Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  They trotted past a range of trees when a high-pitched scream jolted the horse upward. Fabal was glad he’d secured his fingers around Fulvio’s belt or he’d be on the ground for sure.

  “My God—” Fulvio reined Zennith to the left.

  The horse’s hooves dug into the earth, surging up and over the cusp of a hill. Coming to a halt, he disengaging Fabal’s fingers from his belt and slid from the saddle. Fulvio looked at him with a finger to his mouth in a shushed position. He whispered something in the horse’s ear, and gestured to him to stay put. He slunk low to the ground, making his way soundlessly up the foothill.

  Zennith backpedalled and, with a bob of his expansive head, the horse veered and took off at a gallop. Hunkering over the saddle, Fabal gripped the saddled horn with both hands. He was afraid to make a sound, and straining to conserve his voice to a murmured hush, he said, “Stop. We’re forgetting Fulvio. Whoa—a—a—”

  But Zennith had been given orders and was only allowed to stop once inside the hidden cavern.

  Chapter 12

  Fulvio crept to the summit where the scream had originated. Waddling on his belly, he was able to peer between the weedy undergrowth. He recognized the Mediators, Basta and Dunket, and, as he wormed his way closer, he heard their grumbling voices.

  “Look what that brat did to my arm.” Basta exposed teeth marks. “Tie it tighter.”

  “What about the other one? Want me to go after her?”

  “Let her go,” Basta said, cuffing down his long sleeve. “Maybe this one will make up for the McTullan kid.”

  “This one’s probably too big to be a mole,” Dunket said.

  “Yes, but look at his hands and feet.”

  “Egad—” Dunket sounded disgusted. “We’ll take him right to the Lab.”

  A lifeless-looking Knox was raised and slung over the guy’s shoulder like a sack of wheat. Fulvio knew their plans for the boy, and it fueled his anger. Rising to his haunches and digging in his toes, he launched himself toward the men.

  “Watch out!” Dunket swore while backtracking. “It’s a rabid beast!” Knox’s body slipped from the man’s shoulder, falling to the ground.

  Taken by surprise, Basta swiveled to see Fulvio in full combat stride, roaring like a crazed animal. He fumbled for his handgun, but was tackled. Plowed into the brushwood, rolling and spinning, each man pitted their strength against the other.

  Fulvio grabbed the Mediator’s head and slammed it to the ground, then knuckled him in the jaw. Basta seemed defenseless as he pinned him to the ground throwing punches. Although, Dunket jumped in, jamming a booted foot into Fulvio’s spine and head, knocking him out.

  Dunket flopped the silver haired man off Basta. “What’d you think?” he asked. “Where’d he come from?”

  A grimacing scowl painted Basta’s face as he tottered to his feet. Dusting dirt from his clothes, and, with a crimped fist, wiped his bloody lip. Before answering, and full of perplexity, he viewed the body of Fulvio. He kicked the unconscious man in the ribcage, making sure he was out cold. Then turning to the boy lying on the ground, he said, “Hey, get the kid. He’s waking up.”

  The boy’s eyes popped open, and seeing the unconscious man, strangled screams sieved through the gag tied across his mouth.

  Dunket circled the boy’s waist and lugged him over his shoulder. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” he said.

  Basta retrieved his magnum, which had flown through the air during the altercation. Gun in hand, he cocked it at the man’s head.

  The boy went berserk, thrashing and beating his body like a whip. “What the hell—” Dunket said, struggling to control the boy.

  “Get the kid out of here,” Basta ordered. Obviously, this man means something to the boy. Dunket disappeared through the thicket with the rowdy youth, then he dropped his gaze to the bearded man. Leaning over for a closer look, he squinted. The hairy man seemed vaguely familiar. Nope. Not possible.

  Basta wished to interrogate him. With the right kind of persuasion, he could furnish valuable information about the scavengers living in this wasteland. The man could lead him to the mutants.

  While weighing his options, a thunderous howling and tramping vibrated the woods. He whirled around, eyeing the circumference of the trees. Nothing yet. This place always gives me the willies.

  I better just kill the guy. Get rid of any witnesses. He aimed at the man’s head, putting pressure on the trigger. As the offensive din grew, he hesitated. The noise might lead that thing right to me.

