Aether (The Shadowmark Series Book 2)

by T. M. Catron

  “. . . what?”

  “Something about Emily.”

  “No, maybe she’s right. Look at the dress.”

  “Get that gun away from her.”

  “She’s lost it.”

  “. . . knew we shouldn’t let any more guns in camp.”

  Cold replaced the heat surging through Mina’s body. Her finger twitched on the trigger.

  “Get that gun away from her!”

  Calla’s eyes grew dark and dangerous.

  They will kill you for knowing their secret, Mina thought. She squeezed, just to the point of firing. Her hand shook.

  “You don't have the nerve to do it,” Calla whispered so only Mina could hear.

  Emily.

  Mina fired.

  She missed—partly. Calla lurched back, holding the side of her head, blood leaking out from under her hand. People screamed and ran. Mina bore down on Calla, gun pointed at her face, but someone grabbed her first. “NO!” she shouted. “She killed Emily!” She fired at Calla again.

  Calla bent double then fell to her knees. Two people had their hands on Mina now, dragging her away. Calla stood up, holding her side, and staggered toward Mina. A few men jumped in the way. When one reached for Calla, she elbowed him in the face. She swayed on her feet. Her eyes pierced Mina’s, their cold depths deadly. She turned and stumbled away, gathering momentum to run across the road and disappear over the rail into the woods.

  Then Solomon was there, prying the gun from Mina’s hand while the two men held her.

  “Let me go after her! Solomon, let me go!” Mina fought him, elbowing him in the ribs as he tried to pin her arms to her side. The gun clattered to the ground.

  “Oomph! Mina, get a hold of yourself!” He was strong, but Mina almost tipped them both over in her struggle. She stopped fighting. People stood around staring, mouths open.

  “There, there. Everything’s okay,” said Solomon.

  “No,” Mina breathed. “It’s not.” She looked around for her gun, but it wasn’t on the ground anymore.

  Alvarez rushed over. “What on earth? Are you alright?”

  Mina shook off everyone. Emily was dead.

  ***

  Calla stumbled through the trees, looking for a landing place, but the dense forest didn’t offer a good place for the Nomad. Her abdomen burned like fire. She removed her hand, and blood oozed out of the wound. If it didn’t clot soon, she might not make it to the ship. Her face was sticky with blood too, but it didn’t hurt. She opened her pack and pulled out her black t-shirt and pressed it against the bullet hole in her right side. She had no exit wound—the bullet had lodged near her spine.

  She would have shot the interfering human if not for the increasing number of onlookers. If she had taken the time, she might have struggled to get out of the camp. Calla looked up into the trees, which seemed very tall. She cursed her current weakness. Cursed letting the human surprise her. What had she said? That’s her dress. She had recognized the dress. It still didn't explain how the human had formed the conclusion she had killed that woman.

  Who are you?

  Calla took a breath and jumped up, grabbing a lower branch with her left hand and heaving herself up in a one-armed pull-up. She swung, her legs finding another branch. But her body wouldn't respond as she wanted; her damaged abdominal muscles were unable to support her long enough to latch onto the branch with her knees.

  Her feet slipped, and Calla dangled in the air by one arm. She breathed deeply, ignoring the pain coursing through her body, the smell of blood. She pulled up again, this time supporting her body with her feet against the trunk until she could roll over the branch. She pushed herself to her feet and repeated the process on the next one. And again.

  By the time she reached the top, sweat and blood soaked the thin dress, and her head swam. Calla summoned the Nomad with every ounce of remaining strength. Her left hand slipped as she gripped the tree, but she caught herself with her right, dropping her blood-soaked t-shirt in the process.

  The Nomad glided toward her, and Calla thrilled at the sensation of wresting control from Doyle. He would be furious. The ship’s staircase slid down. She fell onto it, panting, as it closed, and the Nomad flew away.

  Upstairs in the med bay, Calla peeled off the dress and collapsed onto the metal table, her legs dangling over the edge. When the ship sensed her weight, it automatically began scanning her body for injury. The robotic arm attached to the wall swept over her, cataloging her injuries.

