Pestilence_The Calling Series

by Kim Faulks

  Sniper…had to be.

  I shook my head. “No…don’t remember.”

  “Okay, that’s okay.” She squeezed my shoulder gently. She wasn’t finished. I kept my gaze fixed on the cup in my hand. “Holden, honey. I want to talk to you about the scars on your body.”

  My gut clenched, cold water inched its way into my throat.

  “Do you want to talk about them?”

  Her brown eyes drew me. I lifted my head. She had nice eyes, kind eyes…eyes that hinted she was older than the fine wrinkles around her eyes. Eyes that would lose that spark of kindness if I told her what she wanted to know. “No.”

  Marine Headquarters was bombed early yesterday morning and now this new evidence…

  “Your extensive military medical history accounts for the trauma you sustained in combat. The shrapnel in your thigh, and the shot in your leg as well as the claw marks on your back. But it’s the other scars I’d like to talk to you about. The ones all over your body…cuts…burns, marks that indicate they’ve been there for a while. I’ve seen marks like that before honey, on abused children.”

  I clenched my jaw, fighting the damn water. Stay down…stay down. Don’t make a fucking fool of myself. Her hand left my shoulder as she moved around the bed.

  Military officials have gone to ground…fearing for their lives.

  “Gunny…Alpha…” I raised my gaze and tried to focus. White walls closed in. They’d be here if they could. They’d never leave me. I closed my eyes and found my breath. Everything waited for me there…in the rise and fall of my chest. In the air that filled me…

  Long strands of silver hair… She waited…in the forest…the woman—no the shifter.

  It’s okay. He’s gone.

  “Holden…honey did you say something?”

  The resonance of my words still tickled my lips. He’s gone…there’s no need to be afraid. My memory was scattered, thoughts slipped through my fingers…but not her…she came to me like a sniper’s shot in the damn shoulder. Long silver hair. Strands from inside the compound. Strands I held in my hand…and those eyes, cold, hard—a hunter’s eyes. No…a survivor’s eyes.

  She stood at the side of a pine, almost hidden in the shadows. If she hadn’t moved, I wouldn’t have seen her—not until it was too late.

  “I’m going to leave you to get some rest.” I flinched at the words and yanked open my eyes. Helen hooked my records on the end of the bed and moved around the side. “I’ll be back to check on you a little later, okay? Now, here’s your button, honey. I want you to press that if you need anything. No getting up…no getting stressed, nurse’s orders.”

  She slipped the call button into my hand and gave my arm a gentle pat. Honesty and kindness permeated the air around her. She was the kind of nurse a kid would confide in—the kind of nurse a kid could need.

  But that kid had been gone a long time. Let down by “the system” and left for dead.

  I followed the sound of Helen’s steps as she left the room and tried to think.

  Gunny…Alpha.

  Something was wrong, something bigger than me taking one in the damn shoulder. I flexed my arm and felt the hunger gnaw…pain would come…pain I’d felt many times before.

  Pain I could deal with.

  Pain I could own.

  I grasped the electrode pad on my chest, peeling the stuck surface from my skin. The damn shit stuck hard. I shoved my thumb underneath and yanked. The howl of the monitor was instant. The damn stainless frame dug into my side as I leaned, hooked my fingers around the thing, and dragged it close. Buttons…too many fucking buttons. I stabbed where I could, but the damn thing seemed to blare harder.

  “On the side, sonny. That black switch on the side.”

  I lifted my head to the old timer in the bed next to me. He looked at me, and then the monitor and gave me a nod. My hands moved slow, fingers thick and swollen as I pulled the side of the damn thing closer. The little black switch waited. One punch and the room felt quiet.

  I eased against the pillows and sucked in a breath. My body was weak…hands slow…body numb. I couldn’t protect myself, not like this…and not here. Roth…that was where they’d go if the shit went down.

  The TV dragged my focus. I lifted my head to the TV above the old timer’s bed. “Buildings are bombed?”

