Darklight
Greg L. Turnquist
Darklight
by Greg L. Turnquist
Published by Clean Reads
www.cleanreads.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
DARKLIGHT
Copyright © 2018 GREG L. TURNQUIST
ISBN 978-1-62135-750-6
Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGNS STUDIO
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Other Works by Greg L. Turnquist
Untitled
I thank my wife who inspired me to write.
And who put up with me editing in bed past midnight.
And who read every scene to help me polish.
Chapter One
He's Coming
Snitch moved as fast as she could in the dark toward the southern edge of the city-state of Kelmar, desperate to not draw attention to herself. Fortunately, rain had caused a haze to fall.
He was coming. Snitch couldn’t believe it. She had to get this information back to the Undergrounders if they were to have any chance to escape.
Her knowledge of this part of the city told her to keep a sharp lookout for rival gangs; gangs that had risen to fill the power vacuum left behind when Melicose purged Kelmar’s palace of all of its nobility.
As she exited an alley, a gust of wind made her clutch the edge of her coat and pull it tight. Steeling herself, she pressed on.
Melicose was coming, according to one of her contacts. What were they going to do?
She approached a familiar corner and slowed when she recognized members of the Raiders. Glancing back, she gulped. Too late to find another route.
“Snitch,” Marlon boomed. “What are you doing here?”
He was the Raiders’ second lieutenant or something. She couldn’t keep track of the ever-changing titles.
“I didn’t know you guys had moved into this block.” Her lips pressed flat as she shifted her weight between her feet. “I was trying to stay off your turf.”
Tall and dark, he crept closer, eyeing her. The others drifted in behind him. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Snitch knew Marlon wouldn’t take kindly to any sort of brush off. She’d heard enough stories of people crossing street gangs, and the last thing she wanted was to become another story.
“I was hooking up with one of my associates to hit a shop. No moonlight, hazy night, perfect opportunity, right?” Snitch had an offer to work such a job. Two weeks ago.
“You know, I believe you. You do shoot for easy hits. But you still crossed onto our turf.”
Hearing where this was headed, her stomach sank. Gang respect was so juvenile . . . and expensive.
Marlon smiled with his square jaw, revealing a couple of teeth missing. “I have to maintain control, or Boss won't trust me. What kind of job are you doing?”
Without pause, she replied, “A pawn shop. Cheap stuff, but easy to fence. Maybe worth a couple thousand credits.”
“The going rate when you cross turf is ten percent.” Marlon tipped his hat back as his goons formed a wall behind him.
“I don't have that much on me. And the last time it was five percent.”
“You trade sharp. I’ll tell you what, Snitch, you haven't crossed us, and your jobs have fed us in the past. Give me a hundred credits, and we can ignore this.”
Snitch fumbled in her pockets, when Marlon stepped up next to her with a short blade. Sweat beaded up on her forehead.
“Watch it there. You’ve been good to us, but there is still a proper way.” He snapped his fingers. “Green, get over here. Check her pockets.”
Snitch pulled out her hands and held them up.
Green rifled through her pockets, pulling out bits of junk along with a crushed-up wad of money. Grinning, he handed it over to Marlon.
“Looks like . . . a hundred and twenty-five credits. I remember you coming up short last time. This should cover it. Now get out of here.” Marlon pocketed the money as the corner of his mouth rose.
Green pushed her to the side and Snitch huffed.
The Raiders laughed and talked to each other as she stumbled away. After getting around the corner, she picked up her pace, miffed. How many jobs would it take to make up for that?
Snitch stopped. The money wasn’t important. Not like it used to be. Getting back to Base with the information she had gleaned from one of her contacts was more critical than the next job. Indeed, it might prove crucial for the Undergrounders’ resistance.
She entered the district of Rawley. The sagging beams over the storefronts combined with their worn edges made Snitch confident she could slip out of view without anyone noticing. Most important of all, Melicose’s thug soldiers. Getting caught without a pass would invite too many questions.
The back alley behind Fifth Avenue was her planned destination. Despite all the drunks sleeping on the streets and garbage strewn everywhere, her instincts told her not to rush. It was always better to case things out first.
Snitch slowed to a comfortable walk before spotting one of the troops at the end of the street. Without changing pace, she ducked into the next pub.
Grabbing a seat at the far end of the cracked, wooden bar, she folded her arms and stared at the entrance. Hushed conversations, low lights, and clouds of tobacco smoke eased the tension in her stomach, a little. When the bartender came by, she ordered a drink and fished out a few coins Green had missed. The man handed her a short glass filled with brown liquid. Hunkering down, she sipped, hoping to melt into the background.
