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    Lords of Chaos
    Lords of Chaos
    Lords of Chaos
    Ebook270 pages6 hours

    Lords of Chaos

    By Barbara Bretana

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    About this ebook

    My mother's name was Ariana Einstein, my father was a Physicist. both of them were working on the Collider Project when they triggered the doorway open between worlds and left me stranded here alone. all I wanted was to go home and find them. before the FBI and the NSA found me. instead, I took them back to my own world.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBarbara Bretana
    Release dateFeb 1, 2015
    ISBN9781311675941
    Lords of Chaos
    Author

    Barbara Bretana

    I've been writing and reading since the age of three. Anyone who knows me knows I'm nuts about horses, reading, dogs and painting. Went to school in Vermont, Castleton State and Pratt/Phoenix School of Design and found out college wasn't for me. Worked with Developmentally Disabled and loved it. Went back to school for my CNA license and decided to try writing for a career as I keep breaking things like my rotator cuff, discs and whatnot. Getting bucked off your horse, well, I don't bounce like I used to. I'm the one in the brown coat.

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      Book preview

      Lords of Chaos - Barbara Bretana

      Chapter 1

      Kneeling, I presented a smaller target; blended into the trees so that rock and brush cloaked me, made my outline harder to distinguish. Behind me, the sunlight glowed off the water and bathed everything in an aura of softness and it was harder for the deer to discern me.

      I had no scent so unless my movement gave me away I was safe. Not so the doe. I didn't like taking a doe, but bucks were solitary creatures, not easily seen and hunters had thinned their numbers down considerably. I turned my head slowly, watching the doe's graceful glide through the woods. She had just climbed the hill from the reservoir, crossed the highway and was only yards from my resting spot.

      I didn't like to take one so close to the road; I was still too small to carry a carcass very far. I hadn't had a kill in weeks and was desperate for fresh meat so I wasn't quite as rigid in following the rules.

      Slowly, I raised my hands, knocked an arrow to the bow, sighted and waited. She leaped into the shaft, ran several hundred yards before the broad head knocked her down and she collapsed onto the asphalt of the road.

      I cursed. Watched both ends of the road, listened for the telltale sounds of a vehicle driving up or down the grade before I stepped out on the snow covered road.

      Her eye dulled, her elfin spirit fled. I whispered my thanks and reached to my waist for the short rope I used to pull, tied it around her back legs and opened my knife. The sharp point of my blade stuck her jugular and I bled her out before I tied the rope to my sides and set my feet.

      She went one twenty undressed and was nearly forty pounds heavier than me making the job of hauling her uphill an exercise in patience and stamina. I had to rest often, would lunge for a score of feet, stop, and lunge forward against the weight and hang forward against the pull of her body and the rope.

      I didn’t like leaving a blood trail; it showed bright red in streaks on the snow. Uphill was hard but safer, the further from the road, the better for me. My ultimate goal was behind the huge rock on the North Slope of Loomis Hill where a glacier had dropped it against two others equally as huge to form a cave hidden from view unless you climbed the rock structure and fell into the crevice.

      Inside was a small cavern with a sandy floor that sloped downwards into what had been the den of a fox or bobcat. I had found small bones inside and an old clay and brass lamp that was older than the Indians that had lived in the place before the valley had been flooded to create the watershed. I’d also found arrowheads in here, as well as on the slopes and near the springs.

      The trees here were oaks, maples and sycamores, poplars and a few rare elms, some white pine and hemlocks. I’d found trees that had been left untouched from old growth forests hidden deep in ravines that could only be accessed on foot.

      Across the narrowest part of the lake on the fire break, I saw a glint of silver. I straightened up, removed the rope and squinted, trying to decipher what I had seen.

      Behind me, I heard a twig snap, turned around so quickly that I lost my balance and fell onto the still warm fur of the doe. Two men stood there. Dressed in green and brown uniforms. DEC, cops. Game wardens.

      Stand still, they ordered.

      Jesus Christ. He’s just a kid! Their eyes dropped to the dead doe and I rose to my feet in one lithe bound and was off running.

