Without adjusting my position, I surveyed the caves quickly: I didn’t see any other soldiers in my line of vision other than the one I held at gunpoint, but something told me they weren’t gone.
“Where are the others?” I demanded of him.
“Setting up explosives,” the soldier told me. “Our orders are to blow the caves sky high.”
“Are there other survivors?”
He nodded. “I led about eighty of them deep into the forest. They’re waiting for me to return and lead them out.”
I stared at him, not comprehending. “To where?”
“To safety.”
The other hunters and Jean arrived just then, and started to exclaim at the gruesome scene with dismay, but Nick silenced them. My eyes never left the soldier’s face. Something in my gut told me he was telling the truth, but it made no sense.
“Are… are you a rebel?” I asked, incredulous.
He nodded. “There’s another set of caves about ten miles from here, near water. The other soldiers don’t know about them, yet. We’ll be safe there for awhile.”
“We?” I repeated.
“I’m coming with you. I’m a fugitive now too.”
I didn’t know why, but I trusted him. I lowered my gun and said, “All right. Lead on.”
The soldier turned immediately and started to run into the thicket, like he knew exactly where he was going. We were not a quarter mile away when the first explosion sounded behind us. I heard Molly utter a soft sob, but otherwise the only sound we made was our feet hitting the forest floor. All of us ran, heedless of exhaustion.
The explosions sounded behind us like a chain reaction, but no one looked back. Suddenly we came to a small clearing where the band of frightened rebels huddled in various stages of shock. I looked frantically for one face, and finally found her. I moved to embrace Kate in relief, but before I could reach her, the blond soldier stepped in front of me and embraced her instead. She clung to him, but her eyes settled upon me with the vacant expression of trauma.
I recognized the Crone and most of the Council there too, as well as Roger Dunne, Brenda and Nelson, Sam and Violet, Rachel, Brian, Father Edwards… and far too few of the rest.
“We’ll have to slow down now,” said the soldier, “the older ones and children can’t keep pace. So stay as silent as possible until I tell you, and keep to the shadows.”
The Crone stepped forward, flanked as always by her silent bodyguards. “I will give the orders around here, young man,” she declared, her voice low and dangerous.
The blond soldier raised one eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “Do you know where we’re going then? By all means, lead the way.” Without even waiting for the Crone’s reply, he turned away from her like he’d forgotten her existence, setting the pace at a brisk walk. Kate fell into step beside him as if in a trance, looping one arm through his.
I approached her, glancing at the soldier. “You two know each other?”
I saw him glance back at me, the little muscle in his jaw tightening.
“Jackson,” Kate whispered, and in the agonized pause before she told me, I already knew what she was going to say. “This… is my fiancé. Will Anderson.”
End of Book 1
Sneak Preview
Prologue: Ben Voltolini
The battalion of soldiers presented themselves for inspection, and Ben Voltolini paced before them with measured steps. The Tribunal stood at his back, the soldiers at attention before him. They stared straight ahead, like robots.
“Lieutenant Colonel,” he barked. The commander snapped his legs together. Voltolini went on, “Did the mission succeed? Have the refugees been successfully eliminated?”
“Not all of them, sir!” the Lieutenant Colonel nearly shouted. “Their caves are destroyed, and we estimate almost ninety percent of them are dead. The others… escaped.”
Voltolini paused in his pacing. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Four.
“Escaped?”
“Yes sir!” shouted the Lieutenant Colonel.
Voltolini lowered his voice, and brought both of his own feet together, leaning toward the soldier. “To where?”
“We do not know yet. Sir!”
Voltolini pursed his lips. “I see. And how did these—ten percent, you say?” He resumed pacing. “How did they escape exactly?”
“We believe there was an—imposter among us. Sir!”
The air in the room grew thick.
“Oh?” Voltolini purred.
The Lieutenant Colonel fidgeted. “Corporal Ramirez was found dead. And stripped of his uniform. Sir.”
Voltolini pursed his lips. “And who was wearing that uniform, if not Corporal Ramirez?”
“We do not know, sir!”
“Take a guess.”
The Lieutenant Colonel hesitated. “Will Anderson has not reported for duty in a week, sir.”
Voltolini inclined his head. “Anderson.” He paused, looking back at the Tribunal. “Anderson…”
Jefferson Collins, the Speaker for the Tribunal, took a tiny step forward and cleared his throat. “A recent EOS, Your Excellency. We presented him to you weeks ago for elimination. But because he is extraordinarily skilled at detecting and exploiting weaknesses in computer systems and networks, you elected to spare his life—”
“Ah, yes, yes, Anderson,” Voltolini waved him off. “Engaged to that reporter who vanished, right?”
“Yes sir,” murmured Collins, “but we told Anderson that we had her captive to ensure his continued cooperation….”
“Right, right, I remember him,” Voltolini cut him off. “I understood he was performing beautifully, though. Thanks to him, we’ve infiltrated New Estonia’s mainframe and have Control Center construction underway on the ground there as we speak, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” said Collins, shuffling his feet. He paused, and his eyes flitted about the room before he spoke again. “But—”
“Why the hell did we send a guy that valuable on a mission to blow up some caves in the first place?”
