Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

With a roar, North swung again, carved up the nearest painting. "I shall butcher you and bring this back as proof."

  She somersaulted, felt the cold marble roll over her back before gaining her footing. Balancing her weight, she sliced open the back of his shirt, drew a red line down his spine.

  The woven hair parted, revealing a trail of blood. Muscle tensed but he didn't cry out. He excised the portrait's star-shaped birthmark and skewered it on the tip of his knife. "Your mother will eat this as I kill her. Slowly."

  Hatred burned in North's eyes despite the grin on his face.

  Mother. Marshall's chest squeezed tightly. She lunged, nicking the inside of his arm, slicing the bindings holding his wooden arm guards to his forearms.

  He growled and his armor fell to the ground. "That's the last blood you will draw, tribute."

  In sweeping arcs of sharp metal, he stalked her down the hall.

  With each hit, burning trails opened her armor, sliced her skin. She parried and thrust, landing her own injuries.

  But he didn't slow.

  If anything, his motions increased with his fury.

  Lunging, thrusting, parrying. They locked blades once, but he shoved her back.

  She stumbled and fell, landing on her ass. The fall clattered through her bones and her grip loosened. She must use his anger against him; his carelessness was her only advantage.

  Leaping, he closed the distance.

  "Weak tribute." Laughing, he slashed his knife at her throat.

  Blocking it with the back of her arm, she drove her dagger into his groin, not stopping until her hand hit soft flesh.

  North howled.

  Warm blood rolled down her hand. Her grip slipped on the dagger when she pulled it out.

  His blade arced toward her shoulder.

  She lunged to her feet and thrust her dagger under his ribcage and twisted. "I am not weak."

  He was unable to correct for her change in position and his arm slammed into her shoulder, but his knife raked down her back.

  Her legs buckled from the strike and her grip slipped from her blade. She collapsed onto the floor, crushed under his weight. His dead weight. She'd done it.

  She'd killed North.

  And when she returned to camp, she’d butcher his spawn and that bitch Mirabelle. Mother always said the fastest way to a man's heart was his stomach. A raspy chuckle escaped her dry throat. No one would threaten her rule again; the 'Viders were hers. She would lead them against Abaddon, against her relations on the wall. Gasping for breath, she shoved at North's shoulder.

  He didn't budge.

  The bastard was uncooperative even in death. Wiggling and pushing, she freed herself from his corpse. Pain stitched her side. She glanced down. Red stained her shirt around the hilt sticking out of her side.

  Son of a bitch. North had used a second blade! He’d stabbed her. Her! He would pay for the offense. Holding her breath, she yanked out the knife. Her body and blood slurped at the steel. Gripping it in two hands, she plunged it into his body. Over and over. Belly and groin. Metal scraped bone as she stabbed his chest and throat. The blade snapped off in his eye socket.

  She left it there.

  Swiping at the liquid in her eyes, Marshall sat back and licked her fingers clean. She savored the warm, metallic flavor. Her stomach growled. She'd really have to eat now. Without food, she wouldn't be able to make it back to camp.

  She plugged the gash at her side with her finger, ignored her body's scream of pain.

  Nattie would know how to treat this injury. She'd treated so many before.

  With her free hand, Marshall removed her dagger. Her hand shook over his body. Since he had hurt her, his flesh should sustain her. Hell, he already resembled ground meat. Her gut clenched at the thought. 'Viders didn't eat 'Viders.

  And she was a 'Vider, the Head Provider, even if she was related to one of the men on the wall.

  She would have to pick up a meal on her way out of town.

  Pushing to her feet, she waited for the world to settle then staggered down the hall. Blood glued the cut canvas to the floor. She picked it up and tucked it into her waistband.

  Mother had a lot of explaining to do.

  And if it was acceptable, she would be allowed to live.

  Marshall leaned against the wall and blinked. Blackness ringed her vision. She had to ride an unclean animal back to the 'Viders. Although, she'd never done it before, it couldn't be that hard. Tributes did it all the time. But where to find a rideable beast? The stables.

