Callsign: Queen - Book I (A Zelda Baker - Chess Team Novella)

  CALLSIGN: QUEEN

  —Book I—

  By Jeremy Robinson

  and David Wood

  © 2011 Jeremy Robinson. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to: info@jeremyrobinsononline.com

  Visit Jeremy Robinson on the World Wide Web at:

  www.jeremyrobinsononline.com

  Visit David Wood on the World Wide Web at:

  www.davidwoodweb.com

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  FICTION by JEREMY ROBINSON

  (click to view on Amazon and buy)

  The Antarktos Saga

  The Last Hunter - Pursuit

  The Last Hunter - Descent

  The Jack Sigler Thrillers

  Threshold

  Instinct

  Pulse

  Callsign: King - Book 1

  Callsign: Queen - Book 1

  Origins Editions (first five novels)

  Kronos

  Antarktos Rising

  Beneath

  Raising the Past

  The Didymus Contingency

  Short Stories

  Insomnia

  Humor

  The Zombie's Way (Ike Onsoomyu)

  The Ninja’s Path (Kutyuso Deep)

  FICTION by DAVID WOOD

  The Dane Maddock Adventures

  Dourado

  Cibola

  Quest

  Dark Entry (Short Story)

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Into the Woods

  The Zombie-Driven Life

  Callsign: Queen (With Jeremy Robinson)

  David Wood Writing as David Debord

  The Silver Serpent

  Keeper of the Mists

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Sample: THE LAST HUNTER by Jeremy Robinson

  Sample: QUEST by David Wood

  Sample: THE SENTINEL by Jeremy Bishop

  Help Spread the Word!

  Prologue

  Kievan Rus’

  (Present-day Ukraine)

  1237

  The full moon drifted across a stormy sea of clouds, its light casting an ethereal net onto the world below. Yaroslav moved with a sense of determined purpose, pushing aside the fears bred of superstitious nonsense that threatened to overwhelm his companion.

  Beside him, Kurek clutched his sword’s hilt in a white-knuckled grip, every sound from the surrounding forest causing him to flinch.

  “Calm yourself, Kurek.” Yaroslav tried to keep the annoyance from his voice. Kurek was a good and loyal man, if not a brave one. “I assure you, there is nothing in the night that is not alive in the day.”

  “What about owls?” The dark-haired young man’s voice trembled. “Bats are not out in the day, either.”

  “I said alive during the day. Sleeping in the daylight hours and hunting after dark does not make a creature an agent of evil.” Yaroslav cast his companion a sideways glance. “You have been known to sleep during the day and engage in unsavory nocturnal activities.”

  The ghost of a grin played across Kurek’s face, but it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. “I like this not one bit.” A rustling in the forest, far behind them, made him jump. “Do you see what I mean?” His sword was halfway out of its scabbard before Yaroslav put a reassuring hand on his arm.

  “You must not let every little sound frighten you. There are plenty of creatures who have just as much right to travel at night as you do, and none of them intend us harm.”

  “I am not frightened.” Kurek’s sullen expression and dull voice made him sound ten years younger. “I am merely cautious.” Reluctance evident on every inch of his face, he sheathed his sword. “I have heard stories about this place. The people who live here are…not right. They are inhospitable, never sharing a meal or offering a bed for the night. And the fishermen never venture far up the river, and never, ever travel it after dark.”

  Yaroslav rolled his eyes.

  “We should have stayed the night in that last village,” Kurek continued. “We could have eaten a hot meal and drank a cup of mead in front of a fire instead of walking through the cold and damp, being stalked by whatever is out there.”

  “We are not being stalked,” Yaroslav said absently, his mind on the enticing picture Kurek’s words had painted. He could almost taste the thick, sweet mead on his tongue. A night’s rest would have been a welcome thing, but they had passed the last village at midday, and could not afford to waste daylight, not when the news he carried was so dire. Besides, they were almost out of coin, having wasted most of it on a mount that seemed hale, but proved to be a nag. Despite their best efforts to preserve her, she gave out two days later. They had sold her carcass to a farmer who wanted her for her meat and horsehide. He’d given them only a single coin and two shriveled apples in trade, but considering the man could have simply waited for them to go on their way and then butchered the nag at his leisure, Yaroslav considered himself fortunate to have gotten anything at all.

  “Do you think it is true?” Kurek gazed up in trepidation at the moon as he spoke. “Do you believe the Mongols are coming again?”

  “The Cumans certainly believe so.” Yaroslav was thankful for the change of subject. It might distract Kurek from his fears. “Those with whom I spoke seemed genuinely concerned, and they have no reason to lie.”

  “Cumans!” Kurek cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm on the ground. The straw-haired nomads had once been known as fierce raiders, but the rise of the Mongols had led them to form peaceful relations with those they had once regarded as enemies. Many of the Rus, however, still regarded the Cumans as untrustworthy at best.

