Alarum (Walking Shadows Book 1)

by Talis Jones

  “You’d never do that to your own brother,” I scoff as I stare at him in disgust.

  I can see the ice that fills his dark eyes as he says, “All infiltrators are executed. No exceptions.”

  My eyes find Riker’s once more and his uncertainty throws off my balance. A chill assaults my spine as I believe him. I believe him and suddenly that wound of betrayal from seven years ago ignites a dull roar in my ears.

  “You’re hesitating,” chides Shade disappointedly. With a lazy wave of his hand he signals Goliath. In one swift motion the Martial cracks the pistol against Riker’s head and I watch in horror as his muscled body goes limp as a ragdoll’s collapsing onto the ground. No emotion betrays the giant’s face as he casually returns his gun’s aim towards Riker.

  Rage stokes the glowing embers in my bones and hatred claws at my throat but before I scream the words the first Martial launches himself at me and just like that the fight begins.

  It takes one blow, two, five, and I’m teetering on the edge of consciousness barely able to draw in breath. My knees beg to collapse when my tearing eyes find Riker’s smooth face crushed against the floor and suddenly something shifts. The fire I felt before was but a candle’s flame, now a raging inferno lifts my head, steadies my hands, and launches my feet forwards.

  With two quick jabs into his gut he bends forwards but I sweep my leg under him knocking him to the ground. A swift kick to his ugly head renders him unconscious and I’m flying at the next Martial. I charge him and swing my body up and around onto his back, my arms loop tight around his neck as my legs twine around his chest. Squeezing tight with the strength of a python I crush harder and harder until he collapses onto his knees unconscious. Following his downward momentum I roll off before he smacks face-first onto the cold bloodthirsty floor.

  The final Martial whips out a knife as I stalk towards him but my pounding blood doesn’t give me time or pause to protest his cheat. I rush towards him narrowly avoiding his thrusting blade as I drop down into a slide that carries me between his wide stance. Popping onto my feet I aim a mean kick to his groin from behind then in quick succession land my heel in his spleen. He teeters sideways off balance and I bash his head against the wall.

  Turning around I face Goliath, my eyes red as a demon’s and my nostrils flaring like an angry bull sizing up a matador who has done nothing but taunt and anger it. My eyes fixate on the gun in his hand. Something in my face unsettles the Martial, perhaps it’s the crazed way I imagine I look. He cuts his eyes towards Shade and I seize the moment to attack. Grabbing his wrist I twist mercilessly until the gun clatters from his grip but I catch it before it can hit the floor. Raising it I aim for his heart. Arms steady. Eyes burning. Body focused. Impulse barely constrained.

  “You passed,” Shade congratulates me.

  My chest rises and falls in aggressive breaths as the adrenaline sings through my veins. I don’t dare to turn away from my target but I can picture the smug smile on his face.

  “I knew you would,” he continues. “I’m rarely wrong.”

  Already the anger and strength that fueled me is dissipating like steam in a cool rain. Dropping onto one knee I place my palm on Riker’s cheek willing him to wake up.

  “Follow me,” Shade orders.

  Reluctantly I obey. Behind me Goliath hoists Riker’s limp form over his shoulder and exits with us. We follow Shade back to his office. Shade holds out his personal desk chair and the Martial deposits Riker’s body in it then departs. I sit wearily in the chair I occupied before and Shade settles himself in the chair beside me.

  Exhaustion sucks at my bones but I keep my spine straight. “Explain,” I order.

  Shade overlooks my demand instead admitting something else. “I didn’t expect you to crack so quickly. I thought surely…but you must have been living on that edge for years,” he wonders, a tinge of awe tainting his words. I get the impression that he’s speaking to himself rather than to me. “It only took the smallest push to force you over. Extreme perhaps but small. Unless,” he hesitates. “Unless you’ve experienced it before, perhaps without knowing?”

