Isolation (Shadowmark Book 3)

by Alex Bratton

  Fuming, Nelson walked over to Lincoln. “Now do you see what’s happening? And you want to stay to help them?”

  Lincoln looked directly at him. “I’m not staying for them.”

  He was staying for Mina. At least here, he was doing something. Lincoln still held out hope of finding a way to defeat the aliens. If he left, what purpose would he have? Would her death then be in vain?

  A few minutes later, Alvarez quietly walked back to the tents with Lincoln, her face white. She had not spoken since the first gunshot. Lincoln raised an eyebrow at her, but she shrugged him off.

  “Lincoln.” Carter came up beside him. “Listen, Nelson’s not all wrong. What about setting up our own camp near the entrance to the second tunnel? It’s secluded, near impossible to spot until you walk right up to it. We’d be away from this mess, and we’re the only ones who know where it is.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Alvarez said. She looked like she wanted to hug Carter. “Maybe Nelson will stay.”

  Behind them, Nelson kicked at a stone on the ground. “I told you I’m not living anywhere near that place.”

  Carter looked at Lincoln. “What do you think?”

  “Can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” Lincoln admitted, “but the question is what about Nash?”

  Nelson called, “Why do you care what that self-serving, m—”

  Lincoln rounded on Nelson, keeping his voice low because they had stopped walking within earshot of a couple of uniforms. “I don’t care what Nash thinks, Nelson. I do care how he’ll react, though. He may make it difficult for us to just waltz out of here with his food and supplies. He doesn’t trust us, not really.”

  “So don’t tell him.”

  “I think he’ll notice if we start packing up.”

  “Go at night.”

  “You have an awful lot of ideas for someone who’s not living near the silo.” They began walking again. “If someone sees us moving around after dark, we could be shot.”

  “I think Nash is too preoccupied at the moment,” Alvarez said. “Just tell him it’ll be easier to study the tunnel this way. He can send Schmidt to check on us occasionally.” She looked at Nelson again. “Please come with us.”

  Nelson shook his head and walked away, leaving the others behind.

  “I’ll talk to Nash first thing in the morning,” Lincoln said as they watched Nelson disappear into the trees.

  Just before Lincoln, Alvarez, and Carter reached their own tents, a middle-aged refugee woman ran through the trees, straight into the military guards, screaming and wielding a large branch. The soldiers grabbed her as she swung it at them. Her dyed red hair flew around her face, and she yelled incoherently, desperately trying to hurt them as they restrained her arms. Another refugee with gray whiskers ran over. He nodded to the soldiers and wrapped his arms around the woman, who stopped fighting and collapsed, sobbing into his shoulder.

  Lincoln’s stomach churned. “She must have known that woman they shot.”

  “I hate this,” Alvarez whispered. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  Nash, busy keeping the refugees in line, refused to see Lincoln the next day. Lincoln tried catching the colonel every time he left his tent, but Nash always waved him off. Finally, the morning before the refugees were scheduled to leave, he agreed to see Lincoln and then immediately shot down the idea.

  “Absolutely not. The only reason we’re out here at all is because of ARCHIE. I won’t have you disappearing.”

  “But we’re not disappearing, Colonel. We’ll be a couple hours’ hike away.”

  Nash wouldn’t listen. Instead, he ordered Schmidt and Captain Allison Baker to shadow the team again. After the incident with the food supply, Schmidt was happy to stay with the team.

  Baker was the woman Lincoln had seen at the communications tent and in the silo. Her presence alone demanded attention. She had a strong jaw and curvy feminine body that still left no doubt about the power contained beneath her neatly pressed uniform. She had wrestled her thick, curly hair into a small knot at the nape of her neck.

  Within an hour, Baker discovered Nelson’s plan to leave with the refugees the next day and reported it to Nash, who forbade it. Lincoln heard Nelson and Nash arguing all the way through the camp, and he jogged over to join the fray. When he arrived at Nash’s tent, however, Nelson seemed to be holding his own.

