The NightShade Forensic Files: Under Dark Skies (Book 1)

by A. J. Scudiere

  Listening to the chatter through her earpiece, she heard that the agents in Unit G had decided to gag and tie the woman they encountered, leaving her for Y to fetch her. As much as Eleri thought that was a bit much, the City woman was fighting and Feds couldn’t spare an agent to stay with her, not at this stage of the game.

  She heard a struggle from Donovan, and Sweeney’s voice came over the line, causing Eleri to tense. “Unit F, reporting gunman. Engaged with Agent Heath.”

  The rest was cut off by Eleri’s own sudden intake of breath at the thought that her partner—her real partner—was under fire. Holding her air while she listened and trying desperately to keep eyes on her own position so she didn’t become a liability herself, she heard another several grunts.

  Just when she thought it was over, the crack of a gun discharging burst through the air and her earpiece simultaneously, sending everything into chaos.

  Eleri could only hope that Donovan was okay, because she held her own position, her only movement to bring her gun up to ready, Agent Karyeva mirroring her movements. They were moving.

  Beyond the house, closer to the center of the City, she could hear the disturbance the gunfire had set off. Doors banged, women questioned each other and male voices hollered to shut up and get inside.

  Shockingly, the women did not do as they were told. Eleri had expected a meek female society here—the escapees all said the men ruled the place and the women and children followed along, second-class citizens. But the voices she heard spoke out.

  “John! Don’t you go out with that gun aimed!” The woman’s voice was angry, not cowed at all. “You’re spoiling for a fight, and I swear if you start one I’ll kill you myself.”

  Well, shit.

  Eleri spoke into the mic held at the side of her face, allowing her to be as quiet as she could. She said only one word, “Hold.”

  It was hard to stay in place while Donovan struggled. But had it been any other agent, the decision would have been clear. He had a trained partner and both were making noises, so both were still alive. No other gunfire came. For all she knew, it was an agent that fired. Eleri reminded herself she paired Donovan with Sweeney for good reason; she had to trust that the older agent would make up for any rookie errors of judgment.

  More voices came from the center of the yard.

  “Put that gun down, Naomi!”

  “I will not! I know how to use it and I won’t have you going off half-cocked.”

  A third, female, voice chimed in. “I’ve got you, Naomi.”

  “Ester! Not you, too.” That was the same man. “Go inside.”

  Eleri tried to place them, figure out where they were going. How many there were. How to best ambush them without getting anyone hurt—agent and City dweller alike.

  “Samuel and I have this.” A second man, the sound of a shotgun being cocked. The usual clicks and slides as more guns were readied.

  This was not good.

  Realizing she was holding her breath, Eleri consciously regulated her lungs, still trying to stay focused on what she heard. The voices were on the move, likely meaning they were ready.

  Her counts earlier told her fifteen grown men lived in the City, including Joseph. They had seven in custody already. There were nine women left after the several that they knew of had escaped. There were twelve children left. That was barring anyone else leaving or joining since Jonah and Charity had offered up their counts.

  There were fifteen agents out here in the active raid.

  A grunt came through her headset, followed quickly by Donovan’s voice.

  Her entire body unclenched as he spoke.

  “Sweeney has restrained the gunman. He’s zip-tied and gagged.” He breathed in, “She sustained a direct hit to the torso, her body armor is intact.”

  Just as Eleri was wincing and thinking that was going to leave a mark, Sweeney’s voice came through the line. “They are shooting first and shooting to kill.”

  Eleri spoke then, giving orders. “Stay safe. More are headed your way, at least four, two men, two women. All are armed. Repeat, all are armed.” She took a deep breath and gave the order. “Agents, fall into the center of town. Units A and D will go after the people heading for position H. We are live.”

  DONOVAN STOOD at the back of the house, his foot on the kneecaps of the man they had subdued.

