Bloodcrier: The Complete Two-Book Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Michael!”

  He tossed her into the pond, then jumped in after her. They stayed there until dinnertime, Michael wishing it would never end.

  This Selarix stuff is incredible.

  Hidden behind a tree, Charlotte had watched the entire, gut-wrenchingly sentimental exchange between Michael and her sister—without being detected by either.

  Where has this drug been all my life?

  On any other day, she might have felt jealous. But not today. Watching them splash each other like stupid kids, all Charlotte felt was a growing fascination, accompanied by the mischievous excitement of a child spying on two adults having sex.

  About to leave at one point, having quickly grown bored and disgusted by their foolish banter—Dancing? Really? Come on, sis!—Charlotte caught a sudden change in her sister’s expression that convinced her to stay. She could only count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Arielle appear that intensely serious.

  With her back against the tree, Charlotte had closed her eyes, listening.

  “You’re pregnant,” Michael had said.

  “Well, you don’t have to swim away from me like…like I have some kind of disease!”

  Charlotte’s eyes flew open at the word pregnant. Her heart seemed to skip a beat.

  Arielle… Pregnant…

  Such a juicy tidbit of information could be valuable to a man like Dietrich—just as valuable as the baby growing in Charlotte’s body, though she would certainly never reveal her own condition to a man like him.

  If Michael’s telepathic gift were the result of a genetic trait—and if the whole point of the experiment had been to breed Type IIs with Type Is to create Ascendants—maybe Charlotte could somehow use this newfound information as a bargaining chip.

  Dietrich seemed like a man who could be trusted to go through with whatever deal they established. But Charlotte wasn’t stupid. No man could be fully trusted, especially not a killer like him, or his ruthless boss, Harris Kole.

  There might be another angle.

  The way he stares at me, Charlotte considered, skulking through the forest as soon as the coast was clear. Like he wants to devour my body whole…

  Could be useful.

  19

  They met in one of the abandoned houses.

  Charlotte had planted the white handkerchief signal—as requested in the event she might require an urgent meeting—in a window where Dietrich could pick it out with his binoculars. The rest was easy enough.

  The sex only lasted a few minutes, an unexpected perk. Charlotte had expected him to go all night after his extended stay in the mountains with Warren as his only company.

  Panting lightly, Dietrich rolled off Charlotte’s body and lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. Charlotte tried to contain her disgust at the sight of his pale, doughy body, his hair-sprinkled belly heaving from exertion.

  You’d think a man might lose a couple of pounds after a few weeks in the wilderness.

  “Why now?” Dietrich abruptly asked. “You’ll get what you want, either way.”

  Charlotte rolled toward him, pushing her breasts against the man’s clammy arm, her fingers moving to caress his chest, over the scar where he’d been shot in Praetoria.

  “You’re different,” she said. “Powerful. Not even a bullet to the chest could stop you.”

  “Good thing it missed my heart and lungs,” he said. “But guns and bullets have never intimidated me.”

  “And I do?” With a coy smile, Charlotte lifted herself on one elbow and gazed into his eyes. “Do I frighten you, Dietrich?”

  “Not at all. But you see, dear girl, guns are no threat to me because I know the mind of the man aiming it can easily be twisted—and when it comes to twisting the minds of men, I’m something of an expert.”

  “But the mind of a woman…” she teased.

  Dietrich chuckled, abruptly seizing her jaw. “A woman’s mind happens to be my favorite playground. Now, tell me, what brought us here?”

  Charlotte gently eased Dietrich’s fingers away from her jaw, switching tactics at the last second to take the tip of his middle finger into her mouth. She lightly sucked on it.

  “Nice touch,” Dietrich said.

  “You don’t trust me,” Charlotte said, lowering his hand. “And I don’t blame you. But I’m not that hard to read, Dietrich. You may have promised me a world of wealth and Party status, but you failed to give me the last thing I’ll need. The most important thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She shrugged as if the answer should be obvious. “A powerful man by my side. Someone who understands me the way you do. Who can challenge my mind without being intimidated by my need to express it the way I was born to.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Dietrich didn’t appear convinced. “A Party man serving as Harris Kole’s right hand, you mean. A man who can grant you every favor you request, at a moment’s notice.”

  “A man like that,” Charlotte said, rising over him, “I could grow to love.”

  Dietrich spoke not another word, choosing instead to suck on the nipple Charlotte lowered to his mouth. Hard within seconds, he slipped easily inside her. This time, the sex lasted more than ten minutes. Charlotte was so bored by the end, she almost failed to stifle a yawn.

  “I could give you a wonderful life,” Dietrich promised, almost babbling in her ear after they had finished—after he had finished, more accurately. “Stick with me, sweetheart, and we’ll be the toast of the town.”

  He’ll eventually find out I’m pregnant, Charlotte mused. Once I start to show.

  Not to worry—it wouldn’t get that far.

  He should enjoy me while he still can.

  “There’s one more thing you should know,” Charlotte said, pulling her mouth away from his, glad to be free if only for a moment. “Consider this a sign of my commitment, because I know what’ll happen to that little blonde slut when your boss finds out.”

  “What is it, dearest?”

