Compulsion

by Perrin Briar

  The engine underneath her roared, hot beneath her back. She dared not move for fear she might slide off the seat and onto the ground. It would cut her face and arms to pieces.

  The road seemed to stretch on forever, winding this way and that, never seeming to end. Siren hoped it really didn’t have an end. That way, she would never have to know what was at the end of it.

  The motorcycles pulled up outside a large barn. There was a thick fog surrounding it. It was like something from a seventies horror movie. Nothing good could possibly happen in that place. As the men loosened the cord that bit into Siren’s flesh, she struggled to get free. She was easily subdued.

  Siren and Quinn were carried into the barn. The corners were draped in sinister shadows. Siren made a dash for the door, but it slammed in her face, the force knocking her back.

  She could already smell the torn, rotting, fetid flesh of dozens of Grayskins as they stepped from the shadows. They formed a circle around Siren, Quinn and Hell’s Angel. There was no escape.

  Siren peered around the room. There had to be an exit, a way out, there just had to be. There wasn’t a single gap through the Grayskins. They were shoulder to shoulder and three bodies thick. There was no getting through them.

  Quinn looked to be gauging the Grayskins, trying to figure a way out of there too. He had an intense look of concentration on his face.

  Only Hell’s Angel seemed relaxed amidst the reek of death. He was clearly used to seeing these creatures. Siren reached out with her newfound ability. It was the only effective weapon available to her now.

  She reached for the figures standing around her in a circle. She felt for them but felt… nothing. There appeared to be nothing there she could feel or see. There was no way she was going to attach herself to them, no way for her to grip hold of them, nothing at all. They might as well have never existed at all, and to her Skill, they didn’t.

  That thought alone made her feel repulsed. The emptiness filled her stomach and made her feel sick.

  The only figures she could read were beside her—Hell’s Angel and Quinn. Hell’s Angel had an aura of self-satisfaction, underneath a thin veneer of constant anger.

  Quinn had an aura that was strange to her. She had expected him to have, as she did, a horrified expression, but he had nothing of the sort. If she didn’t know better she would have said he was happy, pleased.

  “Quinn?” Siren said. “What’s going on?”

  “You know what’s going on,” Quinn said. “You just have to say it out loud.”

  “Say what?” Siren said.

  “What you already know to be true,” Quinn said. “You know it. Just as I know it myself.”

  Siren, to her astonishment, found she actually did know what he was referring to. It was something she’d known on and off for the past couple of days. She couldn’t put her finger on the exact moment, only that she did. And now that she knew in her conscious mind, it was the most obvious thing she could imagine. But it still wasn’t easy for her to say out loud.

  “You’re the Merchant,” Siren said.

  She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, as if that might bring the sentence back and make it not true.

  “Yes,” Quinn said. “I am the Merchant.”

  Siren shook her head.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “You argued with your father about meeting with the Merchant. You came with me when we followed him into the forest.”

  “Those displays were for your benefit,” Quinn said.

  He spoke with a different voice, more mature and in control. He stood with a straight back, his hands behind him. He was a man, not a boy.

  “I also arranged for the Grayskins to appear on our patrol, to see your reaction to it,” he said. “And the Raiders. It was then I knew for sure you had the Skill.”

  “It’s because of you Mitt is dead,” Siren said.

  “The Raiders weren’t meant to have loaded weapons,” Quinn said, directing a glare at Hell’s Angel, who looked just as shocked to discover Quinn’s true identity as Siren was. “That was their fault.”

  “And Meryl?” Siren said. “What about her?”

  “This is why I need you,” Quinn said. “To Compel people. That is what our Skill is called. Compulsion. It means you can control people, living people. Me, the dead. You always had the ability, less powerful of course, but you could always get them to do what you wanted.

  “I provide food and resources to the communities in my area, and in exchange, they send me those who may have the Skill. There are precious few of us. The ability to Compel the Grayskins—like myself. I bring the Grayskins to myself, control them so they will not harm anyone without my say so. This is why I set up Whitegate as a haven, to draw you to it. Honey for the bee. Only the greatest survivors would make it there, and some of them might have access to a power the ones who died did not.