  He had rounded the corner, gun up. Despite the fact that Donovan and Sweeney lowered their guns slightly and held their free hands up, the man shot Sweeney, dead center. She’d blown backward from the blast, convincing Donovan he’d just watched her die. Reacting rather than acting, he grabbed at the barrel of the man’s gun, thankful for the thick gloves, his greater height allowing him to push upward and pull the weapon from the other man’s hands before he could get off another shot.

  Sweeney had popped back up, muttering, “That hurts, asshole,” and some part of Donovan, some part deep inside, had laughed in relief. Most of him dealt with the man trying to kill him. It was Sweeney, standing, who had put the muzzle of her gun into the man’s ear and whispered to him.

  He’d stopped struggling, let them tie and gag him. But as soon as they turned to look for others, the man—Zachariah, Donovan had memorized them all—began fighting to free himself.

  Feeling there was no other option, Donovan raised his gun and brought the butt down on Zachariah’s head in a move specifically designed to knock him out, the words first, do no harm flitted through his brain. He was forcibly reminding himself that the definition of “no harm” changed, depending on the situation, when a voice came from around the corner.

  “Zack?” It yelled.

  Of course there was no response from Zack.

  The voice called again.

  “Whoever you are, come out with your hands up. And if you hurt Zack, so help you God.”

  Donovan and Sweeney looked at each other. They wouldn’t go out. It wasn’t protocol, it wasn’t the plan. As they waited, the voice came yet again.

  “I’m coming around to check!”

  Donovan held his breath. There was no telling how many there were, or if the other agents had managed to get in place as Eleri had commanded. His left hand snaked down to his side, checking the spare firearm he had there. Should anything happen to the first, it was loaded and ready to go.

  With a quick nod, he and Sweeney spun into place, each facing one of the back corners of the house, each ready in case the man with the gun and the threats came around that corner first.

  They waited.

  Donovan didn’t know how long time had stretched before he heard the footsteps. There was more than one of them. He caught a scent: the man was nervous, angry and coming around his side. But Donovan couldn’t tell if more were headed for Sweeney, so he didn’t pull her away from her post, only readied for his own encounter.

  “Come out, you bastards!” The voice was at a full yell now and way too close. Donovan sighted down his gun, his barrel aimed at the edge of house, praying it wasn’t a kid. He was ready for a man with a gun. He even thought he could handle an angry armed woman, but he knew he could not take out a kid.

  “Come Out!”

  Whoever he was, he was just beyond the corner. Donovan went completely still and held steady.

  One breath.

  47

  Then Eleri’s voice, close behind, too close.

  “Right behind you, asshole.”

  Donovan could hear the commotion just beyond the wall, but couldn’t see anything when the gunfire started.

  Eleri pulled the trigger without thinking. The man was tall, barrel-chested, a giant to her elf. But he was in a T-shirt and jeans, and she was in full body armor and helmet. Her shirt and even gloves were interwoven with a metal mesh that couldn’t stop bullets but would slow them the hell down.

  He fell backward, dead on impact, his eyes wide as he came down like a tree.

  The gun he held fired a shot into the side of a nearby house as his hands twitched.

  Beh
ind her—directly behind her—guns fired, making Eleri drop to the ground. Unable to see what was happening because she was facing away from the City center, she kept her gaze toward Donovan and Agent Sweeney still stuck behind the house.

  Just then, they bolted around the corner, and though they were staying low, she yelled over the sound of gunfire. “Get down!”

  Donovan was rolling and crawling toward her, gun first, aimed and ready, just like they were all taught. But Eleri was moving, turning away from him and toward the gunfire. On her feet again, she dodged sideways, bringing herself up against the side of another house. As she was peeking around the corner, she felt Donovan sliding into place behind her.

  The houses were built up and off the ground, the crawl spaces enclosed in cinderblock and presumably reinforced for the tornadoes that could blaze through this area in the right seasons. Thus the main floor windows were over their heads, and Eleri had walked right under one without sparing it the requisite glance.

