The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1)

by Aral Bereux

  ‘I’m a friend,’ Deveaux whispered. ‘A friend of the brothers…here,’ she slipped a thin black string over Julianna’s head, a silver circle pendant hanging from it. ‘You’ll need to wear it until the identification marker is removed. It’ll scramble its GPS for a while...maybe for a week without being traced, but no longer.’ She pushed a Sig pistol and sector card into Julianna’s hand. ‘Then it resets itself. Cade’s real clever about cutting the IDM chip out, though.’

  Her eyes widened. She knows Caden… The gun was heavy in her grasp. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Julianna pulled the slide back on the pistol. It was loaded. The well-laid plan just instigated Sergeant Shaw and his neglect in his personal duty.

  Karma, Sergeant. Julianna inspected the body. ‘If this doesn’t kill you, Taris will,’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘Maybe,’ Deveaux crouched and lifted Shaw’s large arms. ‘You’ll have to tell Isis…tell him about all of this. You’ll need to warn Cade and Bas, too.’ Julianna obliged with his legs, carrying the dead weight in their grasp following Deveaux’s lead. ‘They have a camp on the outskirts of the west. From what I can tell, Taris is planning an ambush, but the power is on the blink and the comms are down. They’ll be flying blind for now.’

  Deveaux dropped Shaw’s arms. Julianna stumbled with the added weight and no warning, until the body stopped against the ground. Deveaux took Shaw’s badge and swiped the security lock on the final door. The night air whooshed around them. Julianna’s head cleared. After the musty cells, the air was sweet and delicious. Deveaux lifted the arms again and Julianna helped carry his heavy body into the small compound outside. A high fence surrounded the pickup point for garbage collection trucks. The razor wire above was thick, but there were parts Julianna surveyed where she could climb.

  Deveaux dumped the body again and Julianna’s grip slipped over his ankles. They left him where he landed in the garbage.

  ‘All comms are down, so you’ll need to ride out or have someone from the safe house do it for you.’

  Deveaux ground the heel of her boot into Shaw’s face. Blood broke through the skin and rolled into the dirt, breaking Julianna’s distraction from the razor wire looming over them.

  ‘Second Sector, east side, at gate four. There’s a ride waiting, but he can only wait for the hour, so you’ll need to hurry. From there, he’ll take you to the safe house for debriefing.’

  Julianna nodded, squeezing the Sector pass tightly in her hand. ‘Shouldn’t you come with me?’

  Deveaux opened the door to Central Command. ‘You need to be quick,’ she said again. ‘I’m raising the alarm when I’m back inside.’

  ‘Okay,’ Julianna started scaling the fence. She needed to hurry, the sergeant had said, and she angled her jacket off to place it over the barbs above her. Sergeant Deveaux closed the door behind. Julianna was alone, easing her first leg cautiously over the razors threatening to bite. From where she sat perched over the jacket and razor wire, she saw the road to the east gate.

  Julianna worked quickly. The long, hard look turned into blind panic when a hover drone floated around a corner, conducting its automated patrols. Her second leg followed, then her body. She climbed her way down and let her jacket drop to the road, always looking over her shoulder at the drone busily scanning a stray cat.

  Julianna jumped down the last meter and adjusted the new gun in her hand. The cat across the road pounced at the red light beaming around it, hissing when it felt its warm sting. The drone followed the cat and Julianna ran across the road. Things were going to plan; the corner building hid her in its shadows, from sight, as the hover drone whirred past. It completed its round; scanning for more heat signatures, bobbing across the sky, sailing toward the river channel.

  The streets were clean and silent. Patrols were minimal, scattered loosely on every other corner, oblivious to her escape. She slipped around another building and into a doorway, where a window held the soft glow of a low fire, and a family of Militia preparing for bed. She ducked under the sill and found the next shadow to hide her. She peeped down the road to a sign posted with GATE FOUR, and took its suggested turn left. Unspoiled buildings lined the street to the last block. Then the cityscape change into something more second-class. The hub of a once-bustling city, full of beauty and splendor, was behind her – gate four was the reminder that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and underneath all the beauty in Sector One laid some very, very dark secrets.

