Blood Thirst
The Superiors Book Two
Lena Mae Hill writing as Lena Hillbrand
Speak Now
Contents
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Part Three
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
About the Author
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2011 Lena Hillbrand
This book can be purchased in print here.
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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ISBN-13: 978-1-945780-12-7
ISBN-10: 1-945780-12-6
Created with Vellum
Part One
QUEST
1
Draven was going to get his human. It mattered little that she didn’t technically belong to him, that she belonged to someone else. It mattered little that the someone else was a man twice Draven’s age, twice his rank, and whom he had once considered his closest friend. He was going to get her if it killed him.
After driving all night, he continued late into the morning, when even through his dark glasses the glare gave him a headache. Staying in a hotel would cost too much, so he covered the windshield with his light-safe shield and reclined his seat to prepare for sleep. Some cars came equipped with light-blocking technology, but he couldn’t afford those cars. His Mert performed little more than the required duties.
Draven sensed the moment when his brain shut off, and then he slept, as always, without dreams. When he woke, evening had passed into full darkness. He cursed himself for sleeping so long and righted his seat. He turned on his pod and considered calling Byron again. But he’d rather keep the element of surprise.
As he continued towards the mountains, the road began to wind sharply, and he had to wonder if he was on the same path as Byron. When he came to a place where the pavement had buckled over time, where rocks had forced their way through, he knew that he wasn’t. He stepped from the car and studied the road. It would slow him some, but he thought he could get past the area if he cleared it a bit.
Cold wind whipped at him under the dark sky of piercing stars. His fingers ached as he worked, but he didn’t have the human advantage of growing numb from cold. Quarter of an hour later, he had cleared away the rocks and chunks of asphalt. Before starting out again, he checked the electronic dash screen in his car to see if he could find a more accessible road. He found a larger one, but he’d have to backtrack for an entire night to reach it. It circled to the east, then back towards the mountains. The road he now followed went straight to the mountains—straight to Byron’s new home. If Byron had taken the longer, larger road, they might arrive in the city the same night.
Draven switched on his car and traversed the rutted road. He tried to remember the last car he’d seen, the last lights, the last city. Though it seemed long ago, he’d passed through it only a few nights before. As he continued over areas where sand blanketed the asphalt and areas where tumbling webs of dried plant skittered across the road and into the blackness, he ate a packet of dried sap that clung to the inside of his mouth. The packaged stuff barely resembled real sap, fresh from a human vein.
The night had faded towards dawn when Draven noticed the changing landscape beneath the million pinpricks of light piercing the night sky. Dunes and sand flats gradually gave way to small swells in the land, and scrubby bushes replaced tumbleweed. He remembered his time in the desert with Byron, the talks, the walking, the comfortable silences. He longed for that company again. He knew that what Byron had done didn’t quite qualify as betrayal. In Byron’s eyes, it had simply been a tactical maneuver, out-playing his opponent. Byron had known Draven’s fondness for the sapien he also liked, and he’d taken advantage of Draven’s ignorance of their mutual inclination.
Just then, as Draven mused over his regrets, his car’s battery died. He’d ignored the warnings, wanting to gain as much ground as possible. He hadn’t seen a charging station in a long while, anyhow. The Mert slowed, sputtered, and the lights went out. The car coasted to a halt. Draven climbed out and glanced at the lightening sky. He slammed his fist on the roof of the car in frustration, and then stood for a moment with his forehead on the cold top of the car.
He could call someone, perhaps his sometimes-lover Lira, and have her come and get him. But she’d ask so many questions, and he didn’t want to call her to his rescue. He could call to get a battery delivered. Or he could forget this whole mad idea and go home like a sensible person.
But he had said he would get his human, and he was going to do it. No matter what he had to do on the journey.
So he climbed in the seat and slept, and when he woke, he began walking.
2
Sally hated chopping wood. Gol-darn, did she hate it. And today was even worse because it was cold as the dickens. Angela was supposed to chop the stupid wood, that had been her job back when, but noooo, she never did nothing right. Then Sally felt bad for thinking ill of the dead, so she thought about all the nights she had lain in bed talking to her sister. Even if Angela couldn’t chop wood worth a dang, she’d been good for talking to in the dark.
Sally felt better for having a good thought about her sister, and she sighed and hefted the sledge hammer. She brought it down, letting gravity drive the splitting maul into the chunk of wood. The wood split cleanly down the center, each piece falling away from the stump with a decided lack of grace. She picked up the two pieces and tossed them crosswise in the wheelbarrow. Maybe four more pieces to go and she’d be done. She wiped her runny nose on her glove and stood another too-big piece of wood on end on the big stump.
