Ignite the Shadows

by Ingrid Seymour

  I rush onward, desperately thinking of how to stop the monster from hurting James. My eyes jump around, trying to find something useful. On the ground, I spot a green hose, coiled next to the birdbath. I struggle with grasping a course of action. There is no time to ponder. I must act.

  Time stands still as my brain goes into warp speed and my instincts kick into overdrive. Every ounce of who I am pours forward. I become hollow, long and flexible. I am the hose. I rear upward with vicious speed, like a striking cobra. I attack, sliding around the guard’s neck, twisting into a noose, then squeeze. I stretch, reaching both toward the ground and the sky. I want to touch the stars before something stops me. So I squeeze harder and harder, even against the frantic hands that struggle to pry me away, and don’t relent until a limp, heavy weight drags me down.

  The echoes of gunfire ring in my ears. Someone shouts, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I come to, blinking, completely disoriented. My body feels foreign for a very strange, very scary instant. My right hand is stretched, reaching toward the prone body by the birdbath. Gunfire has ceased and the blaring alarm is the only sound disturbing the night.

  I take a look around and shiver. James is looking straight at me, while the others are coming out from their hiding places, seemingly unaware of what I’ve done. My eyes search for the remaining two guards. They lay on the ground and I don’t even know how it happened.

  Blurry with moisture, my eyes return to James, then to the limp body of his would-be killer. Did I just …? I shake my head. My lungs cease. I stagger forward as my knees go limp. My thoughts wade through the thick finality that clogs the air.

  Death.

  At my hands.

  I fall to my knees, trembling. I killed a person. I just killed a person!

  No! Not a person. A monster, I try to tell myself.

  But … but it’s not true. That man was innocent. Somebody’s father. Somebody’s son. A victim who never stood a chance against his agent, and especially not against the nasty little Symbiot who wasn’t even supposed to be here. I wasn’t meant to kill anyone. Oh God, what have I become?

  I wrap my arms around my waist and choke on the thick wail trying to force its way past my tight lips. I can’t fall apart. Not in front of the crew. Trying to gather myself, I think of James, only of James. I saved his life, the life of the man who’s bent on saving everyone else and might give humanity a fighting chance, a life more important than anyone else’s, more important than whatever remorse I feel, no matter how much it chokes me.

  I saved him. I saved him!

  “You saved me, Marci!” I’m on my feet, James shaking me. “You saved me,” he says again, all in a low murmur that only I can hear. A mixture of gratitude and conviction bend his voice. “You did right by us.” And by “us” he means much more than just him or our crew.

  He means the world. The whole, wide world.

  “More are coming. We need to get out here,” he orders.

  As everyone heeds his command, my feet refuse to move. James’s words echo in my ears. I repeat them to myself. I did the right thing, by James, by IgNiTe, by all of us. Righteousness overtakes me, and I begin to run, thoughts jumping, erasing all trace of guilt for the time being.

  I’ve almost caught up with the group when Aydan’s voice pierces through my very confused brain. “Run faster. Reinforcements, at the gate.”

  “Where’s Xave? Is he okay?” I ask in a hoarse voice. If reinforcements are here, it means he didn’t succeed at stopping them. My heart hammers and, when Aydan doesn’t respond, it hammers faster. My legs speed up and I pass Oso, Rheema and Blare. James stops to help them up.

  “Aydan, is Xave okay?” I press, as I reach the wall, propel myself upward and jump to the other side. I don’t wait for anyone. I keep running toward the van, indifferent to what anyone might think about my Olympic-quality jump.

  I enter the van panting. “Where’s Xave?!” I yell, as soon as I’m inside.

  Aydan looks up at me and shakes his head, eyes charged with doubt. “I don’t know,” he says. “I lost communication with him.”

  Chapter 43

  As I stand staring down at Aydan in disbelief, the rest of the crew piles into the van.

  “What do you mean you lost communication?” I yell in his face.

  He stares up at me, impassive, and makes no attempt to answer my question. I may as well be a gnat circling in front of him.

