Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

  Marshall would need all her attention on killing him; she couldn't afford to be distracted.

  With his eyes on the ground, North strode up the embankment and past her. "They went this way."

  Marshall ground her teeth. He wasn't the only tracker. She knew the footprints headed into the forest.

  In the clearing, Ann wadded up her old clothes, grabbed their pack of supplies and followed.

  Marshall kept pace behind him. Animals quieted. Stepping through the dapple sunlight, she fingered her dagger. Stabbing him in the back would be easy. Hitting mid-back would paralyze him from the waist down.

  But he'd still have the use of his arms to fight.

  Leaping onto his back was out. He'd hear her running up to him. Her senses grew ultra-sensitive during the hunt. She doubted his would be different.

  "How could he keep that old hag?" Ann muttered under her breath.

  Ducking under a low pine bough, Marshall smiled. Maybe she could use the girl in another way. Ann enjoyed watching others suffer. If North kept rejecting her, Ann might be persuaded to turn against him.

  North picked up his pace, jogging through the forest.

  Marshall ran behind him. Wouldn't that be something? North killed at the hands of his own tribute. She leapt over a boulder. He'd already told everyone how rabid the girl was. No one would question his death. Especially if Marshall told how he'd broken his vows by bedding the girl.

  It was perfect.

  And, better still, Mirabelle would be forced to seek protection elsewhere. Marshall had an extra spring in her step. By the Great Spanner, she was brilliant.

  Up ahead, North slowed to a walk. "Who didn't come back?"

  She closed the distance until she was directly behind him. "Cutter. Titan said he'd ran off after the 'Viders when he'd seen your sons."

  Titan had probably killed him and disposed of his body. But what if he hadn't? What if Cutter had seen something he shouldn't, like Titan killing Stiletto and Hammer? She shook off the thought. Cutter would have gone after Titan, probably killed him.

  So what had happened to Cutter?

  Titan wouldn't have thought to kill his fellow warrior to reinforce the raider’s attack story. Titan rarely planned farther than his immediate pleasure.

  North swore. "Raiders murdered Cutter, too."

  "What?" Marshall blurted out before clicking her teeth together.

  North shifted to the side.

  Cutter lay face down in the dirt. The point of an arrow stuck out of his back. North picked up the part with the feathers and touched the broken end.

  Son of a bitch! Maybe Titan hadn't killed the boys after all. Maybe the raiders really were targeting her people. Her fingers tightened on her weapon's hilt. North just got a stay of execution.

  He strolled across the clearing then stopped. "How many tribute did your father demand?"

  Huffing, Ann staggered into the clearing and dropped to the ground.

  Marshall's change of clothes scattered across the ground. There better not be a speck of dirt on them when she needed to change. Resisting the urge to backhand the tribute, she joined North by a tree. "Thirty-two."

  "And how many arrived?" He kicked at something on the ground.

  She picked it up. A leather strap. "Thirty-one."

  She'd counted them herself.

  "So who was bound here?" He squatted and ran his hand over the ground.

  Marshall's body hummed. A real hunt and war. The Great Spanner truly was blessing her reign. "A raider maybe?"

  "She wasn't staked out."

  "She?" The boot imprints could just as easily belong to a male as a female.

  North plucked a single strand of long brown hair from the ground and sniffed it. "She." He touched the broken pine needles near the cut bindings. "Possibly mated to the other."

  Mated. The tribute often fought for their mates. It was admirable, though futile and treated harshly to discourage others from following their example. "We can use her to get to her mate."

  He poked the ground, squished the tacky blood between his fingers, and stared up at her with dead eyes. "She is injured and they took time to tend it before heading back to the river."

  Marshall's chest tightened. No, no, this was good. This supported Titan's claim of an attack. North would have no reason to suspect her. He'd drop his guard.

  Rising, North glanced toward the river before heading in the opposite direction. "How many did Titan claim attacked?"

  Her mind blanked. She'd ignored his lies; she'd already been told the truth. Or so she thought. Titan had failed to mention that there really were raiders in the area.

  Hell, no one but Titan had claimed to see them.

