Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  “So basically,” I say, “send me and he'll give the Marked a little present of my boyfriend. Don't send me and he'll come take me. That sounds about right.”

  “You don't know him well enough yet to interpret his meaning, Your Highness. I assure you that he has your best interests at heart. Once you hear him out it will all become clear.”

  Arguing with Neck Tattoo is pointless. I shake my head at Rhonda.

  “I'm sure this will require some discussion, which will not be improved with your presence,” Rhonda says. “I'll show you out.”

  Neck Tattoo bows. “If I’m allowed, I’ll stay with Her Highness to ensure her safety. I promise not to say a single word.”

  I laugh out loud. “You most certainly aren't needed for that. As you already mentioned, I'm protected by God himself. I'm sure additional body guards aren't necessary. Follow Rhonda, please. And I can't bear to think of you as Neck Tattoo for another second. Please tell us your name.”

  He bows. “My name is Arthur Fenton, Your Highness.”

  “Stop calling me Your Highness,” I mutter.

  “As you wish,” Arthur says, “but I'd rather stay, if you'll allow it. Better safe than sorry.”

  I shake my head. “I won't allow it, and I spend all my time being sorry lately. I'm used to it.”

  Arthur's brows draw together. “I don't understand.”

  “Oh forget it. Just get out, I don't need you here.”

  After a few mournful glances my direction, he finally follows Rhonda outside.

  No one speaks for a full minute after he leaves. Not that it matters. I already know Rafe's position on this particular point. Solomon's word isn't at all reliable, so his assurances he won’t Cleanse the Marked are useless. The only thing we stand to gain is Sam, or from Rafe’s perspective, whatever ransom his dad will pay. My stomach lurches at the thought of what Solomon might do to Sam if we turn him down, but I know Rafe won't care.

  When I think about Libby's Mark returning, I can't even blame him.

  “Obviously we aren't going to take his deal,” I say. “And I know you were pissed earlier, but Wesley and I came back because I saw Libby, and her Mark is back.”

  “What?” Job leaps up. “When?”

  I shrug. “It was gone yesterday. We all saw it. I doubt she has a lot of mirrors, but when we walked by today, we saw her rocking Rose. Rose's forehead is clear, but Libby's Marked. Again.”

  Job closes his eyes. He looks as sick as I felt. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, that's why we're going to set up a study group. We're going to test various treatments and see what we can develop. In the meantime, we'll work with Rhonda's blood, Wesley's and my own as well, to see if we can boost our antibodies so we'll have more than one person's immunity to work with. Even now, we might be able to distill enough antibodies from our plasma to boost our trials.”

  Job paces back and forth so frenetically I can barely follow what he’s saying. “This is a setback, sure, but we knew this was complicated. We still have a lot to learn, but we'll do whatever it takes. Right Ruby?”

  I nod because I will, but it hurts to think of Sam waiting for me to come for him. What will Solomon do when I don't? Will he really attack us, or will he die before he can make good on his threat? Three days... plus the last two. How long can he survive with the virus and accelerant administered in quick succession? I wish I knew.

  Can the Marked withstand a well planned attack from several sides? And the question I worry about the most, will Solomon kill Sam when Rafe refuses, or ransom him to the Unmarked? My heart pounds so loudly, I can hear it in my ears. I do know one thing for sure. Sam would never forgive me for leaving these people to die when I might otherwise be able to save them.

  “Solomon’s infected and dying. Wounded animals lash out, so we need to assume he's going to attack immediately when we deny his request,” Rhonda says. “Todd, what plans do you have in place? If I were Solomon, I'd use fire to flush you out of the city. Do you have an evacuation plan if he does? It's a dry year.”

  Todd grunts. “Baton Rouge is surrounded by waterways. We should prepare for the possibility, because you're right, that does sound like him, but I don’t think it’ll come to evacuation.”

  Rafe walks to the door and reaches for the handle, but his hand hovers over it. After a moment, he drops his hand, turns back around slowly and faces us. “We should prepare for an attack, because Solomon can't be trusted. But you're wrong in your guess about my decision. I'm not willing to give Ruby up, but with a large enough escort, and with Solomon’s public assurances she doesn't need to stay, I think it's worth the risk to send Ruby to Galveston.”

