New Bloods Boxset

by Michelle Bryan

  The Prezedant’s Army! My heart pounds in my chest, and I grab the reins tighter for fear they will slip out of my sweat-soaked hands.

  “Don’t look back, just ride,” Jax shouts in my ear, and I know he’s right but deep down in my gut I fear we’re doomed. We may be able to outride them on Busher’s horse, but Winnie don’t stand a chance against those beasts. And there ain’t no way in hell I’m leaving Finn behind.

  Oh gods, why didn’t I make Finn ride with me, I think as I look over at him hanging on for dear life to Tater, his eyes closed in fear.

  And that’s all it takes; that one moment of inattention.

  I hear Jax’s shout of, “Look out!” an instant before the horse stumbles, and I find myself flying through the air. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked clean outta me. The loose rocks on the mountain trail bite painfully into my face and hands as I slide across them before coming to a stop. The beast we were riding gallops past me, rider less and missing my head by a hair. Dazed and breathless, I hear Finn’s cry of “Tater, stop!” and I know right away what he and Tater are about to do.

  “Don’t you dare stop.” I try to scream at him. “Keep movin’,” but it comes out as a whimper. I have no voice. I push myself to my knees and watch in horror as Finn jumps from Winnie’s back and heads straight for me, unaware of the brown-robed rider closing in on him. I watch as the rider leans low in his saddle, arm outstretched, ready to scoop Finn off the ground and take him away. Take him to the madman.

  “Finn,” I try to warn him, but he cain’t hear me over the pounding hooves. The rider is on top of him now, the arm encircling his waist, and I see Finn’s eyes go big with fear.

  “Nooooooooo,” The scream is forced from my lungs as I try to push to my feet. I have to do something. The slug whistles over my head, and I duck instinctively. They’re shooting at us, I think at first, but then I see the rider about to grab Finn fall from his saddle. His foot still entangled in the stirrup, he’s dragged by his horse away from Finn and bashed mercilessly about by the rocky terrain. Finn, finally realizing the danger, takes cover behind a large boulder. I whirl around to find Jax standing above me, shooter aimed and ready. The shot had come from Jax. He’d fired on the rider.

  “We gotta move,” he yells, the noise of the approaching riders almost drowning out his words. I just stare at him, dumbfounded. He grabs my shoulder and shakes me hard.

  “Run, you idiot.”

  I hear him yelling. I do. I can see the men bearing down on us too, but I don’t move. It’s happening. The blood starts pounding through my veins. The buzzing starts in my ears, and I’m taken over by a dead calm. There’s anger and hatred like before, but those feelings lay simmering beneath the overlying quiet. I pull the shooter I’d taken and focus on my first target.

  I zone in, calm and focused, as if the iron shooter is just an extension of my body. With no hesitation I fire, and the soldier falls from his horse. I do it again … and again, each shot finding its target true. I feel no guilt, no remorse. Just this calm. I don’t know when they start returning fire, but it galvanizes Tater and Jax out of their shocked stupor and into action. The sound of shooter fire is all around me, but it’s no more bothersome to me than a maskeeto buzzing. My focus is intense and concentrated.

  I watch a brown-robed rider approach Jax from behind. I watch him lift his shooter and aim. I see all this, but it’s like I ain’t seeing it with my own eyes. It’s like I’m watching from off to the side in total indifference. In response, I aim my own barrel and fire a hole into the middle of the rider’s forehead. I witness the bloody debris bloom out, but I feel no repulsion, no disgust at my actions. It’s like I’m encased in some deep, freezing cold that not even this horror can penetrate. The rider falls from his horse as his shooter explodes. Almost in slow motion, I push Jax out of harm’s way as the slug sucker-punches me in the gut.

  The force of the slug’s impact is enough to send me stumbling back a couple of steps, but I don’t feel no pain. My hand explores the wound at my stomach before I lift it in front of my face. The hand is covered in blood. My blood. I shield the wound again as if doing so will stop the bleeding. I raise my head then and look around.

  There’s so many of them, I think. So many riders of death. Surrounding us, boxing us in. We’re going to die. I know that. Right here, right now. Me, Finn, Tater, Jax … all dead, and there’s nuthin’ I can do. We’re all going to die just like Grada and Molly and everybody else at the hands of these same madmen.

