Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles)

by Jody Wallace

  “As far as I can ascertain, the enforcers have made no move to investigate my crew’s code breaking. The beacons that mark this system as off-limits would have notified the enforcers of our continued violation,” Ship said.

  “Why would you know if they were coming after us?” She inched toward the UO, blaster revved and ready. “You talk about the enforcers like they’re so much more advanced than you that you wouldn’t stand a chance against them.”

  “I do not know,” Ship answered. “But it has been eighteen months and we are surviving unmolested.”

  “Unmolested by your homeland security guys… Wait a minute.”

  A crack appeared near one end of the ship, slowly expanding. Behind the crack was a blackness that churned like shades but…

  A large, pale human stumbled out of the craft. Naked. He landed on his hands and knees in the corn stubble and snow, gasping for breath.

  Blaster hot, she aimed at the figure, but no shades oozed out after him. The crack in the UO remained quiescent. The roiling of the blackness must have been her imagination. Now it just looked dark inside.

  “Hold it right there,” Claire demanded unnecessarily. The man didn’t stand up. He didn’t even lift his head. She scanned him with the sensor array, picking up elevated levels of testosterone and adrenaline—he was afraid.

  But he wasn’t dead. Was this going to be their first save from one of the mysterious shade hits?

  Randall jogged back from the other side of the capsule, instantly on guard against the stranger. He’d been an experienced hunter before the apocalypse, so he was good with guns, but he wasn’t exactly military.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked the stranger warily; he wasn’t the only one on edge. “Were you attacked by shades? Can you tell me what this silver craft is and how you got here?”

  The man didn’t respond. His shaggy blond hair clumped like it hadn’t been washed in ages. Muscles bunched and twitched in a body that seemed to be well honed, not malnourished.

  “I found your life sign,” she told Ship, transmitting the readings via her array. “It’s a naked ass white boy, and I think he’s deaf. Please tell me you’re getting these images, at least.”

  “Not deaf,” the man croaked. So he could talk. “Water. Please.”

  “I’ve got some in the Humvee.” Her sensors continued their probe, assessing the man’s physical condition. Ship would ID the fellow soon enough, but at least he spoke English. She didn’t have many translators at Chanute besides Ship, and using Ship to translate was a pain in everyone’s ass. Ship…paraphrased a lot. “Can you walk or do you need help?”

  “I don’t know.” He rose, shaky and shivering. He stood over six feet, and every inch of him was lean, molded perfection. His cock nested in hair a couple shades darker than the clumps on his head, and not a single blemish marred the surface of his pale skin. In contrast to his impressive physique, he swayed like he was coming off a three-day bender.

  Claire found herself rushing forward to support him and barely stopped herself from grabbing his arms. He could have interpreted that as aggressive. She would have decked any stranger who tried to touch her, especially if she was naked.

  “Did you fly here? Is this some kind of escape pod?” she asked more politely now that she could be pretty sure he wasn’t about to attack. She’d grown more apt to help people since becoming sheriff. All that responsibility changed a woman. Arguably so did becoming a mother, but it wasn’t until she’d founded Camp Chanute along with the rest of her team that her obligations really sank in. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Where’d he come from?” Randall advanced from behind, closing in. If this guy was military, he was bound to react to that.

  He didn’t. He didn’t answer their questions, either. He stood there like an ashen pillar of flesh, shivering. His vitals read as stable on her sensor array, but his core temperature was lower than it should be. For obvious reasons.

  “Check out the inside of the UO, Randall. Carefully. See if he left his clothes in there.”

  Blaster hand aimed in front of him, her less than stealthy deputy tromped through the wide opening of the otherwise nondescript silver object.

  She was curious and worried about the UO, but she was more curious about the stranger. Where had he come from? Why was he naked? He didn’t seem shy about his body—and who would be, with a body like his? But he had to be miserable. “You realize it’s below freezing out here, right?” She shrugged out of her coat and thrust it at him. Winter air cut through her protective tactanium vest and fatigues, but she wasn’t the one who was naked and trembling. “Put this on.”

