Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

Doyle glanced at her. “It was a small group of men. Only a hundred or so. The larger ships must be for the cities.”

Another tremor shook the air. 

Doyle looked over at her. “Maybe you should get some more sleep. You look like you need it.”

Mina tried to let the remark slide but self-consciously moved a hand up to her tangled hair. She looked around, away from the fire. Lights from homes and roads should have dotted the night, but complete darkness covered everything instead. “Are we safe here?”

Doyle sighed and said slowly, “If I didn’t think we were safe here, we wouldn’t be here.”

Neither spoke again as they watched the fire. It looked as if it would burn all night, and Mina wondered if anyone could survive down there. They were lucky to be alive. Slowly, she got to her feet and made her way back to her sleeping place.

When Mina woke in the cold, grey morning, Doyle had disappeared. She limped to the spring by herself, following the sound of trickling water. Her swollen jaw had stiffened overnight, but the pain had abated enough for her to wash her face. She soaked her hair, gasping as the cold water chilled her. Fully awake, she sat down and drew her legs up to her chin. A shiver ran up Mina’s spine, and she placed her forehead on her knees to let her breath warm her nose.
 

Lincoln. She had to get to Atlanta. On foot.

Mina shivered violently. For the first time, she didn’t know what to do next. Inevitably, the Glyphs or someone else would catch her again, or she would die in some horrible accident or starve. Doyle had left her behind, of course. Mina didn’t blame him. He probably had his own family to find. Still, she wished he’d stayed long enough for her to thank him. She lay down on her side, bringing her arms in close to her body.
 

They burned the trail
, she thought. The invaders were attacking small groups of people, which meant they were out to kill everyone. And they’d already burned the cities. Chances were Lincoln didn’t make it. Or Karen and Tom.

I hope they didn’t suffer.

A great weight bore down on her chest. She fought against it. Imagining how they might have died would send her over the edge.

Mina brushed her fingers over her chafed wrists. They were tender and swollen this morning. Reed’s leering face and whiskey breath rose in her mind. She might have drowned if Reed hadn’t pulled her out. Now he was dead, and she was alive. Another shudder spread from Mina’s limbs to her chest. At first she fought the tears that stung her eyes. But they persisted, and she gave in, her eyes flooding and spilling over in wave after wave of pain, hunger, and fear. She gasped for air as the sobs overwhelmed her body and threatened to suffocate her.
 

She didn’t know how long she cried at the spring. As her weeping subsided, the cool morning air soothed her swollen eyes and restored her common sense. She splashed cold water on her face to erase the evidence of her breakdown and stood with a renewed sense of purpose.
 

She needed to make a better plan for survival. A plan to protect herself. Mina walked back to the overhang, and this time climbed to stand on top of it.
 

The tree-covered mountains to the west looked undisturbed and promising in the morning light. To the southeast, the trees marking the trail had disappeared, replaced by a black line that smoked and smoldered for several miles. Nothing out there moved, no signs of survivors. As Mina scanned the area closer to her, she saw someone hiking across the field at the bottom of the hill. She crouched and moved into the trees behind her.
 

Several minutes passed. Then Doyle appeared, hiking up the slope through the trees. Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Mina exhaled. She stood to meet him and smiled despite herself.

Thirty-something, Doyle stood over six feet with a lean, sturdy frame. With dark, short-cropped hair and pale skin, he would have been good-looking except for the hard expression on his face, softened only by his day-old stubble and deep-set, almond-shaped eyes. Dressed simply, in a grey long-sleeve shirt, a worn weatherproof jacket, jeans, and military-style boots, he looked prepared for anything.
 

He carried his own brown pack and had slung a second over one shoulder. A black rifle was slung over the other shoulder, and a long knife and a large semiautomatic pistol resided at his hip. Doyle tossed the second pack at Mina’s feet and pulled out a smaller handgun wrapped in a plain black holster. “You might need this. It’s loaded, and I have an extra magazine. Know how to use it?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“It’s mine. An extra.”

