“Who’s Evie?” Logan asks. “I’ve never heard you talk about her before.”
“I don’t . . . usually.”
“Ah. Well, that would explain it.”
The signal on the radio is loud and clear now. Logan takes our exit and travels down the access road a few hundred feet before pulling off the pavement and into the grass. He parks behind the silo, shuts off the ignition, and we sit in silence for a moment, staring up at it. It does look haunted. If people live here somewhere, they’re doing a really great job of hiding it.
“Now or never time.” Logan unbuckles his seat belt.
“She was my best friend in the whole world.” And I tear up, following suit with my and Missy’s seat belts. I click the safety off my rifle, willing myself to be strong.
“I’m sorry.” He drops his head, then cocks it to peek up at me. “But at least you had one.”
“Are you saying you never had a best friend?”
“Yeah. I mean, I had close buddies when I was younger, but . . . it’s just been solo me-o for a few years now.”
“Why?”
He gazes out through the window for a moment before facing me. “It was easier that way.”
I study his eyes, because they tell a deeper story. A tale I know by heart. Someone hurt him. Many people, many times, including—if not mostly—himself.
“I understand,” I finally say, taking his cold fingers in my warm ones. I gaze up at the looming silo, a tremble washing over me. “Let me do the talking, I guess?” I light a cigarette and take a cluster of nervous drags. “Since Gideon told me to ask for Deuce.”
“Yeah, okay.” Logan shrugs. “Long as they don’t kill me, I’m good.”
Thirty-Six
Logan makes a leash with some nylon rope we found in the glove compartment and coaxes Buddy from the van. Buddy doesn’t want to go, but he gives in, hopping from the cab to the grassy dirt. Missy clings to me, but I set her feet on the ground and crouch in front of her.
“You’re brave and strong,” I remind her. “And you have that cool magic sword now. Time to walk on your own two feet, okay?”
With trepidation plain on her face, she nods, releases my hand, and unsheathes her katana with a glance to me for permission.
“If it makes you feel safer, then yes, hold it.”
She grips the handle, scoping the silo and our surroundings. It’s too dark to see very far, which makes me nervous. We stroll up to the silo, which appears to be vacant, and fear sets in. What do we do if nothing’s here? The thought of never seeing Gideon again crushes me . . . but I trust him. He lied to me, but I still trust him. If he said to go here, then here is the place to go.
After an inspection of the outside, we can’t really make out a door, so I take a deep breath and give the metal a knock. Another minute of nothing and I give it a good bang with my fist.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them.”
We turn to face two soldiers at the side of the silo, aiming M16s at us. We slowly set our rifles onto the ground and put our hands in the air.
“Drop the sword,” the one on the left—a female—tells Missy, and Missy does as she’s told.
“Gideon Tyler sent us,” I say. “He told us to ask for Deuce.”
The two drop their weapons, scanning the area as they come nearer. “You say Tyler sent you?” The female steps closer, and I make out a tight, blonde bun beneath her green army beret.
“Uh, yeah,” Logan says. “And we brought some supplies for barter, if that helps.”
They inspect the van, then the guy, a husky Hispanic with tribal tattoos, takes a walkie-talkie off his belt and clicks the button on the side. “Deuce, there’s some people here to see you. They say Gideon Tyler sent them.”
“Oh, yeah?” answers a low-toned, throaty male voice.
“Yeah. A dude, a chick, a little girl, and a dog. They say they have supplies for barter, too.”
There’s silence, with the exception of a low flying passenger jet—taxis for the Suits, I’ve decided. We all watch it until Deuce speaks again. “Thanks, Armando. I’ll be right there.”
The chick holds out a hand. “I’m Kelly.” And she nods toward her partner. “That’s Mando. You two from around here?”
“Selam,” I say.
“Ah.” She nods. “And how’d you meet Tyler?”
“He was being chased by the dead and I let him in my house.”
“Oh, so you saved his life, huh?”
“I guess you could say that.”
She fidgets for a second before composing herself, as if she were going to say something she’s not sure she should.
“Come with me.” Mando waves a thick arm over his black buzz-cut, then leads us around the other side of the silo. There’s a clanking, a screech, then what sounds like a squealing metal door sliding closed on its tracks. Seconds later, the wall in front of us slides up to a tall, Black man with long braids and arms the size of my torso. Behind him are two men in black uniforms with M16s held at the ready.
Deuce signals to the men to lower their weapons. “Hey, there. You say Gideon sent you?” he asks Logan.
“Well, me, actually.” I step forward. “But I couldn’t leave them behind.”
He nods, inspecting us. “Understood.” And his smile fades. “I hate to be a heartless jerk, but . . . we don’t allow animals into the Tunnels. Safety and health reasons. I hope you understand.”
