Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (26 page)

Schmidt shifted the logs around while he spoke, smothering them until they glowed faintly. “. . . so I packed up and left. Joined the Army the next day.”

“I can’t imagine doing that. My family has always been close-knit.”

“I just thought he’d work through it eventually.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“No. You?”

“No. My mother and sister live in a small neighborhood outside Sacramento. I don’t know what happened out there.”

Lincoln scowled as they spoke about their families in the present tense. Refusing to face the truth wouldn’t bring back their loved ones. As if mimicking Lincoln’s mood, Schmidt’s voice grew hot. “We’re going to kill them. Bring down every last ship and burn their bodies as a warning to the entire universe . . . Don’t believe me?”

“I believe you mean it. I just don’t see how.” Alvarez paused. “Is it true the whole unit would break up if we left?”

“It’s possible. You really don’t like Captain Baker, do you? But she feels the same way I do about the invaders. She wants this all to end.”

“I’m perplexed by the whole situation.”

“You’ll see. Once we figure out those symbols. They have to be a clue. Otherwise what’s the point of all of us being here?”

Embarrassed to have eavesdropped so long, Lincoln coughed and purposefully stomped around. The remaining embers barely illuminated anything, but he found his way to a camp chair. “Hey,” he said.

Schmidt cleared his throat. “Gotta go check on Nelson. He still in the mess tent?”

“Yes,” Lincoln responded. Schmidt groped his way toward the center of camp. A few embers glowed brighter, casting their faint red light on Alvarez’s face and accentuating the dark shadows under her brown eyes. A short piece of hair flopped down into her eyebrow as she rested her elbows on her knees. Lincoln stared.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“What have you done to your hair?”

“Chopped it off. Got tired of it getting in my way.” She tossed her hair around and ran her fingers through it. Her smooth dark locks were very short now—her hair barely brushed her ears. “Did it before breakfast this morning. Nelson and Carter have been joking about it all day. Thanks for noticing.”

“Sorry.”

“Humph.”

Lincoln knew Schmidt would be back in five minutes and leaned toward her. “You practically told him we were still planning on leaving.”

“That was a private conversation!”

“I didn’t intend to eavesdrop.”

“But you did.”

“If he finds out, he could ruin the whole plan. He’s too close to Baker and Nash.”

“They’re not the enemy, Lincoln. When did you become so disagreeable?”

“When they started holding me prisoner.”

“You’re hardly in a prison. And it was before that. Something’s been bothering you since we got here. Normally, you’re the one who smooths things over, but Carter and I have been doing that. Why do you want to argue with Nash at every turn?”

“Everything about his operation’s been screwed from the beginning. It was all a mistake.”

“So what you’re saying is you made a mistake in coming here, and you’re blaming everybody else.”

“Ouch.”

“Look, I’m not happy about any of it either. But have you thought about where you would be if you hadn’t come here? Probably dead.”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Stubborn red embers cast their glow on Alvarez’s face. Lincoln looked at her hair again. Mina used to wear her hair like that as a teenager. She’d grown tired of wrestling the endless curls into something manageable. A pang shot through Lincoln’s chest, and he looked at his feet. A pencil lay in the dust near the fire pit. He picked it up and brushed it off. The tip had been whittled with a knife, the eraser torn out.
 

“Lincoln?”

“I put her on that plane to the States,” he said quietly. “What if she’d stayed in England and survived? What if I’d sent her word to hide? We knew the towers were alien—I should’ve told her.”

“You did the best you could at the time.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I can’t help feeling my best wasn’t good enough.” He bent the pencil in his hands. It was springy. He put more pressure on the wood. How far would it bend before it broke?

Alvarez put a hand on his and stopped him from destroying the pencil. “We all feel that way, Lincoln, especially here.” He released it to her, and she squeezed his arm before saying, “Schmidt told me Nash is planning on sending out recon teams. They’re prepping tomorrow.”

“Is he giving up on the silo?”

