Then Erin was there. "Angie, what's wrong?"
The dream, that goddamned dream.
The medicine had done nothing.
As in the safe house, Erin held her while she calmed, her face flushed, her breathing wild. Eventually, her heart ceased its attempt to burst free of her chest, and she settled, able to think, to draw breath. She drew back from Erin, embarrassed, but the other woman only watched her in concern from where she knelt. The sun was still up, but it looked lower now, meaning it was at least late afternoon.
"I ... do you want to talk about it?" Erin asked softly.
So, for the first time, she did, although she couldn't have said why she had waited until this moment, why she hadn't spoken about it in group. She and Erin had barely known each other, so perhaps that made it easier. She sat there, her hands in her lap, talking about the operation. Erin had been there that night, with her brothers, but only Angie's Shrike had been hit by the anti-aircraft missiles. By the time they had reached Angie, the villa had been an inferno, with munitions detonating in the flames. In a halting voice, her face hot with shame, Angie told her about the stable hand, a boy of no more than sixteen or seventeen that she had murdered.
"He was trying to kill you," Erin said. "You had no choice."
"Doesn't make it any easier, though, does it?"
"No, I guess not."
Then, while Erin lit one of the small cooking tablets in the cache and boiled water for instant coffee, Angie told her about the Other, her shade, and how it had possessed her when she had been thirteen. She described that night in Char's study when the Other had burst from its jar prison, bonding with her against her will.
"Char told me it was a shade, a special kind of shade, but a shade nonetheless. I had no idea what it was capable of though, not until I ... it ... burned those soldiers alive."
"I didn't know any of that," Erin said, handing Angie a tin mug of coffee. "Word around the unit was the helicopter crash ignited a munitions supply and started the fire. The villa went up because of the munitions."
Angie shook her head, unable to look Erin in the eye. She closed her eyes and inhaled the strong coffee smell. The mug was hot to her fingers. Birds sang in the trees around them, oblivious and happy. "That's just what Nathan told the others, and maybe he even believes it. But I did that. Me. That's why the Norties gave me that damned nickname, la Angela de la Muerte, the Angel of Death, a play on my name. After, days later, we had intel stating more than sixty Norteno soldiers and civilians died in that operation. All me. All my fault ... well, me and the Other … the fire demon."
"Fire demon?"
Angie sighed. "I don't know what it really is, what it was. I couldn't cope with what happened. Guilt tore at me, and I felt like the Other was only waiting within me for another chance to kill again. So I stole a horse and went north."
"I remember when you went missing for a few days. The chain of command tried to hush it up, but there were rumors you had gone rogue."
Angie pursed her lips, shaking her head. "I didn't go rogue. I went to Fresno. I went to see Char, to beg her to exorcise the damned thing. She didn't want to, of course, and kept insisting it was a gift, a powerful force. When I told her if she didn't exorcise it, I'd kill myself, she finally relented."
"Would you have?"
Angie stared at her coffee and then nodded. "Nathan brought me back after the ceremony. He flew right into Char's zoo with one of the Shrikes, risking the Concord."
Erin nodded. "Casey flew that mission, said that Nathan and Chararah Succubus, your mother, argued over you. Casey said he was certain Nathan would attack her."
"Nathan and Char don't get along. When he was eighteen, just before he was supposed to graduate, she threw him out for trying to steal something."
"It didn't slow his career down."
"No. It wouldn't. He was already a wonderful mage. But he hates her, hates all Fey. He was furious with me. When he heard my shade was gone and I couldn't use magic anymore, he lost it." Angie shivered, remembering how angry he had been, the spit flying from his mouth as he screamed at her, accusing her of betraying her own species by going to Char. She had never seen him like that before or since. "He suggested I resign my commission, said the presence of an unbonded mage was bad for the morale of the others."
“He suggested?”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Resign or a trial. He kicked me out.”
"I told you, he's a dick. I thought you were in tight with Marshal."
She sighed. "So did I, but no, not really. He backed up Nathan but insisted I take counselling for my ... the problems I have with sleeping and … and stuff."
