A New America Trilogy (Book 1): The Human Wilderness

by S. H. Livernois

  "Do you know where Olive's bedroom is?" Jane asked.

  "Yes, but —"

  "But what?"

  "She has a guard posted outside her door."

  "Just one?"

  Eli nodded slowly. His stomach dropped.

  "You can take him out," she said with a brush of her hand. "Then sneak in there and kill her in her sleep."

  "Jane —"

  Flames sparked in her eyes. "Don't tell me Olive deserves to live. Don't tell me the doctor didn't deserve to die, or that this ring leader doesn't, either."

  "I told you, I ain't a killer."

  Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head. "We all are. And I thought I made it perfectly clear why she deserves to die."

  "You sure did..." Eli gazed up at the sky darkening between twisting branches. "But I can't. And I don't want you to, either."

  Jane huffed. "Have you forgotten what they did? Simon dragged Lily from her home and left her dead body in the woods." She sucked in a sob. "Olive keeps those girls locked up. Her men brutalize them. So did the doctor. And every useless piece of shit in this town just lets it happen."

  The bare facts were brutal, and they required a simple justice just as brutal and violent. But it had to stop somewhere. "They're afraid," Eli said. "And Olive is desperate —"

  "That's no excuse." Jane thrust a finger in his chest and whisper-yelled, her voice strained and screeching. "This world isn't worth saving unless good people stand up against people like Olive. People who do horrible things to the indefensible. To little girls." Her pale face bloomed red in the gray light. "I can't live in a world where people get away with that. They deserve to die."

  Jane took a deep, rattling breath and grasped her head with both hands.

  "And I can't live in a world where killin' is normal." Eli stared at the back of her head, the sandy curls tickling the slender curve of her neck. "We're better than that."

  She snorted a laugh. "Oh yeah?"

  "We all deserve a chance to atone for what we've done."

  Jane kept her back to him. "It's too late for that," she whispered. "You know what I found in that guest house? Children locked away in a dozen rooms. Others wandering around with terrified, blank looks on their faces. They wouldn't even talk to me. I don't even think they heard me. That's how scared they are. Fucking Martha is everywhere. I get out two words and there she is."

  "Jane —"

  "Don't. I don't want to hear, again, that everyone deserves to live," Jane breathed deeply to silence her tears. "It's not true."

  He grabbed her shoulder. "You don't know what you're asking of me."

  "I'm asking you to save traumatized kids."

  "You're asking me to kill someone. I've killed too many people, and I can't bring them back. This one I can stop from happening."

  Jane spun around. "It's not that simple."

  "It is. You don't know what it's like to take a life."

  He reached for Jane's hand. The breeze stirred dead leaves from the forest floor with a crackling scrape.

  "Tell me, then," she said, "because I need to understand."

  Eli held on to her hand, focused on its pressure, its warmth, the rough pads of her fingers, the familiar lines of her fingers. "You die, too. Every time, you're less and less. The worst part is knowing you have it in you."

  Eli cleared his throat and looked into her eyes. They'd softened.

  "The guards are changing shifts soon." He pointed at the oak tree. "So you're going to climb that damn tree and get over the fence."

  He recited the rest of the plan, as he'd imagined himself doing: dashing through the buffer zone, climbing over the passageway fence, slipping into the guest house through the back door.

  "Let me in through a window. Then we'll be invisible. We can let them out two by two."

  "I've already told you, it's too risky."

  "We have to risk it, because I ain't killing anyone."

  Jane's eyebrow crooked up and she crossed her arms. "And the guards? They could see me climb over the fence. Or they could catch you climbing through the window."

  "The patrols are changing shifts soon. We just have to be quick."

  "And Martha?"

  Eli rubbed his mouth, uneasy with the only answer: "You could overpower her, Jane."

  "Okay…" She nodded, apparently placated. For a moment she was quiet, eyes flicking back and forth as if searching for something. "The watchmen could catch the girls running through the woods."

  Eli put up a hand. "I found an ally, a guard. He's fixed it so he'll be in the watchtower near the guest house. He'll distract the others." Eli grabbed her arm, drew her close. "We have to try, Jane."

  "So Olive lives. And you don't think there'll be consequences for the people here? For us?"

  Eli ground his teeth. "Let it go."

  "And if I fail?" Jane's face darkened. "They're so scared, Eli."

  "Then you get out. Run, fast as you can."

  "What about you?"

  "Forget me."

  Jane's anger and fear melted away, and something softer took its place. For a second, Eli wondered if she was actually sad at the thought of losing him. It seemed an impossible thing.

  "I ain't what you think I am. If you think I'm any good, that is."

  Jane's lips parted, perhaps to argue with him, but Eli curled the fingers of one hand around the back of her neck; her curls tickled his knuckles. The other hand he placed on her cheek. He needed a few seconds to pretend she was his. Her green eyes, shining like emeralds in the semi-darkness. Her freckles, dusting pale, bruised skin. Her plump, pink lower lip.

  He grazed her cheek with a thumb from one hand and stroked her neck with the other. Then he lowered his face to hers and kissed her mouth, savoring her taste and her breath. Jane's fingers dove into his hair, clutched his shoulder, caressed his back.

  It was a dream. A better man than him would kiss her again. Keep her.

  Reluctantly, Eli tore his lips away. He was suddenly cold. "Now get up that tree. I'll be waiting for you."

