Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1)

by TM Catron

  Common night sounds echoed strangely in Doyle’s absence—a bird fluttering from its roost, the wind stirring a tree, causing it to creak. The forest seemed especially noisy after the past few nights in the cabin. She started at every sound, hoping each time for Doyle, but fearing something else.

  Mina pulled out her gun, her finger finding the safety. She kept her hand on it, then holstered it again. She didn't need it. Something thudded in the forest a long way off. Pulling out her gun again, she laid it on the ground for easy access. She sat back against the tree and waited for morning.

  Just before dawn, something moved off to Mina’s right. She sat up, reaching for her gun, but her fingers touched only leaves. She groped hastily until her hands found the grip. She clicked off the safety, but left it resting on the ground. The noise ceased.

  Mina had the distinct feeling she was being watched. “Who’s there? I’m armed!” she called into the dim light. A man stepped out from behind a tree. She felt his presence better than she could see him. Her heart thumped wildly inside her chest.

  “It’s me.”

  “Doyle! What is wrong with you? I could have shot you!”

  “I’m glad to see I’ve taught you something at least.” Doyle tossed something at her feet as sunlight touched the ridge line. It was a small, lightweight tent, packed away in a dirty green stuff sack. Mina put away the gun.

  After the initial thrill of seeing him alive and unharmed, Mina’s anger returned in full force. “Where have you been?”

  “I wanted to see what was around us.”

  “In the dark? You’re insane. You could have tripped and fallen, and I wouldn’t have had any idea where to look for you!”

  “But I didn’t. Your concern is touching, though.”

  “Of course I was concerned. You disappeared in the dark!”

  Doyle sat down near her as the morning light filtered swiftly over the ridge. Mina picked up the tent. It weighed surprisingly little. “Where did you find it?”

  “I found more than that. I found what the Glyphs are looking for. A large militant group is camped just over the ridge. I counted about three hundred campfires. Looks like many of them are regular Army joined by armed civilians.”

  Mina gasped. “And the Glyphs haven’t found them yet? Why not?”

  “They will shortly, with all the noise and light. They’ve gotten too comfortable. I want to get in closer, find out what they’re up to.”

  “You want to . . . what?”

  Doyle pressed his lips together and frowned. “It’s been too long since we had contact with anyone else. I want to know more about what’s happening. If there’s been resistance of any kind, these guys will know.”

  Mina shook her head.

  “Come with me.” Doyle caught the look on Mina’s face and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want to know what’s happening in the rest of the world?” His words were a challenge. Clearly, evading the Glyphs and surviving the elements failed to provide enough excitement for him.

  “No, listen. You go and spend the day finding out what’s happening, and I’ll wait here for you. You even brought a tent. I’ll be fine.”

  “It could take more than a day to find out what’s going on. In the meantime, what will you do if the Glyphs show up?”

  “They’re more likely to be attracted to a large group of people on the mountain than a single woman, aren’t they? They won’t even notice me.”

  “True, but if I have to run, how will I find you again?”

  “Aren’t we both speculating? What about the Glyphs? Shouldn’t we just warn the camp and move on?”

  “We will, but not before I get something out of them.” Doyle looked at Mina with what was now his typical exasperated expression. “Did you think we were going to wander around the mountains forever?”

  Yes. She was comfortable like this, in her isolation.

  “You might find your brother.”

  “He wouldn’t be in a camp like that.”

  “You might say the same thing about yourself, except here we are discussing it. He could have ended up anywhere.”

  Mina thought about it for a moment and said, “You won’t leave me? And we’ll get out as soon as possible?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Mina could hardly believe she had agreed, but two hours later Doyle was leading her over the ridge. The large camp lay on the slopes beneath them. The smoke rising from the campfires was invitation enough for anyone to come in for a closer look. The two of them approached too quickly for Mina, who secretly wanted to sneak off into the trees and wait for Doyle to get back. She sighed heavily and pushed on. Becoming separated wasn’t all that appealing either.

  They joined the camp without trouble. Doyle introduced himself to a man in Army fatigues—who said his name was Jones—who told them no one was in charge of the camp right now since the last commander had fallen during a hike and broken his neck.

  Mina had only been halfway listening, preoccupied with checking out their surroundings, but she turned back now to listen more carefully.

  “Didn’t he have a second-in-command?” Doyle asked.

  “He did,” replied Jones, “but he had an accident, too.” He spat into his campfire. The man spoke with a slight New England accent.

  “So you’re going to vote for a new commander?” Doyle asked. Mina perked up as he spoke. Doyle was mimicking Jones’s speech patterns and accent perfectly. How did he do that so effortlessly?

  “Yeah, got to keep democracy alive and all that.” Jones winked at Mina, as if he had just noticed her. Mina stiffened. Doyle asked where they could set up camp.

  “No rhyme or reason. Not a lot of rules here since the civilians joined us. You Army?”

  Doyle nodded curtly.

  “Thought so. Where were you stationed?” But Doyle didn’t get a chance to answer before a big, burly man hollered at Jones about chatting all day while people starved. Jones’s face turned red and he swore under his breath. Without another word, he jogged off.

