Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  “Seriously, Lori. This isn’t the time for jokes.” I look over at Brent just in time to see his eye roll.

  “But how else am I supposed to cope with the crippling depression? I don’t see any fluffy therapy kittens around, do you?”

  Brent heaves a sigh. “Alcohol?”

  A solid plan. “Let me know when you find some. I could get on board with getting blackout drunk.”

  Dad says, “Sounds like a good place to start,” surprising us both by joining in.

  The three of us stare at the empty space that was once filled with a truck. Joking aside, I really am being crushed by the weight of reality. I mean, really?! This sucks. Or maybe it blows. It’s all kinds of wind movement.

  I really wish I could say what finally got us moving was our determination. But it wasn’t. It was a bullet. With a distant bang and a ping of metal on metal, we all duck. “Boy, it sure would be nice to have a truck to hide behind.”

  “Shut up, Lori!” Brent and Dad both snap at me. We grab Dad under the arms, and we drag him back through the doorway and slam the broken door shut.

  We put our backs against the door and slide down to the floor, panting. "They already took our truck, what's the point of shooting at us?! It feels like overkill."

  "I guess so we don't try to take it back?" Brent reasons.

  "In that case, they can keep the damn truck! It wasn't in my color anyway," I huff. "Do you think I can wave a white flag around or something? That’s a thing, right?"

  "I don't think they're in the mood to talk."

  We hold our breaths and listen. There's nothing but silence on the other side of the door. It's actually a little creepy. In the compound, there's always a hum of sound, air blowing through the vents, water through the pipes. The constant tread of footsteps and murmur of voices. This silence is startling in how complete it is.

  "Well?" Brent says, his eyes glistening in the dark. "Do we just sit here and wait for them to come get us?"

  I look us over, our ragtag group of malnourished, half-baked meat sacks. We're in no shape for a fight. I mean, we wouldn't be very good at hand-to-hand combat even on a good day. It's not like the military took the time to train the breeders how to fight. In case of an uprising, the less training we had, the better. I don't like the odds of us being able to dodge bullets either.

  "We could play a game of hide and seek?" I suggest with a shrug. "There are a lot of rooms here. Maybe we could tuck ourselves under a bed or something, and then sneak out when their backs are turned." Oversimplified, sure, but hiding is always an option, both physically and mentally.

  A bullet ricochets outside, and we all duck instinctively.

  "I don't like the idea of hiding," my dad says, his voice dry and raspy. His skin is glistening with sweat and his eyes are at half-mast. "If I'm being honest, I don't know how long I'll last if I get trapped somewhere without some first aid."

  That brings my mind back to the second problem: our missing first-aid kit. Shit. "Well... what if we just run?"

  Both men turn to look at me as though I've grown horns. "Serious suggestions only, Lori."

  "I am serious!" I whine. "Yes, I know there are risks, but staying here is not an option. I think we can all agree on that. Yes?" They nod slowly. "Okay, so we run. There's a bit of shade along the front of the building, and I think if we can make it around the corner, we should be able to avoid both threats, the sun and the bullets." I nod resolutely.

  Dad and Brent share a look, and it's one of resignation. "Okay," they say, solidifying our fate.

  We help our dad off the floor. I crouch forward, my dad leaning against my back. My knees scream at the added weight, but they should hopefully hold up for a minute or two. Brent stands ready to fling the door open at my signal. We share a glance, and I hope it's not a missed opportunity to say goodbye, but I refuse to say the words. I don't want to jinx it.

  With a jerk of my chin, Brent swings the door wide and we plow out into the unprotected driveway. I take a right and sway under my dad's weight. Brent steadies us from behind, and we take off running along the length of the building. We make it four steps before a bullet pings off the building behind us. No one cries out in pain, so I take that as a good sign. I can feel Brent pushing us from behind and try to move my legs fast enough to keep up under the added pressure. Another bullet takes a chunk out of the concrete on the driveway ahead of us. When we run out of shade at the edge of the awning, we have very few options available to us. We can run out across the street into the blazing sunshine, and quickly barbecue ourselves to death. Or we can turn down this shifty-looking alleyway between the buildings. I’m so sure it’s safe…

  A third bullet makes our decision for us. It ricochets off the wall, spraying us with brick shards. “Go!” Dad throws his weight to the right, and we practically stumble into the alley. The shadow of the building looms large, giving us a quick minute to lean against the wall and catch our breaths. “Nobody’s hurt?” Dad does a quick survey. We don't have any extra holes, so there’s that.

