Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5)

by Perrin Briar

  There was a spot of blood on his shoe. He bent down and, with a handful of a dead guard’s hair, wiped it clean. The boat rocked gently. He growled. The boat he stood on had been cast off and was floating out to sea.

  Somewhere in the distance was the rattle of gunfire. Bursts of light flashed from the fort. It was answered by fire from the nameless boat. A man Terry recognised immediately – the bastard who had knocked him out – hot-footed his way across the jetty and dived into the stolen boat.

  The exchange of fire didn’t last long as the boat – his boat – peeled away. Despite the deal, despite the trade, it was still Terry’s. In fact, every vessel on the sea was his. He was just kind enough to let people use them for a while – the way the king allowed people to use his land in the Old World. They might have paid for it, but they didn’t own it. His mood lightened when he saw his men tear down the jetty, climb aboard speedboats and give chase. The engines faded to an annoying buzz and the rattling gunfire continued.

  There was a monstrous screech as a pack of angry wolves burst out from the fort and tore at the man tied to a pole, who screamed. “Don’t kill me! Please! Don’t kill me! My sister! My sister – she’s one of you! She’s one of-”

  Terry realized they weren’t really wolves at all, but something altogether more dangerous. They were the whores. His whores. They screamed, raising their arms into the air triumphantly, soaked bloody to the elbows. If he hadn’t known better he would have mistaken them for Lurchers.

  Terry shrunk back a little into the safety of the boat’s innards. The last thing he needed was for them to see him.

  The women, chimp-like in their bowed-legged gait, stumbled onto the remaining speedboat. They somehow managed to get the engine started and took off at widdenshins to the other departing boats.

  His merchandise zoomed off into the sunset, but Terry wasn’t worried. Let them have their few hours of freedom in the sun. It might even do them some good. But in an hour or two they would begin to feel that all-familiar itch that had to be scratched. It would be nothing at first, a minor irritant, but it would gradually consume them until they could take it no more. And with no one else dealing within a thousand miles, there was only one place they could go.

  Terry crossed the deck and made his way to the cabin. At the console he pressed the start button, but nothing happened. The ignition key was missing. He banged a fist against the console. “Damn!”

  He moved to a box that hung from the wall. Inside were half a dozen cigar-shaped objects. He grabbed a handful and stepped back out onto the deck. He held the object with one hand, twisted the end off and pulled the pin. Almost instantly bright red smoke flared. He waved it gently and let the cool sea breeze take the signal.

  Terry took a seat. The bulge in his pants was almost painful. It must be the excitement of the moment. He had twelve whores in all. Eleven had escaped, but there was one remaining, still tied up in his bed waiting to be broken in. He thought about at what moment he would tell her her baby brother was dead. Maybe just before he climaxed.

  He picked up another flare and fired it.

  74.

  Anne’s arms were sore and heavy. Each time she pulled the trigger the gun kicked up and sent another set of reverberations up and down her torso. Her ears hurt. Even her face hurt – from all the scrunching up in a pre-emptive attempt not to be surprised by the blast of the gun – which always failed. Her aim wasn’t worth toffee, but the guards firing at them didn’t know that.

  Selena screamed, waving the gun around like a kid’s toy. An Amazonian warrioress. The fort drifted into the distance and she stopped firing. She had a big grin on her face. “Great stress reliever, don’t you think?”

  “Killing people?”

  Selena chuckled. “No. Shooting at them.”

  A small wave broke across the hull and sent a spray of water into the wind, which swirled around them. Selena raised her arms as if she were flying, closed her eyes and let the breeze wind its fingers through her short curly hair.

  Jordan joined them. “Are you both all right?”

  “I am now,” Selena said. “Thank you for freeing me.”

  “Sorry for taking so long to make the decision.”

  “You freed me. That is enough.”

  Jordan looked back in the direction they’d come from. “Here they come.”

