Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

  With a dirty finger, Nattie stroked Cat's cheek then checked on baby John. "Only once. Oh my husband tried to insist I eat more, to help me conceive, but I resisted. I'm different than them."

  "Civilized."

  Nattie had used another word once, but that was a while ago.

  Belle crouched over the roosting chicken then reached inside the coop. Her fingers delved into warm straw, bristly feathers and sticky goop before closing around an egg.

  "Mirabelle, I think we should sleep inside the house."

  The egg slipped from Belle's fingers and dropped onto the ground. "What? Why?"

  "The poison will have made Little John's lungs vulnerable to the cold." Nattie picked up the sleeping infant and cradled him close. "I wouldn't want you to lose another child so close to the others."

  Oh God! Her son was sick! Belle glanced at the warped front door. Her vision tunneled on the entrance. She had to go inside, had to keep her baby safe.

  Swaying from side to side, Nattie rubbed his covered back. "We could light a fire in the fireplace, get the place toasty warm."

  "Yes. Yes, alright. If John needs that." Belle's stomach cramped. Perhaps if they kept to one room, things would be okay.

  Nattie beamed at her and skipped to the house. "This will be so much fun."

  Moments after Nattie entered, a light shone through the window. Then more and more.

  On the travois, Cat stretched and yawned. Her body jerked then she patted the mound of their belongings. "Baby John?"

  "He's safe, daughter. Wake your sister and go into the house with Nattie." Into the house, into the house. Belle's heart beat faster. Maybe she could sleep outside on the swing. She'd be close by if her children needed her.

  A baby's soft wail warbled through the night.

  Her breasts tightened and milk dampened her shirt despite the layers of padding. She had to go to him, keep him quiet. Her feet took root.

  Cat cocked her head. Green eyes sparkled under her curtain of curly brown hair. "He's like Daddy. He wants to eat all the time."

  Belle bit her lip. John was nothing like his sire. The baby was soft, innocent.

  Cat's green eyes narrowed. "You should feed him."

  "I will." Belle glanced at the black rectangle beyond the porch. She had to go inside. Her son needed her. "I'll need you to collect eggs for me."

  "Eggs?" Cat scampered over, a smile lighting her face. "We're having eggs for dinner?"

  Belle smoothed her daughter's hair. Eggs were a family treat. "As many as you can find."

  "Woo-who! I'll find lots." Cat dropped to all fours and crawled into the coop.

  Belle stumbled toward the door. It would be okay. The house would be empty. She wouldn't be responsible for anyone dying. She climbed the worn steps.

  Her footfalls were stones on a lowered casket.

  She buried her trembling fingers in her skirts. Grass and leaves clinging to the fabric crumbled in her grip. Just a little farther. John needed her. She couldn't let him cry, couldn't let the 'Viders kill him for the offense.

  Nattie shimmered in the door. Her blouse hung loose and a shoulder was bared. "I——I cannot feed him. You must."

  "I will." In time. Although other 'Vider women had used Nattie as a wet nurse, Belle always fed her children. And she would feed her son despite the fact that the door seemed to be getting farther and farther away.

  Left foot. Right foot. Left. She slogged onward. Across the porch, boards protested. Wind moaned through the house. Belle caught her breath on the threshold and peered inside.

  A fire blazed in the hearth. Two quilts covered a lumpy sofa facing it. Flattened pillows filled the seats of the wooden chairs bracketing the sofa. Around the room, lit candles mounted in front of mirrors pushed back the shadows. A worn coat hung from a hook between two faded pictures. And a basket of reeds soaked in water near another door.

  The room smelled of bread and candlewax.

  "Hurry." Nattie hissed, stepping back.

  Belle's nails gouged her palms but she lurched into the house. Air lodged in her throat, and the walls pressed against her. The boy’s ghost appeared before her——skull split in two, hand raised and eyes condemning.

  John screamed, shattering the apparition.

  She stumbled forward, propped herself up on the back of the couch.

  Her son wiggled on the cushions. Beet-red face scrunched up, mouth open, waiting to yell again.

