Expulsion

by Perrin Briar

  They wanted to maintain their grip on their power. They were selfish. They weren’t acting in their community’s best interest.

  Well, if they weren’t noble enough to do what needed doing, Quinn would have to do it himself.

  He said goodbye to what remained of his humanity and gripped the thorny mask of madness. He gave the order, and his Undead army began to move.

  As a herd, they approached the Chinese party and surrounded it. Poised to attack.

  “Hamilton, seize these men,” Quinn said.

  “Quinn?” Siren said. “What are you doing?”

  Hamilton did as he was told, as was his duty. He gave a nod, and his guards surrounded the community leaders.

  “What sort of treachery is this?” Balder said.

  “You are the ones guilty of treachery,” Quinn said. “You think only of yourselves, only of maintaining your grip on the little power you command.”

  “Let us out of here,” Balder said. “Or so help me…”

  “Or you’ll what?” Quinn said. “Your weapons were taken when you entered.”

  “You may have taken our blades,” Balder said. “But you did not remove all our lethal weapons.”

  He held up his huge fists and prepared to fight. The other leaders did the same. They were survivors. Their instinct was to always fight and never give up.

  “Quinn!” Siren said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m doing what they are too weak to do,” Quinn said.

  “You can’t do this!” Siren said. “They came here with an invitation from you. They are guests! You can’t give in to the Darkness.”

  “I never should have fought the Darkness,” Quinn said. “That was my error. I should have done this a long time ago.”

  “Quinn,” Siren said, standing before him. “End this madness now, before it’s too late. Do this, and you’ll never come back from it.”

  “I don’t want to come back from it,” Quinn said. “This is the way it must be.”

  The Undead, silent from this distance, converged on the Chinese leaders.

  Balder roared with rage and flew at the guards surrounding him. He, and the others, fought hard and valiantly, but there was no way for them to match the ferocity of cold steel as it bit into their flesh.

  Siren screamed. Dexter burst into wild gales of laughter. Quinn didn’t make a sound, concentrating on the task in hand. These people were obstacles, nothing more than a rock in the middle of the road. To be removed and disposed of.

  “Dark days require dark actions,” Quinn said.

  “No,” Siren said. “This is wrong. All wrong. This isn’t what we agreed.”

  “But it is what is necessary,” Quinn said.

  “What are you going to do now?” Siren said. “You have just made four communities leaderless.”

  “I will give them new leadership,” Quinn said. “Better leadership. Real leadership. Leadership that will forever have their best interests at heart. I will do what needs to be done. I will install an overlord at each community. They will report directly to me. They will ensure each community runs as efficiently as possible.”

  “The people will not accept your leadership over them,” Siren said. “How can they trust the man who murdered their elected leaders?”

  “They will have no choice,” Quinn said.

  “If they don’t follow you, you will murder them too?” Siren said.

  “If necessary,” Quinn said.

  Siren backed away.

  “You’re mad,” she said. “You can’t do this.”

  “I already have,” Quinn said.

  “You invited them here so they could make their decision,” Siren said. “Really, you wanted them to make the decision you wanted. They never really had any option. It’s either follow you, or die.”

  “Our leaders have always been weak,” Quinn said. “Caring too much for their own selfish self-interest. That’s why we need strong leaders, to do what we know needs to be done.”

  “You lured them here to die,” Siren said.

  “They needn’t have died,” Quinn said. “They made their decision. Now they have to live—or rather, die—with the circumstances.”

  “I thought you were a monster when I learned of your ability,” Siren said. “Now I know you are one.”

  Quinn grunted, lurching forward as if he’d been shoved. He pressed his fingers to his back, his fingertips coming away red. Blood. He turned to look up into Hamilton’s eyes. He had a dark glint in them. He pulled his hand back and thrust the blade into Quinn again and again.

  Siren rushed forward.

  “No!” she screamed, shoving Hamilton aside. “What have you done?”