A minute later, the soldier she had spotted entered. He scanned the room.
Knots formed in Snitch’s gut. “Has he been here before?” she whispered to the man next to her, but his drunken stupor barred any answer.
As the soldier walked through the establishment, a wake of silence followed.
The bartender came by Snitch’s end.
She leaned in and whispered, “Has he been in here already?”
The bartender looked up and replied with a slight nod.
Snitch snuck a look at the soldier, worried that her lack of proper ID would result in a very long conversation somewhere less desirable.
The soldier’s eyes connected with hers at that exact moment. His brows furrowed before he looked from side to side. Returning his gaze to her, his eyes narrowed as his jaw clenched.
Snitch jumped out of her seat and ran to the back door, an exit she had spotted upon first entry.
The soldier gave chase.
Cutting through the kitchen, she stumbled into the alley. The sound of the soldier crashing into things gave her hope. By the time he got outside, she had gained half a block.<
br />
But now he ran full speed, gaining on her.
Her breathing heightened as her hands shook. Passing a slim area between two of the sagging buildings, she stopped. With her slender profile, she squeezed through. While this sliver of space appeared too small to be of any use to local business owners, it afforded her a possible escape.
The clanging feet behind her slowed and then sped up, passing by.
Snitch slipped through and heaved a sigh of relief. She was on Fourth and headed toward Fifth. That was when a glint of metal caught her eye.
The soldier had rounded the end of the alley and was now bearing down on her.
Snitch's eyes opened wide. No more narrow cut-throughs.
His husky voice shouted, “Get her!”
She glanced to the right, fixing her gaze on two more soldiers responding to the alert.
Dealing with gang members was one thing. She had bought her way past the Raiders, but three armed soldiers of the regime wouldn’t be cajoled so easily. They had standing orders to find any and all members of the resistance. The fear of being captured and tortured caused her adrenaline to spike and her throat to swell.
When the soldiers were only about twenty paces away, Snitch moved onto the cross street. She ran into someone limping the other way and stumbled onto the ground. Jumping up, she continued running, turning the corner onto Fifth. Crossing the street and entering another pub, she jumped up and slid across a table, heading toward the back room. As she opened the rear door, she heard the soldiers enter behind her.
Escaping to the back alley, Snitch veered to the left. She reached into her pockets and fumbled around until her hands grasped a slender tube-shaped box that fit in her hand, her darklight.
Sliding the button on its side, her surroundings shifted from the silvery fog into a dull gray haze as the device cloaked her in a field of pure blackness—the perfect cover to get away. With one device issued to every Undergrounder, they had managed to cloak their hideout from Melicose’s soldiers. Was that about to change?
The soldiers emerged into the back alley and stared in both directions. But they didn't run toward her.
With panic still lodged in her throat, Snitch kept running. However, her feet hit a bunch of rubbish.
The troops looked in her direction and proceeded forward, though not as fast as before. “It's a dead-end alley. We'll find her,” one of them said.
Finding the manhole cover she sought, Snitch spun the wheel and opened it.
The soldiers were almost on top of her.
Jumping down the hole, she slammed the door shut. She spun the shaft again and metal gears crunched. If only the locks were on the other side, but that was the way things were.
Snitch waited, praying they would leave. In the past, these troops hadn't investigated the hatches due to all the rumors. That wouldn't last forever. Had her noisy escape drawn too much attention? If they spotted a single member of her gang, the gig would be up.
“Can you see anything?” one soldier said.
“Nothing,” another replied.
“I hate these back alleys. Black as midnight.” Feet clunked around, kicking cans, scuffling through trash. The vibrations rippled down the ladder against Snitch's side. She lay on her back, staring at the hatch while her darklight continued to emanate the cloak.
Snitch's breathing was erratic but began to slow. They’ll leave. They’ll leave. They’ll leave.
“Hey, do you feel that?”
Clink.
“Is that one of those tunnel entrances?”
“W-Was that an Undergrounder we just chased?”
“You mean a blood drinker?”
Those last words were followed by many tortured seconds of silence.
Snitch couldn't see them, but hearing blood drinker eased her thoughts.
“Doesn’t Melicose suspect they’re hiding in the tunnels? He said to start checking them.”
“I think he said if we spotted one of those blood drinkers near a hatch. I—uh—didn't see that. You?”
“Nope.” Their clunky boots walked away with no more words.
Thank the stars for superstitious fears. If they had seen her enter, they might not have dodged their orders. She prayed they wouldn't report it to anyone.
A few minutes later, Snitch’s pulse returned to normal. After flipping off her darklight, she got up and walked.
