Mind Hunters (Mind Stalkers Book 4)
Mind Hunters
REILY GARRETT
Acknowledgments
To Siobhan Caughey, for reading through my rough drafts. Your perceptions are spot on and always appreciated in delving into a character’s mind. First drafts are always the roughest, but is also where changes in a character’s direction take root.
To Rosie Amber for an in-depth assessment of character and plot, thank you for all your help. You can find her blog and services at rosieamber.wordpress.com/beta-reading-service.
To my editor, RE Hargrave, your patience is definitely a virtue. You can find her at www.rehargrave.com
To my readers, each one of you who selects and reads one of my books, thank you for the opportunity to share my work. If you’ve enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. They are the best way to help your author share her work.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Shadowed Horizons
Reily’s Books
About Reily
Copyright
Chapter One
Aria curled her chapped lips between chattering teeth and bit down against the pain. Midnight air thick with the stench of rotting vegetation, and something more sinister didn’t bear considering.
Whatever lay in the crate of her stowaway ride smelled worse than she did and presented a strong diversion to her thoughts.
Sharp electric needles from the shock collar surrounding her neck should’ve lost effectiveness with time and distance from the institution. The stabbing sensations made her neck muscles twitch. If the circumstances ever reversed and she was able to return the favor, she’d turn the level to ten and walk away.
Continued jostling while bumping down the rutted path magnified her curiosity as to their destination. As long as it kept moving away from her dank cell, she’d be grateful.
What smells so bad?
In consideration of the potholes and slow speed, it stood to reason they traveled back roads to parts unknown. She’d tucked in behind the long and shallow crate, contents unidentified, then settled in the corner to think. The smell proved a strong enough deterrent to closing her eyes.
She needed strength, focus, and a knife. The last she hadn’t handled in years. Would muscle memory prove adequate for defense if she found one?
If they caught her, death would be a mercy not granted for many days. Her least-favorite captor took great pleasure in relating details of her intended final destination—an unmarked grave with no one the wiser. Not that anyone would care. She hadn’t seen her brother since their kidnapping and separation eight years prior. Did he survive? Escape? Questions she might not ever get answers to.
Sneaking past the guards and into the back of the covered truck had drained the last of her reserves. If only she knew where they were going.
Restlessness pushed her to crouch and make her way toward the tailgate. Her heart hammered in time with each sensation zinging along her nervous system. At least the pain had decreased to the point she could think.
If she stayed too long, the vehicle might stop and the driver catch her before she ducked out of sight. If she jumped out too soon, she’d be lost in the swamps, eaten by one critter or another if she’d guessed her general location with accuracy.
Each voice she’d heard in the institution carried a distinct southern twang, which offered thousands of miles of possibilities. It didn’t matter. Distance from her captors improved chances of survival. Discerning location could come later.
Terrance, her self-appointed tormentor and would-be executioner lived for the day of acting without restraint. He’d described the humiliation to come in vivid detail.
Lifting the canvas flap and peering through the shadows confirmed her suspicions. Little more than multiple rutty tracks with knobby weeds extended beyond the bend in the snaking dirt trail.
Thick trees draped with Spanish moss straddled the road with dense underbrush reflecting the truck’s taillights. The tracks grew weedier until only the current ones were visible. Grinding gears preceded the engine’s deep rumble with altered pitch. Their forward momentum jarred to a snail’s pace.
Without internal debate, she hopped over the tailgate and let the momentum carry her farther in a tucked roll. Coming to a stop in knee-high grass didn’t lend comfort with the thought of other creatures that would call the foliage home.
The sweet pungent scent of ozone warned of an approaching thunderstorm. The natural phenomena would act like a giant battery and charge the atmosphere to about 400,000 volts with respect to the surface. Her collar would act like a beacon.
When Terrance discovered her escape, he’d be doing a rain dance and turning the collar up to full power. Masking her talent would never be an option again. If the bastard had discovered her deceit, he’d have killed her long ago. The fact they’d turned down the stimulation when not under study allowed her to practice, waiting for her day of retribution.
Ahead, the truck turned into an opening she couldn’t define, its taillights disappearing when it slowly picked up speed.
If homes existed nearby, she witnessed no soft glow filtering through the shadows to define their presence. No mailboxes or signs of civilization dictated the truck’s destiny anything but an isolated dumpsite or a clandestine meeting. Neither situation held appeal.
Lack of geographic knowledge strengthened the logic of following the road forward, yet when she passed the tracks where the truck had turned, curiosity got the best of her.
Again, she saw no sign of civilization, nor had she heard the grumble or purr from another engine dictating traffic nearby.
Low grinding of the brakes and bright red taillights signaled the truck halting. If they were making a transfer of some kind, they’d likely return on the same path.