  "Six." Ann traipsed after them. "He said he found traces of six raiders."

  North marched ahead, checking the ground every so often.

  Marshall couldn't help it. She had to know. If the raiders really had killed North's sons, she’d kill Titan herself. "How many were there?"

  "Two." Stopping, North frowned at the ground. "And they moved fast. We will not catch them before they reach Abaddon. The female will slow us down, and we must bury Cutter."

  Marshall shook her head. "No, we press on."

  "'Vider Code demands——"

  "I am Head Provider." She thumped her fist against her chest. "The good of our people demands we continue the hunt. Once we have eliminated the raiders and punished the mayor for his betrayal, we will return to bury Cutter."

  North's mouth thinned and a vein throbbed at his temple. "And the girl?"

  "If she cannot keep up, we shall deal with her. I want to reach Abaddon by morning." Orders given, Marshall ran through the woods, heading for the ancient road that snaked down the hill. North would follow, she was his leader, his honor would not allow him to desert her.

  As for the female... Either Ann would keep up or she would die.

  Chapter 25

  "Let's try this again." The man's voice was almost musical.

  Lee's naked body jerked at the crack of the whip. Tears dripped down his chin and snot bubbled from his nose. Wrists shackled above his head, he'd lost feeling in his fingers hours ago.

  The rest of him wasn't so lucky.

  With his toes barely skimming the floor, his arms held his weight. His sockets burned almost as hot as the strips of cut flesh across his back, chest and thighs. Wires connected his privates to a switch on the wall.

  "I already told you everything I know." Everything, and when he'd ran out of the truth, he'd made up shit to stop his tormentor from flicking that switch.

  Thankfully, they hadn't asked about his granddaughter.

  Sammy had to be safe in that clinic. If they had her, his tormentors would have used her to get him to talk earlier. But they hadn't. He clung to the hope, believed in it, drew strength from it.

  His tormentor strolled in front of him, fondled the switch. Brown eyes glittered from the slits in his hood. Black fabric rippled over his muscles. Blood marred the shine on his boots.

  Lee's blood.

  His tormentor flicked the switch.

  Every muscle in Lee's body contracted. Blood flooded his mouth. Electricity shot along his nerves, leaving him raw from the inside out. The air filled with the scent of burning hair and urine.

  The hooded man shut off the flow. "Let's begin again."

  Sagging in his bonds, Lee sipped air. An odd metallic taste hit the back of his mouth. His tongue stuck to his dry lips. But he didn't ask for water, didn't say a word.

  "What is your name?" The whip snaked across the ground near the man's feet. Blood marred the concrete floor where the braided leather touched.

  "Brantlee Neville."

  His tormenter coiled the whip in his gloved hands. "Where are you from?"

  "Sanctuary."

  Dropping the weapon on a table loaded with Lee's own tools, the man in black picked up a piece of paper and unrolled it. "Where on this map is Sanctuary?"

  Lee jutted his chin to the spot
where he'd left his bloody fingerprint. "There."

  "And how many people live in your town?" The man rolled up the map and returned to the table.

  "Two hundred thirty-one." At least, that's what the roles stated this season. The population was less since the soliloquies were over, and Lee and Sammy had left.

  His tormentor picked up the pliers, opened and closed them. "And how much gold is in your treasury?"

  Gold? Darkness crowed Lee's vision and his head lolled forward.

  The man knelt by Lee's feet, snapping the pliers near his big toenail. "How much gold is in your treasury?"

  Their treasury contained books, scripts and seeds. Things of value. Lee tried to shift his foot away but doing so caused his arms to scream in pain. "Nothing. I took it. All of it. I knew I'd need it."

  He pressed his lips together.

  Don't tell them about Sammy. Don't...

  The door opened and a man entered.

  His tormentor bowed low. "Your honor."

  With a hand adorned by gold rings, the new guy smoothed his black hair. Sapphire blue eyes raked Lee from head to toe. His lips curled back and his nostrils flared. He hefted a leather pouch in his hand.

  Lee's pouch. Lee's gold. From the size of it, they hadn't found the other bags in the wagon.

