Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  My mind follows, collapsing under the weight of all the thoughts I’ve managed to keep behind a locked door.

  Another shuddering wave rocks me. My chest contracts, causing me to inhale all the air in the room in one huge gulp, then letting it out in a barely repressed wail. I call out his name between sobs. In the last few hours, the world has become unbearable but, for me, without him, it’s more than that.

  It is agony.

  I’m split in two—one part of me dead and the other one in total anguish, wishing to also die, but staying alive just to honor Xave’s memory.

  I yearn for sleep and, when it doesn’t come, for Kristen’s sedatives. The street, the motel, the room are quiet, and I wish I could step outside, out of my own head—to a place where a stream of random thoughts isn’t necessary to live under the light, where hunting specters don’t try to imprison you during every waking moment.

  I am one hundred percent awake. Time ticks by and by. My eyes are wide-open and dry.

  A light knock at the door makes my blood go cold.

  Before my heart finishes its next beat, I’m on my feet, eyes darting around the room.

  The lamp!

  I grab it and pull it hard enough to wrench the cord off the wall. I throw the small shade on the bed.

  No one knows I’m here. No one but the guy at the counter—the tattooed, hippie-looking man who checked me in. He wasn’t infected. He was riveted, watching the news on a small TV, biting his fingernails off, but he isn’t one of them.

  “Marci,” a stage whisper from outside the door.

  What? Is that—?

  “It’s Aydan. Open the door.”

  My heart climbs into my throat. If anyone could have tracked me here, it’s Aydan. But why? I walk to the door, lamp in hand, tiptoeing on the worn carpet. My heads begins to buzz. I look through the peephole and catch a glimpse of his profile.

  “Hey, I know you’re in there,” he says.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, suspicion building and building against my will.

  My hands tingle as adrenaline bursts through my veins, because a new realization just hit me: how can I, after what has happened, trust anyone who makes my head buzz? How can I let Aydan, Rheema, Kristen, and James get close again? How? Yes, I’ve trusted them all along. I fought beside them and wanted to do it again, but that was before the world tipped on its head and left us grasping at straws. Eklyptors are out there now, acting with impunity, infecting humans and confronting their own about faction allegiances. What if someone got to Aydan?

  How can I tell monster from friend anymore?

  “Damn it, let me in before someone sees me!” he says.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Really?! Open the door. You’re gonna get me killed.”

  “We’re not supposed to meet till tomorrow. How do I know you’re not—?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  I say nothing, which is answer enough to show him I am serious. The peephole obscures a little as he leans forward and presses his forehead to the door.

  “I guess you’re just going to have to trust me,” he says. “Kristen has a test for it, but it’s not the pee-on-a-stick kind of test. It takes blood and a microscope and who knows what else, so just open the freakin’ door, all right?”

  My hand grasps the doorknob and sits there for a moment, unmoving.

  “If you don’t open the door, I’ll leave, okay? Then James can send whoever else is stupid enough to come get you.”

  “He sent you?” I ask.

  Aydan doesn’t answer. Does he really think I’m being unreasonable? He would probably do the same thing, if he was in my position. I look through the peephole again. Nothing, just the empty parking lot and the lonely night. He’s gone. I fling the door open, stick my head out and look right and left.

  “Hey!” I mock-whisper.

  Aydan looks over his shoulder and gives me a tired look. He turns and walks back. “I suppose the entire place knows we’re here, now,” he sneers as he walks in the room, his eyes drifting toward my motorcycle.

  I close the door and twist the bolt. “Why did you come? Did James really send you?”

  He looks at the room, a neutral expression on his face. He’s wearing his typical black jeans and black shirt, a perfect match for his jet black hair and eyes. His pale skin stands out against all that dark. I guess sitting all day in front of a computer doesn’t help his complexion in the least.

  “I tracked you to the café. You were sloppy covering your trail,” he says.

  “I didn’t think I needed to worry about you but, clearly, I was wrong.”

  He keeps going as if I haven’t said a thing. “But you were already gone. Then I went by your house, but you weren’t there either. No one was there, as a matter of fact.”

  I walk to the bed and sit down, my familiar Aydanphobia growing by the second. “Yeah, both my mother and brother are Eklyptors now,” I say.

  “Your mom?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, making it clear I don’t want to talk about it.

  He nods, then asks. “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, I thought you might try to hop on our network again, and I was right. You did. So I tracked you a second time and, now, here I am.”

  “In all your glory,” I mumble and roll my eyes.

  “I came to get you. Like I said, James sent me.”

  I frown. “You could’ve just called, texted, emailed. Why come all the way out here.”

  “Um, James didn’t want to take a risk and have you go out by yourself.”

  I scoff. “I can take care of myself. So he really sent you? He wants me back in the team?” I hate how hopeful and pathetic I sound.

  “Yeah,” he says, but it sounds more like “duh”.

  “He kicked me out, Aydan,” I remind him. “Twice.”

  “He didn’t. Before, he was just mad at you for being so careless and not telling him about your brother. Can you blame the guy? After … the nightclub and … you know … he was glad you were there to help. But, with what you were going through, he just thought you needed to rest. Get your mind off things for a bit before coming back.”

