Marked (Sins of Our Ancestors Book 1)

by Bridget E. Baker

  “I’m truly sorry you saw that.” King Solomon appears from around a curve in the hall. He also changed clothes and is wearing light pants and a collared shirt. Obviously they dressed down to make me more comfortable. I’m not sure whether it’s manipulative or sweet.

  Josephine wrings her hands and I feel guilty for being so abrupt. Still, they deserve to know how I feel. At least this time no one slapped me. In fact, he didn’t even frown.

  “If you’re telling the truth,” I say, “then it’s a terrible thing that happened to you. Maybe that means my dad was kind of crazy, I don’t know. But to me, he’s still Dad.”

  “You don’t believe us?” Josephine whispers.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” I say honestly. “Did you even try to find me when my dad supposedly stole me?”

  “We were so shocked when it happened. We tried normal channels first,” Josephine says. “We hired a lawyer, requested a DNA test, and demanded custody legally. Donald didn’t show up to the injunction hearing, or any other hearing after.”

  “So you gave up?”

  “Of course not,” Josephine says. “But perhaps we can discuss this while we eat in your . . . in David’s office. Documents might help, and we have quite a few.”

  I glance back at Sam and Job, who are standing two steps behind me.

  “Maybe we could spend just a few moments alone,” Josephine says. “The office isn’t very large.”

  Sam makes a sound that closely resembles a growl. “She’s not going anywhere without me.”

  I bristle at his proprietary arrogance, but ultimately, I agree with him. “Not without Sam and Job.”

  “This is the cousin?” Josephine asks.

  Brother. I want to correct her, but figure she’s probably heard it enough already. “He came to help. He’s a scientist for the Unmarked.”

  King Solomon opens his mouth as if to argue, but Josephine puts her hand on his arm. He shakes it off, but doesn’t say anything to contradict me. He scowls at Job, spins on his heel and stalks down the hall. Josephine waves for me to follow. I take a step or two and glance back. Sam and Job aren’t far behind.

  When we reach King Solomon’s office, several women in gray uniforms follow us inside and set up trays in front of the chairs. King Solomon sprawls behind a monstrously large desk in a large wingback chair that closely resembles a throne. Sam takes a seat in the back of the room near the door where he can see all the exits. He pats the seat next to him and I take it. Job sits on my other side.

  Josephine unlocks a filing cabinet behind the desk and rummages around inside. She opens and closes several drawers before pulling out a green folder. Her eyes well with tears. She wipes them away and sets the folder on the desk.

  I stand up to look, trying to ignore the man sitting in the chair in front of me. His staring makes me uncomfortable. The paper in the folder reads: The City of New York, Vital Records Certificate, Certification of Live Birth. Below that, it lists my date of birth, and my full name, Ruby Ruth Thomas.

  “Thomas? Why’s my last name Thomas?”

  Solomon sighs. “Why are you showing her that? What does it prove?”

  “I’ll explain.” Josephine points at the bottom of the certificate.

  It reads: “Mother’s Maiden Name: Josephine Matilda Stefan” and just below that, “Father’s Name: David Thomas.”

  I quirk one eyebrow at Solomon. “How many dads do I have? I’m counting three at this point.”

  King Solomon grunts. “My given name was David Thomas, but when I decided to become a pastor, David Solomon was more fitting. I changed my name officially, legally. Not because I was on the run.” He points at the certificate. “That’s me.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “You’re telling me my dad’s real name is Donald Carillon. He changed it to Donovan Behl to steal me from you. But your name isn’t your name, either. You changed yours from David Thomas to David Solomon so people would associate you with a famous religious figure. So, who am I really? Ruby Carillon Behl Thomas Solomon? This is nuts. That paper doesn’t prove anything. That could be anyone.”

  King Solomon’s face turns red. He obviously doesn’t see the humor in this. He opens up the bottom right drawer of his desk and shuffles some things before he produces a small rectangular piece of plastic. He slams it down on the desk. King Solomon’s face smiles up at me, but the name on the small plastic card reads David Thomas.

