Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  A skittering slide across the floor above us. A clatter, a scurry, a thump, and a bang. All the while, the sounds get closer and louder. "Hurry up!" Brent calls to me from the bottom of the stairs where he has climbed over the last shelf and is already heading back through the door. All we have to do is close it and push a washer or two against the door. That should hold us steady for a while, at least until dawn. Then we can make our break up the ramp to the safety of the sunlit world above. I mean, safe until we get roasted alive, but hey, better the evil you know than the one you don't.

  I follow Brent's moves and climb over the final shelf, rushing as I hear a bang echoing through the stairwell. They're getting too close. Something snags, and I stutter to a stop. My coveralls is caught on something behind me. I reach back to pull myself free, but it's caught tight. A squeak of hinges tells me a door has been opened somewhere up the pitch-dark stairwell. My heart begins to pound, my fingers slick with sweat. I fumble with my clothes. "Come on..."

  "Lori! Let’s go!" Brent says, popping his head back in. "What's taking so long? They're coming!"

  "I know! I'm stuck!" Brent's eyes dart from me to the shadows above. I shine the light up, and suddenly wish I hadn't. The beam catches the eye shine of a beast above. His scabby skin is almost as dark as the walls around him, allowing him to camouflage with the dust and concrete, but nothing can hide those eyes. "Oh god," I whimper.

  Brent grabs my bicep, gripping with bruising force, but I'm grateful. I hold tight to him in return. Just as the beast takes a lumbering step down the first stair, Brent gives a pull. I hear a tearing sound, but I'm still stuck. "Harder!" I yell. No sense in hiding anymore. I can't help but look back at the beast, I can't look away, the disaster that is my inevitable demise.

  The monster's misshapen legs, so long and sinewy, clearly made for a loping gait, are ill-equipped for stairs. It braces itself on the wall, clambers for the railing, which falls away on rusted screws. It staggers and pitches forward. Its body hits the stacked shelves face first, cascading into a domino effect, the shelves knocking each other with a jarring force. When the jolt hits the final shelf—my shelf—my caught denim gives way with a final tear. Brent feels the release and heaves me into the laundry room. We end up in a heap on the floor and jump to our feet to slam the door shut.

  The monster isn't silent in its struggle with the shelves and stairs. I couldn't have planned this to work any better. While it's busy and before any more of them can join it, we run over to the industrial washing machine. The thing is a beast of its own. It was probably ancient well before we headed into the compound, and the fact that it has survived this long is a testament to its durability.

  I pull the cord from the wall where it was still pointlessly plugged in. I prop the flashlight up again a wall to leave my hands free but to allow us enough light to work in, and then we each grab a side. "On three?" Brent confirms, and I give a nod. "One... Two..." And on three, we both heave. The machine barely moves, and I actually get down on my knees to check that it isn't bolted to the floor or wall.

  I stand back up and panic really starts to sink in. Just in case I hadn’t been feeling the urgency of our situation before now. We can still hear the clattering in the stairwell, but soon enough, they'll be barging through the door. We probably should have checked the weight on this thing beforehand. "Shit," is all I can muster.

  "Well? Come on! Let's try again!" Brent leans back into position. This time when we push, the machine slides a few inches across the concrete floor. "Again!" I throw my weight into it, as inconsiderable as it is. We slide it another foot. Now that we've gotten it moving, it seems to be shaking off its rust. Both metaphorically and literally. My hands are coated with a fine powder which shows red in the lamplight.

  A frustrated roar sounds far too close. What worries me, though, is the corresponding growl from its approaching backup. We are officially out of time.

  "Need a hand?" Dad appears at my side, hands and knees smothered with gore from where he crawled through the monster’s offal, and sets his hands on the washing machine.

  I nearly sob with relief. "I wish I could say no. I should probably say that you're too injured, but..." I shrug, and together, we all give one last push. Win or lose, this is it. I put my shoulder right into it, strain every muscle I have, and even ones I wish I had. I push like my life depends on it, because it does. The lives of my family depend on it.