  With one last glance around, Belle pushed aside the past. Focus on the here and now, she could save her babies. That had to be enough. That was all she could do. Allowing John to suck on her finger, she collapsed onto the couch and worked on the bindings over her breasts.

  "Momma! Momma!" Cat and Sol dashed through the open door. Excitement lit their eyes. "I gots twelve eggs."

  Sol held up her chubby arms. "I gots two big 'uns."

  "I see. You two have done a wonderful job." Belle shifted her son onto her lap, quickly changed out her finger for her nipple. His brow wrinkled while he suckled.

  "Scrambled eggs for dinner. Yum. I'll cook 'em up." Nattie held out her skirts, baring her hairy ankles. "Go get me a pot."

  Balancing the load in her arms, Cat crept closer. "Momma said we're to cook them all up."

  Nattie shifted, catching a falling egg before it hit the tiled floor. "And we will. Maybe we can find some cheese too."

  "Cheese?" Sol kept hold of her eggs.

  "Yes, cheese." Nattie shuffled closer. "We'll check the kitchen. Most farms have cheese."

  "No!" Silence blanketed the house after Belle's shout.

  Glass shattered in the kitchen.

  Someone else was in the house.

  Chapter 30

  Belle freed her nipple from the baby's mouth and rose to her feet. Someone was in the house. Oh, Lord, what if it was one of the former owners? She backed toward the door. They would die.

  Worse, the 'Viders might expect her to kill them.

  She swallowed hard. What if it was another kid? One Cat's age, or Hammer’s?

  Cat and Sol stared at the dark kitchen door.

  Bitterness flooded Belle's mouth. She couldn't do it, couldn't kill someone.

  Humming, Nattie pushed off the floor and lifted the baby from the couch. "Come along, girls. Let's find that fry pan and cook us some eggs. Who else is hungry?"

  "Me!" Cat and Sol chorused. Leaving behind a pile of eggs, they traipsed out the door.

  Belle slapped a hand over her mouth, trapping the scream. She should leave, go with her children, be like Nattie and pretend she hadn't heard a thing. Maybe they would go away. Turning, Belle took two steps then stopped.

  If she left, she'd be no better than the 'Viders.

  She had to try to help. Glancing over her shoulder, she peeked into the yard. From the light filtering through the open curtains, she saw her children and Nattie making a game of unpacking the travois.

  No one else about.

  Shaking her trembling arms, she snuck closer to the kitchen. One step. Three. At five, she stood in the threshold. Wind howled through the cracked pane and stirred the shredded curtains. She pulled a candle from its holder. Hot wax melted over her hand but she didn't let go.

  She had to see.

  Taking a deep breath, she shoved the candle inside the kitchen then followed it. The flame dipped and swayed. Please don't go out. Please don't go out. Eyes stared back at her and she retreated to the door, heart hammering her ribcage. The other person shrank.

  Belle choked on a laugh. It was her, her pale reflection stared back at her from the polished silver. Gathering her courage, she waded into the inky kitchen. Her candle pushed back the darkness as she moved it along the cabinets——all of them missing doors.

  Most were empty. A handful had jars of string beans. Others held plates, cups and bowls. A pot sat on the counter, a half peeled onion lay on the cutting board next to it. Empty jars filled one bottom cabinet. The other held pots and pans.

  Tucked into the corner, six
mismatched chairs surrounded a scarred round table. No one sat at it, nor was there an attic opening in the ceiling. But she'd heard glass break, hadn't she? A quick check of the chipped wood floor showed no glass.

  Her heart slowed. Sighing, she propped herself up against the door jamb. Obviously, whatever she'd heard had come from outside. Probably other 'Viders stripping houses of their belongings.

  Not anything for her to worry about.

  Thank God. She turned on her heel and headed back to the living area.

  A muffled sob drifted by her.

  Belle stopped cold. There was one place she hadn't looked. A basement. It would explain why there were no stores of canned goods in the kitchen. The basement was the perfect place for foodstuffs. Maybe she could help whoever to escape. Blankets could easily hold a day’s supply of food. Surely it was enough to get to Abaddon. The village couldn't be too far away.

