Into Shadow (Shadow and Light Book 1)

by T. D. Shields

  I closed the door again and flipped the deadbolt above the doorknob. The second exit had me decided: I would make a space for myself here for now. The front entrance was not particularly secure, but at least the screaming hinges would give me warning if someone came in so I could duck out the back entrance.

  I went out to the sidewalk to retrieve my bike. I wasn’t going to risk leaving it outside without me. I wheeled it through the dining room and into the kitchen. I positioned it behind the stove so that it formed a bit of a barrier between me and the rest of the room. The kitchen was small enough that the bike would slow down an intruder long enough to let me get out the back door.

  I kicked a few dented, empty cans out of my way to clear a space for myself against the back wall. I removed my backpack and pulled it into my lap as I sat cross-legged on the floor. I removed a tube of water and hunk of beef jerky and tried to make them last as long as possible to convince my grumbling stomach that they were enough to satisfy my hunger. It didn’t work, but it did take the edge off enough to allow other needs to take precedence over my hunger.

  I got to my feet again to look for something that would serve as a bathroom. An empty bucket underneath the front counter worked for the time being, though I would have to find a better solution if I stayed here for long. For now, though, I had taken care of the most urgent issues, and I really needed some sleep.

  I closed up the backpack again and plumped it up as best I could to serve as a pillow. I had a moment to be grateful that it was a warm summer night, since I had no blankets, and then I was asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I woke abruptly the next morning, alerted by some small noise that told me I was no longer alone. My eyes flew open to meet a pair of golden eyes with slit-pupils only inches from my own. I gasped and scrambled backward as the large gray tomcat hissed at me, startled by my sudden movements.

  My heart was still pounding in reaction but I started laughing at myself. Hard to believe I’d been so scared of a harmless cat. He was still staring at me, ears flattened against his head. Feeling lonely and in need of a friend, I tried to coax the cat toward me. I stretched out my hand, calling, “Hey, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  Instead of coming to me for petting and hugs, the cat hissed again and swiped at me with his front paw. I jerked my hand back just in time to avoid the sharp claws. He darted forward and began digging at my backpack, and I realized he could probably smell the jerky I’d eaten for dinner last night. That was undoubtedly the reason he’d approached me in the first place.

  I pulled the backpack away from him. I didn’t want the cat clawing through my meager possessions. It was foolish to share; I had barely any food for myself already. But still, I tore off a piece of my remaining jerky and tossed it to the big cat. His sharp white teeth snatched up the food practically before it hit the floor, and he ran away with his prize.

  I broke off a piece of jerky for my own breakfast and chased it with one of my few remaining tubes of water. Finding a source of water had to be high on my priority list today. And since I was already awake, thanks to my early-morning visitor, I might as well get to work.

  I made use of the bucket again, and then cautiously opened the back door. After looking around and listening intently for a couple of minutes, I felt fairly sure that there was no one around; so I took my bucket outside and found a trench at the back of the alley where I could dump it. Judging from the stale odor lingering there, this was not the first time the trench had been used for this purpose.

  Back inside I found a piece of twine on one of the dusty shelves and used it to tie the front door closed as tightly as I could manage. If anyone else came exploring while I was gone, I hoped it would discourage them from coming inside and discovering my bike. I was going to check out the neighborhood on foot today. The bike was simply too conspicuous if I wanted to stay unnoticed.

  I removed the ignition stick and tucked it into my pocket to make it a little harder for anyone to make off with the bike and decided that was as much as I could do. I went out the back door and used another piece of twine wound about the doorknob and a metal latch on the doorjamb to tie that door closed as well. I used a series of complicated knots that would be hard for most people to recreate. If my knots were disturbed when I returned, I would know that someone might have entered the café. That was the only alarm system available to me, so it would have to do.

  I checked out the rest of the shops along the short street. There were only three more intact enough to explore, and they were all as empty as my little hidey-hole. Clearly these buildings had long since been raided for anything useful and abandoned once again. Though I saw another cat or two prowling in the alleys, I saw no sign of other people anywhere.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had been truly alone. Even when I slept or visited the bathroom I knew that a Secret Service agent was only feet away, ready to protect me from any sudden threat. I found the empty silence here oddly soothing and enjoyed knowing that for once there were no cameras or judgmental eyes trained on my every move.

  After exploring the shops on the east side of the street and discovering nothing useful, I stood in the center of the street for a few minutes and looked around. It was the middle of the day, the sun high in the sky, yet somehow it still felt oddly dim here in contrast to the dazzling brightness of the white streets and buildings in Goodland. Here, the mounds of debris from fallen skyscrapers and razed neighborhoods cast long shadows over the streets, even when the sun was shining brightly.

  The pockets of shadow made it hard to pick out details in the mounds of rubble and twisted vines on the other side of the street; but after studying the section in front of me, I could just make out a door leading into a building that was only partially collapsed. I really needed to go searching for a water source, but I decided to check out that last shop building first, just in case the half-collapsed building hadn’t been as thoroughly emptied as the rest.