  My calm finally evaporates, and the anger begins to take over. I feel it bubble to the surface like a tapped well and explode into every fiber of my being. It’s so big I cain’t contain it. It overwhelms me, like my whole body is filled with fire. I lift my eyes to the darkening sky, open my mouth, and scream just to release it before it consumes me. A wall of dust and earth starts to rise up before my eyes, forming between me and the Army, blinding me to them.

  A sand storm! I think frantically. Really? As if the Army isn’t threat enough, now we’re going to have the very breath stripped from our bodies by the suffocating sands of a dirt devil? I search for the others to warn them, to tell them to run, but I cain’t see them no more. I cain’t see anybody. I’m all alone.

  Dying and alone, I think as I fall to my knees, the wall of sand closing in on me. The last thought in my muddled brain as my life’s blood seeps through my fingers is at least I didn’t get hit in the head again.

  5

  Gray Valley

  The tall, green stalks ripple and sway in the cool, morning breeze. There’s so much corn, as far as the eye can see. I ain’t ever seen the fields so full. It’s like the stories of the old folk have come to be right in front of me. I stand for a bit just admiring the waves of corn, wishing Ben was here to see it. He never would have believed this possible. Deep down, I think he truly thought the old folks had lied to us with their settlers’ stories. That their stories about fields of crops were shite. But here they are, spread out before me plain as day.

  I suddenly take notice of a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the field. How did I not see him before? I squint a bit into the sun, but his back is to me; I cain’t quite tell who it is. I start moving closer. I don’t know why, but there’s this urgent need to find out who it is. I don’t get far however, before familiar whistling reaches my ears, and I stop in my tracks frozen in disbelief. Grada?

  He’s standing in the middle of the waist-high crops, whistling as he picks the golden harvest, his battered, old hat pushed back on his gray head. How is this even possible? I think. Is this even real? The sunshine warming the top of my head and the breeze blowing on my face feels real, sure enough. He turns then and sees me, and that familiar smile lights up his face.

  “Tara, girl.”

  “Grada!” I run to him, not giving a care for how it’s possible. It just is. I run through the corn, ignoring the stalks slapping at my face and straight into his strong arms. He lifts me up high just like when I was a little girl. I hug him real tight and bury my face in his worn tunic. He smells of earth and root wad and … home. I’m home.

  “I thought I’d lost you, Grada, for good.” I’m bawling like a baby, my tears soaking his shirt, but I cain’t help it.

  He chuckles quietly, and I can feel it rumbling in his chest. “Don’t be foolish, girlie. I’m with you always,” he says, and I look up into his wrinkled face.

  “But you were dead, Grada. Those men, they killed you. All of you were gone. Molly, Shelly, Miz Emma, all dead.”

  “Aye, that we are. But that don’t mean we ain’t with you, girl. Look around.”

  I do as he says, and I realize beyond the field lays Rivercross, but it ain’t the Rivercross I remember. The shanties are gone, replaced by new and sturdy-looking wood cabins. The ground ain’t no dusty, hard-packed soil neither. Instead green grass sprouts cover the land like a warm blanket. And flowers … so many flowers, every color you can imagine. And there are people everywhere: Molly, Shelly,
Thomas, everybody. They’re all there. I stare unbelieving as Lou looks up from his still and waves at me.

  “Am I dreamin’?” I ask and Grada chuckles again.

  “Maybe you is, maybe you ain’t,” he says, his eyes twinkling like they always do when he’s teasing me.

  “It’s so beautiful. What happened here?” I say in wonder.

  “Nuthin’ … and everything,” Grada answers, confusing me even more. “This is your home, Tara. It’s how your heart sees it: beautiful, whole, perfect. It’s as it was meant to be.”

  Suddenly, I know he’s right. This is how the world was meant to be, how it had been. Alive, green, plentiful. It ain’t supposed to be the dusty, barren land that we know it as. The beauty of the land, the fields, of seeing everybody … it’s so overwhelming I just wanna cry again. But then that nagging, bitter thought surfaces, and my smile slowly fades away.

