Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  “Look, I’m not pregnant. None of us—”

  “Then what,” Beefy asks, “are ya’ll doing here?”

  We don’t know what to say. Do we tell the truth or lie? I scramble for a lie that might earn us forgiveness for shooting Dax. The suppressant’s failing for some of them. If Marked kids are getting pregnant . . . and coming here for WPN to marry them . . .

  Wesley told me once that if you have to lie, stick as close to the truth as possible. “We all got Marked in the last attack on Port Gibson—thanks for that by the way—and now we’re dying just like you, only faster. Since WPN’s the only religious group left, and we want a wedding, we heard they would do them down here.”

  Beefy squints at me, and then glances over to Sam and Job. “Who’s gettin hitched?”

  I sputter. I can’t really say Sam and I are, and I don’t want to say Sam and Rhonda are. Before I can respond, Sam says, “We are.” He points at me.

  I grin ear to ear.

  Scar grunts. “Congratulations.” He coughs and turns to me. “Are you sure, though?”

  “Sure about . . .?”

  “Sure you wanna get married? You could try the suppressant. It only starts failing after ten years or so. You could have a decade ahead of you. If you marry that guy, it’s one or two good years, tops.”

  I want to scream. I got my period two years ago! Why does everyone think I’m a kid? I have make-up on! Since he’s still holding a gun, and my friends are all trapped under a net, I stay calm. “I can’t take the suppressant.”

  “Fine, marry the meathead. What do I care?”

  “No one’s marrying him. He shot me!” Dax waves his gun at Sam. “I don’t care if he’s one of us or not. He has to pay.”

  Scar shakes his head. “Calm down, Dax. He told the truth. He clipped your shoulder, and that’s all. We can’t shoot people for defending themselves.”

  “You have bigger problems anyway,” Sam says. “The WPN patrol we ran into told us they’re planning to eliminate the Marked population in a few weeks.”

  Scar raises one eyebrow. “Why would they do that now, after a decade of peace?”

  “Let my friends out of the net,” I say, “and we’ll explain.” This is getting ridiculous.

  “Don’t let them out,” Dax says. “Not that one. He needs to pay.”

  “How about restitution?” I ask. “He’ll give you a gun.”

  Scar growls. “How do you have so many weapons, anyway?”

  “The WPN patrol that attacked us dragged us to one of their storage facilities,” I say. “After we took them out, we took whatever we wanted.”

  “How bout you give us all them weapons,” Beefy says.

  “You aren’t in charge,” Scar says. “And we don’t want to leave them defenseless if they’re going to petition WPN.”

  I like Scar.

  “But I think they can spare more than one.” Scar motions to Sam. “We’ll let you out, but Dax gets a new gun, and so does each one of us.”

  Sam opens his mouth to argue, but I shake my head this time. He can deal with it. I saw him take several extra guns at the WPN warehouse. I’m not sure how many he has, but it’s enough to share.

  Dax leans over and picks up the gun Sam dropped when the net hit. “I’ll take this one.”

  “No way,” Sam says.

  I glare at him. “It’s fine, Dax. Go ahead.” A raindrop plops on my hand. I glance up. It’s overcast, but no downpour yet.

  Beefy slings her shotgun around to her back and picks up Rhonda’s. “This one’ll work nice.”

  The girl with the dirty hair, I think Scar called her Tweak, picks up my gun and smiles. She’s missing two teeth. “I’ve never had a gun. Does it work like a bow?”

  “No stupid, it’s way better.” Beefy scowls at the skinny girl before turning toward Sam. “You better got another one, cuz you still owe Sean.”

  “I have another in my bag,” Sam says, “but you’ll have to release the net, or I can’t reach it.”

  Scar, err, Sean, nods his head. Dax and Sean keep their guns trained on Sam and Job, while the two girls tuck their weapons in their waistbands.

  “Does water ruin it?” Tweak asks.

  “Does it ruin what?” Sean asks.

  “My new gun. I ain’t never had one, and it’s starting to rain.”

  Sean snorts.

  Sam says, “It won’t ruin it, but you’ll need to clean it well when you reach cover.”