  “I’d heard of people like you, who might Compel living people to do as she wishes. I wasn’t sure if I really believed them, but knowing what I could do with the undead, why wasn’t it possible for the living too? I can Compel the Grayskins. It’s a Skill I realized I had early on, when the Grayskins started appearing. I could hear them, speak to them.

  “Have you ever been able to convince people to do something when they didn’t want to? Ever been able to know people were there without seeing them? That’s because you’re Skilled with Compulsion. I am too. Only I Push and Pull other beings. The Grayskins. You Push and Pull the living.”

  In truth, Siren had always felt she had the ability to manipulate people. She found it easy to manipulate people’s emotions, but it was always in a half-hearted manner and easily explained away by circumstance. But today she’d definitely felt it, the power and control she garnered at her fingertips.

  “I find people… difficult,” Quinn said. “They are complicated creatures. Grayskins are simple. They think only of hunger.”

  “Why do you want me?” Siren said.

  “You complete me,” Quinn said. “You are the id to my ego. Together, we could rule the world.”

  “I don’t want to rule the world,” Siren said.

  “No ambition?” Quinn said. “That’s a shame. Don’t worry, I have ambition enough for both of us.”

  “Why do you want me?” Siren said.

  “With someone skilled in human Compulsion no army could stand before us,” Quinn said. “Their forces would flee, in fear. And our forces would push them back, farther and farther. The world, and beyond, would be ours!”

  “You weren’t joking when you said you have ambition,” Siren said.

  “Others like me do not understand their power,” Quinn said. “We need living people. We need their minds, their ingenuity, just as you need my Grayskins. We can harness one another’s Skills, one another’s abilities. Don’t you see?”

  “No,” Siren said. “You are a murderer, a psychopath. You command these monsters to hunt and kill people. We can never work together.”

  “You say that like people had never done anything terrible before,” Quinn said. “But we need only look to our current company to know the falseness of that. Hell’s Angel killed your brother. He murdered him in cold blood.

  “It was unfortunate, but nothing to do with what I’m doing here. Do you want revenge? Tell me, and it’s yours. You do not even need to sully your hands.”

  Siren looked at Hell’s Angel. Here he was, the man she had vowed to kill, to tear apart with her own two hands. And yet… she could sense him, could feel him there. A man, a living, breathing man. She couldn’t take his life from him, despite what he had done to her brother.

  And then she surprised herself.

  “Yes,” she said. “Kill him.”

  “Are you sure?” Quinn said. “This won’t bring your brother back remember, only offer a little vengeance for what was taken from you.”

  “I’m sure,” Siren said.

  Hell’s Angel’s smile faded. He had been watching this whole event take
place with a look of confusion.

  A Grayskin stepped forward and approached him. He raised his hands and gently scratched Hell’s Angel’s skin, exposing him to the virus. He might have been infected already, or else he soon would be. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He coughed and wheezed as he began, ever so slowly, to turn.

  “What… What are you doing?” Hell’s Angel said to Quinn. “Haven’t I served you well? Haven’t I done everything you requested?”

  “Yes,” Quinn said. “But unfortunately you made the mistake of killing the wrong person. I’m sorry.”

  Siren was both horrified, fascinated, and joyful of what was happening before her.

  “And the other Raiders?” Siren said. “They’re just as guilty of murdering my brother as Hell’s Angel.”

  Quinn smiled.

  “There’s hope for you yet,” he said. “But unfortunately we can’t go around killing all those who wrong us, otherwise there would be no one left for you to control. But I suppose these few Raiders won’t make a huge difference to the world. They are only scum, a drain on the human project.”

  Quinn took a moment, becoming silent with concentration.

  Horrific moans emanated outside as Grayskins fell upon the Raiders. Their cries of pain were long and drawn out. Eventually, all was silent once again.