  She approached the abandoned post with the gun in her hand and her finger on the trigger. The alarms sounded in the distance. Deveaux had mentioned her escape. Julianna crept against the buildings through the checkpoint and into Sector Two, searching for the person Deveaux had promised.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ she whispered, searching for any hint of a person at the normally bustling sentry. ‘Where is he?’

  Bewildered, she pivoted at an empty can travelling along with the wind. She was certain she heard another drone instead. Nothing but her own thoughts echoed, and the sirens stirring from Central Command.

  Staring out at the darkness, she waited.

  The eerie silence lingered, then broke with a dog barking, followed by another – guards shouting, searching, and then the blast of the alarms in the sector warning of a prisoner breach.

  Her eyes darted for the evidence of company. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, and started to run.

  A bike halted beside her, the wheels narrowly missing her feet. The man on the bike, unthreatened by her gun pointed at his helmet, grasped her arm until she swung a leg over his ride. More alarms rang, and in the distance the familiar buzz of drones were approaching.

  Julianna locked her fingers around his waist. The wind pushed her hair from her face in the sudden speed he picked up. They’d made their escape undetected as they rode deeper into Sector Two’s maze.

  * * * *

  The bike slowed its approach. Sector Three had its sentry. For a few seconds she sat gripping at his jacket, waiting for the guards approaching from their post to scream out her name. But with the imposed blackout, zero information about her escape was transmitted into the third sector. She tucked further into the stranger’s back and waited.

  ‘Helmet,’ one officer demanded.

  The rider flipped up his visor, but away from her view.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ the officer said dully. ‘Hurry it up and get out of here.’

  The visor flipped down. The stranger revved his bike and the wind licked its cold chill at her face once again. When she looked up, the safe house was rolling up in the street and his bike slowing down.

  Julianna was relieved when she saw the crooked sign overhanging the entranceway to the hotel. After a couple of minutes, the bike parked across the road and the stranger waited for her to leave.

  She swung her leg over the bike and looked at her savior. She reached for his visor, but he gently pushed her hand away and gave a nod to the safe house instead.

  Julianna opened her mouth to say thanks, but he was already revving his bike. Another quick nod and he left in a roaring noise. The dark blue Triumph glinted in the moonlight, playfully swerving on the empty road until it turned the next corner. She crossed the empty road, listening to the bike fade out completely as she went up to the building.

  The safe house doors were unlocked. They always were. It was how they established their better activists. It was how she’d become a member after running from the Family and escaping the camp. It was her first refuge twelve months ago, where she discovered the feeling of safety, and a part of her always felt she was coming home when she walked through them. The presentation of the lower floor appeared, as always, empty and dirty.

  She started up the worn, carpeted stairs and waited for the normal greeting from those on shift. The smatterings of dried blood mixed with the green weave of the worn carpet suggested killings were few, but their history forever recorded.

  The staircase creaked under her w
eight. It was early morning. The welcoming committee was lacking, but a young soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder came down to say hello. Isis wanted to speak with her and he wanted to speak now. They had comms up in Sector Three, but only for a short while, he said.

  Isis had helped.

  She followed the soldier to the fourth level, where she would wash and sleep the remainder of the night away, but not before the meeting. Judging the wavering of the soldier’s voice, she tipped that Isis was ready to tear her a new one.

  Chapter 5

  1730 HOURS.

  CAMP 2.2.1.

  Taris raised his fist. The blood belonging both to him and his victim stained the bandages tightly wrapped around his knuckles. He towered over his spread-eagled opponent, who was lying on the ground, semi-conscious. It was an old-fashioned battle to the end, and the relief it offered pleased him. He was starting to calm down.

  Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!

