Night Forbidden

by Joss Ware

  She chuckled and left her fingers beneath his feather-light stroking. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

  Before he could respond, an unusual sound caught his attention and Fence turned as Vaughn rose to his feet. A man and woman were hurrying across the tavern with an air of urgency, and Vaughn moved to meet them.

  Immediately, Fence shifted from flirtation to high alert. Almost everyone stopped what they were doing, watching and listening from their tables. With a quickly murmured, “Excuse me,” he got to his feet and wended his way toward Vaughn, catching bits of whispered conversation as he went:

  “ . . . zombies?”

  “ . . . better check on the kids, Maddy . . .”

  “ . . . tiger attack last week . . .”

  “ . . . at the gate? Don’t they have guards . . .”

  Fence wasn’t surprised that no one seemed concerned enough to mention the Strangers. But that was because most of the people in the room—hell, most of the people everywhere, both in Envy and outside of its walls—had no idea what sort of threat the Strangers were.

  Most of them had no idea that the teens Fence, Elliott, and the others had rescued from the zombies were about to be sold into slavery to the Strangers—for everything from breeding purposes to hard labor. And that Jade had spent five years in captivity with one of the three leaders of the Strangers, and seen and experienced a variety of horrors at their hands. Most important of all, other than the members of the Resistance, no one realized that this group of immortals had somehow been involved with the Change fifty years ago, and would do anything necessary to keep their mortal counterparts from banding together and becoming strong again.

  Even now, decades after the beginning of the twenty-first century, people still lived in blissful ignorance of the evils that went on around them. They still believed lies that were told to them over and over until somehow they became truths. What you don’t know will, yes, indeed, hurt you.

  Fence shivered. There were times when he wished he didn’t know the truth himself. Knowing that the very same people who’d caused widespread devastation still lived, still walked on this soil and pretended to be like everyone else, was almost too much to bear. These people had destroyed his family, his friends, and everyone and everything he had ever known.

  It killed him that he hadn’t been able to do anything about it yet. None of them had. The Resistance was still young, and out of necessity a carefully kept secret. Although, now that Quent had stolen the crystal right from under the inner circle of the Elite, Fence wasn’t certain how much longer they would remain secret.

  As he approached, Vaughn was saying, “You found something on the beach?”

  The woman replied, “Yes, washed up there. We thought you should know. It’s really odd-looking.”

  “We’d better take a look.”

  Fence turned as he saw the sun goddess out of the corner of his eye. She’d stood, along with her friends, and, like everyone else in the room, seemed to be listening intently.

  “Looks like something strange washed up on the shore,” Vaughn said to him. “You coming?”

  “Damn straight.” Despite the fact that the very word “shore” sent a little ripple of awareness through him, Fence was game. As long as he didn’t have to get into the ocean, it’d be cool.

  The mayor’s words seemed to be an invitation for several other people to rise from their chairs and start to filter from the pub. Obviously, entertainment was cheap here in Envy.

  Fence turned to see the sun goddess inching her way awkwardly around the table, squeezing between chairs and the wall, and he waited for her to come around.

  “How about we check out whatever this is, then we do a little dancing under the moonlight?” he said with his slow smile. “I could teach you how to fence, and maybe you’ll figure out my nickname.”

  The words had just come out of his mouth, and they were still hanging there between them when he noticed the funny way she was moving, even now that she’d emerged from behind the table. Then he saw her leg, bared by the cargo shorts she wore.

  Oh my God.

  Mangled was an understatement, for that implied fresh wounds. But whatever had happened to make her thigh and calf look like that, twisted and deformed, her foot curled at an awkward angle and clearly impossible to dance on—let alone to fence—had happened a long time ago.

  Fence swallowed, words suddenly disappearing from his mind. He felt like a damn fool. “I—uh,” he began. “Here, let me help you,” he said, offering her his arm.