  He nodded, never once taking those eyes off me. “Yes, Sir. Damn shitshow if you ask me. I never had this in my day. Vietnam was a goddamn massacre, but this…this is something else.”

  I licked my lips and nodded.

  “I just got one thing to ask you, Sonny. You fighting for the good guys, or you one of them?”

  I narrowed my gaze and settled on him. Good guys, or one of them? Could he see what I did? Could he see that our Government was nothing more than a goddamn puppet for those who wanted nothing more than to eradicate humans, for something more powerful—something that would follow orders—something that would kill with no remorse. “I protect those who can’t protect themselves, that good enough for you?”

  He stilled while those sharp eyes sized me up and down. I gripped the rails and heaved, swinging my legs over the side and worked my way down the end of the bed.

  He stilled for a while before he answered. “Yeah, that’s good enough. I’ll cover for you…Florence Nightingale will be back soon.”

  I scanned the bedside cabinet, finding my boots to the side and my pants folded neatly…but no shirt. I grasped the cannula in the back of my hand and yanked. Fluid spilled from the end. Blood followed, seeping from the hole in my damn hand. I grasped the thin surgical gown and yanked. Buttons popped as the covering came away.

  The old timer stared…and for a second I saw what he did…gang tattoos that followed my neckline from one shoulder to another…marred by thick, raised scars. I bent, grasped my pants from the cupboard and leaned against the bed. The goddamn room wouldn’t stand still. I slid one foot in the legs and then the other before dropping against the mattress.

  Movement came from the bed next to mine as I gripped the rails and reached for my boots.

  “It’ll be tight, but it’ll fit you.” His hands shook as he reached out, handing me a cotton T-shirt. “More fat on me than muscle now. But they’ll be watching and a man with no shirt’ll stand out more than a man with one. So you take it now…you take it, and do what you do best.”

  I leaned forward and grasped the navy blue shirt. “You don’t know me…why you doing this?”

  He jerked his gaze toward the crisscrossed scars along my belly. Wounds not from a shifter, but from man. We killed…we hunted—we were the ones bent on our own destruction.

  “For those I love, I’ve done terrible things.”

  I stilled at those words. I couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think. They were the words that mirrored my soul…the ones I couldn’t escape—they were the words of a Marine…one still alive. I shoved my feet into my boots and rose from the bed. The thin material stretched as I shoved my bad arm through and then yanked it over my head before I looked the Marine in the eye and answered. “For those we love, we sacrifice.”

  He snapped to attention, raising his hand to salute. “Oorah.”

  The battlecry stuck in my throat. I’d never given up fighting, not for one fucking minute. I raised my hand, snapping to attention and mirrored the call. “Oorah.”

  Voices echoed in the hallway, dragging his gaze. I raised my foot, wincing as an unseen knife plunged into my damn shoulder and twisted. I worked the laces, tightening as best I could and scanned the opening.

  “God be with you, son.”

  His words stayed with me as I moved toward the open doorway and scanned the hall. The flash of navy scrubs disappeared into the next room. I waited for a heartbeat and then moved. No one turned, no one slowed…no one called out as I skimmed past the nurses’ station and headed for the automatic doors at the end of the hall.

  They went to ground. It was the only answer. Take me to the hospital and close ranks. The Senator�
�s place was the perfect defense. High walls, hidden cameras. A building that could withstand a bomb. I hit the doors and turned left.

  Stars sparkled where moments ago there had been sun. I’d lost an entire day…I looked at my arm and grasped the medical wristband—an entire damn day. God knows what happened. The wail of a siren lived through the air. Blue lights flashed in the distance. I lowered my gaze and kept on moving, keeping to the inside of the pavement and those who passed me on the street.

  More sirens. More chaos. People ran.

  Panic filled the air, cramming into every corner and every heart. I kept my eyes down and glanced at the phone booth as I passed. They’d be listening, waiting for me to slip up. Davonport…four hours from the Senator’s.

  But that wasn’t where I was going…not yet.

  A bus pulled up alongside the sidewalk. Air hissed, doors opened. “You need a ride?”

