Shadowstrike

Three

Three

The rich aroma of life-blood flooded over Cathal as he finished the last of the kin, ripping its flesh and drinking that wonderful coppery nectar. He sucked greedily, head spinning, and his strength grew.

The shade had fed recently, of course. Shaela would have wanted the best, at their full strength, and so she would have provided for them. Most likely they had fed from those within Haven, those between death and life.

But Shaela was no more. Cathal focused on her trace, already cold. Brice’s trace, in contrast, shone vividly with the rich blood pumping through his body, so much stronger than the second-hand blood from the wretch in Cathal’s grip.

He dropped the empty carcass, and movement in the forest grabbed his attention.

Car asked, stepping to Cathal’s side. His brother’s breath stank of blood.

He turned to the hold-out.

There was a pause, then Brice answered. “I’m fed up of running.”

But what were his options? Cathal told the lad.

“There’s always a chance.”

“What if he attacks you?”

That was from Car.

Cathal’s stomach clenched, because this was so true. As much as Cathal and his brothers protected Brice, they also highlighted his location, no matter how careful they were. Yet Cathal couldn’t stay away. Brice was‌…‌Brice was a part of his crew. It was Cathal’s job to watch out for him.

Brice took a long, deep breath. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Meet you‌…‌where it started. You know the one.” And then he dropped off the concrete roof and ran into the hold-out itself. A few seconds later he returned, grunting as he hoisted the pack onto his back. “And watch yourselves, both of you.”

Then he was gone, running into the musty undergrowth between the trees.

Cathal followed his trace for a while, and also noted where it circled the hold-out. Brice always did this, like a dog marking its territory. But for Brice this was safety. It confused Nyle and Shaela. It was near impossible to detect traces through concrete, so marking so many tracks made it unclear if Brice was within the hold-out or not.

He turned to Car.

They moved in front of the hold-out door, and they waited.

It wasn’t long before Cathal detected Nyle, his entourage trailing after him. They moved leisurely, sauntering. Nyle was that sure of himself.

And there was another trace, parallel with them. Ap Owen.

Car’s voice bubbled with anger, and Cathal wondered if he, too, was growing frustrated with Ap Owen’s distracted manner recently.

Then Nyle strode through the tunnel of branches, five of the infected following him and shades flanking him in the trees.

He had covered his body in strips of cloth, but wore a cloak over the top, long enough to brush the ground, long enough to sway as he walked. He held his head high, and swung his arms with arrogance.

He stopped, and turned his attention to the roof of the hold-out. There was a moment when his trace vibrated violently.

Cathal stood tall as he communicated, keeping his focus on Nyle but tracking the others in the background. They’d formed a half-circle behind Nyle now.

Nyle snorted.

The air shifted as Nyle shrugged.

Cathal jerked his head to the trees to his left, Nyle’s right. Ap Owen shuffled from behind a tree.

Ap Owen stood still, then took a step forward.

Car whispered, tight to Cathal. And Cathal felt it too‌—‌the lack of response from their brother, his hesitancy. The way Nyle now held out one arm.

There was a sickening grin in Nyle’s voice. Ap Owen took another step, then another.

And took his place beside Nyle.

Beside Cathal, Car shifted. Cathal raised an arm, across his brother’s body. The words were for himself, too, as his own anger rose. His fingers curled into a fist, claws digging into his palms.

He cursed himself for being so blind. Shaela had tracked Brice so quickly because she had inside information. And Nyle acted nonchalant because he knew that he now faced fewer opponents.

There was so much more Cathal wanted to ask‌—‌no, demand‌—‌but he bit his tongue, kept to a single word.

Ap Owen shrugged. But he stumbled over the words.

and Cathal shuddered at the thought of those rooms he’d seen, of the half-alive bodies, of the never-healing wounds.

Nyle snorted a laugh, that sickening smugness flowing off him like bad body odour. Cathal forced himself to focus on Ap Owen. He needed to keep control.

Nyle spat out a and Car pushed against Cathal’s arm.

Ap Owen stammered.