      Their shouts followed me. I skidded downhill using whatever cover I had but in the winter, the underbrush was gone and movement against the snowy ground and bare brown trees was easily tracked, as easy as my footprints.

      Still, I was light and fleet footed on surfaces they floundered on. I heard them pounding behind me, their excited voices as they caught glimpses of me as I jumped dead limbs, gullies and skidded through tree trunks.

      I aimed for the ridge, once over it I could lose him in the thicker woods. To my left, the shimmer of gray water mocked me, made a boundary I could not escape past. Hemmed in by road and water, I could only go one way forward and up.

      Stop! We’ll shoot! they called and I ignored them. I might be a poacher but I knew they wouldn't shoot over it.

      I reached the first curve, leaped the guardrail on the road, over it and heard the ricochet of a bullet. Gravel stung me. I kept going, scared but undaunted. Over the rail again, downhill, sliding on my butt, my bow and quiver dragging on the ground behind me.

      Up again, turning into the pipe under the supports of the bridge. I ran bent over but I knew the interior intimately, knew where it curved and came out, emerged on the opposite side of the road in a deep ravine that drained the macadam.

      Here, I had to be careful. Water from the hill roared down this spot in wet weather and in cold froze making travel treacherous. I had no wish for a broken ankle so tread warily. I could hear them, their voices fading as they hiked first downhill away from me.

      When they were gone, I retraced my steps uphill and regarded the spot where I'd left my kill. It was gone. Wearily, I turned round in a circle and looked for my rope. I trudged home in hungry defeat.

      Chapter 2

      The snowmobiles had come through this morning and I'd heard their buzzing machines long before I'd seen them. They churned up the snow but the tracks made it easier to move through the woods and I could hide my passage easier in theirs. I was starving, the loss of the doe two days before had been a serious blow to my menu. I'd tried fishing but being that close to the lake was both nerve wracking and useless. Most of the fish were out in deeper water and without a boat, I could not reach them.

      I had set out snares and was checking to see if I had caught any rabbits. My stomach was empty and I felt somewhat faint. It two days, I had eaten only bark and some moss, a few cups of tea from my stash of blackberry leaves and some thin soup made from the last of my ketchup packages.

      The first three snares hidden under the low branches of a scotch pine were empty even though I had seen rabbit tracks. As were the fourth and fifth ones. Empty.

      It wasn't until I rounded the corner of the bridge across the lake to check the one near the garbage cans that I spotted a limp form on the last trap.

      Raccoon. My stomach growled and saliva filled my mouth. Raccoon was sweet, would feed me at least two or three meals.

      Hurrying forward, I pulled my knife to pry the wire from around its neck. I skinned it there and because I was so hungry, I gutted it and pulled out the liver, eating it raw and cold. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the quick flush of blood into my belly as it went to work on needed fuel.

      I kept the skin; it would go into my cache for future tanning and to replace worn gloves or footwear when I was done with it. Not much of the coon would be wasted; almost every part was usable to me from bones to bladder.

      I heard the low drone of a car and slipped under the bridge, wedging myself under the support where the road met the columns and waited for it to pass. Instead, I heard it stop and a car door open, voices speaking and listened to the conversation of people.

      The Delaware Watershed, a man’s voice offered. Supplies the water to the City.

      It's big. This was a woman’s tones, broad with an accent from the North, either Mass or New Hampshire. I heard an odd clinking noise, as if metal grated on metal.

      50,000 acres. They dammed it in the 50s, flooded this whole valley. There are coves and hidden caves all over it. The Loomis Brothers used to steal horses up north, hide them out here and then sell them in DC to the government.

      I heard splashes in the water, knew no fish were jumping, and thought they were throwing things into the lake. The cold of the cement leached through my furs, my back and butt ached from leaning on it. I shifted, tried to get comfortable and wished they would hurry with their sightseeing and leave. I wanted a hot meal, to stuff my belly to the point of gluttony and then to sleep for a whole day before I would have to hunt again. I tucked my chin into the fur of my collar and blinked.