  Voice still rough and dry, he answered. “Thank you.”

  This close, she could assess him more carefully without getting disrespectful. He was definitely in good shape. His body looked like a fitness photo shoot waiting to happen, minus the oil, but this wasn’t the time and place to ogle. They both held onto the coat a minute—she was a little worried the weight of the parka would pitch him over on his face. “What’s your name?”

  At last he raised his head to look at her.

  Sea-green eyes in a perfectly chiseled face pierced her like the laser beam had pierced the silver UO. Through and through. She felt that gaze in her brain, her gut, and her knees. It zinged with energy. Heat flushed her skin but then dribbled away as recognition struck her.

  She knew that face.

  Everybody on the planet knew that face.

  “I don’t know how I got here,” he said. “I don’t know what my name is.”

  Claire swallowed the hard knot of anger that had risen at the very sight of him.

  “I know what it is.” She released the coat and took a hasty step away from this man, this man who everyone knew was dead. “Your name is Adam Alsing, and you’re a fucking idiot.”

  Chapter Two

  The woman’s scent enveloped him like a lover when he slid into her coat. Cedar and coconuts, maybe. The parka left his legs bare, but at least his ass was covered. Her partner Randall returned and supported him gingerly by the arm as they walked away from the silver pod. Snow and prickly vegetation made every step painful, and thirst clawed his throat.

  Adam Alsing. She said his name was Adam Alsing.

  The name didn’t feel right, but he didn’t have any other suggestions. A spinning panic rose when he considered that he didn’t know who he was or how he’d gotten here, but focusing on sensory details grounded him. The smell of her coat. The fact he did recognize cedar and coconut. The discomfort in his bare feet as he walked. The brightness of the sun on the white snow. It wasn’t familiar, but it wasn’t as strange as not knowing who he was.

  Someone who was a fucking idiot, apparently.

  He cleared his parched throat. “I guess I have amnesia.”

  “If you so say so,” the woman responded. “Anything hurt?”

  “Besides being cold?” He gauged his body. “No.”

  “Did you see any entities in the vicinity?” she asked. The only other thing Adam could hear was the chug of a motor.

  “Entities?” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. I see the two of you.”

  The woman regarded him with a lifted eyebrow. “Okay, then.”

  Randall, who seemed to be a little taller than him, helped him toward a large Humvee. That was the motor noise—it was running. Military issue, not one of the flashier civilian models. However, these people didn’t seem all that military.

  As soon as he thought that, he wondered how he knew about Humvees and militaries, but some knowledge obviously hadn’t been wiped out of him like his own identity. He could also speak English and recognize that it was really stupid to be wandering around naked in the middle of winter.

  Was it winter? Had to be. He shivered. The stabbing pain in his feet dimmed as the freezing snow overwhelmed his nerve endings, turning his legs into one consistent ache from the knees down. He wanted to grab some snow and eat it to relieve h
is thirst, but he doubted that would impress his new friends. He’d wait for the promised water in the vehicle.

  They reached the Humvee. The woman glanced at his hip and groin area, but he didn’t get a sense she was checking him out sexually. “The coat isn’t long enough. You’re gonna want to sit on a towel or something. Hey, Will?”

  “Yeah?” A younger man’s head popped out of the driver’s side window. “Holy shit. Is that really who I think it is?”

  The woman shrugged. “Find him something to put under his ass. We need to get him into the heat and back to the doctors.”

  Will regarded him with amazement, shock, and wariness. “How in the world did he survive?”

  The discomfort on his rescuers’ faces felt about as familiar as the name Adam Alsing. “What did I survive?”

  “Everything from shark attacks to skydiving without a parachute,” the woman said. “About twenty times over.”

