Cloak (YA Fantasy)
Read Cloak (YA Fantasy) Online
Authors: James Gough
Advance Praise
for Cloak
“
Cloak
by James Gough gives us a world hidden beneath the one we live in, a world with intrigue and danger at every corner, with no way to tell who can be trusted, a world where our own senses prove inadequate…. A fascinating read!”
~ Jack Weyland,
Charly
“James Gough weaves elements of fairy tales, science fiction, fantasy and espionage into a fun and unpredictable adventure.”
~ John Booth,
Collect All 21! Memoirs of a Star Wars Geek
WiDo Publishing
Salt Lake City, Utah
Copyright © 2011 by James Gough
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written consent of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Cover design: James Gough
Print ISBN# 978-1-937178-00-0
Digital ISBN# 978-1-937178-01-7
Table of Contents
Prologue: Strange Security for Pants
24. Accused, Arrested, and Tried
Dedication
To my four sources of inspiration—Kristen, Kayla, Abby and Rachel.
“What you see depends on what you’re looking for.”
—Anonymous
Prologue
Strange Security for Pants
A
dribble of freezing rain trickled down the collar of Hector Lopez’s uniform. He shivered. The cold, soggy night was miserable, even for New Jersey. Pulling the hat down over his ears, he swept the flashlight through the fence, illuminating naked trees and dense undergrowth on the other side of the chain-link. With a beep, Hector’s watch glowed 3:00 a.m. The graveyard shift was halfway over. Shivering, he rubbed his grumbling stomach.
Only one more lap around the complex and he’d finally dig into his dinner. Lidia had packed homemade tamales—chicken with molé sauce. He would have eaten earlier, but the facility had been put on high alert tonight. High alert? Hector glanced up at the flaking walls of the old textile mill and the dilapidated warehouses full of clothes. Who would risk a razor wire fence to steal plus-sized parkas or out-of-date hooded sweatshirts? It was ridiculous. Hector had worked seventeen years as a security guard and the only
threat
he’d ever seen were spray-can-toting teenagers who thought the shabby gray walls of the factory were their own personal canvases.
Things had changed since the new owner had bought the old factory. Hector had only seen him once—a little man with a cane and a cloak. No one knew his real name. They just called him Mr. X. Eccentric—that was the best word to describe him—and paranoid. He only visited the factory at night with a team of bodyguards, always arriving in strange vehicles like ice-cream trucks or catering vans. Mr. X had beefed up security, hired triple the number of men, electrified and raised the fences, and required guards to carry side arms. Not regular guns, but some kind of new tranquilizer pistol that would drop a charging elephant. Hector laughed to himself. At least he was prepared if an angry elephant wandering the New Jersey backwoods tried to steal hoodie sweatshirts.
Overcautious with a capital “O,” that’s what Mr. X was. Hector felt the hefty tranq-gun tug at his belt with every step. High alert? It must have something to do with the arsons. Some wacko had been setting fire to warehouses, but those had been in other towns closer to the coast. Because of Mr. X and his paranoia, Hector was walking extra laps in a frigid drizzle. He breathed warm air onto his pruning fingers, sniffed at the rain, and kept trudging.
On his belt, the radio cracked to life.
“Lopez, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. What is it, Tubbs?” Hector said flatly.
“Hey, I heard something outside the southwest gate. I need your eyes.”
Hector groaned.
J.D. Tubbs was new. He’d only been on the job three weeks, but he’d already earned a reputation as the worst practical joker on the security detail. On his first day, he had offered Hector a cookie—it turned out to be a dog biscuit. Hector hadn’t been able to get rid of the taste of liver and fish for two days. But besides the bad jokes, J.D. was odd. Not just weird-looking, either, with his big mouth, floppy ears, and a face that looked like it’d been pressed in a vice. There was something strange about everything he did. Like how he always chewed with his mouth open, or how he sniffed everything. He was also a close-talker with bad breath, and he only worked at night, every night. Tubbs was another reason why the graveyard shift was so unbearable.
“Oh, come on, Tubbs. I’m on the northwest perimeter. Are you serious? Because if this is a prank…”
“This isn’t a joke.” Tubbs’s voice was serious. “I need you here right now, something is—” It was quiet. Then a low, inhuman growl rumbled through the walkie-talkie.
“What was that? Tubbs. Tubbs!”
Nothing but static.
Hector arrived at the southwest gate soaked with rain and perspiration. He eased around the last corner and peered down the long walkway flooded with security lights. On one side was the drab exterior wall of the textile plant, and on the other a twenty-foot fence looped with razor wire that separated the complex from the encroaching woods. Through the mist, Hector could see Tubbs halfway down the walk. He was crouched on all fours with his back arched, growling at something beyond the fence.
“Very funny, J.D. Ha. Ha.”
Tubbs didn’t move.
“Hey, I’m gonna go eat. Thanks a lot for hauling me over here in the rain. You just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
Tubbs leaned forward and growled louder.
Suddenly the fence exploded in a cascade of hissing sparks. Through the rain and smoke, an enormous shape shredded the fence like paper.
Hector gasped. A bear?
The giant black form lumbered forward, chain-link falling at its side. Tubbs leaped at the creature, attacking with his bare hands and teeth. He swiped with his right, then his left—a frenzied blur of motion. Snarling, the black beast blocked his blows, then in one swift motion snatched Tubbs out of the air, holding him by the neck, the guard’s feet unable to touch the concrete. J.D. Tubbs kicked and clawed, but it was no use.
“Hey!” Hector had to do something. He waved his flashlight in the air, trying to get the animal’s attention as he pulled the tranquilizer gun from its holster. It worked. The beast flung J.D. against the wall with a thud, then turned toward Hector and charged.
The gun cracked and jumped in Hector’s hand. The bear flinched but didn’t stop. Trembling, he tried to reload, but the creature was too fast. Before Hector could react, the bear lifted him off the ground with one jagged set of claws and swatted the weapon away with the other. To his horror, Hector realized that what he had mistaken for a bear was something else entirely. From under a heavy black cloak, two milky-white eyes glared at him, then looked down at the dart embedded in its massive, hairy chest. The hooded beast plucked the tranquilizer and dangled it in front of the helpless man.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.” A voice rumbled from deep within the monster’s throat. There was a wild flash of ghastly white eyes. Horrible, evil eyes that burned into Hector’s mind as his screams echoed off the factory walls and faded into the barren woods.