  It was Donovan who saved them both. She felt his shot and wasn’t able to process the difference in time from his gun firing and kicking him slightly back into her and the glass from the window raining down over the two of them. In slow motion, she saw the tiny pieces—it looked more like windshield glass than regular house glass—bouncing down from where they ricocheted off of Donovan first. Her shoulders hunched and her hands came up in front of her face in a normal reaction to flying shards of glass.

  From the corner of her eye she spotted the shotgun being withdrawn through the now missing window. Someone had been aiming for them. She shuddered to think just where she might have taken that shot had Donovan not caught it. Her adrenaline keeping her focused, she started forward, into a fray that included City people running out of homes, weapons in hand. Agents responding with their own raised guns.

  There were a few standoffs in progress. Luckily the Feds were all in mottled green with protective vests. The City people were in jeans and T-shirts, with just a few in full gear, but theirs was black and it was easy to distinguish the players.

  As Eleri moved into the open center, she quickly catalogued that the dual agent units had splintered. Still the objective remained the same: get these people out with as few injuries on both sides as possible. But while she watched, one agent sighted down his gun while a teen from the City held a shotgun on him in return. Despite the agent’s words—which Eleri could see him saying but couldn’t hear—the teen didn’t budge. Even as she approached, she could see another City dweller bust out a nearby window and aim for her agent.

  This was her op, which made this man her agent. She was responsible for the intel. And even though they hadn’t gathered enough information, she was the one who said they were going in anyway. So if anyone was going down it was her. She lifted her gun.

  DONOVAN WATCHED over Eleri’s head as she aimed slightly above ground level and fired into the window. He thought she aimed a little high, but the shattering glass obscured everything.

  He could see what she saw: the face, the hands, the gun. The person in the window aiming at the agent in the standoff. Donovan could hear the glass shatter, though he knew he shouldn’t be able to, not with all the crazy noise around him. But he heard praying, too. Behind him.

  Eleri, in front of him but not tall enough to be a real barrier, lifted her gun again. Yes, she had aimed high and the warning hadn’t been enough. The person in the window was popping back up, aiming again at the other agent, the one who still hadn’t moved, who still wasn’t shooting at the kid aiming for him. This wasn’t supposed to be a bloodbath. The women and children were not supposed to be armed.

  Donovan had worried that they would hide and no one would find them. Or they would stash the babies and the smallest children would be left alone at the end of the raid, no one knowing where they were, starving because they’d been hidden too well. Instead, he had this.

  Eleri—looking small but mighty in her gear, just a hint of red ponytail peeking out under her helmet, the pale cocoa tones to her skin invisible, covered except for a tiny sliver of neck, her freckles—held her position, waiting as long as she could. But when the person in the window sighted down the barrel a second time, Eleri shot again.

  This time she wouldn’t miss, he knew. She would feel the guilt, but it was a matter of degrees. Guilt was inevitable at this point; she would have felt more if she had let the agent die from a shot out of nowhere. Knowing what would happen there, Donovan turned to face his own nightmare-in-the-making.

  Behind him, praying loudly, hands shaking, was another young woman. The gun she held wavered—as likely to shoot Eleri behind him as she was to hit Donovan.

  The noise around him buzzed, the air itself hummed, and his brain clicked in. “Elizabeth.”

  The small woman jerked, her hands twitching dangerously, her finger ready on the trigger.

  “Elizabeth.” He said it again, as quietly as he could, as calmly as a grown man could call out a teenaged girl while he sighted her down the barrel of his FBI-issued gun.

  Before today, the job had been interesting, maybe even fun. Yes, people were dying, kids had been beaten, and that was bad. But Donovan had spent his own childhood with his father. There was nothing Jonah had suffered that Donovan himself hadn’t taken, probably more than once. The difference had been that multiple people had been involved in Jonah’s beating—Donovan couldn’t fathom that. In his old job, he regularly saw the worst things people did to each other. Rarely did anyone need him to confirm a peaceful death. He was grateful when that was the case, but it was hardly enough to restore his faith in a humanity that consistently showed its underside. In his work he often saw cases where things that had been done to the person were so bad Donovan was sure both he and the victim were glad death had finally come for them.

