The Culling (Book 2): The Hollow:

by Bell, A. C.

  Peter hopped up and followed. “Thank you so much,” he said, relishing in the warmth inside.

  It was a general store selling mostly what you would find in a convenience store, snack foods and the like. The man, Terry, flicked on the light. Peter squinted against it for a few moments while Terry moved behind the front counter. He reached bellow and pulled a box out. It was topped with a giant windbreaker, which he handed to Peter. A “XXXL”.

  “There’s not a lot inside, unfortunately, but there should be something to fit you. We get a lot of tourists on their way through the national forest here. What’s your name? Where are you from?”

  “Peter,” he answered as he slipped his arms into the huge jacket. “I’m from Norwich, south of here.”

  Terry’s charcoal eyes widened. “Oh! That’s not too far. Maybe forty-five minutes. I can give you a lift if no one can come get you.”

  “I can’t bother you like that, it’s the middle of the night,” Peter insisted.

  “It’s not too much trouble. I can’t just leave you stranded.”

  “T-thank you,” Peter answered awkwardly.

  “I wasn’t about to leave you out there to freeze, now was I? Unfortunately, this is all I’ve got that could fit you.” Terry pulled basketball shorts and flip flops from the box.

  “That’ll work.”

  Peter took them gratefully and pulled them all on. Terry turned the landline around on the counter next and Peter dialed Nikki’s cell. Despite his anxiety, butterflies danced in his stomach at the thought of talking to her. After only two rings, she answered.

  “Peter, is that you?” She asked eagerly.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she exclaimed.

  He smiled until he remembered his first question. The smile fell away. “How is everyone?”

  “We’ll talk about Donia when you get here. We’re at Slade’s place.”

  “How is Adeline after…everything?”

  “She’s been worried sick about you like the rest of us. She—Adeline? Where’s Adeline?”

  Peter perked up.

  “Maybe she went to lay down,” he heard Slade say.

  The phone rustled against Nikki’s ear and hair as she presumably went to go check. He heard a doorknob twist.

  “Adeline?” Nikki said. Her breathing quickened. “She’s not here.”

  “What do you mean she’s gone? Where would she go?” Peter asked.

  “To look for you.”

  Peter swore.

  ***

  The Hunter’s would be looking for my old Charger, not Slade’s modern Impala. At least, that’s what I hoped. The sun was down, which would make the black car more difficult to identify. I rolled around the corner to Mom’s street. I would drive by first to get an idea of what was happening at the house and look for any unusual cars. Then I would park down the block and sneak back on foot. None of the cars I passed seemed unusual. As I neared mom’s place, I spotted a large white van with some kind of logo a few houses down. I readied myself to pass it.

  A painfully loud POP filled the cabin as both my front tires blew, followed closely by the back tires. I cried out in surprise and hit the brakes as the Impala tried to roll on its wheel wells. The van down the street hummed to life. I lunged flat across both seats and reached into the glove box for Slade’s 9 mm, switching the safety off and pulling the slide to ready it. My blood pounded in my ears as I waited. I focused inward as I’d been practicing. My fingertips turned into dark metal that spread up my fingers and arms and then up past my elbows. It was difficult to keep the focus when I saw the top of the van park nearby. An animal control logo taunted me.

  My heart rate picked up. My nerves stood on end. The metal reached my shoulders and wouldn’t spread any further. Briefly, I caught a glimpse of someone’s arched back as they sprinted up to Farrah at a crouch. I pointed the gun at the driver door. My hands shook. I didn’t want to do it. I even debated just letting them do whatever they were going to do so I wouldn’t have to. Slowly, the door was eased open. A head peeked around. His hazel eyes caught mine. Neither of us moved. Several quickened heartbeats ticked past. Then assuming I wouldn’t shoot, he lifted his gun. My fingers shook almost too badly to pull the trigger, but I squeezed it tight, clenching my eyes shut. BANG! He fell. Something like a sob escaped me.

  “No!” A man yelled outside.

