by Skye Knizley
Cadence blushed. “Trying to figure out how I know you. Were you around when I was born?”
“I thought we were over that. Listen, CJ, we’ve got worse problems than your memory. It won’t take the hybrid long to find you, we need a plan,” Ethan said.
“Fine. Start by telling me what a hybrid is,” Cadence replied.
Ethan made a face. “Think werewolf. The first ones were made by the Nazis in 1938, the Russians have kept up with the program. Half man, half wolf all bad. They can track anyone anywhere then disembowel them with a swipe of their claws. I’ve tangled with a few and I’m lucky to have come out the other side with only a few scratches. Only way I know to avoid them is to stay on the move.”
Werewolves? He hadn’t looked much like a werewolf, there had been no visible fur, no claws or pronounced snout, just a big guy in a leather coat and tragic hat.
“Can he become a wolf-man?” She asked.
Ethan paused while the waitress dropped off their food then leaned closer. “You bet your ass, and they don’t need a full moon to do it, either. Just the will and the patience. It takes them several minutes to change, though, and they’re vulnerable during the change.”
Cadence started cutting her pancakes with a fork. “So a group that calls itself Specter has werewolves on the payroll and they’re hunting metahumans? That doesn’t seem crazy to you?”
“You generate a shield of sound and talk to ghosts, you’re really asking that question?” Ethan asked.
He had a point, she’d been running from them for the last year and had used her powers so many times she’d lost count. It didn’t seem so crazy when you looked at it as a whole. Metahumans, organized, well funded, seemingly endless supply of agents, it sounded plausible. She’d learned over the last year that there were rumors scattered everywhere, from comic books to history texts, hinting at the existence of dark powers that operated outside the law, outside what most people considered reality. Rumors usually came from a story with a grain of truth to them.
“Then what do we do?” She asked, taking a bite of fluffy, syrupy goodness.
Ethan blinked. “You’re asking me?”
“You’re the adult, dude,” Cadence replied.
“Yeah but you’re the brains, sweetheart. I’m just the Specialist,” Ethan said.
He shoveled a fork full of pancakes into his mouth and chewed, his eyes darting to the men in the far booth, then at the windows. Cadence could tell he was still uneasy and ready to run at a moment’s notice. She got the impression that Ethan was much more a gambler than a fighter.
“That is the second time you brought that up. What is a Specialist?” She asked.
He looked back at her. “Support, mostly. I’m a wizard, though I loathe to use the term. In my day they called me a Hexslinger, a member of the Order who traps demons and uses them to create magik.”
“Demons? Like, the things that live in hell? Christian mythology?”
“More or less,” Ethan said, looking away. “Hell is more a dimension than a destination, and I can trap the things on that side, use their energy.”
“That’s how you opened that gateway in the bedroom wall?”
“Among other things, yes,” Ethan said.
“Will there be anything else?” The waitress asked, giving them an odd look.
“Can I get a coffee to go?” Cadence asked.
“Sure thing, darlin’. I’ll bring one for you too, handsome,” the waitress replied.
Ethan tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re too kind.”
They finished the rest of their breakfast. When there was nothing left on their plates but sticky pools of syrup, Cadence pulled the map she’d found out of her pack and placed it on the table.
“I took this off the Man in Black that was following me back in Blackberry. They’ve marked everywhere I’ve been with some kind of code, but there are also locations marked that I have never been to,” she said. “Do any of them mean anything to you?”
He leaned forward, rubbing his mustache between his fingers. After a moment he tapped an area not far from Reno.
“In my day, this was a mining town, found a vein of silver big enough that Central Pacific drove a rail line through it on their way to Reno,” he said.
Why did he keep saying ‘my day’ like he was actually from the Wild West? Surely he wasn’t that old.
“What’s there now? Have you been there?” Cadence asked.
Ethan sat back and started rolling a cigarette. “Not in a long while. What’s the plan, kid?”
“Let’s go see what’s out there. The hybrid won’t expect that, right? Maybe we can lose him,” Cadence said.
“And if it’s a Specter bolt-hole?”
Cadence shrugged. “Then you can port us out or we fight.”
She sat back, watching him roll the cigarette between his fingers. He looked like he’d made thousands; his fingers moved with the precision and care only a terminal nicotine addict could muster.
He put the cigarette between his lips. “Doesn’t sound like you. You’ve been running all this time, why stop now?”
It was a fair question, and when Cadence opened her mouth to reply, she found she didn’t really have an answer. Last night her plan had been to get a job for a week or two, go to the library and do research on people with ability, find out who was chasing her, but she hadn’t really thought about what she would do when she learned. She’d avoided conflict, avoiding even going to a town she knew the old her had been to, just in case she ran into more Men in Black.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not alone anymore,” she said at last.
Ethan winked and started to slide out of the booth. “You were never alone, kid.”
Cadence smiled and folded up the map, then followed him out to the parking lot, where the Mustang waited. The rain had stopped and the early morning air held the sweet aroma of rain and fresh grass. It smelled clean, and that was a good thing. It made her feel hopeful, and she hadn’t felt that for quite some time.
