Red Night ((Book 1) Timewalker Chronicles)

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!

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.

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 coherent 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.