Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  When I woke, I wasn’t sure if it was morning. Kind of hard to tell when you’re buried underground. Judging by the chatter and shuffle of footsteps down the main hallway of the sleeping quarters, though, it was time to wake up. I sat up straight, stretching my arms above my head. My gaze fell on a bare, sleek, toned build with scars and tattoos in all the right places. I stilled, letting my arms slowly drop back down to my sides, my palms bracing me upright on the mattress.

  Jet was standing at the foot of the mattress, running a cloth through his damp hair. “Morning,” he said, his voice a tired rumble.

  Speech was caught somewhere between my throat and lips. It took me a second to remind it of its function. “Morning. Did you have another bath?”

  “Yeah. Traded an extra pair of shoelaces with some guys over there. Apparently they’re a hot commodity. Who’d have thought they have so many uses. Also grabbed this.” He swiveled on a hip and bent down to reach his backpack, zipping it open to show off a large canteen. “Clean water. No boiling necessary.” He tapped it and smiled, then rose to full height again, the definition in his stomach rippling with the movement.

  My gaze crawled up his torso and locked onto his. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Water in exchange for information. It helps to come from the inside.”

  “Doesn’t that put you in danger of the Invaders?”

  “No,” he shrugged. “Not unless they find me. And that won’t happen.”

  “You sound mighty sure of yourself.”

  “I took this out the second we escaped the prison camp.” He pointed to the reddened bandage on his left hip. It was surrounded by heavy bruising. “My ID. Implanted in my skin. They can’t track me.”

  I shot up from the mattress and moved in front of him, skimming my finger above the bandage. “You cut it out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jet, that can get infected. You need stitches … antibiotics. Something. You were running with that hole in your hip this whole time?” I gaped at the bandage, the sopping red stain looking heavy and in need of a change.

  “It had to be done.” His skin jumped underneath my touch. He stared down, watching my finger move over the bruise. “I disinfected it with booze from the bar. That’ll have to do for now.”

  I looked around, wondering if there were any nurses or doctors nearby. “There has to be someone who can stitch this up for you.”

  “If there is, I’ll have to pay for it. Nothing’s free. Speaking of paying, come on, we need to have a chat with Lil.”

  “Okay, let me wash up.” I used the toilet and borrowed a fingertip’s worth of toothpaste from Jet’s backpack stash for a quick brush, then tied my hair back and followed him to the front bar. My bangs fell heavy over my forehead, Jet’s black t-shirt now tied up at the corner into a tight knot at the side of my hip. My dark-blue jeans had seen better days, but my flat black boots were holding up good. Better than good. They’d get me through this journey, however long it lasted, straight to the end.

  We found Lillian hunched over the bar, studying a stack of maps, her round glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose. “What can I do fer ya, darlin’? Want some breakfast? Got some hot oatmeal on the stove. Give yer a cup for some shoelaces, er toothpaste if yer got it.” She spoke without looking up at Jet.

  “I need some information,” Jet said, eyeing the map in her hands.

  “Oh? Whatchya got fer me?”

  “Information from the inside.”

  She looked up. “Is that so? How do I know yer tellin’ the truth?”

  Jet pointed to his bloody hip, then reached into his pants pocket and dug out a tiny silver cylinder. It was smashed and cracked along the center. “This was my ID.” He dumped it into Lillian’s palm and she adjusted her glasses, holding the chip up under the low light of a hanging lantern to get a better look.

  “Hhhmm,” she grunted. “Well, what do ya wanna know, darlin’?”

  “I’ll tell you what they’re doing with the Collected if you tell me about the Underground. Some information about the inside, in exchange for some information about the outside. Can we do that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe. Yes or no. Do you want to know what’s going on behind those prison camp doors or not?”

  Her brows rose and she leaned back, studying him. “I’m listenin’.”

  “I need locations for as many Black Holes from here to California you’ve got. Locations, mileage, occupancy, a map, whatever you have. Also need to know if they’ve got supplies and weapons, and what I have to do to get my hands on them.”

