Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)

by Jeremy Flagg

  Her feet hit the ground and she was off in a sprint. She ran down the sidewalk, her bare soles aching as her feet made contact with the cement. In one window, a woman pointed at her, motioning for a hidden spouse to see. Ignoring the woman’s frantic movements, she was determined to make it back to her house before being caught.

  She reached the end of the street with her chest heaving from the strain. She leaned against the lamp post for a moment, trying to gasp for breath. The world started to spin. She tried to remember how many drinks she had consumed. There had been beer, then tequila, did she have that glass of wine? She ignored the spinning and took several steps further. Without warning, she threw up against a car door.

  She braced her hands against the side of the car, and it started to vibrate as lights flashed on and the vehicle emitted a piercing siren. She pulled away and stumbled back. The alarm served as a reminder of how bad the crime had been a couple years prior. Crime had become negligible, nobody would dare come outside to check on it, but it meant the police would be there.

  Horror seized her as a humanoid figure stepped from the shadows of a nearby house into the light of the pole she had been resting against. She didn’t need to see it up close. The stiff motions gave away its inhumanity. She dropped her shoes and ran. The fear clinging to her pushed aside the alcohol. Her feet were silent as they pounded against the pavement, so that she could hear the metallic scraping coming up behind her.

  She rounded the corner and made it to her street. Her father, a bank executive, had bought her the house, satisfied that his daughter would live in a safer part of the city. The row houses were set back from the street a dozen feet, each with a short metal fence in the front protecting a small patch of grass from intruders. Her chest ached, but she knew if she didn’t make it to her house, the machine would use one of its lasers to bore a hole in her head.

  She peeked over her shoulder and saw the machine closing the distance between them. It was only a matter of seconds before it grabbed her shoulder and threw her to the ground. It’d drag her to the local precinct, from which if she was lucky, she’d be banished to the Outlands—if not, death. She was about to pass her neighbor Karen’s house. She turned right, busting through the gate, running up the stairs. She banged on the door, loud enough that if there was anybody inside, they’d hear her.

  The machine was slowing, but only a short distance from her. She banged harder until the lights in the house went dark. She could see curtains quickly drawn, but nobody answered. She pulled at the handle frantically, trying to wretch the metal door open.

  She slowly turned to look over her shoulder at the machine standing at the gate. It was designed to look like a human. It had limbs like a person, but its hands were oversized, making it difficult to ignore the pointy fingers. In the darkness she couldn’t distinguish further details, but she felt the blank skull staring at her. A single spot on the forehead housed a camera capturing the terror on her face.

  It took another step forward and fell into a hole in the ground, vanishing from sight. She let go of the metal door handle and rubbed her eyes again, trying to figure out what happened. She took a step down the stairs to see where the machine had vanished. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. Had her paranoia gotten the best of her? Had she been so scared of being discovered she invented the incident?

  She gasped as a flash of metal fell out of the sky and landed in the street. The machine hit the pavement, sending a spray of asphalt in every direction. Car alarms up and down the street came to life. Flashing lights filled the small neighborhood, casting light on the crumpled pieces of the machine that had been chasing her.

  She looked down the road; her doorway was only a few entrances away. She would have to cross and get dangerously close to where the machine had landed. A metallic hand rose and the machine started to stir, lifting itself out of the crater it had created. She wasn’t sure how it was capable of still moving after the landing.

  Ten feet away from the crater, a man appeared out of nowhere. His bulky frame was illuminated by headlights flashing on and off. He didn’t budge, standing behind the machine as it pulled itself out of the hole. The hood of his sweatshirt covered his face, making him appear even more ominous. She didn’t know who he was, but for the moment, it appeared she was safe until the machine killed the man.

  A scream slipped out as she twisted her ankle and stumbled the last few steps. She reached out to catch the pavement, but hands wrapped around her waist, halting her fall. The guy who wore a black hoodie underneath his leather jacket had rescued her from a collision with the ground. She didn’t know if she should say thank you or cry out. Despite saving her life, he looked like the kind of man her parents warned her about.

  The machine’s legs pumped faster, closing the distance. It reached the sidewalk and a car fell out of the sky, landing on the humanoid body.

  “You need to run,” said the man holding her.

  “My house is just down there,” she said, trying not to slur her words.

  “You can’t go home.”

  “But…”

  “They know who you are. They’ll come for you. You need to run. Head north and don’t look back.”

  A screeching filled the air as the machine pushed the car off. His hands let go of her waist. She ran down the sidewalk, passing by where the machine tried to free itself. She continued running, unsure of where she headed. She glanced back to the man who rescued her. He didn’t seem fazed by the killing machine that just moved a half-ton vehicle.

  The synthetic glanced at her before turning back to the man. It had made its decision about which was more important. She eyed the crushed car and wondered where it had come from. “Did it fall out of the sky?”

  The synthetic reached down, its hip opening up. It pulled out a gun and pointed it at the guy trying to save her. She wanted to scream at him, tell him to run away. There was no way he could survive if the machine shot him, and they were created to never miss. Ever since synthetics took to the streets in an attempt to stop rioting, they had become efficient watchdogs.

