Night Whispers: ShadowLands, Book 1

by Alisha Rai

  He’d grown up in a suburb. His knowledge of gangs had been gleaned from television, and his ability to fight came from a combination of the karate classes his father had bullied his skinny son into attending, his CIA training and the simulations he’d participated in to test their training equipment. Never had he been in a real fight, one where his life depended on beating the other creature.

  So he was pretty awed that she’d turned her skills to saving others, when she could have easily made the world an even worse place.

  It would be nice, though, if she wasn’t so dead set on saving Erik Jafari.

  It was nothing personal. Jafari had disappeared about six months before they’d reestablished communication with Sanctuary, so he’d never met the guy, not even remotely.

  All he knew was that Jules and Erik had had a history between them, a very tight bond. He didn’t think it was a romantic history. No, he hoped it wasn’t a romantic history, and if it was, he didn’t particularly want to know.

  Jules rarely let a few weeks go by that she didn’t ask if one of the other agents or anyone else had heard anything about the man who had mysteriously disappeared overnight.

  What does it say about you that you’re jealous of a man who is, most likely, dead?

  Yeah, this wasn’t his finest moment. Even his worries over Jules leaving the relative safety of California couldn’t justify this level of dislike.

  He glanced up at the large screen above him, but it was blank now, as were the other five that gave him a 360-degree view of everything going on around her. Jules’s vitals beeped, reporting her signs. On the bottom of each screen was a green symbol representing each of his other agents. They would turn red and pulse should they try to contact him or if their GPS or vitals went wonky. Jules was such a cool cucumber, he sometimes had to poke at her to make sure she was still breathing.

  For a system he’d rigged in a hurried couple of months, he was pretty proud of it. He figured someday they could mass produce enough of the collars for all of the front-lines people to wear—soldiers, ration scouts and agents. That way, they could be tapped in 24/7 in all ways, vitals, sights and sounds. Right now, though, between all of the pies he had his fingers in, their priorities and limited resources, they would have to make do with what they had. Plus, he would need more handlers to serve here if that did happen.

  Jules would stay his agent, though, no matter how many people this program got. He lived for the moments he got to virtually see out of her eyes.

  Especially if there was, as he’d joked, a mirror or some sort of reflective surface around, and he could catch a glimpse of her reflection. Not for any prurient interest. Okay, not for much prurient interest.

  It was another way to connect with her, another way to pretend he was standing there with her. The pixie cut of her hair revealed the vulnerable nape of her neck, the high cheekbones and pointed chin that made up her face. She reminded him of a wary fox sometimes, always balanced on the edge of fleeing. Her eyes were an almond-shaped dark brown as inky as her curly hair. From what he’d gleaned, her body was compact and muscular, with small breasts and long legs. His imagination filled in the blanks.

  Now, if only he knew what she felt like.

  Maybe someday they’d find a way around the long distance between them, and he’d maneuver her closer. Close enough to touch. To talk to in person. To discover if these crazy feelings were real or as virtual as the training programs he developed.

  He just had to keep her alive.

  James eased back from his desk before standing, automatically hunching to keep his head from hitting the low ceiling. His living quarters, housed elsewhere in one of the separate tunnel-connected structures, were, thankfully, built large enough to accommodate his freakishly tall figure. These cubicle-sized steel-enclosed offices were small rooms they’d hastily partitioned off after the incident. A glorified closet, that was his base of operations.

  He grabbed the small docked transmitter that monitored his agents when he was working elsewhere and clipped it to his belt. He only allowed himself a set limit of brooding-over-Jules time per day. He had other matters to attend to as well.

  He exited the room and gave a rough sigh of relief when he was able to straighten his shoulders and work out the cricks in his neck as he walked down the dimly lit hall and up the stairs to the offices two stories above him.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee from the desk outside of the meeting room. Though their supplies were regularly refreshed now by a number of scouts, he still adhered to their pre-Operation Take Back the World rations and allowed himself only a cup of the elixir a day. One, because any more made him jittery and two, because the world was an uncertain and unpredictable place. Becoming addicted to anything was a bad idea.

  Or really, anyone. Oh Jules.

  He stepped inside the room at the end of the hall. Unlike the rest of the utilitarian structure, this one looked as if it had been created for the pomp of the Commander in Chief. Cherry wood lined the walls, hiding monitors and secure communications equipment that had once been utilized by the president himself to speak with foreign heads of state. They were unusable at the moment, but James was sure they’d find some use for them eventually, even if it was for parts. A long walnut desk took up the room, surrounded by leather office chairs. Most of the chairs were empty. Four people sat at the end farthest from the door, softly conferring. They looked up when he entered and crossed the length of the conference table.

  Raven didn’t have the manpower for clearly delineated departments, but the five of them each had their areas of expertise. He was in charge of intelligence and dabbled in surveillance equipment. Dr. Hema Gupta locked herself up in their tiny laboratory, studying the virus, and in a pinch served as an emergency physician. Wileen Kim oversaw the scouts and managed their supplies like a champ. Kev Anderson had magic fingers when it came to technology and communication equipment.