  "You expect me to believe that a town of two hundred thirty-one people has only this much gold."

  His tormentor sidled toward the switch.

  Lee should turn over his stash. He could always steal more. But it was Sammy's life. Sammy needed help now. He licked his lips. He was an actor for God's sake. He could sell the lie. "We're simple farmers. We need seed and chickens, not gold to keep our families alive."

  His honor arched one well-trimmed eyebrow.

  They weren't buying his act. Humble. Lee must act humble. "We use that only to trade with folks passing through. They seem to have use for it. Please, don't hurt me. Please."

  The man in black eyed the pouch of gold and licked his lips. "He could have more stashed in his wagon."

  His honor opened the sack and pulled out a couple of rings. "The wagon belongs to Tino. A finder's fee."

  Lee stiffened. Tino. The bastard had set him up. He never should have helped his twin brother. Gold jingled as his honor offered the rings to Lee's tormentor. "Very well. We shall verify your story with the girl."

  "No!" Lee strained against his chains. Blood slicked his flesh but he couldn't break free. He had to get out of here. He had to save Sammy! "Leave her alone. Leave——"

  His tormenter flicked the switch.

  Lee's body shook.

  "Verify that location exists." His honor passed the map to the man in black.

  Smoke swirled in front of Lee's face and foam filled his mouth.

  "If it does?" The switch flicked off.

  Oblivion rose like Jonah's whale come to swallow him. Body twitching, Lee fought to stay awake, to find a way to break free. To save his granddaughter.

  His Honor smiled. "Kill him."

  Chapter 26

  "Is the cabinet seeing this?" Sera sat on the edge of her office chair and stared at the bank of screens across the two rows of desks. Dusk brushed the valley between the mountains in bold gray strokes.

  "Of course we can see, Sera dear." Aunt Maggie Robertson's voice sounded tinny coming through the speakers near the screens.

  Sitting in the chair next to hers, Harlan cocked an eyebrow. "Another kin?"

  Cheeks heating, Sera studied her nails. Two broken on her right hand, three on her left. She should probably take care of that, so they wouldn’t rip and become infected.

  Thackery adjusted the angle of the satellite's camera, giving them a clear view of Sanctuary, "Sera's related to everyone in the cabinet, in one way or another."

  "You don't say?" Harlan propped his feet up on the table.

  In the corner, Mayfair, Kennedy, and Martin noshed on sandwiches and potato chips.

  An odd queasy feeling grew in Sera's stomach. Everyone here had ancestors that stretched back to Dark Hope's founding, yet they acted as if this was a sporting event. They acted unevolved——almost as bad as the Outlanders.

  Thackery dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out individually-wrapped desserts. "She's as close to royalty as we have."

  Harlan grinned. "Princess Peaches."

  Sera rolled her eyes. "Not princess, I don't own a tiara."

  With his hands on his hips, Uncle Joseph studied the clusters of 'Viders near the west end of town. Crude weapons glinted in the shadows. "There's no outlying farms, how do you think they'll attack?"

  Throat clearing came over the speakers before Aunt Maggie spoke. "Perhaps your source isn't as reliable as you thought, Joseph."

  In a fluid motion, Harlan dropped his feet on the ground and stood. His gait was predatory as he stalked toward the screens. "It's possible they've already moved beyond that stage."

  Sera stiffened. If she heard his doubts, the cabinet did too. That wasn't good for Uncle Joseph's case. "Perhaps this is some kind of retribution for those two boys' deaths."

  The 'Viders broke away from their clusters, spreading out as they ran toward the farm houses on the edge of town.

  "We've killed 'Viders before, during raids." Harlan's attention shifted off screen, where his sister marched toward the attack.

  'Viders were either very sure of themselves or something else was driving them away. Cold misted her skin. What could scare a 'Vider? "But that wasn't a raid. Those boys were murdered. Someone could have figured it out."

  "That would imply they have feelings." Harlan rocked back on his heels.

  Chickens scattered around the yard as the 'Viders reached the first homestead. A man appeared at the door just as the 'Viders reached it. An axe swung, cleaving the homesteader in two.

