by L. S. O'Dea
Jethro’s jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed.
What was Conguise getting at? Whatever it was, the Remore men were not happy about it.
“There is a boundary between the classes that cannot be crossed,” continued Conguise.
A few in the crowd clapped and then stopped when the others didn’t follow.
“Conguise, do not overstep,” said Benedictine.
Hugh could hang his cape on the tension in the room. He held back a smile. This night was looking up.
“Overstep? My position as a leader of the Almightys commands that I act when I see our society on the edge of ruin.” Conguise stared pointedly at him and then Jethro and then back to Benedictine. “Jethro, there are truths that you need to know.”
“That is enough.” Benedictine brushed off his wife’s hold and marched across the room.
“But they are truths that you parents are responsible for telling,” said Conguise slyly.
Benedictine stopped. He was standing next to Jethro.
“As I said, I have another gift for Jethro.” Conguise clapped twice and the doors to the kitchen opened.
A House Servant entered in front of a roll cart that a Stocker pushed from the back. The Stocker squinted, looking around the room. There was a cloth draped over a lump on the cart.
“No,” Hugh said under his breath. Conguise wasn’t really going to do this here, was he? He pulled his eyes away from the lump on the cart. The professor smirked and his eyes gleamed in anticipation. His stomach churned. Was that lump Trinity? Had the professor gotten a hold of her somehow? He didn’t even know what she looked like.
Benedictine’s expression changed from suspicion to anger to sympathy as he looked first at the distance between him and the cart and then at his son. “Conguise, stop. This is not your place.” He wrapped his arms around Jethro, trying to pull the boy’s face into his chest.
Jethro jerked away.
“My gift to you is your Producer friend. Trinity, I think you called her. She was delicious, don’t you think?” Conguise’s chest puffed out in triumph.
Jethro’s face wrinkled in confusion as his eyes searched the room.
The Stocker, with a flourish, pulled the cloth off the roll cart. A woman screamed and then silence held the room. Kim stumbled away, throwing up as she went. Then someone else began retching.
Hugh shook his head. This couldn’t be. He blinked and shook his head again. He had to be seeing things. He moved forward as if in a fog. Lying on the table were the remains of Viola. Her beautiful violet eyes, now clouded, stared unseeing into the room. Her hair was a mottled mess of tangles and blood. He held out his hand to touch her. This couldn’t be real. This was a mistake. A bad joke. He hadn’t told her that he was sorry. She couldn’t be dead.
Conguise beat him to the table, dropping to his knees, his hands caressing his daughter’s face. “No. Viola, no,” he mumbled against her hair.
Hugh froze, unable to move or look away. He waited for the pain but there was nothing but coldness. Conguise hadn’t even bothered to meet his prisoner. The professor had just ordered her slaughter and cooked her for dinner. And the Stocker. The blind bastard had killed Viola. Where was the Stocker?
The room was in chaos, with some Almightys throwing up and some attempting to shield their children’s gazes. The House Servants stood in small groups, whispering. The Stocker crept toward the door. There was no way that the creature who had killed Viola was getting away. His frozen demeanor shifted to icy rage. This he could change. This he could stop. He launched himself across the room and into the Stocker. They hit the floor.
He slammed his fist into the Stocker’s face and then body, all his sorrow and rage bursting forth with each blow. The Stocker refused to fight back, accepting or blocking the punches but never throwing one of his own. This wasn’t enough. He wanted a fight. He wanted the creature’s death. He wrapped his hands around the Stocker’s throat and squeezed. It would die for what it did to Viola. The Stocker’s eyes bulged for a moment and then the creature raised his arms and easily broke free, throwing Hugh across the room. He slid into the cart and it shot across the room, pieces of her body falling onto the floor. His beautiful Viola lay scattered all over the room. He struggled with the urge to vomit. He couldn’t be sick, not now, not yet.
The Stocker clamored to his feet and turned to leave. That was not going to happen. As he started to stand his hand brushed against something metal; the knife had fallen off the cart. Now, the Stocker would die. The creature would know what it felt like to have his body gutted. He grabbed the weapon and ran across the room. He wrapped his arm around the Stocker’s throat as he thrust the knife into his enemy’s back. The creature roared in pain and shook him off like a piece of paper. He hit the floor hard and scrambled to get up as the Stocker glared in his direction, beady eyes glistening and nostrils flaring.