  The lank-haired girl and Beefy cut the ties securing the net. Sam leaps free a nanosecond later, and helps Job and Rhonda extricate themselves.

  “If you could tell us the quickest route to wherever WPN performs the ceremonies,” I say, “we’d appreciate it.”

  Dax frowns. “I think they only do them on certain days.” He glances at Sean. “D’you know when?”

  Sean shrugs. “No, but they do them at St. Mary of the Miraculous Medal, I think.” He pulls a walkie out of his pocket. “We’ve got a party here, Marked, looking for a ceremony. Over.”

  Static. Then a voice, crackly. “St. Mary’s. Over.”

  “I know that,” Sean says, “but when? Over.”

  “They might catch one today. Then not for at least two days. Over.”

  Sean nods at Sam. “Maybe y’all should hurry. You might get lucky.”

  “Not much luck for me lately,” I say. “Or at least, not the good kind.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Sean says. “Marked this week, you said?”

  I nod.

  “It’s a big orange building over on Ninth Avenue by a lotta schools,” Beefy says.

  Sean nods. “Ya’ll got a map?”

  “We do, thanks. We’ll head that direction.”

  I glance at Rhonda. Her mascara’s running, making her resemble a raccoon, but she’s up and moving.

  I swear under my breath. More than her mascara’s running.

  My hand flies to my forehead. It’s wet, too. I catch Sam’s eye. “Sweetheart, we better hurry. We don’t want to miss them, but I don’t want to get married sopping wet, either.”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  But it’s too late. Something in my voice must’ve alerted him, or maybe we were always doomed. Sean looks from me to Sam and then toward Rhonda and Job. He grabs his walkie. “They aren’t Marked,” he says. “I need backup.”

  Sam pulls two new guns so fast I don’t see the motion. We’re lucky he’s not pinned under a net anymore. “You will let us go, or I’ll do more than clip your shoulder.”

  Rhonda’s got a gun in her hand again too, and she’s facing off against the two girls.

  “Who are you?” Sean asks. “Why are you really here?”

  “We’re just passing through. We mean you no harm, that’s true,” Sam says. “Don’t make this into something bigger than it is.”

  “We’ve doubled our patrols lately,” Sean says.

  “Cuz we’re looking for someone,” Beefy says. “Someone that looks like that little girl, there.” She spits in the bush next to me and wipes her mouth on her shoulder.

  “I’m nobody,” I say.

  “Nobodies don’t say that,” Sean says.

  There’s a rustling in the brush behind us.

  Before I can turn to see what the noise is, Sam pushes me behind him and roundhouse kicks a newcomer in the face. Our would-be attacker collapses in a heap, but at least a dozen more appear. Dax, Sean, Beefy and Tweak are aiming our own guns at us.

  A tall man with mahogany skin and long black hair, clearly not on hormone suppressants, stands at the front with his handgun pointed at us. Sam holds a gun in each hand, one aimed at the tall black-haired man, the other aimed at Sean. I can barely make out the Mark on the tall man’s forehead, but it’s there. The Marked have us between a rock and an infected place.

  Sam says, “You may get me, but I’ll take all of you with me. That’s not boasting. It’s a fact.”

  “I believe you,” the tall man says. “You look like you know how to han
dle yourself, but it’s an unnecessary threat. We have no quarrel with you.”

  I peek out from behind Sam, despite his efforts to push me back.

  Sean lowers his gun. He doesn’t want to shoot me, I can tell. His voice is plaintive, almost wounded, when he asks, “Why pretend to be Marked?”

  “We mean you no harm,” the man says to me, taking a step toward us. “In fact, we’ve been looking for you. You’re the Promised. We welcome you.”

  The Promised? What in the world? They’re out of their minds. The Marked must’ve heard about my dad’s journal and somehow twisted that into me having the cure or knowledge of it. Ironically, their interference could prevent me from getting them the real deal.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not the ‘Promised’ or whatever. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I really am no one special.”

  “Oh you’re her, all right,” the man says. “They’ve believed for years you’d come if only they were patient. There’ve been legends about you, but we didn’t know who you were exactly until recently. You fit the description perfectly. The boss knows someone who knows you himself, and he told me all about you. Bright blue eyes. Pale, thick, curly blonde hair. Thin. Gorgeous. Besides, who but the Promised would pretend to be Marked? Anyone else would be too afraid to be near us. It’s you for sure, and we have our orders. The boss was clear. Bring you to him alive, no matter what. We recently found out your name. Ruby Behl, right?”