  Hamilton found his feet.

  “You heard your friend,” he said. “I’m doing what needs to be done. This madness cannot go on any longer. Enough already.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Siren said. “What did he ever do to you?”

  “He’s an Undead,” Hamilton said. “He has served his purpose. Who do you think sent those assassins?”

  “You?” Siren said.

  “I could see what the Controller was,” Hamilton said. “What he was capable of. The guards are powerful enough without him. We do not need him.”

  “If he dies, the Undead army outside Arthur’s Port will attack!” Siren said.

  “Let them,” Hamilton said. “His reign is over.”

  “Why did you save me that night?” Quinn said. “When I was out walking?”

  “It was too messy,” Hamilton said. “Murdering my own guards isn’t exactly the kind of situation I wanted to end up with. This is the way it needs to be. Clean. Now, I need to finish up here.”

  He seized Dexter and dragged his blade across the boy’s neck, spilling his blood.

  “No…” Quinn said weakly.

  “Kill him!” Siren screamed at the guards. “Kill him!”

  The guards stepped forward and approaching Hamilton with their weapons drawn.

  “I have done my duty,” Hamilton said, stepping back. “Let Arthur’s Port be free.”

  He hurled himself over the side.

  “I need to get you out of here,” Siren said to Quinn. “Quinn? Can you hear me? Quinn?”

  Her voice was a distant murmur as Quinn faded into unconsciousness. He felt his grip on the Undead slip through his fingers like a slippery rope as he fell into the deep darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Quinn’s eyes fluttered open. He was in a barn. It was cold and dark. Someone was behind him, above his head, but he couldn’t turn to look at them. He was very weak, and each movement brought an eruption of pain up from his ribs. He could hardly breathe without it drowning him.

  “Are you awake?” Siren’s voice said.

  “Yes,” Quinn said. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in a barn,” Siren said.

  That explained the musty hay smell.

  “Are we still in Arthur’s Port?” Quinn said. “I can’t feel any Undead nearby.”

  “We’re as far from Arthur’s Port as I could get us,” Siren said.

  “Why?” Quinn said. “If I’m close, I can take control of the Undead.”

  “That’s the last thing we need right now,” Siren said.

  “Why?” Quinn said. “Without the Undead, we’re exposed.”

  “We’re safer without them to manipulate you,” Siren said.

  “Why?” Quinn said.

  “Don’t you remember what you did?” Siren said. “You murdered them. You murdered them all.”

  “Who?” Quinn said.

  “The leaders of the other communities,” Siren said. “The Chinese were already leaving, so you turned the Undead on them. Then you turned the guards on the other leaders on the roof of the keep. Then Hamilton turned on you. He was the one who sent the assassins.”

  It was a lot to take in.

  “But why?” Quinn said.

  “He knew what the Controller could do, what he was,” Siren s
aid. “He didn’t like it, and once he thought Arthur’s Port was safe and strong enough to exist without him, he wanted the Controller dead.”

  “What happened to Arthur’s Port?” Quinn said.

  “The last I saw, as I was strapping you to the back of a horse, was Arthur’s Port aflame, and the Undead tearing through it,” Siren said.

  “Arthur’s Port is gone?” Quinn said.

  “It is,” Siren said.

  “And Dexter?” Quinn said.

  Siren shook her head.

  Quinn was silent a long time.

  “I was wrong,” he said. “We can’t expect people to do the right thing. They will never do what is best for everyone because they’re incapable of seeing beyond themselves. The ones who are meant to rule are those who think about ourselves first.”

  “What are you saying?” Siren said. “You can’t control the whole world.”

  “I don’t need to,” Quinn said. “There’s another… In Asia, I think. I can feel him… growing stronger. Before long, he’s going to be more powerful than every other overlord in the world. I just need to hold on a little longer… The community leaders wouldn’t listen to me before. That was my mistake. Now I realize I should never have expected them to.