  “So, what is your response to my proposition?” Quinn said. “I gave you not only the vengeance you desired upon Hell’s Angel, but also his whole gang. We can wreak the same vengeance upon anyone else you desire. But it will all be for the purpose of closing the living-dead gap, utilizing the strength of both.”

  Siren took a long moment before answering.

  “If what you say is true, that I can control the living,” Siren said, “then I can control you too.”

  Quinn met her eyes, looking deep into her soul. What he saw there surprised him. His eyes bulged.

  Siren Pushed as hard as she could at Quinn, forcing every bit of fear into him she could muster. Quinn reeled back. He lost control.

  The Grayskins groaned loudly, grasping at him with clawed hands. He fought to regain control of them, but it was too late. They were already coming out of their confused daze, and stumbled toward him.

  Siren threw herself at the barn door, knocking it open. She fell onto the dirt outside. The Grayskins were coming toward her from the outside now too, fumbling and shuffling in her direction.

  Siren jumped onto a motorcycle and pulled away, kicking up dust and disappearing into the fog. She laughed to herself, maniacally, crazily, her voice matching the scream of the engine between her legs as she beat a path into the post-apocalyptic world where she now belonged.

  But now she wielded a terrible power. Would it consume her? Or would she use it to consume her enemies? Right then, tears streaming out the corner of her eyes, she didn’t care. She needed only to get away, to rejoin the darkness that was to be her home, and away from this madness.

  Chapter Forty-One

  QUINN stepped from the barn and into the spotlight of silvery light of the moon. He watched the dust cloud kicked up by the rapidly fading motorcycle.

  He’d given Siren the chance of a lifetime, and yet she still didn’t want it. She would learn there were some things you just couldn’t say no to. He hopped onto a motorcycle and hit the road, following in Siren’s wake.

  Like the sirens in ancient Greek tales, he would allow himself to be drawn to her, but it wouldn’t be his death that paid the price.

  Epilogue

  THIS WAS the one part of the job, the part Greer hated most. He turned to face the community gathered in the town square.

  “I understand you’re all worried right now,” Greer said. “Siren, a known murderer, has escaped and is on the loose. She is missing along with our beloved Quinn. Believe me, I’m just as, perhaps more, afraid of what has befallen him than any of you.

  “But let me assure you, everything that can be done, is being done. More scouts are being set up around the town to keep a watchful vigil. But whatever happens, we must take care of ourselves and our community first and foremost. It is what Quinn would have wanted. Tomorrow is a new day, and with it will come new challenges we must overcome.”

  Speaking the way he did, calm, thoughtful and bursting with emotion, always made the congregation of the community relax. Reassured, the township dispersed and headed back to their homes. Bess approached Greer.

  “Thank you, Greer,” Bess said. “That was most encouraging. I’m sure the scouts will find Quinn and keep him safe, as well as punish Siren before she does anything else harmful. Soon things will be back to normal in Whitegate. You have such a way with words.”

  “Thank you,” Greer said.

  It was a skill he had that he couldn’t explain, except that he got goosebumps every time he experienced it.

  “It’s a special skill, I guess,” he said.

  An Additional Gift From the Author

  I hope you are enjoying Compulsion. The next book will be released very soon. In the meantime, why not check out my other series Blood Memory. As a special gift I’m giving you an exclusive behind-the-scenes peek of its opening. Details of how to grab the next book are available after the excerpt.

  -EXCERPT-

  Blood Memory

  Book One

  1.

  Anne recognized the sound. She’d heard it dozens of times over the past week. She peered over the boat’s edge. The fog was so thick she couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the prow.

  At thirty-two, with a thin wiry body and dirty blonde hair that barely reached the nape of her neck, climbing over the thirty-eight foot Viking yacht was easy for Anne, though her legs and arms still bore the scratches and bruises from the first few turbulent days on board. She held onto the railing that wrapped around the cabin’s roof and edged along the narrow rim to the stern.