  I glanced up to the doorway, to the big man behind the plexiglass barrier. “No, thank you.”

  “Soldiers don’t pay. Not today,” he growled. Dark eyes narrowed, lingering on my shoulder. “And you son, look like you could do with some help.”

  I followed his focus to the darkened patch. Blood seeped through, sticking the fabric to the dressing on my wound.

  He jerked his head. “Hop in. I’ll take you any place you want to go in the city.”

  I nodded, felt the pavement sway under my feet and took a step. “Thank you. Shopping center, if it’s not too far out of your way.”

  He waited for me to grasp the rail and heave myself inside before he nodded and punched the button. “Sure thing, buddy.”

  The doors closed with a hiss behind me. I made the next step, finding an empty seat at the front. People passed by outside, hurrying with fear-filled gazes. This city…this country was going under—only they didn’t know who to trust.

  Blue and white strobing lights filled the inside of the bus as we pulled away. Chatter filled the back end of the vehicle, but it was all I could do to stay upright. I grasped the stainless pole and dropped my head to my arm. “I got me some cola in the cooler there if you want some. Looks like you could do with a little pick-me-up.”

  I opened my eyes and stared at the driver. “Why are you helping me?”

  He glanced up into the wide mirror above his head, the one angled all the way down the inside of the bus. “You know it’s strange. I just don’t quite remember. All I know is I had to stop outside the hospital.” He shook his head. “Damned if I know why. Say you don’t know a young lass called Odessa? Helluva name if you askin’ me. Just got it stuck in this damn head of mine. Don’t recall why.”

  I stared, speechless for a second before I dropped my gaze and hid my smirk. The ghost of a touch brushed the back of my neck as I mumbled. “Shoulda known. Thank you, wolf.” And then I lifted my head. “Yeah, I will take that cola if you’re offering.”

  The big guy nodded, glanced to the side and nodded. “In that cooler there. Wife always packs enough food and drink to feed a damn army. Likes to keep me fat and slow, I think.”

  I shifted my ass, sliding toward the ends of the seat and grasped the seat behind him. The small soft-sided cooler was filled to bursting. I grasped the handle and dragged the thing close.

  “There’s sandwiches there, if you’re hungry. Take as many as you need.”

  Call it divine intervention—call it a seer’s spell. My gut tightened, and my mouth watered at the thought of food. I yanked open the lid, took a can and a sandwich before closing the lid and sliding the cooler back against his seat. “Thank you, more than you’ll ever know.”

  He gave a nod and swung the wheel, turning the corner. “I’ll tell my wife she saved a Marine today.”

  I nodded, popped the top of the can and drank. The cool drink hit my belly as I yanked the plastic wrapping free and sank my teeth into the bread. I chewed and swallowed, until there was nothing left. The world seemed to sharpen, drawing my focus to my shoulder. The ache was savage, plunging deep, only to radiate down my arm and into my side.

  “Next turn, soldier.”

  I gripped the plastic wrapping, waited for the bus to swing wide before I rose. “Thank you, again.”

  He gave a nod. “Anytime. And if you do meet an Odessa, tell her my wife thanks her for her kindness.”

  I stared for a second longer as the driver braked and hit the button for the doors. Thanks her for her kindness? I wanted to know exactly what he meant by that. But time waited for no man, injured or not. I dropped the rubbish into the small waste can at the front and stepped from the bus and onto the sidewalk.

  The doors closed with a whoosh behind me, and moved off a second later. “Thank her for her kindness, eh?”

  The parking lot to the shopping center wasn’t as busy as I hoped. But I’d find something. I stepped over the low picket fence and the tiny shrubs and made for the line of parked cars. Baby on board was a no, so was anything too neat. I scanned the nice, middle of the range older cars—nothing with a low-jack system—and stilled at an older Jeep.

  These cars I knew. I scanned the shoppers, waited, and then smashed the back window. The crunch was too loud, drawing the gaze of a young woman and her daughter. I worked fast, slipping inside and reaching for the wires underneath the dash.