  With both hands now on the revolver, he brandished the gun from one shady copse to the next, waiting. The heinous roar scraped into the marrow of his bones. He flicked a glance at the big man. He was coming to.

  Realizing the odds were against him, Basta hastily melted into the brush. I’ll be back.

  Tibbles burst into the clearing. Locating a supine Fulvio, the bear’s nostril’s flared. He rotated his massive weight, sniffing for the origin of the uncommon human scent, ready to pursue.

  “My friend,” Fulivo said, propping up, “help me.”

  Diverted by Fulvio, the bear’s paws hooked under each arm, shunting him to his feet. “I feel like I’ve just been stomped by Zennith.” He let out a humorless chuckle, only to cringe in pain, his arms cinching his chest. “They have Knox, but Swan got away. Help me to look for her by the ridge.”

  The bear snorted a reply.

  Clutching his ribcage, Fulvio lumbered unsteadily toward the ridge.

  With a disconcerted shake of his head, Tibbles landed on all fours and issued a low growl, an obvious invitation for Fulvio to mount. Tethering his fingers into the bear’s fur, he managed to straddle his back. Tibbles walked briskly to the ridge, carting his master.

  After twenty minutes of searching for the little girl, a reluctant Fulvio said, “I’m kaput, my good friend. Swan will find us in due time. Let’s get back.”

  The bear reversed without breaking stride, wending along the cusp. While astride the husky bear, Fulvio hummed a melodious tune and Tibbles swayed as they made their way to their crude dwelling.

  Here and there sunshine pulsed as it filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest with light. Tibbles booked around a boulder and beneath the towering conifers that hid the cavern. In the daylight the ivy-like plant looked harsh and forbidding. Grayish-green and brown vines were stippled with three-inch thorns and a nuisance for anyone who decided to pick the ripe berries hidden within the greenery.

  Arresting near the entrance, a weak cry jerked them to a stop. Sprouting from a darkened crevice was the young girl. A tentative Swan ambled forward, teary water lines sketched her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes, smearing her dirt-smudged face.

  “They—they surprised us.” Swan hiccupped, choking on a gush of tears. “They’d grabbed both of us. Knox—Knox fought so hard. He bit the guy holding me, and he let me go. Knox yelled, ‘Run fast.’ He screamed…” Her words slurred into mumbled mess.

  Fulvio gathered the girl in his arms, his voice soothing. “And I know for a fact you’re a very fast runner. You did well.” He drew her back and, with his thumbs wiped the tears. “We need to speak with your mom and make plans.”

  Swan nodded.

  ***

  Fabal flanked his mom on the cot as a host of people congregated around the fire. Even though it was sunny and warm outside, the cave remained cool. Lanterns burned high, squelching shadows confining them to the corners.

  Fabal assessed the diverse bodies. He never thought so many people existed outside of Tallas. And it wasn’t the tattered clothing that drew his interest. It was men, women, and children with strange-colored skin, disproportionate body parts, warped faces, and toothless mouths. He was accustomed to dark skin, but not black skin with white linear markings. Or the guy whose bare chest seemed to meld into the rock wall, nugget-like skin, he looked hard and crusty. He tried not to stare, with little success, at a young lady with skin similar to moss, green leaf-like hair, and a delicate fac
e with round emerald eyes. Her ears poked through leafy hair and were pointed at the tips.

  He couldn’t peel his eyes from a teenager chucking timber into the fire with his three arms. As if sensing Fabal’s curiosity, he swooped up a handful of pebbles, and started a frenzied juggling act. Fabal’s shoulders shook, silently laughing. The minority, devoid of any visible aberration, milled about whispering to one another.

  Keeyla was crunched into a ball, her right arm resting lengthwise on her knees and her bandaged left arm clenched to her side. Her complexion a deathly pale, but she cast Fabal a smile when he nestled to her hips.

  Fulvio threw his arms in the air and waved them as if he was fanning the fire. The crowd’s yammering instantly quieted. Magnifying his already-commanding voice, he said, “We must act quickly.”