“Sally!” Tom called from the house. She looked up to see her uncle standing on the back porch, hands on hips.
“Shut up, I’m coming,” she called back.
“Hurry it up, willya? Fire’s about to die out.”
“Hold your dang horses, I’m filling the wheelbarrow.”
She finished the four pieces of wood left in her small stack, piled them into the wheelbarrow, and took off for the back porch. She didn’t pause or even glance at the big tree in the backyard where
they’d found her dead sister. Angela was often on her mind, even after all this time, but Sally turned her focus to the task at hand. Getting this dang load of wood into the house, taking off her gloves, and getting a cup of tea off the stove. Well, dang if that weren’t three things.
“You leave that sledge lying out in the snow again, girl?” her father asked.
“No, Pappy. Course I ain’t,” she lied.
“Good deal. Now get you some tea afore the stove goes out.”
“Let me just take the wheelbarrow back to the shed first,” Sally said, knowing she’d get a good tongue lashing if she left the sledge out again. Making a new handle weren’t so hard, if this one rotted off. She’d made a new handle before. The hard part was making a handle that stayed on the dang piece of iron that formed the head of the tool.
She went out back and put up the wheelbarrow and the sledgehammer. She would have missed her brother altogether if she hadn’t decided at the last minute to grab a scoop of dog scraps from the shed. “Larry, sheesh, you scared the daylights outta me,” Sally said, covering her heart. “What you doing out here anyway?”
“What’s it look like, I’m working on the cage.”
“Yeah, fat lotta good it’s done us so far,” Sally said. “You’d think we’s all safe with this thing in here, then the first one of them bloodsuckers comes by and look what happened.”
“Yeah, well, next time we’ll do a better job of it. One of them’s bound to slip up one of these days. You know Hankins down the road killed one just last year. You can’t get too comfortable just ‘cause there ain’t been a sighting in a year or so.”
“I know, I know. Be prepared, right? You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Pappy.”
“I can think of worser folks to sound like. As it happens, Pappy’s right. I can’t think about what’s gonna happen if one stops in here again. I don’t think he’ll make it to the cage with the way Pappy and Uncle Tom carry on about them bloodsuckers. But if he does, well, it’s my job to make sure we’re ready for him.”
“Well all right, I’ll leave you to it. Come get some tea iffen you get cold.”
“Will do, sis. Be in in a bit.”
Sally stopped to feed the dogs on the way in. Dumb things were pretty much worthless as far as she could tell. Sure, they chased off an animal or two every couple nights, in the summer months anyway. But in the winter they mostly just ate food and didn’t earn their keep no how.
Sally kicked her boots against the porch railing until the snow fell away in clumps, and then she went in the house to have her hot tea.
“After you finish your tea, I brought in some hawthorn so we can whittle away some stakes. Too cold out to do much,” her father said. He sat by the fire, peeling away layers of wood to bring out the sharp stake at the center of a limb.
“Yeah, all right,” she said, sitting down with her tea. “I ain’t got nothing else to do no how.”
Dang snow. Been falling for days. Everybody got grumpy, especially Sally. Nobody could get out to do nothing. Pappy’d been doing a lot of carving, and Larry spent most of his time out in that dang shed. Everybody waiting for the end of the world. Tom’d been pacing for days, wanting to get out and go to one of his inflammatory meetings with all those fellers who was always talking war and never doing much of anything as far as Sally could tell.
After a while of sitting around inside, Sally put on her snow shoes and piled on about a million layers of clothes and headed out to the shed. She went on around the side and loaded up with wood and took it back to the house. After she replenished the stack on the back porch, she went back out. She got bored with sitting around all winter whittling away at stakes for the herds of thirsty bloodsuckers her family thought was descending on them, closing in by the second. As far as she could tell, it weren’t nothing but a bunch of hot air. Weren’t no bloodsuckers coming this way as far as she could tell. If her family was all gonna die it, would probably be of freezing to death, or maybe dying of cabin fever stuck out there and not even able to go visit the neighbors.
“Larry,” Sally called, clomping into the shed. “Turn off that dang music! You know Pappy said we can’t use electricity for nothing until the sun comes out or the wind decides to blow a minute.”
“Yeah, but I don’t see Pappy out here, do you?”
“So we can’t use the fridge, but you get to listen to music?”
“Ain’t no need for a fridge ‘til summer,” Larry said. “And I need my music to concentrate. Mind your own damn business.”
“Maybe I will. I’ll just tell Pappy you’re out here using up our last store of electricity listening to ‘Life Is a Highway’ for the three millionth time.”
