Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

“It’s not enough,” I say. “You could’ve done more. You should’ve done more.”

  Uncle Dan slams his hand on the table. “Stop. Your aunt’s not telling you the biggest reason we didn’t take action. You know where your dad’s lab was, Ruby. That’s why we couldn’t pursue it.”

  “Galveston, Texas,” I say. “WPN’s home base. Their main compound.”

  “The most heavily armed area in North America.” My uncle leans back. “Even if your dad’s lab hadn’t been controlled by WPN, there are hundreds of miles of countryside between here and there, most of it teeming with Marked kids, who we very much pitied, but we couldn’t risk traversing it with you three.”

  “We did ask you about it.” My aunt turns toward me. “You may not remember it, but we asked if you knew anything about your dad’s work, or where he would’ve stored important things. You said you didn’t know where he’d put secret stuff. Anything you knew at the time, back when your dad wrote this, you’d forgotten by the time we asked. We don’t know what he meant, but it was such a long stretch to think that we could’ve reached the lab, much less found anything once we arrived.”

  I remember lying to them about it, because I lied about anything to do with Dad’s death.

  Rhonda stands. “Why didn’t you tell the Unmarked when you arrived? Surely they’d have sent a team. WPN may be full of lunatics and zealots, but even WPN must want a cure for Tercera.”

  “We didn’t tell the leadership with the Unmarked because of a line in the journal,” my aunt says. “It implies that only Ruby can reach the cure. We didn’t want the Unmarked to take our child. We kept the secret to protect her.”

  I remember the line. “He says something like, ‘I’m putting the research somewhere only my blood can reach.’ That’s what you’re talking about?”

  My aunt nods. “But, I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think that statement may include me, too. We went yesterday to talk to Mr. Fairchild, who’s about as motivated as anyone can be. He’s passing word of this along to the Unmarked leadership in Nashville, including John Roth, and once we get approval, we’ll leave to pursue it. We’re only waiting to find out whether John might have ideas on how to initiate contact with WPN. Maybe they’d grant us permission to search. If John thinks it’s a bad idea, we’ll sneak in.”

  I square my shoulders. No more secrets. “My dad had a safe. I didn’t tell you about it because I was scared you’d make me go back. What if you get there and you can’t get it open?”

  “How can we be sure you even can ten years later?” my aunt asks. “It’s a risk either way, but we want you here. We’ve waited to act until you were safe. It’s time for us to take that risk. Not you.”

  “I remember my dad putting it in, and I can reach it. I’m the safest bet.”

  “Ruby, you can’t know for sure that you can open it,” my uncle says.

  “I’m his blood. I have the knowledge of where it is, and I need to do this.” I pause. “For Wesley.”

  My aunt and uncle both frown. “We’ve decided you’re staying. We leave tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.”

  “That’s not fair,” I say. “If—”

  A loud moaning sound fills the air, and I cover my ears. The Unmarked warning alarms sound across the entire city in one circumstance. The Mayor sounds the alarm when the perimeter’s been breached by hostiles.

  Port Gibson’s under attack.

  8

  Uncle Dan and Rhonda shoot out the door without comment, both presumably armed already. Aunt Anne and Job stand up and walk to their rooms to grab their guns. We all use guns on perimeter duty starting at age twelve, but a personal gun’s issued on each citizen’s seventeenth birthday. With my past experience, I haven’t minded the lack of one. Being left home in a crisis chafes, though.

  I put on my coat, and when they return to the kitchen I ask, “Maybe I can borrow one of Uncle Dan’s tranq guns? I’m old enough, and I’ve used them on perimeter duty a lot. I can help.”

  Aunt Anne stops. “You’ve been under supervision when guarding the perimeter at all times. You haven’t passed your certification for a real gun, so no. You can’t bring a tranq. The grim reaper spared you once this week. You’ll go to the Courthouse like protocol dictates, while Job and I report to our designated zone.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but cut off when she clenches her teeth. She never budges after that, and we don’t have time to argue.