  I reached over my head to open the passenger door and poured myself onto the sidewalk. Two seconds, I told myself. You have two seconds to fall apart and then you have to get up. So, for two seconds, I let myself cling to the ground horrified about what I’d done. Then I shakily forced myself to my knees and crouched to the car’s hood to glimpse around at the van. No one was visible in the driver’s seat. Low, I searched under the car for feet and found two people hiding around the van. One, by the hood, started to creep out, so I fired at the asphalt. He swore and lunged back behind the van.

  Rolling my feet to keep them quiet, I sprinted to the driver’s door and tried the handle, praying. It opened. I hurled myself inside. They’d left the keys in the ignition, ready for a quick getaway. Perfect.

  “What?” A man poked his head up through the window but before he could react and open the door, I reached over to lock it. The side sliding door in the back started to swing open as I started the van. I pointed my pistol and fired at the door just as he fired as well. A tranquilizer dart bounced off my metal shoulder with a dink. He was spooked back out and I threw the van into reverse, peeling out before he could try to jump inside again. They stumbled away to avoid being hit by the side mirror and came into view as I moved back down the street. They were already pulling out phones. My glance moved to the man lying on the street near Slade’s car. My throat caught.

  Luckily, no one pulled onto the dark street behind me. Driving any vehicle—especially a bulky van like this that I wasn’t used to—in reverse is difficult to maneuver. Once I reached the end of the street I swung around the corner, still in reverse, and then switched into forward gear. Now that I was in relative safety, I tried to calm my breathing. Where should I go? If they didn’t know where the Manor was, I didn’t want to lead them to it. I couldn’t go to Slade’s or Nikki’s without putting them in danger.

  What do I do?! Frustration flared in my chest and I hit the ceiling with my metal fist, leaving a sizeable dent. I forced a deep breath into my lungs, forced my brain to focus. They knew what car I was in, so first, I would need to ditch the van. I quickly decided to leave it somewhere they might expect and then go somewhere they wouldn’t.

  So, I parked a block from the Amaranthine Bookstore. I tucked the gun in my right boot and kept my metal hands hidden in my sleeves. Conquered two birds at once since my hands felt cold. Metal is sensitive to temperature, after all. I opted to take the alleys, out of view and mostly out of the wind. While I decided where to go, I thought it best to hole up in the vacant apartment where I’d met Mercer. The fire escape rattled in a way that tangled my stomach into knots of anxiety. Once at the top, I forced the window open.

  It was dark inside with all the blinds closed, but I didn’t dare turn on the lights and announce my presence to the outside world. A survey of each room told me I was alone, though trash in the bedroom suggested someone had been squatting there recently. I hid away in the bathroom for a reprieve. My blue eyes were guarded when I found them in the mirror. The stern expression and hard eyes looking back at me brought to memory the man I had shot. The man I’d killed. How his hazel eyes had widened when I’d pulled the trigger. I flinched.

  I undoubtedly would have been faced with a situation like this in the line of duty as a police officer. At that moment, it had been him or me and as painful as it was, I knew I would have made the same decision again. That man had chosen a profession that at the very least involved capturing people against their will. He’d been part of an organization whose mission had—for centuries—been to locate and exterminate anything supernatural. Things like me. Th
ings like Peter and Slade and Raiden. I could either defend us all or let them claim me. I had always been a fighter.

  But for now, I needed a place to lie low, perhaps get them off my trail long enough to find allies. Maybe Bradley and Mercer? They were already mixed up in this, so I wouldn’t be putting them in further danger. The problem was, I had no ay of contacting either of them. Pressing my fingers to my forehead felt like pressing a cold pipe to my skin. I turned from the mirror to the window, gazing between the gaps in the blinds. There, I found the silhouette of an old power plant in the distance against the night sky. It was slated to be torn down but wasn’t a priority of the city. Maybe the Hunters would think to look there, but it was a safer bet than the empty apartment across from where I’d first encountered them. I could walk there in maybe an hour.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, extra cautious not to crunch it, and dialed mom’s home phone to leave a message. If the others were looking for me, they would look there and would hopefully check the phone. As it rang, I put my back against the wall and slid to the floor. Listening to Mom’s voice on the machine brought a fresh wave of tears to the surface and I shook as I tried to stifle my sobs, my heart aching more than ever. When the tone finally beeped for me to start, I cleared my throat in the hope that I would be somewhat understandable.