  When she got to that juicy little detail, Dietrich’s eyes widened in amazement.

  I was right.

  The girl had really come through.

  Dietrich couldn’t believe his luck. He ran almost all the way back to the rim of the canyon, unzipped his pack, and dug through it. Warren lay stretched out on the ground beneath his blanket. A quick telepathic scan—Dietrich was careful not to use it in full force, in case Michael detected it—told him the man was fast asleep.

  Pregnant…

  Finally locating the sat phone, Dietrich made his way through the woods until he was a safe distance away from the hillbilly, just in case. He made the call.

  “Headquarters,” a crackling voice said through the static.

  “This is Boulder Perch One,” Dietrich said. “Connect me to the executive line immediately.”

  “Nature of the call?”

  “Urgent,” Dietrich said, not expecting to be interrogated. Rolling his eyes, he made up the next code phrase. “Code Red.”

  “Roger that. Connecting now.”

  A few minutes of dead silence later, Dietrich finally heard another crackle of static, accompanied by the gentle rush of someone breathing at the other end.

  “I bring news of an interesting development,” Dietrich said. “Plan Mountain Dusk may no longer be the best course of action.”

  Dietrich explained his encounters with “the mole,” using the code language he’d been required to memorize. Without giving away any specific details an unintended listener might be able to translate, he described what had happened over the past week.

  When he arrived at the most important part, he gave up speaking in code—there were no secretive terms for this bit of news, anyhow—and asked his boss if he could speak freely.

  “You may,” came the gravelly voice at the other end.

  “A bonus, sir,” Dietrich continued. “She’s pregnant with his child.”

  20

  Blake awoke suddenly at the sound of an ala
rm going off across Gulch.

  A moment of fitful blinking later, he realized there was only silence, the dream fading, taking Camp Brazen’s alarm with it. Night had darkened the windows.

  Safe. For now.

  Tossing the covers aside, he got out of bed. Finally, he’d been allowed to leave Midas’s house and return to his own. Coughing raggedly, he stumbled into the bathroom, where he flipped on the overhead light and immediately bent over the sink.

  Each violent cough sent stringy spatters of blood across the stainless-steel surface. When he gazed into the mirror, the face of a corpse reflected back. Pale, haggard, his cheeks sunken with bags under the eyes resembling bruises, Blake’s features were no longer his at all. It was Death’s face held in that mirror.

  He twisted the handles, then remembered there was no plumbing in Gulch. Only a few of the public buildings had been outfitted with rain-gathering tanks to provide running water.

  A shame, really. All Blake wanted at this moment was to immerse himself in a hot bath. He was going to die without ever having that experience again.

  Wiping his lips, he gave a long, drawn-out sigh. There were so many things he’d never see or do again. Places he’d never visit. But New Dallas wasn’t one of them. No matter what, he would make the trip, even if the last thing he ever saw was Michael and Arielle with their backs to him, walking hand in hand through the city’s gates to the new life they deserved.

  He sent out a telepathic command.

  We meet tomorrow morning at daybreak. Tell Midas, Reggie, Michael, and the others.

  Dominic must have been awake, probably on another of his late-night jogs. His response was immediate.

  Louis, we have time. You need to r—

  No time, Blake cut him off. Do it.

  A pause before Dominic’s response.

  I’m on it.

  21

  The ghost town was called Eddington, and it was dead for a mile in every direction. Dietrich had scanned it five times from various key points, just to make sure. It was perfect.

  He and Warren stood at the outskirts, watching the western horizon for signs of the men Kole had promised. Dawn merged into a blazing morning sun. Finally, after two hours of staring at an empty landscape, a mass of tiny dark shapes shimmered through the heat waves in the distance.

  “Here they come,” Dietrich said.

  Warren grunted. “About damned time.”

  When the trucks arrived, Dietrich welcomed the first uniformed man to step off. He pulled him aside.

  “What’s your rank?”

  “Major, sir. Major Rawlins.”

  Dietrich smiled a little. A full major from the People’s Republic under his command. His mother would be so proud… if only she were still alive to see it.

  The soldiers kept coming, wave after wave of trucks and utility vehicles. Once they had all gathered in front of him, Dietrich cleared his throat and spoke in his loudest, most authoritative voice.

  “This mission is more sensitive than you can imagine. One wrong move and everything is lost. We’ll take the day to set up the equipment, then proceed under the cover of night. There is no time for error. Calibrate everything, then recalibrate it again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied as one.

  Dietrich’s entire body seemed to rise, as if the response might sweep him off his feet and lift him through the air.

  “Bring me the package,” Dietrich ordered the major.

  The wooden box, which was about the size of a child’s coffin, had to be carried by two men. Once they had rested it at Dietrich’s feet, Rawlins used a hammer to pry it open. He lifted the black, tube-like weapon and held it out for inspection. Dietrich admired its polish, the violent luster it gave off in the midday sun.

  “As requested, Major General Werner,” Rawlins recited, using Dietrich’s newly appointed rank designation. “One Targin Infantry M12 flamethrower with 4.7-gallon nitrogen fuel canisters. It comes with a newly revised ignition system that can fire ten cartridges before being reloaded. Still a prototype, but it’s been extensively tested. They call it ‘Inferno Wisp.’”