  My fingers moved too damn slow, splitting and then peeling the sheath free. Sparks caught, the engine growled. I shoved the car into gear and eased my way forward, finding the exit. “I’m sorry buddy, but I need this more than you do right now.”

  I’d be out of the city and on my way home before the owner called the cops. Cars flew past as I turned right and picked up speed. The cola and sandwich sat heavy in my gut…churning, just like my thoughts. I leaned forward, balanced my hand on the wheel and hit the radio.

  Music blared, something grunge and dark—something that any other day, I’d listen to. But not today…today the dead called. I punched the buttons, scanning through the channels until the painful tone of a reporter cut through.

  I drove and listened to the world implode. Terrorism, the word was spoken…but this kind of terror came from no other country but our own. We created this Hell…we crafted this horror. So we sure as fuck could find a Heaven. Headquarters were bombed. Government officials taken out. The list of casualties was sickening. I gripped the wheel and kept on going, pushing out of the city and heading for home.

  Soteria was far enough away that it might not touch the shifters out there. But I was guessing most had run for the trees. I followed the highway, leaving Davonport far behind, and thought about the young woman in the woods…a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the man in the black and white image we found in Newman’s study…in his files of terror.

  Agony stabbed deep in my shoulder. I strangled the wheel and fought the darkness. Gotta stay sharp…gotta stay focused. My damn fingers were numb…the feeling faint and throbbing. I clenched my fist and worked the blood flow, praying that any damage done wasn’t permanent.

  Without my fingers I was nothing.

  Without my gun I was dead.

  And so was my team.

  The entrance to Soteria came up on my right. I sucked in a breath, downshifted and turned. The work site was usually busy…not today. I scanned the machinery and the sheds. There was no one in sight. I pulled the Jeep around to the right, tapped the brakes and mounted the curb, pulling up outside Alpha’s house.

  I had a room here, food, clothes when I needed it. This place was my brother’s. He and X now made it more than a house—they made it a home. I wanted to belong…some part of me needed to belong.

  But I’d always been a drifter—always a nomad. Calling no place home. I slept in my car, and under the stars. I slept wherever the world took me with the wind at my back and a rifle in my hand.

  I climbed out of the Jeep and made for the back door. The house was quiet, lonely. I scanned the trees at the edge of the yard—remembering X’s dance as though it were yesterday—and mounted the steps. I shoved the
door open, stepped inside, and made for the bathroom.

  Nausea threatened to take me under. I needed something…just enough to dull the pain—I grasped the doorway and stumbled into the bathroom and yanked open the cabinet. Boxes crammed the space, everything from Neosporin to goddamn high-grade painkillers. My fingers danced over the codeine laced shit and I licked my lips.

  And for a second I was back there. In that place…that past where I was a different person with a different need. I closed my eyes and swallowed the desire to numb the hurt and smother the anger. Old aches resurfaced. I gripped the hemline of the tight shirt and hauled it over my head and down my wounded shoulder.

  Scars littered my chest. Round scars from their cigarettes…the system…this was what the system looked like. It put a small boy amongst monsters, and taught him to survive. It broke him—it burned him…it took everything he knew and showed him how to hurt and how to hate.

  Wolves, Dragons, Vampires—they had nothing on humans.

  We were the destruction of our own kind. I dropped the shirt to the floor and grasped a bottle of paracetamol. The shit wouldn’t touch the agony, but it’d get me through, keep me sharp—keep me hungry.

  I punched three from the sleeve into my palm and shoved them into my mouth. The water from the tap carved an icy trail down my throat. I swallowed, taking my fill and then made for my room.

  The place was nothing, a fold away bed in the corner. A small dresser filled with clothes. There were no books, no pictures, no moments of any kind. Any medals I’d been awarded over time had been given away or sold.

  I needed no reminders of how the system had let not just me down, but Gunny, Alpha, Irwin…and Stitch. I made for the bed and kicked off my boots as his face filled me. An ache flared deeper than flesh and bone—he was my brother, my friend—the one who understood the delicate fucking balance that raged within my skin.