  “It’s Adeline. I’m okay for now, but I’m in trouble. They were watching Mom’s house.” I sniffled and took a deep breath. “I didn’t get a chance to look for Peter. They probably have him. You’re probably mad about the way I left, but I can’t get any of you involved, not if it can be avoided. I’m sorry.” I tried to think of something, anything else to say, but I didn’t want to mention anyone specific or the Hunters might go after them if they heard this. In the end, I just finished with another, “I’m sorry.”

  It Would Take a Fleet

  I took a minute to calm down after I hung up. Then I shrugged out of my jacket and left both it and my phone on the sink. I couldn’t risk anyone tracking the phone somehow and the jacket was too easy to identify. The cold was bitter and biting outside, but my baggy sweater helped insulate what body heat I had. It was snowing faintly and I hoped desperately that it would wait to pick up until I reached the factory. My luck, however, had apparently expired. I used alleyways for cover as much as I could, but the factory became obscured by the haze of snowfall. In my misery of shivering and loneliness, it felt like I would never get there, but as I neared the monumental building it started to become visible through the torrent. It looked ominous, a giant shadow through the curtain of snow, but at least it would be warmer.

  I was too heavy to climb the chain link fence with metal limbs, so I just ripped a section free instead. It was like snapping toothpicks. The atmosphere, walking across a disheveled winter-grasped lot toward a wrecked power plant, made me feel like I was in some kind of post-apocalyptic film. I rolled up my sleeve and used my steel elbow to shatter one of the widows. Half of me expected to find brain-dead zombies or trigger-happy renegades inside, but no, it was empty. Hauntingly so.

  My footsteps echoed through hollow halls and dilapidated doorways. Graffiti was scrawled in brightly colored bubble letters that I could barely read over some of the dirt-stained concrete walls. When I came to a concrete staircase, I decided up would be better for hiding. This part of the building was four stories tall and I meandered into a massive room with a vaulted ceiling and a huge skylight that was gradually being covered by snow. I couldn’t decide if the light was eerie or enchanting. Walkways lined the walls with a handful of doorways on each side of every level. Massive turbine machines stretched the surface of the floor below. I walked the perimeter, familiarizing myself with the layout and locating the different staircases and exits.

  At the top floor, overlooking the room, I paused. Snowflakes drifted from broken panes in the skylight, swirling down around a huge generator decorated in moss in the middle of the room. It looked like a bizarre and yet somehow beautiful monument or memorial. A piece of technology that had been abandoned and reclaimed by nature. For a few minutes I just stood at the railing and looked down at it. Not like I had anything pressing to do.

  I ended up bunking down in one of the second-floor rooms since the first and last would probably be searched first. I was still close to the bottom for a quick exit, but I would have a little time to hide or flee if Hunters arrived. I was still shivering despite being out of the snow and wind chill. I couldn’t risk lighting anything on fire to get warm. A pile of trash had to be nudged out of the way in the corner by the window, but it appeared to be clear of almost all bugs and no rodents, so I curled up and tried to get warm. Plus, I would be able to keep a lookout with the window right there. Not to speak of the other three sides of the building, but at least I would know this side was clear. How very helpful.

  I was left to pondering, my mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. I pictured the man I had shot. Sorrow filled my chest. Had Dad ever had to shoot someone in the line of duty? If so, had he felt like this? Had I just killed someone else’s father? Left another child with a hole in their heart the way I’d grown up? I started to cry, my sobs echoing around me.

