Shadows (Ashes Trilogy 2)

This was the smell and the sight of her death.

Her gaze inched right. Daniel was slumped against the rock. The ghosts of her hands were stenciled in blood on his shoulders. The Glock’s black eye wandered because Daniel was shaking, but it stared right at her, more or less.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out, not even air.

“I—” His face clenched in panic and new dread, and she saw— and smelled—that he knew, finally, what was happening to him.

She’d guessed right, then, about why Spider had left them together. Alex didn’t hunt, but she knew kids who had. Bag that first deer, and you were blooded, wearing your kill as a coppery smudge on your forehead like ashes the day after Fat Tuesday.

Daniel was to be blooded with her. Or maybe it was no more complicated than a spider making an egg sac and then cocooning a great big bug. Once Daniel was hatched, Spider knew he would need a nice, fresh body upon which to feed.

“I c-can’t,” Daniel said. “You . . . you know. I know you d-do. Alex, you . . . you sh-should’ve . . .”

“No.” She dragged up her voice from where it had fallen. “Daniel, you’re talking to me. You know me. You’re still here, with me. Maybe it’ll be different for you. We don’t know if—”

“N-no.” His head moved from side to side. His hand was oily from Leopard’s blood, and now she watched in numb horror as he brought his fingers to his nose. A second later, the pink snake of his tongue slithered out for a taste. The Changed don’t eat the Changed. Every molecule of air left her lungs. She watched the emotions race across his face: revulsion and fear and . . . hunger. His cheeks worked and then he spat a gobbet of red foam.

The Uzi was behind her and too far away. She had the knife, but she’d never get to it in time. She didn’t know how to throw it anyway.

“A-Alex.” His voice thrummed with need. His teeth were orange. His eyes were too bright, and she smelled, exactly, what would happen next. “I don’t think I can s-s-stop it. I don’t know that I even w-want to.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “Daniel, you’ve fought them all this time.”

“But I’m so tired,” he said. “I can feel it gr-growing. I think . . . I have to.”

No, she thought, wildly. This is a cancer, too; this is a monster. “Daniel, you know me. You’re talking to me. You’re not one of them. You’re still you.”

“But I won’t be for much longer. I can feel me . . . going away. Like trying to c-catch f-fog. Can’t . . . can’t grab myself anymore.” His chest heaved and then he was panting, forcing out the words. “Y-you can’t . . . you don’t kn-know what it’s l-like to l-lose yourself piece by p-p-piece.”

But she did. She pulled in a shuddering, sobbing breath. “You have to try. Daniel, if you do this, it wins.”

“I kn-know.” His head sagged back against the rock and he closed his eyes, but only for a second. “Jack, oh, Jack . . . all m-my fault. I’m s-so sorry.”

“Daniel,” she began.

He pressed the muzzle under his jaw.

“Oh, God,” he said.

79

She heard it twice: the blast five feet away and then, ten seconds later, its shadowy distant cousin—that, she thought, must be her mind finally blowing itself apart.

The burn of gunpowder hung in a hazy curtain. Everything else was a shock of red and black. Then the walls shuddered and the ground twitched. She was shaking that hard. Her first—her only—thought was that she was in shock. She was falling apart, her mind splitting into pieces, maybe for good. Maybe the monster was tired of the game and had decided to flex it muscles, take that great, big, drippy—final—bite. She thought that might be all right. But the world didn’t fade. She didn’t pass out, or die, or go crazy. Her eyes were a camera, and with every blink, the snicksnap of a shutter took the same picture: red and black, and red and Daniel’s eyes, and black and Daniel’s eyes, and Daniel’s dead, dark eyes.

The rock shimmied again. This time, she heard the tick of stone bouncing over stone.

And the distant rumble of an explosion.

80

Chris might have seen it coming if he hadn’t insisted that Nathan sleep first. He’d pulled the last watch before they moved out, and he wasn’t on top of his game or thinking very straight.

Big mistake.

The trail they followed was a line of utility poles erected down a narrow stripe of clear-cut hemmed by a thick tangle of hardwood and pine on either side. The woods knit together at intervals in a dense canopy, but the way through was largely obstacle-free. At ground level, the clear-cut was a straight, open shot and might shave off a good five miles that they would otherwise spend in a looping meander through woods. The trail was a temptation that, in other circumstances, Chris would’ve been smart enough to avoid. Staying under cover and blending in with the darkling shadows was always a better option. It was that canopy that gave him a false sense of security as well as the fact that they were moving at night. Both would hide them well enough, and the full moon was painting the trail into a glowing Green Brick Road that was just too good not to take.

Two more days, just two more. Chris’s head thumped with weariness. The wind was a knife, the cold making him stupid. His snowshoes were lead weights. He was dead on his feet, moving out of habit more than design. Then we’ll be there and maybe we can find those kids.

Nathan’s sorrel was breaking trail about forty yards ahead, just past a wedge of ghostly verdigris shadow. A big gap. Normally, they were no more than ten yards apart. But Lena had been sick again, and Chris waited for her to finish.

“Just another couple hours, and then we’ll stop to rest,” Chris said as he helped her back onto the saddle. The roan did an unhappy tap dance as Lena sank into the saddle, and then Chris saw the horse’s ears pin back and felt the animal tense. “Lena, pull its head up and tighten the reins . . . easy,” he said as the roan tried an abortive buck and then settled, blowing hard.

“Maybe it’s tired out, too,” Lena said. There was a small yellow splash of vomit on her jacket. “We should stop.”

From further on, Nathan called back: “There a problem?” Chris turned. Nathan was now fifty yards away, and he saw Nathan starting to turn the animal around. “She bucking on you?” the old man shouted. “Want to stop and rest awhile?”

“Yes,” Lena muttered.