  “No,” I deny sharply. “I never—”

  Memories suddenly flash before me. I’d always run, always flinched, always cowered despite my heart screaming for me not to. Always except…images of raising my gun and shooting James and Selma without fear, without remorse, and almost without thought…Facing down Jaycen’s gun with an eerie leaden chill that seemed to drain out any fear I should have felt and replacing it with hot resolution…Even the focus that narrowed my aim close to perfection when I’d spent those months near blind was fueled by a burn within me that surged up every time I raised that gun and remembered the sound of glass crunching under a boot.

  And just now, that icy red hot that seared my veins as I fought through Martials to reach Riker…it was almost animalistic, wild, untamed.

  Shade sees the thoughts spiraling in my eyes and he grins in grim satisfaction. “I see,” is all he says. Standing up he moves behind his desk and slides open a drawer withdrawing a small vial from inside. Unscrewing the cap he wafts it under Riker’s nose causing him to lurch to living with a sharp gasp. Shade makes no move to check if his brother is alright.

  “Injure yourself badly enough to require a doctor upon arrival,” he instructs coolly. “They will be curious about Fury but you must insist you remain together for your cooperation. They will likely accept your request since the physicians at the refugee center are far different from their superiors in higher offices running the research facilities.”

  Riker is massaging his injury but his eyes are clear and sharp. We both pay close attention to Shade’s instructions.

  “They will wish to appease you and keep you unaware of the true nature of their tests at first. Together you will be escorted perhaps for whatever preliminary exams they may have ready and then you will be taken into custody for a full evaluation.” Shade leans forwards taking the time to lock eyes with each of us in turn. “Do not let this happen,” he stresses very carefully. “The preliminaries will take place in the building you wish to break into so once there overpower the refugee doctors and find the boy.”

  I open my mouth to speak but his look cuts me off.

  “After that it’s up to you and whatever luck you have left to escape,” he concludes.

  “How can you know they’ll take us in? Why are you so certain they’ll be interested in us enough to move us into one of their fancy research labs?”

  Shade looks at his brother silently, his eyes flicking towards me then back to Riker. “Don’t get trapped,” is all he says.

  I nod and Shade rises to his feet heading towards the elevator graceful as an assassin. Understanding his dismissal I stand as well. “Thank you—” I begin but the sound of the elevator cuts me off.

  The doors glide open and in strides—

  “Kommander Cho,” Shade acknowledges bowing his head slightly in respect.

  I stare at the petite woman chiseled out of stone and discipline. It only takes one glance to understand how she came to be in charge of the entire Colorado territory.

  “What is this all about, Kommander Williams?” she demands. “Why do you have two infiltrators lounging in your office rather than shot dead on arrival?”

  Time seems to freeze. Shade shatters the spell as he turns and locks his eyes onto mine. Not Riker, his brother, but me. “I’m sorry, you know,” he murmurs softly, swiftly. “I don’t know why I care or why it’s tortured me when not much else has but I’m sorry.”

  I know at once that he’s referring to his betrayal in the Corral. I part my lips to offer forgiveness but he gives a slight shake of his head. Like a coiled viper he pulls out his gun and shoots the Martial closest to him. Lunging for the second Martial who escorted Kommander Cho to his office he coils one arm around his chest and the other aims the gun at the man’s head.

  This would be the moment for monologues, bargains, boasts, or pleading.

  Not
hing.

  Everything happens so fast it feels like the air has been sucked out of my lungs. Bang! Drop. Click. Gasp. Bang!

  Blood ripples from Shade’s chest and he staggers back losing his weakened hold on the dead Martial. Kommander Cho still has her arm raised, hand wrapped around her gun, no emotion marring her sleek face. Riker throws one of the heavy wooden chairs at the Kommander’s back before grabbing my hand and hauling us both down the elevator faster than breathing.

  Down down down we drop.

  The second the doors open we bolt out the box and into the halls. It takes the Martials precious minutes to gather themselves, to become alerted to the crimes tucked away upstairs, for the sirens to blare, and for squadrons to pour out onto the streets. We take those precious minutes and run for the hills. Dirt fills my nails as we scrabble our way up the sharp incline of the hill racing against time and terrible odds for the wall.