  James points at the back seat. “Take your place, Marci.”

  No. I won’t lose this face-off. Aydan needs to tell me where Xave is. Right now or I swear …

  “Take a seat, Marci,” James forcefully repeats.

  I’m the only one still standing. Everyone else is sitting and Oso is already cranking the engine.

  “We have to find Xave,” I say.

  Blare snaps on her seatbelt. “No, we have to get outta here.”

  I whirl, ready to explode all over the place.

  James puts a hand on my arm but looks pointedly at Aydan. “Where’s Xave?”

  Aydan huffs and swivels his stool toward the computers, turning his back on James.

  “I told her I lost communication. I don’t know what else she wants to hear,” Aydan responds.

  “What about Clark?” James asks next.

  “He went to try to find him.” Aydan says this as if we’re discussing a missing mutt.

  “They should be okay, Marci,” James reasons.

  We’re driving in reverse, backing out of the woods on the bumpy dirt road. I sway with the van through a few potholes, then decide it’s best to take a seat. In his mad dash, Oso drives over underbrush and debris, rattling our teeth and bones.

  “James, we can’t leave them,” I plead.

  “They can take care of themselves.”

  When Oso hits the paved road, he takes a sharp turn and shifts gears. The sound of squealing tires and the raging engine echoes through the woods. We tear down the dark service road. Trees fly by to our left and a corroded metal railing on the other side is the only thing between the van and a sheer drop. Oso keeps his eyes straight ahead, while, in the passenger seat, Blare peers through the large side mirror, making sure no one’s behind us.

  After a minute, my heart slows down a bit, but not enough. I can’t stop thinking about Xave. If he’s hurt, I don’t know what I’m going to do. And what if he’s …

  Panic strikes me and I can’t even finish the thought. “Aydan, has Clark found Xave?”

  “We’re out of range.”

  There’s so much contempt in his voice it raises my hackles. I’m an angry wolf. “What the hell is your problem?” I demand, feeling ready for a fight. “I’m getting sick of your bitchy, snooty ass.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up. We’re trying to escape here. In case you haven’t noticed,” he says in a calm, condescending tone.

  “You know what? You’re not worth my time, asshole,” I say, flipping open my cell phone and dialing Xave’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.

  Blare’s cynical laughter fills the cabin.

  She’s another one not worth bothering with. I ignore her and try to remember if I ever programmed Clark’s number into my phone. I search for it, find it and dial. I get a message indicating the line is no longer in service. It must be an old number because I don’t remember storing it.

  I stuff the phone back into my cargo pants. Blare’s still amused about something, letting out dry, jaded snorts. She probably wants someone to ask her to let us in on the joke, but everyone’s attention is on the road. We’re not far from the clinic and we’re not out of the woods yet.

  Oso takes a sharp turn and the side of the van scrapes a metal railing on the right.

  “Watch it. I don’t want to fly off the mountain,” Blare says.

  I look away from the chasm, feeling a surge of vertigo. Thumb jammed between my lips as I bite my nail, I tap a foot nervously. Images of Xave’s bruised face dance in front of me. The knot in my throat feels l
ike it’s about to escape in the form of a desperate cry.

  “Maybe they won’t follow us,” Oso says.

  Blare points through the windshield. “You spoke too soon.”

  A set of headlights appears around the next bend. The vehicle is traveling as fast as we are. This service road is narrow. There’s not enough room for two cars to get through. I reach for the seatbelt and buckle it. My forehead tingles. I have a bad feeling about this.

  “Don’t stop,” James says.

  Oso peers back through the rear-view mirror, his mellow eyes questioning, full of doubt.

  “We won’t stand a chance if we fight.” James’s tone is self-assured and erases all doubt about our fate if Oso doesn’t heed the advice.

  “Yes, sir,” Oso responds as he steps on the gas.

  We must be going close to ninety in a thirty-mile-an-hour area. The car approaching appears to be going just as fast. If nothing changes, we have a sure date with a head-on collision.

