Red Night ((Book 1) Timewalker Chronicles)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Timewalker Chronicles Book 1:

  Red Night

  by Michele Callahan

  Timewalker Chronicles: Red Night

  Copyright © 2011 by Michele Callahan

  Cover design 2012 by Jennifer Zane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form or format, by electronic, digital, or mechanical means including, but not limited to, information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher. An exception is granted to book reviewers who may quote up to 250 words in a review.

  Published by Michele Callahan

  http://www.michelecallahan.com

  http://michelecallahan.blogspot.com

  http://romconinc.com

  I dedicate this story to the women who have made my life so much more more than a series of dates on a calendar. What fun would life be without friends?

  Mom and Grandma Opal (I miss you both so much!) Cyndi F, Cyndi O, Cindy W, Debbie, Indra, Jan, Janon, Jennifer, Kally, Kandi, Karen, and my dear sisters Rebecca and Trena. I love you all. Thanks for everything!

  Prologue

  Timewalker Taken: Alexa, Seventeenth Daughter of Aryssa

  Mission: Present Day, Earth - Destroy the Red Death

  Talent: Invisibility

  Despite years of warnings, Alexa was not prepared for the freezing shock of her journey to Earth. She wanted to scream in agony, but she had no air to breathe in this in-between dimension. Her mother had explained the frigid reality of the time strands, how her naked flesh would feel as if it were being systematically stripped to her bones by endless shards of splintering ice. This one-way trip to the past would last less than a minute. One minute in her own personal Purgatory, and her sins had been many. So, she gritted her teeth and waited. Waited for the agony to subside. Waited for the nirvana of soft green grass brushing at her skin like a thousand tickling fingertips.

  Her mother had been Taken, and her mother before her, and so on, since the Archivers had begun recording the Chronicles Of Time. Death or Service. That had been her ancestor’s choice nearly four hundred years ago, and the eldest daughter in each generation now owed the Archiver a life. The family gift -- invisibility -- had been handed down from mother to daughter for seventeen generations. Her heritage swelled her head and chest with pride. But the unrelenting grip of her ancestry also squeezed her with arduous pressure, demanding she not fail. She did not want to be the first of her line to bring her name dishonor. However, a far heavier burden threatened to pull her into the suffocating quicksand of fear. Billions of lives were at stake. Billions.

  She would not fail. She was ready. Her mother had ensured that, taught her how to use her gift to cloak her presence, prepared her for the call of the Archiver and the freezing strands. The Taken were never called upon to ride the strands of time unless the assignment was of catastrophic importance. There was no such thing as an easy task. She had also warned her daughter not to fall victim to the pounding of the blood, the passion of her Gift, until it was safe to do so. The distraction would endanger the strand of time she must now, and forever after, walk upon.

  Forever. In a strange world.

  Alone.

  Panic rose in a crescendo to choke her. Then, as quickly as her roller coaster ride through this icy hell began, it was over. Precious air flooded her starving lungs with heat. She lay semi-conscious on the soft ground and tried to get her bearings as a torrent of warm rain crashed down upon her. A single tear escaped and mingled with the rain on her face. Reality squeezed her heart so tightly she feared it would stop beating. She had arrived, unscathed. There was no going back.

  Earth, Midnight, May 6, 2013. Unless the Archiver had erred.

  Heaven help her then. Heaven help the world.

  Chapter One

  Never once, in all the years of her rebellious youth, had she ever been a thief. How ironic that now, when the fate of this world hung in the balance, everything she had was contraband. She leaned back into the taxi’s sticky plastic seat and hoped the crisp white cotton Capri pants and shirt wouldn’t be ruined by the filth. A twenty-dollar bill burned in her pocket to pay the cabbie. Alexa sunk her teeth into a huge red apple and hoped the fruit would provide enough energy to keep her going for a few hours. Doom Central was calling her name.