  Gunshots begin to pierce the air but they’re not yet quite in range. We have seconds to reach the wall, seconds to escape, seconds to pray for a miracle. Five feet, three feet, one foot, I slam through the concrete wall of illusion and trip into the other side running until my feet lose their grip and I crumple to the ground.

  How? It’s all my brain can handle. One little word. One giant question. How? How? How? I stare at the gray-blue sky and squint away from the fading sun. How did we make it? The odds were so awful we should be dead. Maybe I am dead? Maybe—Riker. In a sudden surge of panic I sit up and search wildly for him. He’s nowhere.

  “Riker!” I shout, but it comes out hardly more than a wheeze. Calming my breaths and clearing my throat I try again. Expanding my lungs as wide as they can go I yell his name. Fumbling to my feet I keep twisting my neck every which direction searching for any sign of him. Dashing back towards the wall like a rattled jackrabbit I search and search and there.

  “Riker,” I breathe, dread twisting my innards. I see his form collapsed just feet away from the wall and I rush over to examine him. Blood pours around his face and all I can think is no.

  “Damn it, Riker,” I scold, my voice wavering with emotion. “You promised me you’d fight through the nine rings of Hell for me so you’d better start climbing because I don’t have all day to wait for you.”

  A sound that might just be a muffled laugh floats to my ears and hope balloons in my chest. Carefully I flip him onto his back and relief shoots through me as I see him blink bleary-eyed at my grinning face.

  “Even when I’m dying,” he laughs weakly. “Do you always have to be quite so furious, Fury?”

  “Only when it’s you,” I scowl back.

  He smirks. “I’m honored.” A wince pinches his face and panic flutters over mine. “Head wounds bleed worse than they are,” he reminds me.

  “I know that,” I snap.

  “I didn’t say you didn’t,” he sighs tiredly.

  I look around but our Grounder is too far to go for water when he needs to have his wound tended to sooner rather than later. A gentle rippling sound tugs at my ears and I meander through the trees to find a small stream. I drag Riker towards it then rip strips of cloth from my clothes. I set some aside for bandages then soak the others in the stream and begin gingerly cleaning his wound.

  It’s just a bullet graze but it scared the hell out of me. Once his head is wrapped tightly I use all my weight to rock him up onto his feet. I keep one arm around him to act as support and we shuffle our way to the rough area where I remember hiding the Grounder. I help hoist him into the passenger seat then strap myself behind the wheel. I leave the radio speechless and we’re off, disappearing into the sunset leaving nightmares far behind.

  PART III

  REDEMPTION’S PRICE

  CHAPTER 40

  Ten days. Ten long, exhausting, roasting days along roads buried, broken, armed, and mostly flat. To ensure minimal fuel stops in towns we fill extra tanks of fuel and store them in the Grounder. It’s best to avoid such populated areas. Under the angry sun we grind dust into clouds. I turn to smile at Riker and despite the masks that cover our noses and mouths I can tell he smiles back. Exhaustion pulls us down but purpose keeps us going.

  We take turns driving, although I drove the first two days just to be cautious of the wound on his head. Tension filled those hours as I fretted over his injury and Riker sorted through the messy web of memories he had of his brother. My head bounces lightly against the window as I doze, those hectic memories visiting my thoughts.

  Are you gonna be okay? I asked quietly.

  Yeah, he said. I’m just still processing.

  Okay, I told him.

  Riker was anxious to drive the third day so I gave him the wheel. The morning went peacefully enough but as the road lulled his senses his thoughts wandered where his heart was still raw. His foot gradually turned to lead as his reflexes lost their smooth control.

  Riker! I shouted angrily.

  He ignored me but I shouted his name again and this time he heard the serious edge in my voice. The Grounder slowed as he turned to face me. Sorry, he sighed with pain and anger wetting his eyes.

  Give me the damn wheel, is all I told him. I didn’t apologize for the anger that tinged my tone.