  The room swam as an alarm sounded. The sound should have been louder. Why was it fading? A new pain wracked Calla’s gut as the robot dug out the bullet. Fully awake now, Calla gritted her teeth and gripped the table. Extracting the bullet took five minutes. It cauterized the bleeding with a precision laser. Then the arm worked to close the injured tissues, one layer at a time.

  Calla clung to consciousness, knowing when the arm finished, she would need to start her own IV. After it closed the wound, the ship scanned her body again. The hologram popped up overhead, showing Calla’s body with her injuries in red. She studied it to help her focus while the robot moved to her ear. No more bleeding in her abdomen. Vital signs littered the hologram. Her blood pressure was dangerously low.

  She pushed the arm away and rolled off the table. The Nomad didn't store actual blood in the refrigerated drawer, but synthetic made from hybrid DNA worked just as well. Her vision blurring, Calla started the IV, then lay back on the table, sighing in relief. The arm resumed work on her ear. She closed her eyes.

  ***

  Mina couldn't handle the stares. She sat on the ground near the cold fire pit, knees drawn up to her chin, facing away from the lodge as if making herself smaller would make people forget she was there. Not that anyone had approached her in the last two hours. Solomon had sat with her awhile in silence before leaving, saying he wondered where his grandson had got to.

  What would she tell Solomon? Evan was probably dead too, but Mina’s heart ached too much to consider more than one death at a time. Her heart was raw like someone was rubbing sandpaper over it. Why hadn’t she gone looking for Emily? She could have found her. Should have.

  Lodgers walked by her campsite, taking pains to pass closer than they normally would, but no one spoke. To escape the stares, Mina crawled into the tent with her pack. She needed to find Emily’s body, needed confirmation.

  The bag contained the first aid kit, her knife, a warm, thin blanket, her cloth satchel with food, matches, flint, an extra shirt, several feet of paracord, a hatchet, fishing line, a hydration pack with water-purifying tablets, a tin cup and matching bowl, and a hammock in a tiny stuff sack. She hadn’t noticed the hammock before. She should have done a careful inventory when she returned with the bag.

  Mina laid out everything on the floor of the tent, inspecting it, counting. Everything was in excellent condition. Of course it was—Doyle had only just brought it from the Nomad. Mina divided up bandages and painkillers, leaving them in a corner of the tent. She wasn’t taking the tent, either. She needed to travel light. She had injured, but not killed, a dangerous hybrid, and the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention to herself in the woods with a tent. Everything else she packed carefully away in the bag.

  Her eyes fell on the box of ammunition tucked in an inside zipper. She needed her gun. Whoever had taken it was going to have to give it back. Maybe if she didn’t act like a raving lunatic when she explained she was leaving, they would return it.

  “Mina? You in there?” Alvarez. Mina remembered when Emily had come to find her in the tent, but she shoved the thought aside and unzipped the flap. Alvarez sat on her log, grinding a heel into the dirt. Nelson, Carter, and Solomon stood a few feet away, hanging together.

  Alvarez’s eyes flicked to Mina’s backpack. “Going somewhere?”

  “Yes. I just need my gun.” Mina directed her attention to Solomon. “And you three can stop staring. You’re not making it any better.”

  Solomon walked over
to Mina, her gun already in his hand. Surprised, she reached for it. He held onto it for a moment, pressing his other hand over hers. “It’s just as well you decided on your own.”

  “No one wants me here, do they?”

  Solomon’s eyes were moist, and he let go of Mina's hand to pull her into a hug. “They wouldn’t listen. I told them you must have had a reason.”

  Mina returned the hug. When he let go, she cleared her throat before looking at the others. Nelson and Carter still hung back. “I don’t blame them,” she said.

  “They don’t know what to say,” Alvarez offered as Mina holstered her gun. “And neither do I. Why’d you do it?”

  Mina sniffed and hoisted her bag on her shoulders, tightening the straps with more force than she needed. “If you see that woman again, stay away. I mean it.”

