Darkness Bound

PROLOGUE Excerpt from the New York Times, Sunday, May 17, 20— THE ENEMY AMONG US By Senior War Correspondent Jack Dolan . . . indeed, not only is it the duty of every citizen of this great country to fight back against such insidious evil, but also it is the duty of all mankind. For if we allow our fear to weaken our resolve, if we allow misguided empathy for these avowed human-haters to turn us away from the righteous path of self-defense, we will quickly find ourselves facing the plight of so many other species who have walked this Earth before us: Extinction. We are at war. To deny this fact is to deny the obvious. We are at war with a cunning, ruthless enemy, whose numbers are far fewer but whose resolve—and capacity for cruelty—is far greater than our own. But even more dangerous than our enemy is the war we fight among ourselves. If we cannot come together as a race to protect our way of life and our continued existence on this Earth, the family of Man will be lost, devoured not only by our enemy, but by our own cowardice. It is time to put rhetoric aside. It is time for the divisiveness to end. It is time to act. If we are to survive this plague that has befallen us, this pestilence of unholy predators who care nothing for our cultures or our history, least of all our lives, we must put aside any sentimental feeling and push back. We must treat the Shifter plague like a newly discovered strain of bacteria that is sweeping the earth, killing us mercilessly. For that is what these predators are: a plague. And like a plague, they will devour everything in their path unless we find a cure. I know the cure. It lies in courage and cohesiveness, in the knowledge that human life is sacred, in the willingness to do whatever it takes to survive. As a species, we must be willing to do whatever it takes. We cannot allow the majesty of Bach and Beethoven, Michelangelo and Mozart, Shakespeare and Shubert, and even the simple beauty of a Starbucks Frappuccino to be wiped out for all time by the single-minded, devastating hunger of a bacterium. Nor can we allow a few dissenting voices among us to make us shrink from our right and duty to defend ourselves. I call on you now—as an American, as a citizen of this planet, and as a member of the human race—to join me in supporting our President in his efforts to protect this great nation and our way of life. Write to your congressperson and urge him or her to sign into law the amendments strengthening the Alien and Sedition Acts, and to reconsider the Violent Radicalization and Homegrown Terrorism Prevention Act of 2007 that failed to become law during the 110th Congress. Let us join hands as a nation and a people, and walk forward together to face this dire threat to humanity. The time for discourse is over. Now, my fellow patriots, it’s time to fight. Something was blocking her shot. Something big. Squatting on the trash-littered street with her back braced against the smoking metal skeleton of a burned-out delivery truck outside the sprawling, gothic Mercado Municipal building in downtown Manaus, Jacqueline “Jack” Dolan glanced up from her camera and squinted against the brilliant scarlet rays of the setting sun. The thing blocking the shot was a man. A tall, broad-shouldered hulk of a man, unmoving, silhouetted in black against the light. Christ. He was ruining her picture! Irritation stabbed through her gut, sharp as knives. She had to have pictures to accompany the article, and she was in prime position to get some amazing shots of the mayhem occurring inside the popular market, which on any given day saw tens of thousands of visitors flood the massive structure that housed row upon row of food vendors. Meat and fish, olives and wine, poultry and fruit, and every kind of exotic spice—everything and anything could be found there. Covering over twelve thousand square meters of the city, it was the main wholesale distribution center for thousands of restaurants in central Brazil, and a popular destination for tourists and locals alike. It was also currently engulfed in flames. From within, irregular bursts of gunfire from automatic weapons echoed like cannon fire. With a muttered curse, Jack waved an impatient hand overhead, indicating he should move. He didn’t. In fact, he stood so still he didn’t even seem to be breathing. She lowered the camera and shaded her eyes from the glare of the setting sun to inspect this unmoving hulk more closely. He was about twenty yards away on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of the market’s entrance. A steady stream of people screaming in panic were shoving and pushing their way out of the market from the open double doors behind him, but he stood as unperturbed as a rock in a riverbed, immovable, ignoring everything around him. What the hell is he doing? Her eyes focused on his face, and Jack realized what he was doing was staring straight back at her. From years of habit, she mentally catalogued the pertinent details for later recall. Dark hair curling down to the collar of his shirt, sun-darkened skin, a hard, unshaven jaw. Lips overfull for a man, a nose that was once straight but had obviously been broken and carelessly repaired. And huge, as she first noticed—six foot five, six foot six, broad-shouldered, and muscular. But Jesus—what a pair of searing eyes this hulk had. Brilliant yellow-green, heart-stoppingly piercing, as if he could see straight down into her soul. Staring out from that glowering, handsome face, his eyes glowed hot and translucent, like an emerald backlit by the sun. They telegraphed anger. Anger, intelligence, and dangerous intent.