by Alisha Rai
James’s breath hitched in her ear as she played the light over the far east side of the large room. She played dumb. “What?”
“Walk closer,” he said slowly.
She obeyed, the thought of James’s pleasure making her grin like a fool. When she’d been a kid, before the virus had, you know, destroyed the planet and all, this was how she’d felt on Christmas morning, presenting her troubled mama with some macaroni necklace she’d spent hours slaving over. The walls were lined with bookshelves which housed…
“Books,” he said, his tone reverent. Jules didn’t know if he spoke to her or himself.
“An I’m sorry present. And happy early birthday too. Next week, right? Thirty’s a big number.”
He was silent for a second. “Jules.”
The one word was so laden with emotion she tripped over her own tongue to launch into speech.
“I know it isn’t much, but after you told me how your dad used to take you to the library when you were a kid and you haven’t seen a real book since you went underground, I thought you would like to maybe…and then I saw the sign for the university—”
“Jules, shut up.” The caressing tone muted her way more effectively than the actual words of the command. “You remembered my birthday?”
“Funny how it comes around every year like that.” He’d abruptly announced it last year. That in and of itself had been unusual enough for her to make a note of it. Until then, though they’d been connected to each other for a solid month, he hadn’t volunteered any personal information about himself during their cool, no-nonsense exchanges.
She’d reciprocated, for some reason, and told him hers. And then, a few months ago, he’d surprised her with a birthday present. Not with cake or balloons, or even a stripper dressed like—well, him, or whatever she imagined he looked like. Nope, he’d given her something even more valuable.
When she got to the outpost he’d directed her to outside of San Diego, she’d been expected. She didn’t know what James had told them, but instead of handing her the usual supply of rations and some intel, the soldiers had shown her to a small room with a hard, narrow cot and a leaking roof.
Three heavily armed and trained soldiers had patrolled the perimeter of the outpost that night, while another two sat inside the building. It had been the first decent night’s sleep she’d received since she’d started patrolling, a solid twelve hours of bliss.
So she’d been mulling over what she could do for her boss/partner/fantasy lover for the past couple days. The broken-down sign for the university had been like a godsend. Libraries had gone mostly digital pre-virus, but not the ones inside of schools. She wasn’t the most empathetic of people, but even she’d picked up on the nostalgia in his voice when they’d been chatting during a particularly long, lonely day of exploring. I can get almost any book I want electronically through our archives, but what I wouldn’t give to walk through stacks of books again.
Plus, she owed him for what she’d put him through today.
“I love it. It’s the nicest present I’ve ever received.”
The flutter of her heart had her pressing her hand to her chest. “Great. Good. I’m happy to hear that. And we’re cool?”
“We’re always cool, Jules. I was—” He cut himself off. He did that a lot, stopped, thought and then spoke with deliberation. He was a thinker, her guy. “I was worried about you. I don’t want to think of you all alone out there.”
But she was always alone. Except for James. Which was fine with her. She did better on her own.
Sure, she supposed Sanctuary and the outposts scattered around California were some safety net, but the state was huge. She wasn’t always in shouting distance of someone.
She could have told him that, but somehow she knew it would only upset him to have his illusion of her security shattered.
“I guess you should get going. I want you to make Denver before nightfall.”
“You don’t want to see them up close?”
“Oh, no, it’ll take too much time…”
James wasn’t the only one who could tell when someone was fibbing. She walked over to a shelf. Some of the books had not fared well. “Can you see okay?”
“Yeah.” It didn’t seem as though he had noticed the less-than-perfect condition of the books. “When I was a child, my favorite smell was a new book. Better than a new car.”
The smell of mildew was pretty strong here, but she wouldn’t be telling him that.
“Touch them for me.” James’s whisper started a tingle in her abdomen that was as worrisome as heart flutters.
She wore combat boots and carried a big knife, for fuck’s sake. She had no time for flutters and tingles. You should remember that before you go giving sappy presents.
She propped her blade against the bookshelf and wiped her hands on her pants before running her finger along the spines of the closest leather-bound volumes. They appeared elegant with the gold embossed writing. In contrast, her hand looked stubby and mannish with its bitten-off nails and scars.
“Pick one up. Please.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips and pulled a book off the shelf. His breathing stuttered before accelerating. It took a rare man to have an orgasm over books.
Granted, maybe normal people did react like this. In her old life, pre Illness—it seemed a lifetime ago, and not just three years—she’d been more concerned about petty fights and getting her next fix than reading. Hell, she hadn’t even graduated high school.
Since coming to Sanctuary, she’d tried to make up for her lack of education by devouring knowledge from whoever she came across, but she was pretty sure book smarts would never be her strong suit. Meanwhile, all James had to do was open his mouth for a person to know how brainy he was. Sometimes she marveled that they could carry on the conversations they did.
She hefted the sturdy weight of the book. It felt both familiar and foreign—her hands were more used to balancing a blade than books. She turned it over in her hands. “Robert Frost.”