  “I may have changed my name, but that’s the only thing I have in common with Donald Carillon. You are my daughter, not his. Ruby Ruth Solomon.”

  “Be that as it may,” I say, “I—”

  Boots on wooden flooring make a lot of noise. A lot of boots make more noise, enough to hear from pretty far down the hall. Several guards rush into the office, interrupting us. Adam salutes King Solomon. “Your Majesty, a significant number of armed Marked children are amassing near the bridge.”

  King Solomon’s eyes fly wide, and he turns toward me. “Do you know anything about this?”

  I’m not sure what to say. Rhonda almost certainly told the Marked about the Cleansing WPN has planned, but I doubt I should tell him that. Besides, I have no idea why they’re here. Maybe they’re here to look for me. I am their “Promised,” whatever that means.

  I shake my head.

  Josephine sighs. “Perhaps they’ve found out.”

  “Then we move up the time table. Adam, fetch General Kovar. We need to revise and expedite our strategy.” King Solomon turns back to me, his previous anger gone. “We may have to postpone our meal, but don’t worry darling. You’ll be perfectly safe. That’s a promise.”

  Don’t worry, Ruby. Your name-changing, face-slapping, possible biological donor plans to keep you safe by annihilating thousands of ill children, among them my sort-of-ex-boyfriend, my maybe-cousin, and my accessory-to-a-kidnapping aunt. Perfect.

  King Solomon whispers to one of the guards in the hallway. I can’t let him kill them out there if I can stop it. Even if I find a cure, it won’t matter if everyone I want to save is dead.

  I throw my cards on the metaphorical table. “Don’t do it. We heard about the Cleansing, and it’s a mistake. The suppressant’s failing, but we’re here because we think Dad may have developed a cure.”

  King Solomon spins around so fast that I stumble back. “Excuse me?”

  “We came to Galveston to find the cure. Some of Donovan’s journals mention it.”

  “Where are these journals?” Josephine asks.

  “My aunt and uncle kept them,” I say, “but I read them a week ago, and I might know where to find it. If it exists, you don’t need to kill the Marked. They won’t be a threat anymore.”

  King Solomon narrows his eyes. “They’re a threat right now, to my daughter and my people.”

  I appeal to his pride. “Imagine if the great King Solomon healed the infected masses instead of killing them.”

  “Ruby, we scoured the island for years and found nothing,” Josephine says.

  “Dad had a hidden safe,” I say. “I remember where it was.”

  “God works in mysterious ways. I’ve wondered for years why this happened to us.” King Solomon pulls Josephine under his arm. “Maybe our daughter’s suffering has been like Joseph’s sojourn to Egypt. Her path set in place to save these children.”

  Sam’s eyes widen. This guy’s cuckoo.

  “And the cure would be located?” King Solomon asks.

  “Back at our condo,” I say. “Is the Palisade Palms still standing?”

  Josephine nods. “It survived all three hurricanes since the Marking, a small miracle itself.”

  “God’s hand’s always working among us,” King Solomon murmurs.

  I can’t tell whether he’s posturing or whether he believes this crap, but it annoys me either way. “God’s plan began with letting almost everyone on earth die?”

  “When humanity becomes too wicked, God has no choice but to purify the population.” King Solomon’s eyes bore in
to mine. “He did it once with a flood. Is it so far-fetched to imagine He might use a virus?”

  “So everyone who died was wicked?” I ask.

  “Death isn’t a punishment in and of itself,” King Solomon says. “Many who died ascended to heaven, a blessing above anything we can possibly imagine. I do not presume to tell God who should live and die, or pass judgment on His methods.”

  I force myself to remain calm. “You don’t?” Sam squeezes my hand, but I can’t stop. “Accelerating the virus and killing the entire US government wasn’t your doing?”

  “No one took the threat seriously,” King Solomon says. “Without a cure, which no one had turned up in an entire year, our only hope was to isolate those of us who were uninfected. I did what I had to do to preserve the uninfected.”

