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

by Perrin Briar

  Jordan put the tin down. “You know, it’s not uncommon to make your presence known before you scare the crap out of someone.”

  “All ready for the trip?” the commander asked.

  “Almost. Anne and Jessie are bringing the last of the supplies now.”

  “I envy you. Leaving for greener pastures. Or should that be bluer pastures?”

  “You can come with us, if you want.”

  Commander Harris leaned on the railing. “My place is here.”

  “How’s the rebuilding going?”

  “We cleared away the bodies and turned over the soil. Nothing will ever grow there again. We’re filling in the remaining secret entrances now.”

  “Good.”

  “We searched amongst the bodies. There were seven to eight thousand of them in all, leaving two or three thousand still at large. We never did find a body like the one you described – this ‘Tim’.”

  “It was a big explosion. His body might have got blown to pieces.”

  “It might. At least if he – or someone like him – comes back, we’ll know what to do.” Harris looked out at the ocean. “Everywhere will be the same, you know. Maybe worse. Out there it’s the unknown. At least here you know the land, these waters. Here, you have the compound. Friends. You can make a life here.”

  Jordan shook his head. “We belong at sea.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Harris extended his hand. Jordan shook it. “Any time you change you mind, the offer’s still there.”

  Harris turned and walked down the quay. Baxter considered Jordan, and then nodded his head – a move so imperceptible it might never have happened at all. Harris and Baxter nodded to Anne and Jessie as they passed.

  “What did he want?” Anne asked, unloading the box she carried into Jordan’s arms.

  “Just to say goodbye.” He sat the box on the deck. “We’re all set. Are you both still sure about going?”

  “My life is at sea.”

  “Jess?”

  “Mine too.”

  Jordan smiled. “Let’s cast off, then.”

  “Wait,” Jessie said. “A name. It’s bad luck sailing without one.”

  “I almost forgot. Jess, go get the paint. It’s in the cabin.”

  Jessie ran down the stairs. Anne wrapped herself in Jordan’s arms.

  “Stan and Mary would have been proud. A new family. Oh, I made a new list of names, by the way.” She dug into her pocket.

  “Let’s hear them, then.”

  “They’re works in progress, remember.”

  “Hit me.”

  Anne read from the list. “Future Hope.”

  “Too obvious.”

  “Hope Unabashed.”

  “Eugh.”

  “Destiny’s Hope.”

  Jordan grimaced.

  “What kind of name were you thinking of, then?” Anne huffed.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll know when I see it.”

  “What’s taking Jessie so long?” Anne moved to the stairwell and shouted down. “Jess, did you find the paint okay? Jess?” She turned to Jordan. “I swear, she’d lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on.” She headed down the stairs. “Jess?”

  Jordan leaned against the railing, listening to the water as it lapped against the hull. The sun was nearing its apex. They would need to cast off soon or risk losing the light. He looked out across the docklands, letting his eyes pick up details, letting free association work its magic. Sea, blue, cool, wet, sun, land, water hope, reflection, hope dock, quay, boat, yacht, flag…

  Flag.

  A mid-sized yacht across the dock caught his eye. The flag flapped crimson at the top of the mast. A stiff wind caught it and stretched it to its full length. A golden ring on a field of purple.

  He’d seen that flag before. But where…?

  Jordan felt weak. He steadied himself on the railing. He looked down the stairs where Jessie and Anne had gone but hadn’t returned yet. It was too quiet.

  195.

  Jessie bound down the stairs. The cabin was dark, full of lumpy supply provision shadows. Fish hooks in a tin pot clinked as the boat rocked. Baked bean and sweetcorn tins stacked like miniature skyscrapers. Stuffed ice cream tubs of homemade condiments courtesy of Doreen and her cohorts. Enough food and materials to last for years to come.

  Someone had drawn the curtains. Jessie pulled them apart, and caught sight of a hand a split second before it wrapped over her mouth. Her arms were twisted behind her back. She was dragged into the shadows.

  Soft warm air brushed against her ear. “Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh.”

  She kicked her legs, but her feet didn’t touch the floor. She tried to bite the man’s hand. She was rewarded with a sharp twist of her arm. She whimpered and stopped fighting.

  They waited.

  A few minutes later, Anne called down into the cabin. Jessie struggled, to no avail. The man holding her was too strong.

  Anne descended the stairs. The moment she reached the bottom, another large shadow detached itself from the darkness, grabbed her and trussed her up as unceremoniously as Jessie had been. Anne peered around the cabin, eyes adjusting to the darkness. She caught sight of Jessie, held by her own captor.

  They waited.

  The thick course hair on the man’s arms tickled Jessie’s face. She heard Anne struggle, managing a whimper and a light scuffing of her shoes, but no more.

  Minutes or hours passed – it was hard to tell in the darkness. Jessie sensed the man holding her grow impatient. He shifted from foot to foot. He sighed out through his nose.