  Shoving some tendrils of hanging vines out of my way, I ducked inside the doorway I’d spotted. It was hard to see in the darkened hallway, but I made my way further inside, looking for anything useful.

  Two doors off the hallway were already ajar. I poked my head inside each but didn’t see anything worth grabbing. These rooms had been thoroughly cleared already. There was one more door at the end of the hall. A dusty plaque glued to the sturdy steel door declared that it was a storeroom. A collection of dents and pry marks announced that people had tried to force the door open, but it didn’t look like anyone had been successful.

  Feeling grateful for my father’s unconventional training, I pulled the folding knife from my backpack. It had a couple of attachments that weren’t exactly standard issue; they looked like a nail file and a small pry bar, but if you knew how to use them, they were a pretty efficient set of picks for most standard locks.

  I set to work and was quite proud of myself for getting the lock to release after only a couple of minutes. I opened the door and grinned in excitement. These shelves were full!

  The storeroom had apparently belonged to some sort of alternative lifestyle type of store, because the stock on the shelves was not exactly standard fare. One entire wall was devoted to whips, chains, and cuffs of various styles. I actually took a whip and attempted to flick it a few times, wondering if I could use it as a weapon. Since the whip simply flopped limply as I waved it, I decided to leave it behind. I did grab a couple of lengths of chain and locks, though; they would be better than twine for securing the doors of the café.

  The other two walls held shelves of clothing. To my amusement, most of it was black leather, just as I’d joked about with Sharra back at the train station. Pushing back the twinge of sadness that I’d lost my new friend so quickly, I sorted through the clothes to see if there was anything I could use.

  The shelves nearest me had stacks of underwear and t-shirts. Though the underwear was certainly more risqué than I would have ever worn before, slutty underwear was still better
than no underwear, and I tossed half a dozen sets into a pile by the door. I added a small stack of thin t-shirts in assorted shades ranging from black to dark gray.

  Next, I found several pairs of leather pants that fit reasonably well. They weren’t really leather, of course. No one had used real leather in decades. But the faux leather that was commonly used instead was actually tougher and easier to care for than genuine leather, so few people complained when true leather was outlawed.

  I certainly didn’t mind the faux leather. It looked just as good as real leather but was more breathable and less likely to chafe, making it much more comfortable to wear.

  I found a pair of knee-high leather boots that were a perfect fit and couldn’t resist leaving them on. They looked so good, even with my dirty jeans. I tossed my sneaks into the pile of things to take back to the café, then moved to the last shelf. I found some leather vests; if I wasn’t planning to wear them over a t-shirt they might have been called bustiers. But I hoped that wearing them with a t-shirt would make them look less like fetish-wear.

  I wasn’t selecting the leather clothing just to look more intimidating – though I hoped it would have that effect – but I knew that the heavier material would offer better protection than the t-shirt and jeans I was currently wearing. Based on my experiences during my short time in the city, I felt I needed to be prepared for danger.

  The last thing I found was a couple of long, swirling black capes. I rolled my eyes a little at the thought of anyone walking around in a cape, but I grabbed them anyway. The capes were made from heavy material, so they would work nicely as blankets for my bedroll.

  I bundled all my treasures together in the capes and slung the makeshift pack over my shoulder. I would have to go through my backpack and rearrange to make room for my new possessions once I got back to the café.

  I stepped into the hallway and carefully closed the storeroom door behind me. I wanted to keep my discovery a secret from anyone else who might come this way, just in case I needed to come back for something.

  I walked up the hall to the doorway where I’d entered and frowned. I remembered pushing a couple of hanging vines aside to go through the door, but there were definitely a lot more vines crowding the doorway now. I would have to shove through a curtain of vines in order to exit. Since I could see thick thorns studding the vines, pushing them aside with my bare hands felt like a bad idea.

  Instead, I used my new bundle of clothing as a sort of battering ram, slapping the vines out of my way and rushing through before they could swing back at me. Though it seemed likely that my overstressed brain was seeing things, I could have sworn that the thick vines deliberately twisted as they fell, reaching out for me. I pushed through the tangle of vines and ran for the street, only to trip and almost land on my face in a pile of the trailing plants because one of the vines had somehow gotten twined around my ankle.

  I yanked my foot free, glad that I had left on the leather boots. If I’d been wearing my jeans and sneaks the thorns on that vine would have bitten deep into my leg. Thanks to my bundle of clothes and my new boots, I’d gotten free of the clinging vines with only one scratch, an angry red line running from my left wrist almost to my elbow.

  I realized that I was standing still in the center of the street, just staring at the scratch on my arm and watching the drops of blood well up and drip to the cracked pavement. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been doing that; it felt like my thoughts were suddenly muffled in fog. I was so tired that my head was spinning. I just wanted to lie down and take a nap.

  I caught myself as I almost sat down right there on the street for a rest and forced myself to place one foot in front of the other to make my way back to the café. The short trip back seemed to take a very long time as I staggered with exhaustion and confusion.

  When I arrived at the back door I found it nearly impossible to undo my own knots. I almost resorted to pulling out my knife to slice through the twine in order to get back inside. But after struggling with the rope for several long minutes, I managed to untie the knots and open the door. I lurched inside, slammed the door closed behind me, and fumbled the locks closed.

