Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles) (9 page)

“Today was the first time you caught any shades in the act,” he said, piecing it together. “How did you find out the shades attacked this homestead?”

“A team visited the Shearers this afternoon on its rounds, collecting tariffs.”

“You charge people to protect them?” A quip bubbled up from his subconscious. “Nothing in this world’s more taxing than taxes.”

Dixie stifled a laugh. “You can say that again, Lassiter.”

“I did it again, didn’t I?” A few folks had pointed out his tendency to quote his own movies. Of all the things that had carried over from his first life, cheesy dialogue wouldn’t have been his pick.

“It’s cute,” Dixie said.

“Speaking of taxes,” Claire interrupted, “the outwallers supply certain goods and services we can’t get as easily in Camp Chanute. It’s barter more than tariffs.” She slowed enough that Dixie and Adam were able to draw abreast of her. “I think there are some psychotic humans going around killing people with shades to freak the rest of us out and turn us against the Shipborn. They’re probably from fucking Chicago. They’re driving everyone out of the buffer zone so they can scavenge it all themselves.”

“I don’t think the warlords would do that,” Dixie said. “They’re just as scared of the shades as everyone else.”

“How would someone transport the shades? Cullin said they can get out of any container,” Adam reminded her. “That would be a death wish.”

Claire snorted. “I didn’t say the psychos doing this were smart.”

They approached a large hangar bright with lights and activity. Several vehicles were parked outside. One, an older model sport car, had its headlights on and motor rumbling.

“Good, they got the Mustang out.” Claire waved at a man in a heavy coat and greasy pants before swinging into the car on the passenger’s side.

Dixie made no comment, just tilted the driver’s seat forward so Adam could slip into the rear bench. The backs of the seats had guns and ammo tucked into nets, a first aid kit, and water bottles. A long whip antenna curved over the car.

“Have them open the gate,” Claire said impatiently. “Dix, take this thing as fast as she’ll go.”

“Snow and ice on the road. You sure?”

“I need to be there yesterday. Don’t wreck.” Claire grabbed the hand strap, her sleeve scrunching back to reveal the blaster band Adam couldn’t remember seeing her without. At some point, she’d had the skin and blisters from the Riverbend melee healed.

“All right, then. Fast it is. You know I love my muscle cars.”

With a big, cheesy grin, Dixie flung it into gear, and they roared through of the gates of the compound. After they passed the razed area that surrounded Chanute, she opened it up. The speed of the car pressed Adam against the seat as they raced down the dark, deserted highway. The Mustang fishtailed on curves, wheels churning on snow, but not so much that Dixie slowed down.

They passed one vehicle in route, flashing headlights at each other. It wasn’t long before they skidded onto another road and into the countryside. They reached a farmhouse, pale and ghostly in the light of the nearly full moon. A barn behind the farmhouse lay quiet and dark, but inside the house, the lights were on. A smallish machine, perhaps a generator, buzzed somewhere in the distance. Two farm trucks and a tricked out pickup with a laser rifle mounted in back filled the snowy drive.

They got out of the low-slung Mustang. This time Claire remembered him and held her seat out of his way. Her face had molded into that set and determined toughness she’d donned at Riverbend.

Adam gestured into the back. “I got a gun. Want me to get the first aid kit, too?”

“Doubt you’ll need either. We’re too late.” Claire inhaled deeply, looking in every direction.

Dixie’s sensor lit up, glinting on her blond curls. “Shade residue, just like they said. Fading fast. Are you going to put a sensor array on?”

“Not if I don’t have to. That’s why you’re here,” Claire answered. “Take me to the bodies.”

Dixie, in addition to her array, carried a walkie-talkie. She flicked it on. “Dix here. I got Claire. She wants to see. Whereabouts are you?”

A man’s voice came over the small speaker. “Behind the barn. Monica’s trying to calm down the horses. Looks like they tried to hide in the livestock or something.”

“No kids here, right?” Claire confirmed. “They weren’t fostering?”

“No, but they were on the list for two from Riverbend,” Dix told her.

Claire tramped through snow toward the barn. Adam’s neck prickled madly, like someone was watching him. Here, in this place, people had died. Entities had come and gone with no one the wiser.

