Page 21 of Shadow (Marinah and the Apocalypse #1)

Marinah

I stepped into the training room, my ever-present guards taking their usual positions outside the door because Boot wasn’t here yet. I started with warm-ups and stretches, though every movement felt like trying to bend a block of concrete. My head had stopped pounding, and my stomach had settled for now, but I knew that didn’t mean I was ready for whatever punishment the day held. I stretched awkwardly, wobbling to keep my balance, fully aware of how ridiculous I must have looked.

A soft giggle from the corner stopped me mid-stretch. I glanced toward the small cabinet near the wall, noting that my guards weren’t peering inside the room and that their attention remained focused on the hallway beyond. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over, cautiously opening the cabinet door.

Large brown eyes met mine, sparkling with a mischievous glint that screamed, caught red-handed. His brown hair brushed his shoulders, and a smudge of dirt sat just beneath one eye. His light, burnished-brown skin spoke to his mother’s Cuban heritage. I lifted a finger to my lips, signaling for silence.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Che,” I whispered, taking a guess at who my tiny spy was while glancing back to ensure the door was fully closed giving the guards less of a chance of overhearing.

“My dad says you can’t even stand on your own two feet,” he whispered back with a cheeky grin.

“And you thought it would be funny to see for yourself?” I arched a brow, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

He nodded, a giggle slipping out. “Yep.”

“I don’t mind being your daily humor fest, but I don’t want you in trouble,” I said. “How long do you think you’re capable of hiding in this cabinet?” I asked, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile.

He crossed his small arms and sat up straighter, only to bump his head lightly on the top shelf. Unfazed, he rolled his eyes with exaggerated confidence. “I’m big. I can hide all day.” A pause, then, with a tone of utmost seriousness, “And all night.”

It took everything I had not to laugh at his earnest expression. “You must stay very quiet, though,” I whispered. “If your dad or the guards find you, it’s all over.”

He nodded solemnly, the sparkle in his eyes undimmed. “I’m quiet. I can do it. I’m good at hiding.”

“Not quiet enough, munchkin. I heard you,” I teased.

He stuck out his tongue, the universal language of defiance.

“Your dad’s going to be here any minute,” I warned, giving him a mock stern look. “And we take breaks every two hours. If you get caught, don’t blame me.”

He giggled again, his mischief undiminished, so I put my finger back to my lips. He nodded with a conspiratorial grin, and I gently closed the cabinet door, leaving just a sliver of space for him to peek out. Maybe having an audience, one ready to laugh at my every stumble, would push me to try harder. It was a desperate idea, but I was willing to give it a shot.

Boot strode into the room a moment later.

If I thought standing on a half-ball during our last session was bad, today’s routine proved it was just the warm-up. Jumping rope was the first disaster. I tangled myself up on the second jump, and Boot’s expression didn’t even flicker with sympathy. No amount of complaint earned me a reprieve.

Somehow, Che managed to keep his giggles to himself, which felt like a small miracle.

Next was pushing a sled contraption loaded with weights. My arms and legs screamed in protest as I shoved it from one end of the room to the other, gasping for air and shooting Boot murderous glances. He remained unimpressed.

But the knee dips were the worst. I balanced precariously on the half-ball, clutching Boot’s shoulder with one hand and gripping a hanging strap with the other. The strap, supposedly designed to help with balance, might as well have been a cruel joke. It dangled uselessly from the ceiling, offering no real support. Each time I dipped, I lost my footing and landed in a graceless heap.

“Again,” Boot said with no sympathy.

I glared at him but climbed back on the damned ball, determined not to give Che the satisfaction of seeing me give up. If nothing else, I would survive out of sheer spite.

“You need to engage your core,” Boot instructed, his tone frustratingly calm as I huffed my way over to grab some water, right above where my little spy was hiding.

“I don’t have a core,” I snapped, taking a long gulp. “A core isn’t needed to put numbers into a spreadsheet. A core isn’t needed to walk to and from my quarters, either at home or here. And a core sure as hell isn’t needed to put on a red stripe and die. So, keep your stupid core, and I’ll keep mine.”

So much for not wanting Che to see me defeated. If looks could kill, Boot would have already been sprawled out on the floor.

Boot crossed his arms, entirely unimpressed with my tirade. “You’re the secretary of defense now. Sitting at a desk and crunching numbers won’t save you. Walking to and from your quarters might not be hazardous yet , but in a few months, it could be. And then, all you’ll have is your core, quick reflexes, and—” he paused dramatically, his smirk deepening, “—that red stripe you’re so fond of. It might even match your complexion.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

He shrugged. “Your real problem is the hangover. Hellhounds won’t care if your head’s pounding when they go for your throat. If you drink, make sure you can back it up with some ass-kicking.”

That was it. I slammed the water bottle down and stalked back over to him. “Look at my legs!” I yelled, gesturing wildly.

His eyes dropped, scanning me from head to toe. My legs were trembling from the relentless workout, every inch of me drenched in sweat. I was practically vibrating with exhaustion.

“What about them?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

“They aren’t going to hold me up much longer!” My voice rose, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

His lips quirked into a full grin now, and I wanted nothing more than to punch it off his face. “From what I’ve seen, they don’t hold you up very well, ever.”

Everyone thought they were comedians. If I had the energy, I would have kicked him. “Please give me a break. I feel lousy.” My body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and I knew Che needed to get out of his hiding spot soon.

Boot shrugged, unfazed. “I’ve told you at least twenty times. This isn’t a choice for me; it’s an order. King nearly killed me when he found out I put you in the isolation room that first day.”

“Please don’t remind me,” I said, trying not to be bitter about the experience that I had let go. I just didn’t need the mental image right now.