  This time, when the machine slides, we don't stop pushing. We keep going, trying to keep the momentum up. Soon, my feet aren't just finding purchase on the floor, but are taking actual forward steps. I push until the machine makes a dull clang as it comes up against the door and stops moving.

  Not a second too soon. From behind the machine, I hear the knob turning. When the door opens, it's only an inch of space that appears before it comes up against the back of the machine. I hear a snuffling, the beast trying to smell us through the crack. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in," the beast growls in its low rasp.

  I nearly growl in response. How dare this creature try to taint the memory of my mother reading that same fairy tale to me! What makes me even angrier is that I have anything in common with this... thing. Rage takes the place of panic in my bloodstream. I'm no longer fueled by adrenaline; I'm fueled by fire.

  When the monster pushes on the door, and the washing machine starts to budge, I throw myself at our blockade. I surprise myself by managing to stop the backward slide. Brent and Dad are quick to add their support, and we are able to slowly push the machine back into place, closing the door behind it with a satisfying click. The stairwell on the other side doesn't offer enough room for maneuvering, and the creature is still struggling to move around the shelves crammed in there with it. It can't build up the needed strength to push into the room.

  The monster's backup soon arrives, and together they make a half-assed attempt to get through the door. Their claws puncture holes through the thick fire door, but even still, their barrage is thwarted by our barricade. As the creatures' struggles begin to die down, I find myself settling into a wary hope. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I think we're going to survive this, but we have the potential to get through the night, at the very least. It's something, I guess.

  Somewhere in the midst of all that struggling, I've found a well of... joie de vivre? The words don't mean much to me, but it's something my mom used to say. She would lay down between the rows of corn and stare up at the artificial sun on the ceiling of the garden. I can still hear her contented sigh as she dug her fingers into the rich soil. It was her happy place, and by abandoning it, I feel like I've abandoned her memory, as well.

  I slide down to the floor, still leaning up against the washing machine. I need to stay prepared in case they make another attempt to get through. But even with those thoughts of preparedness, I find the last of my energy drain from my body. I spent every single drop of it. I doubt I could fight back now, even if they were standing overtop of me.

  But there's one last thing I need to do before crashing for the rest of the night. "Dad?" I call to him. He has also collapsed onto the floor, though with less grace than me. "We need to give you the rest of those antibiotics." Or, at least those drugs that we assume are antibiotics.

  Brent, the only one among us still standing, walks back to the elevator and pulls my backpack from the wreckage. It's covered in blood, but I hope that's the worst of the damage. He tosses the backpack down on the floor beside me, and I tug back the zipper. When I pull out the rolled-up socks, I breathe a sigh of relief; the syringe is intact. It certainly had plenty of chances to break.

  Dad rolls up his sleeve, and I inject the remainder of the drugs into his system. And now we wait. He is looking marginally better than he was even a few hours ago, but he was unconscious a few hours ago, so maybe it's just that his eyes are open. Either way, I'll take it.

  Brent grabs a few towels from their pile on the floor and throws them at me. "There," he says with a snicker. "Sorry it's not e
xactly the nest you were hoping to build."

  I smile up at him. "It's the best damn nest anyone's ever made me." I ball them up and lay my head down. I'm a little nervous about lying down, rather than keeping watch.

  Brent notices me eyeing the door, and whatever may be beyond it. "It's okay," he assures me. "I'll wake you up if I need your help."

  "You can't stay up, bro. You're just as tired as I am." I look over to where Dad is already asleep.

  "I'm not sure I could stay awake even if I tried," he admitted. "But I'm a light sleeper. I'm sure these things won't be able to get in here without making a little bit of noise."

  "Fair enough." The flashlight gives a flicker, and I'm suddenly terrified of the dark. "Maybe we should turn it off," I suggest. As scared of the dark as I am, I'm more scared of the batteries dying and being unable to turn the light back on when we need it most.