  As soon as the words came out, he realized it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

  Ana couldn’t help the flare of annoyance, and she knew it showed on her face. “I’m fine, I don’t need your help,” she said, knowing, too, that the words came out sounding sharper than they should have.

  The guy—Fence—had a stricken expression on his handsome face, and she felt a twinge of sympathy that his easy, flirtatious mood had disintegrated into shock and embarrassment. But not too much. He was clearly an expert at this game, and much as she’d enjoyed the interlude, she had more important concerns than this guy’s ego.

  On the shore. Washed up on the shore.

  Worry propelled her to navigate past him, inelegant as she always was when on two feet, and she brushed against his arm. Further annoyance that he hadn’t given her enough space, and that her own shortcomings made her less than graceful, made her movements even sharper and more labored.

  For pity’s sake. She rarely noticed the awkwardness of her own body anymore; after all, she’d lived with her injury for more than twelve years. She didn’t even try to hide it under jeans or pants; she wore whatever was comfortable—even if it showed all of the puckered mess. Over the years, she’d gotten used to men who wouldn’t come near her once they saw the scars, or others who treated her like an ailing child, and even those who thought she was desperate and would be easily intimidated once they got her in a dark corner. As if she would settle for assholes like them.

  Now, all of a sudden, this big hulk of a man with his wide, white smile had teased her into a warm flirtation, and then with a mere offer of assistance plunged her into a sea of ineptitude.

  “Excuse me,” she said, pushing on with her uneven gait. She could move quickly when and if she needed to, and although it wasn’t a pretty sight, her mobility was efficient.

  She felt Fence behind her, which made her feel even more awkward, damn him. As if she either needed to rush—although she was moving at a good pace—or that he was there, hovering behind, as if waiting for her to fall so he could catch her.

  Ana ignored him. She’d made an excuse to her friends that she needed to go to the restroom, hoping they wouldn’t follow her outside to the beach.

  Washed up on the shore.

  It could be anything. It was probably nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be concerned about.

  But if it had to do with the sea, she’d recognize it. And . . . things had been odd out there lately. There was something unsettled about the ocean, deep in its cold, dark depths. She knew her, the Sea, the way she knew her own body. And if something was wrong, if She’d spewed something out that was cause enough for concern from the people here in Envy, then Ana needed to know about it.

  Once outside, Ana didn’t need directions to find her way to the water: of course she could smell the salt and sense the tug of its briny depths. The sun had just begun to set, to her left, and the big orange ball sat, bisected, on the edge of the world.

  Straight ahead and to her right would be the moon when it rose; tonight it would be almost full and magnetic. She could almost feel the fat tugging of its pull on her and on the ground beneath her feet. The sensation of the waxing moon was even stronger when she was in the water . . . and then when it began to wane, the pull ebbed and relaxed.

  “This all used to be a desert,” came a deep voice in her ear. Fence was ambling alongside her now. He was tall. Much taller than she was. “Did you know that? Before the Chan
ge, this was a huge, loud, exciting city surrounded by arid land and rugged mountains. And now . . . it’s practically the Caribbean.”

  Ana spared him a nod. While she didn’t know what the Caribbean was—although she’d seen those pirate DVDs—she’d heard vague stories about the place called Las Vegas, and how the main street that divided it, called the Strip, had fairly separated during the Change. According to legend, one side of the Strip had been dumped into the ocean, along with places called California and Washington. She believed that part, having seen vast examples of submerged cities and towns when she dove and scavenged beneath the surface where no one else could hope to go.

  That was how she made her living: dragging things up from the deep, like an ancient Greek pearl diver.

  “It’s pretty crazy, the way this environment has changed,” Fence was saying, and she got the impression he was speaking more to himself than to her. “Now it’s green and lush, with lots of rain and water. And the frigging ocean right here in the middle of the desert. And Vegas . . . half of it underwater. The Venetian, the Bellagio, North Vegas . . . gone.”