She climbed behind the wheel and started the engine while Ethan finished his cigarette. She watched him through the glass, a lean silhouette against the light of false dawn. He looked like he’d stepped out of an old Western, a gunslinger with narrow eyes and a quick trigger finger, comfortable in his own skin. She wasn’t attracted to him, he was too old and the wrong sex, but she liked him. She also knew he was hiding something, that she’d been told half truths. That bothered her, but it was nice to have someone watching her back. She hated being alone and hoped this wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
He flicked the stub of his cigarette into the bushes and opened the car door. He set his hat on the dash and slid inside, his lopsided grin in place.
“Okay kid, let’s see what Specter’s been up to.”
Cadence smiled back and put the car in gear. Traffic was growing as dawn neared, but the city was still dead. A single car passed before she pulled into traffic and headed north.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Slabrooke was once a bustling mining town that lay between Pyramid Lake and Tule Peak. It boomed in the late 1800’s and evolved into a small town, one which clung to life until the early 1900s. Strangely, it didn’t appear on most modern maps, nor did the two-lane blacktop that wound out into the wilderness, leading to the small village.
The sun was up and glowing when Cadence pulled off the main highway onto the winding street that, the map said, would take them to the village. She stopped two miles further along when the road ended, blocked by an iron cross-gate. The sign next to it read: Danger: Chemical Contamination. No Passage Beyond This Point.
The sign was old, once a deep brown color now faded to beige, with red lettering that now looked more pink than the deep crimson it had been the day it was painted.
<
br /> Ethan sucked on a cigarette and eyed the sign warily as if it might jump out and bite him all by itself.
“What do you think?”
“I think that sign is thirty years old and someone has been here recently,” Cadence replied. She gestured at the gate, which was devoid of rust, and the pavement, which was scratched and gouged white where the gate had been opened and closed more than once.
“Good eye, Kemosabe,” Ethan said. He moved to the gate and examined it for a moment, then drew his revolver in a blur of motion and shot the lock off. He then spun the weapon around his finger and slipped it back into the holster so fast the echo of the shot was still dying away. Part of Cadence was surprised and impressed, but most of her was annoyed. She walked closer and glared up at him.
“Shoot it again, I don’t think they heard you in Lake Tahoe! You’re not exactly subtle, are you?” She asked.
Ethan arched an eyebrow. “Darlin’ do I look subtle to you? Let’s get this thing moved and check out your ghost town, I’d like to be out of here before nightfall.”
Cadence helped him pick up the gate and swivel it sideways, out of the way. It was heavy enough to stop a truck but balanced well enough it pivoted on the central joint without too much effort and a minimum of noise.
“Afraid of the dark?” She asked when they were through.
“Child, we’re still being hunted by a hybrid. If you’ve any brains at all in that pretty blonde head, you’ll be afraid of the dark, too,” Ethan replied.
He slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, then put his feet out the window and rested his boots on the side mirror. Normally that would have annoyed Cadence, who dropped heavily into the driver’s seat, but she was still stinging from his reply. She’d been so eager to tease him, she’d forgotten about the werewolf.
She put the car in gear and guided it through the entrance and down the hill. The road was smooth, at first, older concrete worn smooth by time. The steady click of the tires crossing the spacers was soothing, and Cadence let herself relax, her eyes on the horizon. To the east and north she could the bright blue of Pyramid Lake, while the forest stretched ahead and upward, into the mountains. The road followed, and soon they spotted the first signs that a town had once been here. Initially it was just land that had been cleared for lumber, then abandoned vehicles left by the evacuation and finally the town itself, stretching ahead of them. It wasn’t much, a Main street, cross street and residential section, small hospital and above, the mine. Everything, from the road to the buildings was covered in a thin film of dirt and grime, making it look as if someone had taken an idyllic 1950’s town and dipped it in mud, then set it aside to dry.
Like the highway leading up the mountain, there were abandoned vehicles sitting in front of some of the buildings, bicycles, toys, discarded luggage and other signs that the village had been abandoned in a hurry. Whatever happened, there had been little warning and less time to escape.
In the center of Main Street was a military checkpoint, now abandoned. It consisted of two iron plates welded to a stand at right angles, held in place with an L-shaped formation of sandbags. The sandbags were leaking and falling apart, but it was easy to say they’d served as a ballistic barrier against… something. Next to them was an old military truck, its tires flat, its chassis sagging to one side. A skeleton in a military uniform hung out of the back, one arm hanging limply.
“That’s new,” Cadence said as they drove by.
“What?”
Cadence jerked a thumb at the truck. “My first skeleton.”
Ethan snorted. “I doubt that. Let’s try that building at the end of the street, it looks promising.”
The building in question was a three story brick building that looked like a general store. A sign hung askew above the second floor windows, and the bricks were stained crimson, the same shade as heart’s blood. It made her skin crawl.
“Why there?”