  According Mother, they were behind the house. And all the rooms on this level had doors that led there. Wonderful. She would leave a message for her kin; let them know she would be returning to claim what belonged to her by blood.

  She shambled to the door.

  A tribute moaned.

  Marshall watched her breasts rise in one giant wave before she leapt upon her and slapped the tribute's face.

  The woman gurgled her scream.

  Marshall clamped her hand over the woman's mouth. One question, then Marshall would leave. "Is the mayor here?"

  Eyes wide, the tribute shook her head.

  The woman had outlived her purpose, but she could still serve another. Marshall stabbed her in the neck.

  The woman clawed at her dagger.

  Rising, Marshall grabbed the tribute by the hair, dragged her into the room, and kicked the door shut behind her. Today was turning out to be Marshall's lucky day. North was dead, she'd found a new home for her 'Viders, and she had food to sustain her on the journey home.

  Books lined one wall, windows and doors made up the opposite side, and paintings filled every inch of empty space to the right and left. A red woven rug covered a six by nine foot patch of the stone floor. Flames under glass bubbled from the walls and burned steadily above a fat candlestick on the desk. The only chair in the room squatted behind the desk.

  She pounced on the tribute just as the woman's body went slack. Marshall sliced the dress from the corpse. Folding the fabric, she packed her wound then wrapped more strips around her waist. She cinched the bandage tight and stars danced in her vision. That should hold her.

  Finished, she sliced open the tribute’s soft belly. Scooping out the steaming entrails, she loped off two pieces of liver. She munched on one while raking the paintings off the wall with her free hand, then she wrote her message in the cleared space.

  Stepping back, she admired her handiwork.

  That should convince the mayor to surrender as soon as her 'Viders were spied.

  Removing the heart and rest of the liver, Marshall shaved the tribute's head and bound everything into the skirt material. Now to find a mount. Slinging the bundle over her shoulder, she opened the door.

  Gravel crunched under her feet and insects quieted at her intrusion. Lights shone on odd-shaped shrubs. Flowers grew in squares and circles along the path. Polishing off her snack, Marshall headed for a hulking shadow. Her nose wrinkled from the stench. The beasts must be ahead.

  Hinges squeaked before a patch of light spilled over the ground.

  Ah, good. Someone was home.

  A slim boy led a beast by his shaggy head.

  She crept along the edge of the barn, keeping to the shadows. Anticipation heated her body, pummeled extra beats from her heart. Closer. Closer.

  "There now." Backing up, the boy stroked the horse's nose. "I've got you."

  Marshall leapt at the boy, pressed her sticky blade to his neck. "I've got you."

  The horse reared, hooves lashed out, caught the boy on the forehead.

  The blow pushed him into her then he dropped, pulling the horse's head with him.

  She jerked back the blade before he sliced his own throat and let him fall at her feet.

  The horse kicked with his back legs.

  Marshall grabbed the reins and jerked hard.

  The horse bucked, yanked against her hold.

  Gritting her teeth, she held on. Pockets of pain sprang up all over her bod
y and sweat streaked down her face.

  Finally the horse calmed.

  Marshall led it near a fence and climbed onto its back. It sprang forward before she was settled, nearly throwing her. Wrapping her legs around its sides, she buried her fingers into its mane and hung on.

  Chapter 34

  Lee stirred, wincing at the sharp chemical odor. What the hell? Pain squirmed under his skin, infesting his muscles. Memories crowded his skull and his eyes fluttered. His capture. His torture. His rescue.

  "Welcome to Dark Hope Regional Treatment Center. Medical staff has been notified of the change in your status. You have been listed as critical but stable. Please lie quietly, so you do not injure yourself further."

  "Wh-" His swollen tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, garbling his words. He forced his lids apart. A bright, white light had him closing his eyes again. No shadows moved across his eyelids. The woman speaking must be far away.

  But why? Her words confirmed he was in Dark Hope. Fear jacked his heart. Had they learned that he was a Neville? Did they still bear his kind ill will?

  "Like the place where you came from, Dark Hope was founded one hundred years ago. We understand that many of you carry stories of a great plague that swept across the land, the truth is that a series of three disasters struck, one on top of the other."

