Only one of them mattered. Her sister, Vitória. Part of a future marine scientist group touring the Caribbean. The opportunity of a lifetime for the fifth-grader, and the worst moment of Livi’s life. One day, Livi was sharing popcorn at a baseball game with her sister. Two days later, she started a mourning process that was still going on.
Dozens of coquís, the tiny native frogs, loudly chirruped their two-tone name: co-KEY, co-KEY. The coquís somehow survived the blast, and on nights when she thought too much about her sister, resentment toward the frogs surfaced. They continued to whistle: co-KEY, co-KEY.
Coquí. What an original name, she thought sardonically.
The silver moon hung in the eastern sky. The drum beats of the Druids in the mountains were subdued, but easy to hear, especially with enhanced hearing. As the moon waned in its cycle, so did the intensity of their drumming.
One measly rock, she thought, kicking the wide stone that served as a poor monument to her sister and the millions of other innocents who died. The clean nuke had detonated a thousand feet above ground for maximum extent of damage to the populace of the U.S. Territory. Some fragile buildings were damaged, including the old forts, but a shallow depression below where the nuke went off was the only remnant.
The only physical remnant of the bomb, anyway. Everything Livi had become since the Final Nukes, as the two bombs of that day were called, she owed to Vitória.
When they were five and six, Vitória had sliced the top of her foot on a bed frame. They both watched as a single drop of blood formed and started rolling between two stringy ligaments of her foot. Vitória froze, but Livi acted to keep it from dripping on the carpet by covering the drop with her mouth. The taste surprised and delighted her. Whenever Livi bled after that she put the wound in her mouth until it stopped bleeding. Her sister’s cuts too. The ones on her arms and legs, anyway. Years later, when Livi turned twenty-one and gained access to her share of the settlement money from her sister’s death, she used it to pay for Level 3 modification and immigration.
Everything was thanks to Vitória, good or bad.
The monument rekindled the desire to make someone pay for what had happened. She wasn’t due to hunt again for a couple weeks, though. The cut Henry-Marie had given her still had stitches in it.
The hired coach waited nearby. Livi climbed in and it started off across the unkempt roads.
The last time she’d hunted on a half-moon night had been an entire moon cycle earlier when she had the bad luck to lure a snot-faced Arcanist and not recognize his droopy look until after feeding. On top of the flu he carried, he was drunk and too easy. The episode had been disappointing from start to finish. For a while she’d wondered if she had any fans left after that drivel, but ratings remained strong even though the tropical flu she caught laid her up for a week—the worst illness since she immigrated.
The medical screening and three-month quarantine at the training center kept major communicable diseases out of Hollow Island, but common colds and the flu didn’t recognize borders. An apothecary offered her an arsenic-based remedy, but she wasn’t about to take something derived from poison in some backwoods Hollow Island lab. If it didn’t have Mayhew’s stamp on it, she didn’t touch it.
Eventually the bumpy ride smoothed out as they entered the new city, and the roads improved a little. When the coach reached the transition between the new city and inner city, the goodman pulled up the horses, opened the door, and placed a stool. She gave him twenty cents, twice the required fare.
The walk to her house was about a quarter mile. Livi rode whenever possible, but didn’t want too many people knowing where she lived, so she always walked the last part, but not too far. In exchange for augmented speed and dexterity, Vamps gave up endurance; a small sacrifice in Livi’s mind.
This was the outskirts of the area she trolled for victims. No, that was the wrong word. Predators were what she trolled for. But not tonight. Not for a few weeks yet. The sun would be up in a few hours. She’d just go to bed early.
A tickle rose in the middle of Livi’s back and she looked around. Half a block away, a man stood in the light of the doorway of a tavern. Medium height, bulky, with porkchop sideburns and mussed black hair. His dark skin and hair blended into the shadows when he stepped out of the faint light. He glanced up and down the street, looking for something or someone.
Livi usually held fast to her rule to hunt only people that instigated a chase, but around his neck a small wooden stake dangled, marking him as a Ware.
