Lilith Read online

  First Edition

  DarkFuse

  P.O. Box 338

  North Webster, IN 46555

  www.darkfuse.com

  Lilith © 2013 by Toby Tate

  Cover Artwork © 2013 by Stan Tremblay

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copy Editor: Steve Souza & Bob Mele

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To my mother, the late Donna Conway. I love you and miss you, Mom. I’ll see you up there.

  Acknowledgements

  My heartfelt love and appreciation go first to God and to my family for putting up with my irregular hours and obsession with the written word. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!

  A lot of research went into this novel and none of it would have been possible without the people I have been blessed to meet along the way.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to the crew of the USS Harry S Truman (CVN 75) and her captain, Joseph M. Clarkson, for not only allowing me aboard their ship and answering my questions, but also for putting their lives on the line every day to protect my freedom. Thank you.

  The accurate technical details about aircraft carriers and their crews are due entirely to the expertise of Duncan J. Macdonald, LCDR USN (ret), a great guy and a priceless resource, and my brother-in-law, Tod Wills, former (nuke) electrician’s mate first class and instructor for the U.S. Navy. Any inaccuracies can be laid squarely at my feet, where I claim sole responsibility (pun intended).

  I have to thank my first readers, Professor Steve March, Annie Ross, Andi Hunt and Michelle Brown as well as Donna O’Brien of Crescent Moon Press for her awesome suggestions.

  I also want to thank all the agents and publishers along the way who rejected my manuscript, because not only did it encourage me to improve the story, it ultimately led to publication.

  I am grateful to Publisher Shane Staley and the staff of Delirium/DarkFuse, and most especially renowned author and editor for DarkFuse, Greg F. Gifune, who took a chance on this unknown author and helped make my dream a reality. Thanks Greg!

  Above all, a sincere thank you to the booksellers that keep us in business, as well as all my Facebook and Twitter friends and to all of you who have waited patiently for Lilith to finally see the light of day—your patience has been rewarded!

  PROLOGUE

  Indianapolis, Indiana

  Twenty years ago

  Johnny hated babysitting his little sister. It was demeaning, depressing, and just downright wrong. So why did his parents always make him do it? The little witch was…well…a little witch. She never did what he told her to do, and she always got her way. He got blamed for anything that went wrong—a broken dish, a runaway pet—whether it was his fault or not. It just wasn’t fair.

  But Johnny knew life wasn’t fair, so he would deal with it, just like he dealt with everything else.

  It was Saturday, and even though he was seventeen and should have been out cruising with his friends, he was stuck taking care of the pest. At seven years old, she seemed like a sweet little girl, until you got to know her and realized that underneath she could be really creepy at times and act like a conniving little monster.

  As they made their way toward the Marsh Supermarket, he watched his sister walk ahead of him, her pigtails swinging in the sunlight. The girl loved the supermarket. She bought her candy and her comic books there practically every Saturday, and of course it was Johnny’s job to look after her.

  He kicked a rock with a dirty sneaker and cursed his bad luck. Why did he have to have a sister, anyway? A brother would have been way cooler.

  But somehow he still loved the little brat, though he couldn’t understand why. She never brought him anything but trouble.

  They turned a corner and began walking down a long alley between two old brick buildings, a shortcut they’d taken many times before, when a large dog came from around a building and began slinking towards them. It looked like a mix between a Shepherd and a Lab, with matted red fur, and as it lacked a collar, Johnny worried it might be feral. He’d heard stories and rumors of coyotes and wild dogs roaming the streets, but had never seen evidence of it before. The dog didn’t growl, but didn’t look friendly, either.

  “Hold up, sis,” he said. She stopped just a few feet ahead of him.

  They stood watching the dog, wondering whether they should turn back, when another dog appeared behind it. This one was even bigger and looked meaner.

  “Come on, let’s backtrack and go around to the street,” Johnny said. “And don’t run.”

  He said that for himself as much as for his sister, because he definitely felt like running. When he was only four, he’d been bitten by his friend Billy’s Mastiff (he’d been trying to ride the dog at the time and probably deserved it), and though he hadn’t been badly hurt, he’d been afraid of big dogs ever since.

  Johnny waited for his sister to pass him, and as he turned to follow, a third dog appeared at the opposite end of the alley. Before it fully registered, there came a fourth.

  His heart jumped in his chest as he and his sister skidded to a stop. Two dogs had taken position in front and the other two were coming up from behind. Johnny scanned the buildings on both sides. No fire escapes…no windows…no doors. Of course not, he thought, that’d be too convenient.

  He reached out, grabbed his sister by the shoulders and pulled her close to him. As the dogs closed in on both sides, he realized for the first time just how big they were. Their only hope was that someone might walk by, see what was going on, and call the police.

  The dogs moved closer still, as the two kids backed up against the wall of one of the buildings. “Go away, mutts!” Johnny yelled. “Go on! Get the hell out of here!”