Collins’s eyes flitted around the room even faster and he shuffled his feet once before taking a tiny step back in line with the rest of the Tribunal. Voltolini whirled to face the Lieutenant Colonel instead.
“Well?” he demanded.
“He—snuck in, sir. Unfortunately we’ve been unable to locate the fiancee, and we suspect that Anderson discovered that she is still at large. Our hold over Anderson was therefore…weakened.”
Voltolini opened his mouth and closed it again, his face expressionless. “He snuck in.”
The air in the room grew thick.
“Hurst,” Voltolini purred, looking back at the Tribunal and focusing on a man towering six foot eight, with a jaw like a horse. “Please take the Lieutenant Colonel into custody.”
The Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes grew wide and his breath shallow, but he did not move as Hurst seized him by the elbow with one enormous hand and dragged him from the room.
Hurst was the Tribunal’s Chief Executioner.
When the Lieutenant Colonel and Hurst disappeared, Voltolini turned back to the battalion before him. “Major,” he said to the man who had stood beside the Lieutenant Colonel, “Congratulations on your promotion.”
If the Major felt shaken, he did not show it. “Thank you, sir!”
“Among the bodies found in the caves,” Voltolini went on, “did you find the terrorist Jackson MacNamera?”
The Major hesitated. “No, sir!”
Voltolini nodded. “I see.” One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. He turned back to the Tribunal, this time focusing on the Chief Technology Officer. “Barrett,” he barked at a middle aged woman, “We need to tighten security. The bullet trains from now on will require that the brainwaves of the individual correspond to the ID chip used to board.”
Barrett nodded swiftly. “Done, sir.”
“How long will it take?”
She hesitated only
for a second. “The technology exists. Implementation should take—forty-eight hours at the most.” Her eye twitched as she said this. She knew her team would have to work around the clock to deliver on this promise, and even then everything would have to go perfectly according to plan. If she failed, Hurst would haul her off next. But the Potentate would not tolerate reasonable deadlines requiring ordinary working hours when there was a terrorist organization on the loose. This she knew.
“Excellent,” said Voltolini. “You also told me last year that it was theoretically possible for us to upgrade the brainwave technology to target the brainwaves of a specific individual and customize their subliminal messaging.”
Barrett balked visibly before she caught herself. “It’s… technically possible, but it will take months to create the technology—”
“I want it in a week,” Voltolini said, and smiled. She sucked in a breath, and smiled back.
Collins wrung his hands and cleared his throat, taking a tiny step forward. “Sir,” he squeaked, “As you know, we’ve already changed our entire security so that the rebels cannot penetrate our databases again. But… that may not stop Will Anderson for very long. He is an extraordinary man.”
“That is why we need targeted signaling as quickly as possible,” Voltolini turned his deadly smile upon Collins, who shuffled back into line.
Voltolini turned again to face the battalion. “The remaining refugees are on foot. They cannot have gotten far. Fan out, comb the area. When you find them… show no mercy.” He turned back to the Tribunal and said conversationally, “Anderson was admirably compliant until now. That’s interesting.” He looked at the Major. “The reporter, Brandeis—was her body found in the caves?”
“No, sir!”
Voltolini nodded. “I can only assume that she’s with the surviving refugees, then. If she’s there, take her alive. She may be useful.” He paced. “As for their presumed leader, Jackson MacNamera—he will come to us, sooner or later. Count on it.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading! As a self-published author, I thrive on good reviews and word-of-mouth marketing, so please go give me a review on Amazon and Goodreads, and tell your friends about my work. I will love you forever!
To my beta readers/editors, Cyndi Deville (my awesome mom), Jim Strawn, and Lindsay Schlegel: couldn’t do this without you. I love that you’re all so diverse in the things you look for — Mom picks out logical inconsistencies in the plot, Jim finds obscure facts and fills in the science and history, and Lindsay focuses on rounding out characters so that they are as engaging as possible. Thank you so much for all your excellent and generous help!
To my fiancé, Frank Baden — thanks for your unwavering support in my writing efforts, for your inspired cover art vision, and also for your history consultations to make sure my characters’ motivations are realistic and grounded!
To my cover artist, Nathalia Suellen — WOW. Your work is amazing. Thanks so much!
Clive Johnson, your formatting is superb as always. Thanks for the opportunity to continue working with you!
And finally… thank you Lord for the schedule that enables me to pursue my dreams even while keeping my “day job” (which is pretty demanding in itself). Thanks for the blessings of all these people to help me continue to write, and for the support of family and friends.
About the Author
C.A. Gray is a Naturopathic Medical Doctor (NMD), with a primary care practice in Tucson, Arizona. She has always been captivated by the power of a good story, fictional or otherwise, which is probably why she loves holistic medicine: a patient’s physical health is invariably intertwined with his or her life story, and she believes that the one can only be understood in context with the other. She is blessed with exceptionally supportive family and friends, and thanks God for them every single day!