  She glanced at him, pausing in her rushed trek. “You sound as if you’re missing it.”

  He’d stopped, too, and now he looked down at her, as if recalling that he wasn’t alone. “Yeah,” he said vaguely. “It’s just . . . impossible to believe.”

  Ana looked up at him for a moment and felt a little ping in her belly. He was so good-looking, she just wanted to stare at his strong, chiseled features: his broad nose, square chin, almond-shaped eyes. And he had such beautiful skin, so dark and smooth: the color of strong tea. He was bald, with a perfectly shaped skull, and thick, full lips that looked as if they’d be amazing to kiss.

  The ping inside turned into full-blown regret. Grief, for what she couldn’t imagine ever having. A superficial flirtation and bit of bantering was one thing, but anything more would be an incredible risk.

  The briny smell on an uptick of breeze reminded her of more pressing matters than her self-pity, and she murmured, “Must have been terrible, the way it all happened.”

  She’d heard the stories, of course, about what occurred. About how the Atlanteans and a group of men called the Elite had worked together to create a new Evolution. Yes, that was the word they used. Evolution.

  Her belly twisted and she blocked her mind from traveling down that familiar path, even as she felt sick at the knowledge of what her ancestors had done. Tightening her lips, she continued walking down a street that she knew had once been lined with tall, gaudy buildings flashing bright lights of every color.

  Ana had seen pictures of Las Vegas, but surely those static images weren’t an accurate portrayal of this brightly lit city Fence had spoken of. A limited number of neon lights still glowed weakly. The red and blue illumination was a beacon of welcome to any travelers who might stumble upon the town, which was enclosed by a twenty-foot wall to protect its inhabitants from the zombies and the lions, tigers, and wolves that roamed beyond.

  A small crowd of people stood in front of Ana, at the spot where the thoroughfare ended, just beyond the protective wall, right at the sea. She inhaled the welcoming scent of salt and tried to edge her way through the crowd to see what they’d found.

  The wall that enclosed Envy was built of old cars and massive signs called billboards, huge segments of rubble or roofs, and many other remnants from years ago that had been dragged into place. However, along the oceanfront, the wall had several gates to allow access to the fishermen and anyone else who wanted to walk along the beach. Because Ana came from the northeast on the very rare occasion when she visited Envy, she normally entered the city through one of those gates. They were left open during the day, for the walls were meant to offer protection to the inhabitants—not to keep people out or in.

  As she approached, it was an automatic thing for her to slip off her shoes and allow her feet to sink into the sand. The uneven yet forgiving molding of the grains helped stabilize her bad foot and hip, and she moved even more readily through the crowd.

  Ana was considerably taller than most women, just over six feet, and even before she got through to the center of the group, she could see the dark spot on the sand. A little uneasy flutter prickled when she saw the faint sparkling.

  A pleasant rush of waves licked her bare feet as she made her way around the group on the sea side, and she curled the toes on her left foot into the damp sand. Her right foot, the twisted and deformed one, didn’t have that sort of dexterity anymore, although she could feel the sensation of the sand.

  Ana saw Fence’s large, dark figure following in her path around the group. He, too, stood taller than most people, but instead of coming all the way around to the water where she stood, he turned and cut through the crowd. They parted for him, and she watched from a distance as he approached the mayor and his companions.

  “What is it?” asked someone in the group.

  Even Ana couldn’t answer that question, whether she wanted to or not. The substance on the shore looked like a rubbery, oozing mass of melted plastic. It was gray-blue and it glittered and gleamed. About six feet in diameter, it sat on top of the sand without sinking into it, and when she sniffed, she could smell more than just the salt and vegetation of the sea. Something unpleasantly murky and old.

  She hovered in the shadows, her gut tightening and an uncomfortable trickle of sweat suddenly rolling down her spine. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she knew one thing: it didn’t naturally occur in the sea.

  It had to be from Atlantis.