Not even his padded jacket could keep out the lance of cold. Bright stars twinkled harshly above. He’d stashed the gun, a smaller handheld than he’d had at Riverbend, in one of the coat’s deep pockets, so he reached inside and wrapped his fingers around the chilly handle.

He didn’t squeeze it after what had happened with the desk.

“I smell ’em,” Claire growled.

Adam sniffed. The scent of corruption, like at Riverbend, came to him as well.

“No, hon, that’s pigs.” Dixie shifted to a businesslike demeanor, no longer holding onto Adam’s arm as if strolling down a sidewalk. “Trust the country girl on this one. They raised pigs here.”

“I know what they did here, and I know what I smell.” They reached the barn. One of the tall doors to the old wooden structure stood ajar, and they entered the darkness. “What do your sensors say?”

“Strong traces, nothing still here.” Dixie used her tablet to brighten their path again. “The entities are gone, like before. I’ll scout out the bits before they fade and show you on a terrain map after we see…what we came here to see. We can maybe figure out where all they slimed around, but I doubt it’ll tell us anything we don’t already know.”

“Look for tire tracks. People who might have been hauling a container full of shades. I don’t care what Cullin said,” Claire ordered. She abruptly swung her arm—not her gun arm. The slicing sound of metal on metal preceded the appearance of a thin rapier, as if it had ejected from her sleeve.

Dixie angled the tablet up, checking out the interior of the barn. The only thing above them was a high ceiling with hay sticking through slats; they must be under the hayloft.

“Where’d the sword come from?” Adam asked, hands in his pockets. The gun comforted him more than the warmth.

Claire glanced over her shoulder, the bouncing shadows from Dixie’s tablet giving her face a hollow appearance, like a stone carving. “Multipurp band. Can turn it into anything if you know the code.” She swished her new weapon across the hay-strewn floor. “You sure you want to see this? You could guard the vehicles. We have issues with dregs sometimes, and if they hotwire the Mustang, there’ll be no catching them. That mother is souped up like nobody’s business.”

“Will what I’m about to see be worse than Riverbend?” he asked dryly. Farming implements and tack hung neatly along the walls, and some of the stalls were occupied by restive horses. The temperature, with the livestock and the hay, increased noticeably. The smell of oats and pigs overcame all other odors.

“No.” She used the sword like a walking stick, though she didn’t need one, and headed for the back of the barn.

A cow lowed in the distance, deep and mournful. Adam’s skin tightened across his cheeks, down his arms, almost turning his fingers into claws. Was there such a thing as cow phobia? While he didn’t sense terror within himself, he did sense strain. A hunger almost. A craving for something to happen.

Anticipation, perhaps. It resembled the drive that had kept him running and leaping and dodging shades in Riverbend, hurling him farther than he’d expected to go. Since it felt like he’d been riding an adrenaline high since his memories began, he might never have realized he could feel normal if he hadn’t spent the rest of the day in his quarters, bored out of his mind.

What he felt now was absolutely different than bored out of his mind.

“The paddock’s back here.” Dixie unbarred the next set of doors. Adam scuffled his boots in near darkness, flexing his fingers to dispel the tension and tightness.

To his right, a black figure that was distinct from its surroundings caught his attention. He halted. Blinking several times, he angled his head to see if the light was just hitting something funny.

No. There was definitely something lurking there, in an empty stall.

“Hello?” Maybe it was an animal. A dog. A big, big dog he couldn’t actually see.

The women’s voices echoed oddly through the barn as they called out to someone named Bill. The noise hit his ears like he was holding seashells over them, and it was hard to hear over the rushing air.

“I’m going to check something out,” he tried to say, but the words froze in his throat.

Warning prickles pierced his neck and spine. He inhaled a sharp breath at the discomfort. They were icepicks, needles of cold fire. Gun extended, powerful adrenaline surging inside him, he fumbled the half-open stall door, finding the edge before Dix and her glowing tablet exited the barn.

Voices reverberated—not words, just sounds. One of the large back doors opened all the way. A huge bar of moonlight illuminated Adam’s position…along with the blob of endless night flickering gruesomely in the sawdust and hay at his feet.

He rubbed his eyes, but the shade didn’t disappear. It wasn’t a hallucination. He tried to call out, but it swelled like a water balloon and sucked him into the stall.