  “They wouldn’t listen to me for my ideas, because of what I am. I will become the most powerful overlord in North America, and force them to listen. They remain divided by race, religion, social level, like in the Old World. We were almost wiped off the face off the Earth, and people still think like chimpanzees. We will take the communities and make them ours.”

  Siren hadn’t been sure what state Quinn had been in when he had murdered the other community leaders. It was so unlike him. He wasn’t usually that aggressive. She wasn’t sure if he was really in control of himself, or if it was the Darkness that had him firmly in its grip.

  Now, she knew.

  He had been deeply affected by the Darkness, but it had ultimately been himself who had made the decisions. The Darkness wasn’t a demon or an evil spirit that was taking control of him. It was madness. And it had Quinn firmly in its grip. It wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

  “Are you with me?” Quinn said.

  “Yes,” Siren said with a smile. She tried to make it as warm as she could. “I’m always with you.”

  She held his hand. It was cold and pale as snow.

  “But for now, you need to rest,” she said. “Regain your strength, and then we’ll make our move.”

  “Okay,” Quinn said. “Thank you. For saving me.”

  “I haven’t saved you yet,” Siren said. “But I will soon.”

  Quinn became quiet, breathing softly as he fell asleep. Siren took the blade she had in her sheath. It was the one she had taken from the assassin, what felt like years ago. She placed it on his neck, and then pressed down with all her strength and weight.

  Quinn’s eyes grew wide with shock. He looked at her as his thick almost-black blood dribbled from the wound, forming bubbles as he drowned in his own blood.

  Siren pushed away from him, hands clasped around her mouth. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She couldn’t believe what she had just done. She was certain she was right to have done it, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  Quinn stopped moving, lying still and prostrate, his skin already beginning to turn even paler than it had been. Quinn had died that day he’d been bitten. It was the Darkness she had murdered. At least, that was what she told herself.

  A cold wind blew through the barn and rattled Siren to her bones. She had turned her back on her friend when he most needed her most. She burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Quinn, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Siren buried Quinn in an unmarked grave behind the barn. She stood silent over it a few minutes, not quite knowing what to say or do. He had been her only real friend, and she had murdered him.

  Afterwards, Siren wasn’t quite sure where she ought to go, what she ought to do. Their plan had failed, and without Quinn there to control the Undead, there was no way to effectively defend herself against them. She had lost two brothers in as many months. She didn’t need to go through the same turmoil again.

  There were only a couple of places she had any interest in going. The first was to the farm in the middle of nowhere where her brother, Wyvern, toiled the fields every day. Quinn had managed to bring him back from the Undead, but he wasn’t fully himself yet. In some small way, she supposed Quinn had succeeded in bringing back at least one Undead.

  Siren knew she had no real chance of taking care of her brother on her own, so she took him to Whitegate with her. Greer, Quinn’s father, was upset for a long time after discovering his son was now dead.

  Siren became a member of the community once again, helping keep away the Raiders and Undead. It was a normal community, with no lofty dreams or goals, besides that of getting through each and every day that came to them. She supposed that was all anyone could really expect.

  Then one day, while Wyvern was farming on auto-pilot as he was wont to do, he suddenly stood up. He blinked and looked into the distance, far in the distance, and then turned to Siren, who was fanning herself after a long day at work and enjoying the dying evening. He peered at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

  “Siren?” Wyvern said.

  Siren dropped her glass. It smashed and spilled over her feet, unnoticed. She ran and wrapped her arms around her brother. He embraced her too. They held one another tight.

  Then, over her brother’s shoulder, she Sensed tiny pinpricks of light as more and more minds awoke into consciousness.

  She reached out for them, sending a beacon to Pull them to Whitegate. It hadn’t happened the way Quinn had planned, but the second age of man had arrived.

  An Additional Gift From the Author

  I hope you are enjoying Expulsion. 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?” Ann
e 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 the 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.”