  The end of the gun pulsed red, firing a single bolt at the man. The light vanished before it touched his forehead. She didn’t have time to see what happened, but the synthetic fell to the ground, an unmoving heap. He destroyed it.

  “Child,” she whispered under her breath.

  The man stepped forward and between her blinks, he vanished from sight. She ran further down the street, out of the range of car alarms and the eradicated synthetic. As she approached the gate leading to her house, she slowed. Her father would be furious to find out what she did. He would lecture her, threaten to take away his money and force her to go to school on her own.

  “It’s over,” she mumbled. The street seemed to continue, vanishing into darkness. The life she knew was over. But thanks to a random man, a Child of Nostradamus, she had the opportunity to live.

  Speeding past her house, she continued into the unknown.

  ***

  The ruins of Boston were quiet as the ghosts of nearly a million people milled about the empty streets. A chilling breeze touched Conthan’s cheek, forcing him to pull his hoodie over his head. The stars were out and the waning moon illuminated just enough of the city for him to see the bar further down the block.

  The church overlooked the bar, an ominous tower acting as a gateway to his home. It was a year to the day he had arrived in the dead city, swept away from the world he knew by a series of unfortunate accidents. A year ago, he discovered he was capable of opening portals defying the laws of physics. Three hundred and sixty five days ago, he discovered he was a Child of Nostradamus.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the stillness. In between long blinks he could still see Jed’s face as the dying man handed him an envelope. Inside were the ramblings of a dead psychic, a woman predicting his future. He often wondered what would have happened if he had said no and never taken the piece of paper. Unfortunately Eleanor
Valentine had found a situation in which he was most vulnerable. He had stopped trying to figure out if she caused his future or if she manipulated it. The circular logic had become the bane of his existence.

  The moment he thought of the dead artist, he knew he would see her. Sarah lay there on the ground, her face hidden by bone plating. She had been the first Child of Nostradamus he ever met. Thanks to Eleanor, he went on a mission to rescue her. Covered in an exoskeleton, she had been the one who rescued him from a violent pyrokinetic. Now, the image of her smoldering face haunted his every waking moment. He thought he’d take solace in the fact he blew out the brains of the man behind her death, but even that left him filled with sadness.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. “I’m trying.”

  He woke in the middle of every night to the sound of the Warden laughing at him, mocking Conthan’s attempts to be rid of him. Each night he was determined to expunge the man, one deed at a time.

  The look on the girl’s face tonight as he told her that life as she knew it was over was all too familiar. She was one of dozens he rescued from the government. Each time, he broke the news that their reality was about to change. Then he saved their lives. This synthetic was like every one before, determined to eradicate him just before he crushed it. He hoped he would feel better, destroying government property and rescuing an innocent victim, and each night he thought back to Sarah. It didn’t get easier.

  He tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, trying to ward off the cold. He leaned against the wall of the balcony overlooking the city, exhausted from another night without sleep. The moment he crawled into bed the dreams would start again. Instead, he decided he’d stay up here and watch the sun rise and when the others woke, he’d chug another pot of Dav5d’s disgusting coffee.

  After half an hour of staring off toward the bay, the sun started to light the world. Purples and oranges chased off the grays of the night. Below, breaking through the pavement of the street, grass struggled to reclaim the city, determined to turn it into a forest one day. Every now and then a small creature scurried through the brush, and it reminded him life, despite all odds, found a way to continue.

  Heavy boots scraped the stone behind him. His muscles tensed, but he fought the urge to spin around. Dwayne leaned against the stone next to him, staring out to where the light broke through the buildings. He made no attempt to speak

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Conthan said, trying not to make it a big deal. The man gave a slight nod

  He was slightly larger than Conthan, nearly three inches taller and significantly thicker through the torso. A human lightning bolt, he could hurl electricity from his body like it was no big deal. His arms were perfectly smooth, any hair burned away by his abilities. Conthan had been unsettled at first by his lack of eyebrows and how it made his brown eyes stand out even more than normal. If he had passed the lug on the street he would have never given him another look, but after seeing what he was capable of, he was impressed.

  “It’s the nightmares.”

  It was almost comical when Dwayne raised where his eyebrow should have been. Conthan had kept the nightmares secret for months, waking in the middle of the night screaming. Vanessa couldn’t help but hear his thoughts and eventually she laid it out on the table for them all. She admitted she suffered from them too, almost identical to his. He knew he couldn’t hide his thoughts from her, but it was awkward having everybody know how much the Warden haunted him.

  “Remember what I told you that night?” Dwayne asked.

  He nodded.

  “It doesn’t get easier.”

  Conthan raised his eyebrow at the man. It hadn’t been too long after the escape from the Facility before Dwayne and Jasmine had it out. She was willing to be part of the team as long as there was a mutual enemy, but she had issues in particular with Dwayne. He didn’t understand it until she sent Dwayne to the ground in a bloody heap. She made sure each of them knew how she had been tortured by the man. She didn’t want to physically wound him, she wanted to permanently tarnish his reputation. It worked.