  “That’s some costly info yer lookin’ for right there.”

  “So is the information you want.”

  “Darlin’, there’s a good chance I know more about yer bosses than you do. Don’t go gettin’ haughty, now.”

  Whether Jet wanted me to or not, I spoke up. “We’re just trying to get out west in one piece. He was a Collector and a prison guard. He worked on patrol, knows how things work in the streets. There’s not a chance you’ve seen what he’s seen, so if you’re smart, you’ll tell him what he wants to know.”

  Lillian turned her slate-gray eyes on me. “I don’t respond well to threats, ya hear me?”

  “Paranoia and stupid games get us nowhere. He dug a fuckin’ chip out of his hip, and we both look like roadkill. You think if we were interested in tattling on you, or screwing you somehow, we’d be standing here talking trading fuckin’ shoelaces and hot oatmeal? We’re just trying to survive, like everyone else.”

  “What’s yer name? You didn’t sign in last night.” She slid the notepad toward me and handed me a pen, her suspicious eyes flickering over me from head to toe. “Here.”

  “Skylla,” I mumbled, not bothering to hide my irritation as I snapped the pen from her grip. “But people call me Sky. Last name, Warden.”

  Jet coughed back what sounded like a laugh. “So, Lil, what can you tell me?”

  She reached behind the bar and pulled out another map, folded into fours. Earmarks and red flags lit the thing up. “This’ll point ya to the Holes yer lookin’ for. No word from California yet, though. Dunno how many or where. Enemy’s infiltrated these,” she opened the map and pointed to a few X’s in Texas and one in Arizona, “so they’re prolly wiped out by now or unsafe to visit. But the others are worth a shot. You also wanna stick to the old railroad that runs from here to here, if ya can.” She ran her finger along a red dotted line. “Rebels have a workin’ car that runs along the track at night. Can save ya alotta travelin’ time, and they have supplies and ammo on board.”

  “What do they need?”

  “Canned goods, same as us. They’ll take her, too.” She jutted her chin out, gesturing to me.

  Jet’s hand tightened on the bar, balling into a fist. “No fucking way. Not an option.”

  “Don’t get cross with me, darlin’. Yer askin’, I’m tellin’ ya.”

  “What about clean water and antibiotics? You got any here I can take with me?”

  Lillian looked stunned, as if he’d just slapped her. “Bold sunuva bitch, ain’t chya?”

  “Just like cutting through all the bullshit, like my friend here.” He winked at me and stuffed the map she’d given him into his back pocket. My lips twitched in a grin and I turned and left them to it, heading back to our mattress. I did some final checks to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind—not that we had much to begin with—then met Jet at the bottom of the main stairwell a few minutes later.

  “You all set?” he asked, tossing me a pair of sunglasses.

  “Wow, nice.” I felt the frame, rubbing my finger over the lenses to wipe away a smudge. “Not bad, Phoenix.”

  “Twinkies.” He slid his pair on and adjusted the gun across his chest. “Told you. Breakfast of champions. No luck with antibiotics, but plenty of water.”

  “Good.” I slid my glasses on. “Better than nothing.”

  The morning sun beat down on us as we ascended fr
om the Black Hole, and I was instantly grateful for the sunglasses-and-Twinkie swap. It wasn’t ideal to be moving around in the open during daylight like this, but we had to get moving if we expected to make any headway west.

  We walked for hours, stopping only to take a sip of water or catch our breath, sticking to wooded areas and developed but deserted industrial areas as much as possible, opting for places that offered us prime hiding sites. Every now and then, we’d run into a pack of foragers or families on the hunt for the nearest Black Hole. We’d point them in the right direction and move on, helping when we could and staying out of view when Jet felt uneasy.

  Being on the open road proved more dangerous, due to Keeper Agents and human travelers more than anything else. If we weren’t running from patrol brigades, we were attempting to steer clear of hungry, sick, desperate travelers who weren’t afraid to eat the meat clear off our bones. The Invaders’ ships passed by above us throughout the day, and we had some close calls with some of them on foot, but thanks to Jet’s navigational skills and killer aim, we escaped each run-in with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises. He was damn good with grenades, and between the two of us, we could nail some pretty clean shots.