      Where is he? The words were soft but I heard them, funneled across the water on still air and a narrow valley, the engines drone shut off.

      The clink came again, six times and when I shot my head up, I saw seven bodies flying downwards from the bridge. My heart sank into my stomach and I scrambled off the ledge, running on the scree along the lake’s front towards the jetty.

      Men dressed in camouflage blocked me. They spoke into their collars and ran for me. I dodged, lightened my steps and my first footfall in the water soaked through my furs and made my feet burn with the icy fire of it. My second and third were no worse and I was running across the narrows with my heartbeat thundering in my ears unable to hear their cries of astonishment as I flew above the surface of what was clearly not frozen liquid.

      I heard them stop at the knee depth and I was across, forgetting the vehicle atop the bridge until it came barreling down the drive behind us.

      The lake was to my right, the open sides of the road and more lake to the left for a hundred yards before the mountain slope began and safety. I sobbed, I was in the worst place I could be to evade capture and even if I could sustain flight as far across as the other bank of the lake, I could not run that far and keep myself light enough to prevent drowning in water deep enough to take my body. So I ran. The car chased me. I ran faster, the wind tore at my eyes and that was what made me cry not that I had failed my parents wish to remain safe, not that I was a failure, not because my body hurt from too little food, not enough sleep or warmth or proper clothing. Not because I was afraid.

      I dodged as the vehicle; a big black square thing drew up close to me. Leaping over the guardrail, I slid down the ramp towards the boats knowing I would not have the strength to overturn one or time to launch it. The doors opened and both men and the woman emerged in camo and bright blue parkas to come tearing after me.

      I cursed and zigzagged back towards the bridge knowing that up water was just funneling me to a more open area where I could not hide. I had to get downstream where the coves and ridges, ravines and caves offered more hiding. Where the trees grew thick enough to let me disappear like a deer.

      On the slopes below the viaduct, the car could not follow. Several of them had run down behind me, the rest had taken the opposite side of the bridge and the man reversed the car and was following on the road. I was being herded like a deer in a funnel.

      My feet were cold, nearly frozen and I had trouble finding spots to put them down where rocks and ice did not trip me. Several times, I had slid out of control, needing my hands to stop my descent from an ignoble fall. I had lost my gloves and the hand carrying the raccoon carcass was split and bleeding. When I risked a glance behind me, I saw the bright blue of a jacket coming strong and the bright splashes of crimson on white snow midst blue stone slabs. My feet were bleeding. Their grunts and breathing was loud on the cold, still air.

      Damn! she shouted. STOP! You're a quick little kid! Stop!

      I ran, faster. If I did not reach the curve before the others on the opposite slope, I would have nowhere to go but the water or up on the road as my path would narrow and steepened too much for me to continue without rope or climbing gear.

      Dammit! she cursed. I don't want to do this!

      I sobbed as I reached the last pylon under the overpass and turned yards ahead of the other man, started up the slope towards the hill and the woods, towards safety and escape. Heard the sound of the car and a bang. Felt someone's hand punch me and went flying forward in slow motion. Landed face first in a pile of scree covered in pure white that tasted salty and then coppery. My head buzzed, my ears throbbed with my heartbeat. Shadows formed over me. The sky darkened. I felt a rise in temperature around me.

      My hand closed around a chunk of blue stone but something held my fingers and dug it from my grasp. Hands rolled me over, tied my wrists together and gently opened my furs to lay bare my skin to the cold and hold me up by my elbows. My feet dangled in midair.

      Did you shoot him? A man asked.

      She replied. I had to. He was getting away. Again, she sounded defensive. I've run medal times, Jarrod and I couldn't catch him.

      Where did you shoot him? Fingers probed and I screeched as they found a new source of pain in my back.

      In the left cheek, she said with a touch of embarrassment.

      In the ass? He sounded amused with my butt laid open to their exploration. Holy Christ, he's just a kid? We've been tracking a kid? He's evaded the DEC, Game Wardens and cops for a year? Just a kid? How old are you? What's your name?