The stake was ornamental, a symbol of their hatred for Vamps. The notion that a wooden stake through the heart was more deadly for Vamps than any other piercing implement was absurd. As far as she knew, a stake through the heart would kill anyone.
Before she realized it, Livi was moving closer. The Ware’s odor clawed its way into her nostrils and drilled into her olfactory nerves. It brought to mind the image of a four-day dead body basted with raw sewage. A sense of invincibility overtook Livi. She was the most powerful creature on Hollow Island.
Oh, how she loved this feeling. The hunt was on tonight for sure.
More than one Vamp she’d known had gotten addicted to the rush of hunting Wares. Most of those Vamps were dead. No one survived against a Caste like that for long. It was rare to find them alone, however, and Livi wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass.
Supposedly, the presence of Vamps made a Ware’s ears ring with a high pitched squeal, and filled them with the desire to hunt and kill. Livi had never asked a Ware, and had no desire to, but from what she’d seen over her five years on Hollow Island, the sound was as horrible to them as their smell was to her.
Here, puppy, puppy, she thought as she prowled down the street toward him. Every cell in her body was alive and undeniably drawn to him.
The moondoggie noticed her approaching and howled into the night as he turned to flee. A good sign, she thought. They only ran away in the absence of the rest of the route. Without any flashy parkour like the Bête Noires, the Ware ran for his life.
He didn’t look back until he’d run more than a block. Fear shone in his eyes when he saw she’d closed on him. Livi hissed through fangs, realizing she’d activated them. In response, he howled again as he ran. The foul scent hung in the air behind him, clogging Livi’s nostrils from fifty feet away.
They crossed into the mostly-abandoned old city, or inner city, each marking their own cadence, his feet stomping and hers clicking along the asphalt and gravel. She usually preferred strong Druids’ drums while hunting, but when it came to Wares, the less moon the better. Wares were strong, and on moony nights, even stronger. No wonder the buck dog was so scared. He wasn’t at his strongest, yet Livi was still at her fastest.
Livi’s alley was less than a quarter mile away, and the Ware was heading in the general direction. I knew something good was going to happen tonight. As much as she hated being around the beasts, nothing rivaled the high of hunting them.
Her endurance wouldn’t hold much longer, but she continued to gain ground. It was just a matter of timing to catch him at the entrance to her alley, if he continued toward it. Half of her hoped the Ware would veer and she’d have an excuse to finish him without waiting for the prime angles offered by the concentration of cameras in her alley.
Turn right, she willed, and he did. Turn left. The Ware turned left. Livi had no delusions of mind-control, but having the Ware obey her mental wishes added to her sense of superiority. Her alley was only two blocks away, straight ahead. Only ten feet behind him, she slowed to his pace.
One more intersection and he would be on the block that passed her alley. She shivered with delight when he didn’t turn. Only a second behind him, she passed the cross street and the Ware stench almost made her retch. Her gut told her something was wrong before two shapes disengaged from shadowed nooks and gave pursuit.
Fig me!
A trap. How had she been so stupid to think a lone Ware would just happen to run right in front of
her alley? My raging Vamp hormones blinded me worse than a newie in a Sprite colony.
Furious, she lunged, grabbed the dark Ware by the shoulders and sliced through both jugulars and his windpipe with her fangs. The taste was as satisfying as the odor was revolting, but she only had time for an incidental mouthful. The Ware tumbled onto the gravel, sliding to a stop perfectly centered at the mouth of her alley. In his death pose he grabbed his neck with one hand like a hairy model on a runway.
Predictably, more Wares closed in from the other end of the street. It was too late to veer off, as she sometimes did on other hunts when things got suspicious. With no escape in either direction, Livi ducked into her alley. She made it to the barrel at the back, out of breath and with stamina flagging. The mouthful of blood refreshed her, but she didn’t know how far it would get her. She always fed after all the running and fighting was done.
The daggers in the barrel combined with the half moonless night might give her a fighting chance against four Wares.