  “Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asked me, right after we’d collided with a group of Invaders. They’d been sneaking around an old gas station, where we’d met them head on while trying to rummage through the station’s storage room for supplies. We laid them out with a grenade and three neat shots to the head, dodging their Aqua Bombs and Venom Spheres with ease. I already learned what kind of threat the Aqua Bombs posed, and according to Jet, the Venom Spheres were worse. They didn’t kill you on impact, but instead paralyzed you, allowing the Invaders to transport you and then do whatever they pleased. Apparently, the group we ran into couldn’t decide whether they wanted to drown us or paralyze us and take us back to their playground.

  Sweethearts, aren’t they?

  The moment we took them out, we stuffed as many of their toys into our backpack as we could.

  “Shooting was a dad-daughter thing,” I said. “As soon as I was old enough, he started taking me to the gun range. We went every Saturday. Religiously. His dad was a cop, taught him all he knew about the firearms they used in the field. I loved it. Great way to blow off steam.”

  “Amen to that,” he said and chuckled, stopping beneath a massive oak tree to plop down and drink from his canteen. After the gas station incident, we’d nestled ourselves away in a nearby wooded area along a main highway. “I knew shit about guns until I volunteered for service and went into training. I was going to school to be a pilot before all this.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked with genuine interest, planting my hands on my hips while I stared down at him. Seeing Jet as my captor was the only thing that felt foreign now. Denying the desire to get to know him would feel like betrayal.

  I couldn’t do that.

  He lifted his shades and nodded. “Yup, flying was my life. Nothing like being up in the air. It’s quiet, peaceful … nothing can touch you. You’re safe from the world, and you’re in charge of this graceful machine, gliding thousands of feet above everyone and everything … fucking beautiful. Just you and the sky.”

  “Sounds nice right about now. Ever been in one of those things?” I pointed to the ship passing above us. Through the trees, I could make out the round steel exterior, could hear the eerie hum of the engine. The Invaders’ ships reminded me of submarines—the most high-tech, efficient submarines on the planet. Complete with round porthole windows, they were built like tanks, incapable of being taken down by any of our military birds or ground troops.

  They’d all tried.

  Immediately upon invasion, the Invaders had disabled most of our weapons technology and satellites. That was the little bit I’d picked up on the news and through word of mouth, but seeing these stealthy, elegant machines float above us in the flesh, it was all very clear.

  They were a superior species, in all the ways that truly counted. Smarter, faster, and equipped with defenses we couldn’t begin to match, they had us exactly where they wanted us, and we knew it.

  “Nope, haven’t been inside one of them. Only seen them on the ground.” He raised his canteen to me and I accepted it, taking a careful swig of water. “You can sit for a few. We need to rest before sundown so we can travel through the night.”

  I handed him the water and took a place at his side, resting my head back against the tree trunk. The bark was soft and moist, cushioning and cradling me against it. “How’s your hip?”

  “It’s been better. How are the cuts on your back?”

  “That medicine helped. Thanks for sharing.”

  “Need some more?”

  “Nah, I’m good for now, thanks.” It occurred to me then that he hadn’t mentioned his sister Hera since last night, or what he intended to do if he never found her. What would I do if he didn’t find her? What if he did? Where did that leave me? When we reached San Francisco, if we made it that far, would we just split up and go our separate ways? Near the water was the last place I wanted to be if those things were gathering there, but I’d go if it meant finding answers.

  If it meant helping Jet find Hera.

  Sitting here, beneath this majestic oak tree under the hot afternoon sun in the middle of nowhere, the concept of time, present, and future, were all blurred. What was time if you didn’t know whether you had it?

  When you weren’t sure what you had to live for?