  I gasp. That can’t be right. Who’s this boss, or the person he knows? What could he possibly want with me? How does he know me? It has to be related to my dad’s work. It’s too big a coincidence otherwise, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Or prophecies.

  “What? Who—” I say.

  Although the man speaks to me, he keeps his gun trained on Sam. “Come with us Ruby. Don’t resist, and we’ll let your friends go. We’ve got no claim to the rest of you, as long as you don’t fight.” He gestures at Job, Rhonda and Sam. “We only need the girl.”

  Before I can protest that they have things all mixed up, a voice rings out, clear and firm. “You’re wrong, all of you. She isn’t your Promised. I’m Ruby Behl. See for yourself if I don’t fit that description better. I’ll go with you, if you let my friends go.”

  Rhonda.

  Blonde hair. Thin. Blue eyes. Darker blue than mine, but apparently this boss didn’t specify. Undeniably beautiful—much more so than me. With our hair pulled back, who would know Rhonda’s hair isn’t curly?

  Rhonda’s gaze slams into me like a ton of stone. “Go,” she mouths the words.

  I appreciate her sacrifice, but this feels all wrong. She has my blood, so she can access the safe. They were planning to leave me behind anyway, an hour ago.

  All I have to do is tell them her hair isn’t curly. They already suspect me. Before I can, Sam pulls me against him, my face turned into his shoulder. I push against him, desperate to expose Rhonda as a fraud.

  Sam whispers. “They’ll Mark you for sure. They’re crazy. Rhonda knows what she’s doing.”

  “They said you could leave,” I say. “I’m staying.”

  Sam shakes his head. “We need you in Galveston. Rhonda told me.”

  Sam shushes me in time for me to see Rhonda walk across the boggy ground toward their leader. Two paces away, she pulls her gun out in one smooth movement. She holds it up and my heart flies to my throat. Who’s she shooting?

  Sam doesn’t shift. He expected this, whatever it is. He pulls me away, but I resist. I need to know what’s going on.

  Rhonda puts the gun up to her own temple. “You’ll let my friends leave now—right now—before you touch me. I won’t trust you otherwise, and I’m dead serious that I will put a bullet in my head if you don’t free them right now.”

  “No. No!” I scream, but it’s too late.

  Sam slings me over his back and runs. Job takes a few beats longer, but catches up to us within a few dozen yards. I watch Rhonda as long as I can, the rain sluicing down her perfect features, her eyes ablaze like a goddess, utterly unafraid. The tall, dark man watches us leave with a pained look, but he doesn’t stop us. My thrashing finally stops Sam a few hundred yards away.

  He finally puts me down when I almost slip out of his hands. His scowl makes me nervous, but I have questions.

  “Why did she do that? Why are we letting her?” The rain falls in sheets, making it hard to see or hear.

  “We have to keep moving,” Sam says.

  Job speaks, his voice dull and despondent. “We had to leave before they thought to detain us. They think you can’t be Marked Ruby, which means they think Rhonda can’t either. Once they’re proven wrong, they’d insist on testing you.”

  I shake my head and water flies into my eyes. “But why? Dad’s journal?”

  Sam shrugs. “They’re grasping at straws. The suppressant’s failing and they’re scared.”

  “We need to go back,” I say. “They might shoot her when the Mark appears.”

  “It would appear on you, just like her.” Sam doesn’t break stride. “Her only hope now is a cure.”

  “Or I can go back and tell them I’m Ruby Behl.”

  The anger in Job’s face pulls me up short. “She already sacrificed herself for you, so don’t bother pretending to be noble now. It’s too late. You’re not a heroine and no one expects it.”

  A slap wouldn’t have stung this badly. “I didn’t ask her to lie for me. I didn’t even want it.”

  “You could’ve fooled me,” Job says.