  It sounded like a joke, so he ignored it, turning his identity over in his mind like a roast chicken on a spit. The name Adam was both Biblical and presidential. A strong name.

  Did it suit him? Who was he? Who did he think he should be?

  “I’ll answer to Adam, if you like,” he decided. It was better than idiot. “Since you all seem to know me, why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

  Only the woman extended her hand. “Claire Lawson.”

  He took it—warm and strong, lightly callused. It shocked into him like lightning, straight through his feet to the ground.

  Adam stared at their clasped palms and then her face. She was incredibly appealing, with high cheekbones, full lips, dark skin, and a penetrating gaze. His dry throat tightened as her touch cleared the last of the fuzz from his brain. “You know how this works, right?” She pumped his hand a few times, giving his fingers a firm squeeze. Her expression more quizzical now than wary, she’d already shed the shock that the others were radiating. “Shaking hands. Nice to meet you. Blah blah blah.”

  “Sorry.” Belatedly he returned the greeting. “Nice to meet you. Your skin’s really warm, and I’m cold. The contrast is surprising.”

  She disentangled their palms and gestured at the cab of the vehicle. Her blasé attitude reassured him. “Yeah, well, that happens when you’re not wearing pants in the dead of winter. Get in the Humvee and thaw out.”

  He had a brief sense he should be ashamed of his nudity or proud of it, one, but right now he was too cold for either. Will spread a blanket across the front bench seat. Though his feet were blocks of ice, Adam climbed in without assistance, Claire after him. They sat on the blanket with him between Claire and Will. He had to admit, the warm material under his bare ass felt a lot better than the cold seat would have.

  Leather. He knew what leather was, too. Progress.

  She handed him a canteen, which he also recognized, and he drank. The lukewarm water was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

  Post-amnesia, anyway.

  Claire waited until he stopped to breathe. “These guys are Will Croft and Randall Barber. They’re my deputies, and I’m the sheriff of Camp Chanute.”

  The town’s name didn’t ring any bells. “Sheriff Claire Lawson. A lady sheriff.”

  Claire lowered her chin. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I’m just…” When he reflected on it, it wasn’t a problem on the surface that a woman was sheriff, but something inside him whispered it wasn’t typical. That didn’t make sense. This woman was clearly in charge. Would be in charge of anything, anywhere. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  He took another drink to hide his turmoil.

  “Don’t say it again.” Claire cranked the heat on high, and the warm air rushed over his feet like knives. He gritted his teeth, determined not to show pain. These folks already had the advantage—all the advantages. They knew him, while he, it seemed, knew nothing.

  “Ship, have you finished the identification process?” Claire asked aloud, but nobody here was named Ship. Adam regarded her curiously.

  She blinked. Nodded. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Definitely alive. Definitely him. He says he has amnesia.”

  That was when he noticed the thread-thin wire around her short, dark hair. It glowed faintly.

  “Who’s she talking to?” he asked the driver. Claire could hear him—she was watching him out of the corner of her eye—but he didn’t want to interrupt.

  “Probably Ship, but I guess it could be General Nikolas.” Will spared him a quick glance. He wore a black knit cap and small silver hoops in his ears. The tip of a tattoo peeked out of his parka on the back of one dark-skinned hand. “Do you remember the alien invasion? Angels? The apocalypse?”

  Fleeting images of white wings and then…nothing.

  The Humvee chugged across the field, vibrations thrumming through him. They bumped onto a snowy, deserted road, following other tire tracks. He realized the water was empty and screwed the cap on. The scratchiness in his throat eased. Claire continued speaking to whoever was on the other side of her communication device, describing the strange container they’d found him in but not really talking about him specifically.

  “I know what angels are from the Bible, but I don’t remember any aliens or apocalypses.” He clenched a fist. Knowledge he needed to navigate the world, to identify scents and religious symbols and presidents named Adam, came easily to him. His personal history had simply vanished. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “Camp Chanute. It’s about an hour east of Bloomington, Illinois,” Will said. “We have a doctor, Claire’s sister Tracy, but I think Claire’s calling in the big guns.”