She waited, listening to the sounds of deep-throated frogs, crickets, and a screeching kee-aah as perspiration plastered her collar-length mahogany hair against her nape. The longer she crouched rooted to the spot, the stronger the sense of putrefaction filled her mind. Her sixth sense warned of something ominous nearby and to stay alert despite exhaustion weighing her shoulders.
Increasing wind whipped nearby branches to frantic motion. Rain would amplify the current of her collar. Common sense suggested she seek shelter.
Common sense sucked eggs.
In the distance, deep southern accents grumbled about dead weight and shit jobs. A chalkboard-worthy screech instilled the image of a crowbar opening the crate and disturbing the night’s avian communication.
Minutes passed as she stood immobile, torn between wanting to know the truck’s contents and fleeing toward relative safety.
The loud thump from the unknown item dropping to the ground indicated significant weight and heightened her curiosity. Were they preparing to bury something? Someone?
Teeming vines and low-hanging branches foiled her intent to identify the crates’ contents. Muffled words further defied clarification.
Truck doors slammed minutes later after the tailgate rammed shut. The engine started.
Aria ducked into the brush, mindless of the myriad scratches and possible company.
Dark clothing helped her blend into the night. Ducking her head prevented vehicle lights reflecting off her collar.
The vehicle backed into a three-point turn and headed the way it’d come, turning again toward the institution.
If they’d discovered her escape, an increase in electrical current would’ve warned her. Careful planning and attention to detail when the guards thought her defeated would only work once.
Curiosity rode her hard. Obtaining physical evidence of the institution’s wrongdoing could save lives, the least of which, her own. She’d never met anyone else with her type of talent, except for her brother.
Soft glow from low lighting ahead defined her path of rutted tracks. It didn’t take long to discover why the vehicle hadn’t gone far.
Her curiosity backfired, for she stood on the precipice of a manmade ravine carved from soft soil. Approximately twenty feet long, ten feet deep, and ten feet wide, the giant hole contained a center of mounded dirt from which skeletal fingers poked through on one side. The entirety equaled a mass grave with an eerie glow from a peculiar set of low voltage black boxes set off the ground by thick stakes.
Terrance’s threats flashed through her thoughts. He’d detailed her coming death from experience with prior murders.
A fresh corpse lay buried, in part. The grave keeper unable or unwilling to show the slightest decency with protection from scavengers. Ambient light reflected off a silver belt buckle, large, round, and bearing a bull and rider.
Milky corneas reflecting the eerie glow had turned opaque and indicated death had occurred at least several days prior. She knew because Terrance often described in detail the process of a corpse’s decay. He’d wanted her to know what would happen to her body after he finished playing.
Stomach acid roiled up her throat as she turned to the side and spewed the contents amid tall grass and fresh dirt.
In the facility, torture methods included agonizing procedures to induce cooperation. One such effort entailed wrapping her torso with thin copper wire to determine her tolerance for electricity.
Little did he know, she hadn’t cooperated for years, and had fooled them all through determination and consistency. Dreams of his demise kept her strong.
In the distance, another engine grumbled along the makeshift road. A piece of heavy equipment rumbled over the ground toward her location. The vibrations instilled images of a large bucket scooping dirt over the communal grave.
Fear and anger combined to amplify her adrenaline rush in racing through the shadows. Small animal trails provided paths to travel with no indication of direction. It didn’t matter. She headed away from Hell.
Assuming the accents heard earlier belonged to locals, she’d dwelled in one of the southern states for eight years. Maybe the pricks who’d kidnapped her as a young teen dropped her somewhere between Louisiana and Florida. She’d once known someone with a similar southern drawl.
She’d recognized the dead man—or rather his belt—as she’d seen him in the facility on several occasions, but she couldn’t connect name to face. It didn’t seem likely he was a client or one of her status. Maybe as an employee he’d crossed an arbitrary line.
Rain pattering on leaves overhead gained volume during her trek through tangled brush. The ground felt mushy in spots, which brought the worry of quicksand. Nothing like this terrain existed back in Maryland that she’d ever experienced.
Increasing relief from weaker collar stimulation confirmed her choice of direction. She couldn’t have traveled more than a mile. The one time she’d tried to remove it resulted in a shock which knocked her unconscious. A mistake to avoid repeating.
Fate’s decision to dump a deluge of rain seemed par for the course. Without regular exercise, her mad dash through the forest slowed to a jog, then a walk. Despite the heavier rain soaking her to the bone, she felt no electrical stimulation.
One hand gives. The other takes away.
The combination detailed the yin and yang of life.
A deep-throated bark snapped her attention off to the left. Rustling among the bushes shook rain from leaves and forewarned of a new danger.
Gator?
She didn’t have the strength to climb a tree, hence sat with crisscrossed legs and concentrated. Thwarting an animal attack was something first achieved as a pre-pubescent child. At the time, a black bear had caught her and her sibling flat-footed in a meadow.