  The pack stopped less than three feet away and eyed them as if they were a pair of cornered rabbits. The animals smelled like rotten fish.

  The Shepherd growled. The others followed suit.

  “It’s okay,” he lied, quiet voice shaking, “It’s going to be okay, just stay still.”

  But his sister did not remain still. Instead, she reached up, removed his hands from her shoulders and walked toward the dogs, reaching a hand out like she planned to pet them.

  Johnny wanted to stop her, but was frozen with fear. “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  Ignoring him, she stood in front of the dogs, both hands raised now, as if preparing to direct a symphony. And then, emanating from somewhere deep inside her, there came a low, guttural, and impossibly horrifying growl.

  The dogs immediately fell silent, staring at her in what could only be described as bewilderment. Speechless, Johnny watched as one by one, the dogs became docile and began to whimper. Only seconds before he’d been certain they’d kill her. Now they looked as if they wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  His sister glanced at the sky, a barely perceptible smile on her face as storm clouds slowly rolled in across what, moments earlier, had been a clear and sunny sky. “Go away, bad doggies,” she said evenly. “Go on, run along.”

  The animals backed away with not only fear in their eyes, but respect.

  What the hell was going on?

  The dogs turned back in the direction from which they’d come, took off in a trot and disappeared around the buildings.

  Just then, the sun broke through the clouds.

  Johnny looked down at his sister, his heart racing as he did his best to get his mind around what had just taken place.

  “Come on,” she said, looking back at him with a wide grin, “let’s go get some candy.”

  CHAPTER 1

  River City, North Carolina

 
Present day

  Hunter Singleton was being stalked.

  He could hear it, off in the distance—the deep, grunting breaths of a big animal moving almost soundlessly on its feet. Hunting him.

  Lights the color of blood illuminated his path, his bootsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Hunter’s skin was clammy from the hot, moist air and the walls were too close together, so close it felt claustrophobic, like being squeezed in a vice.

  Where was he? Oh yes. On a ship, somewhere in the Atlantic. A carrier. He was here on assignment, a story for his newspaper. He had decided to take a walk about midnight. Most of the crew was asleep and Hunter wanted to wander the passageways, get a feel for the ship, a little time to think.

  He had just rounded a corner and was about to climb up a ladder to the next deck when a noise rose from the lower stairwell. It was a rumbling, guttural growl, like one of the polar bears at the zoo in Asheboro. But what the hell would a polar bear be doing aboard a Navy ship in the middle of the sea?

  The shadows in the stairwell suddenly seemed to come alive, twisting and distorting into bizarre, unearthly shapes. Hunter knew it was an illusion, but it made the sounds from the darkness below that much more ominous and terrifying. His blood froze as adrenaline shot through his veins. Two opposing forces fought for control—fight or flight. He slowly began backing away from the ladder, through the doorway and out into the main passageway, where he turned and started moving aft. Hunter didn’t know where he was going, just anywhere but here.

  Behind him the thump of feet, or big paws, bounding up steel steps on their way to the next deck—his deck—echoed down the corridor. Whatever it was, it wanted him. Hunter fought the urge to bolt and steeled himself to turn and look back. Nothing. He kept walking, picking up the pace more with each step.

  He realized that he needed to find a room that was occupied, a room with people. That was the only way he was going to save himself.

  He was on the third level, where most of the officers’ staterooms were. He could hear breathing behind him, feel the stomping of huge paws as each one pounded the steel deck. He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to find someone now, let them know he was being followed.

  Hunter grabbed the doorknob on the nearest stateroom and swung it open. Empty. He knew there were often empty staterooms aboard ship, so he moved on to the next one, swung open the door. Also empty.

  There had to be somebody on this damn ship.

  He moved methodically down the passageway, opening and closing the doors of one empty stateroom after another while he felt the thing behind him gaining ground. How long until it was close enough to feel its breath on the back of his neck?

  Hunter came to a ladder and flew up to the next level, barely touching the steps. Surely there had to be someone in the wardroom, or the XO’s stateroom, or the captain’s quarters.

  But there wasn’t. They were all empty.

  Behind him Hunter heard the familiar sound of the beast coming up the ladder to the next deck, pursuing him.

  What the hell was that thing? And where was everybody? Hunter’s brow broke out in a cold sweat and his heart pounded against the wall of his chest.

  He found the ladder up to the final deck—the bridge—and climbed it. He felt like he had just climbed the steps to the top floor of a lighthouse. His breathing was ragged, his chest constricted and aching. There had to be someone on the bridge. Somebody had to be driving the ship, because they were moving. He could feel it.

  He lifted the locking mechanism of the steel door and pushed it open. This time the room wasn’t empty. There was someone there, sitting in a swivel chair and facing out the forward window of the bridge. The back of a head with dark brown hair was visible over the top of the chair. Hunter stepped through the doorway and quickly closed it behind him.

  “Oh, thank God,” he said, moving toward the lone figure. “You won’t believe this, but there’s something following me, some kind of animal. Why do you guys have animals on board, anyway?”