  I’d never felt more out of my element than I did at that moment, and I knew the only way to shut down my tired, overworked brain was to attempt to snag some shuteye. I let my lids fall shut, my head roll softly to the side until it landed on Jet’s shoulder. A gentle whisper whipped through the surrounding trees, tickling their branches, telling them secrets. It had been so long since I’d relaxed like this and allowed myself to listen to the whisper of the wind. So long since I’d given into it and said to hell with the invasion, the attack, rumors of life on Earth coming to an end.

  So long …

  “Skylla!” Jet’s voice ricocheted off something in the distance, and I woke with a jolt, realizing his shoulder was gone and that I was slumped over against the oak tree trunk, alone.

  “Fire!”

  My vision went from fuzzy to crystal clear in a split second, and I was on my feet, spotting Jet straight ahead, running toward me and aiming directly over my shoulder. Machine gun in his left hand and a Glock in his right, he started shooting. I pitched all of my body weight away from his fire, swinging around to aim in the same direction.

  There in the late, tangerine sunlight, amidst the rich emerald trees, stood a mesmerizing pack of Invaders, their elegant skeletal frames swaying as if they would wither away and turn to dust with the slightest brush of impact. Their stance and orderly triangular formation, however, said differently. They were in complete control, even their slightest movements calculated. Their long fingers were strong, their grips precise while they snapped outward to shower us with a barrage of Aqua Bombs, each container spitting sharp and fast from their palms, heading straight for us. They hit surrounding trees as we dodged them, lodging into the trees with thick thuds, while others whizzed past us and soared outward into the distance. One clipped my shoulder and I screamed and ducked away just in time.

  As I pulled the trigger and delivered relentless shots to the creatures’ heads, a warm, moist hand stopped me, closing around my throat from behind. My arm fell to my side, my fingers struggling against the sheer power of the creature’s grip to keep the gun from dropping to the ground. The back of my neck warmed at the touch, sending a shooting, tingling sensation straight down my spine. A flash of something serene filled my vision. I could feel it, cool and wet … and salty. I blocked out the tingling sensation, focusing only on the vision before me.

  Water.

  Lots and lots of water. An ocean.

  The flash snapped and disappeared, and the tingling sensation returned, s
preading down my spine and igniting my skin in pure, rich warmth. Jet screamed my name, the muffled booms of his guns drowning out his voice, and I cried out in horror when the Invader’s face came into view, moving to stand directly in front of me. Its hand still carefully clamping my neck, its dark gaping holes stared back at me while its shrill screech pierced my ears, its ghoulish jaw dropping in a howl. Liquid ooze drooped down its chin in a river of clear discharge, and my stomach flipped at the sight, sure the creature had hailed straight from the depths of some morbid, watery abyss. I watched helplessly as its hand revealed a silver sphere, its other hand still clasped tight around my neck, the tingly feeling sending more sparks up and down my spine. My entire body felt hot now, an oven heating up from the inside.

  Then the unthinkable happened.

  As the others ceased fire to glide in behind it and join it in its appraisal of me, the pack’s screams united in a single high-pitched yell, and almost reverently, they all began to retreat backward, lowering their weapons. Jet’s gunfire ceased, and the clammy creature’s hand released my neck, its eyes boring into me cautiously while it lowered the silver sphere. The pack rapidly glided away from me and Jet and left us there in the woods, hearts pounding and feet planted firm in the soil. All went still, and my only conscious thought was still the same—the one Jet had instilled in me so relentlessly.

  Keep your finger on the trigger.

  CHAPTER 4

  This was the first time since we’d begun running together that we’d run from silence. Nothing was chasing us, but our feet told us otherwise. They couldn’t carry us fast enough through the woods, away from the formation of Invaders that had just ambushed us, only to let us go.

  “What the hell was that?” I choked out, my breath heavy as I sprinted through the brush. Jet was running ahead of me, his arms lithely pushing branches out of the way as he moved. He ducked and weaved with sleek precision. If I hadn’t been so frantic, the sight would’ve been mesmerizing to watch while I followed in his path.

  “Don’t know. Never seen anything like it.”