  Solomon frowned. Carter walked over, easing down next to Alvarez.

  “You’ve seen her before?” he asked.

  “Yes, from a distance.”

  “But you don’t know her.”

  “She killed Emily.” A lump caught in Mina’s throat. She swallowed and said, “Did you see the dress?”

  “But how do you know?” Solomon asked.

  “Because a woman like her wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”

  Alvarez stood. “Enough with the secrets! Tell us what’s going on!”

  Mina glared at her.

  “What secrets?” asked Nelson.

  “Mina got a new pack and first aid kit from a man she won’t name. She won’t tell us about surviving by herself for four months. And now she shot a strange woman with no proof other than she was wearing Emily’s dress. What is it, Mina?”

  Everyone looked at Mina who took a steadying breath. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  Her face grew hot, her nerves raw. “Because it’ll put you in more danger! Stay away from that woman. And Iverson and his crew as well.” She turned to Solomon. “They aren’t what they seem—they are much, much worse.”

  “Worse how?” asked Solomon, his lined face crumpling, brow furrowing. His blue eyes watched her intently, waiting.

  “You can’t trust them for even a minute. They won’t hesitate to harm you or anyone else.”

  “You’re just telling me now?” Solomon’s eyes turned to cold steel. “How do you know?”

  “Listen, Solomon, I need to tell you. Should’ve said sooner . . .”

  “Gramps!”

  They all turned. Evan walked toward them, his face bright.

  “There you are! Where have you been?” Solomon met Evan who scowled at the question. Behind him, on the other side of the parking lot, Iverson and his four headed for the lodge.

  “Were you with them?” Solomon jerked his head in their direction, eyes following the group.

  “No.”

  Even Mina could tell he was lying. But she didn’t care. He was safe. Evan’s eyes landed on her, and he shrank back. Mina averted her gaze.

  Solomon’s mouth became a thin line. He grasped Evan’s arm and turned him to face Mina. “Tell him what you just told me.”

  Evan’s eyes grew wide. He probably thought Mina had already told his grandfather what he’d been doing.

  “Mina? Tell him please.”

  “Iverson and his crew are dangerous,” she said quietly.

  The teen frowned at her.

  “There, you see? Someone else thinks so too.”

  Mina cleared her throat and looked at the others. “Goodbye,” she said.

  Carter stood, pushing himself up with a hand. “I’ll go with you. Just wait a few days.”

  Mina looked back at Solomon. “I don’t think that’ll be possible. And—”

  “She’ll be fine,” snapped Alvarez. “She has resources.”

  “Yes,” said Mina. She walked over and kissed Carter on the cheek. “Keep an eye out for Lincoln?”

  “What do you want me to do if he shows up?”

  “Tell him to stay put. I’ll check in from time to time.”

  When Mina turned to Nelson, he nodded curtly. She returned the nod and set off for the road.

  ***

  Lincoln’s leg ached with every step. At least he could walk—he’d been afraid of collapsing at first. But he pushed through, wishing to put as much distance between himself and the scene he had left. He was thirsty. And hungry. Why hadn’t he thought to grab one of the packs laying on the ground? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But he wasn’t going back. Not now. At least he still had Baker’s knife, which he'd tucked into his belt.

  Where was he going? To hell. Straight to hell. Except I can’t go to hell because I’m already here.

  Lincoln stopped and sat on a moss-covered rock, massaging his thigh. The pain neither abated nor grew worse. “Where is here?”

  The woods didn’t answer. He was resting in the saddle of two low mountains. Beyond that, he had no idea.

  Hoping to find high ground and get a bearing, he hiked up the nearest slope. But trees on the ridge blocked the view. He was sick of trees. He walked aimlessly along the ridge for some time. When the sun threatened to dip behind the mountains, he finally found a gap.

  The mountains shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. A hawk wheeled overhead. A valley laid out below. Everything looked the same. Nothing looked familiar.

  “I know where your sister is.”

  Lincoln jumped and turned to the voice directly behind him. He stumbled back as he recognized Doyle ten feet away. The man looked the same as he had before—tall, but not as tall as Lincoln, dark hair, short, new beard.