What sort of man needed two sidearms and a rifle? A bitter taste rose in Mina’s mouth. She looked at the pistol, hands at her sides.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not.”

“You’d rather not.” A muscle twitched in Doyle’s neck. “How are you going to protect yourself?”

“I don’t need a gun.”

Doyle snorted. “You needed one yesterday.”

“That was different.”

“It always is when you’re trying to defend yourself. Take the gun.” Again he held out the small firearm.

Mina wrapped her arms around herself, thinking. She didn’t want it. Didn’t want the responsibility. Didn't want to accept what he was saying. What would she have done yesterday if she’d had a gun? Mina couldn’t answer the question. But with Reed’s face still leering in her mind, she reached for the pistol. She knew she didn’t want it at her side like Doyle’s, where anyone could see it. She looked at the holster, which had a small clip for a belt.

“Clip it on your waistband at your back,” Doyle advised. “Are you sure you know how to use it?”

“My dad taught me.” She attached it like he said. Her jacket covered it completely.
 

“How long ago?”

Mina thought about it a moment. “Eighteen years.”

Doyle sighed. “Don’t waste bullets. Only use it if you have to. For most people, simply waving a gun at them will be enough to scare them off.” He nodded to the backpack at her feet. “Use that one.”

The pack was full of gear and must have weighed twenty pounds. Inside it was a fixed blade knife, a thick grey blanket, granola bars, and . . . Boots. Men’s leather boots with thick soles and sturdy uppers. She stopped digging through the bag when she saw them, pulling them out immediately. “Where did you get these?”

“From someone who doesn’t need them anymore. Please tell me you don’t have anything against better shoes.”

Ignoring Doyle, Mina didn’t waste any time trying them on. They fit too snugly around her bruised feet, but the lined boots already warmed her numb toes. “Thank you,” she said.

Doyle nodded. “So,” he said as he adjusted his own pack. “How did you end up in the creek?”

Mina hated to admit it. “I fell asleep.”

“And then it rained.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously you’ve been taking a risk with drinking water. What have you been eating?”

“Anything I can choke down. When you’re hungry, everything looks good.”

Doyle pulled a granola bar from his bag and tossed it to her. She tore it open and broke off a tiny piece to swallow.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“I’m looking for my brother. He was supposed to be in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta’s gone.”

Mina broke off another piece. “Do you know for sure?”

“Towers landed there, too.”

“But you don’t know?”
 

“No. I don’t know.”

Mina swallowed another piece of granola. The action sent more pain through the side of her face. She tried to avoid thinking about Atlanta for the moment, concentrating on finishing her breakfast. Doyle watched her eat, his eyes unnerving her as he seemingly stared at something she couldn’t see. She shook off the discomfort. “Where are you going?”

“The mountains.”

Mina nodded, “If you’re right . . .”

“I’m right.”

“. . . and the Glyphs destroyed only the cities with towers, then the small towns in the mountains might be havens.”

“I don’t think so. The ships are heading west. If the Glyphs are concerned about small groups of men on trails, they’ll find the towns.”

“Then why are you going there?” asked Mina, annoyed.

“It’s still a good place to hide, especially for only one or two people.”

Mina took a deep breath. “Are you saying I could go with you?”

“Only if you keep up. I travel fast.”

“I can keep up. I’ve run a marathon every year for the last eight years.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean you can keep up, but it’s a start.”

“One more question,” she asked.
 

He nodded.
 

“Why are you helping me?”

Doyle sighed. “Be on your guard. Don’t trust anyone, not even me.” Doyle met her eyes as he said this.
 

He has very dark eyes
, she thought, the skin of her arms prickling. Mina held his gaze, but she could not tell what kind of man he was simply by looking into his eyes. She would have to make that decision on instinct alone.
 

“Are you coming with me or not?” he asked.

“I’ll come,” Mina said finally. “But I’m still looking for my brother.” She pushed away the thought of a smoldering Atlanta.

“Okay.” Doyle turned away and picked up his backpack. Without a glance back, he set off down the hill.