The creature was not going to turn and run this time. He had to move. As he stood, he slipped in vomit and then the creature was on him. The Stocker held him down, its crooked, yellow teeth inches from his neck. There was no mercy in the Stocker’s eyes. He would die if he didn’t do something. He tried to wriggle away but the creature’s weight held him in place. The Stocker yanked the knife from his back and slashed downward. He raised his arm to block the blow, when suddenly, the weight was gone.
Buddy stood over the Stocker, chest heaving. Hugh touched his throat to reaffirm that he wasn’t cut when Buddy attacked the Stocker and they rolled on the floor. Buddy was large and fast but the Stocker was all muscle. One blow from the Stocker and Buddy would be down. He jumped into the fray to help his Guard.
“Get out of here,” roared Buddy as he broke from the Stocker, shoving Hugh to the side. “The Trackers are here. Run.” Buddy charged the Stocker.
Trackers? What was he talking about? And then it was clear. Mirra and a group of Trackers burst into the room. Many of them had blood on their faces and fur. Their eyes gleamed as they surveyed the room.
The Stocker and Buddy stopped fighting, a greater threat had arrived.
Buddy grabbed Hugh and pulled him toward the Servants’ door.
“We need to leave, now.” Buddy’s eyes widened and he dropped to his knees.
“Buddy?” He grabbed the Guard’s arm.
The old Guard stared at him, eyes dilating. “Run.” Blood trickled out of his mouth and he fell forward.
The Stocker pulled the knife out of Buddy’s back and glared at him. “You tried to kill me. I kill you.”
The room became quiet, except for a distant hum. He stared at the knife, red with blood, Buddy’s blood. Buddy was dead. Viola was dead. Mom was dead.
The Stocker lunged for him and was knocked sideways by a large Tracker. The Tracker landed on the creature and sunk its teeth into the Stocker’s neck. The Stocker’s scream yanked Hugh back to the present. Blood poured out as the Tracker noisily slurped, easily holding down the twitching frame of the Stocker.
Suddenly, there was noise. A lot of noise. Almighys and House Servants were screaming and running everywhere. Trackers were taking them down one by one. Mirra stood ready to pounce, having cornered Benedictine.
Someone grabbed him from the back and lifted him up. He twisted and flung his fist. He was not going to die like this.
“It’s me, Jackson. Stop fighting.”
His heart pounded as the Guard released him. For the moment, they were not on a Tracker’s radar.
“You need to get out of here. Where’s Kim?” Jackson glanced around the room. His eyes fell on Benedictine. “Go out the back before the Trackers head that way.”
Jackson shoved him toward the hallway he’d taken to meet Jethro and then raced across the room toward Mirra and Benedictine. Why was the Guard running to Benedictine’s aid? Then he saw it. Martha, Kim and Jethro cowered behind a couch. Benedictine stood in front, protecting his family and Jackson was going to protect them all. He looked at the door and then at Buddy’s lifeless body.
; The knife was lying a few feet away, but close to the Tracker. Would it attack? It had something to eat. He crept closer. He reached down and the Tracker turned to him, eyes glowing and face covered in blood. It hissed, showing its large fangs. He grabbed the knife and slowly backed away. The Tracker hissed again and then went back to feasting on the Stocker.
He raced toward Jackson. He couldn’t save Buddy but maybe he could save Jackson.
CHAPTER 47
TRINITY RAN INTO THE clearing by the house. The bodies of Guards littered the lawn. The Trackers had been through here. No, were here, she amended as screams rang from inside the house.
Gaar had left her behind once they were out of the deepest part of the forest. He was determined to stop Mirra before she did anything that they couldn’t fix. Too late. Something darted out of the nearby trees. It was coming straight toward her. She unsheathed her knife.
“Trinity,” yelled her father.
She shoved the knife back in the sheath and raced to meet him. He caught her in his arms, kissing the side of her face and head.
“You’re okay,” he said.