  "Oh!" Mayfair raised two fists above his head. "Can I call it, or what?"

  Uncle cleared his throat.

  Kennedy and Martin dropped a square of spice cake in front of Mayfair.

  Sera's breath caught in her throat. They'd bet on the attack! Blinking, she processed the thoughts. They weren't evolved; they were the same hunter-gatherers that walked out of Africa millions of years ago.

  Harlan snatched up a cake as he strode by.

  Three 'Viders raced inside. One person ran out the front. Time ticked by until the 'Viders emerged, weapons and clothing covered in blood. There had been six people in the house.

  Across the screens, the scenario replayed over and over. One survivor per household. One.

  The desserts in front of Mayfair, Kennedy and Martin started to shuffle between the three men as the carnage arrowed toward town.

  "Christ, it's a Banzai attack straight outta old Japan." Uncle scratched the white stubble on his chin.

  Sera wrapped her arms around her waist. She could see the resemblance——the crazy charge, the reckless slaughter, and the fear. Heck, she could see the attackers' mouths drop open and practically hear their yells. "That won't be much defense against our weapons. They'll be mowed down before they get within weapons' range."

  "Did you see that?" Kennedy rose from his seat. "That farmer was decapitated in one swipe with that blade thingy."

  "Don't worry about the slaughter of the 'Viders, Peaches. A dead 'Vider is a good 'Vider." Harlan snatched up another dessert and hurled it at her.

  She caught it. Plastic wrap and cake oozed between her fingers. They were still human beings. Not all of them could be as bad as that Titan fellow who'd stabbed his nephews with an arrow.

  "Our airships are ten miles out." Uncle stopped by Thackery's desk and tapped on the touch screen. "If this keeps up, they won't arrive until everyone is dead. I thought the 'Viders wanted prisoners."

  Indistinct whispering drifted through the speakers.

  Sera dropped her mangled cake on the desk. Why was the cabinet whispering? Were they as embarrassed as she by the betting on the massacre?

  Harlan dropped onto the desk in front of her. His pristin
e cake sat next to hers. "Terror is contagious."

  He pointed to the handful of survivors running down the dirt road leading toward the village. Each paused to pound on doors. More people spilled out, fled toward the center of town.

  Only a few stopped to pick up anything that could be used as a weapon.

  Her attention drifted to the edges of the screen. "The 'Viders are spreading out, running ahead of their victims."

  "They'll surround the village, and close in." Harlan scooted back on the table, one leg swinging. "And they're not killing any now." He drew a finger across his Achilles' heel. "Just making it so they can't run. Their screams will increase the fear and panic."

  The hair on the back of Sera's neck stood up. An older couple hobbled from the house. One 'Vider bashed the man upside the head while the other raked his scythe across the woman's heels. Both went down and the 'Viders entered the house.

  "They're clearing the houses as they go." Uncle slammed his fist on the desk. "Tell the security forces to set their weapons on maximum stun."

  Thackery pressed his finger to his earpiece and relayed the order. "Uh, Sir. The airship with our men has been recalled."

  Recalled? Sera leapt from her seat. "What? That can't be right!"

  Aunt Maggie clucked. "The cabinet sees no reason to interfere in the matters of Outlanders."

  No reason? No reason! Sera glared at the camera relaying her image to the cabinet then pointed to the screen. "There are people dying down there."

  "Dark Hope's enemies, Sera. These 'Viders have done us a great service by eliminating them."

  The room fell quiet.

  Her mouth dropped open. Murder was a service? She raked a hand through her hair. Had the whole world gone mad?

  Uncle walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the death scenes playing out on the screen. "With all due respect, Margaret Robertson, the founders of Sanctuary were our enemies a hundred years ago. These people have done nothing to us."

  Aunt Maggie snorted. "Those people have been buying advanced weaponry from a traitor within our very city. They are not innocent, nor shall we risk a single citizen in their defense."

  The 'Viders had been in the area, not Gavin Neville's descendants. The savages could have obtained the weapons, if she hadn't neutralized them first. Sera opened her mouth.