  “…can’t hold me against my will. I won’t be part of this pseudo-mission, giving people false hope while you play God and lord your power over everybody!”

  Nash pointed emphatically to Lincoln as he entered the tent uninvited. “Don’t you people understand what’s at stake here?”

  Captain Baker stood silently to Nash’s right, watching the exchange.

  “Let him go, Colonel,” Lincoln said. “He doesn’t want to be here. We don’t work for you.”

  “I say you do. We’ve fed you, sheltered you, and protected you, and you don’t know the half of it. I should arrest him. He’s been inciting all this tension with the refugees, goading them into striking back. Apparently, there’s a plan for tonight to overwhelm the guards and steal their weapons.”

  Dumbstruck, Lincoln looked at Nelson, who glared shamelessly at Nash and Baker.

  “Captain Baker,” Nash said.

  “Sir.”

  “You are personally in charge of this team. If any of them steps another toe out of line, cuff them all to a tree, but don’t shoot unless they try to run. And don’t kill them. Unfortunately, there’s no point in being on this rock unless Interface Labs is here too.”

  Baker forced Nelson to move back to the military encampment. She pitched her own tent near Lincoln’s and kept a guard on them at all times. Apparently, Nelson had been quietly speaking to the refugees about how many soldiers lived in the camp and what kinds of weapons they carried. Alvarez and Carter were shocked.

  “He could have arrested you, Nelson,” Alvarez said. “Why didn’t he?”

  Nelson smirked. “Because he didn’t have anywhere to put me, and he can’t shoot me. Apparently, I’m valuable.” He glared at Baker, who regarded him coldly.

  Lincoln was itching to discuss Nash’s actions with the team. He had grown comfortable talking openly around Schmidt, but Baker was sure to report anything straight back to the colonel.

  Nash’s words haunted Lincoln. No point being on this rock without them. What did that mean? Nash hadn’t acted this way when they first arrived. Before we found the symbols. The alien marks cast a deeper shadow over everything, just like the aliens themselves.

  Nash prevented any coup by ordering all the civilians to pack up and climb into the working vehicles before nightfall. A few refugees shouted and threw rocks as the soldiers helped them onto the trucks, and their cursing and hollering kept Lincoln awake all night. Soldiers guarded the trucks until morning. At first light, they pulled out, heading for the small service road that had brought them in. Nelson muttered expletives as Jeeps and trucks rumbled past, using the remaining fuel to transport the refugees out.

  Lincoln and the others headed back to the mountain. Baker insisted Nelson go, too. Lincoln didn’t exactly know what Nash expected of them. Lincoln didn’t know what he expected of himself, either, other than searching for more symbols and hoping the doors opened again. At least one led to the silo. The others went somewhere else. If only he’d had a light with him the night he’d stumbled on the second tunnel. He’d have been able to see if the other doors had been open, too.

  The sounds below faded as the team passed by the mine entrance and climbed the mountain. Baker and Schmidt followed close behind.

  Just before the tunnel entrance, Lincoln stopped and held up his hand.

  Baker joined him. “What is it?”

  “I thought I saw something move in the trees.”

  “Bear?”

  “No.”

  Baker had not allowed Lincoln or Carter to have weapons since she took charge. Cautiously, her rifle ready, she moved out ahea
d with Schmidt. Lincoln, Carter, Nelson, and Alvarez followed slowly. Schmidt led them to the tunnel hidden in the trees where they turned to look back.

  “There!” Alvarez pointed to their right, down the mountain. Below them, a man moved swiftly through the trees. He wore Army fatigues.

  Carter breathed hard from their climb. “How did someone from camp get up here before us unless they knew where to go?”

  “They didn’t,” Baker said. “It’s Halston.”

  Nelson, who hadn’t spoken to Baker all day, turned to her in surprise. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  Lincoln tried to recall Halston’s face and squinted at the quickly disappearing man below. “Aren’t you going after him?”

