The Void

By John Abramowitz

The zombie apocalypse is nigh!

The trouble is, Alex Cronlord is the only person who knows it. She is a Weaver -- one of a group of superhuman children who are able to see the future -- and she can still remember the vision she had just weeks ago of being chased by a shambling undead horde. But that's all she's seen of the coming horror, and lately, her visions have mostly been confusing. Dead bodies in dumpsters, a strange place called "Pinnacle," and no sign of a Xorda anywhere. At least, not at first.

As Alex struggles to make sense of these bits of information, a stitch-faced assassin surfaces with a vendetta against Ainsling Cronlord, Alex's mother. Ainsling is a member of the enigmatic Wells Society, a secret order of women who genetically mutate their own children to turn them into fighters against the Xorda. She is the person who gave Alex her Weaver powers. And she is the person Alex can least afford to trust.

But when the stitch-faced man steps up his campaign against the Cronlord family, Alex begins to realize she may not have a choice. As she learns the disturbing truth behind her recent visions, Alex must decide how far she is willing to go to save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Abramowitz
• Release date: Apr 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476480985

John Abramowitz

John Abramowitz is a long, tall Texan (very, very tall) born and raised in Fort Worth, Texas. Educated at Grinnell College in the great state of Iowa, he considers Iowa his second home state, and keeps on good terms with both by eating both barbecue AND corn. When he's not watching way too much sci-fi/fantasy TV or reading similar books (or working, obviously), you can usually find him reading the news or playing video games. He currently resides in Austin, Texas, where he works as a lawyer and author.

Book preview

THE VOID

Book 2 of The Weaver Saga

by John Abramowitz

Copyright 2012 John Abramowitz

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Also By John:

Novels:

Weaver (The Weaver Saga, Book 1)

Atticus for the Undead (Hunter Gamble, Book 1)

Identity Theft (Hunter Gamble, Book 2)

Short Fiction:

The Antlerbury Tales

For my grandfather

Acknowledgments

As always, this book was anything but a solo effort. There are a large number of people without whom it would not exist, and I'll try to acknowledge them all here.

First always are the beta readers and editors. First, Alexandra Corinth, the newest addition to my little writing team, who worked tirelessly going over the text with a fine-toothed comb to make it the best it could be; Michael Larsen, who read the early chapters back when I hated them and was able to identify exactly why I hated them. Without him, I'd never have gotten the book moving in the right direction; Ericka Skinner, who retains her title as my greatest enthusiast and was ever-present as always during the long slog through this book; Suzanne Capwell, whose sharp eye caught several inconsistencies in the text; and my parents, Mary Ann and Ben Abramowitz.

Second, to Steven Novak, cover artist extraordinaire. (That's NovakIllustration.com, by the way.) The old saying goes that you can't judge a book by its cover. In this case, I very much hope you can.

Third, to my friends in the original On The Bird storytelling group, the first audience for my stories. Thanks for being my training wheels, and I hope the book you're about to read lives up to what I learned from you.

Chapter 1

Oh God, that's not string. A nauseous feeling took hold in Alex's gut as her eyes fixed on the dumpster. That's hair. Which means that lump must be ...

The cardboard soda cup dropped from Alex's hand. She barely heard the crash as it clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the sidewalk. She felt every thought empty from her mind as she took off toward the dumpster at a run. When she reached it, she saw that her fear was confirmed -- it was, indeed, a body lying atop the trash. A woman, young -- she looked only a few years older than Alex herself -- with flowing, curly brown hair. Her skin was pale, and bloodshot green eyes stared blankly upward.

Alex drew a sudden breath. She knew this person. What was her name?

What the hell? I've never seen her before.

And yet, as she looked down at the young woman's body, she couldn't shake the memories, even though they didn't belong to her. Memories of watching the dead woman walk past her, and admiring her hair -- a little part of Alex had even envied it. Memories of the woman waving at her. They'd even talked, once, about Professor Carter's class.

Where are these memories coming from? I don't even know a 'Professor Carter'.

It was a vision. It had to be. That was why there were no bruises on the body. Why there was no blood. Having your soul sucked out didn't leave those things. The girl had been killed by a Xorda. Was going to be killed by a Xorda.

How do I know her?