  I clench my fists as my entire body tenses. We’re going so fast that after only a few quick blinks the other vehicle’s headlights are upon us, shining brightly into our dark space, making everyone look like pale, ghostly figures.

  Desperate, I imagine the other driver turning the wheel sharply and smashing into a tree. Nothing happens. This would be a great time for my telekinesis to kick in, but it fails me. Maybe I need to be able to touch or see what I want to move, but all I see are stabbing beams of light.

  Oso keeps his hands firm on the wheel, guiding the van right through the middle of the road. The driver of the incoming vehicle does the same. This is a battle of wills. The first one to veer off course is a rotten egg.

  We’re dead.

  Dead!

  As I feel my life in the balance, teetering between possibility and finality, something inside me cracks. I might be six-feet-under tomorrow, and what do I have to show for myself? A messed-up relationship with Mom, a twin brother I don’t really know, and a friend I’ve pushed away because I feel I’ve nothing to offer. If I make it out of this alive, I’ll shoot for the stars and fix all three. I will.

  Sliding shaky hands under my knees, I grip the seat and hold on to the idea of fixing things with Xave—Xave who at this moment is with his brother unharmed and headed home. When I see him, I’ll tell him how I feel … I’ll swear to him that I’ll never push him away ever again … I’ll …

  “Hold on tight,” Oso screams between clenched teeth as the incoming headlights swallow us whole. My head droops and my lids close. I let go of the seat and relax with a big, slow exhale that leaves my lungs empty. I gaze up and find James peering at me. Something passes between us and an instant later Oso jerks the wheel and our van swerves violently out of the way.

  Oso lost. His will is merely human.

  Except he was late. The tail-end of our van doesn’t clear the road in time. The other vehicle clips us. The change in direction is brutal. My body wants to split in half. The crunch of metal is deafening, like a million soda cans crushing inside my head, like the world breaking into fragments.

  We tumble and tumble and tumble. My arms are blades on a windmill, my spine the whip in the hands of a ringmaster. But the lion isn’t tamed, it keeps roaring, crunching the van between its jaws.

  No one screams, no one calls for mercy. We may as well be in hell.

  Something sharp and heavy slams into my head. Warmth trickles down my cheek, my chest, my arms. Every drop down the drain, joining the muck I’ve made out of what should have been a good life.

  Chapter 44

  A sea of shadows swims in front of my eyes.

  My heart thuds at the thought of having lost control of the agent, though the hammering in my chest lets me know I’m still alive. The realigning shapes in my vision, the scent of gasoline and motor-oil, the blissful sound of Blare’s expletives … all let me know I’m still me and I still have a chance to make things better. I blink.

  My forehead stings, throbs, screams in pain. A chilled breeze hits my face making me notice the van’s missing back doors. My seat is half out and half in, and I’m still strapped to it, dangling. I fumble for the buckle, push the button, and slide off the seat. I hit the ground with a thunk, and my face lands on cold, frozen weeds. The chill in the air is a blessing on my burning, aching temple. Red spreads over my vision. Pain bends my will.

  I close my eyes and wish for the frigid temperature to numb me forever. If I never wake up again, it’s fine by me. To hell with patching things up. Nothing is worth living through this agony. Not even redemption.

  A loud sound brings me back from the cold arms of oblivion. It angers me, because it revives the pain. My side throbs in sync with my forehead, in sync with my heart. Something has gone through my ribs. The weeds tickle my nose with a strange scent. My stomach contracts and I want to vomit.

  Then there’s that sound again. I try to forget about the scented weeds and look up. Several yards away a bulky form stands out from all the other shadows. I blink repeatedly and wipe sticky blood from my eyes. The shape of the overturned enemy van comes into focus. It’s laying on its side.

  I flinch when a steady pounding from within the van literally makes it sway from side to side. I wipe my eyes again. The way the van’s moving makes no sense. This has to be a hallucination. Very understandable after my concussion, because I have concussion, right?

  The van stops swaying. The banging from within comes to a halt.

  Yep. Just imagining things.

