The Kat Dubois Chronicles: The Complete Series (Echo World Book 2)

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Three deep cuts on each wrist should do the trick. Especially with my hands below my heart. I just hoped I would bleed out quickly enough—and that the damage to my body wouldn’t be impossible to fix. But speed of death was the more urgent matter; once this window closed, it was over. All of it. My people’s future—my sanity—gone. Desperation drove me onwards. Home was calling to me. It was now or never.

  Anapa was standing before the portal now. His back was to me, his hands clasped behind him. At least a dozen Netjers crowded around him, ready to drag him into my universe and throw him into Aaru. I supposed their number was a testament to his power; he was among the oldest and strongest of the Netjers.

  I made the first cut. Hot blood gushed from the wound, pouring down my hand. The pain was sharp and deep, but it paled in comparison to the agony of tapping into the Essence. It was like a feather tickling my skin. A mere irritation, nothing more.

  The corner of my mouth lifted, and I made the second cut.

  The Mother was issuing orders, but I tuned her voice out. I needed to focus on me now. On not screwing this up. This was the single most important moment of my life. I couldn’t fail.

  I made the third cut.

  The Mother of All had no idea what I was doing. She understood power. She understood strength and sheer, blunt force. But she didn’t know a damn thing about sacrifice. She didn’t get that sacrifice held its own kind of power.

  But I got it. I’d lived it. It was the final lesson my mom taught me, the moment she died. I just hadn’t learned the true meaning until now. I hadn’t understood the full, unsurmountable power of sacrifice, until now.

  I switched the push dagger to my other hand. My fingers were slick with blood, and the blood loss was weakening me, making the knife’s squat handle difficult to grip.

  I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath, and made the fourth cut. And the fifth.

  Anapa and his escort were moving toward the portal. The Mother turned partway, glancing back at me. She probably wanted to make sure I was watching. Remotely, I hoped my blood puddle hadn’t spread out enough that she could see it.

  My vision grew hazy around the edges, darkening, and my head drooped forward, but I used every last ounce of strength left in me to hold my head up and glare right back at the Mother of All.

  She sneered and turned her back to me. She hadn’t noticed the pool of blood spreading out on the floor around me. I had. I could feel it soaking through my jeans, both hot and cold at the same time.

  I made the sixth cut. A few seconds later, dark spots closed in until I could barely see. My head slumped forward. And just as the Mother of All had predicted when she first trapped me in this prison cell, I awaited the inevitable.

  Dying is hard. Until it’s not. Until it’s easy.

  No matter how ready you are, no matter how much you think you want it, you can’t help the part where your body fights it. Where instinct kicks in and claws like hell to hold on to life.

  I should know. I’d died a few times already.

  But this time was different.

  Much as I needed it not to be, this time was probably, most likely, forever.

  Alison

  It’s been four days since the attack in Rome . . . since Kat, the Goddess, my friend, disappeared and the end of the world began. It’s been three days since the rest of the Nejerets followed her to who-knows-where . . . since the evacuation orders started. And it’s been two days since I went into hiding. Since I became one of the lucky ones. One of the survivors.

  The only news of what’s going on “out there” comes from the increasingly spotty radio broadcasts. Seattle was one of the first of dozens of cities attacked, and the reports make it sound like it was completely destroyed. Bellevue, Kirkland, Renton—everything immediately across the lake was hit almost as hard, as were Vashon and Bainbridge and the other islands on the far side of the Sound. Collateral damage, they’re saying. I have to hold out hope that the reports are wrong . . . that it’s not as bad as they’re saying.

  I’d have been part of that collateral damage if it wasn’t for Joe. The evacuation order only applied to Seattle. Nobody knew what we were running from, just that we were supposed to be running. Who knows how many of my students are dead. How many of my friends . . .

  I can’t think about it for more than a second or two. If I do . . . well, it’s best not to find out.

