Bloodcrier: The Complete Two-Book Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  Smiling, Meacham puffed up his shoulders. “All of a sudden, you’re respecting the law, huh, Louis?”

  Blake bared his teeth. He was about to speak when a sudden coughing spell took hold of him. Warren and Elkin let go, letting him fall to his knees.

  “They”—cough—“can’t”—cough, cough—“do this.”

  Midas Ford rushed to his side. “He needs medical help.”

  “Not happening,” Meacham countered. “The verdict has been decided. He goes straight to jail. You can tend to him there.”

  Peter put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Just so you know, we’re with you on this. No matter what anyone says. You decide.”

  “We’re going,” Michael announced to the crowd.

  Dominic closed his eyes, shaking his head in disappointment.

  A booming voice filled the room, suddenly upbeat and optimistic.

  “You boys have my permission,” John Meacham said. “Hell, I’ll loan you one of my trucks. I’ll even let the major go free when you get back. If you make it back.”

  He grinned as if he’d just done the town a tremendous service.

  Blake’s voice entered Michael’s mind. Michael was sure the other boys could hear the old man, too.

  Don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re walking into. You’ll die.

  Michael clenched his teeth against a brutal wave of fear and uncertainty.

  It’s done, he sent back. These people need to know we’re here to help.

  That’s not important, Blake insisted.

  Another voice joined the conversation.

  Yes, it is important, Dominic sent. And I’m going with them.

  Blake said nothing more as they dragged him off to jail.

  Episode III

  State of Surrender

  “Do not awaken what is sleeping under my skin.

  Let me be blind and deaf and mute;

  let me be innocent, ignorant, naïve.

  Otherwise, I will be a murderer.”

  The Angel of Galilea

  Laura Restrepo

  Chapter 1

  Michael lay on his bed, staring at the slanted ceiling. Tomorrow would be his last day in Gulch, maybe for good. He’d been plagued by doubt all week long and couldn’t decide if this was the right decision or just an impulsive and reckless way to show off.

  His room was full of motorcycle parts, the walls papered with drawings and blueprints. There were also a few maps of Praetoria from before Roman, the settlement’s leader, took over. They had numbers, lines, and circles drawn on them, all by Michael’s hand. He’d been planning this mission for days, beginning each morning and not stopping until late at night. Arielle brought him his meals. Peter and the others trained with Dominic and Reggie, out in the open now since they had the town’s approval to prepare as much as they needed. They waited to hear Michael’s thoughts about the mission.

  A knock sounded at his door. He hadn’t heard anyone come up, nor had he sensed an approaching presence. He needed to loosen up a bit, stop being so tense.

  “Michael?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. There was a lock on the door, but he’d forgotten to turn it. The door opened and quickly shut again. When he opened his eyes, he found Charlotte standing beside his bed, barely visible in the dark.

  “I just wanted to talk,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. Inside Michael’s chest and stomach, the old stirrings began anew, rustled up by the memory of how warm and soft her body had been the last time she’d been in his bed.

  “About?”

  “You sound suspicious,” she said, and he could almost see her eyes narrowing. The only light in the room came from the window, a weak glow from the moon. Enough to see she wasn’t wearing much apart from her slip. “I’m not going to bite.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  He sat up, keeping the covers drawn around his waist. His body’s reaction had been instantaneous.

  “Don’t be shy,” Charlotte said. “You might not survive this mission. Would it kill you to be with me just once before you go?”

  His mouth went dry. He had to swallow twice before speaking.

  “We have a plan. It’s—”

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “But you can’t come up here anymore. Last time I heard, you were with Ian—”

  “To hell with what you heard.”

  Charlotte rose, staring down at him.

  “Ian’s going to find out about tonight, anyway,” she said. “And Peter, Eli, and Arielle. Everyone’s going to know.”

  Michael’s stomach tightened. She could ruin everything. “Don’t do anything stupid, Charlotte.”

  Her voice came out sly and silky. “I’m going to tell everyone you and I did it—that we’ve been doing it for months. Ian’ll hate you again.”

  “He’ll never believe you, and you know it.”

  “Maybe. But the jealousy will be there during your mission tomorrow. It’ll be there every time he raises a gun.”

  Shaking his head, Michael stood. Charlotte was grinning. He could see her teeth in the moonlight.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “Get out.”

  “Are you sure?” Charlotte said.

  She let the slip fall off her body. He averted his eyes.

  “Out,” he said.

  “Make me.”

  He did. After he picked up her clothes, he used an arm to push her into the hallway. He tossed her clothes after her, then quickly shut the door between them. Breathing hard, he turned the lock and took a step back. Strange he had just ushered a naked girl out of his bedroom. A year ago, this scenario would have been unthinkable.

  He couldn’t see her any longer, but he could tell she was scowling by the mental heaviness of her telepathic voice.

  You’re making a mistake, Michael, you dumb shit. Arielle doesn’t love you.

  Get out of my head, Charlotte.

  You’ll regret this.

  Focusing on her presence behind the door, he used another technique to block her. Eventually, she left. Michael found himself smiling—just a little, mostly with pride—as he slipped under his covers and fell into a deep slumber.