  Brent nods and clicks the light off, plunging the entire room into an inky black. The afterimage of the flashlight still dances in front of my eyes, giving the brief illusion of light, and I'm strangely sad when even those start to fade.

  "Brent?" I say.

  "Yeah?" he replies, confirming that I am, in fact, not alone.

  "I love you, bro."

  "Love you too, sis."

  25

  Kenzo

  It takes too long for the emergency lighting to kick in.

  First I try to count the seconds, but soon my pounding heart has me speed counting, tripping over numbers and racing ahead until time loses all meaning. The whole thing just makes me more anxious. I press my palms into the solid door and close my eyes against the oppressive darkness.

  I don’t want to even entertain the thought that the lights might not come back on. What would I do? I mentally walk myself through the maze of compound hallways, but even if I could find my way out in the dark, where would that leave me? The food, the water… everything we have depends on our generators and solar panels. Life as we know it, as pathetic an existence as it is, is teetering on the brink.

  And it could tip either way.

  When the small emergency lights in the corner finally flicker on, I almost don’t notice. I’m crouched down on the floor, my head buried in the crook of my arms, but soon, I’m aware of an electric buzzing and I allow my eyes to flutter open cautiously.

  “Ellis?” I whisper. When there’s no response, I slowly press myself up to a stand and peek into the room. I press the button to the microphone, eternally grateful in this moment that this unit is connected to the backup power grid.

  Ellis is standing in the center of the room, half in shadow and stained in gore. “Can you hear me?” I ask, and he nods. He looks up at me, and I barely stifle the gasp. His eyes are full black, inky and bottomless, but it’s the only change to his appearance that I can see.

  “How… how do you feel?” I clear my throat and try to don my doctor persona.

  Ellis just looks down as his hands, flexing them, and that’s when I notice the claws sprouting from the tips of his fingers. “I feel… good,” he says. He sounds like Ellis, but I try to compartmentalize. I’ve been trained to treat the Shredders as things. As assets. It’s dangerous to get attached to the specimens.

  But this is Ellis.

  General Howell’s door opens. I knew this was coming. Now that the danger seems to have passed, he’ll saunter out and make an appearance, pretend that he’s been here all along.

  He gives a small frown as he takes in my harried appearance. “What’s going on here?” he barks.

  “I… He—” I don’t even know where to begin. “Your Shredder is dead,” I say without preamble. It’s as good a place as any to start. “And so is Harker,” I tack on, as if Howell would even know who that is.

  I can see his anger flare for just a second, but his eyes are skirting around the space, as if he’s trying to read the particles in the air and beads of sweat on my forehead. “That’s a shame, Harper was a good kid.” I try not to roll my eyes at his attempt to play the sympathy card. “And why are we on emergency power?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me, sir. Have you sent out a repair crew?”

  Howell’s blank stare looks like he’s wearing a mask, trying to hide any possible intel he might have acquired. He finally breaks the silence with the question I’ve been dreading. “Where’s Major Hill? I’m sure he can provide a sit-rep.”

  “Well, sir, that’s the other thing…” I gesture towards the door, and Howell’s curiosity is instantaneous. This is his room, after all. He associates only good things, exciting scientific breakthroughs, with this room.

  Howell nearly presses his nose to the glass in his anticipation. What could it be? What new toy have I brought him?

  “Exquisite,” he whispers. “You know what this means?”

  I have no clue what kind of answer he expects from me, so I remain silent.

  As is standard, he fills the silence with his own voice, providing me with answers to his own questions. “The portentum noctis variant is carried in the venom. This is brilliant!”

  I snort before I can clamp down on my emotions. “I’m sorry, but… what? How is this anything other than horrifying?! Can you imagine what would happen if this variant got into the general Shredder population? They would be unstoppable! Dan is dead. Harker is dead. And now Ellis is—”

  “Not dead,” he interrupts, rounding on me with a gleam in his eye. “It might never die, for all we know. Now that you’ve solved that pesky aversion to sunlight, nothing can stop it.”