  Then something explodes from the van and I catch a glimpse of a scrunched-up metal door flying up in the air. Hypnotized, I watch it reach the apex of its trajectory against a treeless, dark gray sky, then plummet behind the van without making a sound.

  A movement from the gaping hole left behind by the disappearing door catches my attention. Two hands grab the sides, then a misshapen head pulls up followed by a torso. Soon the whole body is out and the van is swaying away, teetering somehow.

  On all fours, the man, the creature, starts walking carefully on the side of the van. The figure is a dark, creeping shadow against sky. The van teeters precariously with each step the thing takes. A flattened head and body shuffle toward the back of the van. The way it moves with its stubby limbs and its fanning backside makes me want to start digging my own grave. It reminds me of something, but I’m not sure what. My primal instincts are sending me a warning that I can’t fully comprehend.

  A second creature pulls out through the missing door. Its elongated head takes forever to come fully into view. The van sways more fiercely. The first Eklyptor jerks its head back, makes a snapping sound. The second one opens its long snout and snaps back.

  The small hairs stand on end throughout my body then my brain catches up with my instincts. Crocodiles! They’re like freakin’, deformed crocodiles! Grotesque in their half-human, incomplete state.

  The beasts move more carefully in an orchestrated dance that keeps the van’s wavering to a minimum. And then it hits me. Their vehicle is on the cliffside, vacillating between plunging over the side and clinging to the rocky edge.

  The first Eklyptor is almost to the back of the van. Its gaze flickers my way, already anticipating its attack. Its protruding eyes reflect the light. A strange bitterness fills my mouth, and I have no doubt it’s the taste of fear. Images of rolling waters, as predators dismember their hapless prey, flash with vivid detail in front of my widened, fixed eyes. Damn the Animal Planet.

  I only have a few seconds before they attack. I try to call out a warning, but I can’t get enough air into my lungs to muster more than a pathetic squeak.

  God, I have to do something or I’m dead!

  My bloody hand shoots up, aimed toward the teetering van. If I could only nudge it a bit, unbalance it just enough to make it tilt toward the overhang. My fingers shake, my body shivers with cold and exhaustion. It’s too much. I don’t have it in me. Exhausted, my arms fall limp to the cold ground.

  I think of James and everyone else. I
have to try harder for the others, if not for me. Even if my strength is dwindling to just scraps, even if it kills me. Pain is the only thing left, so I make it my focal point.

  With every pulsing pang along my ribs, head, and spine, my blood-covered fingers reach out again. The first Eklyptor takes a leap toward the ground. A third one has exited the van; it walks upright, only its head fully transformed.

  I tear my eyes away from the horror and concentrate. My eyes lock on the spot where the van’s backside goes up and down like a seesaw, touching the ground for a second then moving a few inches away from it.

  The first Eklyptor is on the ground. I hear it moving, but I don’t look at it. I refuse to, because if I do, I will crumble. I ignore the fast shuffling of its thick, stout limbs, and the unnatural, inhuman laughter escaping through its short snout.

  Forcing my terrified mind to pretend these creatures are not there, I pour my entire focus onto the van. If only one Eklyptor manages to jump off, James and the others can fight it. If all of them do, there’s no hope.

  When the van’s backside leaves the ground next, I let the pain flow. My toes curl and my spine arches with a snap. An invisible extension of my hand, of myself, reaches out, slips strong fingers under the van and pushes up.

  Two more shapes struggle to come out through the window. They fight in a frenzy to be the first to attack and tear us to pieces. Their weight helps further upset the balance. The long-snouted Eklyptor shrieks and starts sliding backward, crashing into the one behind it.

  Claws run along the metal, making a screeching sound, like giant chalk pieces against a blackboard. As they glide backward, the burden becomes too much and the momentum shifts completely toward the cliff. In one interminable moment, the van hangs in the balance. Then it topples down the overhang and goes out of view in a strange and silent disappearing act.

  When my eyes leave the empty space, my arm collapses to the frozen ground, lifeless. A short snout suddenly appears in front of my eyes. It gapes open, glinting with pointed, yellowed teeth two times taller than my wrist.