Or maybe not. Her hands closed on air; the barrel was empty. No daggers, not even her loot sack or towel.
The Wares snarled at her from the mouth of the alley and howled into the vacuous night triumphantly.
Outnumbered, unarmed, and trapped against at least four dog-loving Wares. She didn’t even have a signal like the howling to call in Vamp back up. Speed was her only hope, even though she didn’t know how much was left in the tank.
Four Wares slunk into the alley, followed by a fifth, a tall man with a full beard who continued yowling near the alley’s entrance. None of the Wares carried weapons except enhanced claws, elongated canines, and sheer muscle. The closest was a stocky woman with shaggy blonde hair, hairy brow, and sideburns to match. Like most Wares, she wore only a tank top and shorts, which showed off carpet-thick hair on her arms and legs.
The four bunched together, with the purring female at the front. Waiting as long as she dared, Livi said, “Come and get me, you bearded bitch.” She charged ahead, using the accustomed car fender as a step and spinning off the wall. The mutts reached for her, but missed as she flew past. One more Ware and she’d be free!
The tall Ware saw her coming and spread his arms, taking a wide stance, trying to herd her like she was a cow. Livi wanted to take him down like she’d done with the first Ware and rip him apart with her fangs. She wanted it as much as she wanted life itself right now. Unfortunately she had to choose life or the blood of the Ware. She showed fangs and ran straight for him, watching his eyes grow wider with every step. He had seen what she did to the first Ware.
With death looming, hundreds of memories raced through her head. The last memory of her sister, that Major League Baseball expo game in Rio de Janeiro. The winning goal, or point or whatever, was scored after an intense showdown at the home plate in which the runner slid between the catcher’s legs without being touched by the ball. Though she would never see her own footage, Livi imagined her fans watching replays of the upcoming slide over and over. Just like Vitória and Livi had in the stadium that day.
When she reached the Ware, her speed was twice that of a plebe and she slid for all her life. The Ware’s legs stayed wide, and she had plenty of momentum as leather slid on loose gravel, but she saw the Ware’s right hand come down behind him toward her bare shoulder. Like fiery pokers, his claws dug into her arm and she screamed in pain.
But she had made it to the mouth of the alley. Bleeding from the wounds, she gave them the fig then jumped up and ran in the direction she’d come from. Time to find a new alley. Maybe a new city altogether.
Two figures rounded a corner toward her. Optimism flashed momentarily, until the realization dawned that there was no one on this island who would come to her rescue. Even from half a block away she picked up the dirty dog stench of more Wares.
She had killed one and dodged five already and now just had to figure out how to get past two more. Before a plan even began to form, another pair came around the corner behind them.
I’ve walked into a figging Ware convention.
Heels skidding to a stop, she turned but didn’t bother to run. Two more Wares came from the direction she’d been trying to flee, bringing the total to an even dozen.
When they saw her freeze, obviously uncertain of her next move, the whole route lifted their heads and bayed triumphantly. Reigning in the bloodlust that ran through her veins, Livi slowly walked back toward the alley entrance, offering the eyes premium footage of the upcoming fight. She owed that much to her viewers.
She rarely thought in Portuguese anymore, but a saying from Brazil came to mind: Enquanto eu estou correndo, meu pai ainda tem uma filha. As long as I am running, my father will still have a daughter.
Livi thought of her sister, and the desire to live re-ignited inside her.
She should have planned for this—built secret hand holds into the brick, hidden more weapons somewhere, hunted with partners, realized the trap when she approached her alley. Regrets about poor planning were nothing more than a distraction and the Wares were closing in on her.
Keep thinking! Just because it’s the worst situation imaginable doesn’t mean there’s no way out.
She scanned the area, even though she’d examined the area a hundred times and specifically chosen this area because it was so inescapable. Every wall within sight was cinder block or brick, no windows. The buildings were all at least two-stories, with no drain gutters. A couple of doors were visible, but none of them had handles that could be used to open them from the outside. The corner under the two prominent eyes had some handholds scraped out of the grout, but that building was three stories with no way to get anywhere near the roof.