“I love old American poetry. Can you open it?” He sounded like a kid catching sight of real sugar. His excitement sent another pang of warmth through her. She opened the book, letting her fingers slide over the title page and binding. It was tattered but in remarkably good condition, having resisted the mold and mildew and decay that hung in the air. It wasn’t a first edition or anything so fancy as that, but even she could appreciate the crisp and foreign feel of paper under her fingers.
“I wish I could feel it,” her handler murmured. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” This wasn’t the first physical book she’d seen in her travels since the Illness, but it was the first she’d seen through James’s reverent, starved eyes.
Steadfast rocks didn’t roam. They stayed in one place. Safe, but missing out on some fun.
“Can you flip through the pages?”
The words slid in front of her too fast to identify and read. She stopped when she came to a small, hard, cardboard piece stuck between the pages. She fleetingly wondered over the last person who had held this book. Had it been a woman? A man? A student?
Curious on her own part now, she shone the light on the words, her mouth moving as she silently read.
His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “I have outwalked the furthest city light…”
“I have been one acquainted with the night,” she whispered the final line along with him.
“God, it’s so beautiful.”
She inhaled. “Mmm. Yeah. It’s a pretty poem.” Maybe that wasn’t the most insightful comment, but it had been pretty. She didn’t have enough pretty in her life that she could afford not to appreciate the few pieces that trickled through.
“Truly, this was the best present ever.” His voice dropped, became husky. “You have no idea what you’ve given me.”
Funny. It was like she’d been given the gift. She studied the bookshelves in front of her and wondered what each of those books held.
The sun was starting to set outside and the autumn wind was picking up. Somewhere up on the roof, a tree scraped a sad tune. She didn’t need to go back to the other building to see the bodies, the heads scattered like a pulled-apart doll. “One of the Shadows I killed here had blue eyes.”
He didn’t skip a beat at the abrupt change of subject. His voice, as always, was gentle. Steady. “Recently turned.”
“Yes. She was barely a teen. Might have parents.” Odds were low the girl had come from a great distance away. Shadows didn’t have the brainpower for cars or bikes. They loped when they wanted to travel, and were single-mindedly focused on feeding after they first rose, so she couldn’t have come very far in a few nights.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jules, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re thinking it’s a damn shame we don’t have the resources to get to all humans before the Shadows or death do. You’re always pushing to do more than you or anyone is able to do. That’s why you set out on your own across three states when I was stupid enough to mention we were sending a group of soldiers to Cheyenne Mountain to see what was going on over there.”
“I’m no hero, Bennett.”
“No, but I’d say your hero complex is nice and well-developed, Guerrero.”
She rubbed her thumb over the embossed title of the cover. She couldn’t allow him to keep thinking this was some sort of noble, disinterested move. “I came to Cheyenne for a reason. I wouldn’t come all this way on some whim.”
“Oh?”
“When Timothy was dying, his nurse told me he kept mumbling about Erik and ‘the Cheyenne’. It made no sense to me then. I thought he was hallucinating about a tribe or something.” Timothy had been a former soldier who, along with Erik, had done his best to turn Sanctuary into a crude haven for humans when they’d lost all communication with the rest of the government bases. After Erik had disappeared, Timothy had denied knowing where the other man had gone and had taken over until James and the rest of the crew at Raven Rock reestablished contact. Even then he’d remained in charge of operations at their base until his sickness and death last month.
Jules didn’t want to believe Timothy had lied about knowing where Erik was. She was hoping his rambling had been just that.
“When I told you yesterday that we were investigating the fate of any remaining survivors at Cheyenne Mountain…”
“It makes sense that he would have tried to go there for help. Erik was a civilian, so maybe he wouldn’t have known about the plan to split the government up, half to Raven Rock and half to Cheyenne Mountain. But Timothy was probably high enough up the chain to know. He could have told him. And Erik would have run here, because we were hungry and scared.” It was the first lead she’d had in almost eighteen months, and damn it, she was taking it.
“So you took off because of Erik? Jesus—”
She tried to head off his irritation. There weren’t many more gifts she could lay at his feet. “I figured this would be perfect. I could check out the place with a troop of well-armed soldiers. I have my own set of skills. I would be help, not dead weight.”
“Congratulations. That’s the same argument I made to Gabriel when he asked why I suddenly decided you were a vital part of this operation.”
The guilt of being the reason he was lying to his superior hit her like a whip. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “And we’re back to square one. Jules. Honey. We don’t know what’s going on at Cheyenne, but Erik’s been gone for almost two years. I understand he was important to you, but you can’t put yourself in danger to go chasing after rumors.”
“I don’t have anything else to go on.”
“Don’t sound like that. Don’t cry.”
Her eyes were dry, but her spirit did feel heavy with melancholy. If she could cry right now, she would. “I’m not. If you only knew—I have to do this.”
“Yeah. I know. No hero complex, huh?”
A tickle of laughter warmed her. “Not at all.”