  “What if the shooter isn't whoever stole our truck?” Brent asks. "What if there are more survivors out here?"

  Dad sags against the wall, sliding until he lands on the ground with a grunt. He turns his groan into a sound of contemplation as he thinks over Brent’s question, swiveling his head back and forth between the road and the alley. “Let's just hope it's the same person. I don't think we can handle two criminals right now.”

  Wait, what? “Criminals? You mean like murderers and arsonists? Pedophiles? Necrophiliacs?? Exactly what else do we have to be prepared for?” My voice gets higher and higher, but I can’t seem to stop it. Criminals are always dealt with swiftly in the compound. What were we thinking, coming out here with no one to take care of these things for us?

  Dad puts his hand out to slow my rant. “We have to be prepared for the worst, Lori. It’s not that they grew up living a life of crime or anything. It’s just, if you want to survive out here, you have to be willing to break the rules. We’re all criminals now.”

  "I'm no criminal. I mean, look at me!" I gesture to little old me. I'm small, I'm weak, I'm a pushover.

  "Would you steal food if it meant saving our lives?"

  I start to deny it, but I take in his sagging frame and bite my tongue. "Okay, I get it. No need to sugarcoat it.”

  “Like I said; you’re not a baby anymore.”

  Right. What I wouldn’t give to turn back time. I reminisce over all the things I would have done differently, given the chance. The big, obvious bad choice was leaving the nice, safe compound for this shitshow. I mean, what’s the big deal about a little repression and some mild torture, when compared with being roasted or shot? Or maybe roasted AND shot, you never can tell with these criminals. Geez.

  If I go back a little further, through the seemingly endless list of mistakes, I find other horrible decisions, like falling in love with Trey. If only I had known that he would flash that damn smile my way and I would become a giant pile of giggles and eyelash batting. Why did he have to be all brave and noble, leaving the compound again and again, never to be seen again? I try not to linger over the man department, or I might start thinking about Kenzo and his warm brown eyes and the future he offered me. The one I turned down. Oof. Worst decision ever.

  I take that back. The worst decision would be letting mom die. When she started getting sick, we all just assumed it was a little indigestion. I tried to give her my vitamins, but she said she would get better, that I needed them more than she did. Maybe if I had insisted. Maybe if I had forced her to see the doctor sooner…

  I come back to the present, albeit reluctantly. Considering our options, things aren’t looking too good. The alley, as menacing as it had appeared from the outside, now looks pretty much like a death sentence. It's little more than a narrow crevasse between two buildings, leading all the way across to the next street over… which is bathed in the beautiful golden glow of about a million solar watts. The only break
in the smooth brick wall is a fire door, closed tightly with no handles. Since we are obviously lacking a crowbar or tools of any means, it’s practically impenetrable.

  I find myself patting down my pockets, looking for any stray supplies, like an umbrella or at least some sunglasses. Strangely enough, I don’t have either of those things. Brent darts down the alley to scout our chances on that end, but I can tell by the way he doesn’t fist pump or shout “Yay! We’re saved!” that there’s nothing of use there.

  “Well?” I ask my dad, instinct driving me to turn towards the grown adult to solve my problems.

  He shrugs. “I guess we just hang out here until the sun goes down, and hope whoever is shooting can't change their sightline.”

  “Okay. Sure. We could do that. And as the sun will be slowly setting to the west,” I point, “we should survive a good hour or two before the sun will line up perfectly with the alley.” I really feel like such a buzzkill, poking holes in everybody’s plans.

  “Alright, Suzie Sunshine, how about we hide in that dumpster?” Dad gives me a look that says he’s got me beat.

  Ha! Not even. “You mean, that oven? I wonder if we would taste like chicken after poaching in that giant metal box.”