She still had speed to fight with, but if she somehow got past them and tried to run, she felt like the Wares would catch her within a block. Fangs out, she faced down the three small packs as they approached, trapping her at the intersection next to the body of their dead routemate. The filthy beasts continued to howl and snarl as they closed in.
“Who’s up for a one-on-one fight?” In their half-moon state she could handle even the strongest of them, if the stench didn’t kill her.
The tall Ware who had gouged her shoulder was apparently the Alpha. “We’re not Gladiators, paleface. We’re Wares, and there’s a reason we run in routes.” His canines dripped with saliva.
While Vamps’ fangs were designed for slicing and piercing, Wares’ dull canines were paired with unfathomably strong jaws. Jaws designed to break bones and tear chunks of flesh. The scratches in her shoulder would be paper cuts compared to those teeth.
The Alpha reached into his coat and produced a pair of throwing stars, and was mimicked by each of his pups. Some had wicked darts, some carried knives, and one flashed a pair of throwing hatchets. One Ware in each group produced a vial and sprinkled the clear contents on the weapons. Holy Water. That was as hard to understand as the thick silver chain double wrapped as a bracelet on a tall blond Ware’s wrist.
“You disgust me,” said Livi. “Hunting with wolfsbane? Wearing silver? That’s as bad as cannibalism.” As disturbing as it was to see them use Holy Water, Livi saw a way out.
If she could get her hands on that Holy Water and use it against them, this might just be a fight.
Scooping up a handful of gravel, she threw it toward the group on her right and charged the Alpha in the same motion. A couple of the Wares let fly with weapons. Dodging a knife on her left was easy enough, but the move brought her into the path of a thick dart, which lodged in her right shoulder. Pain flared, but she reached the Alpha.
Craving the taste of his blood, Livi lunged for his throat, but was blocked by his thick arms. Like a cornered snake, she struck again and again, trying to use her speed to get past the arms. She only had to bash her face against his wrists about half a dozen times to realize it was useless. She felt herself slowing as poison from the dart took effect. More accurately it felt like the whole world around her sped up, while she was held down by weights that
had been injected into her bloodstream. She just wanted to climb into a bed and sleep.
Two of the Wares grabbed her with hands like vices, throwing her to the ground in the center of the improvised arena.
The fallen Ware was only a foot away, and Livi’s hair mopped over a pool of his blood. At least I still look better than that guy.
With a sound that was as much snarl as laugh, the Alpha said, “The trouble with routines, is that they’re so … routine. Did you never consider that one of us would hear about your little killing ground and realize it belonged to a Vamp? And if not us, a party of Rangers could have trapped you just as easily.” Kneeling beside her, he jammed a throwing star into one of the gouges he’d given her.
If his claws were fire, then holy water on torn flesh was unquenchable lava. It ran through her veins, igniting her whole body.
Through the pain, her only thought was to take more of the mutts down with her. The dose of Holy Water wasn’t high enough to incapacitate her yet, but Livi was used to putting on an act. Reaching weakly, she crossed arms over her chest and gripped the dart in one hand, the star in the other. With a moan, she feigned exertion, then slumped onto the ground, leaving the weapons in place.
Livi heard a howl and looked up to see the Alpha, still kneeling, cupping hands over his mouth and baying for all he was worth. Stupid howling. It just went on and on.
With hands gripping in earnest, she pulled the weapons out of each shoulder and criss-crossed them through his exposed neck. A double fountain of blood sprayed down, physically and emotionally exhilarating. It was so magnificent it made it hard for her to care that soon she’d join her enemy in death.
Dexterity had faded along with speed, and as the weapons sliced and punctured the Ware’s neck, they also cut both of her hands deeply. It didn’t matter how many Wares hungered for her flesh, that much Holy Water would finish her.
A Route of Wares: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure: Hollow Island Book One Page 10