He let out a groan. “I’d like to talk about this some more, but you need to hit the road.”
“I’ve got to get rid of the bodies first. Can’t leave a contaminated scene out here.”
“But then you won’t get to Denver tonight.”
“The envoy from your neck of the woods won’t be there until tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. They’re scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then I’ll bed down here and head on out in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“No choice, it seems. Don’t worry, I know this is my first time out in the big bad world, but I can’t imagine things are so different here. It’s not like Cali is so damn civilized or anything.” The state was too large and had been too well populated for an uneventful post-Illness world. Sometimes she felt like she could patrol the same square mile and find new Shadows or some human hidden away that she’d previously missed.
“One thing is different. No one who can get to you reasonably quickly if you need them. No outposts or Sanctuary.”
“What would I need? I can take care of myself. Now don’t waste my time arguing.”
“Fine. Find someplace safe to sleep tonight. Check it carefully.”
“I will.”
“Don’t waste the remaining precious daylight scouting for humans. I don’t care if you have a hunch your recently turned Shadow’s parents are in the next neighborhood. And if you do see any, remember not to go running right up to them. Scope them out and make sure they don’t wish you ill.”
“Yes, James.” Lord, was he going to go over all her training again? She picked up her blade.
“Call me if you need anything. I’m always here.”
Yes. He was. “Sure thing, don’t fret.”
His tone dripped with disdain. “Fretting is for old women, not fit, wildly brilliant young men at the height of their physical stamina.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Eat something. You’re skin and bones.”
“Goodbye, James.”
The smile in his voice warmed her. “Bye, Jules.”
There was no magic poof to tell her that he was no longer with her, but she knew. She felt empty and tired. She replaced the book back on the shelf as carefully as if a crusty librarian were going to show up and cluck at her for putting it in the wrong place.
She really ought to burn the bodies of the Shadows she’d killed, but she wasn’t certain she had the time to drag them all out of the building. The burning wasn’t to make sure the things stayed dead, but more out of concern over the infectious, untreatable virus the Shadows transmitted through their bite. No one had, as far as Jules knew, ever contracted the sickness from a dead Shadow, but overkill was the name of the game, until someone could develop a vaccine.
Jules made the sign of the cross as she passed the building that had become the Shadows’ final grave. In the parking lot, she took a minute to spray her blade with flammable liquid and struck a match. The blaze licked along the long blade, cleansing it and purging it of impurities. She had a gun, but she had always preferred the efficiency and security of steel. You could run out of bullets, but you couldn’t run out of a blade. Plus, bullets only worked against the Shadows if they went right in the brain. Hardy little bastards could still attack while they bled out from other, less mortal wounds. She hit the switch on the side of the handle. With a couple of clicks, the blade folded up into the leather hilt.
She had disturbing fantasies of dousing entire cities with fire, destroying the Shadows completely. Sick, horrible fantasies she chalked up to her messed-up mind.
Practically, she knew that would also kill her mission objective, which was, as James had reminded her, search and rescue with a side dish of combat. Plus, if they took out a few of the Shadows, all the better, but this first stage of protecting their race was all about getting their feet back under them. TPTB
wanted the remaining infrastructure intact whenever possible, for humankind’s triumphant return to civilization once the threat was eradicated.
Every day she wondered more and more if that would ever happen.
She was about to get into her large utility van when she made the mistake of glancing back at the library.
Calling herself all kinds of foolish—she still needed to find a safe place to rest for the night, and the sun would set soon—she jogged back inside. Pulling the Frost book from the shelf, she tucked it under her arm and dashed back to her van. Traveling light was a necessity in her world.
Touch them.
She pushed the book gently into her sack before starting the engine.
Chapter Two
James flexed the fingers on his right hand, wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually feel what Jules felt. Her voice rang in his head, that inexplicably beautiful voice, melodic and soothing. He loved hearing the reverberation and rise and fall of her tone. When she’d stroked her fingers over the book, the calluses and scars had caught his eye. The hands of a killer and the voice of a poet.
James shook his head to get rid of the fanciful thought. He’d been having far too many of them in the last few weeks. Months. Year.
He certainly didn’t banter or flirt with any of the other intelligence agents. There weren’t many—his resources were limited insofar as creating surveillance equipment, and very few people, understandably, were comfortable in going off to explore on their own. Still, he had about half a dozen or so agents here in the Northeast whom he’d actually met at Camp David. There were even a couple of attractive females around his age.
But, no, he had to go and fall for the scrappy girl who had been one of a few running daring and borderline suicidal rescue missions for West Coast’s Sanctuary when they’d reestablished communication.
Jules could deny it, but she did have a hero complex. They’d learned that the Sanctuary residents had a very Wild-West style, don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in place, so not much was known about any of their backgrounds, Jules included. From working with her so closely, he knew she’d had a troubled past that had been marred by violence. There was a reason she could fight Shadows harder and better than most men who had been trained as soldiers. Only someone who had personally fought in the streets could be that adept and comfortable with their fists and knives.