Missy cries at his words, hugging her new friend. I get sad, too, as I look around at the darkness. “We understand,” I say, fighting tears watching Missy cry.
“He’ll die out here, man,” Logan says, feeling it, too.
“I’m so sorry,” Deuce says, “but there’s nothing I can do. Leave him some food and water out here, and I bet he’ll hang around. We’ll do our best to keep an eye on him.”
Logan storms off to the van. He digs around in it for a few minutes and returns with a gallon of water and a grocery bag full of dog food. He hands the bag to Kelly, removes a can from inside, and peels back the lid. “Can you guys get a bowl or something for water?” He leads Buddy over a few feet to show him his food.
“Yeah, no problem.” Kelly nods. “I’ll run and grab one soon.”
Missy and I say our goodbyes to Buddy as he devours his food. He stops for a second to give Missy a lick to the hand, then she sobs into my side.
“Shh, come on, girl. They said they’d watch him, okay? And we have to get to safety. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.”
We follow Deuce, flanked by his two guards, into the silo. “I’ll open the vehicle entrance,” he says, “but only authorized personnel are allowed through that entrance. Once your vehicle is down there, I’ll take you to it.”
I can tell by his stony expression and the way he grinds his jaw that Logan doesn’t like the idea. “Sounds good,” he says anyway.
Deuce flips a switch on the wall. A section of earth slides back, and in the mouth of the giant hole is a ramp that descends into darkness.
“I’ll have Kelly drive it down and bring you the keys in the living quarters when you get there. Cool?” Deuce gives Logan a thumbs-up.
“Yeah, okay. Can my little sister have her magic sword back now, though? She feels safer when she carries it.”
Deuce peeks at his men, then nods to Missy. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Just make sure to keep it put away while we’re inside, okay?”
She nods, collecting her blade from the ground and fumbling with it for a second before sliding it into its sheath.
“Stay with the dog,” Kelly tells Mando. “I’ll go grab a bowl and maybe find a blanket or something for him to lie on.”
“Will do.”
“His name is Buddy,” I say. “And thank you. We really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Kelly says. “I had a dog once . . .” And she trails off in that bittersweet nostalgia, like we all do at times now.
The silo towers over us, a colossal pi
ece of rusted metal. In front of us is a gated entry to what I’m guessing is an elevator. Deuce punches a big green button and the gate opens, then another, and we step on. Missy shakes beside me, and I squeeze her hand. She takes a deep breath and stands tall, attempting a subtle bravery that almost has me convinced. It makes me smile, and it makes me cry a little inside. She could make it in this world. We all could. Hopefully, this place is another step in the right direction.
END OF BOOK TWO
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Acknowledgements
Though Grace sings much better than I, we share a love for a lot (okay, all) of the same music, including one of my favorite bands of all time, Nine Inch Nails. Through some very dark periods of my life, Trent Reznor sang to me; he held my soul when I was otherwise alone, and I knew he understood. Music in general did this for me for many years, but some swept me away more than others. For the longest, my two musical staples were Sarah McLachlan and Nine Inch Nails, so is it any wonder I write what I write?
I remember from the ripe young age of thirteen, discovering the dark world that was the NIN. For me, my discovery of the world that came along with it—drugs, sex, alcohol, that whole wild life—was like when Grace turned Eve on to the “dark and light ways of the Zalaan Goddess.”
Nine Inch Nails, along with a few other bands/artists, and electronic music in general, were such an important piece of my history, my survival in the wilds of the darkest streets and alleyways of my mind, streets I’m sure Reznor, as well as musical god and hero, Eminem, supreme Diva extraordinaire, P!nk, and many others are familiar with themselves. It’s not easy having living, breathing worlds inside of you that need you to release them. Worlds of devastation and loss, and such immense, soul-crushing beauty. Without music and words, I’d be incomplete.
Other than the hundreds of songs (so far!) on Willow Trees on a Stormy Night in Space, Grace’s playlist on Spotify, Murray’s Law was written under heavy influence of Nine Inch Nails “The Fragile.” And I’ll be honest, this album—this motherfuckingalbuuuum is amazing. If you have not bought this album as an actual CD, please, DO IT NOW HERE IS YOUR LINK: http://amzn.to/2lrMb0v
waits
Okay, so when it came out, I admit, I was not in a place to fully appreciate it. I was still in the throes of survival in my own apocalypse. I loved the album, but when I began listening to it on Spotify while writing Murry’s Law (early 2017), I really felt this album on a whole new level.
Being on the other side of my darkness and standing in the light, where Reznor had traveled as he wrote that album, and then seeing where Grace and Gideon (and others) were on their journey in Murray’s Law, knowing all they’ve been through, and what they still have to go through, I really felt every single word and note of every song on that album straight down to my bones. If there was one soundtrack that perfectly summed up this entire series, it would be Nine Inch Nails, “The Fragile.”