  The swarm of uniformed men and women alike raised their fists manically in the air, chanting for their godlike Commander. He pivoted on his toes, acknowledging his fans with a casual nod before dealing the ultimate strike. He raised his fist in the air for all too see before dropping to his knee.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  His fist connected with the man’s face until it became an unrecognizable mash of blood and torn skin. Taris tasted the spray of blood pumping in quick successive bursts rhythmic to his punches; he crushed the man’s skull under his fist, tearing the eyes from their sockets. His opponent was dead. Stone dead. He dealt one final blow.

  Crunch!

  The nasal bone splayed into the man’s cheekbone and Taris bent over his prey, grinning proudly and taking one final glimpse of the exhibition he had created.

  He rose to the crowd’s applause and allowed the admiration from his camp for their Commander to sink in. He made eye contact with as many of his followers as he could in the front rows of the boxing ring before raising his hands for quiet. The crowds dulled to a low roar. When his hands dropped to his sides, they began again, riled by the display of events, singing his praise for his strength and ability.

  Our Commander is strong. Our leader is fearless. His punishment is just. More chanting. Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!

  He paced to the left and then to the right, gesturing again with open hands, waving them down to lower the noise, and smiled acceptingly when they didn’t. It took another attempt and an anonymous whistle over the camp to call the masses into respectful silence. The mob mentality dulled, with only a few low whispers echoing across the open grounds. Their Commander wished to speak. They must be silent.

  He used the side of his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. More beads formed, but it didn’t bother him; they were well-earned. He continued to steal for time to catch his breath. His chest was on display with its ancient markings, and it rose heavily with his last deep breath. The pretty blonde officer who had rode with him from Central Command dared to send him a wink. He caught it, and the raise of his pointed index finger toward her encouraged the crowds again.

  ‘You’ll keep for later, Sergeant Sweetheart,’ he teased, and winked back, dropping his finger to his side.

  Please, everyone. Your silence.

  His whisper reached everyone standing. Silence spread quickly.

  Yes, let me speak.

  He smiled. They were ready for him to speak – but the two officers who entered the boxing ring for the dead man’s body stirred their convictions again. He ushered to them as they trailed the man’s blood along in their grasp. He applauded them with the crowds as they pushed and pulled the body through the gap between the cordon ropes. Dark lines of blood flowed, which he stood barefoot in; footprints trailed across the white mats while he paced inside the boxing ring, admiring his people.

  ‘A reasonable fight, no?’ he called.

  The crowds praised him with a yes before a calm silence finally fell over everyone on the grounds. They appealed for his words. An impromptu speech from the Commander was not something to shun.

  ‘I offered him a high rank!’ he yelled. ‘With good pay, good conditions, a good career!’ He paced the ring, his hand elevating as he went. His single finger came out to address the crowd and his cocked head smiled. ‘I asked one simple task and he repaid me not with his allegiance, but with disobedience and betrayal, allowing my prized prisoner her freedom at the first chance he had.’

  He took another moment to engage eye contact with the closest rows. His audience hung on every word with a silent loyalty. Taris lowered his tone, but his finger rose toward the sky. They waited.

  ‘You punished him justly, Commander.’ A voice rang from the back somewhere and everyone turned.

  Taris nodded. ‘I did. Thank you. This Rebellion against our New World, fellow comrades, the Rebellion against our breathtaking world, the one that you and I have worked so hard to achieve for so long, for so many years...’ He moved his head around. His voiced softened. ‘It needs to come to an end, does it not?’

  The whistles began, and the trend was set when one officer used his military-issued spoon to tap on a glass bottle he held in his hand. Taris watched and waited, checking over his shoulder to witness the officers’ approaching the incinerators with the body carried carelessly between them.

  His manic smile reached his eyes and he spoke as though in private conversation, quickly and quietly. ‘As you all know, I have a thorn in my ass and it’s giving me grief.’

  He stopped in the center to grasp the top rope of the ring. His weight pushed it down as he addressed them with his charisma. He nodded to one officer in the front, a cursory wave to one at the side, and a wink to Sergeant Sweetheart in the front row. She moved in close with her girlfriend to swap the sordid detail. Her golden hair shone under the tower lights and hung loosely below her shoulders. He didn’t notice the grimace behind the perfectly straight smile.