Before she could give it much thought, a shadow fell over Alex. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she watched the shadow creep over the body, covering the dead woman's torso.

It was a person. A person coming closer.

Alex whirled, throwing up her arms in a defensive stance --

--

Monday, 4:40 a.m.

"Alex? Alex? Alex??"

Her father's voice cut through the fog of sleep around Alex's mind. Her eyes opened, and James Cronlord's face materialized in front of them. Dad, she said, feeling as if she were speaking around a mouthful of cotton. What --

You were screaming, James said. As Alex came fully awake, she realized that her father looked overcome with worry. And shaking.

Oh. She felt cold moisture on her forehead, and reached up with her right hand to wipe her brow. When she lowered her hand, the fingertips were covered in sweat, which glistened in the pale moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Sweat. Moonlight.

What time is it? she asked, choking the words out around the dryness in her throat.

Early, said James. I don't even think it's five yet. I'm guessing that was a vision?

Alex nodded, weighing whether she had the energy to get herself a glass of water. She'd been asleep for almost seven hours, but she felt as though she'd just run a several-mile marathon. The kitchen of the small apartment Alex shared with her father felt very far away.

James' eyes filled with compassion as he patted Alex's knee. What'd you see?

A corpse. Alex shivered involuntarily at the memory of the vacant, staring green eyes, the pale skin, and the unflinching expression. She hugged her arms to her chest.

Just a corpse?

Yeah, Dad, just a corpse. No big deal. Next time I'll dream about going outside naked like normal people.

I didn't mean it like that, sweetie. I just -- I thought your visions showed you Xorda attacks, not dead bodies.

Alex frowned. Usually they do, she said, her mind racing, but I didn't see a Xorda anywhere in this one. Just the body, and me. But it was weird -- it was like I knew the dead girl, but ... I've never met her before.

James' brow furrowed. Were you seeing the vision through someone else's eyes? That's happened before, right -- with Agent McBain and her partner? Alex saw sadness creep into her father's eyes at the mention of Moira.

For the moment, though, she decided not to pursue the subject. I ... don't think so. It felt like I was in my own head this time.

James nodded. "Maybe it's someone you don't remember meeting? Or someone you're going to meet, between now and the attack? Do you know how far in the future it was?"

No ... no, I'm sorry, I don't.

All right, said James. "Let's work backwards. Any idea where you found the body? If we have a location to start from, maybe we can find the victim and warn her. Or at least keep an eye on her."

Alex closed her eyes, concentrating furiously for several seconds before finally giving up. No. She swallowed repeatedly, trying to force saliva into her mouth, but none came. Finally, she stood up, shaking off her covers. Fighting an initial wave of dizziness, she padded toward the kitchen.

Where are you going?

Water, said Alex. She turned, opened her mouth wide, and pointed inside with a finger. It's a desert in there.

James chuckled, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Alex walked -- shambled, really -- toward the kitchen, mindlessly reaching for the cabinet with the cups. She removed one, filled it with water from the fridge, and chugged an entire glass in seconds. The ice-cold liquid flowing through her mouth and down her throat felt heavenly.

So, today's the big day, huh?

Alex didn't turn to face her father. Yeah, she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

Scared?

Nah. Yes, yes, God YES.

Really?

Alex could see that there was no fooling him. Okay, yes, I'm terrified. It's like the worst test I ever took at school, times about a bajillion. She felt a scowl come over her lips. At least at school if I got a right answer, the teachers gave me points for it. Today, when I give the right answer, they'll probably call the mental hospital.

James gave her a sympathetic smile. You'll be fine. Besides, even if they send you back to school -- would that really be so bad?

Yes, said Alex, before she even realized she was speaking.

Her father raised an eyebrow. Why?

Alex thought about it, and was startled to realize how alien school seemed to her, as if it were a foreign country whose language she didn't speak. I was just there a few weeks ago.

Alex?

I just ... I don't know what I'd say to any of them anymore. The biggest worry most of them have is getting enough community service hours to impress whatever college they want to go to. What would they know about breaking into genetics labs and finding dead bodies in their sleep?

Her father's face twisted into an odd expression, but he said nothing.

Dad ... what?