“No. He’s keeping a core group here, including Baker and Schmidt, to assist us in any way they can. I think he’s anxious to find out more about what’s going on. Now the refugees are gone, more soldiers are freed up to run recon. They’re starting with small missions at first. The first groups will be gone two weeks. A week out and a week back.”

“I guarantee you some of them won’t return.”

Alvarez let go of Lincoln’s arm. “Try to get along with Nash and Baker, okay?”

DAY 57

M
ORNING
DAWNED
CLEAR
,
BUT
SCARCELY
warmer. Mina sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around her. Doyle was securing the deer meat from yesterday.
 

When she saw him bounding up the stairs three at a time, the familiar feeling of dread sank into her stomach.

“We have to go,” he said, opening the door and stepping inside.

Mina followed him. “What happened?”
 

He was already gathering gear from around the cabin and stuffing it in bags. Mina hurried to help him.

“What is it?” she asked again as she rolled up her blanket.

Doyle’s face was set. “Glyphs.”
 
He reached under the bunks and pulled out a second rifle, then opened the closet for a box of cartridges.

Mina’s hands trembled. “How do you know?”

Doyle tossed Mina’s bag to her, and she almost fell over trying to catch it. “I saw them. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.” He stood with his hand on the door.

“Okay, just give me a second.” Doyle turned around so quickly she dropped her bag. He strode over to her and stopped inches from her face.

“Have you ever seen them?” he asked.

“What?”

“The Glyphs! You know, the giant things from out of the sky! Have you seen them up close?”

“Yes!”

“So you know exactly what they look like. And have you seen what they can do?”

“Yes!”

“Well, so have I. I’ve been closer than you could even imagine. I have also seen how they travel. If you have really seen them, you know they won’t stop for innocent travelers. They will not move aside for us to reach safety. They kill everyone in their path. That’s all they know how to do.” Doyle looked straight into Mina’s eyes. She gazed back, but there was no emotion or feeling there for her to read. Nothing but calm dark depths, despite the passion in his words.
 

She nodded and picked up her backpack, the weight of it sinking her shoulders. Doyle thrust the second rifle into her hands and bolted down the stairs into the trees. Mina slung the gun over one shoulder and followed without glancing back.

They hiked a few minutes in silence, Doyle walking ahead of Mina. As soon as they reached the ridge line, Doyle held up his hand, a signal for her to stop.

“What is it?”

Doyle put a finger to his lips and crouched behind a small tree. Mina also crouched, but continued to climb as quietly as she could toward him, up the last few feet of the mountain. Doyle motioned for her to stay back, but she lay down on her stomach next to him, craning her neck to see below.

Thick trees grew over a steep drop. Three people stood talking on a small bare ledge below them. They carried small backpacks—two men did, at least. The woman who stood among them was carrying only a rifle. Mina couldn’t be sure, but the woman had what looked like a long hunting knife and a handgun on her belt. She wore dark pants, a tank top, and thick military-style boots. She’d tied a jacket around her waist in spite of the cold air. Obviously this group had been climbing a while and worked up a sweat.

The armed men looked like strong military types. They faced away from Mina, so she continued to watch the woman. She had a tall, powerful figure, and straight brown hair tied up in a slick ponytail. Some kind of faint tattoo showed on the tops of her shoulders and upper chest, on the skin exposed by her tank.

A third man approached from below and spoke to her.
 

On a bare ledge on the mountainside, Calla rounded on her men as she pulled out the knife, which flashed in the momentary sunlight. “What do you mean, he reported the camp?”
 

“I mean Williams is one step ahead of us. He reports the camp, he gets the credit.”

“And you did nothing to stop him!”

“I was here where you summoned me! Remember?” Despite his defiant tone, he closely regarded the knife in Calla’s hand.

“I want those rogues! They will scatter at the first sign of the Condarri!” Then Calla felt it—her own summons. She would have to act fast. She needed to get inside the camp before the burn started, or she would lose all of them. “Bring Williams to me,” she commanded.
 