Everything went icy, cold, and black. His ears roared like they had when he’d stumbled into the shades in Riverbend.

Claire wasn’t here to shoot him free, and he tried to pull the gun’s trigger. The black oil swarmed him, and he leaped back.

The sensation of his head smacking the wooden wall was the last thing he remembered.

Chapter Eight

“Adam. Adam.” Fingers snapped in his face and Adam blinked. He focused on the woman in front of him.
Claire
.

He’d happily wake to her face anytime, scowling, smiling, or otherwise. But—why had he been asleep?

“What the hell are you doing, wandering around the farm? I don’t have time to be tracking you down.”

“Uh.” Adam was standing in a root cellar. Glass jars of preserves and vegetables lined the walls, and lumpy burlap sacks and boxes sat all over the floor. “Where is this?”

She drew away from him in sudden alarm. “Are you saying you don’t know where you are?”

The suspicion on her face had his tongue moving before he could stop it. “Yeah, I know where I am.” As he lied, it became true, and he guessed his location. Sort of. Things were muzzy. “I was poking around to see if we missed anything. Maybe there were survivors.”

“Poking around in the dark?”

“It’s not that dark.” A small window let in a bar of moonlight, like in the barn right before he’d seen… Hell, he didn’t remember everything. His head throbbed, and he wasn’t sure why.

No, wait. He’d tripped and run into the barn wall.

“It’s darker than it was,” Claire said.

“I guess I’m tired.” His face cracked in a huge yawn, and Claire stared at him for a minute before cussing at him.

“Dammit.” She yawned, too. “I hate that.”

“What?”

“Catching a yawn. What happened to your head?” She touched his forehead, and he winced. “You’ve got a scrape.”

“I ran into a wall.” Like a massive dope. “You should see the other guy.”

“Guess what we did find while you were wandering around? Another pod.”

So he wasn’t unique. If this meant the pressure would be off him, he was all for it. “Who was in it? They okay?”

“Empty. Looked around for signs of life and couldn’t find anything but shade residue.”

Disappointed, he fingered his wound gingerly. “As in, shades were in the pod instead of a person?”

“No way to tell that, Adam. Not if we don’t see one crawling out of it, and nobody’s seen a single shade.” She frowned. “We just get to see the people they killed.”

He asked about her favorite theory. “What about tire tracks of people who might have transported shades here?”

She shook her head. “Hell, no. If somebody did that, they had an aircraft. Let’s get out of here before the scientists show up to fetch the pod. They’ll run tests on you all night if they get half a chance, and I’m ready for bed.”

“Me, too.” The thought of sleep was blissful. The thought of sleeping with Claire was even more blissful. “I got a bed last night, and you slept on the floor. I hope you don’t plan to do that tonight.”

“Don’t get any big ideas,” she said sternly. “I’m not in the mood.”

He raised an eyebrow, holding open the door of the root cellar. “Are you saying if you were in the mood, you’d—” He broke off, yawning.

“I’m not saying anything.” Her lips pinched together before she, too, yawned. “Apparently I can’t speak for yawning.”

The third time he made her yawn, Claire actually laughed. “Hold your breath or something. I can’t yawn and watch for daemons at the same time.”

On the way home, Adam crawled into the back of the Mustang, feeling like he’d been poured into the cushioned seat. The man who’d been at the farmhouse joined them for the short trip. The guy drove, Claire stared out the window—yawning occasionally—and the blond lady climbed into the back with Adam. There wasn’t much talking after what they’d seen.

Adam wasn’t sure he had the energy to talk, anyway. Weariness had seeped into his bones, and lead had lined his skin.

Once they reached Chanute, Claire immediately began to issue orders to everyone, ignoring him. The blond—wait, Dixie—grabbed his hand before he headed for the room.

“I’m going to come get you for breakfast,” she said. “We’re having it in the mess hall. I’m putting bets on Claire trying to force you to stay in the room, and I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“She’ll be pissed.” He didn’t like the idea of going against Claire, but he liked the idea of remaining confined to the room less. His weariness clouded his recollections of recent events, but he was able-bodied and had a lot of stamina. He’d run fast, without tiring, in…that place. Riverbend. With the shade horde. God, how could he have forgotten that? And he had a lot of strength, too, based on…other things. That he couldn’t recall. But he knew he could help. If nothing else, he could lift heavy things and dig latrines. “I’ll talk her into letting me shadow her tomorrow. I think that’s a good compromise.”