Nothing, said James. To Alex, his tone sounded forced. You think you'll sleep any more?

Doubt it.

Then come on. Let's figure out what you're gonna wear for your big interview.

--

8:50 a.m.

And so, sir, during what started as a routine investigation of an apparent serial arsonist, I discovered that the child of a likely victim had the ability to predict the movements of a group of soul-sucking creatures with incredible strength and speed that possess the ability to induce complete paralysis in their victims with oral contact.

Moira McBain stopped her pacing, letting those words hang in the air. Finally, she clenched her fist, growling.

No, that sounds crazy.

She went back to pacing. A vast corridor stretched out around her in either direction, but she confined herself to an area of ten feet or so. A bench sat against one wall, but she ignored it.

"Hmm ... And so, sir, during what started as a routine investigation of an apparent serial arsonist, I went to the home of a family I'd identified as likely victims. While there, I discovered that the family's teenage daughter possessed the power of prescience and could -- no, that sounds crazy and it's alliteration-happy!"

Moira stopped in her tracks again, swearing under her breath.

Morning, Agent McBain! came a voice from behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She turned and saw Alex rounding the corner, dressed in a dark pantsuit, her blond hair pinned into a bun atop her head.

Hey, Alex. I see you've already learned the first rule of the working world -- better to be early than late.

Alex smiled as she stopped in front of Moira. Dad said it was a good idea. Is that his office? She pointed to a door with a bronze nameplate on it, which read ASSISTANT DIRECTOR WALTER PILEGGI.

Moira nodded. Just let me do the talking. We should be fine.

Alex's face said she was every bit as nervous as Moira. You sure?

Before Moira could answer, the door opened, and a woman stepped out. Agent McBain, the Assistant Director will see you now.

One way to find out.

--

The first sign that something was wrong came as soon as Moira entered the office. Pileggi decorated his office with photographs of his family, along with framed copies of his degrees from college and Quantico. Today, however, the office was empty of personal effects. The walls were bare, and there was nothing on the desk but a computer.

Instinctively, Moira tried to hide her surprise. She sat down in one of the chairs in front of Pileggi's desk, and Alex took the other one. They sat in nervous silence for what felt, to Moira, like an eternity. And then, the door opened, and a man stepped through.

A man who was most definitely not Assistant Director Pileggi.

Agent McBain? said the baritone voice.

Yes, that's me. Moira rose from her chair and forced herself not to fidget. I'm sorry, I don't think we've met.

I'm Assistant Director Odell Graves. I'm your new supervisor. The cool brown eyes narrowed, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was dissecting her.

May I ask, sir, what happened to A.D. Pileggi?

He was transferred. Something in Graves' tone cut off further discussion. With a quick stride, he walked to his desk and took his seat. I understand you wanted to discuss the hiring of a new contractor.

Uh -- yes, sir. Moira resumed her own seat, gesturing to Alex with one hand. Her.

The moment of truth.

Graves didn't laugh. He didn't anything. Instead, he simply sized Alex up as he had Moira. What's your name, young lady?

A -- Alex. Alex Cronlord.

And how old are you?

I'm fifteen, sir.

Graves turned back to Moira. Agent McBain, you want to hire a fifteen-year-old girl as a contractor?

Moira's chest tightened. Yes, sir.

This fifteen-year-old girl.

Yes, sir.

Moira cringed, waiting for him to laugh, or scream. Or fire her.

But he did none of those things. Justify it.

Sir ....

Despite all of Moira's rehearsals, her mind was strangely empty now. She heard a furious rushing noise, as if she'd stuck her ear to a seashell.

Oh right. That's my blood pumping.

Sir, as you may be aware, three weeks ago, I was involved in investigating a string of suspected arsons in the Dallas area. Information recovered in the investigation led me to believe that this girl -- that Alex's home would be among the targets.

Graves nodded, not looking remotely surprised. Yes, I read that in your file. But as I recall, you concluded that investigation, didn't you?

I apprehended the suspects, yes, sir.

Then why are her services required?

Moira swallowed hard. She was suddenly remembering what it felt like to be called to the principal's office as a child. Sir, in ... in the course of that investigation, I stumbled onto another suspect group that I believe has been involved in a series of homicides in the Dallas area and elsewhere. It is in dealing with this group that I believe Alex could be useful.

