Unrelenting Tide: A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Children of the Elements Book 4)

by Alexa Dare

  “Only a little fuzzy.” Abe nodded. “Glad your thinking’s back.”

  “That means the after effects from the return and use of our powers is fading. See, Uncle Merv, you should feel more like yourself soon.” Brody patted his uncle’s broad shoulder.

  “We need to scrounge more food. There’s a lot of stuff in the bomb shelter room on the lower floor. Eggs, breads, veggies.” Merv crammed bite after bite of a vanilla snack bar into his mouth. “Irene, dearest, are you doing better?”

  Irene smiled, but didn’t speak. She placed her hand atop Merv’s lower arm and squeezed.

  A heavy sigh caught Brody’s notice. At the rear of the seats, Hannah tapped her foot.

  Also, on the last row, a woman, her face buried in her hands, sat next to a teenaged girl.

  “Who are they?” Brody asked.

  “The younger one that’s tied up and gagged is Peyton. The woman, well, Yates called her a vessel.” Merv frowned and tugged at his beard.

  “But that pretty-boy man’s not Yates.”

  “I quizzed him. I don’t get what Doc did to Roderick. He claims that he made some sort of transfer. He took the essence of the dead or dying and put it into the living.”

  “So Yates lives on in this man’s body?”

  “As does Doc, Roderick, and the fella who owned the body. Or so Yates claims.”

  “With Nora still at it—” Brody stared into the faces of the children he’d vowed to protect. The sight of their trust-filled gazes in their scared faces twisted a knot in Brody’s gut.

  Decomp wafted from the double doors at the top of the stairways.

  Stroking his chin, Brody shook his head.

  Transfers. Vessels.

  The idea of their plot clicked into place. Like a perfect line of code into a sequence. Voice lowered, Brody said, “They plan to use the kids. Maybe all of us, for trial runs, for this transfer to vessel thing.”

  Even as he chewed a vanilla-flavored protein bar, Merv crammed crinkling, wadded-up wrappers down the neck of his shirtfront.

  “Nora is not thinking quite right or she would never have left me behind,” a male voice said. “Perhaps she has dismissed me from her thoughts because she thinks me defective.”

  Brody shot a glance at the last right-handed front row seat.

  Vincent’s arms draped over the armrests as if he sat in a recliner after a long hard day. He turned to stare at Brody with his close-to-white gaze.

  “Nora will not last long in her current state.” Vincent shrugged.

  Heaviness tightened a band around Brody’s skull.

  “Another storm front brews.” Vincent eyed the overhead glass panes. “I suspect Nora will ensure the spread of the storm. You are present in the location where the device which caused the storm resides.”

  “As spread of the magnetic storm?”

  “A feasible plot.” Vincent propped his elbows on his knees. “However, you now possess a means of bargaining and are in a position to negotiate.”

  “And we thought Brody talked funny.” Junior sighed.

  “Vincent might speak in the proper English his mother made him learn and use, but what he says makes sense.” Brody eyed the orange flashes in the black velvet of the sky. “The storm’s building again, and there’s no telling what the aftermath of this next front will bring.”

  “You are most welcome to use me as your humble and willing hostage.” Vincent smiled a creepy, lopsided sneer. “If given pencil and paper, I shall draw out a scenario to ensure our little saga comes to its rightful end.”

  The teenager’s words iced Brody to the bone.

  Chapter 27

  A guard, who’d carried Hannah over his shoulder from the auditorium like a sack of potatoes, dumped her beside Peyton and the older woman that seemed to do nothing but whimper and cry.

  “Two troublemakers.” Nora stood, dead and stinking like road kill, before a white board at the head of a meeting room. “So glad you could come.”

  As a shiver caused chill bumps to ripple down Hannah’s arms. A tiny cramp low in her belly let her know she’d been smart not to eat the fake-cinnamon bar.

  Windows along the side of the room lined up to mock the thick gloom of the daybreak.

  Nora looked about. “Where’s Vincent?”

  “Where you left him.” Yates lifted his eyebrow in a swarthy quirk. “In the theater.”

  Peyton, hands tied behind her back and a red cloth wrapped around her lower head and shoved between her teeth, shifted on her knees and shot daggers with her gaze.