  “Grada, did you all die ‘cause of me? Was I the reason the evil came to Rivercross?” I say, needing to know yet fearing the answer.

  He chuckles quietly again and squeezes my shoulders. “Is that what you think, child?” He shakes his head at me. “Evil came to Rivercross ‘cause, well, that’s what evil does. It spreads like a dark plague and don’t give a care for nuthin’ or nobody that stands in its way. It would have found Rivercross sooner or later. You couldn’t have stopped what happened no more than I could have stopped you from growing up and trust me, I tried.”

  An intense rush of relief flows over me. It wasn’t my fault. Grada said it wasn’t my fault, and he would never lie to me about this, would he?

  “But things have been happenin’ to me, Grada,” I say, still not quite believing my innocence. “People are callin’ me names, sayin’ I’m supposed to be this thing called a New Blood. New Bloods, they draw evil. That’s what Jax believes. If it’s true, and I am this thing—”

  “What will be, will be, Tara,” he says, cutting off my words. “Everything has a destiny, whether it be a wild hog or a sand biter or you. And your destiny, my girl, it’s a wondrous one indeed. New Blood or not, you are meant to do great things.”

  I ain’t ever known Grada to speak in riddles before. What exactly is he trying to say? Is he saying I ain’t a New Blood after all? I close my eyes, just for an instant, trying to make sense of his words. The cool, morning breeze that felt so good on my face earlier changes just like that, to a hot, scorching heat. I open my eyes again, wishing I hadn’t done so. Everything I’d just witnessed is gone. Everything burnt away, nuthin’ left but charred remains. No cornfield, no flowers, no Grada. Only black, smoldering ruins.

  “Grada,” I scream in frustration and searching the blackened landscape. I just got him back. I cain’t lose him again. There’s so much more I need to say to him. To ask him. It ain’t fair.

  “Tara,” the voice that answers me ain’t Grada, but it’s just as familiar. He’s standing at the other end of the burnt field, almost glowing against the blackness of the scorched background.

  “Ben,” I feel such intense happiness at seeing him my heart almost explodes at the sheer joy.

  “Ben … everything is burnt. Gone,” I say.

  “I know, Tar Tar, but you can fix it.”

  “I don’t know how,” I say as I try to walk to him. But with each step I take, he gets further away.

  “Ben. Wait.” My voice is frantic.

  “Found a good patch of berries by the old swimmin’ hole,” his voice is fading away. “Ma was real pleased …”

  “Ben,” I yell again, but I cain’t run after him ‘cause now there’s hands holding me back. Rooting me in place. “Ben, come back.” I struggle, but the hands won’t let me go. I cain’t shake them off no matter how hard I try.

  “Let me go!’ I try kicking and struggling, but they just seem to hold me tighter.

  “Tara. It’s okay. Stop fighting.”

  The familiar voice reaches my consciousness at some level and snaps me awake. My eyes open to faces looming above me. They swim in and out of focus, but I know Finn is there and Jax … and another face, one I don’t recognize. It’s this face I focus on ‘cause the blue eyes that seem so familiar to me ain’t filled with the disgust I’m used to seeing in them but compassion.

  “It’s okay, dear girl. You’re safe.” Her voice is soothing and calm and I know she’s speaking the truth. I stop struggling and the hands loosen their grip.

  I’ve been dreaming, I think. Grada and Ben, they weren’t real. It was all a dream. I’m left bereft at the realization that I ain’t in Rivercross at all, but laying in a bed. My gut feels like it’s been ripped open by a devil cat. I was shot. I remember that. Tentatively, I reach down and feel the cloth bandage wrapped around me.

  The blue-eyed lady smiles at me before moving my hand away. “You’re going to be fine; you just need to rest.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. She’s gonna be fine and all, but I think she broke my nose.” Jax’s voice is strangely muffled, and I look over at him. He’s holding his nose, and there’s blood dripping down his arm. Had he been shot too?

  “What … ” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “What happened to you?”

  “You punched me is what, you crazy freak. All I was doing was trying to hold you down so you wouldn’t tear open your wound and you sucker-punched me in the nose,” he says, not trying to hide his anger at all.

