Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  Tallas

  By

  Cathrina Constantine

  The rights of Cathrina Constantine to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover Design by Melissa Stevens

  Edited by Elizabeth A. Lance

  Published by CHBB Publishing Inc.

  Copyright©2015

  All rights reserved

  DEDICATION

  To Sam Henry

  God’s Greatest Gift

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you God for answering my prayers.

  A heartfelt thank you to Sarah Davis Brandon. Her acceptance and wonderful encouragement to every single author at Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly is outstanding! She amazes me, and is always available when we need her. It’s hard to promote a book on your own, but CHBB has such a terrific group of writer’s, they help in more ways than one. I thank them all!

  A big hug to Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author for creating this phenomenal cover. I’m in love with it!

  To my loving family and friends: sincere blessings for your support. Without you, I’m nothing. I’m truly humbled by my experience in becoming an author.

  Chapter 1

  “Fabal.” Keeyla delicately nudged her son awake. “Fabal, wake up.”

  She layered jeans, a long sleeved T-shirt, and a jacket on the bed. To the sleepy boy, she said, “Do not light your candle.” Even the tiniest spark might draw the interest of patrolling Mediators, and tonight, more than any night in her lifetime, she wanted complete secrecy.

  Foraging through Fabal’s meager belongings, she began packing the bare essentials.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” he said groggily, rubbing his eyes.

  Her head whipped around, putting a finger to her lips, warding off his questions.

  Alarmed as to why she was making him dress in the middle of the night, he shoved on the clothes and followed her from the room. Knowing you could hear a mouse scuttle through their austere lodgings, Fabal tiptoed in stocking feet.

  Once in the hallway, Keeyla fastened the door and listened for any sounds coming from the apartment across the hall. When satisfied, the pair padded farther toward the exit. A floorboard creaked—they froze like human statues.

  When she seemed to feel the coast was clear, she pressed open the main entry and peered up and down the walkways. Sneaking outside, she flattened her body against the rough exterior with Fabal imitating her every move.

  ***

  The electricity was suspended in the community by seven p.m. Privileged citizen’s acquired kerosene for lanterns or owned flashlights, if they could salvage batteries, but mostly candles were their main source of nightlight. Now, eerily quiet, the community’s doused street lamps and darkened windows initiated a brisk chill up Fabal’s backbone. Their footsteps were guided by heavens of pale amethyst supporting a gibbous moon.

  With the satchel slung over his shoulder, and now somewhat frightened, he groped for his mother’s hand. She guided him swiftly between the complexes and crouched past a hedge of boxwoods. They crept over the patchy fields behind their dwelling, the space where friends gathered to play. Glimpsing over his shoulder, he noted the secluded, low-lying abodes, looking like an immense winding snake. Here and there were erected two-by-four shacks for citizens who preferred to isolate themselves from the village.

  A gajillion thoughts bumped around Fabal’s brain as he dutifully trailed after his mother. Where are we going in the middle of the night? Her covert actions led him to believe stealth and silence was key, so he kept his mouth shut. The ground was dirt dry and he tried not to make any unnecessary noise by stepping on crunchy dead leaves. Even his open-mouthed panting drew her stern brow in his direction.

  He stepped on a rock and let loose a whimper, stopping Keeyla in her tracks. Hopping on one sneakerless foot while clutching the other, he whispered, “I stepped on a rock.”

  Appearing flustered, she rummaged in the satchel and withdrew a pair of scruffy sneakers. She cuffed them on his feet then pecked a kiss on his forehead. Still baffled by their twilight adventure, it was the feeling of dread and something else he couldn’t pinpoint that had his knees quivering. She clasped his hand and rushed on.

  By venturing far from the village, Fabal believed she was leading them to certain doom. He’d heard rumors regarding the peculiar creatures and oddities surrounding the forest. He eyed the approaching tree line and gasped. His stomach churned in fear at the dark silhouettes of giants with countless gnarled arms, bowing and stretching to the ground. And they were heading straight for them.

  Can’t she see the giants? Distraught, Fabal yanked on his mother’s hand. She turned with a scowl, but continued to pull him toward the danger zone. With shallow breaths and widening eyes, he dragged his feet.

  As they drew closer to the menacing giants, Fabal breathed easier, recognizing the leafy branches of lofty trees, not a giant at all. Feeling silly, a chuckle clutched in his throat. His relief at crossing the verge into the thicket was short lived when his mom spat, “Duck to the ground.”

  Keeyla pressed a hand to his spine, forcing him to the dry earth, her other palm cupping her mouth to stifle her own heavy breathing.

  Panic set in. All he could hear was the hard beat of blood in his ears. Then, the thuds of distinct boot steps and muffled voices shifted through the air. His mom turned her head to look at him, and squeezed his hand in reassurance. The boots receded and she inched upward to check for Mediators. Gesturing with a finger wave, she gave the all-clear sign.

  They walked through a thicket, wading over a narrow creak until, after what felt like miles, his mom stopped. Her head rose toward the moon, like she was pondering her bearings. She then parted a welter of shrubberies and motioned for him to follow. The bushes tore at his jeans and played havoc with his hair as he stayed close to Keeyla’s backside.

