4
I sit straight up, my heart pounding in my chest, and slap my hands over my ears. “What’s that?”
“We have to get out of here,” Rook says, already shoving his feet into his shoes.
He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.
I step into my boots but don’t have time to lace them before he’s tugging me through the tent opening.
The encampment is swarming with people running left and right.
The sky is dark, flashing with lilac bursts against a backdrop of rolling clouds.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and prickles explode across my scalp.
A storm is coming. Is that what this is all about?
“Rook!” I shout as he leads me through the crowd. A quick assessment reveals that people are organized in their hurry. They know where to go. They’ve prepared for this.
“What’s happening?” I ask as he drags me away. “What’s going on?”
More fucking questions. They fill my head like a swarm of killer bees.
When will I get some answers?
The wind is picking up, and another round of cloudbursts explodes across the sky. A shiver crawls up my spine. The storm is moving so fast, I didn’t even feel it coming.
I glance up as a bolt of Spark peels off a large cloud formation almost directly overhead. It spears toward the earth, hitting the center of the encampment before exploding into a plasma arc as someone is consumed by the blast that swallows their last screams.
More people are shouting now. Instructions are being issued. The ordered chaos of a moment ago shifts, giving way to panic edged with fear.
“Move underground!” someone yells. “They’re coming.”
“This way!” Rook shouts, tugging me toward him with such force that I nearly stumble, but I’m saved by his arm cinching around my waist. “There’s a bunker over here.”
More people scatter as they run for cover. Several disappear through a large metal hatch set into the earth. It closes with a hiss as Rook keeps pulling me through the camp.
I notice people are taking up positions outside the perimeter of the compound, their sights focused on the trees. They’re waiting for something.
I stop to watch, scanning the horizon. About a hundred feet of forest has been cleared around the fence as a security measure. I notice the leaves shifting, rustling like something is moving through the trees. Something large.
It takes a moment for them to appear at the edge of the treeline.
I see it. Someone is coming—several someones.
They walk in a line, slowly, approaching like they’re moving through tree sap.
But what really catches my attention is their eyes—glowing purple orbs burn in the darkness, making my fingers turn numb.
“Who are they?” I croak, peering through the fencing and the flickering lines of electricity cordoning off the camp.
“Whispers,” he says, and I turn to frown at him. “What you refer to as Keepers. They’ve succumbed to the madness that breaks their minds. We call it the Silence.”
It takes me a moment to process his words.
To put two and two together. My entire life, I’ve been told that Keepers go insane.
That they lose control of their faculties.
They become violent and dangerous. But I’ve never actually seen it happen.
Keepers within the walls of New Manhattan are always dealt with before they become a problem.
I’ve kept this secret in my heart for most of my life, terrified of discovery.
Whispers. The Silence.
Those words send a flurry of icy shivers spreading over my skin.
“I don’t . . . I’ve never . . .”
“Poet,” Rook says, dragging me against him, cupping my face in his hands. “Focus. We need to get somewhere safe.”
The line of Keepers has moved closer. I can make out some of their features, their stiff limbs and the haunted looks on their faces. Some of them are completely expressionless. They stare straight ahead, their bright eyes brilliant against the night.
“What will they do?” I ask.
“They’ll attack anyone they encounter,” he says. “They’re stronger than you can imagine. Faster, too.”
I study the slowly moving line of Keepers, finding that hard to believe.
But then one at the front moves. One moment, he’s shambling in the distance, and the next, he’s standing right in front of a line of the camp’s soldiers. He reaches out and snags a man around the throat.
“Skies,” I whisper as the Keeper lifts the man, his feet flailing as he tries to kick away. More Keepers have closed in, swarming the soldiers as the man continues to struggle against the fist closing off his windpipe.
“He’s dying!” I shout. “We have to help him.”
I make a move to run, but Rook tugs me back. “You can’t help him,” he says. “We have to hide now!”
But I can’t seem to tear myself away from the sight. A fight has broken out. The Keepers are strong and move so fast. Their lips pull back to expose their teeth. They’re ferocious, knocking everyone over like rag dolls.
It’s a horrifying sight, made even more so when I realize that they don’t make a sound. Their mouths open and close, but nothing comes out.
Whispers. The Silence.
I shiver again, turning numb from head to toe.
Explosions break through the atmosphere, echoing blasts that crack against the fight and the rumbling storm. A Keeper goes down, clutching his knee, his mouth stretched into a silent scream as blood spurts from a wound in his leg.
“What happened?” I ask. “What was that sound?”
“Guns,” Rook explains. “Filled with bullets. They’re like stunners, but different.”
Right. Now I remember. I’ve seen photos of them from the Warming Age, but evidence of their existence in New Manhattan is rare.
“He’s bleeding,” I say, stating the obvious, but I think I’m going into shock.
Rook guides me to the edge of a building to conceal us.
More fighting has broken out as the Keepers advance.
I notice the camp’s soldiers aren’t trying to kill them, only disarm them and slow them down.
A man presses a knee to the back of a Keeper lying face down on the ground before someone else swoops in to tie his hands and feet together.
“Why are they tying him up?”
Rook huffs out a pained sigh. “Whispers can’t help what they are,” he says. “We do our best to avoid killing any of them. Not while there’s still a chance for a cure.”
“A cure,” I shout, more questions piling up. “What do you mean?”
“Poet, we should get to a bunker. I’ll explain—”
“You’ll explain everything later,” I say dryly. “Right. Of course.”
He gives me a tight-lipped smile. A cloudburst splits above us as the sky glows with plumes of bright amethyst. Another jagged branch of Spark hits the earth, right near the fighting, sending everyone scattering.
“Poet, we can’t let them see us. Let’s go.”
“Why not? Don’t they know what you are? That you’re something else?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But what—”
“Come on.” He takes my hand, refusing to take no for an answer this time. He virtually drags me toward the far edge of the camp. We weave through buildings and tents, where almost everyone either has escaped underground or is busy manning the perimeter.
We pass a few more closed hatches before coming to one at the very edge, right next to the glowing electric fence.
Rook drops to a knee and fiddles with the latch while I focus on the distant treeline.
More Keepers—Whispers—emerge, covered in dirt and blood.
The fence crackles with energy, fizzing and popping.
Rook grunts, tugging at the handle, then says, “It’s stuck.”
He stands up and starts searching left and right.
Suddenly, something grabs me from behind, and I scream.