  He put his hand up and swiveled the seat around. Hunter’s breath caught in his throat when he suddenly saw his own face staring back at him. But it wasn’t exactly him. There was a silvery mass that moved behind the eyes, liquid and alive.

  “Sorry, Hunter,” he heard his double say. “End of the line.”

  The last thing he saw was the flash of a huge blade as it was raised back, ready to plunge into his chest.

  * * *

  Hunter popped up in bed, hyperventilating and nearly swimming in his own sweat. He remembered being chased by something, but couldn’t quite recall what it was. An animal, maybe? Whatever it was, it had given him one hell of a jolt.

  His racing heartbeat slowly subsided as he sat staring into the darkness of his bedroom. He looked over at his sleeping wife and was grateful that the movement hadn’t awakened her. She needed her sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day.

  Hunter squinted at the bedside clock—it glowed red with a four and two zeros. He felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier. Unable to sit up any longer, he fell backwards onto the pillow and quickly drifted off to sleep, the dream forgotten.

  PART ONE: STORMBRINGER

  CHAPTER 2

  Naval Station Norfolk, Norfolk, Virginia

  Hunter pulled the shoulder straps tight up against his body as he sat inside the fuselage of a C-2 Greyhound, its twin engines thrumming under the wings outside like two immense, angry hornets. Hunter wanted to make a wisecrack to his wife about the lack of in-flight magazines, but he knew Lisa wouldn’t hear him with her double hearing protection in place. They both wore cranials—skull-hugging helmets that were as uncomfortable as they sounded—along with goggles and a float coat. The coat was more like a life preserver that hung around his neck and zipped in the front and was supposed to have anything and everything one might need in case of a water landing—except shark repellent.

  The inside of the coach smelled like a mix of sweat and jet fuel, and anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach. That was rarely a good sign. Hunter hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come, and for the time being, put it out of his mind.

  He checked his lap belt, making sure it was tight enough to keep his butt firmly in place against the back of the seat. The seats were pretty comfortable, more so than he had expected. But still, Hunter hated flying, and the thought of landing on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean did not set well with him at all. He prayed that the plane’s tail hook wouldn’t miss the steel cable that snagged the plane and stopped it from going over the edge of the flight deck, like falling off the edge of the world. But he knew he was just being stupid—these people did this kind of thing every day, right?

  Hunter knew he needed to force his mind to focus on something else and looked around the cabin at the equipment stowed in the overhead of the plane. He wasn’t sure what any of it was, but he figured it was probably full of inflatable life rafts and other survival gear. At least, he hoped it was. The entire inside of the plane was painted gray, except for the seat covers, which were blue. There were no interior walls in this plane like the ones in a passenger jet. Instead, there were visible wires and hydraulic lines running in every direction. There were also reading lights and air conditioning vents similar to those on a jetliner, but only two seats with windows. The escape hatch was on top of the plane, which would be convenient in case of a crash landing in the water, Hunter thought.

  The plane was shaking on the tarmac like a giant, vibrating cell phone and Hunter wondered if the entire flight would be like that. He didn’t know if his stomach could take it, and after drinking coffee all morning, knew he was going to have to piss before they got to the ship. He was glad he’d thought to bring a pack of motion sickness pills, but hoped he still had sea legs from his time in the Navy and wouldn’t need them. Lisa was practically born in the water and Hunter was sure she wouldn’t need them.

  He eyed all the Navy and Marine Corps members in uniform. They were either staring off into space or s
leeping. Most were going to their next duty station aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford, their destination. Some were other media members, like him, invited to spend a few days on board a “real” Navy ship and experience life at sea. Hunter thought he had gotten his fill of the Navy when he was enlisted, yet here he was again. At first, there was resistance, for the simple fact that he was afraid to fly, but didn’t want to admit it. Then, his photographer had gotten sick at the last minute and Hunter was able to talk his editor into replacing her with Lisa and that had cinched it. Besides, his wife was a great photographer and would take fine pictures, so the old man would be happy.

  One of the flight crew suddenly got up from her seat and began closing the bay door. Since all the seats on the plane faced backwards, the light disappeared gradually, like the slowly closing lid of a coffin. Then the crew member turned toward the cabin and asked if everyone could hear her. Everyone said they could and she explained how the seat belts and shoulder straps worked, where the exits were, how to operate their flotation devices and pretty much everything you would expect to hear on a civilian airliner. The only difference was a passenger jet landed on sensible ground and not on some crazy floating airport, and this flight would be long, and involve a good deal of white-knuckle flying.

  The young lady finished her spiel, and noticing Hunter’s apprehension, made her way back to him.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, leaning in close to his ear. “You seem a little nervous. Is this your first time?”

  The woman was tall, green-eyed, and looked to be about nineteen. Her lips reminded him of Angelina Jolie’s.

  “Yeah,” he yelled. “I’m not a big fan of flying.”