"PTSD?"
Angie nodded. "I can see Nathan's point of view, as hard as it is for me to admit it. What use is a mage without a shade?"
"I've never really understood the whole shade thing," Erin admitted. "I mean, I understand that you mages need to bond with those spirit things in order to survive using magic, but it seems so ... bizarre, so otherworldly."
"It is. But for mages, it's the only way. Hundreds of years ago, shades were the source of demonic possession beliefs, hauntings, and poltergeists, that sort of thing. But people just didn't understand what was happening. Shades are a form of energy, invisible most of the time—although you might see a ball of energy or ghostly shape—but usually immaterial. They're drawn to us, to mages, unable to stay away from mana yet unable to touch it themselves. That's why they need us."
"Mana? Like magic, right?"
"Not exactly. Magic is what a mage or a shade does with the mana. The mana is the life force exuded by all living creatures, people and animals—and Fey. Plants and insects, too, but only powerful Fey like Char can work with that type of mana. Human mages can only draw upon the weaker ambient mana in the air around us, the invisible energy or life force that people give off. Mages draw it into their own bodies and work it into spells—the two spells the Fey teach us. The shades consume the corrosive aftereffects of mana use that would kill the mage.
“It's a perfect symbiotic relationship: the shades need the mana but can't touch it without a mage, and the mages can't work with the mana to cast spells without the shade negating the harmful side effects. Because shades aren't human, because they think and perceive the world differently, they can react faster, faster than a bullet even. They create shields that keep the mages safe from gunfire or other harm."
"Unless you overpower the shade by, say, tossing one into an industrial shredder?" Erin smiled.
"Exactly." Angie allowed herself the tiniest of smiles in return. If anyone had ever deserved an awful death, it had been Ixtil. "At any rate, un-bonded mages caused a lot of damage, particularly during the twelfth century. No one understood what was happening or how to mitigate the use of magic. People didn't know what a shade was or how to bond with one safely. Sometimes the shades bonded with mages on their own, possessing them—that shit drove people crazy and made it infinitely worse.
“Mages—with or without shades—were the driving force behind the Catholic Church's Inquisition. A great many innocent people died, not just the poor unbonded mages who didn't understand what they were or how to use magic safely but thousands of others. The Inquisition came perilously close to the Fey as well. So the Fey came together for the first and perhaps only time ever and cast the Fey Sleep, the worldwide spell that not only made them invisible to humanity but also blocked human mages’ ability to sense or touch magic. They put us to sleep for lack of a better term."
"And suppressed the lupine gene in some bloodlines," Erin said.
Angie nodded. "Whatever it is in your bloodline that makes you and your brothers what you are, it's magic, or at least a part of it is magic."
"On A-Day, I was seven. Jay was eleven. We lived on a ranch in Montana, beautiful country. I loved it there. Our brothers were older, already serving in the U.S. military. Our father had been in the military as well. It’s in our blood."
"Like the werewolf gene?"
"No. That came from our mother. After the dragons did … whatever it was they did, we knew that everything had changed—we could feel it, felt stronger, faster, with greater senses. When the power and electronics went out, our father insisted everything would be okay. It wasn't. Jay and I were too young and frightened to understand what had happened, but we felt the bond with our older brothers—and our mother. Days later, during the first full moon, everything went bad, terribly bad. After ... after, our parents were dead, and Jay and I were alone."
"I'm sorry. My family died in the Food Wars. I was so little I barely remember them."
Erin glanced away, not offering to explain how her parents had died. "Jay and I went south, drawn by our psychic bond to our brothers. Oddly, although they were all in different branches, on A-Day, all three were serving under Colonel Marshal at the Electromagnetic Vulnerability Assessment Facility, the Bunker at Naval Air Station Lemoore. Lucky, that. Just about the only lucky thing that happened after the Awakening."
"You traveled all that way, during all that fighting, the rioting?"
"We walked more than a thousand miles, running or hiding, living off the land. We were always an outdoors family, but after the Awakening ... well, let's just say we're really good at survival now."