  “Did he say that?” I hate how much I care about James’s opinion. I hate that I admire him and want to impress him, especially when he can be so inflexible and set in his ways. I wish I didn’t give a damn. Besides, it’s a stupid question. He told me that. I was too busy being dense.

  Aydan walks to my bike and pats its leather seat. “He worries about you, Marci. Worries about all of us, but he’s especially protective toward you. Yes, he did say that. He also wanted me to do some reconnaissance. See what the situation is like out in the streets. I hacked into the traffic system and navigated my way around using their cameras. I was able to avoid the worst areas.”

  Smart. Not sure I would have thought of that one and, even though it makes me hate him a little more, it also gives me a twinge of admiration for him.

  He shakes his head. “It’s messed-up. As soon as people heard of the chaos on the news, a bunch of them took to the streets like it was Black Friday or something. The idiots try to score a TV and end up with more than they bargain for.” Aydan taps his temple. “I guess Eklyptors were counting on some trying to profit from the mess. All of downtown is out of control, Pacific Place, the shops by Rainier Square, Pikes Place … people went to raid those and it was like a big trap. Tons just got snatched and, well, I’m sure the bastard Spawners will have a busy night infecting people. At this rate, half of Seattle will be taken over in a week. From there, it can only get worse.”

  “What are we gonna do? Does IgNiTe have a plan? They must.” In spite of my need for answers, I try to relax. I don’t have to fight alone anymore. James wants me back.

  “I don’t know. He talked to us today and said that things are much worse than any of the IgNiTe leaders around the world had anticipated. I mean, we kne
w Eklyptors were getting ready for something like this, but no one suspected it would happen so soon and on such a global scale. We knew they were organized, but this … this is beyond what anyone expected. We have to regroup, have to figure out what we’re going to do to fight them. Apparently, IgNiTe lost two of its cells tonight in Austin and Barcelona. The Eklyptor factions there knew about them and blew up their headquarters even before all hell broke loose.”

  I rake trembling fingers into my hair, hoping to calm the nervous tingling in my scalp. This sounds really bad. It’s not just any nightmare. It’s a hellish ride designed by the devil himself who, by the way, is laughing all the way to the bank. Because the madness is collective: a vicious psychosis of the highest stakes. So why wouldn’t he?

  Aydan walks to the other end of the bed and sits, elbows on knees, head between his hands. He heaves a sigh and turns to face me. “Are you all right?” His dark eyes search mine. His gaze is intense and heavy, almost like a touch. There’s nothing superficial about his question. He truly wants to know and is demanding a real answer, not something off-hand.

  What the hell? Aydan has always been a jackass to me, pedantic, arrogant, with a holier-than-thou attitude that makes me want to strangle him. So this new side … it’s really throwing me for a loop. They say bad times bring the best out in people and maybe it’s true. Maybe now I just have to decide if I’m capable of forgetting the times he acted like I was dirt on his shoe.

  I’m tempted to reciprocate his past behavior, to snub him and tell him to bug off. But when I open my mouth to speak, I can’t do it.

  Instead, I offer him a noncommittal truth. “I’ve been better.”

  He presses his lips in a thin line, making them go as pale as the rest of his face. He appears unsatisfied by my answer and looks as if he’ll press me further. After a moment, though, he nods and seems to decide that, given everything, this is actually a civilized answer, even more than he deserves. Okay, maybe he doesn’t think that, but I certainly do. I’m all for getting along, but if he turns out to be one of those neurotic people who suffers from severe mood swings, I’m not going to put up with that.

  “We should leave.” He stands. “The Tank will be safer and I’m sure there’ll be plenty for us to do.”

  I put on my leather jacket and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “How did you get here? Car? I can follow you on my bike.”

  “Would you be opposed to leaving it here? My car is rigged with a laptop. You can look at the traffic to help me navigate. It would be faster and safer that way. It’s a good thing the cameras are still running. Although that surely means Eklyptors in high places.”

  I look toward my bike longingly. I’d like to take it with me, but I guess Aydan’s right. “Okay. The room is paid for two weeks, so I can get it later.”

  “Good.” He walks to the window and peeks outside. “Do you have the DNA samples?” he asks without looking back.

  “They’re in my backpack.”

  “The coast looks clear. Let’s go.”

  And with that, we step out into the night where, more than ever, the shadows seem to possess a life of their own. We walk briskly to his car, a small VW Jetta. The air is crisp and charged with a strange silence that makes me feel desolate. In my mind, I imagine the terrified cries of an entire city riding the wind, desperately casting outward in hopes of reaching someone who can deliver them from evil.

  It hurts to think that, at the moment, no one can.

  Chapter 22

  We’ve made it to downtown where, from what I gather, the bulk of the mayhem is concentrated. As we head south, the entire length of Westlake Avenue looks deserted: an odd sight. We pass The Westin hotel with its two cylindrical towers and cross under the inert-looking monorail. Signs for parking, rental car places, pharmacies, and other businesses shine in all their rainbow neon glory. In the quiet, I can almost hear their electric hum. Aydan’s hands grip the wheel in a way that would make any Driver’s Ed teacher proud. He’s leaning forward, staring fixedly at the road, the way old people do.