  Alexa laughed out loud at her own joke and ignored the cab driver’s questioning glance. The overworked cabbie should be used to seeing all sorts of odd things in a city the size of San Antonio. But even here, she knew she was unique. Her waist-length hair was braided and so pale it gleamed silver. Her eyes flashed a vivid blue in a heart-shaped face. Father had always said she was sixty-two inches of trouble wrapped up in a deceptively innocent looking package. The thought made her want to laugh. And cry.

  Too soon the cab driver dropped her off at her destination, one of a handful of Biosafety Level 4 laboratories in the country. The lucky place which, in three days time, would be the epicenter of the end of the world. Earth 8 had died a slow and painful death. It took just under five years from the first diagnosed case of “Red Death” for ninety-five percent of the world’s population to be wiped out. And it all started here. No-Where-Ville, Texas. A party like any other…a night colored red with blood.

  Yes. She had three more days to track down the two men in charge, erase every piece of data related to the virus, and break into that lab and kill every single cell of “Mutation-6 of Ebola” in existence. M-6 they called it, until it escaped. Then it became the “Red Death”, named for the hemorrhagic nature of the victim’s death. They should have called it, “stupid-what-the-hell-were-we-thinking?”

  “Men.” The car stopped. Alexa slid out of the back seat of the cab, ignored the driver’s mumbling, and handed him the twenty through his open window with a bright smile pasted on her full pink lips. “Always think they can beat Mother Nature.”

  Alexa turned away from the cab. The driver took off mumbling about the faults of crazy women. When she was sure he was gone, she quickly jogged to within sight of the eight hundred twenty-one acre complex.

  It was still early. She stopped to lean against the fence and calm her mind. It took tremendous energy to draw the light to her body and redirect it, rendering herself invisible. Cloaking, her mother called it. The semi-dark of pre-dawn would help her avoid unwanted notice. Once she was forced to cloak her presence, she wouldn’t be able to sustain the illusion for more than a couple of hours without a break. And then she’d be so hungry, she’d probably kill for a sandwich.

  She patted the protein bar and mozzarella cheese stick in her pants pocket for courage and mumbled to herself, “Such is the glamorous life of the Taken.”

  The building employees changed shifts at 8:00 a.m. A quick glance at her stolen Tinkerbelle watch told her she had fifteen minutes. Already, parking lot activity was picking up. Time to move in.

  Alexa closed her eyes and stilled the chaos of her mind, called upon the quiet, watchful awareness within herself that allowed her to use her gift. She envisioned herself a small white crystal in a river of light, and pushed the rays out and around her until it flowed like water over a small rock. Many times she’d watched her mother, practiced, and studied the effect in a mirror. It was like looking at something you thought was there, but could never quite see. Bright light made it harder to hide the soft edges of the effect. It wasn’t perfect, but no one could see her unless they knew what to look for.

  Luckily for her, no one would be looking. Besides, no one could be truly awake at this ungodly hour. She needed at least two cups of coffee to form a cohe
rent thought before noon. This morning she’d had five.

  Silent as a shadow, she crept up to the double glass doors at the entrance and scouted the parking lot for someone she could follow in. Security demanded an access card to get in the front door. She must follow someone into the building, and find one of the two men she knew would have the highest level clearance, and direct access to the viral cultures. Trent Georges or Luke Lawson. Once she spotted either of them, she’d stick to him like a parasite would lunch, steal his badge, and start World War III against the bugs. Getting caught would mean disaster, so she’d have to be extremely careful.

  Break into the lab, destroy every single deadly virus, erase all computer files and research materials, track down and follow two men to their homes, evaluate them as threats, kill them if necessary, and eliminate any study material they kept at home. Crush flash drives. Hack into their e-mail. A sigh escaped before she could stop it. Three days suddenly didn’t feel like very long at all. And she’d already been in this world for several hours.

  A loud, and obnoxiously unconcerned whistle sang through the air, freezing her in place. A quick chorus of ‘Good mornings’ followed. Alexa turned to see who was making all the commotion and nearly jumped at her good fortune.