  I drove the rest of that day and most of the fourth before I was sure he’d cooled enough to handle heavy machinery. Dying in a car crash holds no appeal to me. Thankfully his mood gradually lightened until soon we drove the rest of the sunlight away with our outlandish singing, dancing to any song that played on the radio whether we liked it or not. It was silly, but he needed it and it helped.

  When we stopped at nightfall he grabbed my hand as I moved to hop out of the Grounder. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there holding my hand like an anchor and staring at our entwined fingers like they held the secret to the universe. And maybe in a strange way they did. I was starving but pulling away felt like cursing a blessing so I sat still and smiled as he brushed his thumb gently across the back of my hand.

  Then my stomach growled hungry and loud. With a laugh he let me go. Praise God.

  Day Ten. It took us ages to reach West Virginia but reach it we did. Tucked up in the mountains we sit around a fire relaxing for the final night before we throw all sense away and cross the border into the Rochester Alliance. As I lick my fingers enjoying every last drop of sauce from the baked beans we’d scarfed down for dinner I let my mind wander.

  You’d think we’d know all about the R.A. and such, but that’s the way the world used to be. A long time ago. The nation’s split came decades before I was born but it was the Retribution that put up walls. The Second Dust Bowl, the Grand Cleansing, the Apocalypse, the Accident, these are all names for what people call the change that befell this land about fifteen years ago now. The change that shut down borders already drawn. So recent yet how different life has become, eh?

  The Pacific Confederation put up walls of concrete keeping us out and them in. There were rumors of course about the harsh totalitarian society it had become but no one knew, no one was allowed to officially know. And I have no idea what sort of walls the R.A. built up; Shade only gave us a drop point.

  My stomach jitters equal parts fear of the danger and excitement for the unknown. All I know is that they are far more advanced than either us or the Pacific and that’s what makes them a special kind of dangerous. Call it foolish curiosity but I’m dying to see it with my own eyes.

  If my parents hadn’t fled our home I would have grown up there. A citizen of the Rochester Alliance. And oh how different my life would have been. Instead I was dropped into a country where we crawl on our bellies in the dirt, have guns for mouths, and draw blood with our claws as an introduction. The others see us as uncultured savages but I like to think of us as darkly honest folk. If I don’t like somebody I don’t have a problem letting them know.

  A snort escapes me at the thought. Connors had no idea what his coming along would do for me. Only a ghost of shame warms my cheeks as I remember the submissive girl I used to be.
A girl who teetered on the edge between dead and wild. All it took was a green-eyed black man and a gun of my own to start me down a path that pulls my stubborn heart from the shadows out to the surface. I’m scared. More scared than I’d ever let on…

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Riker calls as he settles down beside me.

  I look at him and the same warmth that filled me three years ago still fills me now. “My thoughts are worth far more than a penny,” I say wrinkling my nose in mock insult.

  “How much is a song worth?” he asks pulling the guitar he’d fetched across his lap.

  “I’d rather have the penny.”

  “I’m wounded,” he cries.

  I roll my eyes snickering. “You’ll live.”

  “Do you always have to be quite so furious, Fury?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eyes.

  “Well I can’t have you thinking you’re too fine for your boots. Your head might swell and then you’d float up, up, and away.” I nudge his knee with my own. “I’m just trying to help,” I wink.

  “Mhm,” he grunts. “Keeping me from my full potential.”

  I laugh and turn back to gazing into the fire. It’s strange how even when the day is hot a good fire can still welcome you in the night. The smell in particular keeps me transfixed. Burning wood fills my nose with its rich ghostly smell as dancing flames entrance my eyes. Beside me Riker strums a few lazy chords, his fingers deciding upon what to play.

  “Did I tell you how I loved you the moment I first saw you in Tennessee?” he murmurs. His voice has a wistful quality like he’s picturing the moment right now.

  I turn to him surprised. “Really? The moment you saw me? When I was a smelly six-year old girl who hadn’t bathed in a week, was covered in other kids’ sweat, had snot on my sleeves and tearstains on my face and dirt matted in my hair? That moment? That had you struck by love at first sight?”