  Doyle gestured to Mina and the two began walking down the slope through the trees. No one stopped them, but a few of the men eyed Mina openly as she passed, and a couple of dogs barked and growled. She made sure to keep close to Doyle while they looked for a suitable campsite.

  Trash and refuse dotted the mountainside, a telltale sign this group had been here a while. Trees had been stripped of their dead limbs until only the upper branches were left. To Mina’s relief, Doyle took them halfway up the next mountain before stopping. The widely scattered campsites here offered them more seclusion than down below.

  Soon they had a large fire burning. A chilly mountain draft descended on them, and the air smelled of snow. By the time they had eaten a meager meal, the first big flakes dusted the treetops above.

  Mina looked around at the campfires dotting the slope. Men and a few women moved under the trees, their fires casting eerie shadows on the rocks and leaves underfoot. People sat chatting around their fires or creating snares, and Mina noted the obvious absence of hostility here. Perhaps she had overreacted before.

  Still, she worried about the Glyphs. Doyle, however, seemed completely unconcerned. Even if the camp had been spotted, he said, the Glyphs were more than likely to bring in reinforcements. From what he had seen, they liked to to be thorough—few people, if any, escaped the burns. Doyle’s disregard for the possible death of a thousand people did not reassure Mina. The sooner everyone abandoned this area, she thought, the better.

  They passed the next day chatting with the other settlers about what they knew. Apparently the voting had not taken place as planned, and no one was willing to move out without putting someone in charge.

  By the end of the day, Doyle had mimicked not only a New England accent, but also perfectly copied accents from Brooklyn and Florida, and another Southern drawl. True to his word, Doyle kept Mina close while he casually talked
to the others. If anyone thought it strange for Mina to be following Doyle around, they didn’t mention it. Once, a red-haired man watched her as Doyle conversed with someone. With a start, she recognized him as the same burly man who had shouted at Jones yesterday. But he had done nothing except eye her, and Mina felt foolish mentioning to Doyle that someone was looking at her, so she said nothing.

  Rumor had it the Glyphs had been less successful at stopping resistance from forming in the mountain forests, and this group planned to join a larger one rumored to be in West Virginia. How or when the rumor came to them, no one could say. In fact, the upcoming vote mainly hinged on this idea. Tensions between front-runners and their followers had caused fights all over the valley. A large faction led by a man named Thompson did not want to go to West Virginia, and planned instead to hide and stay out of trouble. Thompson had quite a following, military and civilians alike. By contrast, the other candidate, Halston, wanted to push on to West Virginia. Where they would go from there, no one knew, but bigger numbers meant a greater chance of success in a fight against the Glyphs.

  “. . . or a greater chance of starvation,” said Doyle as they sat on the ground by the fire that night. The dusting of late spring snow had melted, but the air was still cold.

  “What can they do, really?” asked Mina.

  “Probably nothing except slow the Glyphs down a little. If they had plenty of ammo, and could fight the Glyphs on the ground outside the protection of their ships, they might do some damage. Not enough to win, but they would be a little more evenly matched.” Doyle shook his head. “But it’s all theoretical. We are completely outmatched in terms of technology. They’ll defeat us every time.”

  “So why are we still here? Let’s warn them and leave.”

  Doyle shrugged. “Just because we’re outmatched doesn’t mean we should give up. I thought you would understand that.”

  Mina sighed. “I do.”

  As Mina contemplated crawling into the green one-person tent, Doyle straightened in his seat and moved his hand closer to the knife on his belt. Mina looked around. The red-haired man who had watched Mina earlier was climbing the slope to their campsite. Unperturbed by Doyle’s unwelcoming demeanor, the man crouched with his hands outstretched toward the fire as if they had invited him over.

  “You must be new,” he said without preamble.

  “Yes,” responded Mina.

  “Name’s Williams.”

  Doyle nodded. Taking her cue from him, Mina didn’t say anything else.

  Williams pressed on, “I figured as much when I seen you walk into the camp yesterday. Jones seemed to think you were some kind of military. Came to offer you a welcome drink.” He pulled out a flask and offered it to Mina, who declined with a wave of her hand. Williams smirked and passed the flask to Doyle.

  Doyle put his nose up to it for a whiff, then swirled the flask without drinking as he looked at Williams. “What can we help you with?” Doyle’s accent did not change this time.

  “Seen you walking around today, asking questions, and I came up here to make sure you got all your facts straight.”

  “Which facts?” asked Doyle.

  “Y’all will have heard about the vote. And I just came to warn you there’s some here who are screwing around with the facts. Got everybody in a sweat over what’s going to happen after.”

  “I thought the vote was to decide what happens next.”

  “Wouldn’t count on it.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Oh, I got friends.” Williams scrutinized Doyle as he said this.

  “So someone is planning a coup?”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t take it that far. Let’s just say my buddy Thompson has ways of persuading people to do what he wants. I reckon you want to make sure you are on the right side and all. Being new like you are.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  Williams shrugged. “Just being friendly. Come round tomorrow and meet Thompson. He’s decent folk. Trying to keep people from committing suicide against the Glyphs and everything. That’s what this madness about fighting them is—suicide.”