"You were seven?"
"And Jay was eleven. You grow up fast in this new world."
Angie could only nod.
"At any rate, long story short, we reached the Bunker months later. Rowan had already confided in Colonel Marshal about our family's condition, and the Colonel welcomed us, made us part of the team."
"Marshal is a visionary. He negotiated the Concord, found a place with Char for people like Nathan and me who could do ... things. Still, it must have been messy for your brothers to ... you know, change for the first time, especially in the Bunker."
Erin shrugged and sipped her own tea. "They weren't in the Bunker. It's, uh ... well, we feel it, the change, coming for days before the full moon. It drives us into the wild long before it happens, kind of an involuntary survival mechanism that gets us away from people. That's what happened with Rowan, Lewis, and Casey: they went off on their own.
"After ... once they understood what had happened, Rowan went to Marshal and told him everything. To his surprise, Marshal was surprisingly accepting of the whole thing, not even the teensiest bit put off." She shook her head, smiling at the thought. "Now there was a commanding officer."
"Well, it must be nice to have a family of werewolves fighting for you."
"I guess. Everywhere else, frightened people hunted down werewolves, just like they were doing with the Fey. Scary stuff, one day thinking the supernatural is bullshit and the next finding yourself living beside werewolves, fairies, and elves. It's way worse for the werewolves, trust me, to wake up and find out you're a monster."
"You're not a monster, Erin. Trust me, I've lived with a monster." The memory of Ephix’s true form flashed before her eyes, and she shivered.
The conversation died after that, with each woman lost in her own memories. For the first time in months, though, Angie felt better, less burdened by her guilt. They ate, and Erin slept while Angie took her rifle and stood sentry, lying on the pine-needle-covered ground behind a tree, watching their surroundings. She saw nothing but a few squirrels and birds. When it was dark, they ate once more, packed up their camp, and headed north.
Chapter 14
Sometime after midnight, Erin found the Feral tracks. Her unease grew, but she knew the Ferals weren't close, else she'd have smelled them. But they weren't that far away either. She motioned for Angie to wait behind her and then dropped to a knee, lowering her face so she could examine the tracks from an angle. Oh, crap, she mused. Crap, crap, crap.
Hundreds of footprints, overlapping each other. Some barefoot, others in old boots or shoes, a few shod in animal pelts. The tracks all mingled together as the Ferals moved along the same trail, trying to hide their numbers. They were moving northeast, not hunting but doggedly pursuing a goal—this was a raiding party, she knew, probably four or five dozen warriors.
"What is it?" Angie whispered.
"Feral raiding party," she answered. "Maybe fifty or sixty strong, maybe more. Moving northeast."
"Shit."
To the other woman's credit, there was only a trace of fear in her voice. It seemed Angie Ritter was made of much tougher material than Erin had ever suspected when they had served together. Erin had always found it hard to get to know any of the other women in the unit, who she knew found her more than a little weird. She had always been more comfortable around men, and even then, it was mostly her brothers. She was so focused on proving she was their equal that she hid her vulnerability behind a veneer of bluster and insularity, purposely avoiding the other women.
For their part, the women treated her like a wild beast, and many openly feared her; she could smell it on them. It was the fear that hurt her the most. She couldn't help what she was, how she had been born. She didn't want the change and the bloodshed it always brought, the killing and feeding. But at the same time, she also intuitively understood she was withdrawing into her family too much, literally drowning in her brothers' overbearing machismo and oppressive protection. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she needed the company of other women. Talking to Angie, telling her about her childhood, had been remarkably cleansing. She didn't smell the same fear on Angie that she had on the other women, at least not fear of her. Angie had accepted her.
But how will she feel when the moon goes full in a couple of weeks? We need to find the others before then. I can't do this without them.
"We can move around them easily enough," Erin said. "Go northwest a klick or two and then swing back and follow the old Highway 43."
"Erin," Angie said, worry in her voice. "There's a farming settlement to the northeast, only about a kilometer from here, some seven or eight families ... women and children as well."