  Charlotte got into the truck with Warren and Elkin.

  They were silent throughout the drive to the mansion at the end of Apple Orchard Road. Charlotte was used to this, their way of treating her like some precious object that could break if they so much as disrespected it. Not as stupid as they looked, these two—she was John Meacham’s most valuable weapon, and they knew it. Without her, they had nothing.

  John Meacham’s home office was warm and inviting as always. Logs burned in the fireplace. When she arrived, he poured her a dash of whiskey with water—to calm her nerves, as he put it. She sat in the chair in front of his desk while Warren and Elkin made themselves comfortable on the couch against the wall.

  “I don’t want them here,” she said.

  Behind his desk, Meacham sat, fingers interlaced on the surface. He nodded once.

  “Get out,” he said.

  She could feel their hot stares as they shuffled out of the room.

  “Did you get it?” Meacham asked when they were alone.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  A flicker of amusement moved across his broad stubbled face. “You’ll have no proof without his fluids. The good doctor is on Blake’s side. He’ll doubt your word.”

  “I don’t want to be a part of this. Go ahead and take my house. I don’t care anymore.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Meacham said, getting up. He crept around his desk, features devilish in the light of the fire. “You underestimate me, Charlotte.”

  She got up from her seat, then took a few steps back. The heat in the room was close, intimate, like Michael’s flesh when she had gripped him in her hand.

  “I can take so much more from you,” Meacham said, approaching her tenderly like he just wanted to help.
“Those girls who got kidnapped five years ago? That was no accident. I made them disappear.”

  Charlotte’s stomach dropped. “You’re lying,” she said. “Slavers took them. Those were—”

  Meacham shook his head. “Oh, Charlotte. I don’t blame you. It was a well-executed plan. Even I was impressed by how well it worked. Lucrative, too. Those little bitches went after me, and they paid the price. No one defies me in this town. Not Blake, not Michael, not you or your little slut of a sister.”

  Charlotte took a step closer to the door. It made perfect sense, though, didn’t it? Meacham was definitely the sort of man who would sell three innocent women—his own townsfolk—into sex slavery.

  “Now, you listen to me,” he said. “Those boys probably won’t come back from their mission alive. But if they do, I want you to work your magic. I’ve seen the way my son looks at you. My men, too. Even Dominic, as queer as he is. You’ve got a talent, and it goes beyond your beauty. You’re a natural piece of ass, a gift to the eyes and pricks of all men. Use that to give me what I want.”

  When Charlotte spoke, it was in a whisper. The sentence was almost lost to the popping and crackling of the flames.

  “Get another girl to do your dirty work.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Meacham said, pouring another glass of his expensive whiskey. “It has to be you.”

  “But why?”

  He tipped the glass into his mouth, emptying it in a single swallow.

  “Because I said so.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You told me you had a foolproof plan. Is that still true?”

  Her voice trembled. “Yes.”

  “Then do it. Hell, you might even get lucky. Maybe he won’t come back at all. But if he does, and you don’t do as I say, I’ll make Arielle disappear. And your little boy, too. You can’t imagine what slavers do to boys his age. What they make them do for a living.”

  Closing her eyes, Charlotte turned away from him. She was suddenly dizzy.

  “If Louis Blake finds out…” she started to say. But then again, Blake was in jail at this very moment. How much could he possibly do? “Or Dominic…”

  “Blake’s dying. What, you didn’t know that?” he said in response to Charlotte’s look of utter shock. “He coughed up blood in the town hall. You mean you didn’t see that? I thought everyone saw that.” He shrugged. “Don’t know how the poor bastard has lasted this long, truth be told.”

  The door opened, and Warren and Elkin walked in. They stood on either side of Charlotte, staring down at her with those ugly, sunburned faces.

  “You do this for me,” John Meacham said, pouring himself another drink. “And you’ll be the wealthiest woman in this town. You name it, and you’ll have it. Unlimited access to the caravans, your choice of any man to call your husband”—Elkin wagged his eyebrows at her, and Warren smirked—“whatever your little heart desires. All you have to do is help me get rid of that boy, understand?”

  Charlotte swallowed a dreadful feeling.

  “Thattagirl,” Meacham said. “Warren, drive her home.”

  “No,” Charlotte said, already on her way through the door. “I’ll walk.”

  Chapter 2

  At two in the morning, the boys went through the plan for the hundredth time.

  Dominic sketched a masterful portrait of each of the three enslaved women, adjusted for the length of time they’d been away. Arielle made her own minor adjustments, though it was clear Dominic’s memory was razor sharp.

  A telepathic report came from Louis Blake that he was doing well, and that jail wasn’t so bad, though he might have been trying to make them feel better. He wished them luck. Urged the boys to focus on their survival above all else. He also warned there would be hell to pay when they got back, regardless of their success.

  The boys took naps in the afternoon, using self-induced hypnosis to make sure they could sleep. It didn’t work on Michael—he stayed awake, studying the drawings and maps.