She hugged him fiercely. She hadn’t truly believed she’d ever see him again. “Where’s Mom?”
“Safe,” he mumbled against her ear. “Safe. We’re all safe.” He loosened his hold on her and looked her over. “I…I can’t believe I found you.” His voice cracked.
“What happened to you?” She gently touched his bruised face.
“It’s not important.”
A scream shattered their reunion.
He grabbed her hand, glancing back at the house. “We need to go. Trackers are here.” He led her back toward the woods.
All the lights were on in the houses down the block. One of the neighbors must have already sent for help. She glanced back at Benedictine’s home.
“Hurry up. We need to leave before the Trackers head this way,” he said.
Gaar had told her not to follow. He’d said that she should go to Hugh’s cabin. She took a step toward the woods. Did Gaar and Mirra realize that more Almightys, possibly armed Almightys, were coming? She stopped, refusing to move any farther. “My friends are in there. I can’t leave them.”
“What friends?” he asked. “Jackson? He’s not your friend. He’s a Guard.”
“So what if he’s a Guard, he helped me.” She pulled back a little.
“He only helped you so that Hugh would give him shelter from Benedictine. He doesn’t care about you.”
She inhaled sharply. Travis been right. Jackson had an ulterior motive. It hurt, but it didn’t lesson the fact that the Guard had helped her free Mirra. “Why is Jackson here? He was supposed to go to Hugh’s.”
“Don’t worry about the Guard. He can take care of himself.” Dad pulled on her arm again.
“Actually, what are you doing here?”
“I arrived with Hugh and his Guards.” He glanced at the house again.
“Hugh is in there too?”
“Yes, but they can all take care of themselves.” He yanked on her arm, harder this time.
He was doing it again, leaving, but this time he wanted her to go with him. Leaving with him had been all she’d ever wanted as a child but she couldn’t do it. She pulled her hand free. “I’m not going to abandon my friends.”
She ran toward the house. She raced inside, jumping over the bodies of fallen Guards and House Servants. She turned a corner and there was Gaar, fighting with one of the Trackers. They weren’t supposed to touch him. The Tracker was covered in blood and there was foamy drool running out of his mouth. He and Gaar leapt at each other, their chests colliding in mid-air. The Tracker slashed and Gaar quickly jabbed with the knife that he held ready. The Tracker’s claws slashed across Gaar’s back, digging in. The Handler’s shoulders bunched and then he shoved and the Tracker fell back, crumpling to the ground. Gaar pulled his knife out of the Tracker’s gut and hurried into another room.
The Tracker lay on the ground, its mouth opening and closing, fighting for breath. She moved closer. For a moment their eyes met and then he bared his teeth and hissed. She started to jump back, but then he stared through her, unseeing in death. She hesitated, studying this creature that had only known pain and captivity. It was a waste of a magnificent life. Gaar’s voice rang out and she stepped over the Tracker, following the sound.
She turned a corner and froze. Blood was everywhere. Trackers were killing or eating parts of…things, Almightys, House Servants, Guards; she couldn’t tell. Then her eyes landed on Viola’s severed head, sitting on a cart. She staggered backward, hitting the wall and almost falling. That should have been her on that table. Would have been if she and Viola hadn’t switched places.
“I will gut you,” yelled Gaar.
She forced her gaze toward the sound of Gaar’s voice. He was facing off with Jackson. Mirra had Benedictine cornered and the Almighty was already hosting several slashes on his face and arms.
Gaar lunged at Jackson, jabbing with the knife. Jackson dodged and then darted in, sending a savage blow across the side of Gaar’s head.
“Gaar! Jackson! No!” She had to stop them before they killed each other. Well, before Gaar killed Jackson.
Neither one seemed to hear her. Then an Almighty with a knife raced toward Gaar. She crouched and launched herself across the room, hitting the Almighty on the side and knocking him to the ground.
She tugged on the Handler’s arm but he brushed her away. She turned toward the Tracker. “Mirra, stop them. Please.”
Mirra glanced at Gaar and Jackson. “Gaar-Mine fine, Little One.” She swayed from side to side, keeping Benedictine in her sights.