  Emerging through a clearing, she started to run ahead. Fabal was surprised to see his father standing in the dusk, next to an idling vehicle. Curious, he sprinted past his mom toward the noisy contraption. Only influential citizens were allowed private transportation. Questions itched to blast off his tongue, but the words clogged in his throat with a look at his father’s expression. Shadows filled in the curves of his face and his eye sockets seemed blacker than black.

  “Do you think anyone saw you?” his father asked.

  “No,” Keeyla said simply, and his father blew a sigh of relief.

  Doogan unhooked the bag from Fabal’s shoulder and stowed it into the trunk of the beat-up car, then shepherded him into the back seat. Fabal’s lips parted, ready to cross-examine his father, but noticed his brow furrow and the shake of his head. Not the time. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, Fabal didn’t like being left in the dark.

  Doogan took his place behind the steering wheel, and prior to switching the car into drive, he gazed into Keeyla’s eyes. Unspoken words passed between them.

  Soon, the car choked and spluttered down the road.

  Seldom had Fabal been fortunate to ride in a motor vehicle. They walked or peddled broken-down bicycles. Rotating his neck, trying to see everything at once, he bounced on the spongy seat from right to left, gaping at the passing view. In the early hours of the morning, a dewy mist was pressing itself agai
nst the glass, and he stared at his own wonder-struck reflection.

  Huffing a mouthful of air, Fabal fogged the window and swiped the glass with his sleeve. He mashed his nose against the grimy window as broken moonlight illuminated the ugly countryside filled with mass debris. In the remote distance, shades of steel beams looked like hundreds of fingers, bent and crooked sticking out of the ground. Buildings were cut in half or just cavernous shells, and wrecked vehicles littered the roadway.

  The car swerved, moving him sideways as they circumvented the fractured pavement. The sensation of uneasiness filled the automobile and even though he’d been bubbling over with questions, he aimed for restraint. Less than ten minutes later, he burst and asked, “Where we going?”

  There was a pause.

  “The mountains,” his father replied with a curt explanation. “The air is clean. It’ll be safer. We’re going to meet your grandfather.”

  Fabal let this information sink in, full of doubts. “You said he was dead.”

  Despite the sting of his parents’ lie, he fixated on the uncertain situation. The exploit of sneaking out in the night and leaving behind his friends didn’t make sense. Recalling Larkson’s warning, he said, “Larkson Tanner said we’d die if we left the community.”

  ***

  Doogan glanced at Keeyla then over his shoulder at the face of his son. His troubled eyes visible in the diffused moonlight, stared back at him. “We received a letter four months ago from Fulvio,” he said. “We were shocked, just as you are now.”

  “What’d it say—the letter, I mean?” Fabal asked, hanging his elbows over the front seat with his head resting on his hands.

  Keeyla shrugged. “It was a map.”

  “Not much of a note, Mom. Not enough to drag us into the jaws of death.”

  “Jaws of death,” Doogan parroted, remembering only too well what lay in the wilderness. And glad he’d been able to filch a revolver, though an AR 15 rifle would’ve been ideal.

  Thriving rumors describing the monsters dwelling beyond the borders had escalated and aided Management in confining people to Tallas. While illegally stalking past the designated borders, Doogan had seen the bizarre creatures. Thankfully, the feral beasts tended to remain aloof, at least for now. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked his son.

  “The kids at school talk about the monsters living in the woods. They say it’s one reason why we’re protected inside of Tallas,” Fabal said, his voice tight. “And the mentors drill into us the consequences of wandering away. We’re not allowed—you know that.” He set his jaw, while positioning his arms across his chest in defiance. “We’ll be jailed or hanged like Gerbe.”

  Doogan and Keeyla’s mouths thinned to grim lines. Both understood too well Fabal’s fear of disciplinary action. Mandated since the conception of Tallas, citizens assembled in the square for disciplinary sentencing, and bearing center stage was the foreboding gallows.

  Gerbe’s execution had ultimately intensified their motives for escaping. Fabal’s reminder stirred Doogan’s memory of that day....

  Cletus Stiglet uncoiled the “official” parchment and in his snivelly voice proclaimed, “Management’s laws and stipulations are implemented to save what is left of humanity. Refraining from stringent verdicts only puts our citizens at greater risk. So without further ado, our law states: ‘Any trade in food outside of this jurisdiction is deemed treason.’” Stiglet paused for an interval to scan the fretful throngs. His voice altered to a dictating pitch. “If any citizen has acquired and ingested the beastly meat Gerbe Gibbernathy has distributed, please be advised—he has killed you with a toxic disease.”

  Murmuring rolled through the crowd as all eyes roved to Gerbe flanked by Mediators upon the gallows.

  Cletus continued. “Due to this deliberate act of treachery, the non-abiding, lawless citizen, Gerbe Gibbernathy, is sentenced by the tribunal to hang by the neck until dead—for the murder of innocent citizens.”

  Gerbe had committed the grievous crime of hunting in the district beyond the community’s allocated perimeters. An apprehensive crowd shuffled, for he had saved their families from malnourishment. His butchered meat had supplied their tables and, despite Cletus’ claims, rarely was sickness involved.