There were no tracks to cover down here. It was still dark, being below ground at night. At least, that's how it would appear to any commoner. But for her and her teammates, the lack of light and soldiers provided a nice safety blanket. And Snitch welcomed this environment more than anyone.
Instead of razor sharp focus on tunnel ops, her thoughts drifted to the news about Melicose invading the tunnels in three days, causing her heart to flutter. She had to get this information back to Base.
Or everyone would be dead.
Chapter Two
An Argument
Under the cover of darkness, surrounded by silent tunnels, Snitch relaxed. Her clothes were soaked by a combination of haze and nervous sweat, but that didn't bother her. She welcomed the cloak of pitch black. As her pulse dropped to a calm level, she picked up her pace on the way toward Base.
Moving into the section dubbed Long Haul, her footfalls were soft as she enjoyed the comfortable hike. This stretch didn’t have any branches, so there was no need to look out for hatches under her feet.
The whistling sound caused by wind blowing topside brought a sense of comfort. The occasional creaks always gave this stretch of tunnel a hollow ring. That combined with the sound of dripping water from the hatch behind her made it seem like walking home along the same route you took every day. Except for the clean, straight lines of the tunnels.
After growing up in a rough neighborhood where roofs and walls were patched with whatever scraps could be found, the crisp, bowed shape of the tunnels stood out. They were certainly straighter than any topside road.
A few minutes later, the tone shifted as Long Haul ended in a T-junction. Snitch turned and walked a few feet. The sound of her breath bounced off the approaching cross hatch, giving her cue to step across an opening and onto a descending ladder. A few more junctures, and Snitch entered Rat’s Nest.
While she could hear the slightest scratches and scrapes bouncing off the walls elsewhere, Rat's Nest was different. Most of the Undergrounders didn't like it.
The Undergrounders didn’t use lights when traversing the tunnels. Many had initially argued against such a policy, but she had won their leader, Gavin, over and that settled any argument.
Rat’s Nest was the exception. After dozens of failed attempts in the past, Snitch had given up and joined the others in navigating this one section by pocket bulb. She fished hers out, a miniature lantern that radiated no heat yet was brighter than a dozen, and flipped it on. It’s cool, bright light stretched out and graced the surrounding walls.
There had to be dozens of hatches entering this tangled mess. Ladders everywhere, at all kinds of angles. The various sloped surfaces were confirmed by the deluge of echoes filling Snitch’s ears, probably caused by the same original sound but reflected too many times. Her hearing overloaded, all her focus shifted to what her eyes told her from the strands of lights reaching out from her pocket bulb.
Grabbing onto an awkwardly sloped ladder, she climbed along it until she reached another ladder. Crossing over, she moved at an off angle toward the portal she knew was the path to Base.
Exiting Rat's Nest, Snitch extinguished her pocket bulb and froze in place. A distant creaking sound, louder than any breathing, filled her ears. She gripped the edges of her coat and crouched.
The creaking was faint, but with Snitch’s senses shifted back into full tunnel mode, it had her undivided attention. The sound faded followed by a light popping. Regaining her composure, she stood and continued toward Base. After another half hour of maneuvering through tunnels, she slowed upon reaching Last Mile. Snitch focused her thoughts on the
ir security protocol as she approached the entry hatch to Base.
Pulling out her darklight and flipping its switch, her fingers slid along the left side of the tunnel until she found a small protruding box. She slipped in her key, turned it one quarter to the right, and then half-a-turn left before stowing it. Creaking emanated from the hatch, and it swung open.
Dim light poured out but stopped ten feet before Snitch as if it had hit a wall. The light had the same gray, fuzzy look as in the back alley. Walking into Base, the barrier moved with her. As soon as she was inside, the door closed.
“We're secured, sir,” said someone at the door.
“Good. You're clear, Snitch.”
“Thanks.” Snitch flipped off her darklight, and the eerie gray burst into rich color as light rushed in to greet her. “Where's Gavin? This is critical.”
“He's in the briefing room—”
As soon as Snitch heard that, she ran. She reached the room and burst in shouting, “Melicose is coming!”
Everyone looked at her before shifting their eyes to the man with black, wiry hair who stood at the front of the room.
“What do you mean?” Gavin glared at her as he ground his teeth.
“He gave the order to assemble search-and-destroy teams.”
“Where did you hear this?” An all too familiar smirk appeared on his face. He wasn’t accepting her claim. Not yet, anyway.
The chattering Snitch first heard upon entering the room ceased as everyone shifted their focus to her.
“One of my contacts.” She was nervous to give out details. It was an old habit of protecting friends, accomplices.
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