  I follow her and Job outside, but when Job goes south toward the Medical Center, and my aunt heads for the middle school, I turn north. Back to the Courthouse, yuck. At least this time I won’t have to sit in a tiny room on the second floor and stare at the wall. I sit down on the front steps when I arrive, and put my head in my hands. Gemette won’t be here, because she turned seventeen a month ago. She already has her gun and a security assignment.

  Parents drop their kids off in waves and head for their assigned areas. Claire Hartford wipes her son Adam’s nose and tells him to be brave. Robert Emler can’t get his clinging toddler Colby to release his leg without yelling. Annie Bettin deposits several children, one of which only has one sneaker. When Tina notices the missing shoe, she starts to cry. She’s not the only kid sobbing, but I can relate to her distress. The tears began over missing footwear, but they’ve morphed into a reflection of her feelings of helplessness.

  Something’s wrong with the world, and we can’t do anything about it.

  I walk inside and squat down so we’re eye level. “Hey, Tina.” I grab the puffy sleeve of her coat with my gloved hand. “You remember me, right? I’m Ruby.”

  She nods.

  “Your dad loves to go fishing, right?” I pull her a little closer.

  She nods again and wipes at her tear-streaked cheeks.

  “Your mom and dad are doing some important stuff out there, keeping us all safe, but we get to do something really neat here. We get to play some games with all the kids in Port Gibson. And you don’t need a shoe for that. Look.”

  I take my shoes off and toss them toward the wall in the entry hall.

  When she sees my gray wool socks, she cries harder. Her nose starts to run. Great job, Ruby. “Oh, no, I—”

  “Did you say games?” A little girl with red pigtails peeking out from under her cap interrupts me.

  “Yes.” I turn toward the redhead. Distraction is the goal, so maybe she can help. “You were all in bed at home, right? Thanks to the alarm, we get to be up and out of bed. It’s basically a celebration. You don’t need shoes for a pajama party.”

  Two other kids take a few steps toward me and Tina’s bawling deescalates to hiccups.

  “Have you ever played duck-duck-goose?” I ask.

  Heads shake back and forth all around me. Pretty much every kid in the room inches closer. Tina’s still sniffling, but the rest listen quietly.

  “It’s a great game,” I say. “But you need gloves. Can you all show me your gloves?” I hold up my hands to show my gloves, and all the kids around me do the same. I sit down on the floor in the middle of the Courthouse foyer. “We all sit in a circle on the floor with your shoes off and your gloves on. Who wants to give it a try?”

  Within a few minutes, all of them are sitting in a circle, except the youngest who’s probably no more than two. She sits on my lap with her gloved thumb in her mouth. I play with them for a while, but eventually Maris, a twelve-year-old girl with long dark hair who’s training for Agriculture takes over. I slip gratefully off to a quiet corner. When the baby on my lap falls asleep, I lay her down on a cot and drape a blanket over her.

  I spent all day reading in quarantine, and then went home and argued with my aunt and uncle. Now it’s past 1:00 a.m. and I’m tired. I want to sleep, but I can’t with an attack underway. I hope my family’s safe. I wonder whether the Marked attacked. It seems more likely them than WPN, since their cities run along the coast, and Port Gibson’s a river port—nowhere near the ocean.

  I wonder whether Wesley’s found a pl
ace with the Marked. I hope he found the encampment that’s closest to us. I can’t imagine he’d join any kind of attack on his hometown. I listen for gunfire, my breath puffing out in front of me as I wait, almost like time has frozen around me. I sit outside for a while counting shots. Twelve so far. Ice crystals have formed on the weeds at the base of the steps since I came out. I ought to go back inside before I freeze, too.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” a deep voice says.

  I turn toward Sam. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. How long has he been standing there?

  “You pulled babysitting duty?” I ask. “How sad for you.”

  I turn back and rest my chin on my arms. I hate that I’m sitting here like a kid, listening and vainly trying to figure out what’s going on instead of seeing it for myself. Less than a week stands between me and a security assignment. I’ve dreaded being issued a firearm for years, but with Sam watching me sit with the children, I dunno. I may finally be ready.