  “Fulvio, I’m not listenin’ to your bull-shit this time,” said a normal-enough-looking young man. The crowd parted as he walked into the center of the cave. His upper lip curled distorting his hawk-like nose as if smelling something distasteful. Thin, dark brown hair branched over lean shoulders. “This area will be swarming with Mediators now that you brought that kid and his mom here.” He pointed a narrow finger at Keeyla and Fabal.

  “There’re my family, Smelt.” Fulvio frowned, his bottom lip squared, clenching teeth.

  “Yeah, well—” Smelt signaled with a dismissive hand wave. “We’ve all left family behind.”

  “This was different, and you know it.” Fulvio puffed out his chest, hoping to intimidate the young man. Disregarding Smelt, he turned his face sideways, exhibiting his bruised cheekbone, now morphing to an angry bluish-purple. “We agreed to send for Doogan and his family,” he said, appealing to the people. “We’re in need of medical help, and you know as well as I that some of our people could’ve been saved.”

  Men and women nodded while other faces bred panic.

  “We’ve handled the situation,” Smelt said with animosity, “without your high and mighty son taking over.”

  A streak of scarlet crossed Fulvio’s cheeks, rising to his forehead. His arms seemed glued against his frame, though his fingers curled and uncurled repetitively.

  “Why, Smelt?” Fulvio spoke through his teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Back off, Smelt,” a woman shouted from somewhere in the crowd.

  “You all know Knox doesn’t stand a chance,” he said, his tone mulish. “He’ll be dead by the time we get to him. Or he’ll wish he was dead. Why take a chance? If we wanna survive without Management’s interference, we stay outta their way.”

  Swan marched in front of Smelt. He stared down his nose at the tiny scamp. Devoid of dithering, she kicked him in the shin and pelted him in the stomach. “You jerk. You cowardly jerk!” she bawled. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

  Smelt shrank back, stunned by his small attacker.

  “From the mouths of babes.” Fulvio’s mustache grew with his smile. He settled his hands on Swan’s shoulders and gently drew her into his legs.

  “But, Fulvio, we don’t have the manpower anymore,” said the black man with the white linear markings. “All our good men and women have been depleted. And the Mediators would love capturing any, if not all of us.”

  Fulvio appeared deep in thought. Stroking his bristly beard he turned to stare at Fabal. “We have an exemplary mole in our midst.”

  Chapter 13

  Doogan staggered to his feet, disregarding the raw ache in his leg. The room was dark. Feeling for the wall, he clicked on the lights and squinted against the brightness.

  Who the hell’s knocking? I’m locked in for chrissakes. Nonetheless, he seized the knob and twisted and was stunned when it opened.

  “Here, brought you some clean clothes,” Fontel said like they were going for a walk in the park. “Your face looks better. Hurry it up. Dr. Sese is waiting for us in his office.”

  Doogan glared at him while reaching for the offered pile of clothing.

  “Oh, yeah,” Fontel added with a weasely smile, “these, too.” He strode into the room and dumped a brown paper bag on the bed. “Shoes. Dr. Sese doesn’t want to see your muddy sneakers again. There’s also other accessories you definitely need. Like a toothbrush and comb.” His gaze flew to Doogan’s hair. “You might try using them now.”

  “Okay,” Doogan said, picking sleep from the corners of his eye. “Get out so I can dress.”

  “Sorry, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.” An unappealing grin touched Fontel’s mouth.

  “Fine, have it your own way.” Lacking modesty, Doogan stepped out of the scrubs given to him after his shower the night before. From his periphery, he detected Fontel’s lips puckering as he browsed over Doogan’s extensive bruises and cuts, courtesy of the Mediators. Redressing in the pants and shirt, he then dug into the bag and found old socks and shoes. He slipped them on. “I need to hit the john first.”

  “Don’t forget your comb and toothbrush,” Fontel said, gesturing to the items that had dropped from the bag and now littered the cot.

  Several minutes later, they boarded the elevator on the second floor. Doogan watched as Fontel keyed in a code of numbers and the elevator began its descent. When the metal doors jittered open, he followed Fontel’s lead.

  He took note of sporadic Mediators loitering in the corridors. Not one was lording over him today. Perhaps the weasel’s equipped to take me down should I try anything. He studied Fontel’s slicked brown hair, long pointy nose, bubble eyes, and slight build. Doogan was a full head taller. No way could this guy can take me out.