  Three small speedboats gave chase. Anne saw the muzzle flash before she heard the thunk of bullets in the boat’s fibreglass frame. Selena hit the deck instinctively. Jordan grabbed Anne and pulled her down.

  “They’re faster than us,” Selena said. “What are we going to do? I can’t go back there. I won’t.” She reloaded the gun, aimed over the side and fired in a random spray.

  Jordan took a plain box from his pocket. On it were half a dozen flashing lights. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

  “Oh my God!” Selena said, eyes wide with awe. “Is that what I think it is? Where did you find it? Can I press it? Please! Please!”

  Anne looked closer at the box and noticed there was a big red button in the middle of it. No button that big and red could ever be used for something good. She felt stupid for not knowing what it was.

  Jordan shrugged. “Sure.”

  Selena slapped a palm on the button.

  Whatever they were expecting, it didn’t happen. Selena looked at Jordan, disappointed.

  “Wait a minute…” Jordan fiddled with a couple of dials. “Try again.”

  This time, something did happen.

  75.

  Barry put his heavy boot on top of the plexiglass frame in an effort to stabilise the rifle, took careful aim and fired. A second later the bullets thudded into the boat. The thieves ducked.

  The skimmer’s hull skipped across the sea’s surface. The catamaran tossed up spray. Barry didn’t move, letting it sting his bare skin. Fred, behind the wheel, and ducking under the short windscreen, guided their skimmer over the wake created by the catamaran. The skimmer took the movement well, bouncing down onto the flatter surface. Two other skimmers, packed with Barry’s men, zipped to and fro in the catamaran’s wake, firing their guns.

  “Get closer!” Barry shouted.

  Fred maneuvered the skimmer back across the incoming wake, bouncing fitfully, and approached the catamaran from behind. Barry spied a mop of hair pop up over the side. He took aim. He squeezed the trigger.

  BOOM!

  Barry was knocked back onto the floor. A huge fountain of water rose up into the air. Their skimmer sped through it, soaking them. Fragments of boat and body rained down. Barry raised an arm to protect himself. A studded ear smacked on the windscreen with a comical splat.

  Barry sat up. “The hell was that?”

  “I don’t know, boss,” Fred shouted over the blaring engine. “One minute Jared and Michael were there, the next, boom. Gone.”

  Barry got to his feet. “Boats don’t just blow up. Did they fire something?”

  “I didn’t see anything. They could have done, but we’d see the smoke.”

  “Did they throw something over the side?”

  “I’m not sure, boss. If they did, it was a bloody lucky shot.”

  “Pull back a bit, Fred.” Barry spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Lads. Slow down a bit. Give ‘em some room. We might have some litterbugs on our hands.”

  “All right, boss,” the reply came.

  The other skimmer slowed down and pulled up beside Barry’s boat. They hovered beside one another. The catamaran was big and quick, but slow compared to their skimmers. Barry raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Let’s circle round to either side. We’ll head left. You go right. We’ll fire at them from other sides.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The other skimmer began to pull away.

  BOOM!

  The other skimmer exploded in a mass of metal and fire. A giant plume of powdery white shot up into the sky. Barry was almost sent over the side, his cheek grazing the water. Fred pulled on the steering wheel, struggling
to keep the skimmer from going over.

  “Jesus!” Fred screamed. He shook his head. “I don’t like this, boss. I don’t like this at all.”

  Barry straightened up and wiped the water from his face. The remains of the second skimmer were still raining down, splashing into the sea.

  “Shut up,” Barry said. “They definitely didn’t throw anything.”

  “No, sir.”

  Barry frowned. Then how did they blow up the two skimmers?

  Barry’s eyes widened. He turned and looked at the contents of the sparse skimmer. It was intentionally scant to enable greater speed. There weren’t a whole lot of places to hide something. Barry searched, tossing everything out of the boat. Rope. Life jackets. Spare fuel. He broke into a cold sweat. He searched under the seats and fishing nets. Nothing. Where else could they have possibly-

  The med box!

