Page 11 of Shadow (Marinah and the Apocalypse #1)

Marinah

I t was only a half-ball on a flat surface, but it was absolutely kicking my ass. An hour into training, I actually felt sorry for Boot. He’d been handed a losing proposition. If I didn’t have King’s guarantee that Boot wouldn’t kill me, I would have been a nervous wreck. As it was, I wobbled between frustration and humiliation. Boot, for his part, hadn’t said much beyond his usual grumbling one-word commands.

“One foot,” he barked after we hit the two-hour mark.

Wow, a whole two words. Progress. I stood near the wall, my palm glued to its smooth surface. The moment I tried to balance on my own, gravity reminded me how inept I was.

“One foot is impossible. I can’t even manage two,” I said in a whining voice I wasn’t proud of.

Predictably, I wobbled and tipped in the opposite direction, right where the wall couldn’t save me. I hit my knees with a frustrated groan. “This has to be the most hopeless job you’ve ever been given,” I muttered, scrambling to my feet.

Boot growled low in his throat, clearly unimpressed with my ability to fall.

He stepped closer, and I used his shoulder and the wall to climb back onto the ridiculous squishy half-ball. “What is the point of this?” I demanded, glaring at the offending piece of equipment. “We’ve been at it for two hours.”

“Four more to go.” This time, his words were less grunt-like but no less impatient.

“Oh, so you do have a vocabulary,” I quipped, my sarcasm on full display.

I released his shoulder, balancing precariously on the ball. The toe of his boot nudged the edge, and I toppled sideways. This time, I hit the ground hard, landing on my side.

“You did that on purpose,” I accused, glaring up at him.

“Grunt.” He actually said the word, with no humor in his evil eyes.

“Your eloquence astounds me,” I snapped, climbing back to my feet. I grabbed his shoulder for balance, but my fingers twitched with the urge to throttle him. Instead, I took a deep breath, released his shoulder, and pressed my other hand against the wall for support.

I managed about a minute this time, which felt like progress, albeit the kind that would have me mastering this thing by the time I was eighty. “Is this all we’re doing today? We could work on firearms instead. Maybe I’d be an ace marksman lying prone on the ground.”

It was a weak joke. I couldn’t shoot to save my life, but Boot didn’t know that.

“Ball first,” he badgered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Stubborn man,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.

He simply grunted again, leaving me to wonder how long it would take before I either improved or lost my mind.

“Boot,” a woman’s voice called from the doorway.

I nearly lost my balance as I turned my head to see her. She was striking, with dark hair and eyes that suggested Cuban heritage. So, some had survived.

“Dammit,” Boot growled, striding over to her. His voice lowered, but his frustration was clear. “You want to get me killed, woman?” he said harshly.

“Che is missing,” she replied. “I was hoping he came here.”

“He’s not here.” Boot glanced back at me briefly, his expression torn. Then he leaned in close to her, his voice dropping to a whisper too quiet for most to hear. Unfortunately for him, I had excellent hearing, even if my balance was questionable.

“If King finds out she’s seen you, I’m dead and so is she,” he muttered.

The woman cast a resentful glance in my direction, as if I were the problem. I guessed I wasn’t supposed to know there were Cuban survivors. Her resentment didn’t stop me from speaking.

“I’ve seen her, Boot,” I called out. “Who is Che?”

Boot closed his eyes for a moment, clearly exasperated. Before he could answer, the woman stepped forward, her voice steady despite her fear.

“Che is our son,” she said in accented English.

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Five,” she replied.

“Then finding him is more of a priority than me wobbling on this thing,” I said, stepping off the cursed ball with surprising ease. Using the wall for support, I steadied myself and faced them. “I’ll head back to my room while you look for your son. Once he’s safe, we can pick this up again. I could use a break anyway.”

“You have no idea what will happen when King finds out you’ve seen my wife,” Boot said.

I waved off his warning with a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. He’ll kill me, scatter my ashes to the four winds, and throw a party. Now go find your son.”

For the first time, Boot’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting something other than irritation or resentment.

“Wait for me in my room,” he told his wife.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to me with a touch of guilt before she nodded and walked down the hallway without a word.

“Follow me back to your room,” Boot commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

I trailed behind him silently and didn’t push my luck. When we reached my door, the ever-stoic babysitters were at full attention like statues. Boot left me with a curt nod.

“Good luck,” I said as he turned to leave.

I shut the door and flopped onto the bed, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish.

Who knew standing on a ball could be so utterly exhausting?