“Come on.” He leaned in close to whisper, “We’ll take a break so my son can sneak out. Then you can give the jump rope another go. You’ll improve. Eventually.”

Caught. Both Che and I. All I could do was shake my head at the inevitability of it. Boot gave me a quick wink, and we left the training room, and took our time touring a few corridors. When we returned, the cabinet door was ajar. Che had moved on to more thrilling escapades. Boot’s subtle nod confirmed it.

“Back to the jump rope,” he ordered, pointing at the floor like it was the holy grail of my training.

I wanted to scream. But as the Federation’s secretary of defense, I couldn’t. Screaming would definitely be unbecoming. Instead, I huffed, “If this stupid rope will help me kill you faster, I’m determined to master it.”

He leaned down, picked up the rope, and handed it to me with a straight face. “The jump rope is for coordination. It’s way too soon to start thinking about killing anything or anyone.”

Of course, he saw right through my tough act. I was hopeless, but that didn’t stop me from trying. I twirled the rope once, it snagged on the tip of my shoe, and I took another unceremonious tumble to the floor.

Boot didn’t laugh. But he did groan, and somehow that was worse.

I got up and tried again. If kids could master this, so could I. Or so I told myself.

Two grueling hours later, my sweat had sweat, and I was on the verge of collapse. “Please, save me,” I panted. “I’ll do anything.”

Boot finally took pity. “Maylin packed us lunch. Let’s take a longer break.”

It turned out Maylin hadn’t just packed lunch; she had sent us homemade tamales, and they were better than bacon. I sat against the wall, scarfing one down, savoring every bite and drinking water to replace some of the hydration I had lost. “Tell me about yourself,” I asked Boot between bites. At his raised brow, I added, “I’m not asking for state secrets. Just about you, your family. How did you meet your wife?”

Boot wasn’t the chattiest soldier, and his loyalty was obvious. It took him a moment to decide what to share. “We met a few weeks after the Shadow Warriors came to the island. Maylin came into the city with her family asking for help. She brought her mother and aunt, too. They live with us now.” His face soured. “Maylin doesn’t get along with them. Says they’re too strict with Che.”

“I was standing guard when she brought us tamales just like these.” He held one up as if to emphasize the point before taking another bite. “They were this good, too. Maylin can be difficult, but the woman can cook.”

There was a warmth in his voice that he didn’t quite disguise, even if his expression suggested a little exasperation.

“Was she a fighter?” I asked.

Boot laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “With a frying pan, yes. Weapons? No. But she’ll protect our son, no question about that. I’ve been training her. Back then, her family owned one shotgun, and it didn’t help much when the hellhounds first attacked. They managed to find a reinforced shelter with just enough supplies to survive. Her father and brother died hunting for small game.” His voice grew quieter before he took another bite. “Maylin didn’t feel like she had a choice and was one of the first to put faith in our soldiers.” He paused a moment, then smiled. “I married her for her cooking.”

“Liar. You love her.”

“Mostly for her cooking,” he teased, grinning wider.

Argh. Men. I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about Che.”

Boot’s expression softened, pride lighting up his face. “Che’s a handful, as you’ve discovered. He doesn’t listen, pushes every button he can find, and challenges his boundaries daily. But he’ll make a great warrior. Better than me, even if he’s not a Shadow Warrior.”

“Why do you say he’ll make a better warrior?” I asked, surprised. Che was five years old, and it should have occurred to me that Boot wasn’t his biological father. My respect for him grew. He treated Che exactly as a father should.

“I’m a better farmer than warrior,” Boot admitted, his gaze distant. “It’s hard to forget the old ways, and honestly? I loved farming. I can kill hellhounds all day if I have to, but taking a human life? That’s not for me. I hope we can work out a deal with your Federation. Killing each other shouldn’t be an option.”

“Will King try to take over the U.S. after the hellhound threat is over?” I asked carefully.

Boot’s brow furrowed, perplexed. “Why the hell would he?”

I treaded lightly, not wanting to shut down the conversation. “My people betrayed your people, even after you saved us. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Boot took a moment to mull over my question. “For over two hundred years, we’ve mated with humans and produced half-human offspring. It’s been that way for generations. All our warriors are half-bloods, and none of us have a desire to kill humans. Like you, we want a home and peace. It’s the Federation you need to worry about. If they come to take what’s ours, death will be their answer. But we’d rather kill hellhounds.”

I hadn’t really considered the human side of Shadow Warriors before. I had spent so much time seeing them as larger-than-life killing machines that I never stopped to think about the rest of their existence. Farmers? Families? It was hard to reconcile that image with the towering figures of power and precision before me. Everything about them screamed search and destroy. But now, hearing Boot, I realized that they were half human, and that was a truth I couldn’t ignore.

“Are there female Shadow Warriors?” I asked.

Boot’s expression instantly shuttered, his jaw tightening with unspoken words. I had clearly hit a nerve.

“Sorry,” I said quickly before he could respond. “I’m just curious. I forgot what I’m here for. Thank you for answering my questions.” I glanced over at the torture devices Boot called training equipment. “Please tell me it’s time to go back to my room. Six hours is far too long.”

“You’ll never become a warrior with that attitude. Our soldiers put in twelve-hour days,” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice.

“I’m only trying to walk upright,” I retorted. “It’s King who thinks I have a shot at this Warrior thing.”

Boot’s smile broadened, and it was then I saw the truth.

“He doesn’t think I can do it, does he?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes.

His gaze slid away, but his grin stayed firmly in place. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“Let’s go.” Determination surged within me. “Proving him wrong just became my number one goal.”

With that, we started again. I pushed the sled, fumbled with the jump rope, and balanced on the wretched half-ball. Before the session ended, I lifted weights and did core work on the floor. That, at least, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t as far to fall when I lost my balance.