  “I don’t like doctors.” That had come from nowhere. Will raised his eyebrows as if waiting for the rest of Adam’s memories to return, but no other preferences awoke. “I’m pretty sure I don’t. But I can understand why I need one.”

  Claire, still talking, leaned forward and tilted another vent toward him. Warm air splashed his face and defrosted his cheeks. “You’ll like this doctor,” she promised. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Getting there.” Everywhere he looked across the snowy, rural landscape, there was no evidence of people. Houses with no lights. Untended fields. Businesses with broken windows, hollow inside or burned down. Cars and tractors covered in snow occasionally dotted the sides of the road.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “Apocalypse,” Will repeated. On Adam’s other side, Claire’s boot brushed his foot. “You really don’t remember?”

  He shook his head. “I’m a citizen of the United States. The president is Augustus Burroughs.” He probed deeper. “I’m vague on the year.”

  “Close enough,” Claire said, though he wasn’t sure it was to him or to the person she was talking to.

  Will tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Burroughs is still in charge. They’re organizing a vote next year, though. Trying to stick with the Constitution and all, and Burroughs’s eight years are nearly up.”

  “What happened?” The single spot of contact between himself and Claire—her boot, his foot—seemed like the most solid point in the universe. A universe that had changed, whirling around him. It would make him dizzy if he weren’t careful. “You said we got invaded by aliens? For real? Little green men?”

  “For real, but no little green men.” Will’s glances grew more sympathetic. “Black blobs called shades, for one. Did you, ah, happen to see any black blobs before we showed up?”

  “Blobs like stains on the ground?”

  “No, more like waist-high, oozing around, smelly as hell, scary black goo-looking shit.”

  “Didn’t see anything like that.” Adam squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember anything.”

  “Right, right.” Will nodded. “We shouldn’t talk about it. You seem like you’re getting freaked out, man.”

  Claire turned in her seat to look him over. “Doesn’t look like he has frostbite. Uh-huh. Sensors say he’s fine.”

  He wasn’t fine. At all.


  “I want to know what’s going on.” He fought the panic, focusing on the here and now. Focusing on the heat vents, on Claire’s throaty voice and her boot. Her black, muddy boot still touched his foot. “I want to know why I’m like this.”

  His body felt like his body. His clenched fingers were his, familiar. He studied his knees, the hair on his legs. Yep. His calves. His knees. The scar from wrecking his bike when he was a kid.

  He ran his finger over his knee and found the scar, remembered crashing into the fence, skidding across the pavement.

  He rubbed his leg, aware that Claire was still watching him. “I have a scar right here from wrecking my bike. But there’s something different about my skin.”

  “You’re white as a fish belly,” Will said. “In your case it would be white as a ghost.”

  “A ghost.” When was the last time he’d gotten any sun? Snippets of memories floated out of reach like party confetti. He imagined himself stretched out on a beach, hot rays on his flesh, turning him bronze. People in bathing suits surrounded him. A different world. “Because everything thinks I’m dead.”

  “Pretty sure you’re not a zombie,” Will said cheerfully. “You’re not bursting into flames in the daylight. Leaves out vampire, too.”

  Adam frowned. “Zombies and vampires are real?”

  Claire reached forward and smacked the dash, getting the driver’s attention. “Don’t even think about it, Will. What? No. Sorry, Sarah, just keeping our resident comedian in line.”

  Will laughed. “No, they’re not. I’m pulling your leg. So that thing you came out of—the silver thing. Rocket?”

  “I don’t know.” Adam shifted uncomfortably. “I was suffocating, and then I found somewhere I could breathe. I found the snow and the daylight.”

  Will navigated through a shallow gully, where a small bridge had crumbled under the road. “I wonder if it was some kind of healing chamber or stasis pod. What’s the last thing you remember before we found you?”