow them out.”

  “What would happen then?” asked Evangelyne.

  Shark put his fists together, then mimed something blowing up.

  “You’re sure, boy?” asked the wolf girl.

  “Sure? Are you nuts? Gimme a break. I’m eleven. Of course I’m not sure. I’ve never rebuilt a spaceship before.”

  Evangelyne colored and looked briefly flustered. Mook chuckled, and when she glared at him he suddenly seemed to find something interesting to look at up in the trees. Although it was nearly impossible to read the stone boy’s facial expression, Milo was certain Mook was grinning.

  “Shark,” he said, “do you think the ship would last long enough to get us across Lake Pontchartrain?”

  “I think so. Maybe. I don’t know. Why?”

  “The other day, before the patrol left, Mom said that there was a rally point in the basement of an old church in Mandeville. Maybe we can find some EA soldiers. They’ll probably have a portable field hospital, and if not, they can get Barnaby and the others to one.”

  Shark sucked a tooth while he thought about it. “Well . . . ,” he began slowly, “first we’d have to find the circuit board. I dropped it and ran when those Bugs attacked us. Then I’d need maybe half an hour to install it. Maybe less, depending on how well the Bug system accepts my repairs. I had to fudge some stuff. Then we’d have to bring it over here to pick everyone up. . . .”

  Evangelyne said, “That’s already taking too much time. The Bugs will track us.”

  “Hey,” said Milo, “I’m open to other suggestions.”

  The wolf girl said nothing.

  “And then,” said Shark, picking up where he’d left off, “depending on how good the engine’s working, figure at least half an hour to Mandeville. Longer if we do it smart and fly low and keep to the trees, fly along the coast. We’d be nuts to fly right across the lake in plain sight. I mean, the hive ship is right there over New Orleans, and there are always scout ships and barrel-fighters around. It’s not going to be easy.”

  A groan of pain floated up from the bolt-hole. Lizabeth climbed out, went to the muddy bank of the bayou, picked up a handful of mud, and then climbed back down into the bunker. They watched her go.

  “She’s a strange one,” said Evangelyne.

  Shark snorted. “Coming from you, that’s saying something.”

  “Shark,” said Milo, “I’m telling you, I saw her in the woods earlier and the whole side of her shirt was bloody. She used my knife to cut a bandage off the hem.”

  “And then what, dude?” asked Shark. “She found an identical shirt, came back here, and slipped back into the bolt-hole without anyone knowing? Without Vangie knowing?”

  “Don’t call me that,” said the wolf girl automatically, but she also nodded. “The boy’s right. She was here the whole time.”

  Milo had no way of proving what he’d seen and there was no time for an argument.

  “We have to get the wounded out of here,” said Milo. “We have to try.”

  “Yeah, I guess we do,” said Shark. “But we got, like, one chance in—”

  “I don’t care,” interrupted Milo. “We have to take whatever chance we have.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain Fearless.”

  “Oh . . . bite me,” said Milo. They grinned at each other, then they all decided to leave Lizabeth with the wounded. Mook agreed to stay with her to guard the survivors in the bolt-hole, and he took up station like a stone colossus.

  Milo, Shark, Evangelyne, and Killer went running into the woods, taking the fastest safe route back to where the big red ship waited. As they ran, Milo wondered if they were about to effect an escape plan or simply run directly into a Dissosterin trap. Surely the drop-ship would have been reported missing by now. If it was a random patrol, how long would it be before the Bugs came looking for it?

  And . . . did the Huntsman know that his ship had been found? Was he waiting too? Was the monstrous alien-human hybrid already there with his pack of deadly Stingers?

  These were very bad questions to have banging around in one’s head. Milo wished he could flush his brain clear, but that’s not how the world worked.

  With terror setting fires in his soul, he ran.

  Chapter 14

  They approached the camp from the north, coming in along a game trail that snaked and twisted down through a dense stand of trees. Milo still had his satchel, but he had zero interest in ever using an alien grenade again. One had failed to explode, and another had nearly killed Barnaby. Not a good track record for tech he didn’t really understand. He tapped the pulse pistol shoved into Shark’s belt.

  “You good with that thing?”

  Shark drew the gun and turned it over in his hands, careful to keep the focusing jewel pointed away. “You have any idea how this thing works?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s useful.”

  “It’s Bug tech,” said Milo. “Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. I just haven’t had time.”

  Shark made a sour face and shoved the pistol back into his waistband. “Hope I don’t blow my butt off.”

  When they passed through a clearing, they could see the pall of smoke that hung over the forest. It was pale, though, and not very dense.

  “The fire burned itself out,” said Shark, but Evangelyne shook her head.

  “That’s not what happened.”

  She did not explain her remark, though, and the boys exchanged a brief, confused look and a shrug. They ran on.

  They stopped a hundred yards from the camp. Evangelyne touched Milo’s arm and leaned close to whisper, “Let m
e check it out first. You boys stay here.”

  Before Milo could say anything, there was no longer a girl next to him. In the blink of an eye, her features had blurred and melted into the shape of a gray wolf, which leaped forward and ran without a sound through the woods.

  Shark said, “Yeep.” Very small, very high-pitched.

  “I know,” agreed Milo.

  “I am never, ever going to get used to that.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, she’s cute and all that—but seriously, dude, that’s just freaky.”

  “It’s a long way past freaky, if you ask me,” said Milo.

  They hunkered down to wait. Killer did not seem interested in following the wolf and instead huddled close to Shark.

  “Werewolves and sprites and monsters,” said Shark under his breath. “Oh my.”

  Milo sighed. “I know.”

  Shark tapped his arm. “Hey, whatever happened to that little one? Halfwit, was it?”

  “Halflight,” Milo corrected, “and don’t make fun of her. I like her. She’s really cool.”

  “Cool? Dude,” said Shark, “she’s two inches tall and rides around on a hummingbird.”

  “So what? You got a problem with sprites on hummingbirds?”

  Shark snorted. “Actually, I have no idea on earth how to answer a question like that.”

  Milo grinned. “Yeah.”

  “So . . . where is she?” asked Shark. “Halflight, I mean.”

  “I have no idea.”

  During the invasion of the hive ship and the battle with the Huntsman, the tiny faerie had used up a dangerous amount of her magical life energy. She’d fallen into a deep sleep—or maybe it was a coma, Milo didn’t know—and Evangelyne had taken her off into the woods that first night. Milo hadn’t seen Halflight again, and every time he asked Evangelyne about it, the wolf girl dodged the question.