Now Erin swore, biting her lip. Neither woman had to say what would happen; the Ferals were going to raid the settlement. It happened a dozen times a year. Most times the settlement's dogs raised the alarm or the watchtowers saw the Ferals coming or the Ferals would accidentally set off one of the trip-flares hidden around the perimeter of the settlement and farms. With all hands on the wall, the farmers could use overwhelming firepower to drive back the Ferals, who mostly carried hand-to-hand weapons. The farmers would launch flares, and the Home Guard would react. The rapid-reaction Shrike would be on target in minutes, rocketing death on the Ferals.
But that was only most times. At least once every year or two, the Ferals overran the perimeter in the first rush. There were no flares to bring attack helicopters to the rescue. In the morning, the smoke would bring help, but there'd be nothing left of the settlement other than charred bones. After that, the mission became punitive: hunt down and kill all the Ferals, teach the others a lesson. Erin didn't like those missions.
"If we help," Erin said, "we'll draw attention to ourselves."
"Do we have a choice?"
"No, just wanted to hear you say it. Follow close. Be ready for a gunfight."
Erin took Angie on a faster pace through the dark woods now, always conscious of the possibility of running into a Feral rear guard. Erin was every bit the woodsmen her brothers were, except maybe for Rowan; the eldest Seagrave had a supernatural skill at moving and was like a ghost in the woods. She could smell the Ferals. Their unwashed stench was not unlike that of other wild animals. They'd be able to smell her and Angie as well, but not from as far away as she could with her enhanced senses. For her lupine eyes, the woods were like a mosaic of thousands of shades of silver and gray. It wasn't like seeing in daylight, at least not exactly, but she could easily differentiate the various shades, see every leaf on every tree. She could sure as hell see better than Ferals.
Only minutes later, she smelled the wood smoke from the settlement. It was close. She moved more cautiously now, keeping the Ferals downwin
d of her. Angie had kept up the pace easily enough. She wasn't just brave but fit. Good for her.
Let's hope she's also a good shot.
She saw the Feral rear guard long before they would have seen her and motioned for Angie to drop. It consisted of two warriors, both in a mixture of old clothing and animal furs. Each carried a bolt-action rifle as well as knives and hand axes. They hid behind trees, watching their back trail, but in keeping downwind, Erin had slipped behind them. She briefly considered leaving them in place and just going after the main party but didn't like the idea of a threat at her back. She motioned to Angie to remain still and then slowly and silently strung her bow, removing two arrows.
The Ferals were about fifty yards away, a bit longish for this weapon, and she considered moving closer but decided against it. Even with a broken forearm, if she couldn't hit the target at fifty yards, her brothers would never let her forget it. She drew one of the arrows to her ear and let loose. The moment the arrow flew toward the first Feral, she was already drawing back the second, releasing it almost as quickly. Both arrows hit their marks, thudding into the backs of the Ferals' shoulder blades, the wide cutting arrowheads piercing their hearts and killing them. Her left forearm only twinged a bit from the draw as the two men slid down, their last thoughts likely amazement at the realization they were dead.
If they had time for last thoughts at all.
She unstrung the bow, slipped it over her back, and made sure her assault rifle was ready to rock and roll. When she turned and motioned for Angie to get up and follow her, the other woman was staring at her in astonishment. Erin was thankful Angie couldn't see her face turn red in the darkness. Sometimes she forgot she wasn't even remotely like everyone else.
A freak.
They slipped closer to the main group, now moving as stealthily as possible, which wasn't that stealthy because Angie pretty much stepped on every twig in the woods. Still, Erin didn't think the Ferals heard them as they came out of the tree line and saw the farmers' fields before them and, on the other side of the fields, maybe a hundred meters away, the log wall of the farming community on a hill. A single torch burned in a watchtower, and Erin shook her head in amazement. Torchlight was all well and good in the dark, but it also killed any hope of night vision. These farmers were asking for a slaughter. Even now, the main group of Ferals were slipping closer, sneaking through the rows of crops on hands and knees, coming upwind of the settlement.
The Awakened World Boxed Set Page 14