So thank you, Trent Reznor. If you’re reading this, know you’ve helped another twisted and creative mind find a place in this world.
(Who am I kidding, I am totally fangirling at the thought of you reading this. CALL ME. ((or text, email, carrier pigeon, telegram, message in a bottle, ANYTHING)) fans self)
To all other musicians everywhere, I love you. You guys are my everything. I have thousands of songs on my Spotify playlists that I listen to while writing these books. So if I ever get famous, I hope that ripples over to every single one of you in some way. I hope it already has.
This is by no means a comprehensive list, but these are just a few more of the brilliant musicians (in approximate order of discovery) that enable me to do what I do every day:
Sarah McLachlan, Bob Marley, Pink Floyd, Deftones, Sublime, Eminem, P!nk, Tiesto, Audioslave, Incubus, The White Stripes, Robert Miles, Flyleaf, Evanescence, The Glitch Mob, God is an Astronaut, Ronald Jenkees, Flux Pavilion, Adventure Club, Veela, Blackmill, Trifonic, Royksopp, Adele, Bassnectar, Tritonal, Greta Svabo Bech, Ghosts of Paraguay, Lindsey Stirling, Seven Lions, Crywolf, Karma Fields, Clubroot, Asa, Stumbleine, Wreckage Machinery, A Himitsu, Emika, Made in Heights, Fytch, Draper, FC Kahuna, Sebastian Plano, Kaya Project, Killigrew, Ed Harrison, Mimi Page, Mirrored Theory, Solar Fields, Hiatus, Hol Baumann, ID3, Idenline, Ficci, Laura Hahn, Minor Rain, Electus, Onuka, Vaults, Hollywood Principle, Azedia (one of Grace’s favorite musical artists ;-), Maduk, Emily Underhill, Delerium, Synthetic Epiphany, Enzalla, Zella Day, Spor, Torgny, Maria Due, and sooooooo many more, ugh, but I’ll be here all day if I list everyone!
Readers, please support these guys by listening to, and purchasing their amazing music. You can check out Grace’s playlist (which includes a lot of these guys and more) on Spotify here: Willow Trees on a Stormy Night in Space: http://bit.ly/WillowTreesinSpace
To listen to the songs Grace named in “Murray’s Law,” (which I highly recommend!) check out the Murray’s Law Playlist on Spotify here: http://bit.ly/MurraysLaw
Grace would want me to tell you that if you’re an aspiring creative person of any kind, please don’t stop doing that thing you do so well. One day you may wake up and realize your entire life has passed you by without you actually living it. Don’t let that happen. Don’t give up on your dream! We need you and your gift.
Thanks (as always!) to my remarkably talented production team: Kimberly Grenfell, my editor; Christian Bentulan, my cover designer; and John Gibson, my formatter. I don’t know what I’d do without you brilliant individuals to put those last layers of polish on these stories I work so hard on. I’m forever grateful for everything you three do to make each project shine. Thank you, I love you. You’re rock stars!
I also want to give a special shout out to all of my loyal Advanced Reader-Reviewers who have stuck by my side from my last series to this new one. I know The Night Blind Saga is vastly different from The Treemakers Trilogy, and I appreciate you guys so much for following me into this new, exciting, and scary venture. Knowing I have you lovely book midwives to help bring my new book babies into the world gives me confidence and motivation, especially on hard days. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to Amy C.B., Cheree C., Jennifer L. Shelah K., Heather V., Heather F., Kim L., Kaila R., Rebecca R., Gina S., Fawn P., Ileana R., Kimberly V., Stephanie C., Pam E., and Sallyann C. You ladies are the bomb!
Last, but certainly not least, I’m shouting a big thank you to you incredible folks at “The Lounge”—my former neighbors, Robin and Joe S., and Julia T.—I love you guys. Over the past year you three have become so special to me. You’ve been there for me when I needed a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a creative eye or ear when I needed advice, and so much more. You’ve listened to my indie author woes, celebrated my successes with me, listened to me read my work with earnest enthusiasm, and have given me so much juicy fiction fodder, I’m wondering if I might need to start giving you guys a cut of my royalties. ;) I’m sad that I had to move farther from you guys, but also confident we’ve built a friendship that will withstand the tests of time and distance. For that, I’m so very grateful.
HUGS
Christina
Where To Find Christina
And here are some more places you can find Christina Rozelle and her work around the web:
Other Books By The Author
Table of Contents
Title Page
Quick Links
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thank You
Acknowledgements
Where To Find Christina
Other Books By The Author
Table of Contents
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 Christina L. Rozelle A Spark In The Dark Press
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief quotes used in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Christian Bentulan Interior layout by John Gibson
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