  Brent shuffles back from the far end of the alley, all dejected and mopey, and I can’t help but throw my arms down in defeat. I look up to the heavens, beseeching some higher power.

  No. Way. “Maybe there really is a God.” Dad and Brent look over at me, and then follow my gaze up to the fire escape crisscrossing the side of the adjacent building. It’s nearly rusted through and is listing to one side, but maybe if I can get up to one of the higher windows, I can climb in and then let the boys in through the fire door.

  “No way,” scoffs Brent, mirroring my disbelief. “There’s absolutely no chance you can get up there without bringing that whole thing down.”

  “Are you calling me fat?” I say, deadpan.

  “What? No! Of course not! If anything, you’re too skinny, but…” Brent sputters, but stops when he sees my expression. “You’re hilarious, Lori. Seriously.”

  “Why, thank you, Brent. Being called skinny and funny! That’s easily the highlight of my day.” Not like it’s much of a competition. I give him a bump with my shoulder on my way past him. “Help me with this dumpster.”

  There’s a plan formulating in my head, but I’m worried that it’s made up of too much fiction. Like, when you dream about flying, and for a fraction of a second after waking up, you can almost believe it’s possible. Doesn’t mean I’m going to go jump off a building to test how aerodynamic I am.

  We wheel the dumpster across the alley until it’s directly underneath the fire escape. “Okay, so I’m going to climb onto the dumpster and then jump up there, and—”

  “You can jump?” Brent interrupts with extreme skepticism.

  “I can… sorta jump…” Now that I take another look, the distance to the bottom rung of the ladder is a little far. “Okay, so how about we both climb up onto this dumpster and you give me a boost?” Brent gives me a nod to continue. “Okay, so a boost. Then, I’ll climb up to that first row of windows and just pop into this building. Presto! I’ll open the door for you guys and we’ve got a place to hide out for the day.” I give my hands a clap, but it does nothing to convince my cohorts of my solid plan. They both stare back at me with raised eyebrows. Obviously, they’re speechless. Maybe I’m just that good.

  Dad and Brent share an indecipherable look, which must translate to “What do we have to lose?” because Brent hops up onto the dumpster and offers me his hand. Right about now I’m wishing we had taken the time for a snack in the truck before all our food was stolen. I’m feeling weak, and even the effort of hauling myself onto this first step has left my heart racing and my burns throbbing with my pulse. I refuse to think about the water that was also stolen. In this heat, we'll die of dehydration way before we need to worry about sandwich toppings.

  “Alley-oop,” Brent says as he bends his knees and cups his hands together to form a stirrup. Holy hell, how did I get myself into this mess?

  I secure my foot into his hands and brace myself against his shoulders. The dumpster rolls a little and we both wobble. This is just yet another bad idea, in a long history of bad ideas. Dad heaves himself up from the ground and limps over to stabilize the rolling oven.

  Brent looks up at me. “Are you ready?” he asks.

  I so badly want to tell him no. I want to climb down from here, walk back the way we came, and go slip back into my regulation bunk and take a nap. That’s an option, right? Didn’t think so. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  I know I told him I was ready. I even sounded convincing. Brent gives a heave and suddenly I’m weightless. With arms and legs akimbo, I probably resemble an awkward teenager’s first attempt at dance moves. Or maybe a cat fight.

  I’m not even sure my eyes are open, but when I feel metal slap against my hand, I latch on tight. And just as suddenly as I went up, I now begin the downward plunge. Gravity is conspiring with my weight, jerking down with surprising force. Somehow, I manage to keep my grip closed around the metal bar.

  I open my eyes to see that I’ve become a pendulum. I’m swinging back and forth on the bottom rung of the ladder. I windmill my other arm up to meet the first, giving me a solid grip. I can’t believe it! I did it! My heart soars, and I allow myself to hope.

  I begin to pull myself up, but the bar comes too easily to meet my chin. With a lurch, I look at the disconnected rung in my hands. Shiiiiiit.