  “Him, not it!” I shout. “Ellis Hill is my friend, and I refuse to support your continued experiments. He would be better off dead.”

  Howell is already turning back to the window. It’s as if I never spoke. “This is the perfect time,” he says, eyes glistening with a worrisome mania. “It’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “What do you mean? Perfect time for what?” I ask slowly.

  “For the evacuation, of course.”

  I release a breath of relief. This is exactly the kind of plan we need. “Okay, we’re evacuating? We’d better get mobilized soon, then. Dawn will be here in no time, and that’ll be the ideal time to move… but where are we going? How will we get everyone packed and how do we transport them? I don’t know if we have enough vehicles to move everyone in one trip.” I have so many questions buzzing through my head, and the logistics of a mass move on short notice are making me lightheaded.

  “Not the whole population, Kenzo. That’s not necessary. Just a select few. Much more manageable.”

  “Wait, what?” He can’t have said what I think he just said.

  “Sure, there are a few bases still standing across the US, but I think our best bet is the one in northern Canada. They have enough space for a small squadron of us, and they have a top-notch research facility there. Shorter days, too, but that won’t matter for much longer. Not once we perfect the variant.”

  Howell continues to go on with his play-by-play for his future plans, but I’ve already tuned out. Instead, I’m thinking of everything Lori told me. Last Christmas when we were trapped in the garden during a power outage, Lori told me about what happens to all the plants and animals when the fans are turned off. The giant dome overhead heats under the sun’s glaring blast, and the whole dome turns into nothing more than an oversized oven.

  “Sir?” I hear myself say, the words spilling from my mouth before I can reconsider them. “We can’t just leave these people without power, sir. The plants and animals will die within a day. And what about clean drinking water? Shit, what about the Shredders? They’ll likely get in long before they have to worry about dying of thirst, and—”

  I turn to Howell, but he isn’t even listening. He’s caressing the glass, muttering under his breath. “—couldn’t have asked for a better man than Major Hill. He was a good man, loyal… a worthy sacrifice.

  Thoughts are slithering through my mind, slippery and writhing, impossible to hold for long. Evacuation, sacrifice
, Shredders—and Lori, always Lori—but they all come down to one central realization: there are other compounds. Other survivors. We’re not the only ones left.

  Why didn’t I know this? Why hasn’t Howell told anyone? I could have sent Lori and her family with a specific destination in mind! But now what do I do? If we evacuate, if I leave, I don’t have any way of letting Lori know where we’ve gone. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still alive out there, but I have to believe she’s at least better off than the people that are being left behind here. Howell and his select few who get to move on to bigger and better things, while the people here are nothing more than fodder for the Shredders.

  The compound has become nothing more than a tomb.

  Unless…

  My eyes skitter across the scene in front of me: Howell with his single-minded mission, Ellis, doomed to serve. And more than a hundred citizens—men, women, and children—who are about to be abandoned by the people who swore to protect them, doomed to die a horrible, gruesome death.

  Unless…

  I think back to Judith on her deathbed. She knew there was a way to prevent suffering. And I have the method to provide it.

  But do I have the courage for it?

  I look over Howell’s shoulder, and Ellis’s eyes meet mine. Though they’re no longer blue, I can see something remaining in them of the man I knew. The man I know. They contain an infinite amount of sadness, but also a determination that I recognize all too clearly. He gives me a nod.

  Howell doesn’t even notice when I leave the lab, a bag of supplies over my shoulder. I don’t see anyone in the hallways; everyone has been restricted to their dorms during the power outage. There’s no one left to stop me.

  I hear the far-off sounds of growling and tearing metal. I focus, instead, on the echo of my footsteps. Of my heart beating inside my chest.

  I push through the door into the maintenance room. There are pipes with valves and electrical panels. But it’s the air filtration I’m headed for.