That’s when Trinity noticed Jethro, Kim and another older, female Almighy hiding behind Benedictine. Jethro was standing. He could walk. How did that happen so quickly? She shook her head. She didn’t have time to think about that now.
“Mirra, let them go,” she pleaded.
“No.” Mirra swiped out with her hand and slashed another cut across Benedictine’s face.
“Leave my father alone.” Jethro broke free from the women who tried to hold him back, jumping in front of his father.
“Stay back, Son,” yelled Benedictine, shoving the boy behind him.
“Don’t do this, Mirra.” She had to stop the Tracker from killing Jethro and his family.
Mirra ignored her. Maybe, Gaar would help. He and Jackson continued to fight. They had to stop, now. She took a deep breath, pushing between them.
“Stop it. Both of you. Stop it.”
Gaar tried to shove her aside but this time, she clung to his arm. “He’s my friend.” She pointed to Jackson. “He helped me escape. Mirra too.”
The fury in Gaar’s gaze subsided a little. He looked at Jackson and then back at her. “Then he needs to leave, now.”
Jackson puffed out his chest, nodding at Benedictine and his family. “I will protect them with my life.”
“Jackson,” ordered Benedictine. “Take them. Get them to safety.” He waved behind him for his family to go to the Guard.
Trinity grabbed Mirra’s arm. “Please, Mirra. Let them go. They have not harmed you. They are innocent.”
Mirra shook free, knocking her to the ground.
“They helped me escape. You wouldn’t be free if not for them,” she begged, staring up at the Tracker.
Mirra looked from the family to her and then bent and helped her up. “You too many friends.”
Kim and the older woman had already moved behind Jackson.
“Go, Jethro. Now.” Benedictine shoved the boy toward the Guard.
“I’m not leaving you.” Jethro clung to his father.
Benedictine looked at Mirra. She snarled but did not move. Then he looked at Jackson and nodded. The Guard stepped forward, throwing Jethro over his shoulders.
Jackson headed for the door, Jethro struggling in his grasp.
“No,” cried Jethro. “Dad!”
Benedictine started to move and Mirra held up her
finger and waggled it. “I show mercy. You accept you death.”
“Mirra, don’t do this,” said Gaar.
The room was in mass confusion. There were Trackers feasting on the dead, and some still playing with the unfortunate beings that they’d caught, be it House Servant, Guard or Almighty.
“Please, Mirra, call them off,” she begged.
The Almighty who she’d knocked away from Gaar approached them. She pointed her knife at him. He held up his hands, one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
“Trinity, I presume. I’m Hugh.”
This was Hugh? He was younger than she’d expected and better looking with his dark hair and blue eyes. She looked to Gaar for confirmation. Gaar nodded.
Crazy finished with his kill and turned toward them. He leapt at Hugh and Mirra jumped forward, rolling the other Tracker across the room. Crazy immediately crouched and snarled. Mirra snarled back and Crazy backed down, hair still bristling.
“Little One, Gaar-Mine, you go now. I no protect you. They”—she sniffed the air—“wild now. Later, I control. Now, you hide.”
Hugh grabbed her by the arm.
“Don’t touch me.” She slashed out at him, cutting him with her claws.
“Sorry.” He backed away holding his hand where a thin line of blood formed.
“Mirra, you need to leave. The Almightys will be sending more Guards,” said Gaar.
“We kill them all.” Mirra focused on Benedictine.
“Get out before they can prove that it’s you,” said Hugh. “Right now, we can blame the other Trackers. Maybe, spare your life.”
“Mirra no blame others for Mirra’s fun. Go, now.” She rubbed her head and shoulder against Gaar. “I find Gaar-Mine later.”
“She’s right. We need to go,” said Hugh, glancing around the room.
A couple of the Trackers were eyeing them, no longer interested in the dead. Hugh grabbed Gaar’s arm and tugged. Gaar latched on to her hand and the three headed for the door.
“We can’t leave Mirra.” She dug in her heels, but was no match for Gaar’s strength. She glanced over her shoulder as Mirra pounced on Benedictine. She quickly averted her eyes and the echoes of his screams followed them out of the house.