  Hannah struggled against the ties on her aching wrists.

  “Your short hair style quite suits you.” Nora shuffled close and brushed her dead fingers through the choppy strands.

  With shallow breaths, Hannah turned her face away. “You tried to make me ugly.”

  “No, I tried to humble you.” Nora—no amount of roll-on would fix that—loomed over her. “Your behavior was quite improper of a young lady with your power.”

  “Well, you’re the one that ended up ugly and dead.” Even padded by carpet, the hard floor pressed into Hannah’s knees. “No matter how you tarnish others, you can’t hide your own ugliness, Nora Hicks, inside or out.”

  “My, such a nasty little mouth you have. Don’t you know, it’s much nicer to build others up, rather than tear them down?”

  “Remove the Peyton girl’s gag,” Nora ordered. “I’d like to hear each one of them make their case.”

  What case are you talking about?” Dread knotted in Hannah’s tummy. “What are you up to?”

  The gunman tugged the gag from Peyton’s mouth and let the tied loop of the red paisley kerchief drop around her straining neck.

  “You decomposing witch,” Peyton said. “Let me go, or I’ll kick your and everyone else’s butts off this mountain.”

  “My, such bluster.” Nora dragged her out-of-joint leg as she traipsed right to left before them. “Now, tell me ladies, I am in need of a new vessel; therefore, please tell me why should you not be chosen?”

  “You’re one crazy lady.” Peyton jutted her chin out, as if daring the zombie woman to take a punch.

  “Take out your skinning knife, Yates.”

  Yates removed a knife from a holster on his belt. The five-inch smooth blade appeared razor sharp.

  Nora didn’t glance at the metal of the blade. With her rotting skin, a rip at the outer corner of her mouth chasing through thin hanging flesh, maybe she was too afraid to view her nasty self in the shiny metal.

  The older woman prisoner, boo-hooing on and on, held up her bound hands and cowered.

  “You’re crazy dead.” Peyton dared Nora with her gaze.

  Heart yammering a light roar in her chest, Hannah keyed on the dead woman’s face, not the blade.

  “If you two will shut your mouths for a moment, I will explain what is going to happen.” Nora, reeking rot and seeking mayhem, redistributed her weight on the seat. “I’m in search of a vessel for my essence. Who I am will be shifted into that person. Yates is able to relocate me into another body since my current form is rapidly decaying.”

  “Eew, is that mold growing from your ear?” Hannah cringed away from the sight of the fuzzy green.

  Nora’s hand shot to cup her one ear.

  “You have to know your brain’s molded,” said Hannah.

  “You’re off your rocker.” Peyton asked, “Why else would you have left your son behind?”

  “Perhaps you should go first, Hannah, dear. Please tell me, in one hundred words or less, why shouldn’t I choose you as my vessel?”

  “Because you won’t risk killing me. You intend to use us to alter the storm.”

  “Oh, yes. Bigger and better. If it isn’t already spreading, the effects must cover the entire world.”

  “No safe places.” Yates smirked.

  “Yes, you see, the world’s citizens, living and dead, will look to Yates and me to lead them back to a simpler time.”

  “Simple. You’re a
fool.” Peyton grimaced. “You know why you shouldn’t choose me as a vessel. Because, if who you are tried to join with me, I would fight you every step of the way. I’d stomp you down, until you cry in a little corner of my mind where all my bad dreams are locked away.”

  “So tell me. What was your name again?” Nora waved her hand. Fingers flew and thudded to the carpet only inches from Hannah and Peyton’s knees to mix with the gray of the carpet and lay like four rotten breakfast sausages.

  “Olivia.” The woman sobbed. In wheezing breaths, she begged, “Please don’t do this. Please.”

  “Why not you?” Nora held out her thumb nub only hand.

  “I wouldn’t survive. You’d destroy me.”

  “That’s more in favor as to why I should choose you.” Nora’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle, as if her insides turned to liquid, stunk like a dead ran-over skunk on the side of a country road. “Anything else?”

  “Because I’m weak. My mind…” Olivia cringed and trembled. “Our mind would shatter.”