I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts circling back to Boot’s wife. She seemed young, mid-twenties maybe, and her distress over her missing son was obvious. She didn’t seem particularly worried about my potential demise or even her husband’s fate. And why should she? If they found her son alive, any guilt over my death would fade quickly.

No one needed more dead children.

I should have been worried. I should have been cowering in fear, desperately plotting some way to escape or hide. But strangely, I felt none of those things. The eerie calm I felt earlier stayed. Maybe it was the fact that I was on an island with men who had once saved humanity, or maybe I had just accepted my fate. For the first time, I felt like I was facing death with a shred of dignity, like a proper military leader. It might have been my one and only heroic act, but I’d take it.

And, let’s be honest, death would mean I’d never have to stand on that stupid ball again.

Somewhere between thoughts of doom and fleeting pride, exhaustion pulled me under, and I drifted into sleep.

∞∞∞

A loud knock jolted me awake, much like it had that morning. This time, no one barged in, so I groggily rolled off the bed and yanked the door open.

“We need to get back to your training,” Boot said curtly.

I glanced at one of the guards stationed outside my door, who gave me a warning look as if to say, Don’t push it. I wasn’t stupid. I clamped my mouth shut and followed Boot down the seemingly endless corridor. Even without speaking, I could sense the tension radiating off him. Still, I held my tongue, figuring it was best not to bring up anything sensitive with the guards in earshot.

Once the door to the training room closed behind us, I broke the silence. “Did you find your son?”

Boot exhaled, the tightness in his shoulders easing slightly. “Fell asleep in the barn under some hay. He’s fine. The kid has no fear and endless curiosity.”

Relief washed over me. “Thank God.”

“Thank you for letting me look for him,” he added, his tone surprisingly genuine. “My wife doesn’t understand what’s at stake. She’s also pregnant, and her hormones are causing all kinds of problems.”

A missing child apparently broke the ice. “Congratulations on the new baby. I’ve heard plenty about pregnancy hormones but never had to experience them myself.”

“When you mate with one of our kind, the hormones are even worse. Her body is adjusting to the baby’s rapid growth. She goes between her usual hot Cuban temper and tears within seconds.”

I blinked, absorbing his words. Nope. Definitely shouldn’t have known this. The Federation would turn this information into some sort of twisted child-production scheme if they ever found out. I was on the Federation’s side, but that didn’t mean I didn’t understand what they were capable of.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Promise.”

The hard frown he gave me made it clear how much faith he put in those words.

“We’ve heard those promises before,” he muttered.

“Not from me,” I said earnestly.

His reply was the usual grunt, but at least it didn’t sound hostile. Boot strode toward the dreaded ball and pointed at it.

“Please no,” I begged, eyeing the half-ball like it was a death sentence.

“I know how to make this easier. You stayed on the ball when you weren’t thinking about your balance,” Boot said. He gestured for me to get back up, and I reluctantly placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on the wall for support.

“Tell me about your family,” he prompted as soon as I was upright.

“They’re dead,” I replied bluntly, the familiar pang of loss brushing inside my chest.

“Most humans are,” he acknowledged without emotion. “Tell me about them when they were alive.”

It took a moment to gather myself. Talking about them felt like peeling off a scab, but somehow, I wasn’t wobbling anymore. Maybe he was onto something. “My mom was amazing,” I began. “Her name was Dinah. My name rhymes with hers,” I added with a small smile. “I take after her in height, if not grace. She would’ve been rock solid on this ball.”

“Talking helps you with balance,” he observed.

“She was in the military,” I continued. “That’s where she met my dad.”

“She was a warrior?” he asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

I took a deep breath. “No, not really. She would’ve died for her country or her family, but she had a gentle soul. The military was her way out of a bad home situation. She never talked about it much.”

“Could she fight?”

I shrugged, feeling a slight wobble in my stance. I steadied myself before answering. “I never saw her fight, not really. But she had a sharp tongue, and with her height, people didn’t challenge her. I remember one of my teachers caught the brunt of her temper. After that, he tiptoed around me like I would unleash her fury.”

“Go to one foot,” he said, and before I realized it, I lifted one foot and balanced effortlessly.

No one had asked me about my mom in years. At work, it was an unspoken rule not to bring up the dead. We’d all lost too much. But now, talking about her felt oddly comforting.

“She loved books,” I continued, my voice softening. “She collected them and always said she’d be a writer one day. I knew she would have entertained the world with her stories.”

“Switch feet,” Boot instructed, and I did it without hesitation.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, glancing at him with amazement. For the first time, I felt like I might actually succeed.

“You worry about your height too much,” he said, his eyes thoughtful.