“Nobody can talk Claire into things she doesn’t want to do,” Dixie warned. “If you manage it, you’ll be the first. Well, except for Frannie.”

“He’s not leaving the room.” Claire had come up behind them as they talked. Her gaze took in their clasped hands, and she scowled.

Dixie patted his hand before she dropped it and faced Claire. “Rumors have been flying around all day. With the added stress of what happened to Riverbend and Fort Berthold, it has the potential to blow up in our faces. Our people aren’t comfortable with the fact that we don’t have an explanation for where Adam’s been. People need to see that he doesn’t have anything to hide. They need to know what he’s like now.”

“Now?” he asked.

“You’re very different. That’s all I’m saying,” Dixie said. “But it’s okay, I like you better this way.”

“Amnesia’s an improvement.” Claire watched her deputies disperse. “Look, I distributed a memo about the situation, and Elizabeth signed it. I told everyone the Shipborn’s most advanced technology can’t find anything wrong with him. Most of the people here trust Shipborn tech, so they’ll settle down. Eventually. Or they can get the hell out of Camp Chanute.”

Dixie whistled. “Laying down the law, Claire?”

“You’d kick people out of their homes because of me?” Adam asked, surprised. “Don’t do that. I’ll talk to your people myself.”

Claire opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again before answering. “It’s not because of you—it’s because of discipline. If I tell them to settle down and they don’t, then they can leave.”

“Claire’s a bit of a control freak,” Dixie mock-whispered. “I recommend using your movie star charm to get on her good side. But I’ll still come get you for breakfast.”

“No, you won’t,” Claire repeated with a disgusted sigh. “Adam’s not supposed to have his history tossed at him all at once—doctor’s orders. People might not try to beat him up, but who knows what they’ll say to him? Good God, what if they try to show him his movies?”

“My movies. Which one should I start with?” Adam rocked on his heels. Claire’s defense of him, trying to protect him, warmed him more than his coat. “I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about the…” The name had been there a minute ago, and now it was gone. “Some guy who throws knives.”

“Guy Lassiter. I will personally confiscate every copy of that Hollywood testosterone shit if I have to.” Claire twitched her head toward the barracks. “Adam, let’s go.”

They reached the barracks quickly and entered through the main door, not the secret tunnel. Other people wandered the halls at this hour, and everyone who saw Adam stared. Some tried to greet them, but Claire was too gruff to encourage conversation.

He concentrated on presenting a completely average, as-Terran-as-the-next-guy aura. He couldn’t blame people for being weirded out by his reappearance. He was, too. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t a danger. He had zero reason to harm anyone who wasn’t a soul-sucking monster from another dimension. Now that the scientists were getting their hands on a pod, they’d hopefully confirm it was a stasis chamber, and he’d been stuck in it by…somebody.

Would he ever remember what had happened to him? What if finding out was worse than not knowing?

Claire slammed the door of her quarters behind them like a final gong and stalked to the bathroom. The cat no longer seemed to be present. “I’m taking a shower. You’re going to bed.”

Some people needed to organize the chaos around them to feel secure. Claire, for example. In a post-apocalyptic world, that probably made her even more hardheaded.

But enough was enough.

If he could deal with complete uncertainty, she could deal with him having some of that free will Ship kept mentioning.

Adam slipped ahead of her and forced the bathroom door shut. They faced off. “I’m not a child, Claire. Don’t speak to me like I am, and don’t order me around like one, either.”

Claire blinked several times. Her chin tilted up. “I know what’s best for this town. You don’t. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

He didn’t want to antagonize her, but he didn’t like to be dictated to. He’d add that to the list of things he’d learned about himself. “I’m the same person you trusted to help save all those people in Riverbend, with one day of memories. Can you imagine how useful I’ll be with three days of memories?”

She crossed her arms. “No.”

“Wherever I was before, I’m here now. On this planet, caught up in the fight against the entities along with the rest of you. I’m going to help. Apparently I need to make up for nearly destroying the world.” He’d never be able to erase the fact that he could have stopped the apocalypse and hadn’t, but he could dig some damned latrines and shoot some damned shades.