  “I see. In the meantime, Yates, I want my son.” Nora sort of lurched as if to stomp emphatically, but only sort of wiggled in place. “Here. With me.”

  Hannah caught the inside of her cheek between her teeth and kept quiet about Vincent joining Brody and the children against Nora.

  Or his claim that he would help them.

  As a weepy anger built in her chest, Hannah swayed. The surge of emotions and the aching pain in her temples, with the silver-coin hint tipping her tongue, keyed her into the possible return of her power.

  Outside, the downfall, no longer rain, fell in like melting scoops of vanilla ice cream. Handfuls of ice and snow smacked the row of glass windowpanes that ran along the outer wall.

  After the fire-rain, what did nature have in store this go around?

  If their powers came back, odds were Nora, even though a zombie, regained her skills as well. Hannah released her inner cheek and captured her lower lip.

  Silence might just lead to her getting an upper hand.

  “After careful thought, I have decided that you are right, Hannah. We need your ability to reach our goal. Yates, shave her head to teach her the valuable lesson that vanity is a horrid vice.” Nora bent down and fanned Hannah’s face with the worst swamp-rot breath ever. “Be still, dear, you wouldn’t want him to nick your scalp or your ear, would you?”

  Yates strode near. His sinister grin locked her in place. He grabbed a handful of hair at the top of her head.

  A squeak escaped Hannah’s throat as he tilted the sharp, silver blade before her face. “I’m steady handed. This should go fine, as long as you don’t move.”

  “Wuss,” Peyton hissed.

  “Quiet, Peyton,” Nora said. “You had your say.”

  The knife blade scraped against her neck’s nape. Loose coal-black hair rolled over her neck and fell away.

  Hannah didn’t fight, she felt.

  Nora, with her putrid breath, mean mouth, and hateful actions…

  She’d get hers.

  Warmth burned inside as a coldness seeped along Hannah’s skin. With a direct look at Nora, prying her clenched teeth apart, Hannah sneered. “I know all about you, Nora Hicks.”

  “What is it you think you know?” Nora shuffled to a student desk-type seat and gripped the back as if to hold herself on her feet.

  “Your ability ebbs and flows just as ours do.” Hannah aimed the jut of her chin.

  “So?” Nora spat the question out like a surly little child.

  “Even if you really could live inside someone else, how can you transfer into someone without killing them? Killing with your touch is what you do.”

  “I don’t have to touch you for this to work. Right, Yates?”

  A sharp sting burned the top of Hannah’s head. Hannah jumped.

  “Sorry,” Yates said. “This new body is not as agile as I might have hoped.”

  A warm trail of wetness trailed her neck from the knife’s nick. Sharp blood musked around her.

  The tiny scrape didn’t matter, but the rest of her hair…

  Her eyes burned, and Hannah blinked.

  Not now.

  More scrapes. More of Hannah’s hair fell away.

  Tears swam in her eyes to blur her vision.

  If she cried now, her tears were angry ones.

  Nora sniffed and glops of brown-tinged drool dropped down her chin. Nora, her voice extra sharp and growly, asked, “Yates?”

  “No, uh, I’ll assist.” Did the hands holding Hannah tremble?

  “Do you need to touch her, though?” Hannah’s lower jaw hinged so tight, she bit the words. “Wouldn’t who and what she is be enough to kill a vessel or you?”

  “Shut up!” Nora’s eyes flew open wide. The lower lid of her left eye covered the eye then slid to her cheek. Nora lifted the slip of flesh. Lashes curved along the tiny gray lump in her palm. With a gurgling a sigh, she tossed the lid aside like a smashed moth. “My time is running out, and so is yours.”

  Scrape. Scrape.

  Hannah cringed, not helpless but waiting, and panted in quick breaths.

  Locks of hair fluttered down Hannah’s face.

  Hair did not a princess make. Above all, not a warrior ice princess.

  The time of the storm was upon them.

  Tears, scalding and gushing, poured from her eyes.

  Yates strode away. Snick, snick, he wiped his blade on his upper pants leg.

  “Suits you.” Peyton grunted.

  “I’m sure it does.” Hannah held her head proud. She’d not let anyone shame her. Or stop her. She would not let the others suffer at Nora’s hands. Not ever again.