  Joe and I are staying in his hunting cabin in Whittier, just over the pass. He has a cellar stocked with supplies, and we’re within walking distance of any number of sources of fresh water, so we should be good here for a few months. But even if things somehow miraculously calm down, what kind of world will we have to return to?

  I can’t help but wonder if—

  Alison’s pen stilled when the cabin’s front door opened and Joe walked in carrying an armful of firewood. She looked up, eyes meeting his.

  “Hey, Ali,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.

  She returned his smile, but hers felt forced and empty. She tried to cover it up by raising her mug and taking a sip of coffee. It was hot, black, and bitter, just the way she liked it.

  Joe crouched down by the wood stove, stacking the fresh load of firewood on the few remaining pieces from the previous night. The stove was their main source of heat, and they needed to keep it running at pretty much all hours to hold the mountain chill at bay. Though it was late March, it was technically still winter, as confirmed by the foot of fresh snow that had fallen overnight.

  “What are you working on there?” Joe asked, standing and pulling off his work gloves.

  “Oh, nothing important,” Alison said, setting down her pen and shutting the journal. She shook her head, lips twisting in a self-effacing smile. “It’s stupid, really.”

  She’d first had the idea to start a journal during a several-hour bout of insomnia the previous night. She was making a record of the end of the world. It might be nice to have one day . . . should anyone survive. She was a historian, after all—or a history teacher. Not the same thing, but her love of history and the historical record wasn’t any less than that of someone who spent their days doing research and producing articles for academic journals. Or, at least, from someone who used to do that. She doubted academia would be much of a priority in the new, ravaged world.

  “Aw . . .” Joe tucked the gloves under his left arm. “Nothing you do is stupid,” he said, making his way across the cozy living room to where she sat at the table. He paused to plant a kiss atop her head.

  She arched her neck, tilting her head back and offering him her lips. His were cold, a stark contrast to his frozen cheeks. “There’s still some coffee left in the pot,” Alison said. “Why don’t you pour yourself a mug to warm up?”

  “Perfect,” Joe said, planting one final peck on her lips. He straightened and headed into the kitchen behind her.

  Alison tapped her fingers on the journal’s leather cover, watching Joe make his way about the kitchen. He moved with the same efficient purpose as he had in the bar. They’d only been dating for a few weeks, their first hookup happening the evening Alison had discussed the troubles at her school over drinks with Kat. Things were still so fresh and new—they’d yet to even have “the talk.” They weren’t even a real couple yet, at least not technically.

  So far as Alison knew, Joe may very well have been dating a handful of other women at the same time as he’d been seeing her; it might have been sheer dumb luck that she’d been at the bar when the evacuation order for Seattle was issued and had, by default, been the woman he’d swept off to hunker down with in his cabin.

  Laughing under her breath, Alison shook her head. She knew she was being ridiculous, letting insecurity and jealousy get the better of her. Joe was crazy about her. He’d all but dragged her out of that bar and up to Snoqualmie Pass, only allowing a quick stop at either of their apartments to gather the essentials—including her Maine coon cat and his elderly pit bull. Watching the two mortal enemies battle it out over
their tiny kingdom had been the main source of entertainment in the cabin the past two days.

  Joe pulled out the chair adjacent to Alison’s, unzipped his flannel coat, and sat, coffee mug in hand. Alison thought that black- and red-checked flannel pattern on Joe’s coat looked ruggedly adorable on him, and with his several days of scruff, he was verging on sexy lumberjack territory.

  “So,” Alison said, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand, “what’s on the docket for today?” Plenty, she was sure. Ever since arriving two days ago, they’d been working nonstop, building up the firewood supply, setting up a snow-capture system to increase their cache of fresh water, and cataloguing their food supply.

  Joe set his mug on the center of the place mat in front of him and switched hands, letting the fingers of his left hand soak up the warmth permeating the ceramic. “I was thinking we’d head up to Snowshoe Butte. There’s a radio tower up there that goes out a lot during the snowy season—figured it might be worth checking if that’s why we can’t get a signal.”