  Baker frowned. “He’s already too far away, and I can’t leave you.”

  “How do you know it’s him? Did you know him well?” Alvarez asked. “He tried to kill Lincoln! Shouldn’t that be more important than babysitting us?”

  “I’m following my orders. The deserter might come back.” Baker nodded at the ground around the cave. Fresh, combat-boot imprints went in and out of the tunnel.

  Shaking his head, Lincoln said, “Do you know something we don’t? What’s he doing down there? Has he been back long?”

  “You know as much as I do,” Baker said, looking into the tunnel. “I haven’t seen him since before he attacked you. Corporal.” She turned to Schmidt. “Stay here and keep watch. Whistle if you see him again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They had one torch left, so they waited to light it until they’d reached the bottom of the metal stairway. As soon as Lincoln’s feet touched stone, he moved to the side to let the others descend. Confident in his surroundings even in the dark, he groped for the wall ahead and the markings, but his hand couldn’t find them after all. Thinking he’d turned himself around, he called to Carter, who was already lighting the torch. In a few seconds, firelight blazed.

  Carter held the torch aloft while the group paused to let their eyes adjust. When Lincoln turned away, he realized why he hadn’t found the wall.

  He was standing in it. The silo had opened up before them. Lincoln grabbed the torch from Carter and looked at either side. The other doors remained closed, but the symbols here had disappeared, the door with them.

  Putting two and two together, Lincoln rounded on Baker. The others must have had the same thought because they all took a step back and watched her. Baker narrowed her eyes.

  Lincoln spoke quickly. “Tell us what you know about Halston.”

  “Why?” Baker asked.

  “Because he knows how to read the alien symbols.”

  “How could he do that?” Baker asked. She stared at the hieroglyphs with wide eyes. Lincoln remembered she had never been down here before.

  “You tell us,” Nelson said.

  Baker tore her eyes from the symbols to look at the team. “I have no idea. What are these?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “We’re not sure. What does Halston know about them?”

  “Why do you think he has something to do with them?”

  “Because he was obviously here a few minutes ago, and now the silo door is open. It was closed two days ago, and last time we know he was here, he disappeared into this room. Logic says he knows how to open this door.”

  “Yes,” Alvarez added, “and if you’d gone after him, we might already know how.”

  Baker scowled at the four of them. “Don’t make this about me.”

  “Right,” Lincoln said, “because you’re just following orders?”

  “I’m trying to keep the camp together. If you leave, half the personnel will desert tomorrow. With you gone, what else are we here for?”

  “How should we know?” Nelson asked, his sour mood returning. “Let them desert. We don’t have any answers.”

  Baker nodded at the hieroglyphs. “Are you sure about that?”

  Lincoln looked at them again, his eyes tracing the familiar circular writings. “We don’t know. Now that Halston has been here again, there’s got to be something else going on, something we’re missing. None of this adds up.”

  They searched around the entrance for a while for some clue to tell them why the door was open. They even checked Corridor A, but it remained closed. Everything looked the same as before except for the hole in the silo wall. After an hour of fruitless hunting, they stamped back up the stairs to meet Schmidt, who reported that everything was quiet.

  Later that evening around the campfire, Lincoln took advantage of a moment without Baker, who had gone to report to Nash. Schmidt sat apart from them, sharpening his knife.

  “We aren’t going to get any help from them,” Lincoln whispered.

  The other three leaned in.

  Carter spoke first. “Look, I know you want to know what’s going on here—we all do—but we’re getting nowhere. Don’t you get the feeling Nash and Baker think we’re holding out on them? Like we know something and are refusing to help?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel,” Alvarez said, and Lincoln nodded, too. “What’s going to happen if we don’t figure it out? Will they just keep us here indefinitely?”

  “If we left, would they come after us?” Nelson asked.

  “Probably, yes,” Lincoln replied. “You heard the colonel. He thinks we have the answers.” He tossed a twig into the fire.

  “Then what should we do?” Alvarez asked.