  Dietrich’s mouth watered. “It’ll do.”

  “Have you chosen a location for the set-up, sir?”

  “The hospital in the eastern end of town. They used to deliver babies there. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  His meaning was lost on Rawlins.

  “Enough talk, Major,” Dietrich said with a dismissive wave. “Get to it. We move tonight.”

  Though it was Midas who had to deal with the worst of it, Blake found himself at the end of his patience several times throughout the meeting, even having to restrain himself from screaming at the town’s hastily elected representatives.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Blake said again. “Why can’t you see that?”

  A dozen townspeople crowded the mayor’s office, clamoring for a chance to speak their minds. Standing behind his desk, Midas tried to calm them with futile hand gestures.

  “We’re not going to leave our property behind,” one man shouted. “Not without due compensation!”

  “And who’s going to take over when we’re gone?” a woman with bushy hair yelled. “Bandits and raiders, that’s who. We can’t just leave it here all gift wrapped and pretty for ‘em!”

  A man dressed in suspenders stomped his foot against the floor. “Me and my boys, we just finished rebuildin’ all our farm equipment, and you want us to just leave it here? No way in damnation.”

  Midas tried to reason with him. “The farms outside of Gulch are even more at risk, Edward.”

  Another farmer—this one a bearded, heavyset man who was obviously drunk—waved a metal flask through the air, spilling whiskey as he shouted at Midas. “You think New Dallas is just gonna give us farms and houses for our families? Hell no. I got a wife and four kids to think about, Doc!”

  Filled with a rage he could no longer contain—his weakened state be damned—Blake shot up from his chair before Midas could respond.

  “The only good those farmhouses are going to do is shelter your bullet-riddled corpses from the rain!”

  “Are you gonna shoot us, Blake?” the heavyset man with the flask challenged. “Is that the backup plan or somethin’?”

  “Soldiers,” Blake said, “from the People’s Republic…”

  His voice was drowned by the clamor.

  “Maybe we should listen,” one man argued.

  Another man pushed the first against the wall. A third joined the fray. Soon, they were all shouting at each other. Midas gestured for his men to break them up.

  “Everybody…” Blake roared, lacing his next words with a force more penetrative than a simple shout. “Just. Quiet. Down.”

  There was no doubt as to its effect—the sickeningly claustrophobic sensation Blake knew had gripped their minds.

  Instant fear.

  Still works like a charm.

  Immediately, the room went silent. Blake was suddenly confronted by a dozen pairs of eyes, staring in terror that quickly melted into disbelief, then ignited into flaming hatred.

  “You used it on us,” the woman with the bushy hair said, thrusting an accusing finger at Blake.

  The drunk man took one last gulp of whiskey, then launched his flask across the room, shattering the window. His voice joined a fresh wave of hysterical cries and shouts.

  “You broke the spiteful law for the last time, Louis Blake!”

  It took all four of Midas’s men—hunters he trusted the most, selected because they had no families or property to speak of and were therefore more receptive to relocating—to push the surging crowd through the door and out of the building.

  When they were alone, Midas stared wide-eyed at Blake.

  “What did you do, Louis?”

  About to respond, his hand caught halfway through a dismissive wave meant to allay the man’s fears, Blake instead found himself staggering toward Midas’s desk, where a sudden coughing spell resulted in blood spatters
all over the man’s mayoral paperwork.

  “I could give a spiteful wrath if they come or not,” Blake said, wiping his lips with a shaky hand. “Today is our last day in Gulch. We leave at daybreak tomorrow, with or without these people.”

  22

  In the café’s kitchen, Arielle pulled the tray of bread rolls out of the oven, humming softly. Smiling, she breathed the warm, doughy smell into her lungs.

  Tonight was going to be special. Michael and the other boys, along with a few of their soldiers, had planned to celebrate—quietly, Michael had stressed—in anticipation of their move to the New Dallas Republic.

  Tomorrow morning. I can’t believe it’s already happening.

  Something shifted inside her. Almost dropping the tray, one of her gloved hands reached to her belly. Had she felt movement? Or had it been her imagination?

  She sensed a hardness that hadn’t been there before. She took it as a hopeful sign—one far more pleasant, anyway, than the fatigue, frequent urination, nausea, and sore breasts she’d been experiencing lately.

  She kicked open the swinging door to the dining area, humming once more. Slices of cheese and cured ham would complement the buns nicely. Thankfully, Michael had ordered the men to avoid drinking alcohol tonight, though she suspected Peter and Eli would find some way…

  The tray fell from her hands with a loud clatter.

  Gasping in terror, Arielle’s first instinct was to cross her arms over her belly.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The stranger stood across the dining room, blocking the front door.

  Dressed all in black, his clothes pristine beneath his freshly shaved face, he was definitely not one of Michael’s men—Arielle had memorized their faces, having served them all meals or coffee—nor was he one of the town’s residents, each of whom she knew as well as a close relative.

  Yet, his icy, unwavering gaze and his growing smile seemed to imply he knew Arielle very well.