  Alison straightened and nodded. “Sure,” she said, glancing at the battery-operated radio sitting in the center of the table. They hadn’t been able to pick up any kind of broadcast since the previous evening. They’d been listening to a looping disaster update one second, static the next.

  “Do you know how to fix that kind of thing?” Alison asked. Because she certainly had no idea.

  Joe shrugged one shoulder. “I tinker.”

  Alison laughed softly. “Of course you do.”

  She’d learned so much about Joe these past few days; at times, it seemed there was nothing he couldn’t do. She’d definitely ended up with the right guy to stick by while waiting out the apocalypse. Without him, she would probably end up dead in a matter of days.

  Oh, who was she kidding—without him, she’d have been killed outright in the initial blasts. Like so many others . . .

  Alison cleared her throat, blocking that train of thought. She would not fall into that devastating trap—not again. “So,” she said, “how hard of a hike are we talking?”

  “Not much of a hike at all,” Joe told her. “There’s a national forest road that’ll take us up most of the way. It’s maybe a hundred yards from the truck to the tower. It’s rocky, and it’ll be pretty icy right now, but I’ve got some extra crampons for you, so you should be able to stay on your feet.”

  Alison frowned. “Can I ask a stupid question?”

  “Again,” Joe said, pointing to Alison, “not stupid.”

  She snorted gently. “What’s a crampon?”

  Sitting on the tailgate of Joe’s truck, Alison stared at the spiked metal contraptions attached to her hiking boots. They looked like some sort of foot-bound weapon, or maybe a gruesome torture device. She twisted around when Joe shut the driver’s side door behind her.

  “Alright,” he said, hoisting a day pack onto his shoulders, “let’s head up and see what kind of damage we’re dealing with.” He looked right in all of his mountaineering gear—cozy, but practical—whereas Alison felt like a marshmallow.

  Alison jumped down from the tailgate, her boots crunching into the snow. She followed Joe to the path leading out of the trees and fell into step behind him. The icy wind whipped and howled all around her, chapping her cheeks and making her eyes sting.

  “Just put your feet where I do and you should be fine,” Joe said when the fluffy, fresh snowfall gave way to a sheer sheet of ice.

  The ice field spread out before them, reaching almost all the way to the base of the radio tower. Alison’s first few steps were tentative, but she was pleasantly surprised by how well the crampon’s spikes dug into the ice, giving her a decent amount of traction.

  Even with the crampons, though, the going wasn’t exactly fast. But Alison eventually made it to the base of the tower behind Joe, the rocky outcropping providing a breathtaking, nearly 360-degree view of the Cascade Mountains. Alison could see for miles and miles in every direction. The landscape stretching out all around her looked pristine, a veritable winter wonderland, like the world outside of this wild place wasn’t in ruin.

  It gave Alison hope that maybe things weren’t as bad as they’d seemed. Surely this beautiful scene would have been touched by the violence, marked in some way by the destruction. There was no sign of any of it.

  “Looks like the wind knocked some of the antennas off-kilter,” Joe said, voice raised to be heard over the wind. He was pointing up to higher parts of the radio tower.

  As if on cue, Alison’s hood was blown back, and she nearly lost her beanie. She yanked her hood back up and cinched the ties on either side, then looked up to where Joe was pointing. She couldn’t for the life of her pick out which antennas Joe was pointing to, but she would defer to him. He was the expert here, relatively speaking, after all.

  “You mean, we have to climb up there?” Alison asked, none too fond of the idea.

  “Not we,” Joe said, lowering his arm. “I’ll head up with a few tools. You hunker down here and let me know when the radio is back up and running.”

  Alison drew her lip in between her teeth. Climbing a radio tower built on a rocky outcropping on the top of a mountain didn’t sound like a remotely good idea in even the best weather. With wind like this . . .