  Three armed Mediators stood guard as Cletus draped a coiled noose over Gerbe’s head and winched the knot. Observing the execution, Keeyla had smothered a sob and clung to Doogan, her knees buckled. The last time he heard Gerbe’s voice, it was a hoarse wheeze. “To the people—I give my life.” The trap door opened and Gerbe’s body plunged, jerking erratically.

  Chapter 2

  The car lurched over a rock in the road, rousing Doogan back to the present with the memory fresh in his mind.

  “Fabal, lie down and get some sleep.” Sounding firm, he noticed his son’s questioning look in the rear view mirror and added, “Not another word. Go to sleep.”

  Heavily slumping on the vinyl seat, Fabal burrowed under a ratty blanket. Before long the tedious trundling of the car seemed to lull him to sleep.

  Scudding clouds split the sky as a chink of reddish-orange breached the horizon with an ominous blaze. Doogan stepped on the brakes and winced at the sight of rotting animal carcasses and human skeletons loitering amid mangled corroded machinery. He assumed the obstacle was intended to thwart an exodus from Tallas. Evading craters the size of welling pools, he turned the steering wheel to the right, off the highway. The rusty car began its climb up the mountain.

  Keeyla repositioned her body in an elongated stretch. She yawned while saying, “Red sky in the morn, sailors be warned…isn’t that how it goes?”

  He grunted then yanked the wheel sharply, dodging another massive divot. “We’re doing the right thing,” he said and darted a peek at her thin frame. It was to the startling violet-blue eyes that he was drawn.

  Keeyla glanced over her shoulder, examining the back seat. A lump of tattered blankets wiggled in rhythm to the jostling vehicle. “Yes, we are,” she agreed softly.

  The car had decelerated to negotiate around a tree trunk when they noticed the antiquated telephone poles, which were no longer viable, dotting the landscape. Charred tree stumps and wastelands fringed the eastern section of the road, yet, here and there a trace of green splintered the half-eaten stumps. Starving new growth pushed to freedom, decorating the bleak surface with fantastic swatches of wild flowers. The farther they traveled into the woodland, the more robust the scenery.

  “How long do you think we have before they realize we’re missing?” she asked.

  “No more than two, three hours. Yesterday, I chugged a quart of tomato juice and capped it off with a little peroxide I scrounged at the Infirmary. It made an impact.” He chuckled lightly. “Jedd, the Director, probably thinks I’m still sick, but they’ll send someone to check soon.”

  “Watch it—” Keeyla held onto the dashboard as the car dove into a pothole, jarring the suspension.

  Doogan braked and shifted into reverse. “Dammit.” The wheels shimmied, spinning in the crumbling hole. Then inch-by-inch the tires grabbed hold of the pavement and climbed out. “He still asleep?”

  Keeyla again peered at the lump situated on the rear seat. No movement. She nodded and scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “He’s so small, they’ll make him a mole. You know that, don’t you?” she said.

  Doogan’s jaw tightened, gritting his teeth.

  “He might last a year, more or less. Tandra’s boy was small for his age, too. He was killed last week when one of the tunnels caved in.”

  “We could have another,” he mumbled.

  “Are you serious?” she responded too loudly. “You mean after…after…” The words seemed to coagulate in her throat.

  Doogan reflected on Caleb and Rosina Perkins who had unlawfully birthed a second child. The family was brought before Management’s tribunal. They had to choose between their four year old or the newborn. They did choose—to leave Tallas. Mediators marshaled them outside the pe
rimeters, making sure they didn’t steal any provisions. He wondered if the family survived.

  “Keeyla—” He raked his fingers over his chest feeling pressurized. “I love him with my whole life, you know that. Why else do you think I agreed to this?” Sounding sincere, he quirked an eyebrow. “I heard that in a few years when the food supply is ample, Management will improve the population standards.”

  “It’ll be too late for Fabal. If he were younger…” her voice softened in thought. “I was shocked when the dispatch arrived in the hands of Korbi Segway, demanding Fabal to report. He’s only eleven.” Drinking in a jagged breath, her eyes swam in tears. “Management’s out of control. How can they take our children?”

  Doogan reached across the seat and squeezed her hand.

  “Korbi’s a big kid now, I think almost sixteen. He’s already tough as nails. Remember little Korbi?” she prattled, due to stress. “He had that white downy hair. And always smiling and running around our legs. He was around four and I was expecting Fabal?”

  Narrowing his eyes, he tried to recall the boy.

  “He lived with his mother,” she said, attempting to jog his memory, “diagonally from our duplex, the brown one with the boarded windows. His father was killed before he was born—something weird that happened in the vineyard in the Vale. You never told me what killed him—”

  “Oh, yeah. Now I remember,” he cut in. “Because of the Vale thing.” He frowned. “That’s when men were sent to the Vale to cultivate that withered vineyard. I was at the Infirmary when they carted in Patch Segway’s mutilated body. The guy never had a chance,” he said. “The men that brought him in looked liked they’d seen a ghost. Patch went out in the yard sometime after midnight. His screaming woke them up. When they found him, Patch said it was a two-headed bear.”