  Suddenly, I started to feel tired. Really, really tired. Fear set in. Were the Hunters doing this somehow? Having one of their sorcerers cast some kind of knockout spell on the area? Was that a thing? I blinked hard and shook myself but it only staved off the mental exhaustion for a few seconds. Sleep took over.

  I found myself sitting on a park bench, overlooking a lake. Bright summer sunlight glistened off of it like smooth glass. Despite the beautiful warmth, there were no ducks, no geese, no birds chirping, no people in this dream world. None except the man sitting beside me. His blond hair glinted brightly against the sun and his handsome face was as still and serene as the atmosphere around us. Lines in his forehead and around his eyes were the only sign of age. Was he a sorcerer? Had he pulled me into a dream?

  His fingers were laced casually together in his lap and on his middle finger was a signet ring with the Tanikov family crest, a “T” with a rhombus shaped emerald at the top. Having the jewel and not just a “T” meant he was royalty and that knowledge was enough for me to recall his picture from the Viesci genealogy book at Alexandra’s shop. I faced forward, heart pounding. Rurik Tanikov, who may or may not have turned the Viesci over to the Hunters and subjected them to genocide, had just pulled me into a dream. Even knowing that he might not be guilty, fear tightened my chest. What if he was?

  “I see you’ve heard of me.” His ‘r’ lilted with a Russian accentuation, altering the harsh German inflection.

  “How did you get me here?”

  “Magic.”

  “You’re not a magician.”

  “Very astute.”

  I rolled my eyes, despite myself. “Alright, then why did you bring me here?”

  “I am not here to hurt you, Adeline, though I can only imagine the things you have heard.”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “My daughter is very worried about you.”

  “Your daughter? Who is she?”

  “She says the Hunters are after you and wants me to warn you of outside involvement. There are some in the Magisterium who don’t like the attention being paid to Purgatory as of late.”

  “You must see the irony in you accusing someone of working with the Hunters.”

  Rurik’s blue eyes moved down to his lap where he spun his ring around his finger. “What you have heard is one side of the story. It’s true, I lead them to our people, but it was not intentional. They wanted her and I couldn’t let them take her. But they had eyes everywhere. They found us.”

  I frowned. Every part of my brain told me to resist trusting him, but he just looked so heartbroken. I couldn’t bring myself to accuse him. “Do you mean your daughter?” I asked, gentler now. “Why do they want her?”

  “She is…special. It makes her a target to people like them. They would use her. But this is not why I brought
you here. Word reached her that you were involved in the locating of classified information that was leaked.”

  “A man named Donnan Mercer hid notes in some of the books at the Amaranthine Bookstore. Alexandra called Supernatural Affairs about it.”

  “And mere days later, the Hunters arrived in town to take her.”

  “So there really are people in the SAU working with the Hunters?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. They don’t like our kind.”

  I frowned. Was this dream perhaps not a spell cast by an outside source? “When you say ‘our’ kind…”

  A small grin toyed with the corners of his mouth. “Do you really believe that no Viesci ever dared to break taboo before Xavier? I’m here in your dream because my mother wasn’t afraid to love someone just because he was different than she.”

  “You’re a dhampir!” I said with a gasp. His grin widened at my expression, eyes light. “Does the Splinter Skill always stay the same through a bloodline?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen the rare occasion where it becomes altered, but mostly the same skill is strengthened as it descends. My daughter was walking dreams as a small child, flitting into the minds of strangers, full of curiosity.”

  “Who is she?”

  His blue eyes sparked with humor. “Let’s not get off track. She wants to help you, but she needs to know where you are.”

  I frowned. “It might be too late. They attacked me at my mom’s house a little while ago. I’m hiding in a factory right now.” Suddenly, I jolted as if I’d been startled. “That was weird,” I muttered.

  He turned to face me, alarmed. “Someone is trying to wake you. Where are you hiding?”

  I jumped again and clasped a hand to my racing heart. Rurik’s eyes held fast. Should I tell him, or was that just as dangerous? At the last minute, I decided on trust. “An abandoned factory about a mile east of the Amaranthine Bookstore. I don’t know what it’s called.”