  Doogan broke the silence. “What is this place?”

  “The Infirmary, of course.”

  “I’ve worked at the Infirmary since I was thirteen, and I’ve never been on this level.”

  “That’s because it’s classified.” Fontel halted in midstride and pivoted to face him. “You really don’t remember me?”

  He looked the guy up and down, arresting his gaze on the man’s face. “No,” he said, somewhat terse.

  “I thought you might. But you were so caught up with the grunges, then you became one of them. I wasn’t happy when they assigned you to the Infirmary.”

  Like a bulb shedding light, he realized Fontel was one of the Executives’ brats. “So, your dad’s an Executive?” he said, unable to hide his aversion. He’d despised the privileged kids who looked down on the village people like they were stinking rats.

  “Why, yes.” Fontel straightened. “Not exactly one of the Elites, but ranked high in Management. You do remember me then?”

  “No, not really,” he remarked, and tugged on the hem of the shirt which was a tad too small. “But you sound like one of them.”

  Fontel turned a cold shoulder and stepped up the pace.

  They neared the metal doors that led to the corridor housing prisoners, or rather the poor bastards that happened to be born with mutations, which made them rubbish in the eyes of Management. Doogan didn’t like to think how he just stood by and let that girl die yesterday.

  Fontel pushed through a door into an office. Abutting the walls were mismatched cushioned chairs, threads and foam oozed from their bindings. “Sit,” he ordered, then rapped on an adjoining door and walked in.

  Doogan turned, surveying the office, and was startled to see a woman. A very familiar woman. Seated demurely behind a desk, she tapped a pen on her cherry lips. Scrutinizing him from top to bottom, as though taking inventory, an alluring smile enhanced her face.

  “You’re the guy everyone’s talking about?” the receptionist said, her voice titillating. She docked her elbows on the desk and supported her chin on the tips of her fingers. “Rumor has it, you’re like a miracle worker. Healed lots of citizens over the years that should’ve died.”

  Doogan stared at the wall, hoping if he ignored her she’d clam up. Her compliments were making him sick to his stomach.

  “You saved the Head Elite from choking to death when you were only fourteen,” she continued, unfa
zed by his disinterest. “Your path to glory was paved. Management requested you for their families.” She rose and walked around the desk. Decked in a cranberry dress to match her lips and, in a deliberate motion to grab his full attention, she smoothed her hands down her torso and over full hips.

  Doogan glanced at the door Fontel had entered only moments ago. What the hell’s taking him so long? His very first girlfriend gracefully settled a hip onto the edge of the desk and swung a shapely leg.

  “Doogan, I was miserable when you left the Mansion. And when you hooked-up with that village girl, I didn’t want to believe it,” she said, drawing his eyes to drift over her exquisite body. “You’ve always had a piece of my heart. Remember the closet?”

  He never forgot the irascible, temperamental Paniess and those scandalous moments in a young boy’s life. An outstanding beauty, and an Elite, through and through.

  “Hello, Paniess.” His ambition to speak in an even voice sounded quirky. “It’s been a while.”

  “Too long. Glad you’re back with us,” she crooned with pouty lips.

  He stood to face her just as Fontel returned, waving him in. Without so much as a backward glance, he left Paniess in all her glory.

  When they entered the room, Dr. Sese and the other ancient doctor he’d met the previous day reclined in leather beaten chairs. Filled with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves and rows of file cabinets lined the wall.

  Without preamble, Fontel introduced the ancient man as Doctor Osta Merkle then stepped back to lean on the door like a lackey. Not bothering to offer a customary handshake, the two elderly men eyed Doogan from under creased brows. Striving for casual, he buried his tense hands in his pants pockets.

  “You’ve put us in quite a predicament, Dr. McTullan,” Dr. Sese opened the conversation. “Now is the time to put petty differences aside. We need you to be a man and help the cause, for Tallas sake. You’ve seen the ineptness of the physician’s in training.” Sese’s eyes skipped to Fontel before landing on Doogan again. “Your wife was the one who wanted to leave and take you into that forsaken land, correct?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “We’ve decided to let you live. We’ve struck a deal with Management. However, they have certain requirements.”