  “Where’d you come from?” Lincoln straightened and glanced around for some kind of weapon. No doubt Doyle was here to finish him off.

  Doyle didn’t move. “Your sister Mina. I know where she is. And your friends.”

  “How do you know her name?”

  “She told me. She also asked me to find you.”

  “Mina’s dead. Has been for months. You got her name from Baker.”

  Doyle walked to a tree and sat at the base. He gestured for Lincoln to sit down too.

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  “Mina’s plane went to Charlotte where she survived the attacks by fleeing the city. She’s younger than you. When your father died, she lived with her godparents until she went to college. And she’s one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

  “All of that is common knowledge. You wouldn’t have had to work hard to find it.”

  Doyle laughed. “You’re not really important enough for me to go to all that trouble.”

  Lincoln glanced around again. His eyes landed on a fallen branch five feet away. “You and your friends sure went to a lot of trouble to keep me around. What happened to Halston?”

  Doyle nodded to the branch. “Go ahead and pick it up if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll stay right here.” He held his hands up in an open gesture.

  Lincoln frowned. “I’ve seen you move. You’re fast.”

  “Then what are you going to do—stand there all day?”

  Lincoln walked over and hefted the branch. It wasn’t too rotten. The length of a baseball bat, it could do some damage with the right swing. He wielded it like a club, eyes never leaving Doyle.

  “Now,” said Doyle. “Don’t worry about your team. Halston knows they no longer have a copy of those symbols. And now that he’s worried about me, he won’t bother them. Or you, unless you decide to jump in front of him.”

  “Just like that?”

  Doyle snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  “I don’t believe anything you’re telling me.”

  Doyle nodded. “I’ll leave. But if you want to find Mina, turn west from here and hike until you find a road. You can follow that south to a mountain lodge. There are people there—Mina, your friends. Mina’s already tried to find you twice. I don’t imagine she’ll stay put long even though I told her not to leave. She does what she wants. And now that she knows you’re alive, she wants
to find you.”

  Doyle stood, and Lincoln raised his club a little higher. “How’d you meet Mina?”

  Doyle shouldered his pack and rifle. “Same way I met you. By chance.” He nodded and left, turning his back on Lincoln and walking through tall bushes and weeds down the mountain. Lincoln soon lost sight of him in the undergrowth.

  He turned to face the setting sun, head reeling with new information. Was Mina really alive? And why hadn’t Doyle killed him? Lincoln put the end of the club in the dirt and leaned on it. He glanced behind him, but he was alone, so he turned back to the west. What did he have to lose?

  Day 109

  WHEN CALLA WOKE ON THE table, she detached the empty bag of synthetic blood from her arm and sat up. The pink round scar on her abdomen was the only reminder of her ordeal. She touched her damaged ear, fingers lingering on the new cartilage regrowing there. Then her hand moved to her hair. The surgical arm had shaved the side of her head to stitch up her scalp. She hadn’t realized the bullet had grazed her head as well as her ear.

  The only mirror on board hung over the sink in the captain’s berth. Calla left the med bay for the corridor. She stood in front of the closed door, debating.

  she commanded. The Nomad responded, the open door revealing the dark room.

  Doyle had left it in a mess. Blanket and pillow were heaped on the bare mattress. Drawers open like he had been looking for something. But Doyle knew how to search a room without making a mess. If he'd been looking for something, she would have never known. Anyway, Calla had nothing to conceal. No possessions.

  In the bathroom mirror, Calla saw half her head had been shaved. She dug out a razor and shaved the rest of it. When finished, she showered off the dried blood from her body. It ran down with the water, seeping into the stone at her feet.

  So much blood. Blood that ran from bodies into the Earth—human, hybrid, Condarri. Calla shuddered as she remembered the only time she had seen the thick, silver Condarri life force. A Sacred One murdered. Bootprints at the scene. The same prints on the mountain near Williams’ body. A human’s pack flung away. She could still remember its scent. It reminded her of something.