  Three? The Exodus told only of the righteousness' banishment from this place. Lee blinked rapidly until he could keep his eyes open. Fuzzy shapes emerged, until they coalesced into objects——a pink chair firm with stuffing, a faucet jutting above a cabinet, and moving pictures on the wall.

  What was this?

  Lee closed his eyes, counted to three then opened them again. On a flat white wall, framed in black, animals darted through lush grasses and green trees. The image changed to a large body of blue water and a huge black and white fish jumping out of it.

  "Although the first two waves of death were caused by different microbes, we commonly call both of them by one name: Redaction. The term gained popularity on the internet and referred to the great numbers of people erased from the human family. The first pandemic was an accident; the second an act of war."

  Bracing his hands on the soft mattress, Lee sat up. Bile surged into his mouth, souring it, and the room danced. A sharp sting overrode the background throbbing in his battered body. He raised his hand. A needle near his elbow led to a tube, then up to a bag. Medicine. He remembered Doc Julia saying.

  Doc Julia! Sammy!

  He had to find his granddaughter.

  "With so many people sick, dead and dying, the third plague was unleashed. Fuel rods that had once powered nations spilled a horrible poison around the globe. Just like the Redaction, this radiation couldn't be seen as it marked its victims for death. We are still living with the effects today."

  Lee ripped off his blankets and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Fuck! He stared at his bare legs. White bandages striped his wrists and ankles, where the manacles had rubbed him raw. Bruises formed blotches around angry, red skin. While a dull burn stretched across his back, a tube snaked from the hole in his penis.

  What the hell were they putting in there?

  "The cancers many of you are experiencing are a result of this last exposure. Thankfully, we at Dark Hope were able to save the knowledge of these dreaded diseases from before the Redaction and have built upon it."

  His shaking hand hovered over the tube. Should he remove it?

  "Now, we are able to cure ninety percent of all cancers. And with our treatments, many never return."

  He glanced up in time to see a woman with Corpse Belly. Her skeletal frame made the nodes under her arm and near her privates obscenely large. The image shifted. In a series of pictures, the woman's stomach receded, the nodes dwindled. She gained weight and color returned to her corpse-gray skin.

  "Even the most advanced stages of leukemia respond well to our stem-cell treatments. And many will only have small scars from the surgery."

  Lee touched the wet warmth on his cheeks. Sammy could be cured. His grandbaby would live.

  Provided she didn't tell them she was a Neville.

  He had to find her, warn her. Otherwise... He swallowed hard. Otherwise, they might refuse to treat her. He hadn't come this close to fail now. He tracked the tube from his penis to under the bed. Leaning over, he tugged. Yellow liquid sloshed inside.

  That couldn't be what he thought it was, could it? More liquid streamed from him into the bag. Hell, it was piss!

  "We hope you enjoy your new gift of health, compliments of the citizens of Dark Hope." More sick faces morphed into healthy visages.

  He winced at some of the cauliflower growths and rot distorting the bodies. His Sammy would be one of the healthy after pictures. Wrapping his hand around the tube, Lee tugged. His body nearly jackknifed from the burn. Tears burned his eyes. Holy shit! Was it turning his dick inside out?

  "I wouldn't remove that if I were you."

  Gulping air, Lee stilled his hand and glanced up.

  Doc Julia stood in the door, thumping the black book device against her thigh. "Most urine is sterile, but you're riddled with several parasites and a stubborn urinary tract infection. Unless you want your genitals swelling to the size of cantaloupes, you'll want to leave the catheter in."

  Lee released the tube. He didn't know what a cantaloupe was, but he did know about swelling. "Where's Sammy?"

  An image of a very large town materialized on the wall and the narrator spoke. "Now enjoy this brief presentation about Dark Hope's founding."

  Doc Julia touched a button on the side of his bed and the screen turned off. "You can watch that when I'm not here. I practically have it memorized from the bit about brave Mavis and David Dawson saving everyone to the evildoers Jardin and Benedict being executed while their stooge, Neville, was banished to the wastelands."