  “You did it then? Not God?” I ask.

  “At his direction,” he says. “God has a reason for what he does, then and now.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Some of the best people I know died. If God was punishing them, then I want nothing to do with God.”

  King Solomon’s nostrils flare and he slams his hand against the doorframe. “Death is not the end. You’re a perfect little heathen, aren’t you?”

  Josephine steps in front of him. “We have time. For now, we can take her to the Palms to look into this cure. Before we take steps we can’t untake. She showed up just before the Marked began this assault.”

  “I find that timing curious.” King Solomon scowls.

  Josephine tilts her head. “You said yourself, perhaps this is God’s plan. He may want us to spare them.”

  King Solomon nods. “Very well. Give me time to make some arrangements. We’ll head to the Palms directly.”

  “All of us.”

  He stomps out of the office with Josephine at his side, leaving the three of us in his office unattended.

  “Are we finally headed for the Palms?” Job asks.

  I pick up the birth certificate. “David Thomas may be my father.” I slam it down on the desk. “But he isn’t my dad. I don’t know if Donovan Behl went crazy or not, but he loved me, cared for me, and tried to do right by me.”

  Job nods. “I agree.”

  “But I’m worried.”

  “About what?” Sam asks.

  “If my mom’s right, then Donald Carillon’s blood doesn’t flow in my veins.”

  “You’re still my sister,” Job says. “No matter what.”

  “I agree.” I wrap my arm around Job for a side hug. “But my blood won’t open that safe.”

  Sam swears.

  “A place only my blood can reach,” I say. “That’s what his journal said. I remember, because I wondered at the time whether that meant it had to be his blood.”

  “Are you saying we can’t get the cure after all?” Sam asks.

  I shake my head. “I think we can. Or, more specifically, I think Job can.”

  “Me? Why me?” Job looks around the room. “Do you think my mom’s secretly my aunt?” He smirks in a way only someone entirely sure of their lineage would smirk. The way I would have smirked yesterday.

  “No, idiot.” I pick up the birth certificate. “I may not have Donovan’s blood, but you do. You’re his twin sister’s son. Scientifically speaking, your blood is basically what I thought mine was.”

  “What do you want to do, then?” Job asks. “Tell them I need to open it?”

  I shake my head again. “That’s the thing. I don’t want that guy to know. He took my dad from me. Whether my dad really died from a fire or not, without that gunshot, he’d still be alive. Now it’s my turn to pay him back. I want him to suffer.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Sam asks.

  “I need to find something to hold some of Job’s blood,” I say. “Help me look.”

  I start opening drawers in the desk. Sam walks to the doorway and assumes a guard position. With his hearing, he’s the best one to tell us if anyone’s coming. Job’s looking in the skinny drawer at the top and isn’t paying me any attention. In the bottom drawer on the left, I find something strange.

  A tranquillizer gun.

  Two pouches full of darts rest next to the gun. One’s labeled T. The other is labeled A. I have no idea why, but I grab them and stuff them into the waistband of my pants over my lower back and pull my shirt and jacket out and down to cover them up. It might be helpful to have a tranq gun, depending on how things go.

  “This might work.” Job holds a fountain pen.

  “How’s that going to work?” I ask.

  “Like this.” He unscrews the whole thing and pulls out a small vial from inside the pen. “This one’s empty.” He stabs his thumb with the nib of the pen and squeezes his blood into the empty vial then screws it all back together and hands it to me. “Make sure you hold it up or it’ll pour out the end of the pen.”

  I’m stowing the vial in a torn spot in the liner of my jacket that I can reach through my pocket when Sam waves at me. I shove the drawers shut and walk around to my seat. Job’s already sitting.

  “Everything’s ready,” King Solomon says. “But if it yields nothing Ruby, please let me handle things with the Marked as I see fit. I’ve been protecting my people from unfathomable threats for over a decade. Believe me when I say, I don’t take fatal action lightly, and I’ve pondered and prayed about the Cleansing through long hours of study.” He turns on his heel and stalks down the hall.