Reaching the mountains took all day and part of another because Doyle insisted they stay out of the open. He set a grueling pace through the trees, zigzagging around fields, and Mina struggled to keep up, especially with the pain in her feet and the heavy backpack weighing her down. But Doyle would not slow down for her. At the end of the first long day Mina collapsed at their campsite and fell asleep immediately. Doyle woke her to eat. As soon as she had eliminated some of the gnawing hunger pangs, she went back to sleep, enjoying the first decent rest she’d had in two weeks.

At noon on the second day, they paused to rest at the foot of the first real mountains. They had traipsed up and down foothills all day, and Mina was exhausted.

“Well, we’re here. Now what?” she asked as she took a sip of water. Although still stiff and swollen, Mina’s jaw had healed enough that she could talk without excruciating pain.

“We keep moving. We need to get over the ridge and set up camp by nightfall.”

“Can we light a fire tonight?” He had not allowed one the night before.

“No. And tonight’s your turn to keep watch.” Doyle put his own water back in his bag.

“You mean you haven’t been sleeping? Were you up all last night?”

“Yes.”

“What about the night before that?”

“Yes.”

Mina’s cheeks burned. Doyle had watched over her each night while she slept soundly. And he had fed her and found her water, and she had let him take care of her while he went without sleep. “How are you even standing?”

Doyle looked at her coldly. “I thought you would take care of yourself. What have you been doing out here all this time?”

“I’m . . . sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You don’t seem to do much thinking, but you need to start pulling your weight. You’re not on your own anymore. If you make a mistake, we’ll both pay for it. I need you to think about what’s going on around you instead of just following along in a daze.”

“You’re right. I’ve just been so . . . I . . .” Mina’s voice broke, but she swallowed her tears. “What do you need me to do?”

“Tonight just take the first watch and let me sleep a few hours. All you have to do is wake me if you hear anything suspicious.”

Mina nodded. Tears still threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she was determined not to let Doyle see her cry. She stood up and looked at the maze of trees that covered the steep mountain. Thunder rumbled in the distance. They could make it to the top before dark. Her worn-out legs burned with every step, but she didn’t want him to know how tired she was. So she began the ascent without waiting for him, to show him that she did not always need someone else to lead the way. Doyle followed in silence.

DAY 16

“T
HAT
’
S
TEN
KNOWN
METROPOLITAN
AREAS
. Confirmed cascading power grid failure everywhere else.”

“What about enemy activity? Over.”

“Reports of destruction of heavily populated areas, moving inland to Appalachia, also the Rockies . . . Also reports of smaller attacks in mountains where large groups of survivors are gathering.”

Lincoln stood with Nelson outside the communications tent in the middle of camp. Nelson carried his backpack on his shoulders—he still refused to go anywhere without his laptop. The tent flap was propped open, and they could see Nash inside, gripping the back of the operator’s chair. The operator was talking to a man from Montana, an off-grid survivalist who’d ridden out the attacks in the backcountry of the Absaroka mountain range. About twenty soldiers gathered around, crowding the tent and spilling out under the trees.

“What about central command?” asked the operator. “Anyone heard from them? Over.”

“Negative. I can’t confirm there is a central command. All of our contacts so far have been amateur operators. You’re the first military unit we’ve found. Over.”

Nelson nudged Lincoln. “This can’t be the only hardened radio the military owns,” he said quietly. “We know the government has protected systems, so why aren’t they broadcasting?” Hardened electronics were those that had been shielded from an electromagnetic pulse. After much debate, the team had concluded a powerful EMP was the most likely cause of the widespread blackouts. Although they had suspected it when convoy vehicles had stalled simultaneously, and their cell phones and computers died at the same time, they had hoped it was localized. But the ensuing radio silence and trickle-in reports proved that theory to be wildly optimistic.

Lincoln shrugged. “Maybe they can’t for some reason. Or maybe it’s a tactical decision. Maintaining radio silence while they plan their next move.”