  “What next?” he asks.

  I look away from him, stare back at the laptop. It’s mounted on a swivel on the center console. He said it’s detachable, that he rigged it a while back as a custom navigation system.

  “There’s no activity on this road as far as the traffic cameras are concerned,” I say.

  My hands are sweating. I wipe them on my pants. “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Shut up,” he says—not meanly, though, but in a you-read-my-mind kind of way which makes me even more worried. Maybe James is right and these bad feelings are truly premonitions.

  We pass a few intersections, ignoring their traffic lights. They continue to function, shining red-yellow-green against the night sky, as if nothing has happened and the hustle and bustle of the city is the same as it was yesterday. I imagine ghost cars waiting for pedestrians to cross, then speeding up when it’s their turn to go. In my mind, I picture Seattle vibrant and active, and try to ignore the terrifying idea that the city I love is lost forever.

  A west-bound breeze blows with enough force to make the stoplights sway and creak on their wires. Aydan drives, ignoring all rules as if they never existed, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. They tighten every time he runs a red light. This sudden lawlessness unnerves him as much as it unnerves me.

  “Crap!” he exclaims, startled.

  My heart jumps. I look up and follow his gaze. A tall man in a long, black coat is walking up to the edge of the sidewalk a few yards ahead.

  “He just came out of there.” Aydan points at a three-story, brick building with a copper-plated awning over its large glass door.

  The man is alone. No other sign of life around him. As we drive past him, my head buzzes. Aydan looks straight ahead, but I make eye contact. The man stares at me, unsmiling, then taps the side of his nose with a forefinger. He watches us as we move away. I crane my neck and stare backward until I lose sight of him.

  I face the front with a sigh of relief. Aydan and I exchange a look.

  “Assholes,” he says.

  “We should turn coming up. Let me double check.” With a few clicks on the touchpad, I open the feed for the nearest cameras. Grainy black and white images show me our route. “Three streets ahead take a left. It still looks clear, as far as I can tell.”

  We’re still a few miles from IgNiTe’s headquarters, and every single one feels like a thousand.

  Aydan taps his turning signal, then snorts. “A turning signal, ha! ’Bout as useful as a two-digit password.”

  He smiles a crooked grin I’ve never seen before. His lower lip trembles, revealing his nerves. What a geeky comment. Still, I smile, because he’s right. Short passwords are absolutely useless.

  Aydan turns the corner, craning his neck even more. My eyes do a quick sweep of the street. It’s empty. I exhale with relief. Tapping on the keyboard, I see what other cameras are available.

  “A few more minutes and we’ll be there,” I say. “I really—”

  The car comes to a sudden stop with a screech of breaks.

  I jerk forward and have to brace a hand against the dashboard. “What the hell?!”

  I blink, wishing I didn’t have to see what made Aydan stop, but what choice do I have? I look up. Three shapes stand in the middle of the road, about forty yards away. They all wear long coats and stand legs apart, like gunslingers in a ghost town.

  Cursing, Aydan whips his head back and puts the car in reverse. Before he has time to press on the gas, though, a large, red truck rounds the corner and blocks our way.

  “Shit!” Aydan shifts gears again. “There’s a gun in the glove compartment, but maybe we won’t need it. Maybe they’ll let us pass if we tell them we’re in the Whitehouse faction.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I say. “Run them over.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I think—”

  But before he finishes
the sentence, there’s a loud crack and the driver side window explodes into a million pieces. A pair of thick hands wrap around his neck and yank him out of the car as if he were made out of virtual bits.

  “NO!” I try to grab one of his legs, but he’s gone too fast. I stare for an instant, open-mouthed and unsure of what to do, then my reflexes kick into gear and I’m moving, hands opening the glove box and gripping the weapon.

  I throw the door open and jump outside. Holding the gun above the car’s roof, I aim it at Aydan’s attacker, the Jetta between us.

  “Let go of him, you asshole!” I order, my voice firm, like I mean it when, in truth, I’m shaking inside. “What the hell’s the matter with you? We’re on the same team,” I bluff. They stare at me with mocking expressions, don’t even bother to pull any weapons out.

  Condescending bastards. I only hope I have the chance to teach them a little respect.

  Aydan struggles, clawing at the massive arm around his neck.

  “Are we?” the guy asks in a deep voice that seems to rumble like the engine in an old car.

  Two more guys join him, then a third one—the same one we saw a few blocks away and seems to have been driving the truck that blocked our way. All four of them are in their early thirties and look perfectly normal—no claws, no fangs, no scaly skin—just normal as far as steroid-ridden, meatheads is concerned. They defer to the one choking Aydan; he’s their leader, I suppose.

  “If we’re on the same team, why didn’t you lovely kids get the memo then?” He tightens his grip around Aydan’s neck and sniffs his hair, nostrils opening wide at the inhale.

  I curse inwardly, wishing I knew what he was talking about, but the best I can do is keep on bluffing. “Who gives a crap about memos?” I sneer, focusing my aim, wondering if I could hit the guy without hurting Aydan.

  “You should,” he says. “Who are you with?”