Inevitable?

Nyle’s followers shuffled, and they growled menacingly. But it didn’t bother him, because this hatred didn’t come from them. Not really. It was all from Nyle, from the poison he’d spoken the moment they woke.

That was from Car, and once again Cathal held him back.

Nyle snorted again.

Cathal pushed aside the doubts screaming through his mind.

This time, Nyle laughed. But Cathal, turned his attention back to Ap Owen. His brother shuffled on the spot. Cathal held out a hand.

Ap Owen shuffled again.

And maybe this was inevitable‌—‌that Ap Owen would betray them, leaving Cathal and Car alone.

With his stomach clenching, Cathal grasped Car’s shoulder, pulling his brother round. They both turned away.

Nyle’s tones were mocking, but Cathal refused to be goaded.

Cathal stopped, but he didn’t turn. He took a breath, calming himself.

He felt his brother bristle at the use of his full name, and Cathal knew it reminded him of who he had once been‌—‌a pilot, a part of a crew, just another worker for the company. He was no different to Cathal, or Car, or any of those who were now dead.

Cathal turned to Car, sussed tight, putting as much strength into the words as he could muster. And he walked off, Car a couple of steps behind.

There was no way he could side with Nyle, no way he could betray Brice. The lad was the last of his crew. He was the last human around, and Cathal would protect him.

Even if Ap Owen was right about one thing.

There was no way to stop the inevitable.

This might have been any evening. Another hold-out roof, another part of the forest. Another meeting with Cathal.

But Brice knew this was different. This was‌—‌almost‌—‌the place where it all started.

“Still can’t believe he let you walk without a fight.” Brice took a sip from his flask, savouring the cool water.

Brice was surprised at the calmness in Cathal’s voice. It was like he’d accepted what had happened, like it didn’t bother him. But Brice could feel Cathal’s trace, and it was vibrant and angry, colours clashing, emotions fighting.

Brice looked to the pad by this hold-out, the one where Nyle had landed the Proteus, where Ryann and Keelin had dragged Cathal up the slope. And then, on that Proteus, Brice had killed his first shade. He’d stabbed a knife into its neck. Even though Ryann finished it off with torches burning sol, Brice had been the one to make the fatal cut.

The first of many. But not the first shade he’d encountered. And not the first shade to exist.

“What do you intend to do now?”

His voice was a monotone.

“That’s it?”

Brice tried to remember the last time he’d slept through a night. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d had more than a couple of hours sleep at a time. The last few months had been nothing but a half-awake game of cat and mouse. He hadn’t been living, but surviving.

“I can’t do this any more,” he said. A cool breeze brushed over Brice’s face, and he shivered.

“This.” He waved one hand, vaguely. “Running. Living out of these concrete boxes. Constantly moving round this bloody forest.”

Cathal didn’t respond straight away. He breathed heavily, his exhalation warm and rancid. Brice was used to that, and the stench of death that clung to Cathal‌—‌ the stench that had filled this very hold-out as Ryann tried to figure out what to do, as Brice’s lattice cut out, then screwed with the hold-out’s power, as Tris grew angry, and Keelin started falling apart.

Old friends. But where were they now? As far as he knew, Ryann and Keelin were on Metis, safe. But Tris had gone, taken by the shades. Cathal said there was no trace of him, but when Brice continued asking, Cathal snapped, and Brice stopped.

Tris was just one more part of a life that no longer existed.

“I need to get out,” he said.

Brice turned. Somewhere, through those trees, was the cliff that surrounded the basin. If he strained his ears, he could almost hear the water cascading down the Tumbler, the huge waterfall that had dragged their Proteus into its grasp then spat it out like so much rubbish. And somewhere in that cliff was the cave, the one they’d entered when the warths attacked. The cave where Cathal had been bitten by a shade.

But that shade had to come from somewhere. Monsters didn’t simply appear.

And Brice needed to understand. He needed to know why his life had been destroyed.

“To where it all started,” he said. He reached out, putting a hand on Cathal’s shoulder. “I need to find where the shades came from.”