  Josephine waits for me to reach her and falls in step next to me. She walks as close as she can without tripping over my feet. Whenever I glance her way, she smiles.

  A van idles at the bottom of the grand staircase. It’s gray, but otherwise looks a lot like the van we rode over in. The roads are smooth most of the way, but the closer we get to the far north side of the island, the bumpier the roads grow. No one speaks.

  “This is a Hail Mary,” Solomon says to Adam in a low voice as we arrive, “but sometimes those work. If it doesn’t, we have Plan B already in place.”

  Adam nods, but frowns as though he regrets it. It makes me like him a little. “We do.”

  “Good.” Adam exits the car first, but King Solomon follows closely behind.

  I look out the window as four other guards exit a car stopped just behind us. When I step out, the view of the Palisade Palms slaps me in the face. If any place from my childhood felt like home, this was it. Almost every one of my favorite memories took place inside this building, and the man standing next to me ruined them all that day.

  Since then, this building has starred in every nightmare I’ve endured. The two curvilinear towers shoot up into the sky a few steps from the beach, the same way I’ve dreamed about them a hundred times.

  We park to the left and walk past the basketball court. Two small boys are bouncing a ball on it. Their eyes widen when they see the five guards with us, and the ball bounces sideways and rolls away.

  “We lived in the east tower.”

  Josephine’s mouth turns up in what looks like sympathy. “I know, sweetie. People still live here, but we’ve kept your old apartment intact and uninhabited to preserve the evidence.”

  I can’t believe it. I’ve been preparing myself for it looking entirely different, but it’s going to look exactly the same. We ride the elevators in silence. I don’t realize my hand’s shaking until Sam reaches over and takes it in his. When he interlaces our fingers, my heart swells. I may be alone in this, but I’m not abandoned. Sam’s behind me, and Job too.

  The elevator dings and we step into the lobby on the twenty-seventh floor. I gasp. Everything looks exactly as it did. The carpet’s worn, but it’s the same light gray. The same beach landscape hangs on the wall, and the wire mesh trashcan sits next to the elevator, with an ashtray built into the top.

  The doorknob on my bright blue front door twists easily, the door swings open smoothly. I want to stop and take it all in, but there’s no time with an army at the bridge. So many sick kids might die if I delay. I tighten my g
rip on Sam’s hand and he follows me through our old entryway and toward my dad’s lab.

  The marble floors are dusty, but otherwise exactly as I remember them. I pause in the family room. There’s no blood on the floor in front of the fireplace where my dad lay after being shot, but there are burned tiles and blackened places. I shudder. Someone tried to clean it up, but there was a fire. My mom didn’t lie about that. Thinking about my dad burning alive, at the hand of yet someone else makes me want to collapse into a heap and sob uncontrollably. The army of Marked kids who Solomon might shoot is the only thing that keeps me moving.

  My mind reels when I pass the coat closet where I hid. My feet turn toward my room, but I’m not a little girl, not anymore. I force my feet to walk toward the heavy wooden door to Dad’s home lab. I only went inside a handful of times, because dad’s lab wasn’t safe. Entering without permission was against the rules.

  I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth twice. I tune out the sound of shifting feet, impatient sighs, muttering and whispers. I lean forward and turn the knob.

  It should disturb me to see my dad’s place without my dad in it, but it bothers me less than the rest of our old home. He died in the family room. I hid in the closet. I lived in my room. I made food in the kitchen with him, and we ate together in the dining room. I have memories most everywhere, but only a few here. The beakers, test tubes, and machines that whirred and buzzed gather dust now, transforming them into something foreign. Something I don’t recognize at all.

  A vast mahogany bookcase spans the far-left wall. A built-in desk sits just to the right of it. I close my eyes and think of the time my dad and I were eating ice-cream cones. He suggested we make play-doh. I was so excited that I practically ran to the lab ahead of him. We made the dough in flasks over a controlled fire, but in the end, it was so thick and hard to stir that I collapsed on the floor, whining. Dad took over.