Her presence had drawn animals since childhood. Not all were friendly, but none ever attacked.
Deep breath but don’t close my eyes. Focus my thoughts on my surroundings. Picture the leaves on the trees, thorns on the vines. Blend into the background by painting myself with the brush of invisibility.
She’d practiced as a pre-teen, much to her older brother’s delight.
Aria saw the rounded snout before slamming her eyelids shut. The gator’s head emerged from under large leaves of an unknown bush. Glassy eyes blinked once as it paused. To consider its options?
A deep breath centered her mind. She’d faced death many times, albeit from a different source. Connecting with animals governed by instinct proved easier than higher functioning predators.
Long minutes passed. Nothing stirred except the branches sifted by the wind.
In her thoughts, she pictured her body with no smell, no sound, and nothing of interest to explore.
A slight mental push and she felt the animal’s interest dissolve into apathy. Her mind’s scream echoed through her body.
It took all her willpower not to shudder with fear. The creature held vague recollections of similar disappointments in securing its next meal.
Aria’s hunger announced itself with her stomach’s growl. The tail, which had just slapped her knee, froze. Descriptions of how the creatures used the appendage as a weapon of defense surfed her thoughts.
If her brother could witness the scene, he’d declare her a champion of gators everywhere. Tears mixed with dwindling precipitation to hide her pain. Was Chet dead, half-buried in the unmarked grave?
His abilities didn’t work the same way, but he’d helped her hide her talent from others.
When the predator moved on with a gurgling growl, Aria inhaled a slow, deep breath. It was long minutes before she summoned the energy to move.
Pushing to her feet, she surged ahead with as little noise as possible while trying to formulate a plan. If she could get to civilization and thumb a ride north, what then? Flashbacks of her father’s disgust in every glance at her negated him as a safe haven. She’d never understood his animosity. Her mother was dead, and her brother, well, she hadn’t seen Chet in over eight years.
The metal choker identified her as a subhuman thing belonging to the institution to anyone who worked there. Her stolen jacket with short collar concealed part of the thick silver. Zipping it tight against pelting rain, it would have to do.
Thunder cracked in the distance, the fork of lightning a warning to seek shelter.
Stumbling on uneven ground became the norm, with intermittent breaks to listen for sounds of pursuit. An old horror movie watched with her brother recalled the sounds of braying dogs zeroing in on their target. How she longed for those days.
If Terrance used drones, they would in fact find her, regardless of the rain washing away her scent. The question in her mind remained—would the animals hunt to kill, or would they protect? Neither would end well. Terrance would shoot her on sight for the sheer joy of it.
Springtime in Maryland brought new beasts of prey, both winged and fanged. Unlike the northern tip of Dixieland, the ones down here proved far deadlier.
At present, time spent tromping through woods included avoidance of sharp teeth and virtual fistfights with mosquitos and other biting insects. Bouts of heavier rain held them off early on, but clearing skies encouraged them to come out in full force.
By the time faint but discordant sounds of civilization reached her ears, she was too exhausted to care if they were friend or foe. Tangled thickets gave way t
o lower brush and sparse trees before she stood at the edge of a small park. So many years had passed since witnessing a similar sight. Seesaws, monkey bars, swings, and slides brought back so many memories.
Chain link fencing separated the playground from dew-laden lawn and contained rubber pellets for children’s protection. On the far side, a low-slung stucco rancher offered hope in the form of light spilling around window curtains. Approaching it would be a gamble, a bad one if the owner worked for the bastards who’d held her prisoner.
Three driveways formed a small community outlined in pre-dawn light. If the nearest town was too small to support a police station, she could walk for miles and not find help. Taking a chance seemed her best option.
On the other hand, knocking on a door at this hour could bring more alarm than help. Without rest, she didn’t have strength for self-defense. The decision to take a nap stemmed from practicality. If someone from the institution crossed her path, she’d be doomed either way.
Inky obscurity still held sway as she leaned against the base of a tree overlooking the playground. With rest and the arrival of daybreak, she’d make herself as presentable as possible before approaching the nearest house.
If the homeowner left for work in the meantime, so much the better. She’d rummage and take what she needed with a promise to make restitution. Aria always kept her promises and looked forward to the one made to Terrance.
It wasn’t long before dreams of safety experienced during childhood pulled her into their grasp. Despite her father’s hatred, she’d known security.
Chapter Two
Warmth of a dog’s tongue sliding up her cheek brought full consciousness in an instant. She’d never had a dog to call friend but moved it to the top of her to-do list.
“Hey, boy. How’re you doing?” The feel of silky fur sliding through her fingers made her smile. It wasn’t until she saw the symbol on his vest that panic set in.
Her gaze swung toward the muffled steps of a police officer headed her way. In the distance, a young boy and girl stood on either side of a bearded man close to the nearest house. A mixture of concern and doubt clouded the older man’s gaze.