I wake to a dull repeating thump at the foot of my bed. I’m up in an attack stance on the soft carpet before my eyes fully open. I can sleep through the night now. But the time I’ve spent here can’t erase ten years of survival instincts.
“Not. Strong. Enough. Not. Fast. Enough. Not . . .”
It’s Cole. His voice is hoarse, repeating the same words. He’s wearing a white undershirt and boxers like he came from bed. His shoulders round forward and his head hangs down. He knocks a fist into my foot board creating a haunting rhythmic mantra. The loud hum of the air conditioner kicks in, dulling Cole’s words.
I shiver from the cool air pumping down on my shirtless back. I should’ve trusted my gut and switched back to sleeping in my uniform and boots after Cole arrived. He’s been different. I’ve been watching and waiting for him to make a move. I have to admit I was angry he hadn’t yet. Angry that he could so easily ignore me. When my every move and decision is clouded by his actions.
“I was wondering when you’d come for me.” I lower my arms and relax my stance.
I don’t see him attacking without backup. He never has before. My thoughts are coming fast, from all directions. My power rushes to the surface in fearful anger.
Here he is, my own nightmare, invading my senses and crashing my mind. This nightmare of a warrior tore every bit of hope from my chest day after exhausting day. Removed any chance I had of relating, hell even communicating, with others. Removed my humanity. This nightmare ripped, shredded, and molded me into an empty hardened shell.
Nothing. I get nothing from him, no acknowledgment he’s heard me. He goes on reciting the same phrases over and over again. Thump, thump, thumping his fist. I walk closer. His arms are covered in bruises. Some are a deep purple and some a sickly, yellow-green color, older. He stares at his loose fist knocking into the wooden frame. His thighs are striped with deep red, crusty scabs and thick rows of raised welted skin. My hand carefully rests on his shoulder before I realize I closed the distance. His skin burns hot through his shirt.
“Why?”
I already know who. My hand slides off his shoulder and he turns to me in an awkward, jerky motion.
“Not. You.” He speaks in the same raspy tone as before. “Not. You.”
We face each other, eye to eye, yet he doesn’t see me. His vacant black eyes unblinking and bloodshot. A few of the cadets used to sleep walk after we first arrived at the academy. The instructors said it was normal due to our age and first time away from home. They looked like Cole does now. Completely awake but not here.
“Not. Enough.” His whisper is strained from use. “Not. You."
A shiver races from my shoulder, down my arms that lie limp at my sides. I repeat his words back letting them sound louder than his. "Not. You.”
His head snaps back, eyes dilate, then focus. Focus on me.
“What the hell Oren.” He jumps back. “What did you do?”
“You came to me.” I say in a practiced even tone despite my frantic pulse.
He pulls at his shirt sleeves and boxers in an attempt to cover his marks. It’s useless but I pretend not to notice. He’d never give me the same courtesy.
“I . . . I . . . I came to tell you . . .” He swallows hard, giving himself time to come up with a reason he’s here.
He’d never admit to sleep walking or being out of control in any way.
“To warn you to be careful tomorrow. Things are unpredictable during live combat, especially with a mission so deep in the Mist. Someone might not make it back.” His voice is scratchy but the threat is clear.
“I’ll be sure to do that.” I give him a blank stare back.
He turns his back and walks away, not bothering to close the door behind him. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath.
“You good?” The bass of Kane’s voice is strangely calming.
“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ like the Fletchers.
He nods once, head turned to the exit, and closes my door. I breathe deep and take in my surroundings. Down the aisle, Addy and Fletcher sleep mumble. Luce rotates in her bed. And a steady beat sounds from the captain. The clock by the bed tells me I have a few hours until we move out. My mind is racing. I can’t stay here without thinking of Cole and I’m not doing that. Done with sleep, I dress.
I may not be able to discover what Targe is up to before we leave. But I can prepare for what’s to come. Edna thanked me when I confirmed the theories on the Rex. She said all she learned was what others shared. It makes me think there could be more details our ancestors learned about this demon. I need to know everything I can. Because everything appears to center around it.