  James worked closest with Marc Rider, once a Lieutenant Colonel in the army, and save for James’s elderly grandfather, now the highest-ranking remaining military officer residing at Raven. Marc gave him a tight smile now, a trace of his native Louisiana drawl dragging out his words. “I have bad news for you.”

  James placed his coffee on the table and sank into his chair. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not.”

  The door opened, and Gabriel strode in. Back in the day, he’d been the Deputy Secretary of Defense. Now he was their captain, their leader, their president—James could give him a dozen titles, though he claimed none. His limp was more pronounced than usual. He was dressed in ripped and faded jeans and a T-shirt washed into grayness, his burned face only made scarier by the deep scowl he wore. “I heard someone say bad news.”

  “I swear, you have the hearing of an eagle.” Wileen smirked. Her small hands beat a steady tattoo against the table. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her sit still.

  “Can’t get nothing past me.” Gabriel sank into his chair at the head of the table and eyed Marc. “I assume this is about the operation in Cheyenne.”

  “Jules is right outside of Denver. She’s bedding down there for the night, but she’ll be on track to meet your boys tomorrow, Marc,” James said.

  Marc scrubbed a hand through his buzz-cut black hair. “Ahh, yes. I’m sorry, man. I spoke with them a few minutes ago, and some of the soldiers are sick.”

  Everyone came to attention, as they did whenever illness was mentioned, but Marc shook his head. “Flu sick, not Illness sick. But it’s bad. They had to stop midday in Terre Haute, and they’ve only managed to make it a few dozen miles west of there.”

  James visualized the map of the route in his head. “They’ll never make Denver by tomorrow.” Inwardly he groaned. Bad enough that he had to deal with the stress of Jules being on the road alone for twenty-four hours. How would he make it through worrying about her being alone for even longer?

  Marc looked at Gabriel. “With permission, I’d like for them to turn aro
und in the morning. They’re closer to here than they are to Colorado at this point. I don’t feel comfortable having them leave the sick where they are and continuing forward. I know James’s girl kicks ass, but I don’t think it’s such a great idea to send in only her and a small crew.”

  “No. That scenario wouldn’t be safe for anyone.” Gabriel turned to James. “Jules is safe for the night?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Then have her turn around and head back to California tomorrow. Damn it all to hell.”

  James could add a few more choice words. Oh, yeah, he was thrilled she was going back home, but he already knew Jules would not be pleased. In fact, she’d probably propose going in alone after her precious Erik, and then he’d have to wrestle her back to safety. “Indeed.”

  Marc spoke. “Tell her I’m sorry, son. I know she left last minute and all after you proposed helping us out this morning, and I feel bad she had to risk herself for nothing.”

  James looked down, veiling his eyes. It hadn’t taken him long after he woke up this morning to realize Jules wasn’t where she was supposed to be, and an even shorter period of time to realize his stubborn agent wasn’t ready to budge an inch and return home. In desperation, he’d pretended the meetup between his west coast agent and the east coast soldiers was a sudden epiphany he’d had. Gabriel and Marc weren’t about to turn down an extra pair of hands, especially ones that were adept with a switchblade.

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair, the wheels squeaking. “We have to know what has become of the group in Cheyenne Mountain.”

  “I don’t understand why it’s so imperative suddenly that we get a hold of these people,” Wileen said. She was the most recent addition to their group, a former accountant found in a New York basement a few months ago.

  “It’s always been imperative,” Gabriel explained. “We didn’t have the manpower to spare to send a large enough group through an unknown territory for a multiple-night trip until now. The two envoys we sent to Sanctuary barely made it there and back. Between the soldiers we trained here and James’s excellent agent…” James tried to look modest, “…I thought we finally had a shot.”

  When the Illness had spread so rapidly, since no one knew where the blood-borne virus had started, everyone had blamed each other. Normal human behavior, to need a scapegoat. Sadly, the normal humans had big, scary toys. The various nuclear powers had started attacking each other rapidly.

  In accordance with the Continuity of Operations plan, the government had split into two. The President and some two thousand plus individuals and their families had come to Raven Rock’s underground command and control center in Pennsylvania. The Vice-President and another group had retreated to Cheyenne Mountain, a similar center carved deep within the Rocky Mountains. Military, other government personnel and key civilians had hunkered down in the Sanctuary compound and in various other military bases and structures across the States.

  Communications had been fine between the various bases, until an explosion a month after they’d gone underground had wiped out two of Raven’s three underground structures, a good chunk of their technological infrastructure and most of their population. The President and other key leaders hadn’t been spared.

  When they’d finally recovered enough to literally and figuratively poke their heads out, they’d discovered that things had quieted down—to a terrifying degree.

  James realized he was massaging his arm, and he forced himself to stop.

  “Why don’t we just send the agent in, if she’s already there? From what we’ve heard, she’s got a good body count up, she can handle herself,” Wileen pointed out.

  Oh hell no. James wouldn’t be able to handle her handling herself. He would far rather she turned around tomorrow and returned home, even if he had to invest time into convincing her to follow his order. “We don’t know what we’ll find there. We need to be prepared for the worst, which means we need manpower.”