  ‘And this is why I pose a challenge to anyone wishing to accept.’ He moved away from the rope to pace again. ‘The fugitives posted up on your mess hall boards need to be captured alive. For the first group of soldiers to accomplish this, I will give a permanent posting in Sector One, at Central, with accommodation included.’

  The crowds applauded and whistled. He raised his hands for quiet again and they obeyed.

  Taris smiled. ‘I reward loyalty with loyalty. I punish betrayal swiftly and efficiently. You should, too.’ His calm was followed by a punch to the air. He yelled, ‘Vive l’ordre! Long live the Order!’

  The crowds yelled with him, imitating his aggressive punches to the sky, echoing out across the countryside. ‘Vive l’ordre! Vive le nouveau monde! Vive l’ordre! Long live the New World Order!’

  Taris bowed to his loyal followers before taking the back ropes out of the ring to find his boots. He likened the noise to a stadium’s baseball game in the Old World, and listened as he laced his boots, taking in the final cries for an encore.

  Doug Cathan handed him a towel and a bottle of water, which Taris snatched. After drinking half, they walked along the camp’s perimeter fence, where they could talk more privately.

  Taris wiped the sweat from his face before draping the towel around his neck. Doug ambled silently alongside him, listening to the masses become a dull roar before the grass, bugs, and owls took over with their nightly conversation.

  ‘They like you,’ Doug said.

  Taris nodded, lifting the towel to stifle a bead of sweat running down his neck. ‘What’s not to like?’

  Doug’s lips pressed together. ‘She’s out of control.’

  ‘I know,’ Taris said.

  ‘Last night was embarrassing.’

  Taris gazed at the stars. ‘It was.’ He nodded to the officers feeding more fuel into the incinerator. ‘He’s being dealt with right now.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Burning flesh, a reminder to the camp of what becomes my enemy.’

  Doug’s eyes raised and his good looks furrowed beneath his brow. Tonight, his shoulders hu
nched as he walked. ‘The Senate wants an explanation why she continues to escape us.’

  ‘Screw the fucking Senate. Everything’s about the fucking Senate! Senate this, Senate that...fuck! Dougie, will you give it a rest?’ Taris frowned as he pushed his hands into his pockets. The sweat over his chest was drying in the unseasonal warm air. ‘We know she’s in the city. She hasn’t made it through Sector Four. We’re closing in.’

  Doug shook his head.

  Taris stopped to admire the sky again. Its unmarked canvas was free of cloud, giving the stars their chance to shine thick and bright. ‘Somewhere, she’s looking up at the same stars...probably with a blinding headache after the drugs I pumped into her. The Sectors are small; we’ll find her within twenty-four hours.’ He looked back at his old mentor. His hand slapped his shoulder before taking it away again to attack another bead of sweat. ‘And next time she won’t be so lucky.’

  Doug shrugged, ‘Still—’

  ‘Douglas.’ He raised his hand for silence. His quarters were in front of them. Doug followed silently behind, with his hands in his pockets, waiting for the Commander to speak. He knew better than to get into a pissing match with Taris. It would end in blood and most likely his.

  ‘The Senate’s aware of our situation. That bitch was trained by us, remember?’

  ‘The Council won’t have this for much longer either. They want their Seer. We won’t win this war without her.’

  Taris looked over his shoulder. Doug watched him. ‘And I’ll deal with the Council if they get too opinionated. Who knows, maybe the New World needs a good military coup.’ He slapped Doug on the back playfully and laughed at the staunch reaction. ‘Just kidding around, lighten up. We’ll get her if it’s the last thing.’

  They started walking again.

  ‘And the brothers?’

  Taris smiled his Cheshire cat grin. ‘I’m deciding whether they be retrained or killed. It was only twelve months ago we lost them to the Rebellion...they might be reprogrammable.’