***
Since I have the whole library to myself, I speed boost through the stacks. Iva and I already devoured and returned the book I stole. And I'm looking for eyewitness reports from the mission archives. I pass the librarian's desk. The thick black tome with the strange emblem the captain had peeks out.
I walk behind the desk and roll Edna’s chair out of the way to lift the book. The binding is hard and sturdy with a worn cracked black leather cover. I run my fingers gently over the intricate gold emblem in the center. The emblem is made up of triangles, circles, and squares. They flow into one another, connecting the shapes into a pattern. It’s mesmerizing and familiar.
I open it to find multicolored bookmarks made from strips of cloth. They’re inserted into different sections of the tome. The pages are thick and yellowed with age. The desk legs wobble and creak when I lay it open. It’s hard to believe tiny Edna could dash around the library with this in her grasp. I’m drawn to the cerulean blue colored bookmark, my family colors. Not sure where to start or what I’m looking for, I start there.
I draw the bookmark out. The cloth is linen and crisp. It makes my neck itch with the memory of wearing something similar. My heart aches when my mind snags on my mother. She's rolling her eyes at my complaints and tugging. I shake it off and try to make sense of what I see. The text is a thin metallic swirling font. I have to concentrate, past the artistry, to make out the words. It’s a story.
A story about the creation of our world. As children we learned about how the demons nearly wiped us out. A fairytale about the first warrior.
“The last Guardian imparted its very essence into the willing warrior. And with divine intent he was gifted . . .”
“Are you sure you secured them all?” Whispered voices argue outside the library doors.
I replace the bookmark and slide the book between two cabinets to conceal it. I round the corner and speed between the stacks near the exit. If they’re coming in here, I’ll have to wait for them to pass before making my escape. The library is open to everyone, but I don’t want to raise suspicion, at this hour before a mission.
I stand still, and press against the shelves. The double doors swing open and the cadence of boots squeak in the foyer. They’re warrior born. We naturally fall in line to keep pace with one another. My breathing stops when Holden passes by with another warrior.
He appears healthy and normal considering the last time I saw him. These are Targe’s lab warriors, and they’re moving with intent. I watch instead of leave. They walk straight into the librarian’s office, opening drawers and cabinets, examining each shelf in detail.
“Stephens, all clear?” Holden steps out.
“Affirmative.” The dark haired warrior, Stephens, replies.
They move to the back of the library and punch the button for the elevator. I release my grip on the shelf behind me and step out. The smooth glide of the elevator doors signal I'm clear. I swing my head to the office. Not sure I’d be able to determine what they took, I follow them instead. I race up the steps to the second floor, I stick close to the balcony, and listen. But the elevator is not opening.
“Since you’re so eager for the day to start, how about you wake the rest of your squad?” The captain says from the floor below. Kane scowls up at me from her side.
“Yes, captain.” I barely hold the shock of being caught. I drag myself back downstairs and give a last glance at the elevator.
“More hustle warrior.” She parks at the foot of the stairs.
“The warriors from the lab are..”
“No. Not here.” Kane’s grumble cuts me off and they exchange silent words.
“You were following them.” They don't confirm that's what they were doing but they don't deny it either. "I can help."
The captain shakes her head. “No, you can stick with…”
“The squad.” I finish for her. “Because you don’t trust me.” I may be planning my escape but I can help them while I’m here. With warriors soon to be forced into service too early, without the proper training, and Centrum holding back assets. Someone needs to do something.
“Because of who you are. You can’t be here. The rest are coming.” Kane turns back to check the doors.
I don’t sense any footsteps but then again I still don’t know where the elevator went.
“You have ten minutes to get your team to the mission room. Or you earn extra spar time with Kane when we’re back.” Her mind is made up.
I take my leave with quick steps to distance myself from the library before more of Targe’s warriors show. Because one thing we apparently agree on, is that I need to stay under the radar.