  Kev finally snapped to attention. With his bright bleached hair in spikes, he looked like a pierced hedgehog and every inch of his very young nineteen years. His oddball appearance was belied by the pure genius in his brain. Give the kid a radio, he could turn it into a coffee-making phone that ran on a solar-powered battery. He’d been a quiet, terrifyingly smart kid when he’d entered Raven, the child of a senator. His parents had died in the incident, like so many others. It had taken him six months to speak again. He hadn’t shut up since. “You were the one who started sending out those distress calls after the accident, right, James?”

  “That was me,” James confirmed. Distress wasn’t the right word for the horrific time. Their supplies had blown up right along with their leadership and families. “Cheyenne’s never made a sound. Sanctuary did respond right away, but our equipment was down.”

  Kev’s thin chest puffed out. “Yeah, you guys are all welcome, BTW. I was happy to fix that for you.”

  And he’d never let James forget it, he thought wryly. Kev had schooled him good, repairing the incoming capabilities of their radio in about an hour of tinkering around with his tool kit.

  “Maybe they’re dead,” Hema said.

  “Possible. But like James said, we prepare for worst-case, and worst-case is that the place is overrun by Shadows or has been captured by rogue humans. I’m not sending a single person in blind. We wait.” Subject closed, Gabriel turned to James. “Anyone new come in since last time?”

  It was a standard question, and James noted how everyone at the table leaned in a little closer. New people were like Christmas presents. He had a feeling Gabriel brought up the subject at these meetings simply to boost morale. The man knew exactly how many people came into their fold at any given time.

  James cleared his throat and looked down at his notes, trying to concentrate on them and not rack his brain over how he was going to get Jules back to her home safely.

  Forget covering up for her—in the long run, Gabriel wasn’t going to court martial her for failing to follow orders. Those worst-case scenarios, though? They terrified him. Imagining Jules dead or hurt ranked high on his list of least favorite things to ponder.

  “We have, um…four new individuals who have reported in to Sanctuary. Three new to Camp David. They’re in the midst of psychological and medical testing right now. Various ages, one teenager, the rest adults.”

  Dr. Hema Gupta shoved her glasses up her nose. James knew she was older than him, but with her frizzy dark hair and sloppy clothes, she looked more like a college student. “Dibs on anyone with a medical or science background.”

  “Get in line for the noobs,” Marc said dryly, his posture straightening even more. There hadn’t been a real army in three years, but Marc ran their small militia with the grim determination of any general.

  Hema sniffed. “Like running around with a gun is more important than finding a cure.”

  “We need people to find people to find the cure.”

  “Wait, Gupta, you don’t get to call dibs on everyone with a hard science background. I get the techies.” Kevin grinned at James. “You’ll hook me up, right, bud? Us geeks gotta stick together.”

  “Geek? Speak for yourself.”

  “Dude. Come on.”

  He’d never admit it. Even if it was true.

  “A pilot,” Marc murmured, as if he were describing his ideal woman. “My kingdom for more pilots.”

  “You don’t have a kingdom,” Hema said.

  “Stop arguing with everything I say, woman. We have all these lovely planes, and all the gas in Texas, and only two precious people who can fly anything so far.”

  “So why don’t we use them to fly us everywhere?” Kevin asked.

  “We’re saving them. Like virgins,” Wileen deadpanned.

  “Or to teach the noobs. The noobs who will want to be my pilots.”

  “My scientists.”

  “My minions!” That was Kevin.

  They all looked at Wileen, who shrugged. “Hell, takes no great sk
ill to be a scout. Just a basic need for survival and nose for food. Like cockroaches.”

  “Let these guys get settled first,” Gabriel interjected. “Then we can decide on where their talents lie.”

  James allowed the rest of the meeting to flow over and around him, listening with one ear, parsing what was necessary for his own purposes out, tossing the rest. The majority of his brain continued to fret over his stubborn female sleeping hundreds of miles away from any Compound backup.

  The meeting broke up in its usual fashion, as one by one they finished their rapid-fire reports. After about forty-five minutes, Gabriel’s pager beeped. He frowned down at it. “I’m out. James, keep me updated on the noobs. And let me know if Jules has any problems.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gabriel left the room. James began to gather up the papers he’d brought with him. He always came prepared, and invariably, Gabriel only requested a verbal report, too impatient and pressed for time to sit down and study all the material.

  “Beer?”

  James glanced up at Marc. “What?”

  “Do you want to grab a beer with me and Dr. Diabolical over here?”

  James was glad that Hema was occupied with discussing something with Wileen and hadn’t heard that. It didn’t take much for sparks to fly between Marc and the good doctor. “She agreed to grab a drink with you?”

  A smile flashed across Marc’s handsome face. “Not yet. Care to join us?”

  “Nah. Thanks, though. I need to check on my grandpa and turn in early.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “You know me.” No one would have called him an exciting person, even before he’d become a mole person underground. He’d come to terms with that long ago. An alpha he wasn’t, and never was that more apparent when he spent any length of time in Marc’s company.

  He liked to think he had his own strengths. Some men were cut out to be on the front lines, training the next generation’s survivors to fight with their fists and guns and grenades.