  Sam’s shove sends Job sprawling in the mud. “You’re a moron. I carried her off before they decided we were all a bunch of liars and Marked us all. I couldn’t have passed for Ruby or I’d have stayed in her place. Ruby wouldn’t have thought to threaten to kill herself so the rest of us could escape, but Rhonda’s been trained to think that way. Stop acting like a baby and get moving.”

  When Job stands up, his backside coated with mud, he glares at Sam, but doesn’t speak. In ten years, I’ve never seen them fight. It’s my fault, just like everything else.

  When Job stands still staring at his hands, Sam gets right in his face. “And if you ever talk to Ruby like that again, whether you’re her brother or not, I’ll permanently rearrange your face. We clear?”

  Job nods, and starts running. The rain falls all around us, churning up mud, but otherwise, washing the world clean. Even Job’s back clears off as time passes, but my mind can’t be repaired so easily. Job’s words haunt me. He knows I’m a useless coward.

  All the rain in the world can’t wash me clean. My sister willingly stepped into my place to die, and I let her. The raindrops repeat the truth over and over.

  Coward. Coward. Coward.

  They’re right.

  19

  We jog until my lungs burn, and then we jog more. On a normal day, I would’ve stopped. I would’ve thought I couldn’t go another single step. Today I revel in the pain, because I deserve it. Daggers stab me on both sides, and when I try to breathe, I suck in water from the downpour. I cough and splutter and ignore the sharp pains in my sides, the blisters in my heels, and the tears leaking down my cheeks.

  At least no one knows I’m crying.

  I have no idea how far we run before I trip over a rock and fall. As bad as my wind pains hurt, they’re nothing compared to the sharp spikes of pain in the heels of my hands where they make contact with the concrete. Blood paints the ground in streaks behind my palms, and I can’t look away. On top of that, I’m not sure when in the downpour the bandage on my finger came off, but the blow to my hand reopened that slice.

  Hands wrap around my shoulders and pull me up off the pavement. I’m expecting Sam, so when I look up at Job, my eyes widen.

  “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, and I pull away immediately.

  I wipe my hands on my pants legs and immediately regret it. Pain shoots up my arms and I bite down on an involuntary sob. I force my feet to keep moving, u
ntil I hear someone clear his throat. Sam’s staring at Job.

  “Don’t bother, Sam. It’s fine.” I kick a rock out of the way and press forward.

  “Sam’s not making me say anything.” When I don’t turn back toward him, Job grabs my arm. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. You aren’t a coward. Rhonda did what she always does, she took the risk on herself. That’s not your fault. That’s hers.”

  “No.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and I have renewed gratitude for the rain. “You were right, about everything.”

  “I meant what I said at the time.” My heart breaks, but he plows on, oblivious. “But I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at myself. I’ve always been the smart one, the clever one, but where was that ingenuity when my sisters needed me? Why didn’t I come up with a way for you two to escape and me to take your place? I stood there dumbly while they threatened you, and again while Rhonda stepped up. I couldn’t save either of you. I just ran.”

  I look at him blankly, too numb to process his words.

  “You’re not at fault, Ruby. I’m the failure. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and for lying to myself. I took my shame, my inadequacy, out on you. Please forgive me.”

  I can’t look at Job without remembering hikes in the woods, family dinners, jokes about molecules, the sound of his wheedling voice trying to convince me to do his chores, games we played that I usually lost, and pranks he planned. How could big, brave, smart Job think he’s to blame?

  I exhale. “I won’t forgive you.” His face falls, and he stumbles back. “I won’t forgive you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. We were all upset, and you did what you had to do. You ran so we wouldn’t waste Rhonda’s sacrifice, same as me.”

  Job smiles then, and even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it’s a step. We run more slowly, and eventually that slows to a quick hike. We intended to infiltrate, or if necessary, petition WPN today. I knew they wanted to leave me behind with the gear, but Rhonda’s capture set us adrift. No one takes charge, all of us unsure what to do next. The rain never lets up, and it feels like the earth cries around me when my tears finally dry up.

  The deluge keeps my eyes down, so when I finally look up, I’m surprised that the bridge to Galveston Island looms a few hundred yards away. I can barely make it out. With all the rain, it’s so overcast that nightfall barely registered, but the occasional star twinkles between the clouds.