  Wesley puts his hand up to his ear. “I'm sorry, I must've misheard you. I thought you said we should take Ruby down to see Solomon like he asked. You did know she shot him with Tercera, right? He's Marked. He wants her blood to heal himself, plus he still believes she’s his daughter. He might say he won’t detain her, but that lunatic does whatever he wants whenever he wants to do it, even when he doesn’t have what he believes to be a justifiable claim.”

  Rafe nods, “There are risks for sure. Even so, I think the upside is worth the danger. Solomon can have a vial of blood straight from her arm if he must, but he can't keep her. Surely once he’s healed, he will understand we need her back.”

  “You think this will really stave off the Cleansing?” Rhonda asks. “Because I think we've got fifty-fifty odds that his death halts the cleansing, and if we send Ruby like he wants, he might not die.”

  “If his word is good, and we can avoid an all-out war, that's great,” Job says. “But I agree with Rhonda. We should let him die. The longer he waits, the sicker he gets, and the less likely he can make good on his threats. His death will cause total chaos within WPN, and they're unlikely to attack us in the wake of something like that, at least not anytime soon.”

  Rafe shakes his head. “If we risk sending Ruby back, we have a guarantee he won’t attack. Even if his word isn’t worth much, his people must hold him somewhat accountable.”

  Wesley drags his hand through his hair. “That’s the beauty of using God, right? He can change his mind whenever he wants and claim it’s God’s will.”

  Rafe sighs heavily. “I’ve made my decision. You can keep debating the benefits back and forth, but for me, the risk benefit scenario has shifted.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Twenty minutes ago you were pummeling Wesley because we thought about doing what you’re planning to do now. Why the reversal?”

  Rafe scowls at me. “Everyone calls me Rafe. It's been my name ever since my mom died, but my real name is Raphael.”

  A memory bumps at the corner of my mind. “Raphael. I know that name.”

  Rafe’s smile is grim. “My given name is Raphael Roth. You’ve been talking about Sam for days, and I never realized . . . Samuel Roth is my big brother.”

  10

  “I hate to be the voice of reason here,” I say. “Believe me, I do. But did any of you hear what we said earlier? Libby's Mark is back. My antibodies didn't heal her. I may have the key to immunity against Tercera, and we may even be able to develop my antibodies into something that works as a treatment, but we may never find out if I traipse right into crazy King Solomon's hands and you never see me again.”

  Rafe raises one eyebrow. “He says he only needs to talk to you.”

  I snort. “Snakes bite, it's what they do. You can't believe a thing his talking puppet says, because you can't believe a thing he says. He's beaten his wife for years, and she goes running right back to him.” I shake my head. I can't talk to Rafe with all these people around, not about Sam, not like I need to. “Why don't you step into my office for a minute.”

  “What can't you say out here in front of everyone?” Rafe narrows his eyes at me.

  “Remember I offered you the courtesy of discussing this alone,” I say. “You've completely flipped your position on this since learning Sam's last name, and if you're making this decision be
cause you finally have family, if this is a personal decision for you, then you're the worst kind of hypocrite.”

  Rafe flinches.

  “You don't even know if we're talking about the same person,” Rhonda says. “You look nothing like the Sam we know.”

  Rhonda's wrong, but I don't correct her.

  “A simple test would tell us whether it's the same Sam,” I say. “He told me about his brother. He said Raphael left with his mom, and Sam wished he had, too, but he stayed with his dad.”

  Rafe's jaw drops. “That's right.”

  I collapse into a chair. It's been a long day and it's not even close to lunch yet. “He said you went to see someone just before that, someone special to your mom. Who was it?”

  Rafe's mouth forms an O. “He told you about that?”

  I nod. “You think I want to save Sam because of a childish infatuation. You think I’m flighty. You think I’m a spoiled princess. You’re entitled to the decision, but as a flighty princess whose life will be on the line if you deliver me wrapped in a bow back to my wannabe birth dad, I’d like to make sure you’re actually pursuing your brother. Who did you go to see that day, the day your mom filed papers against your father?”