  “Come now!” Yaroslav chided. “The Cumans have been peaceful for many years. They fear the Mongols as much as anyone.”

  “Peace!” Kurek held up his hand. “Listen,” he whispered, his eyes growing wide. “Do you hear it?”

  “I grow weary of this. If you are going to act like a frightened girl…”

  “I am serious!” It was the intensity of Kurek’s gaze more than the content of his words that brought Yaroslav up short. “Someone is following us. Whoever he is, he has been behind us for some time, and is coming closer.” His eyes locked on Yaroslav’s. “I am not mistaken. Listen for yourself as we walk and see if you do not agree with me.”

  “Very well.” Yaroslav resisted the temptation to rest his hand on the pommel of his own sword. He would not let Kurek see him unsettled. It would only fuel the fear that already burned in the young man’s heart. “We shall walk softly and hold our tongues. I wager it is only a lynx, or something of the sor
t.”

  They walked on in silence, careful to tread gently upon the soft earth beneath their feet. Yaroslav was just about to pronounce Kurek a fool when he heard it.

  It was not the rustle of a four-legged creature rattling dead leaves as it moved through the undergrowth, but the distinctive sound of a two-legged being taking a step at a time. Kurek cast a meaningful glance at Yaroslav, but said nothing.

  The sound was gone as quickly as it had come. It gave Yaroslav a chill that had little to do with the damp night air. If the sound came from a two-legged creature, it meant a man was following them—one who was taking pains to keep his approach as quiet as possible. Kurek was correct. They were being stalked.

  They moved on at a steady pace, the sound growing ever closer. Yaroslav wondered who the man was and what he wanted. What if he had a bow or a crossbow? His back suddenly itched as he thought of his own vulnerability. Perhaps they should get off the path and into the shelter of the forest.

  An oak tree, old and imposing, loomed up ahead. Its trunk was larger than Yaroslav and Kurek together could have spanned with their arms. Yaroslav spoke softly from the corner of his mouth.

  “Do not let on that we know anything is amiss, but when we reach that oak tree, circle around behind it. I have a bad feeling.” A tightening of his facial features was Kurek’s sole reply, but it was enough to let Yaroslav know that his friend understood.

  They did not make it to the oak tree.

  Night birds set up a cry of alarm as a figure burst from the shelter of the forest. It was a man, as Yaroslav had thought, but…it wasn’t.

  Kurek screamed and fled into the forest on the other side of the path. Yaroslav scarcely had time to draw his sword before the thing was upon him. It was fast. Too fast to be human.

  Yaroslav swung his sword, but the thing ducked beneath it and bore him to the ground, snarling with primordial rage. Strong hands clutched his throat, the clawed tips of the beast’s fingers biting deeply into his flesh. He had a brief glimpse of burning eyes, gleaming teeth and a twisted, hairy face before the world went dark.

  Chapter 1

  Pripyat, Ukraine

  “Over here! Quickly!” The first rays of moonlight gleamed in Alexei’s brown eyes and a subdued laugh underpinned his hushed whisper as he beckoned the others to follow. Oleg, his pale skin and silver-blonde hair—“piss in a snow bank,” he called the color—glowing wraithlike, hurried after him. His careless footsteps quickly found one of the many potholes in the untended street, and he went down in a heap.

  Hunched down in the shadow of a rusted hulk that had once been a Zhiguli, the old Eastern Bloc’s version of a Fiat, Armina giggled as she watched the scene through her digital video camera. “Get up, Oleg. You’re out there in the middle of the road where anyone can see you.”

  “I turned my ankle!” Oleg sat up, scowling at his foot as if it were somehow at fault. “Besides, there’s no one around. They don’t let people tour here anymore. Remember?” He began to unlace his shoe.

  “Don’t do that.” Alexei hurried to his friend’s side and hauled him to his feet. “If you’ve turned it badly enough, the ankle will swell and you won’t be able to get your shoe on again.” He hooked his arm around Oleg’s waist and helped him hobble into a pool of darkness by the side of the abandoned police station.

  It required a supreme effort of will for Armina to lower her camera and look around before rushing across the street to join her friends. The camera was her life, and viewed through its lens, the world held possibilities that seemed absent when seen with the naked eye.

  Her fascination with video had begun innocently enough. She had posted videos online of her talking about her life and her interests. It had been such a thrill to watch her view count climb, and every “thumbs up” or positive comment, even the “UR so hot!” type, energized her and drove her to make and upload another video, and then another. But like with any other addiction, she always hungered for more. Hence, the web-show.

  It had been the séance video that did it. She and her friends performed their own séance in an attempt to contact Anastasia, the legendary lost Romanov princess. Armina hadn’t seen, heard or felt a thing, but viewer count went through the roof. Commenters swore they could see a shadow moving in the background, while others heard a whisper. Soon, the video was all over the Web, and she’d even made enough income from sponsor links to buy this new camera, which they would use to film this first-ever webisode of their paranormal investigation show.