  “I’ll be fine, Ali,” Joe said, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. He flashed her a broad grin. “I’ve got rope, remember? And there’s no problem rope can’t fix.” He set his pack down and unzipped it, then pulled off his right glove before sticking his hand in the pack to dig around for the supplies he needed.

  Alison didn’t feel nearly so certain, but she tried not to let on. In her experience, doubt never made anybody perform better. “Just be quick,” she said, jiggling her knees to rev up her body heat. “It’s freezing up here.”

  “It’s working!” Alison shouted up to Joe.

  She bit the end of the finger of her outer glove and pulled it off, freeing her right hand to fiddle with the nobs on the handheld radio. She turned up the volume until she could hear more than just the droning murmur of a voice over the howling wind. Tilting her head to the side, she held the radio up near her ear.

  . . . taking refuge in the San Juan Islands. There are boats leaving Anacortes, Bellingham, and Edmonds, every hour on the hour between the hours of ten and three today, the twenty-ninth of March. All refugees are welcome, but those bringing surplus food, water, and medical supplies are given priority, as are those with valuable skills, including but not limited to . . .

  Alison started when Joe jumped down from the lowest rung of the tower’s scaffolding. “What are they saying?” he asked as he crouched down in front of Alison, forearms resting on his thighs.

  “They’re telling people to go to the San Juans,” she said, turning the volume up even higher.

  . . . been no word from the Nejeret leaders, but there are multiple reports of Nejerets being hunted down and killed by supernatural beings. It seems that Nejerets are the targets here, not humans, so if you come across any Nejerets, do not give them shelter. It is advised that you get as far away from them as you can. While humans do not seem to be the targets here, the beings hunting the Nejerets are purported to be extremely powerful and have shown that they have little regard for human life. They will not hesitate to kill you if you get in the way of . . .

  The broadcast fizzled out, giving way to seconds of static, and Alison feared they’d lost the signal again. “Come on,” she grumbled, shaking the radio and glancing up at the tower, fruitlessly looking for some sign of a misaligned antenna.

  Suddenly, the broadcast was back, loud and clear, but the voice was entirely different.

  This message goes out to all of humanity.

  It was Heru. His voice was unmistakable.

  Alison froze, locking eyes with Joe. So far as she knew, this was the first anyone had heard from the leader of the Nejerets since they all disappeared just before the chaos started.

  I know that you have suffered g
reat losses during the recent attacks, and you are likely confused and frightened. All of the death and destruction is not the result of the Nejeret war. This foe is not merely my enemy or my people’s; this foe is an enemy of earth . . . of our entire universe. Believe me when I say that in time, they will destroy us all.

  They are the Netjers, the creators of this universe. Their power is near absolute. And they have abducted and imprisoned the only one who can fight them. The only one who can avenge all who have fallen. The only one who can protect us all. Katarina Dubois.

  The Goddess needs your help. She is lost, and only you can help us find her. You must help us find her. She is our only—our final—hope. Without, none will survive for long.

  This broadcast will play on a loop until Kat is found. All sightings should be reported to . . .

  Alison lowered the radio until it rested on her snow pants. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Joe’s. For long seconds, she stared, stunned by what she’d just heard.

  Suddenly, there was the crackle of electricity, and every hair on Alison’s body stood on end. Her brow furrowed.

  Based on Joe’s altered expression, he felt and heard it too.

  “What is that?” Alison asked.

  There was a zap and a crack, and a blindingly brilliant flash of light came from the valley between two mountains a couple miles away.

  Alison averted her face and raised her arm to cover her eyes.

  Joe touched her arm, his grip tight even through the thick, insulated coat sleeve. “Ali, look!”

  When Alison lowered her arm, she found Joe pointing to the place where the flash of light seemed to have originated. It wasn’t gone completely, but the intensity was greatly diminished, allowing Alison’s eyes to pick up on all of the colors writhing and whipping about down in the valley. It reminded her of the aurora borealis. But while she’d never seen the northern lights in person, she had seen this light show before.