  Rafe's face drains of blood. “We went to see my Uncle in prison, a prison on the beach. My mom loved him a lot, but he wasn't a very good man I don't think. Now you tell me something notable about that day.”

  I know what he's asking. “Your Uncle was Marked. He touched you and your mom. Sam got in trouble for asking Chaz a rude question, and he was pouting in the corner. That's how he escaped being Marked, and why he went with your dad instead of staying with you and your mom. He went to Disneyland and you and your mom…”

  Rafe closes his eyes. “He'd be Marked if he hadn’t acted so rotten. Except he wouldn’t be here with me. He was too old. He’d be dead.”

  “Look, I don't mean to be patronizing here,” I say, “because I'm sure you know a lot about your brother, but eleven years is a long time. And if I know anything about Sam at all, it's that not much can stop him when he makes his mind up to do something. If he really is alive, and I trust Solomon so little that I’m still not positive, he probably won't need our help to escape. He's going to heal as much as he can, and then he’ll escape. But he'll be smart about when and how he attempts it so he is positive it will succeed.”

  “Now that I actually support you going, you've changed your mind?” Rafe glances at Wesley and then back at me. He frowns and mutters, “Your girl's not very devoted is she, Wes?”

  Wesley looks at Rafe's black eye, which has swollen up pretty badly by now. “You really aren’t making good decisions today. Feel like going a few more rounds, huh?”

  Job raises his hand, honest to goodness, like he's in class and wants the teacher to call on him. I grin a little bit. No one else even notices him in the back of the room. “What’s up, Job?”

  “Uh, I know no one's mentioned this, but I've been thinking about it. Ruby told me this morning that I sound like my mother, and I'm trying to fill her shoes as well as I can. It’s hard because she trained me, but at the end of the day... I'm not her. She's so much better at all of this stuff. Any chance she might show up sometime soon?”

  We need her badly. Job and I are the best we have, but we're way out of our depth.

  Rafe sits down and puts his head in his hands. “I sent a team to our settlement at Hermanville, but I don't expect to hear from them quickly. I don't have many vehicles and I didn't have enough to spare for that. They took horses.”

  Job groans. “This should be our top priority. My mom should have all of Donovan's other journals too, and without those—”

  My dad’s last journal. It's the piece I forgot about in my zeal to do what Sam would want, not what I want.

  I leap from my seat. “That's it, you're right. We should go to Galveston, but not just for Sam. We may not know where Aunt Anne is, but we need my dad's data. His journal’s full of his notes and equations and technical details from his work on my antibodies. I only had time to really read the last paragraph. But he mentions that virus that eats other viruses, which became his main focus after he found it. Maybe it has more in there about that, like how he developed it, or where he found it initially.”

  Job's eyes light up. “Worst case, it should contain something about how he boosted your antibody production, and maybe details about how he created the antibodies in the lab in the first place.”

  “So voilá, we're all in agreement?” Rafe asks. “We're going to Galveston?”

  “Heck yes we are,” Rhonda says.

  “Umm.” Rafe clears his throat. “We are, but you aren’t. I need you and your brother to stay here. Job, so he can start the tests he's been working on, and you Rhonda because I need the two of you as insurance.”

  I scratch my head. “Insurance against what?”

  “I can't have you rejoining the Unmarked while my back is turned,” Rafe says. “I know you say you want to help, but I know how we look. Now that you’ve been here, you’ll be wondering whether we’re a lost cause. You said yourself, your blood would keep every Unmarked citizen safe, and immunize them from Tercera. You could do that right now. Eliminate the threat that's hung over them for more than ten years, and do it at your leisure. Your blood works perfectly as a passive immunity, but not so well as a cure. Plus, it’s home for you.”

  I clench my fists. “You think I'd abandon you, all of you? Leave you to die and run hide in a hole somewhere?”

  Rafe shrugs. “You and Wesley snuck away this morning.”

  “I did sneak away.” I scowl. “You didn't catch me, but I came back on my own.”