  Stooge? His ancestor wasn't a stooge. Lee's great grandfather had been a dramatic actor not a comedic one. And who were Jardin and Benedict? Had his grandfather played Larry, Moe or Curly on stage in Sanctuary?

  "Just press this button here and it'll start again."

  The screen froze on the village. God, some of those buildings were six and seven stories tall. Stone bridges arched gracefully across ribbons of blue. Greenery surrounded every building. How had they managed to keep so much?

  "In answer to your previous question, Sammy’s in pediatrics with the other children." Doc Julia stared above his head.

  Lee leaned back and followed her line of sight. Numbers flashed across the dark screen hanging there.

  Doc Julia scrawled her signature across the book. "Vitals are good, and your infections are responding to treatment. How is the pain?"

  His body took that as its cue to let his brain know of every lash and cut. Closing his eyes, he swayed on the bed. "Good."

  "Obviously."

  When Lee opened his eyes, the doctor was squatting between his thighs, examining his injury. His body stirred. Guess the electric torture hadn’t damaged him too bad.

  Doc Julia rolled her eyes. "Looks like you’re on your way to a full recovery." She tapped on her book then checked the bandages around his ankles. "Your burns will benefit from your immodesty, but I'll give you a gown for when you need to be up and about."

  He was getting up already. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman between his legs.

  Crossing the room to a cabinet under the sink, she waved a tube over the book.

  "If you need the release, rub this over yourself and the other burn areas before you masturbate and after you clean up." Next, she pulled out a dark green shirt before joining him by the bed. She set the clothing and tube by his side. "You can slip this on after I check your back."

  She walked around the bed. He felt a small tug. In the glass's reflection, he watched her peel back the tape and bandages.

  Nodding, he picked up the tube and spun off the cap. Squirting a little onto his finger, he smelled the cream. Kinda musty, yet tangy.
He touched the goo to his raw skin. A cool balm spread over his balls.

  "Looks like you haven't reopened any stitches, but I don't want you using your arms to bear your weight." She smoothed her hand along the tape, sealing his wounds back up. "You'll need help rising for the next couple of days." Her tapered fingers hovered over a raised bump with a smiley face on it. "So push this button when you want to see Sammy, and someone will come."

  Finished with the cream, Lee recapped it and stuffed his arms through the sleeves. His ass could hang out for all he cared, he didn't want anything touching his back. "But I can see Sammy now, right?"

  Doc Julia smiled. "They're bringing up a wheelchair now. In the meantime, since your name isn't John Doe, perhaps you can tell me your given name."

  "Brantlee." Shit! He was supposed to give her an alias. He raised his hand. "Two words. Brant Lee."

  He'd have to tell Sammy their new last name.

  Sitting on the pink chair, Doc Julia balanced the book on her knees and tapped on the letters that popped up on the black surface. "Is that L-E-E or L-E-I-G-H?"

  "L-E-E." He wiped his sweaty palms on his gown. "That's what folks call me, Lee, not Brant. That was my daddy."

  At least that bit was true. Easier to remember the truth than the lies.

  She glanced at the wall behind him and frowned. "Is Sammy your granddaughter through her mother or father?"

  "Father." Lee clenched his fists. "Both deceased." Too bad he couldn't have killed his bitch daughter-in-law in real life.

  A sound beeped above his head.

  The doctor pushed a green light on her book and the alarm died. "Cancer?"

  "No." His hands shook and he would never tell her about his son's weakness. "Farming accident."

  Doc Julia's eyebrows arched. Setting the book to the side, she rose and walked to the wall behind his bed. "I can see that this distresses you, but it is necessary to get yours and Sammy's health background."

  She set her fingerprint on the gray panel, lights flared to life. More numbers.

  Maybe the numbers and symbols were a language of their own, one he didn't know. The knowledge settled uneasily on his shoulders.

  "I've upped your dose of painkillers; it'll bring your blood pressure under control." After she touched a red square, the panel faded to gray. She used a rag from her pocket and wiped the surface. "It will make you drowsy, but you'll still get to see Sammy Lee."