  He understood death.

  He understood the processing of it.

  But until now, he had not understood the creating of it.

  “Elizabeth.” He tried again.

  “How do you know my name?” It was a demand more than a real question.

  Donovan almost regretted starting this conversation. Her hands shook worse now than they did just a moment ago. He didn’t know who had his back, as he was facing away from the fighting. A stray bullet could take him out at any moment. Would he even know he had died? Should he yell out an apology to Eleri now, while he still could?

  “I know Jonah.”

  If it was possible, her eyes got even wider. He thought she was starting to have a seizure. Despite the fact that he hated live patients, he was a doctor. But she was shaking her head, violently. “No you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.” Maybe he could make it work. “I saved him the night he was beaten here. He fled, I found him.” He spoke too fast for her to respond with anything other than her doubting facial expressions. “He drew pictures of all of you. He put your names on them so we could tell you he was okay and that he wanted to see you again.”

  Lies. But maybe not. Jonah did want to see the others again. They were his friends. Donovan searched for more. “He prays for you every day. Charity is with us—”

  “Charity?”

  “Yes, Jonah and Charity.” He didn’t know if he should add in Grace and Mercy’s names, too.

  He didn’t have to decide. “Mercy? Do you have Mercy, too? Grace? Tabitha?”

  He had to disarm her fast. He couldn’t stay with his back to the bullets. “Yes. All of them.” He babbled everything he knew that fit the best story. “Mercy ran last week. White nightgown, cut her feet. Tabitha is staying with a couple nearby. They are all safe. I will take you to them. We only want to get everyone out of here.”

  “Why? Why can’t we stay?”

  Would she believe that the men were running drugs? Eleri had briefed them all, the women and children likely didn’t know about the illegal activities. “Because people are getting sick. It’s not safe here.”

  Even as he said it, he knew it to be true. There was disease spreading,
but he suspected more than that.

  Finally, something got through. He didn’t know if she was afraid of getting sick or if he had simply stated enough different things she recognized. “Go.” He told her, “Go straight into the woods,” He pointed toward Station Y. The two extra agents would gladly check in City members who came voluntarily. Then Donovan reached for her gun. “Elizabeth, please. You’re shaking. Trust me, you don’t want to kill someone. Go, see Jonah.”

  She sniffed, her hand holding the gun to him. Though it was still pointed at him, Donovan took it anyway and watched as she ran into the woods.

  He was turning to head back into the fray when he spotted another kid in the window above him. This one was younger, but he, too, had a gun. Recognizing him, Donovan spoke quickly. “Jeremiah. Go with Elizabeth.”

  Without taking his eyes off the younger boy, he hollered for the girl who had just left. “Elizabeth! Take Jeremiah with you!”

  She stopped, turned, and came back, pleading with the boy. “They have Jonah with them. Jonah went to them. They saved him.”

  But Jeremiah didn’t move. At least his attention was on Elizabeth now and Donovan could move his eyes and see what was coming at him. The fighting was now to his side, though a good bit of it had stopped. While his back was turned, the agent and the teen had ended their standoff somehow, the teenager down on the ground, his hands zip-tied behind him while he yelled his fool head off.

  Beside him, Elizabeth raised her hands to the boy who was setting his own gun down inside the house. Donovan instructed them to get a blanket or a towel to protect the kid as he went out the window. Of course there were no other doors but the front. No one was allowed to sneak out of the City. Doors weren’t allowed to face the woods. It seemed forever that he stood there, guarding the kids.

  Gunfire came less often, the fighting having shifted to occasional volleys with return fire from agents holding partially hidden positions. Donovan watched both in front and behind him, so he saw when Elizabeth struggled to help the boy down and he reached out, taking the reluctant kid himself. Though the boy fought him a bit, Donovan held tight, saving him from glass cuts and maybe even a broken leg.