  Barry pulled the lid up and found it. Amongst the bandages, painkillers and antiseptic cream was a soft grey block. He picked it up. It squelched and molded to his fingers. He looked up at the stolen boat ahead.

  “Speed up, Fred.”

  Fred looked at the object in Barry’s hand with fear. “Just toss it, Baz.”

  “I said speed up!”

  Adrenalin pumped like a river through Barry’s body. Their skimmer drew closer to the catamaran.

  “That’s it,” Barry said. “Hold her steady.” He drew his arm back, preparing to throw the block. He saw something. His blood froze in his veins.

  A man stood on the stolen boat’s stern, a remote control held in one hand. He could press the button and destroy him at any moment. But he didn’t. It was a message.

  Barry lowered the C4 and tossed it overboard. “Let’s go.”

  76.

  Weak-kneed, Jordan sank to the deck.

  “It worked?” Selena asked, brushing away the tears that had formed in her eyes.

  Jordan nodded. “They turned back.”

  Needing to see it for herself, Selena peered over the side. “But the remote… It ran out of battery…”

  Jordan grinned. “Yes, but they don’t know that.”

  They had tried and tried to set the last block of C4 off, but to no avail. The batteries had run out of juice.

  Selena burst into tears and hugged her knees. “It’s over. It’s really over.”

  The confident gun-wielding Amazonian Selena was gone and had been replaced by this child.

  Anne hugged Selena from behind. “Yes,” she said, “it’s over.”

  Jordan watched the tall figure in the speedboat pulling away from them, back to Terry’s fort. “It’s not over yet, not by a long shot,” he thought. But he said nothing.

  Episode Three

  77.

  The moisture condensed and formed droplets that clung to the wispy white hairs on Stan’s arms. He squinted, attempting to see through the thick mist that had descended about an hour ago, but could barely see more than a few feet beyond the prow.

  A gull swooped down from the white abyss, surprised to find a boat there, and immediately pulled out of its dive. Stan was equally unable to judge the distance. He felt certain they should have been in sight of the land by now.

  “Bloody fog,” he murmured. “You don’t think we’ve missed the dock somehow, do you Mare?”

  “No,” Mary said. She stood at Stan’s elbow. Her perfume filled his senses. “Keep going, and you’ll see it.”

  “I’m worried, Mare. I’m worried about heading out into the world, into the unknown. Into the abyss.”

  “Can’t be any worse than it is here.”

  “Can’t it? At least we know here. We know these waters, no matter how treacherous. They are our home.”

  Mary nodded. “Home is where the heart is, but the heart isn’t where we always think it is.”

  “I know where mine is,” Stan said, smiling. He looked over at Mary, but she was gone. Nothing but empty space where she had been standing but a moment ago. He cast about the deck.

  The boards creaked. The rigging clicked. He was alone. Stan looked back out at the fuzzy white wall before him. He took a deep damp breath and let it out slowly. He saw something.

  Not the jetty, but the upturned carcass of a yacht. Driftwood and debris circled it like pilot fish. They were getting close.

  A prow emerged, breaching the mist. Torn sails fluttered in the soft breeze, the mast swallowed at half-mast. Stan turned the wheel to starboard. The ghost ship’s deck had been pulled up, revealing dead darkness in its cargo hold. What looked like oil had been sprayed over the decking, drenching it.

  A bell rang with lifeless clangs in the mist. It grew louder as Stan continued his search for the jetty. Soon he came across a bouy floating in the bay, a figure clinging to the side.

  “Hey!” Stan called. “Hey!”

  The figure’s head turned. Half of its face had been smashed in. It reached out a hand to grasp uselessly at the air, at Stan, who turned back to the wall of mist before him.

  What appeared to be broken twigs floating on the surface of the water came into view. The quay had been reduced to a few disjointed boards drifting away from the main body, demolished from when they’d last used it.