  And, the survivor could warn them of the impending 'Vider raid.

  That would prove to Nattie that Belle was a good person. Raising the candle, she scanned the room again. No door appeared in the walls. Which meant... She kicked aside the woven mat. A square cut-out appeared in the long planks.

  She plucked an unlit candle from its metal holder and replaced it with her lit one. Setting the candlestick on the floor, she reached for the rung and tugged. Hinges squeaked when she pulled and the door's weight stretched across her back.

  With one last heave, she opened it fully, lay on her belly, and lowered her lamp.

  A girl sat near a puddle of peaches. Bloody fingers shoved aside the glass as she pulled the orange slices off the floor and shoved them in her mouth. Fine hairs floated around the brown braids dangling over her shoulders. Heart-shaped patches speckled her gray dress.

  Belle's stomach clenched. The girl could only be six winters at most, a little older than Cat. She certainly couldn't send her off on the long trek to Abaddon. She'd be caught before she made it out of the valley.

  The girl picked out a thick slice and held it up to Belle. "Want some?

  Tears burned Belle's eyes. Such a sweet child. Obviously well loved and cared for. She had to protect her, but how?

  Keep her in the basement and hope no one would find her?

  The child was too small not to make noises.

  Or——

  A shout and war whoop sounded from outside. Footsteps pounded across the porch.

  Belle shot to her feet. Her children! She had to get to them. Lurching forward, she made it as far as the living room entrance when someone shoved her back. The candle went out as it tumbled from her hand. She fell against the kitchen counter, got an impression of red frizzy hair and a yellow dress.

  The intruder leapt into the basement and slammed the hatch closed behind her.

  Scrambling upright, Belle stared at the hatch. That girl was definitely older. She could take the little one to Abaddon. Belle could distract the guard posted at the canyon leading to the village while the girls escaped.

  It could work.

  It——

  A shadow filled the doorway.

  Belle froze.

  "Where did it go?" Sword in hand, 'Vider Brolyn strode into the kitchen.

  Light followed as two ‘Viders entered. Smoke rolled across the ceiling from their torches.

  Oh, no! They were going to kill them both. Belle's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. If she gave them up, the blood would be on her hands. If she didn't and they were found, her children and she would all die.

  Belle glanced at the floor.

  'Vider Brolyn flashed her eye-teeth. "Cornered like vermin." The woman threw open the hatch and peered inside. "Dinnertime my lovelies."

  "Dinner?" Excitement filled the young voice.

  The little girl. Cat's age. Belle's body trembled between the urge to fight or flee. She couldn't win a fight. She knew that. But to do nothing... "'Vider Brolyn, may I?"

  "You?" The woman blinked, then nodded. "By all means."

  Smoothing her shirt, Belle walked to the opening. She could do this. She had to.

  In one hand, the red-head caught the younger girl's dress, keeping her from reaching the ladder. In the other, she held a piece of glass and stabbed upward with it.

  It couldn't compete with the swords, axes or fists of the 'Viders.

  Clearing her throat, Belle knelt in front of the opening. Asking their names was out. The 'Viders would consider it a sign of weakness. "How old are you?"

  "This many winters." Beaming, the little held up six sticky fingers.

  The older girl's gaze darted from Brolyn to Belle. "Sixteen."

  "Can you cook and clean?" Belle directed the question to the older girl.

  Both nodded, but it was the red-head that answered. "I've been doing for my paw since I was her age."

  Thank God. Not that it mattered. Belle had only one option. "Then I claim them. Both of them. They're my tributes."

  She wanted to vomit. Instead she forced her arms at her side and raised her chin.

  "Shut that door and stand on it." 'Vider Brolyn ordered the two torchbearers, hooked her arm through Belle's and dragged her into the living room. She thumped the sword against her leg as she walked. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Belle spied her children in the yard, selecting the best egg pan with Nattie. "I'm entitled to two. My sons went on that raid, they killed one tribute leaving one left. I'm entitled to two, since I've never claimed one."

  "Those are hardly worthy of your or North's status."