“It’s tall, creepy, the color of blood, if I was a dime novel villain that’s where I would put my lair,” Ethan replied.
She parked the Mustang in front of the building and looked at him. “Can’t argue with that. What’s a dime novel? Is that like a comic book?”
“More like pulp fiction. No pictures, more story,” Ethan said. “Stop asking questions, its time for your first big adventure.”
He climbed out of the car and started shuffling through his cards, which he chose seemingly at random.
“What are you doing?” Cadence asked.
“Remember what I said about questions,” Ethan snapped.
A swirling black portal appeared in front of him and he reached inside in the same manner someone might reach into a backpack or satchel. He rummaged for a minute then pulled out a leather backpack and an old gun belt of the sort used by the military.
He held them out and the portal closed behind him. “Gear up and let’s get this done.”
Cadence looked at the gear. It was well worn and all military issue, from the olive drab jacket that smelled like gunpowder, the stretchy wad of cloth that looked like leggings and the web belt and Colt 1911 pistol. In the bottom of the bag was a photograph. It was old, torn and had a distressing yellow stain on one corner, but the image was unmistakable: A girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, who was the spitting image of Cadence. She was dressed in a form-fitting uniform with her hair held in a high ponytail. Standing next to her was Ethan, dressed almost exactly as he was today. He hadn’t aged at all.
Cadence wasn’t sure what to ask first, especially since Ethan seemed reluctant to answer anything else.
“This was my grandmother’s stuff, where did it come from?” Cadence asked.
“Just gear up, I’ve got a bad feeling about this and we need to get moving,” Ethan replied.
“I don’t really need most of this,” Cadence replied, slipping the photo into her pocket.
“Take the gun, belt and jacket at least,” Ethan said, turning away. He climbed the steps to the front doors and tested them against the chain holding them shut.
Cadence sniffed the jacket again. “Why this old thing?”
Ethan didn’t turn. “It’s bulletproof. Hurry up!”
He pushed on the doors again and drew his pistol while Cadence squirmed into the jacket, which was lined with something stretchy and soft, and buckled on the gun belt. It fit perfectly across her hip, with the Colt positioned high on her hip for an easy draw. When she drew it, it felt strange in her hand. She’d held Phoe’s service revolver a few times, but the smooth grip and light weight felt strange. Still, she was comfortable with it. She ejected the magazine, checked to see it was fully loaded then slapped it back into place.
When she was satisfied, she walked up the steps to where Ethan was waiting impatiently.
“Now what?” She asked.
Ethan raised his pistol and went to shoot the lock. Cadence stopped him with a hand on the barrel of his gun and a shake of her head.
“Dude, subtlety, remember?”
She pulled a lock pick and a hair pin from her pocket and set to work. It took her minutes to pop the lock and drag the train out of the way, freeing the door.
“Handy skill−,” Ethan said with a purse of his lips.
“Thank you.”
“−but guns are more fun. You go first,” he continued.
The doors opened into a large lobby. A pair of desks were set at angles facing the entry doors, with a clear view of both the entrance and the staircase that climbed from either side to the hallway above. More doors exited to rooms or hallways to the north and south and a cigarette vending machine sat against the wall to the side of the door. Everything was dusty, but it didn’t seem like enough for the time the town had been abandoned. This was more like the light layer that landed on her furniture when she didn’t dust it for a coupl
e weeks like Phoenix asked.
She ran a finger along one of the desks, then turned a slow circle. Her instincts told her someone had been here. Not only been here but had taken care of the place until just a few weeks before. There were no signs, no telltale footprints, no half-empty coffee cups, it was just a feeling but she’d learned to trust her feelings over the last year. They’d saved her life a couple of times.
The door behind her was wood, painted a deep shade of red. She tried the knob and found it unlocked. With a glance back at Ethan, who was examining the cigarette machine, she pushed it open and glanced around the corridor beyond. There were doors to either side, and the corridor continued ahead, branching into another room and what looked like two staircases, one up and one down. At the end of the corridor was what looked like a cargo elevator, one door half open.
A scent hung in front of her nose, a familiar aroma that tickled the memories she knew were still in her head somewhere. It was sweet, a mixture of orange and vanilla that smelled like ice cream. She sniffed more deeply and determined it was coming from the room to her right. She opened the door and found that a smaller office had been turned into some kind of treatment room similar to those at the hospital or your better class of doctor’s office. In the middle of the room was a gurney, its wheels locked in place inside steel shackles. An IV stand sat beside it with two empty bags hanging from the hooks, and there was a small counter with a sink and paper-towel dispenser in the corner.
Cadence entered and ran a hand over the gurney, then looked at the bags. One had contained ordinary saline solution, the other was marked with Russian letters she didn’t recognize.
“Hey, E?”
She heard his boots on the carpet and he leaned through the door, one hand on his revolver.
“What’s on your mind?” He asked. Then he saw what she was looking at and entered with more concern. He snatched the bag off the stand so hard it fell over and crashed to the ground with a loud clang.
“What’s wrong?”