  “Well, I guess you should count yourself lucky I didn’t punch any lower,” I mutter back, and Finn’s bark of laughter holds a tinge of relief.

  “Hey Finn,” I say, eyeing him as he hovers anxiously in the background. He moves around the still irritable Jax to get to me, and he takes my outstretched hand. It’s good to see him. “You okay?”

  He nods and settles himself beside me on the canvas mattress. He sniffs and wipes his hand across his nose.

  “You almost died.” The accusation is heavy in his eyes as well as his words.

  His remark scares me some, but I don’t show it. Instead, I poke him gently in the chest.

  “Now, what did Tater tell you about me while we were in the raiders’ cage?”

  “That you was too thick-skulled to die.”

  “Aye, and for once he was right,” I say and give his hand a little squeeze. He gives me his gap-toothed grin and squeezes back. Totally awake now, my dreams fading quickly, I look ‘round the little room we’re in, take in my surroundings. It ain’t no shanty; that’s for certain.

  Besides the bed I’m lying in, there’s a tall, wooden chest in the corner painted with all sorts of drawings of flowers. A window covered with real painted shutters, not tin scraps. And what looks to be dolls in every corner. Peg dolls just like the ones Grada used to make me when I was a young’un. There are also carved, wooden dolls and other sorts I don’t recognize, but they are plentiful.

  “What is this place?” I say in awe. It’s so pretty looking and clean. You can smell the freshness. I almost feel guilty about my stinky carcass lying in the fresh bed. Almost. Jax is still busy acting all wounded with his nose, and the blue-eyed lady is doing her best to look at it but he ain’t giving her an easy time, so it’s up to Finn to answer me.

  “This is Gray Valley. Jax brought us here. This is his cabin, and that’s his ma.”

  His ma. No wonder those blue eyes seemed so familiar. She’d passed them on to her boy. But she seems nice, kind, caring even. How is Jax any son of hers?

  “How did we get here? The Army …, ” I trail off remembering my last thoughts. Of how we were all going to die. We’d been surrounded—by the Army and a dust storm—with no way out. I was gut shot, but yet here we are; here I am, alive. For the first time since I’d met him, Finn regards me with a look akin almost to fear. Is he scared of me? Shizen. What happened for him to look at me like that? That look on his face, it hurts me more than any shooter wound could ever do.

  “Finn?” I say, my voice gentle. “What happened?”

  “Was a freak dust storm.” Jax interrupts, pushing his ma aside a
nd striding over to Finn. He grips the boy’s shoulder and nods to the boy. “Right, Finn? The gods sure were watching over us. Come out of nowhere and gave us perfect cover to escape.”

  “Aye,” Finn agrees, but he don’t look at me. He’s looking at the floor. “We got away and rode for four days to get here.”

  Four days? Holy hell. I don’t remember riding for four days. I don’t remember nuthin’.

  “Tater?” I say, but Jax nods.

  “He’s fine and that mule of his as well. Even that she devil belonging to Finn here is okay though she’s given a few of the villagers a scare or two.”

  We all made it? “How—”

  “Ma, maybe you can go let Tater know of Tara’s recovery,” Jax cuts me off. “I’m sure between the pints of ale he’s been downing, there’s a real concern for her well-being there somewhere.”

  Her eyes are questioning, but all she says is, “Of course, dear,” and leaves us, sending me a reassuring smile.

  Jax waits for her to be out of earshot before he turns back to me. “Look, I know you’re full of questions, but maybe now isn’t the right time.”

  “How did we escape, Jax?” I demand, and my tone leaves no room for argument. I need to know what happened. They fall silent, both him and Finn, and they exchange a look. That look irritates me more so than their silence ‘cause it says to me they share a bond and a secret. Jax has no right to have a bond with Finn. No right.

  “Tell me,” I say through gritted teeth. I know I sound desperate, but that’s how I’m feeling. Something ain’t right.

  It’s Finn who speaks. “You don’t remember nuthin’, Tara?”

  I shake my head. “I … I recall being surrounded, and I was shot. Then that wall of sand …” Suddenly a memory of a brown-robed rider with a red, gaping wound in his head pops into my brain, and I gasp. “Oh gods! I shot some of ‘em! I killed ‘em!”