  Target Number One was heading right for the front doors.

  Luke Lawson was the microbiologist in charge of the Ebola studies. He answered to only one man, Trent Georges, head of the foundation. God had just given her a gift, wrapped up in a tall, sexy package, and she meant to follow him.

  Alexa moved quickly, darted right in behind him, and glued herself to his back. She got so close to his muscular frame that his navy blazer sleeves lightly brushed against her breasts a time or two, sending tingles through her entire body.

  Great. Hormone overload was just what she needed right now. Did her mother always have to be right?

  Four people on an elevator shouldn’t seem like too many, but then she’d never been trying to hide in plain sight. Mr. Chatterbox wouldn’t shut-up with the morning cheer either. Sandwiched between Luke and two women, she flinched in preparation for flight at their every twitch. Stuck on an elevator, she had nowhere to run. No, she didn’t feel overly cheerful. All this happiness was going to give her a headache.

  At least the other two women on the elevator weren’t responding in kind. They seemed like much more reasonable people. Or, maybe Mr. Lawson had caffeine intravenously every morning. She snorted at the thought.

  Luke stiffened, then turned to stare right down at her with chocolate brown eyes. Or rather, right through her.

  She didn’t dare move. A shiver threatened to explode from her body. Suppressing it forced goose bumps to jump out on her arms. Frozen in place like a panicked rabbit, Alexa held her breath, then retreated, and willed her body to shrink back into the unforgiving elevator wall. She prayed he wouldn’t see her. After a moment, he frowned and turned back around to stare at the glowing numbers as they changed above the elevator doors. Without his chatter, all the air seemed to have left the elevator. What was left was too thick to breathe.

  Nerves. Damn. The air escaped from her lungs in a slow controlled hiss when he stepped off the elevator. Scurrying after him, she dodged people in the hallways as she followed him to his office. Slumped against the wall, she waited for his door to close behind him. Good fortune was smiling upon her yet again. Directly across from his office was another door with the name of Mr. Red Death himself, Trent Georges.

  She cupped her hands above her eyes and peered through the glass.

  Empty.

  A good ten minutes passed while she waited for the hallway to clear out. Someone would probably notice a door opening and closing by itself. Finally, after she’d stood there worrying about the entire mess long enough for sweat to pool and run down her cleavage, she managed to slip inside Trent’s office.

  Now she was really grumpy. She hated sweat.

  All she needed was ten minutes. She hoped. His computer was state of the art. Not that it mattered. It only took her a few minutes to reboot and scramble his hard drive beyond repair. His notebooks and papers were next. There just happened to be a shredder in his office. Rolling her eyes, she wondered just what that was for. Trent was going to annihilate the whole world and he was probably worried about his checking account.

  She glanced at Tinkerbelle again. Ten minutes. One third of her mission for the day accomplished. Not bad. But she was getting tired. And hungry. Very, very hungry.

  Hungry, tired, doomed to sneak around like this for another couple of hours, and, last but not least, her chest still tingled. Now, this whole libido thing was just going to be a pain in the neck. Never before had desire overwhelmed her, threatened her ability to think. Not like this. Every heartbeat sent blood pounding through parts of her body she didn’t have time to think about; and all because she’d walked the strands.

  Her mother had tried to warn her of how years of sexual desire would exponentially explode after she reached her destination. Holy hell. Mom could have tried a little harder to convince her. Oh, well. She never was much for listening, anyway. And she sure as hell had never liked being told what to do. That’s why she’d waited so long to answer her Archiver’s call. The Archiver owned her. Had owned all the women of her line since time began. Something inside her really wanted to piss him off for that. For forcing her to leave everyone she loved, her parents, her eight brothers, her life. And for making the task so important that she wouldn’t refuse the call.