  Because of cold snowfall outside, heavy moisture hung in the air. Snow plops, much bigger than flakes, fell so fast that the land, despite the gloom, turned white.

  Fast piling, the blizzard delivered the biggest snowstorm known to man.

  Tapping into her seething anger—how dare they cut her hair—Hannah brought the heavy dampness together.

  Freezing chill invaded the room.

  Good.

  Cover for what Hannah planned.

  “Now, Peyton.” Nora’s sashay stirred more decay stench. “Your turn.”

  Peyton lifted her lips in a snarl, but a shadow of fear slid over her gaze.

  “Yates, why don’t we use Peyton first? If this fails, since you like her so much, we’ll save Olivia for my final choice.”

  Olivia folded into herself. “No, no. no.”

  Yates stepped forward to hold the woman. His booted foot swung outward, and he fell onto his back. He yelped, “Ice.”

  Hannah, sidling by the frosty patch she brought into being, shoved Nora toward Yates.

  Peyton, hands and feet bound, lurched forward to bump into and knock Yates Nora’s way.

  Nora caught Yates.

  “There’s an envelope tucked in his waistband at his back.” Peyton flopped away from the flailing couple. “Grab it Hannah. It’s got Nora’s name on it.”

  Hannah grabbed the large folded manila envelope in one hand and lunged for the knife Yates dropped. “We found it back when we escaped from the militia. I left it in Merv’s old military tank and forgot about it.”

  “That belongs to me.” Nora struggled with Yates. To get free or hang on? “You’ll pay for this and for taking what’s mine. All of them will pay because of you.”

  Yates' eyes rolled back in his head. His skin tinted blue.

  “You killed him,” Peyton spat in the woman’s dead face. “All you are about is death.”

  Hannah used the hunting knife to cut Peyton free. The thrill at besting Nora, as sweet as clover honey, charged her as she ran for the door. She banged on the door and yelled, “Help. Help. Something’s wrong with Mister Yates.”

  Two gun-toting men rushed into the room.

  Hannah and Peyton slipped past them.

  Dozens of zombies filled the hallway.

  Freeze. Freeze.

  If only their bodi
es held enough water to keep the zombies in place. With rambling draggy steps and lots of decay stink, they kept coming.

  Hannah, rolling the envelope into a tube, backed into Nora’s lair.

  With a surge of hate for all that she and the kids suffered, Hannah froze the two gunmen in place.

  Inside, with Nora, for now, better than being eaten alive.

  Peyton tugged at the men’s guns.

  The shotgun and rifle were locked in the guard’s frozen-solid hands.

  With a roar of disgust, the teen bolted to the room’s back.

  Hannah drew moisture to her and iced the doors closed. With no hair on her neck to rise, she still sensed someone close behind her.

  As if her spine were frozen stiff, she turned.

  Nora, dead eyes bulging, reached out.

  Chapter 28

  Snarling, Nora turned from the bug-eyed teen. At a swaying, leg-dragging pace, she went back to Yates’ body where she slumped to kneel beside him.

  Since the foolish girl sealed the door, none of the vessels could escape.

  What was it about school settings lately? From the rundown school to a high-tech facility, the current class setting of metal and fake-wooden student desks and drab gray carpet of the meeting room served as Nora’s prison cell.

  Hunger, sharp and acidic, ached in her belly and honed the lump of her tongue.

  Still, Nora gauged that being trapped with humans, one in not so good shape, and being hungry enough to ponder gnawing off the her remaining decayed, rubbery fingers was not the best place for a zombie having never fed, and never wanting to feed on humans.

  If only she didn’t have such refined taste.

  With Olivia still weeping a few feet away, Peyton at the room’s back, and Hannah near the door, Nora leaned down and, in Yates’ ear, said, “There’s not much time.”

  The scent of him, though in need of a shower, revealed his human state.

  Sweet. Musky. And living. Barely.

  Placing her hands on Yates’ chest, a rather broad and manly one, Nora sucked at her teeth to succor any bits of lamb from her last meal.

  One of her lower front teeth slipped from its socket like a game piece on a notched playing board. Tonguing the loose tooth, she worked the smooth pebble-like nub to her pursed lips.