      How bad is it? asked one of the camouflaged men. Someone stuck his finger on it and I kicked feebly against the pain. I was suddenly hot, then cold and shivers wracked me.

      Bullet crease for the most part. His hands and feet are worse. I can see bone in some places. If it weren't so cold, he'd be bleeding profusely. Get something on him before he freezes to death.

      Their voices seemed to echo all the sudden and darkness crept into my eyes. Shit. I think he's going into shock. Look at his eyes---all pupil and blank. Let's get him back to the car.

      Here's a survival suit. It's big enough to wrap him in. He's so small.

      How old do you think he is?

      Twelve, maybe younger. This bow is no kid's toy. It's handmade and pulls about eighty pounds.

      The first aid kit is in the back of the SUV. I can treat his hands and feet there until the chopper gets here.

      Did you call it?

      Soon as I spotted him. ETA is twelve minutes.

      A hand brushed my hair back and felt warm on my icy skin. What's your name, Hermes? the woman asked and I was hoisted into the air and tucked against someone s shoulder. I felt the play of muscles on my cheek, a strong arm around my back and another under my rear end. He carried me as if I were a toddler as he toiled up the slope.

      Want me to take him, Captain? another asked. I could not see, as the blackness was overtaking not just my peripheral vision but also the center. My ears buzzed. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck and then, nothing.

      Chapter 3

      Four faces loomed over mine. Men in helmets with ear mikes and heavy gray coats. Two were washing off my hands and feet with some kind of liquid that smelled of iodine and salt, wrapped me in gauze and gloves made of fake sheepskin. It didn't hurt and I was warm, sleepy. My insides felt drained and I did not care where I was or what they were doing. I felt good and a smile reached my face.

      Ha. Happy juice has just kicked in, the man seated near my head spoke. He was still in his bright blue coat and my eyes found the woman, too.

      He'll answer your questions, now. The side effects of the narcotic, the medic said.

      How bad is he hurt?

      Hands are basically scratches and bruises. His feet--, he shrugged. "I can feel some misalignment; several spots are cut to the bone---maybe tore a vein. Lost some blood, more than a pint. Needs a transfusion. His vitals are borderline, blood pressure low, temperature is just this side of hypothermia---95.2° and that’s after being warmed for twenty minutes. He's thin, no body fat to speak of and shows signs of malnutrition. He's really pale and I don't think white is his natural color. His nails and lips are faintly cyanotic.

      I've put him on an IV of antibiotics and given him a good dose of vitamins. The Fentanyl will kick in once we're airborne.

      Tell me your name, she leaned into my face and stared at my eyes. Started. His eyes. They're like pools of quicksilver. No pupils or striae. Just pure silver.

      I blinked. Spoke. I will not give you my name.

      What? What did you say?

      "Sounded like Siobhan na carriadhe eolynwen," the man returned and I giggled at his maceration of my sentence.

      Jesus. He's beautiful when he smiles, she murmured. What language is that?

      We're landing. Albany Medical. You going on with him?

      Yes. We’ll stay with through his assessment, surgery if necessary and then on.

      Where’s he going after?

      DC.

      I felt the thump as the plane set down on the ground and the hatches opened. People in green reached in and helped remove me on the stretcher and I was carried into a building that broke the sky. Rode an elevator down, flew through corridors of white and green where the lights burned my eyes.

      Discordant voices battered at my head. I began to shiver. I was cold, even under the bright lights and heavy blankets. Mehowyne, I called miserably. Mehowyne!

      How old is he? Give me his history. What's your name? Questions peppered me like fleabites. Fleas were a constant irritation in the woods, not as bad as ticks or midges. No-see-ums were the worst, they drove me crazy that first summer and I had not found one herbal remedy to ward them off. I tried to swat at the words, could not move my hands and jerked, flailed around.

      Stop fighting, son. You're in the ER. We're here to help you. Does he understand English?

      Why?

      He looks and sounds foreign.

      "He understood stop well enough, the woman’s voice said near my ears. We don't know his name, other than the Ghost of Loomis Cave."

      What?

      "He's the mysterious figure that’s been robbing cabins, poaching deer and fish out

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