  “Why are you here anyway?” I ask. “Aren’t you my uncle’s top guy?”

  “Your uncle sent me. Ask him.”

  My stomach clenches suddenly. What if my uncle dies? Then who would go after the cure? I hear another gunshot. A lot of bullets are flying around tonight.

  “I hope he’s okay,” I say.

  “He was fine half an hour ago when he sent me here,” Sam says.

  That answers my question of how long he’s been standing there. I wonder how long he sat and watched me staring off into nothing before saying something. “What’s going on out there? Who’s attacking?”

  “The Marked,” he says. “Who else?”

  “But why? What do they want? They haven’t attacked in over a year, and that was during a drought. They were starving, which made sense. It was less of an attack and more of an emphatic petition.”

  He shrugs, then walks down the steps and sits next to me. He sits so close, I can feel the heat radiating off of him. Everyone seems big to me, with my slight frame, but he’s massive. He even makes Rhonda, at almost six feet tall, look delicate. I’m like a kitten next to a Rottweiler.

  We sit in silence for several minutes, both immersed in our own thoughts. I smell him, but not like I always smelled Wesley. Sam certainly isn’t wearing cologne. He smells like leather, gunmetal, sweat, and the woods, but for some reason, it isn’t gross. I almost like it.

  He obviously doesn’t feel the need to fill the space around us with words. I’d always thought of Sam as being kind of dumb, but after all the arguing that went on at home this evening, I have a newfound appreciation for silence.

  When he stands suddenly and without apparent reason, I feel bereft, cold, and alone. Several moments later, a patrol comes into view. How had he seen it that far out? When I stand for a better view, he moves in front of me so fast he’s a blur. The wall of his body blocks my view completely.

  “Who’s there?” Sam asks.

  “Trevor Stayley and Jonas Hill,” a high tenor says.

  “And how’s it going?”

  “They’ve pushed them back out beyond the wall. We still have to secure the perimeter and do sweeps.” When I lean around Sam, I can barely make out the short stocky man who’s talking in the dark. It’s Trevor. “It was definitely an attack, not a raid. They weren’t after supplies.”

  “I know. I was in Zone Six earlier.” Sam’s shoulders are tense, like he’s ready for a fight.

  “Is something wrong?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head slightly in response, then says, “Any orders?”

  Trevor says, “No, I think it’s almost over. They don’t have the resources to really push. Stay in place. Once the alarm sounds again, you can release the kids to their parents.”

  Sam’s shoulders relax, and he sits down. I circle around and sit next to him.

  He raises one eyebrow. “Minors stay inside. They could’ve been a threat.”

  I toss my head. “Oh, please. It’s not like they could even see me around your ginormous chest.”

  He cocks his head to one side and raises one eyebrow, but his eyes scan the street. That’s Sam’s problem. He’s always too focused on work. I should go inside. If nothing else, it’s warmer in there, but for some reason, I want to stay and see more. I’ve never seen him like this, and I scoot a little closer. Heat rolls off him in waves, like a furnace.

  “The Marked attacking without provocation is weird,” I say.

  Sam grunts.

  I wonder. “Who would be in charge of Defense for Port Gibson if my uncle were to leave? Temporarily, I mean.”

  Sam turns toward me. “Did it get approved?”

  My jaw drops. “You know about my aunt and uncle’s plans?”

  “Your uncle tells me most everything. He had to in this case, because I’ll be in charge while he’s gone.”

  “I should go with them,” I say. “If they insist on going, that’s fine, but it’s my dad’s research, and I know more about that condo and the safe he installed than anyone else.”

  Sam sighs. “Your uncle got a gold medal in sharp shooting at two Olympic Games. He’s the perfect person to run the ops on a trip down to WPN, and he has the best odds of getting through in a tactical op.”

  “I’m fine with letting him come. He can even run point, but they should bring me.”

  “Why?” Sam asks. “So you can feel useful?”

  Blood rushes into my cheeks. “They may need me, my blood, or my DNA or my fingerprint, to get into the safe.”