  A body floated in the water. Only the torso was visible, the legs lost to the fog. The man’s head patted the boat with a hollow thud, the cause of the sound she’d heard. The man would have been handsome if it wasn’t for the puckered purple cut across his left cheek, his pallid skin, and nose bent at a broken angle.

  “Joel?” Anne’s words were muffled by the fog. “Come up here!”

  She listened but there was no reply. She stomped her foot on the deck like a buck calling a female.

  “What?” a voice called out.

  “Come up here a minute.”

  Joel grumbled as he ascended the stairs. He was a thirty-year-old walnut-haired broad-chested Australian more accustomed to the Outback than the ocean. Upon seeing the body he said, “Bloody hell, not another floater. Can’t we just toss it back?”

  “You know we can’t.”

  Joel cupped his hands around his mouth and called down the stairs. “Yo! Stan! Come up here!”

  Pigeon-chested Stan McIntyre was two inches shy of Joel’s six feet two, but he had a bearing his past life as a school teacher had imbued him with that made him seem taller.

  “Where are the girls?” Anne asked.

  “Inside with Mary,” Stan said.

  “Do we have to do this one?” Joel whined. “Can’t we just let him be? Respect the dead, and all that.”

  “Not when he might have something in his pocket that could aid us,” Stan said.

  Joel blew out an exasperated puff of air. “All right then. Let’s get this over with.”

  Joel and Stan took an arm each and pulled the body on board. Water splashed and pooled over the deck.

  “Whose turn is it to turn out pockets?” Stan asked.

  “I did it last night,” Joel said.

  “And I did it this morning.”

  “Me too,” Anne said.

  Joel rolled his eyes. “Great.” He rooted through the man’s pockets. He screwed up his face. “Nothing. I knew there wouldn’t be. Let’s toss him back.” Joel hooked his hands into the crook of the body’s arms and lifted him up until he was almost standing. He was about to push it over t
he side when the body wheezed a gasping breath. Joel’s eyes went wide and he dropped the body.

  “Jesus Christ! The bugger’s still alive!”

  “Is he one of them, do you reckon?” Stan said, picking up a length of iron kept for such occasions.

  Anne reached over slowly, keeping a close eye on the man, and put her fingers to his wrist. “He has a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

  “He can’t be alive, can he?” Joel said, hand on his chest like he was going to suffer a heart attack. “He must be one of them. None of the others were alive.”

  “That doesn’t mean this one can’t be.”

  “He can’t be alive. He’s been floating around for a week.”

  “We don’t know that. He might have only fallen in a few hours ago.”

  “His beard,” Stan said, gesturing to the man’s five o’clock shadow. “If he’d been at sea a long time it’d be longer than it is now.”

  “There’s only one way of knowing for sure,” Anne said. “We have to check him for bite marks.”

  Joel shook his head. “No. No way I’m going near him. You know how fast those things can move.”

  Anne reached into her pocket, extricating a switchblade. “I’ll do it.” She kneeled down at the foot of the body and began cutting off a saturated sock.

  “Fine,” Joel said, getting down on his knees and cutting at the other sock with his own knife. “But if anything happens I blame you. Stan, you stand over him with your pole ready. I swear, if his eyelids so much as flutter, give it to him.”

  Stan took position over the body, pole poised.

  Joel shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  They cut away the man’s pants. His dark wire-like hair lay plastered to his pale legs. They cut away the man’s light blue shirt with fancy cufflinks.

  The man mumbled under his breath.

  Everyone froze. Stan tensed, pole held over his shoulder like a batter stepping up to the plate. The man quietened down and they continued. They pulled off the man’s shirt, exposing his arms. They were not large and muscular, but toned and hard. They tore through the man’s undershirt. Anne gasped. Crisscrossing his body were a series of pale white scars and strange flower-like burns, long-since healed. One nipple had been shorn off entirely. Around the remaining nipple were a series of small circles Anne suspected were cigarette burns.