  Sometimes being honorable was hell. She hated the Archiver for giving her the choice. Petty? Sure. But she just couldn’t help herself. She’d ignored him, hoping he would forget about her. Of course, her plan had failed. The Archiver operated outside the realm of normal time. Another ten years in her life would’ve made no difference to him. May, 2017 wasn’t going anywhere. Disaster had already struck once. She was just here to try to prevent it from happening again, from becoming a permanent apocalypse. Her job was to change the past. Change the future, and not just for this planet. The ripple effect of the Red Death had caused more accumulative damage elsewhere. Parallel dimensions. It was one hell of a mess. And he’d sent her.

  “Fool.” Obviously he believed in her and her heritage. She wished with all her heart that she shared that faith.

  Alexa listened to the muffled voices reverberating through the hallway for a moment before easing the office door open a couple of inches. Immediately Mr. Cheerful’s voice nearly knocked her back inside the room.

  “Are you insane, Trent?”

  Yelling. High volume. Yes. Absolutely perfect. Luke Lawson’s good mood seemed to have evaporated. A happy smirk slipped into place on her face. She couldn’t help it. No one could maintain that much good cheer for long. It just wasn’t possible. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she wondered what had happened to sour the morning for him.

  “Look, Luke. If we don’t take this to the next level, someone else will.”

  Alexa peeked around the edge of the door. A rather large man’s back half protruded from the open doorway of Luke’s office. She seized the opportunity and slipped out into the hallway while no one was looking. The big guy started talking again.

  “We’re on to something big here. We’ll get millions in grants. If we don’t start animal testing this vaccine, we’re going to miss the boat. And then, when some freak attacks us with this shit, it’ll wipe us all out.”

  Alexa slid across the hallway to get a look at the man’s face. He had light blond hair, cut short and balding into deep widow’s peaks. Alcohol had added a deep reddish flush to his cheeks and nose that contrasted starkly with otherwise pale skin. His eyes bulged from his head like an insect’s, or like a bloated fish that had been lying too long in the sun. Black slacks hugged his oversized rear-end a little too tightly and her foot was within easy striking distance of his family jewels. She gritted her teeth and held herself in check. All Alexa really, really wanted was to kick him in the nuts.

  Tr
ent Georges himself was within striking distance, sounding like the fool history had proven him.

  “No. Number six is the most virulent. The worst of the bunch. I can’t believe I let you talk me into playing around with the damn thing in the first place.” Alexa managed a quick glance around Trent. Luke was advancing on his cohort. Anger twisted his face, but his voice was deadly calm. “If you start testing on animals, you’re exposing too many people. The vaccine hasn’t been tested. You can’t be serious.”

  Trent’s voice could’ve been used to scold a two year old. “They’ll be in quarantine. It’ll be fine.” Trent crossed his arms over his chest. “I submitted the project for approval months ago. Got it back last week. Donovan is getting the lab set up. You start Wednesday, or you resign. This is my project, Luke.”

  “Don’t tell me. Richards signed off on it for you.” Luke shook his head in disgust. “I don’t care what that idiot in Washington approved. I won’t do this, Trent.”

  “Don’t be hasty.” Trent backed into the hallway. “Go home. Think it over. This is a huge project. You’d be in charge. Frankly, Luke, you’re the idiot if you pass this up.”

  Alexa dashed into Luke’s office seconds before he slammed the door closed on Trent’s retreating back. She made herself as small as possible in one corner and watched Luke slump down into the high back chair behind his desk. “Damn it. He doesn’t even have the balls to work in the Hot Zone himself.” Luke ran his hand through his hair, then his fingers pushed into his chest, like he was suffering a muscle twinge there. “He doesn’t know what he’s starting.”

  Thirty minutes later, obvious agitation quickened his steps as he paced his office. Back and forth. Back and forth. Desk to door. Door to desk. His nerves were waking hers up, feeding them more adrenaline for breakfast. Not good. Maybe if she could get to his computer, she could quietly get this part of the job done while he wasted time waltzing around his little playpen. And maybe she could stop staring at his tight buns in those khakis.