  “Where do we want to go first?” Alexei’s straight, white teeth gleamed in the moon glow. “I definitely want to visit the town square.”

  “We’re not here for sightseeing. Let’s go to the stadium first. That’s where the sighting was.” Armina doubted the veracity of the email she had received from a viewer who claimed to have stolen into Pripyat at night and caught sight of a ghost moving through the trees inside the old stadium. She pointed the way, and they set off through the deserted husk of the once-vibrant city.

  “It’s safe, isn’t it? The radiation, I mean?” Oleg examined his hand as if searching for signs of genetic mutation.

  “Of course it is.” Armina rolled her eyes, though her friends could not see it because she was once again recording them. “They’ve been letting people take tours through here for years. They wouldn’t do it if the radiation was too high. Besides, this is not where the leak occurred.”

  “Close enough. Maybe it’s not ghosts people have spotted here, but fallout victims! Horrible mutants that have been hiding underground all these years, just waiting to come out and feast on human flesh.” Alexei elbowed Oleg, who forgot to favor his ankle long enough to chase Alexei ten meters and punch him in the shoulder.

  A shiver crept down Armina’s spine, like the icy breath of a nether spirit. It’s just the night air, she told herself. The river is close by, and that makes everything cold and damp. Of course she didn’t believe in ghosts any more than she believed in the power of séances, but viewers did, and the sudden closing of this ghost town a year ago, coupled with the strange rumors, made perfect fodder for a paranormal investigation. The best part was, they didn’t actually need to find anything. As long as they filmed a strange shadow, an odd light or a door or gate that appeared to move under its own power, viewers would go crazy. Still, Oleg’s words put her to mind of the strange stories they’d heard of late about the goings-on in Pripyat. Oleg insisted there had to be a reason the rumors had cropped up so suddenly, but who was to say? Perhaps tonight they’d find out.

  They halted in the street before the hulking forms of the old family hostels. All along the buildings, silhouettes painted by graffiti artists lurked in the shadows as if waiting to spring. Armina moved out into the middle of the road and motioned for the boys to take their places. With her fingers, she made a silent countdown.

  3... 2… 1…

  “Greetings! I am Alexei, and this is Oleg.” Alexei elbowed the blond boy who grunted and waved. Oleg was the worst choice ever for a co-host, but perhaps he would provide comic relief. “And welcome to the first-ever episode of ‘SpiritWeb,’ we…” The words froze on his lips as a mournful howl cut through the night.

  Armina strained to listen over the sound of her pounding heart. They all stood in expectant silence, but the sound did not come again. A wolf, she thought. Animals roamed the surrounding area, and sometimes wandered into the abandoned city. No reason a wolf might not be among them. They would simply have to exercise caution. She motioned for Alexei to continue.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we are here. We are paranormal investigators, and we are bringing you to a haunted ghost town. Until recently, people were allowed to tour this place, but no more. The government no longer issues permits, and has warned residents to keep away. Want to know why?”

  Silence hung in the air until Alexei elbowed Oleg, who was still gazing off in the direction of the howl.

  “Oh!” Oleg gave a shake like a dog drying himself, and took up
the explanation. “The authorities have received reports of strange happenings here. Odd noises, like what you just heard, but also spookier, more human sounds, like people suffering. Shadowy forms leaping from building-to-building, or moving from one pool of darkness to another with superhuman speed. And we are here…” He screwed up his face. “We are here to…”

  “We are here to get to the bottom of this mystery,” Alexei finished. “Come along with us, as we investigate the true last frontier.”

  He smiled like a television news host waiting for a station break, and Armina indicated that they should investigate the sound they had just heard. Oleg paled, but Alexei, to his credit, went with it.

  “Let’s begin by investigating that sound.”

  Armina’s heart was still racing as they rounded the corner past Café Olympia in search of the source of the mysterious sound. Now that the initial surprise had worn off, she was thrilled that they had something for their viewers. Likely it was just a wolf, but it was something, and if she knew Alexei, he would play it up to full effect.

  Things went splendidly. Alexei, in hushed whispers, speculated about the source of the howling, wondering if it had been the sound of a soul in torment. He pointed out creepy, crumbling buildings, and fabricated elaborate legends about the place. He was brilliant. Oleg excelled in his own way, jumping at shadows and swiveling his head about every time they rounded a corner. Armina felt like singing. She was certain they had a hit on their hands.

  Alexei was walking backward, regaling the viewers with the story of two criminals who had sought refuge in the abandoned hospital, so he was the last to see what Armina and Oleg saw. They froze, gaping at the sight. Alexei walked a few more steps, his story sputtering to a halt like a dying engine.

  “What?” He frowned, clearly disappointed that his story had been interrupted. “Is something wrong with the camera?”

  They were rendered mute, but Armina managed to point a trembling finger. Alexei turned and gasped at the sight. The Ferris wheel, long the most poignant and enduring image of this abandoned city, was turning.