  Williams smoothed his hair with his hand and caught Mina’s eye. “You could come, too. I could help you get settled in.” He looked back at Doyle. “Pretty woman like that will mean a lot around here.”

  Mina’s face warmed as words spilled out of her incoherently. “I don’t . . . I’m not . . . Doyle doesn’t speak for . . .” Doyle glared at her. Sensing she’d blurted too much, Mina bit her tongue and fumed in silence.

  Doyle stood up and tossed the flask back to Williams. “She’s here with me.” Doyle’s voice carried an edge, but his face looked perfectly smooth.

  Williams stood as well. “Sounds like she don’t know that. I ’spect you’ll think about it and get back to me. I have other commodities to trade, if you don’t like whiskey.”

  “She’s not for trade, for anything. And I better not catch you staring at her again as you did earlier today.”

  Williams face turned red in the firelight. Fresh snow flurries drifted down. “Could be you won’t have no choice with that pretty face an’ all. Lots of guys around here think so. But we’ll see. We’ll see.” He turned and stomped off.

  Mina’s heart beat erratically in her chest. She turned to Doyle. “What did he mean by that?”

  “He’s bluffing,” said Doyle smoothly. “Just wanted to see if he could bully us. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t w—of course I’m going to worry about it!”

  “Mina, something like this was bound to happen. Keep your head and don’t do anything to make them doubt what I just said, okay?”

  “I really don’t like this.” Her skin crawled at the way Williams had looked at her. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so bad about not warning the camp about the Glyphs. A second later she burned with shame. They all wanted to survive. She shouldn’t wish them ill.

  Doyle walked over to sit beside her. For one ridiculous moment, Mina thought he might put his arm around her shoulders, but he merely sat in silence, staring into the fire. She smiled a little, appreciating his small attempt at comfort, but her worries persisted. The Glyphs could be above the clouds right now, waiting to strike while these men milled around below, oblivious to the danger while they played at politics and bargained for women. Despite Doyle’s assurances, the old feeling of despair loomed over Mina’s head, looking for a sign of weakness.

  “Interesting, huh?” asked Doyle. He so rarely started a conversation that his words startled Mina out of her thoughts.

  “Yes. Why did he tell us all that?” she asked. “He doesn’t know anything about us.”

  “Means Thompson still needs supporters. He wants to manipulate us into thinking it’s pointless to vote for the other guy because it won’t matter anyway. And of course, he wanted an excuse to ask about you. Politics at its finest.” Doyle pulled the bark off a small twig.

  Mina’s face turned red again. “As if we care which way the vote goes. It doesn’t concern us.”

  Doyle’s answer was a noncommittal sound, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.

  “Don’t tell me you want to vote.”

  “I’m interested in seeing how things play out, that’s all. I think I’ll go check out this Thompson guy tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  Doyle shrugged and threw the twig into the fire, watching it incinerate.

  “What if Williams is hanging around?”

  “So what? He’s a pawn. Someone to do Thompson’s dirty work.”

  “He’s a pig. Do you think he meant what he said about those other guys?”

  Doyle took his eyes off the fire to look at her. “Probably, but there’s not much we can do about it right now.”

  “Except leave.”

  “Not yet,” he said, staring at the fire again.

  They sat in silence for the rest of the evening. Mina had resolved to sit up and keep an eye out, but more than once she drifted off to sle
ep in the warm glow of the fire. The last time, she jerked upright to stop herself from falling over.

  The corner of Doyle’s mouth twitched. “Get some sleep,” he said. “There’s no need for both of us to be awake.”

  “Are you sure? What if he’s still nearby?”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  Feeling awkward, Mina crawled into the tent behind her but left the flap open. Despite having dozed minutes before, she couldn’t make her eyes close. Doyle sat with his back to her, still staring at the fire. Mina struggled with herself for a moment, remembering her inner promise about asking personal questions. Her curiosity won out.

  “Doyle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How do you change your accent so easily?”

  Doyle replied over his shoulder as he kept his eyes on the fire, “I moved around a lot as a kid. It helped me blend in to new places.”

  But picking up a new accent took time, and to retain old accents and recall them perfectly from memory was no small feat. “Which one is real, then?” asked Mina.

  “Whichever one we need.”

  “Hmph. And you were in the Army? Is that your secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You never asked.”

  “As if you would have told me.”

  Doyle glanced over at her and absently rubbed his chest. He shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

  “We’re in the middle of a freaking alien invasion. How can it not be relevant? Weren’t you helping fight off the Glyphs? What happened? You must have seen things firsthand.” When Doyle didn’t say anything more, she prompted, “Anything else I need to know?”

  “About me? What do you think you need to know?”

  Mina sat up, bumping her head on the top of the tent. “Anything! Where are you from? What did you do before all this? What about your family?”

  “And you need to know this because . . . ?”

  Mina rolled her eyes. “Humor me. Please.”