  Damn, she hadn't taken that into account. An idea glimmered inside her head. That might work. It had to work. "I need someone to do the little things if I'm to practice my lessons. With luck, she might distract Titan long enough for me to act."

  Her fingers whisked over the dagger Brolyn had given her.

  A gleam appeared in Brolyn's dark eyes. "And the younger tribute?"

  Belle steeled herself. Saying the words didn't mean she believed them. "I don't know how long North will be gone, I want to make sure he has a...tasty meal upon his return."

  Brolyn smiled.

  A chill snaked down Belle's spine.

  "North knew you would make a fine 'Vider." Brolyn slapped Belle on the back. "Little ones like us need to use cunning as well as sharp knives." She snapped her fingers. "And speaking of cunning, get Nattie to show you her tricks."

  "Nattie?" Belle glanced out the window. The crazy woman was balancing four frying pans on her head.

  'Vider Brolyn followed her gaze. "She was a mighty warrior before bad meat took her sons. She even bested Marshall's father in battle. Killed nearly as many as he did as well."

  Battle? Tributes weren't allowed to battle. Belle's thoughts chased themselves. That couldn't be right. "Nattie?"

  "Why do you think North left you with his cousin sniffing about?" Brolyn's lip curled back. "Nattie is more than capable of killing the man if he tries to interfere in your and North's vows. More than capable and I would dearly love to see it."

  Belle shuddered. Nattie was a killer? Nattie had embraced the 'Vider way?

  Brolyn whistled and the two 'Viders emerged from the kitchen. "Spread the word. Mirabelle has claimed her tributes."

  Each 'Vider smiled as they passed. "North is a lucky man."

  She nodded, swallowed the bile that kept returning to her mouth.

  Brolyn tucked her sword in her belt. "Feel free to select a few more tributes. The choice cuts are going fast."

  Belle didn't want any more tributes, didn't want to be responsible for any more lives. Standing in the doorway, she stared at Nattie. Her friend. Her confidant. Her partner in sanity and morality in this nightmare world.

  A stranger stood in Nattie's place.

  One capable of killing with ease.

  Chapter 31

  Sera hunched deeper into her jacket. Good heavens, it was cold. She'd have gladly been under the bedcovers if her uncle hadn't threatened to send her back home. If Dark Hope's traitor wasn't still lurking in th
e shadows.

  If others weren’t suffering worse at the hands of the 'Viders.

  A couple of silhouettes jogged toward the city. Farther west, lights began to turn on in farm houses. Dawn was hours away, but the farmers needed to rise early. Fees for entering town were lower before sunrise.

  Dark clouds blotted out the moon and stars. Snowflakes drifted in lazy circles, tangoed in the air then melted as soon as they touched her clothes. Her breath billowed in front of her face, touching her exposed skin despite the ski mask.

  An hour had passed since the meeting in the alley and still the men hadn't shown. She'd checked her weapons four times. And still they weren’t here.

  Maybe they wouldn't come.

  Then where would her mission be?

  She and Harlan against God knows how many 'Viders. She didn't like those odds.

  A gust raked fuzzy green leaves off the tree limbs above her. She sidled closer to Harlan. The big lunk served as a nice wind break...if he would just stop pacing.

  She scratched her head through the knitted cap. Since he was helping her, she'd extend the olive branch. She just hoped the guy didn't turn it into kindling. "Spending the gold on those women was smarter than blowing the wall to kingdom come."

  He stopped in front of her, his face in shadows.

  Too bad, she could feel his glare. "You said it yourself, that's how the system works. The girls get paid for their time, the guards get distracted, and we escape. Everyone wins."

  And she kept her explosives for when they were really needed.

  Like when they faced the 'Viders.

  Hot air washed down her cheek when he sighed. "The girls don't keep the gold. Their Maternity warden does, and they probably get abused by the guards since there's no overseer. Gang rapes aren't uncommon."

  She should have thought of that. Should have but hadn't. Sera rubbed her temples. The rules had seemed a whole lot simpler when she was in Dark Hope. Now, the rules shifted constantly, and they were all important at different times. No hierarchy. "At least you stashed the gold someplace safe."