“Shut the hell up, sister. You tell Pappy, and I’ll shave your head next time you fall asleep.”
“What you doing out here anyway? Nothing’s gonna be using that cage except you, when I throw you in there next time you touch my hair.”
“Why don’t you shut your trap and go do something you’re good at, like brushing your hair a hundred strokes or making me some tea.”
“Oh, shut up, why don’t you? I’ll leave you alone with your stupid cage. Stupid boys and their stupid toys. Pretending you’re doing something useful when really you’re just trying to get out of the house and sneak some time with your dang radio,” Sally muttered as she fastened her snowshoes and headed back out. She fed the dogs and stood outside looking up at the grey sky. A few flakes of snow drifted down on the silent white world. Winter was pretty. It might be okay if it weren’t so dang quiet. Not one single interesting thing ever had or ever would happen with three feet of snow on the ground.
3
When Draven reached the nearest town, he stocked up on supplies he might need if he had to abandon his car, then returned to the Mert. This took an entire night, and by the time he returned to his car, he had to take sleep, as the sun was already rising. That evening, he returned to the road. He had two fully charged batteries, weeks’ worth of food and clothing, and two backpacks.
Grateful for the longer hours of darkness than back home in the Funnel, Draven took advantage. Darkness made driving much more pleasant. He’d also purchased a solar charger for his car batteries so his car would renew itself while he slept each day. It had cost more than he liked, and he’d debated whether to make the purchase. But he imagined Byron had one already, and if Draven didn’t purchase one, he’d lose ground every few days when his batteries ran out.
Inside his car the next day, he slept wrapped in a blanket and a foil-lined sleep sack to keep his body temperature as regular as he could. Of course he couldn’t die from exposure, but he became uncomfortable at very low temperatures. As he continued into higher altitudes, freezing had become a danger as well. While he slept, rain fell steadily on the roof. At first the sound bothered him, but once he’d grown accustomed to it, he found it triggered a vague sense of comfort from a time long forgotten.
He slept well that day and awakened after dark. His battery had not charged. A thick layer of ice had encompassed the car while he slept. Sometime during the day, the rain had frozen but continued to fall. Draven broke out with some difficulty, and though afterwards his door wouldn’t close the way it once had, he imagined the Memory Metal would regain its original shape soon enough. After breaking out of the car, he managed to chip away enough ice to see through the windshield. The road had become slick, and many times he slid against the guardrail or against the mountain or into a drift of snow on the other side of the road. He spent as much time pushing the Mert back onto the road that night as he spent driving. The car had used half the battery by morning, but it didn’t matter anymore by then.
He had come to a place where an avalanche had covered the road. Rocks and dirt and snow loomed for a space of six meters or so. He could have dug through it, but it would have taken days. When he tried to push the car over it, the Mert refused, sinking into the snow and catching on rocks instead. He spent the remaining hours of darkness pushin
g his car about quarter of the way over the blockage. Staying up half the day, he made another few meters of progress. He found it less difficult to stay awake during the day when only a sullen, muddy light came through the thick mass of clouds. The problem wasn’t the light but rather exhaustion, which made him weaker and slower as the hours passed. In the afternoon, he slept a few hours and awakened before dark. A thick layer of new snow covered the car.
4
Cali had been in the dark a long time. She didn’t know where she was, or where she was going—only that she was moving. She’d explored her surroundings the night her new master had put her inside the trailer. Her explorations hadn’t taken long. She’d touched all three walls, and the door that formed the fourth side of her enclosure, and the light-tight sealing around the knobless door. No way out. Nothing to do. Nothing to feel except cold and hungry. She was alone, which she usually didn’t mind, but she would have liked someone to talk to, someone to share her fear.
She pulled the small scrap of cloth she’d found in the Superior’s things tighter around her. The metal walls of the trailer sucked the heat right out of her body. She curled up in a ball on the floor and covered her exposed arm with the cloth. For a few minutes, she let herself indulge in self-pity, and she wished more than anything she’d ever wished for that she was back in the thin, lumpy bed in the barracks, or the thinner, lumpier bed in the little tin shack she’d shared with her sisters.
So what if she’d have to spend time working the stuffing to the spot that gave her the most comfort and padding on the hard floor? Right then, she would have been happy without a bed at all, if she could just get a blanket. Or even the shirt that the Man with Soft Hair had given her, a Superior shirt with long sleeves. Why couldn’t some halfway nice Superior like that—Draven, he’d called himself—buy her? Sure, he was mean sometimes, but not all the time. Not like her new master.
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