The Protected Prophecy
Sheri Downing
Editing by Kelly Hartigan (XterraWeb)
editing.xterraweb.com
The Protected Prophecy
Giana says there had to be evil for people to believe and want the good. Our world lost sight of that throughout the centuries, and we needed a reminder.
And did we ever get it. I believe it occurring on Christmas morning isn’t a coincidence either. We woke up to a morning of unwrapping gifts. That got interrupted by people screaming, cats fighting, dogs barking, vehicles wrecking. It affected any living thing, including the trees, plants, even the atmosphere. Once my mom became infected, six months after she gave birth to my brother, my dad took her away. I stayed in our apartment with Toby for as long as our supplies lasted, but then we had to leave, find what we needed to survive.
I never expected to find a village filled with life. It was flourishing. It was thriving with people, greenery, and fresh produce. I learn we have arrived in Protetta, which translates in English to mean protected. If that wasn’t symbolic enough, I learn I am part of an ancient prophecy that foretells me retrieving the Potente vase. Translation is powerful, strong, or forceful. This vase gave Giana the power to heal the sick, those infected. Until the vase is returned, she is too weak to use her gifts, and Toby is sick.
I’m teamed up with Ernesto, a guy that grunts and scowls at me all the time. The journey we embark on will reveal good and evil as I never imagined.
1
The dry barren ground I walk upon wounds my once pampered feet, creating more painful scars that will forever mark me. I don’t need bloody raw feet to remind me of the horrors I’ve seen and endured. I find them forever engraved upon my soul. Sure, I’ve come across shoes even after I became one of the only ones, but finding a women’s size nine and a half is challenging. So, I choose to go barefoot instead of getting blisters and black toenails.
Toby has rested a lot today, which can’t be easy lying in a shopping cart with wobbly wheels pushed over rocks and debris. I’m grateful. His symptoms started almost six days ago. But I’ve learned that rest is vital. Once the frenzy sets in, they’re nearing the end, the end of any semblance of their human existence.
My dad is a military officer, and my family got stationed in Germany two years ago. I was fifteen. My Mom was mega excited. The sightseeing. The shopping. A different culture. Different food. She was an excellent chef, always mentored in the most upscale restaurants. With Dad being in the service, she freelanced her cooking knowledge and talents. It’s hard to get established when you move every three years.
I hate when I think about food. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about my hunger. Toby needs to eat. It’s been eighteen months since life as we knew it ceased. Mom gave birth to Toby three months after the plague or condemnation began. She nursed him, and we all seemed healthy, unaffected. Toby was just six months old when Mom first got sick. We made it longer than most, but fate had other plans.
One day, like any other we’d grown accustomed to, Mom asked me to collect baby formula on my scavenging outings. It worried me. I was scared. She avoided my eyes. Her reason was we needed alternate plans for Toby’s nutrition. But she didn’t stop there. She wanted bottles. Next, she told me to sterilize the bottles and nipples. I learned about concentrated formula, ready-made, and powder. The reality struck when she stopped breastfeeding him completely. I don’t know how she knew she was infected, but she protected us for as long as she could.
Dad took me outside one morning about a week after she stopped nursing and told me he was taking Mom away from the place we made home. He promised he would find me, but he couldn’t leave her when she was still her. It became too dangerous for Toby and me, and Mom was nervous and needed to focus on retaining what health and mind she had left. Always the eternal optimist, she believed a cure would materialize any day, and poof, the world would just return to the way it was before.
Many theories circulated regarding the scourge that emerged that Christmas morning. It happened without any indications or warnings. Mom, Dad, and I got up and sat around the tree opening our gifts. Mom gushe
d about how next Christmas we’d have a new member in our family to celebrate the holiday. It didn’t occur gradually either. People screaming, cats fighting, dogs barking, vehicles wrecking, these were the sounds that filled the air.
Jumping from the floor, Dad and I ran to the window. Being six months pregnant, it took Mom a little longer to witness what we saw. Chaos. There was no other way to describe it. Most people were with their families being it was Christmas morning, but the few people who had been in their cars, were out stumbling around. Their bodies twitched, and they had blank stares. It’s not that they acted aggressively, but if they made contact with another individual, they fought until one, or both, could no longer fight. The animals behaved in the same manner.
We watched in shock. Mom gasped and pointed to the trees and shrubs. Nothing was blooming since it was December and there was snow on the ground, but everything was completely bare. Any leaves, anything considered living, lay on the ground, brown and dead.
It moved fast, contaminating everything and anyone it could. I don’t know why or how it spared us in the beginning, but it did. Obviously, it affected the world. We lost all communication with the outside. We didn’t receive any news or radio broadcast. Everything shut down.
Mom said it reminded her of mad cow disease or rabies, in a sense. No one ran around salivating and trying to bite us, unless confronted. It wasn’t a zombie apocalypse. Her theory didn’t consider the environment though. The world lost its color and zest. The sun still rose and set every day, just over a dwindling world.
Because of Mom’s pregnancy, Dad kept us in our home until after Toby’s birth. Accumulating supplies didn’t prove difficult during those first few months. Dad and I ventured out and stayed clear of any infected to the point of the frenzy. Once anyone reached the frenzied point, they would engage you, till death.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 89