  Stan turned the engine off and let the boat coast the remaining short distance. The cat handled like a dream. A touch of the steering wheel resulted in an immediate response from the engine. They couldn’t have wished for a better craft for their long journey ahead, or a better-looking one for that matter. Before landing at Terry’s fort they had made a lazy circle around it to eyeball the boats in the small dock. There had to be a dozen boats of various shapes and sizes. Amongst them was what they were looking for – a catamaran. A seventy-five foot behemoth perfectly designed for long distances and to ride out the high rolling seas. It had twin sails and plenty of deck space.

  Stan looked to the sky, but with the mist as thick as it was, it was hard to judge the time. The others would be rousing soon, if they hadn’t already. He walked to the stern and picked up the anchor.

  Stan tossed it overboard. They had to go onto the land.

  78.

  A floorboard creaked, causing Anne to start awake. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only source of light was the dim haze emitting through the porthole, illuminating a skulking Selena.

  “Oh… I’m sorry,” Selena said. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Anne stretched and swung her legs off the sofa. “I was already awake,” she lied.

  The cat didn’t have the rich character of Big Daddy, but it did have a certain elegance born of practical use and reliability. The cabinets and table tops were chipped and stained, the pots and pans bore dinks and dents of inexperienced cooks. The cabinet doors drifted open and slammed closed during a particularly deep swell. But the living area was wide and open. The sofas had been patched up, the stuffing having come out of it. The bedrooms, though small, were well situated at the rear. Anne felt at home immediately.

  Selena frowned. “You slept here? You should have said. You could have had my bed.”

  “That’s all right. I slept well.”

  There was a low grumbling sound. Selena hugged her stomach and blushed. “Sorry.”

  Anne smiled. “You must be hungry.”

  “Starving.”

  Anne moved to a small backpack in the corner. She took out a packet of crisps, a tin of fruit, and a can of Coke. “We don’t have much to eat, I’m afraid. The crisps will be soft, the drink flat, but the fruit should be okay.”

  Selena smiled down at the food before her. “It’s a feast.” Selena popped a crisp into her mouth. “So, what’s the plan today?”

  “Today, food shopping. We’ll go to a supermarket in town.”

  Selena looked up. “On the land?”

  “After the Terry fiasco, there’s nowhere else we can go.”

  “Can we get anything we like?”

  “Anything still edible.”

  Selena ey
ed a cherry before popping it in her mouth. “My boyfriend used to say, ‘If it’s in a tin, put it in’.”

  Anne smiled. “I like that.” After a moment of silent chomping, Anne plucked up her courage and said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “If it’s too painful you don’t have to talk about it, but… how did you end up on Terry’s fort?”

  Selena looked up from the food with a distinct look of unease and inner agony.

  Anne shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Forgive me, it’s too soon.”

  “It was my boyfriend,” Selena said. “He was in the navy. Heading to sea was his idea. ‘It’s my second home,’ he always said. Twelve months after the Incident and we were still alive. It was the only wisdom he ever showed. My boyfriend was not good at fishing. We tried, but never caught much. Not enough to live on. We soon went through our supplies. We went onto the land to get food, but were always chased back by nzambi.”

  “Nzambi? What’s that?”

  Selena did a passable impression of a Lurcher.

  “Ah. You mean Lurchers.”

  “Lurcher… Yes, I heard some of the men say Lurcher… But nzambi is the original word. Nzambi… zombie. Our ancestors believed a bokor – a sorcerer? – could bring dead people back and control them, get them to do their bidding. We called them nzambies.

  “Anyway, my boyfriend, he said to go to Terry and trade stuff we had on board. ‘We might be able to get some food for our junk’, he said.” Selena shook her head. “Never in a million years would I have suspected the ‘junk’ he talked about was me. He traded me for half a bag of food.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. She forced a smile onto her face. “Look at me. I’m worth at least two.”

  Anne reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently. “Ten,” she said.

  “I was there till you rescued me. That Terry is worse than nzambi. He turned us into sex nzambi. We’d have been better off if they put us out of our misery.”