  “Your aunt is the Unmarked’s foremost medical researcher. If anyone can figure out how to crack a safe that’s biologically linked, it’s her. We receive training on breaking safes in Defense, too.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “When the CentiCouncil wants something hidden, who do you think pursues that?”

  “Defense?”

  He nods. “Besides. Even if your aunt couldn’t go or went and couldn’t extricate the information from the safe, your uncle can bring it back to Port Gibson. You can open it here, in safety.”

  “He’ll bring it how exactly? Rip it out of the wall?” I wonder about Sam sometimes. I really do. “You’re right. Tearing hidden safes out of concrete sounds simpler than letting me tag along.”

  He quirks one eyebrow at me.

  “You think I should sit here and wait for them to come back with the cure?”

  Sam glances back at the kids behind us. “You’re young and untrained. You should stay inside the walls of Port Gibson where we can keep you safe.”

  “Who’s we? You and Rhonda?”

  “She’s almost as good a shot as her dad.”

  I wonder whether anything’s going on between Rhonda and Sam. They’re in Defense together, and now that I think about it, Rhonda talks about him a lot. They’re both prodigies in every form of fighting, and they’re both so gorgeous it’s like a slap in the face to look at them. Besides, Sam may be the only guy in Port Gibson tall enough to date her.

  Why hadn’t I considered this before? And now that it’s occurred to me, why does it bother me? I need to know.

  It’s better to be completely clear with Sam. He doesn’t pick up on my subtle questions, or if he does, he ignores them. “How long have you been seeing Rhonda?”

  He glances my way, face scrunched up. “What?”

  “I’m pretty good at reading people, you know.”

  He laughs, full-throated and deep. Sam doesn’t laugh too often.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You talk a lot.”

  “You never say anything.”

  He rolls his eyes upward.

  “I can do this all day,” I say. “I’m like a squirrel with a nut.”

  Still nothing but a lopsided smile.

  I need to shake him up. “At least tell me if she’s a good kisser.”

  Sam looks gob smacked. “I would never kiss Rhonda.”

  My heart stutters. Why am I relieved? Wesley’s face flashes through my mind
. I feel guilty for even talking to Sam when I should be inside instead. Which is stupid. Even if I did like Sam, which I don’t, I’d have no reason to feel bad about it. Wesley’s gone. He and I aren’t anything.

  “You wouldn’t?” I ask.

  “She’s like my sister.”

  “Oh.” Which makes me the annoying younger sister. We did all grow up together, so that makes sense.

  The alarm bells sound.

  “Wait until the kids are gone, and I’ll walk you home,” he says.

  Great. Sam thinks of me like his sister, and now he wants to walk me home to make sure I’m okay. “Are you crazy? I’m not a dog. I don’t need to be walked. They wouldn’t sound the alarm unless everything was clear.”

  He stares at me for too long. “Fine.”

  I run home as fast as I can. I want to talk to my uncle and convince them to take me along, but when I get home, no one else is there. I brush my teeth and change into pajamas. Still alone, I lay down on my bed and close my eyes.

  Memories of Wesley crowd my mind, jumbling my thoughts. He’s Marked, and my dad created Tercera. Dad’s partner released it, and I can find the cure, I just know it.

  Ten years ago, I hid in a closet while my dad got shot. I didn’t step out to defend him against the freckled man. I didn’t call the police or the paramedics. I was too cowardly to act, and the world fell apart. My aunt compounded the problem by thinking our safety mattered more than the lives of hundreds of thousands.

  No more catastrophically bad calls. My aunt and uncle want to go without me? Too bad. I’m leaving tomorrow headed for Galveston, with or without their permission.

  9

  The rumbling of my belly wakes me up. When I finally pry my eyes open, I glance out my window and realize I slept in pretty badly. I want to stay here, tucked inside warm blankets. Except I need energy to confront my aunt and uncle and demand they take me along. My whole body shivers with cold, and my stomach growls while I check on the chickens. I pump some water for them, fill their grain bin and take the eggs back inside. I fry the eggs and stick some crusty two-day old bread in the toaster oven. I wolf down several pieces of toast and three eggs before my stomach stops threatening to revolt.