“It’s driven me crazy my entire life,” I admitted, wobbling slightly but regaining my footing. “I was always tall for my age, but when I turned ten, I shot up several inches. That Halloween, my dad took me trick-or-treating, and an adult answering the door told me I was too old to be out with the kids. I never went again. It sounds silly now, but back then, I still believed in Santa. Their cruelty took Halloween away from me.”

I shrugged, feeling the sting of the memory more than I wanted to admit. “People can be mean. If we had Halloween now, I’d let costumed adults come to my door for candy if they wanted to.”

I glanced down at my feet and instantly lost my balance. Boot steadied me.

“You know,” I said, looking up at him, “you’re not such a bad guy after all. But putting me in that hot room? That was bullshit.”

For the first time, I saw a flicker of guilt in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said, his ears turning a shade pinker. “My wife needed to lie down, and I was entertaining Che. I forgot about you.”

I had never been the type to hold grudges. “That’s okay. I’m forgettable, or at least I try to be.”

His expression shifted, his brows furrowing. “Why?”

Ah, the million-dollar question. “I’m only alive because of my father. He made sure I had a job that kept me off the front lines. He knew I wouldn’t survive. King’s insistence that I train is, well… it’s really stupid.”

Boot’s face hardened into the familiar unfriendly expression I’d come to expect. “King knows what he’s doing.”

I grunted in response because I heard King and Boot grunt so much. “It’ll feel good to prove him wrong.”

“King is never wrong,” he stated with entirely too much superiority.

I laughed. “He’s got you brainwashed. He is just a man.”

“And Beast,” Boot countered. “Never forget that. King has control, but when he’s angered, he doesn’t hesitate to lose it.”

I managed to find my balance again, lifting one foot without being told. “Is ‘beast’ the politically correct way to talk about your other side?”

Boot shook his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “You mean our monster side?”

“You said it, not me.” I glanced up, my grin teasing. “This time, I’m not looking down.”

“Your government said it,” he replied, his tone turning bitter.

He wasn’t wrong. “They did,” I admitted. “Some believe it, and some, like my father, did not. He respected you.”

“Yes, your father was a good human,” Boot said, though his tone shifted slightly, and I caught something in his eyes, something I couldn’t quite place.

“Did you know him?” I asked, switching legs on the ball without using the wall for support. Progress.

“I met him once and shook his hand. That’s all. But I knew he wasn’t afraid of us, and he didn’t resent us. Your father mostly dealt with Greystone.”

The mention of their former leader made my heart tighten. “He spoke highly of him,” I said quietly.

“King’s a better leader, but don’t ever tell him I said that,” Boot replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Greystone held more resentment for humans than King does.”

That didn’t add up. Greystone and my father had been friends, and King practically radiated his dislike of humans. “If you say so,” I answered doubtfully.

“You ready to move on?” Boot gestured to the floor.

“You mean get off the ball?” I asked, hopeful that I’d finally graduated from this torture device.

“You need to build core muscle. The ball is the best way to do it.”

“Haha, you’re hilarious,” I deadpanned, watching as he walked away to pick up a pair of small hand weights, each around five pounds.

“Keep both feet on the ball until you find your balance,” he instructed.

I did as he said, but as soon as he handed me the first weight, I wobbled and fell. At least now he caught me before I hit the ground.

“This won’t work,” I said, throwing imaginary daggers at the ball with my eyes.

“Tell me about your father,” he prompted, assisting me back up.

I sighed. “My father was quiet, but when he spoke, people listened. He had that natural presence, you know? He never had to yell to be in charge.”

Boot nodded slightly, urging me to continue.

“He believed in leading by example. When I was younger, before the war changed everything, he used to take me fishing. Not because he liked fishing, but because I did.” A small, wistful smile tugged at my lips before I pushed the memory aside. “He could gut a fish in seconds, clean and precise. He told me once that precision in the smallest things prepared you for precision in the biggest.”

Boot grunted, which I was starting to understand meant I’m listening.

“During the war, he changed. Not in a bad way, just... more intense. He never talked about what he did out there, not in detail. He didn’t want me to carry those images in my head.” I wobbled, my leg shaking slightly, but I caught myself before falling.

“He sounds like a man worthy of respect,” Boot said.

“He was.” My voice softened. “I miss him.”

Boot handed me the second weight, watching me closely. “You’re stronger than you think.”

We spent the next hour talking, with me clumsily pumping the weights up and down while trying to balance. By the end, my legs were trembling, my arms ached, and I was pretty sure I’d shared more about my father than I had told anyone in years. If this ridiculous training actually worked, I’d be the mouthiest soldier anyone had ever encountered.