  Chapter 2

  The odd, sticky substance looked like something from a kid’s joke shop—glittering boogers or fake magical slime.

  “I don’t see how it can have any connection to the Strangers,” Quent said after looking at it, swirling a pencil through it and then sniffing the oozing blob. He’d already tried touching it with his bare hand to see if he could “read” its history, but for the first time ever, his mind came up blank. “But I sure as hell want it to.”

  “It doesn’t look very threatening,” Fence said, sliding his own finger through it. Remnants of glitter clung to his skin.

  They’d already tested it for flammability, and no one seemed to have had any odd reactions from touching or smelling it. It didn’t burn or sting or adhere like glue. Not even Fence, however, had volunteered to taste it.

  Vaughn’s rugged face was sober. “We’ve never seen anything like it here before.”

  “It did come from the ocean,” Elliott reminded them.

  The four men nodded, and Fence was sure they were all thinking the same thing: Had it come from Atlantis?

  The very thought would have been crazy if they and the Waxnickis hadn’t been putting the pieces of the puzzle together for months. They’d learned that a small group of the richest, most powerful people in the world before the Change had been part of a secret society called the Cult of Atlantis. These people, one of whom had been Quent’s father, were now the Strangers—or the Elite, as they called themselves—and had not only lived through the catastrophe, but had the crystals to keep them forever young. Crystals, as Quent had reminded them, were the source of energy in many an Atlantean legend. That, along with the new landmass in the Pacific Ocean, had created the unnerving suspicion that somehow, Atlantis really did exist . . . and that it had somehow erupted from the bottom of the ocean.

  Impossible. Fence knew it was scientifically impossible. He knew the Earth, and she didn’t move like that.

  But somehow . . . the pieces fit, and there seemed to be no other explanation for it.

  “I’ll increase the patrol along the shore side of the wall,” Vaughn said, looking tense. “We don’t go into the sea very often on the north side of Envy, or very far out when we do. Too many people have gone, and never come back.”

  Fence wasn’t one bit surprised.

  A week after the gray glop appeared on the beach, Fence was a little more than fifteen miles north of the city. He’d gu
ided a group of travelers to a small settlement a bit farther east, and on his way back, he was stopping in a little seaside town to obtain some supplies for Elliott.

  He was not only alone with the song he was humming and the pack on his back, but he was at last moving at his own speed—without having to make constant pit stops. Every shift in the leaves, every new smell in the breeze, every sound of an animal, gave him information. He absorbed it like a starving man.

  This was his world, his life: in the bosom—heh—of Mother Nature. Fence grinned. I crack myself up.

  The salt of the sea tinged the air, and when he came to the top of a rise and was able to look down to see the rolling waves with their foam surging onto rocks and remnants of 2010, he paused and watched. The prickling of his skin and the nauseating flip of his belly warred with his admiration of the infinite expanse of the sea.

  The town he was looking for lay to the right of his peak, and he saw about ten neat little houses near the edge of the water. New construction, built after the Change, which was fairly unusual; for most people simply maintained or scavenged old buildings. Small boats lined up along one side of a dock parallel to the beach. Trees, ruined houses, cracked roads, and even a rusted-out car with branches thrusting from its windows were scattered along the shore.

  He wondered oh so idly if this happened to be the little town “up along the coast” where the sun goddess lived. Fence had learned that she—her name was Ana—came from a seaside village northeast of Envy. In the excitement over the gloppy gray stuff onshore, she had disappeared.

  He wasn’t sure if it bugged him because they’d left things so awkwardly, with his inept reaction to her handicap and her sharp words . . . or because she’d taken off without so much as giving him her name. And with all the other stuff going on, he hadn’t felt compelled to go after the woman or even to hunt her down . . . but he had taken on the task of traveling up the coast knowing he could possibly see her again. Just because.

  A shout from below and to the east caught his attention, and Fence turned to listen.