  “Fake it?” Nelson asked. He wore a slight grin, his first smile in weeks. “We could tell them we’re making progress. Give them what they want.”

  “Then what?” Lincoln asked. “What happens when they find out we’re bluffing?”

  “We don’t wait that long. We start stowing food away. Take it up the mountain with us.” Nelson glanced at Schmidt, who had moved on to cleaning his gun, and lowered his voice even further. “A little every day until we have enough of the symbols to find the patterns.”

  Confused, Lincoln gaped at Nelson, trying to understand his sudden turn of phrase until he realized Nelson had changed his words mid-sentence. Baker was approaching the fire, her eyes on the group.

  Lincoln nodded, tried to sound casual. “Sounds good. Maybe we should have been looking for larger patterns, rather than at individual circles. Maybe the answer is the bigger picture. We’ll go first thing in the morning.” Lincoln stood and stretched, ignoring Baker, and walked toward his tent.

  “Surrey,” Baker called.

  Lincoln stopped, worried she’d seen through their little charade already.

  “You left your dirty plate out. There are still bears in the area.”

  Lincoln sighed and trudged over, relieved that was all Baker had to say. He returned his plate to the mess tent and said goodnight before crawling into his tent. When he got settled, he thought they were all crazy, especially his team. Would leaving camp really be safer? Their plan wasn’t ideal, but Lincoln didn’t have any other ideas. Above all, he wanted his team to stick together. They were all he had.

  Chapter Six

  Doyle and Mina didn’t discuss their argument nor the man buried at the base of the mountain. The weight in Mina’s chest was ever-present now, and even sleep provided no relief. She relived the memory over and over in her dreams—the click of the gun, the man’s body as it fell backward onto the ground, Doyle’s grim face. She no longer pestered Doyle with questions, in part because she did not want another confrontation, in part because it all seemed pointless. Doyle had returned to his usual briskness, but a few times, she caught him glancing back at her.

  She justified her decision to stick with Doyle by reminding herself he had never threatened or scared her, even after he pulled the trigger. But Mina was half-horrified by herself for not reacting more strongly to Doyle’s killing. Would the future be full of callous decisions? The question haunted her more than the shooting.

  Two weeks passed of Mina silently following Doyle through the mountains, hiking through increasingly dense foliage as spring
rains turned the world bright green and muddy. One morning, Mina woke to the sound of thunder. Before she could find better shelter, rain poured down, drenching her in seconds. Doyle had disappeared, so Mina grabbed her bag and looked for a dryer spot beneath the trees. As she settled in under a thickly needled fir tree with her hood over her head, Doyle appeared from somewhere behind her, water dripping off the short, dark beard he had grown.

  “Hey,” he said. “Up here.”

  As he led her around a protruding slope of the mountain, a small rustic cabin, nestled in among the trees, came into view. Its front porch jutted out over the mountainside, and steep stairs hugged the side of the house. A muddy, washed-out driveway led away from it. Doyle climbed the stairs two at a time, but Mina grabbed his jacket sleeve before he got far.

  “Wait! What if someone’s in there?” she shouted over the rain.

  Doyle shook his head. “I checked.”

  Mina followed, though hesitantly. Firewood was stacked to the left of the unlocked center door. Doyle opened it, and they stepped inside. A worn couch faced the porch windows, and two sets of bunk beds were lined up against the dark-paneled wall to the left. A breakfast bar separated the small living area from an open kitchen on the right. A fireplace faced the windows too, separating the kitchen from a closet and bathroom. The air reeked of stale chimney and tobacco smoke.

  Doyle checked the cabinets for food and found them full of nonperishables—cans of tuna, soup, boxes of crackers, and noodles. Mina stopped him from looking in the refrigerator, pointing at the dirty dishes piled in the sink and several articles of clothing tossed haphazardly across the back of the couch.

  “Someone lives here,” she said.

  Doyle shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “We’ll be long gone.” He began stuffing useful items into his backpack.

  “We can’t take their stuff!”