I see. Graves rested his chin on his left fist. Useful in what way?

She ... uh ... she can predict their movements, sir. Yup, that sounded every bit as stupid as I was afraid it would.

Predict?

She can see them before they happen. Laughter in 3 ... 2 ... 1...

But he didn't laugh. Show me, he said, turning his gaze on Alex once more.

Uh -- what? Alex asked.

I said, show me. Agent McBain believes you can see the future, or so she just said. I'd like a demonstration. His pitiless tone matched his expression.

Uh, sir -- you see, umm ... my abilities don't work that --

You can't prove it.

No, sir.

Then you have no place here.

"What?" Alex's cheeks flushed and her face fell. For a moment, Moira wondered if she might start crying.

I said, you have no place here, and that's the end of this conversation. Please step back into the waiting room and ask my secretary to call your parents.

Ye -- yes, sir.

She shot up from the chair and started to walk toward the door, casting a glance back at Moira that said Help me.

I can't. Moira hoped that showed through in her own expression. Whether Alex got it or not, she walked to the door, closed it behind her, and was gone. A few seconds passed in which the only noise in the office was the hum of the air conditioner.

I expected better from you.

Moira blinked. Excuse me, sir?

This is the FBI, McBain. We're professionals here. Now, I read your file when I got assigned to this division -- you've been an exemplary agent. Performance reviews describe you as disciplined, hardworking, methodical, and thorough, not to mention having an analytical mind that could rival any on our payroll.

Err -- thank you, sir. She smiled at the unexpected compliment.

Don't thank me yet -- I'm starting to wonder if the reviewers were reading the same files I was. Graves leveled her with a glare.

Sir, I --

"You come to me with an unverified claim that any rational person would dismiss as pie-in-the-sky, science-fiction nonsense? And drag a young woman out of school to do it?"

Sir --

Do you know what else your colleagues say about you, McBain?

No, sir.

They say you're cordial, but reserved. None of them describe you as hostile, but ... well, I believe the word 'frigid' was used. They say you're a loner. Similar terminology is often applied to serial killers.

Moira jolted forward involuntarily in her chair, feeling an angry flush rise in her cheeks. With all due respect, sir, if you've seen my record, you've seen my psych evaluations, and you'll know that none of them showed any indication of any psychotic or homicidal tendencies.

I'm certain that an agent of your intelligence could figure out how to fool those tests, said Graves. Moira opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, he asked, What happened to your partner?

That was like a gut punch. Excuse me, sir?

Your partner, Agent Hall. What happened to him?

A lump formed in Moira's throat as Andy Hall's face flashed before her eyes. I have to admit, she could still hear him saying, I've kinda been wanting this for a long time. She felt the ghostly echo of his hands in hers.

I had a hunch, she'd answered, her voice teasing and intimate. And then they'd kissed. And then...

No.

Moira forced her mind back to the present as she felt tears start to well up in her eyes. I will not cry. Especially not here. He ... disappeared, sir. A few weeks ago. I haven't heard from him since.

Graves shot her a knowing look. Indeed. In fact, he disappeared the same night you two closed the serial arson case, isn't that right?

Um -- yes, sir, I think so.

The same night your neighbors reported hearing a gunshot from your residence, isn't that right?

Moira blinked. Blinked. Dread crowded around her heart. Sir, she said, trying to sound horrified and indignant. The horrified part was easy -- she really was. Are you implying that I killed my partner?

"I'm suggesting that you're a wild card, said Graves, leaning in and glaring at her. I'm suggesting your record lately leaves a lot of questions, and in my experience, questions lead to dead agents. I'm also suggesting that if you don't start answering some of those questions, and I mean soon, I will have you suspended. Is that clear?"

Moira swallowed hard. Yes, sir.

Good. Dismissed.

--

3:00 p.m.

Alex was lying on her bed staring at the wall when the knock came. Come in.

She heard the door swing open, and then heard her father's soft voice. Alex?

She didn't answer.

Alex, you've been in here since we got back. Do you want to talk?

She still didn't answer. A moment's silence ensued.

"That's

Reviews for The Void

[ninetythree_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Scared me so bad I couldn't sleep! Awesome book