  The journey back down to meet the pavement is a short one. My back impacts the ground, and the air leaves my lungs with a whoosh. I bite down on my tongue, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

  “Lori! Are you okay?” I really wish they’d stop asking me that.

  “Peachy,” I wheeze out after gasping in some air.

  “You did it! You’ve saved us!” Brent sounds serious enough, but I’m lying on the pavement staring up at the fire escape, still frustratingly out of reach.

  “I didn’t do anything except shorten that ladder,” I grumble.

  “Exactly,” he says, beaming at me. “You’ve also given us a crowbar!” Brent holds up the broken ladder rung in victory.

  Some days you win the race. Some days you celebrate just getting out of bed. It’s the little victories that count.

  So, as it turns out, that impenetrable door isn't so… impenetrable. In fact, once we get our makeshift crowbar wedged in there, it's a little like opening a can of tuna. Smells a little like it too. “Ugh. It smells like something crawled in here and died.”

  Brent’s voice is muffled by his hand as he tries to hide from the stench. “With a smell like that, I sure hope it’s dead.”

  We enter into a lofty storage area, with a high ceiling and deep shelves. Each shelf is filled with pallets of boxes, and I feel my eyes bug out. “Are you seeing this?”

  “Damn straight. We’ve hit the mother lode.” Brent and I stand there for a second, just gawking with our jaws agape, before running in like kids at Christmas.

  “Stop!” Dad shouts behind us, his voice sharp. “Stop right where you are!”

  Brent and I freeze. His warning sounded like he was warning of danger. My heart’s pounding, but as I scan the area ahead of me, I can’t see any reason for Dad’s panic.

  He shuffles in behind us, slowly, one step at a time. “Lori… down by your right foot. Do you see it?”

  I glance down, afraid to move anything more than my eyes. There, just barely glinting in the dim light, is a thin length of fishing line. “What the hell is that?!” I cry, catching a taste of anxiety in the air.

  “I believe it’s a tripwire.” Dad braces himself on a nearby shelf and gets down onto his hands and knees. Crawling forward, he gets down to eye-level with the wire and follows it back to its source. “Here it is…”

  And then he goes quiet. I mean, he’s never been much of a talker, but when he’s working on a project, his who
le body goes silent. He doesn’t fidget, and I swear even breathing takes a backseat to problem solving.

  And from reading Dad’s body language, I can tell we have a major problem.

  I glance over at Brent. He’s not looking so good. “Brent?”

  He gives a blink, but otherwise doesn’t respond. He’s flushed, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Brent? Bro, you okay?”

  Still nothing. I watch him for a minute, his hands shaking, blinks getting longer. He gives his head a shake, trying to clear it.

  “Dad?” I peek back down at him, speaking quietly so as not to disturb him. “I don’t mean to rush you, but…”

  Before I can get the words out, movement catches my eye. I look back at Brent just in time to see him keel over. I grab for his arm, but he slips out of my grasp. “No!”

  Brent hits the floor with a heavy thump, right across the tripwire. The fishing line goes taut, and I hear Dad’s gasp as it pulls loose.

  We hold our breaths. We wait a beat. Two. Nothing but silence.

  “Maybe it’s a dud?” A girl can dream.

  Then I hear a tick.

  Tick-tick. Whirrrrrr.

  “Lori?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Run.”

  I grab Brent by the arm and heave. Never once do I consider running back to the alley. Instead, I use our forward momentum and head deeper into the building. Dad and I drag Brent’s limp body past the shelves, past the hidden cache of supplies, and through a set of swinging doors.

  Another nine steps before we hear a soft whoosh behind us. I chance a glance over my shoulder and see an orange glow from around the loose doors, brightening and fading as the doors swing back and forth on their hinges. I can see the lick of flames, and as flammable as the door is, I’m grateful when it finally closes and hides the sight from me.

  I can barely make out our surroundings, but the light behind us is getting steadily brighter. “Dad? What do we do?”

  We lay Brent down on the ground, and Dad starts swiveling his head around, looking for something. He zeroes in on a red panel on the wall. He dashes back in the direction we came from, over to the wall beside the door. He pulls something loose – a fire extinguisher! – barely visible in the deep shadows.