  Dominic retired to his own bedroom and found Reggie there, waiting for him with a hunting rifle slung across his back and two semi-automatic pistols in holsters hanging at his sides. He was wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt tucked into cargo pants, and there was a few days’ worth of blond stubble on his face.

  “Thought I’d come along,” he said.

  “Not happening,” Dominic said, walking past him to draw the shades on the window. People in Gulch knew about him and Reggie, but it still made him feel ashamed.

  “I’m an expert with a rifle,” Reggie said. “You need me there in case the crap hits the fan.”

  Dominic spun on him. “I don’t need you dying on me. You’re not even a telepath.”

  “Telepathy,” Reggie said, sounding like he wanted to spit. “You guys think you’re such hotshots.”

  Dominic gave him a cold look. Reggie had been getting on his nerves lately with his neediness and his attempts at sensitivity. He was always trying to save people, always trying to make things right.

  “I care about you,” Reggie said. “I’ll watch over you, no matter what happens.”

  Dominic exhaled a harsh, quick sigh. “Can’t you be a little less…queer?”

  Reggie blinked, retreating a step. The words had clearly hurt him more than Dominic had intended. He bit back the urge to apologize. This was why he was better off alone.

  “I’m not doing this with you,” Dominic said. “No way in hell. So you just—you just stay back, be a professional.”

  “A professional what? Asshole? Like you?”

  Dominic grabbed the supply bag he’d come to retrieve, then made for the door.

  “Why are you so afraid of connecting with people? Is it because of what happened to your brother?”

  Dominic stopped at the door. He turned, lifted the supply bag, and threw it at Reggie hard enough to send him crashing against the wall.

  “You want to come?” Dominic asked, spitting on the floor. “Then you can carry my bags.”

  He whipped the door open and stormed out, not surprised to hear Reggie’s footsteps following along behind him.

  They ate a cold dinner out by the barns, where Meacham had left the truck he’d promised them. The truck he hoped would take them to their deaths. It was seven o’clock in the evening. Almost time to go.

  The truck had four-wheel drive and was equipped for outings in the mountains. With Midas Ford’s help, they disguised it to look like a slaver van, the sort that would blend in perfectly at Praetoria. Everyone involved in the mission was dressed in the simple brown woolen shirts and pants of a slave—except for Dominic and Eli, who were dressed like slavers, complete with skull, bone, and snake tattoos drawn all over their arms.

  Dominic drove with Eli sitting in the front seat so he could telepathically scan for any unsavory individuals who might be lurking out on the road, waiting to ambush them. Michael, Ian, Peter, and Reggie sat in the back with hunting rifles hidden beneath their seats, just in case.

  The ride felt like the longest Michael had ever taken. He spent the time fondling a silver pendant shaped like a four-leaf clover, which Arielle had given him. He hadn’t expected a personal good-bye from her. That morning, in the garage of his house on Silo Street, a soft knock had sounded at the door. He’d been alone, double-checking his pack for the hundredth time, when Arielle had come into the garage, hands stuffed into the pockets of a denim jacket.

  “Michael,” she said.

  “Arielle, what are you doing here?”

  “I just wanted to say I appreciate this. You risking your life to—well, to save people you don’t even know.”

  He lifted his pack, then set it on one shoulder. “They mean a lot to you.”

  She nodded. “They were my friends. Everybody loved them.”

  “We’ll bring them back. Dominic’s coming. He’s an amazing fighter. His skills are just—”

  Shushing him, she stepped forward until she was an arm’s length away. Her eyes were heavy with an emotion he had
trouble identifying.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She shrugged and looked at her right hand, which had risen out of her jacket pocket. The fingers unclasped to show him the silver pendant with its four stubby leaves, which gleamed in the light of the garage.

  “There’s a real clover inside it,” she said. “I preserved it in silver. For good luck.”

  He took it and studied it for a moment, then slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.

  “Thank you,” he said, and there was an uncomfortable pause before he found the courage to speak again. “Arielle, look, what happened with your sister and me—actually, last night she tried—”

  She shushed him again, shaking her head like his words couldn’t change anything.

  “I know what happened last night. Charlotte cried about it for an hour. I don’t like seeing her in pain, but I think you did the right thing. I know why you did it, too.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I did it because I thought—”

  “You’re getting stronger,” she said. “That’s why.”

  She was smiling a little, like he was some sort of pet project that had exceeded her expectations.

  “I guess I’ll see you when I get back,” he said.

  “You better.”

  They walked out of the garage together. Michael watched Arielle climb onto her bicycle. Before riding away into the evening, she glanced at him.

  “The past won’t matter when you come back.” And then, with a wink, she said, “Clean slate, right?”

  He could only nod in silence. Her words stuck in his mind during the whole ride to Praetoria.

  Clean slate. Like nothing had ever happened with Charlotte to strain his relationship with Arielle.

  When they finally arrived at the outskirts of Praetoria, Dominic shut off the headlights and drove off the road toward the bushes behind the faded billboard where they’d hidden with Arielle only days before. Parked there, the truck would be invisible to anyone passing down the road. Closing his eyes, Eli did a quick scan of the landscape, informing everyone there was no one around for miles.