  Jordan called down into the darkness. “Jessie? Anne? Is everything all right?”

  Jessie heard Anne’s muffles as she struggled, but nothing loud enough for Jordan to hear. Jessie shut her eyes and prayed he would not come down the stairs. Her prayers weren’t answered.

  The moment his foot touched the floor a deep voice said, “Hello Jordan.”

  The cabin was flooded with light as the curtains were drawn back. There were five large men in trench coats in the cabin. Two held Jessie and Anne in their large strong arms. The women struggled but couldn’t get free. The remaining two men restrained Jordan. If he was surprised, it didn’t show.

  Terry the trader smiled, a nasty-looking scar across his cheek. It was red raw and stretched with resistance. He appeared to have added an extra chin to his already massive frame, his mop of thinning hair stretched taut across his scalp, barely able to carpet it. His small watery eyes drank Jordan in.

  “No one hits me in my water and gets away with it,” Terry said. “No doubt you thought I’d forgotten. I’m sorry to let you down.”

  “Let them go,” Jordan said. His voice was calm and steady.

  “And, pray tell, why would I want to do something like that?”

  “Because if you don’t, it’ll be too late.”

  Terry chuckled. “The first rule of negotiation is to have something somebody wants, Jordan.” He took a serrated knife from his pocket. He closed one eye and stared down along the edge. It was razor sharp. “And what could you possibly have that I can’t just take?”

  “How about your life?”

  Terry blinked, and then the scar stretched. “And I thought you didn’t have a sense of humour.”

  “If you don’t let them go, we’re all going to die on this boat.”

  “We both know you wouldn’t risk killing them.” He stabbed the knife toward Anne and Jess.

  “You were going to have them as drug-addicted sex slaves. I’m sorry Anne, Jess, but I’m guessing you’d prefer death to that.”

  The guards darted looks at one another, then settled not on Terry, but the man holding Jessie.

  Licks of fire drifted up over the windows. Smoke entered the cabin. It became very warm.

  “He’s bluffing,” Terry said. “Don’t believe him. This is a trick.”

  The vice-like grip on Jessie relaxed. Her feet lowered to the floor. The man holding Anne let her go too.

 
Terry levelled the knife at the guards. “Pick them back up, Phil, Barry. Now.”

  There was an uncomfortable moment. Barry stepped forward. “No, Phil. Don’t.”

  “Barry?” Terry said, agog.

  “You’ve led us into enough bananadrama, Ter. You don’t pay us enough to die.”

  “What? No!” He jabbed the knife toward Jordan. “He’s lying! He is lying!”

  “Ter, put the knife down. We don’t care if he’s lying. You’ve had us hunting them for weeks. We’ve had enough of your petty grievances.”

  “But… But I’m Terry. One of the greatest traders of the Seven Seas.”

  Barry took the knife. “Today you were, not tomorrow. Let him go.” The guards released Jordan. “Phil. Escort Terry outside, will you please.” Phil took Terry by the arm and marched him up the stairs. Terry gave Jordan a broken look. As the other guards filed out, Barry said to Jordan, “I hope we shan’t be seeing you again in these waters.”

  Jordan shook his head. “You won’t.”

  When Barry left, Jordan embraced Anne and Jessie with all the affection he could muster. Jessie coughed. The smoke was becoming thick.

  “Shouldn’t we get off before we, I don’t know, burn to death?” Jessie said.

  Jordan smiled. “There’s not much chance of that.”

  Set up under each porthole was a bucket with a pipe to syphon the smoke into the cabin. Jordan had started a fire in each one, and as the flames grew, it gave the impression the boat was alive with flames. Jordan kicked the flaming buckets overboard.

  “I think I’ve come up with a good name,” Jessie said. She wrote the name on the back of the boat. “What do you think?”

  Anne and Jordan appraised it. They smiled. “It’s perfect,” Jordan said.

  “This isn’t just a name for the boat,” Jessie said. “It’s the name of the new chapter of our lives.”

  Anne unconsciously touched her stomach. Her smile looked distant and faraway.

  “Are you okay?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes,” Anne said. “Yes, I think I am.”

  And as they set off, drifting out to sea, they waved goodbye to the land they’d temporarily known as home.

  The boat’s name, printed black on white in unpretentious lettering seemed to glow in the sun’s heat:

  ‘HOPE TOMORROW’

  END OF SEASON ONE

  OF THE BLOOD MEMORY SERIES

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Perrin Briar is an English author and teacher, known for his popular Blood Memory series and black comedy Keeping Mum. Before writing he worked as a TV researcher, teacher, stock counter and chocolate factory worker.

  You can email him at perrin@perrinbriar.com or tweet at @perrinbriar. He loves corresponding with fans, so don’t hesitate to contact him if you have a question!

  Copyright © 2014 Perrin Briar

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Briar Patch Publishing.

  Cover design by Alisha at www.damonza.com

  Editing by Gary Smailes at www.bubblecow.com

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