  I dropped to my knees, unable to walk another step. I was barely able to crawl to the spot where I’d slept the previous night. I dropped my backpack and the bundled clothes and slumped to the floor beside them. I had the dim thought that I should probably clean the scratch, but couldn’t follow through enough to pull out my first-aid kit. Instead, I finally allowed myself to close my eyes and let the whirling darkness in my head pull me under.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I felt an instant sense of déjà vu as I opened my eyes to see the gray cat staring at me. He leaned in close, and I thought for a moment that he was going to rub his head against my face. I smiled, anticipating the soft brush of fur along my cheek. Instead, the cat darted in, snagged the pack of jerky that was spilling from my backpack, and sauntered away.

  He didn’t bother to run, seeming to realize that I didn’t have the ability to chase him. No, he trotted out of the kitchen, ears and tail cheerfully elevated as he clutched his prize in his teeth.

  He was right, too. I was completely unable to chase him down and retrieve the jerky. In fact, it was a major effort just to drag myself to a sitting position, my head spinning woozily as I leaned against the wall for support. My left arm throbbed painfully, but I couldn’t manage to lift the heavy limb so that my eyes could focus on the injury. I tried bending my head to look at the arm and almost fell onto my face when I overbalanced.

  I pulled myself upright until I could lean against the wall again. I was dimly aware that something was very wrong but couldn’t focus my attention enough to worry about it as I concentrated on getting a good look at my painful scratch. I held my left wrist with my right hand and pulled the uncooperative arm closer to my face with great effort.

  My vision swam, and I blinked fiercely to bring things back into focus. Finally, I got a good look at my arm and saw that the wound still looked fairly minor. It was only a scratch. But the scratch was swollen and oozing with yellow pus. I gagged a little. Disgusting.

  There was no one here to help me, so I knew I had to care for it myself. Slowly, every movement feeling as if I were pushing through deep water, I pulled the backpack onto my lap and fumbled through it to find the first-aid kit.

  I opened the kit and pulled out a tube of Derma-Seal. I set it aside for the moment. I couldn’t apply the wound sealant until I had dealt with the infection. Deeper in the kit I found a jet-can of sterilizing solution. The jet-can used a blast of pressurized air to propel the sterilizing solution into a wound, cleaning the exposed tissue even as it applied a dose of anti-microbial medicine to fight infection.

  I knew it was going to hurt. I gritted my teeth and pushed the button. The medicated air shot out to scour the infected scratch clean. I almost dropped the jet-can at the screaming pain but forced myself to grimly hang on and finish the job. By the time I had cleaned the entire wound I was panting and dripping with sweat. My whole body was shaking with reaction. I didn’t know how a simple scratch could cause so much trouble.

  I surveyed the injury with bleary eyes and was gratified to see that, though it was bleeding freely again, there was no longer any sign of the oozing infection. I smeared my arm with Derma-Seal to close the wound and stop the bleeding and then applied a sterile pressure sleeve to further protect the injured area. I felt immediate relief as the pain-relieving medication that infused the bandage material started to numb my aching arm.

  The pain had temporarily cleared my head, but now that it was easing, I felt my thinking quickly becoming fuzzy again. Working as quickly as I was able, I reassembled the first aid kit and replaced it in the backpack. I removed one of my last precious water tubes and drank it thirstily. After stashing the flattened tube in the backpack, I closed it up tightly. I didn’t want that thieving cat to take any more of my limited supplies.

  Exhausted and fuzzy-headed, I laid down wi
th the backpack as my pillow. I dragged one of the cloaks from the storeroom close enough to pull the edge over my body as a blanket and let myself drift into sleep once again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I opened my eyes to see the damn cat staring at me again. He probably hoped I would still be in a stupor that would leave him free to steal more of my food. But my mind was finally free of that smothering drowsiness, and I could think clearly again. I wasn’t going to let that happen. My arm hurt, but not with the same intensity as before, and I felt like I would be able to get up and move around without falling over this time.

  Still staring at the cat, I noticed that his muzzle and front paws were damp. My eyes widened with excitement. If the cat was still wet, there must be water somewhere nearby. If I could just track the cat back to the source, I would have drinking water. I knew cats were picky about the cleanliness of their drinking water; so if the cat could drink it, hopefully it was clean enough for me to drink as well.

  I sat up slowly, not wanting to spook the cat into running away. He crouched, ears flattened, tail lashing, ready to bolt at the slightest threatening movement. When I reached for the backpack, his whiskers twitched with interest. He knew that was where I kept the food. I quietly dug through the small pack of food, looking for something else that would interest a cat. I rejected the protein bars in favor of a small plasti-pack of tuna and opened it with the pull tab.

  The cat immediately got to his feet, nose twitching madly at the smell of the tuna. He was almost quivering as his desire to come investigate the scent fought with his instincts to stay out of reach. I wasn’t generous enough to give all the tuna away; I needed food, too. So I used my fingers to dig out a small chunk of fish and flicked it to the eagerly waiting cat, then scooped a chunk into my own mouth.