“A lot of people will try to hurt you because of that.”

“Let them try. I’m not afraid. I’d rather talk to them, even fight with them, than hide from them.” How much of her protectiveness was for him, and how much for her people? Was she afraid of him? Not on the surface, since she was willing to bunk with him rather than toss him in a cell, but did she trust him? “If you plan to lock me up and keep me from being productive, you’re going to have to take me back to the jail.”

Breaking off first, she half-turned from him. “If you continue to be a pain in my ass, I will. It’s what I do to troublemakers.”

“I have yet to be a pain in your ass.” He took her shoulders gently and forced her to face him. “I’ve been cooperative, and I’ve helped you. What are you afraid of? Me?”

She shook her head. “You’re harmless.”

“Harmless. That’s different from not dangerous.” He toyed with the idea and decided she was wrong. He could cause harm. He knew he was strong. Fast. He might be stronger and faster than anyone realized. A vivid recollection of what he’d done to her desk with his bare fingers slipped back into his mind.

And he definitely had sexual urges.

“I may not be dangerous, Claire, but I’m far from harmless.”

“Semantics. My favorite.” She removed his hands from her shoulders with noticeable force. He let her. “It’s up there on my things-I-love list right after people manhandling me.”

“You have a large personal space.” He should respect that, though every fiber in his body insisted that he touch her. His ego rebelled at being deemed tame and biddable by this woman who intrigued him and challenged him. He wanted to be an equal, a partner, not some bothersome side note. “Why is that?”

Claire threw up her hands. “Seriously? Why do men always think they can get up in women’s business when they’re not literally shoving them aside?”

“I’m not trying to shove you anywhere.” He fully intended to stand beside her. She didn’t get to discount him.

“That’s not the first time you’ve touched me without permission,” she said, but she didn’t move away from him. “Stop doing it.”

“Okay.” He stared her down, and she didn’t blink. Was it a test? A dare? “If you stop treating me like I’m pathetic. I’ll fight my own battles, and then I’ll be right beside you fighting the war.”

“Beside me,” she muttered. She might have complained about him being handsy, but she was voluntarily close to him. Close enough to smell her soap. Close enough to see the tic of her jaw as she clenched her teeth. Close enough that she could kiss him—if she wanted. “I have no idea how much of your training you remember. You’re as likely to get in the way as not.”

“Test me and find out,” he suggested. “I don’t remember my life. I don’t have preconceived notions, and I don’t have ties to other people and other agendas. I’m 100 percent committed to you.”

She held up a finger. Her nails were trim and clean. “Not to me. To killing entities, sure, but not to me. This isn’t personal. I’m not a cult leader.”

But it was personal for him. He just wished belligerence wasn’t her immediate response. “That’s clear. If you were a cult leader, you’d be a lot less rude.”

She laughed. “I’m always rude. It’s who I am.”

“Dixie said you’re worse than usual. I assume it’s because of me.” Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be self-centered. He may have been narcissistic before, but he didn’t have to be now. “Or are you worried about your daughter?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh, shit, I need to call Frances on the view screen. I’m late. You take a shower first.”

“Nope. I want to see your kid.” He was done letting Claire boss him around. Being accommodating wasn’t getting him on her good side. Perhaps standing up to her would work better, like it did for Dixie. “I’m going to wait while you call her, because kids come first, and then we’re going to finish this conversation.”

Claire stared at him for a long moment. “We’re done with this conversation.”

“Do you expect me to stay in the room tomorrow and pet the cat?” he asked. “Do you plan to keep treating me like I’m an irresponsible child?”

“We don’t know how you’re alive,” she said defensively. “You’re a scientific anomaly. You could be dangerous and not know it.”

“Do you really think I’m going to hurt anyone?” Superstrength or no superstrength, he could hurt people. Any man his size could hurt people.

But he didn’t want to.

What he wanted was to see Claire interact with her daughter. He wanted to see her less guarded, less worried about her town. He wanted to see her relax, just for a moment.

“Well, you can’t wander around poking your nose in wherever you feel like it,” she said decisively. “You’ll have to stay with me until you learn the ropes. The rules of the town. Or would you rather be with Dixie?”

“Why would I want to be with Dixie?”