  He nods. “You did. Still, just in case you have second thoughts, or would that be third thoughts? If that happens again and Libby and her baby aren't on hand to guilt you into doing the right thing, well. I think I'll keep your cousins here to make sure you don’t get confused about the right decision.”

  Wesley puts his hand on my arm. “Ruby always does the right thing.”

  He doesn't know how wrong he is, but I appreciate the support all the same.

  “When do we leave?” Wesley asks.

  Rafe grins and glances at Todd. I had forgotten he was even here. “That's cute. He thinks the two of them are going alone.”

  “I figured that, too,” I say. “Who else is coming along?”

  Rafe says, “Oh, just me and about fifty other soldiers.”

  “We can hardly sneak up on WPN with fifty people,” I say. “They'll be watching that bridge closely.”

  Rafe sighs. “Fine, twenty. We can fit that many in two vans.”

  “What about my new guard dog?” I ask. “I think we're supposed to take him along.”

  “Indeed you are. For the record, this would be far easier if he didn't already know who you are.” Rafe shakes his head. “I guess we'll make do. He's not going anywhere. We'll keep him locked up, and borrow his big, new truck.”

  I glance at Wesley. “We'll be taking the borrowed vehicle, and you'll bring your men behind us somehow?”

  Rafe sighs. “Something like that, except you'll be riding with me. Your decoy will ride in the borrowed vehicle. Your dad may be a diabolical genius, but I didn't get to where I am by not thinking.”

  Wesley and Rafe work with Todd and Rhonda on the details, and I spend the rest of the day holed up with Job, trying to do the most I can to help before I leave him. Again.

  I'm exhausted when Wesley and I climb into the van heading for Galveston the next morning. Waking up before the sun even rises makes me crabby. Wesley and I sit shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by some of the toughest kids I've ever seen. I wish Rafe's tactical team prioritized showering a little higher, but they seem nice enough otherwise.

  The warm press of bodies, combined with my early start, and the lull of the car over the bumpy road proves too strong to resist. I fall asleep against Wesley's shoulder at some point, and wake with a jolt when the van stops moving.

&
nbsp; “What's going on?” I ask.

  “Pit stop,” Wesley says. “Refueling the vans. You should get out and stretch your legs while you can.”

  I glance out the window and already a handful of guys are peeing into the weeds along the side of the road. Luckily their backs are to me. Eww. I think about staying in the van, but ultimately the urge to move prevails.

  I climb out and look around. A sign for the Lone Star Alligator Processing Plant proudly proclaims it's the ‘Best Meat Processing in Texas.’ I shudder. Did people Before really eat alligator? I guess a few things have improved.

  '“Where are we, anyway?” I ask.

  Wesley leans against a tree. “Near Winnie, Texas, or so they say. It wasn't much more than a blip Before. It's a ghost town now.”

  The sun's almost directly overhead. Its rays warm my face enough that I optimistically slip out of my coat. My skin immediately pebbles in the cool air, but I close my eyes and breathe in and out slowly. The sunlight eventually heats my arms and the goosebumps dissipate.

  “Did you get a nice nap?” Wesley asks.

  I nod. “Sorry about falling asleep on your arm.”

  He shrugs. “Why were you so tired? We didn't have to get up that early.”

  I open my eyes. “I stayed up most of the night with Job, helping him wade through some research he found on oligonucleotides. They're pretty complex and it was a bit of a struggle for both of us. I wish we knew where Aunt Anne was. I feel bad they’re stuck with the B team. The Marked deserve better.”

  “I know you feel pressure,” Wesley says, “but you don't have to stay up all night. You won't do anyone any good if you work yourself to death.”

  “It’s nice to do something other than provide bodily fluids.” I glance back at the kids stretching all around us, and when I speak, it comes out as a whisper. “They’re all circling the drain Wesley, and we’re running out of time.”

  “You’re acting like it’s your fault somehow, and it’s not. It might be your dad's fault, either dad actually. It might be your aunt's fault even, since she sat on the information she had about your dad’s lab for so long, but any way you slice it, none of this is your fault.”