  Conthan found it ironic—the older man could provide sagely advice, but in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t nearly the idol he portrayed. Only Alyssa joined Conthan in objecting to the radical abuse. They had saved Jasmine from being killed by the same military she served only for Dwayne to torture her for intel about the Facility. He was surprised Vanessa didn’t comment. Her moral compass pointed toward good, but her means weren’t always as righteous.

  He waited for Dwayne to apologize but the man didn’t speak again. The sun broke over the water and the city filled with hues of orange and red, a growing fire breathing life into the decaying buildings. For a moment, between the shift in color where Conthan believed things were like they were a year ago. There weren’t super powers and there were no government conspiracies. For a moment he forgot everything but the flood of light.

  The minutes passed and Dwayne turned and headed back into the church. Conthan watched the man pull the front of his jacket closed as his boots dragged on the stone.

  “Why did you come up here?”

  Dwayne stopped but didn’t turn around. Several seconds passed before he responded. “I wanted to see a new day the way I used to.” He disappeared into the doorway and Conthan was left by himself.

  “Wow, now that was a line to exit on.”

  Conthan turned back to the light, letting the rays touch his face. The warmth battled to push away the cold of the morning. It had been a year since his life went crazy and he discovered he was a Child of Nostradamus. However, meeting a mentalist, fighting alongside a bunch of wanted Children, attacking a government facility, and killing a telepath was only the starting point of weird. It was a week later that the world went to hell.

  Marshal law happened overnight, and not for the first time, but it wasn’t like before. They weren’t securing the borders or hunting down homegrown terrorists, they were moving toward the center of the country. Quickly, it became apparent a civil war had bubbled to a head and the American populace was the last to be informed. The Midwest became a battlefield and at first it was difficult figure out who was fighting. It wasn’t until the propaganda started to appear on the internet that it became clear.

  The military had staged a coup against the President of the United States of America. At first it seemed a lost cause for the leader with no army. Without the military Cecilia Joyce and her presidency were going to come to a fateful end. It had been a bum rush against Washington D.C. while all of the world watched, waiting to see who would emerge victorious. Rumors involved everything from illegal experiments to the head of the military and Joyce being ex-lovers using government might to settle a falling out.

  As the military released its soldiers into the streets of D.C., the residents waited. Those who could not flee hid in their basements, hoping the city itself wouldn’t be leveled. Satellites from foreign nations projected the entire event, showing thermal scans and detailed maps of the soldiers working their way through the streets. It appeared as if by sheer might the battle had already been won.

  Joyce hadn’t maintained her presidency for so long without being formidable. The red dots on the thermal maps began to vanish, blips ceasing to exist. It appeared as if soldiers were being slaughtered in the streets by ghosts. They had wondered if there were Children involved, possibly more mentalists.

  Dav5d almost sounded elated as he spoke. “Synthetics.”

  Cecilia Joyce, a devious mastermind, lured in the military forces who expected to only find opposition from the CIA, FBI, and Secret Service. However, under the cloak of secrecy, she had been amassing a synthetic army. Her army moved with a single goal, eradicate the opposition, and eradicate they did. In the history of the United States, never had so many lives been lost in a single war let alone a single fight. Now she reigned supreme over the United States of America and asserted herself as more than capable of fending off the radical Free Republic.

  A year ago
he lived in a sane world. Now, as he absorbed the heat bathing his skin, a new world was in the midst of being created. Each time he thought about it, he couldn’t help but wonder: was this the event Eleanor had warned them about, or was it going to get worse?

  ***

  Her throat closed, silencing her screams. She raked her elongated claws against the black liquid surrounding her body, threatening to consume her. Her fingers pushed through the liquid, but it refused to break away from her skin.

  Vanessa gasped and gurgled as the liquid poured into her throat. Her lungs filled, and her panic turned to terror. It wasn’t the thought of drowning that shook her, it was being devoured by this thing. As her breathing stopped, the whispers in the back of her head taunted her. The hissing of a man’s voice grew louder with each moment, filling her head.

  She fought in the center of an overgrown garden. The moon hung overhead, its light casting eerie shadows on the dozens of sculptures of people upon pedestals. Vines creeped from the ground, surrounding what once was a beautiful fountain in the middle of the garden filled with statues. Each of a person, frozen in position for eternity. Their faces had looks of horror chiseled across their rocky features. Now, Vanessa stood atop one of those pedestals, being encased in sludge that would keep her from ever leaving.

  “Vanessa?” asked a distant voice.

  The sound brought her back to the reality of the situation. She wasn’t standing in a savage garden being drowned in liquid. The scenery was a manifestation of her mind. Acknowledging the facts forced the world around her to fade away until she was standing in a room of pure black. The liquid creeping up her skin wasn’t liquid, it was the vile thoughts of a man long dead.

  By sheer will she coughed, spitting up the liquid. The blackness moved, alive, slithering not so differently from a snake. She batted away the remainder of it clinging to her face. She sucked in a deep breath despite not needing to breathe in this otherworldly arena.