The three took off into the woods without glancing back at Calla, her wrath chasing silently after them. She had one hope of turning this situation around, but she had to face the Condarri first. Calla breathed deeply, reaching out to Dar Ceylin.

Whatever the third man said made the woman draw her knife and raise her voice in anger. The men quickly scattered into the trees, leaving the woman on her own. Doyle, who had lain down beside Mina, pulled her back, away from the ridge.

“Who do you think they are?” whispered Mina.

Doyle shook his head, motioning for Mina to ease back the way they had come. Once it was safe to stand again, he led her in a new direction, along and just below the ridge, the only option they had for now. The treacherous footing slowed Mina down. They climbed more than hiked, and Doyle, who had longer legs, had to help Mina up the rocks more than once.
 

By nightfall, they had crossed through a valley and over another ridge. The undergrowth had thickened as summer approached, and fresh scratches covered Mina’s arms and face. They said little during their flight from the cabin, and Mina used the time to think about what Doyle had said about seeing the Glyphs up close. What had happened to him?
 

When they stopped for the night, Mina slumped on a rock, her legs like jelly. Doyle remained on edge, insisting they not light a fire. They huddled under the thick cover of a young tree, crickets singing in the trees all around them. Doyle sat next to her.

“You’re wrong about the Glyphs,” said Mina into the dark. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she had gone blind.

“How so?”

Mina recounted her story about the truck stop, and how the Glyphs had let one man through. When she finished, Doyle remained silent.

“They didn’t kill everyone then. Why?” she prompted.

“All sorts of reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe the Glyphs didn’t see him.”

“They saw the other guy. Right away.”

“Maybe that man was working with the Glyphs, and they let him through because they knew who he was.”

“Why would they need a human? You said they had superior technology.”

“Obviously they do, but maybe you were right back at the cabin, when you asked if they had spies.”

“I was thinking of the Glyphs as spies, though. Not people. Maybe they were forced. Maybe the Glyphs have mind control.”

“Maybe.”

“But don’t spies bring risks? What about double agents?”

“You’ve been reading too many novels.”

“Think about it! If the Glyphs used human spies, isn’t there a chance one of them would sound the alarm?”

“Yes. And that brings us back to the point that we don’t know what that man was doing out there. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe you were shell-shocked and hallucinated the whole thing. We just don’t know.”

“I know what I saw, Doyle.”

“Okay.”
 

“And don’t patronize me. I wasn’t going crazy.”

“Of course not. But you had just been through a traumatic experience. It’s likely that some of what you remember didn’t actually happen.”

Mina leaned her head back against the damp tree and said, “We’ll just have to be extra careful. We can’t trust anyone.”

“What have I been telling you all this time?”

“Don’t get worked up. I’m agreeing with you.” Then she added, “You trust me, though.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“For all you know, I could be a spy for the Glyphs.”

Doyle snorted loudly. “You’re not a spy, Mina.”

“How would you know?”

“A spy who always gets into trouble and follows a random man around in the woods? What for?”

“Maybe to find out your secrets.”

“Why would you need my secrets?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!”

Doyle began to laugh, cracking up until he was shaking silently, his shoulder brushing against Mina’s as he tried to stifle his mirth. “Someday I’ll give up my secrets,” he said when he could talk again. “Tell me, are you going to torture them out of me? Because that could be a lot of fun.” He barely uttered the words before he broke into another fit of quiet laughter.

Mina smiled in the dark, but tried to sound offended as she spoke. “No, I’m such a good spy that you will willingly give up all of your knowledge without coercion. It’s all about timing.”

“I’ll just wait then.” Doyle continued to chuckle to himself for some time.

Mina shivered and wrapped her blanket more tightly around her, pulling her knees up to her chin. “I’m not sure which is worse—dying a slow agonizing death from hypothermia or lighting a fire and letting the Glyphs find us so they get it over with quickly.”

“Here,” said Doyle as he scooted closer. He wrapped one half of his blanket around her, over the top of her own, keeping himself covered as well. The extra blanket and body heat helped. Mina rested her forehead on her knees and closed her eyes.