  Eyes glazed and shimmering, Jane nodded and he took her hand, pulling her toward the oak tree. Fear carved a hollow in his belly. Would the plan even work? Or would the day end with the girls still captives, and Eli and Jane facing the barrel of Olive's gun?

  Something rustled across the forest floor. Eli stopped to listen as nerves stabbed his fingers. The rustle sounded like footsteps dragging across dead leaves. It ended with a soft plump.

  Eli put up a hand for stillness and squinted through the trees, waiting for something to move. For a flash, he saw an arrow poking out of the darkness, aimed at Pete's chest. But nothing moved. Next to him, Jane released her held breath with a hiss. Someone groaned behind them and to the left, soft and light. Eli pricked his ear toward the sound. He found Jane's bright eyes in the half-light. She nodded. Hand in hand, they ran toward the sound, away from the oak tree.

  They ran down a slight dip in the land, wove through maple trees. The voice groaned again. A small, black shape appeared ahead, stretched across the forest floor. She glanced up, the whites of her eyes glowing.

  It was the girl in the window.

  Chapter 38

  Jane fell to the ground at the girl's side. She lay sprawled on her belly, a skinny arm reaching out and a leg kicked back, as if she'd fell while running. Jane flipped the girl onto her back gingerly and pressed two fingers to her neck. She nodded. Eli dropped beside them, his knees sinking into the cold, soft earth.

  The girl was young, with pin-straight, short black hair. Her big dark eyes bulged above sunken cheeks, and angry purple bruises ringed her wrists and ankles. Jane draped her hand on the girl's pale forehead, which was shimmering with sweat.

  "She's burning up. And her pulse is very weak." Jane's brow furrowed, crinkling the skin between her eyes. "What's your name, honey?"

  The girl gazed at their faces, then at the sky. She raised a small, shaking hand and clutched Jane's wrist. "Rooney."

  Eli imagined Ro
bin standing sentry along the walls of Elsberry.

  "You're going to be all right, Rooney," Jane whispered. "I'm the doctor."

  Terror spasmed across the girl's face and she gripped Jane's hand tighter. "I don't want a doctor!"

  "Shh, shh," Jane cooed. "I'm not going to hurt you, honey."

  She rocked her head back and forth as thin, wheezing breaths hissed from her throat. "No doctor."

  Jane took the girl's hands. "We met a friend of yours — Robin. She's very worried about you."

  Rooney's dry, pale lips spread in a weak smile. "Robin."

  Eli laid a hand on the girl's thin arm. "And we're going to get you out of this place, so you can see her again. You and the others."

  Rooney shook her head, dried leaves crackling beneath her skull. "It's pointless ... I tried."

  "What's pointless?" Jane said.

  "They're … saving the world ..."

  Rooney's eyes fluttered open and she stared blankly at the sky; a handful of dim stars had sprouted across the gathering blackness. Her head lolled and eyes closed. Shallow breath cracked through her lips. "They're bait."

  "Bait?" Eli glanced at Jane.

  "What does that mean?" she asked.

  "Bait..." the girl repeated weakly. "He never knew about ..."

  Her voice faded. Jane patted Rooney on the cheek, but the girl didn't stir. Jane prodded her neck. She waited, as if willing her heart to restart. A minute later, she dropped Rooney's hand.

  "She's gone." Jane stood and cupped her forehead with a shaking hand.

  Eli stared at the body; her skin glowed silver, the crooked shadows of the branches overhead playing across her face. Rooney's dying words replayed in his mind and a thought arose from the chaos, unbidden: What do Parasites crave above everything else?

  Humans.

  Jane tugged at his shoulder. "We have to leave her here."

  A metallic scrape screamed in the distance. Gradually, Eli realized it was the gate opening: the changing of the guard.

  They had to go.

  They ran to the break in the trees, through the clearing to the oak tree standing in its center. Its branches climbed upward like clawing fingers to the wall's lip.

  "Hurry," Eli said. He took Jane by the arms to help her up.

  "I'll let you in by the kitchen window," Jane said. "On the left side, toward the back."

  Eli hoisted her up the trunk and she climbed upward across twisted, knotted branches to the reaching branch. Her dim form shimmied to the end of the branch and stopped. She rose to her feet carefully. Eli's nerves tingled painfully as he watched and muttered prayers: for Jane's safety, for the watchmen to be looking the other way. He waited for her to spring to the wall's top edge — his signal to run to the guest house.

  But instead, Jane stopped. She crouched on the branch, watching something inside town for half a minute. Then she dropped low, hugged the branch, and inched backward to disappear once again among the crooked branches, her boots scraping bark.

  A minute later, Jane appeared above him. She balanced on a steady branch and jumped to the ground. Eli shot out his arms and caught her by the arm.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "It's him. Goddammit!" Jane's pale skin burned red. "The ringleader, with at least a dozen men."

  He was early. Olive would be furious.

  "What do we do?" Jane ran her hands through her hair.

  "It's okay." Eli raised his eyebrows and clasped Jane's arms tight. "I'll sneak out later, come get you. We'll try again. Tonight, before her coup."

  Jane glanced over her shoulder, toward the spot where Rooney's body lay. Eli palmed her cheek.

  "We'll get them out. I promise," he said. Jane smiled weakly. "I have to go. She'll expect me..."

  "Go," she said.

  Eli sprinted through the trees as Jane's footsteps faded into the distance behind him. He slipped through an alley between a barn and a row of cabins, emerging at the crest of the hill opposite Olive's. He thudded to a stop at the shoulder of the road next to a shack and gazed down the hill.

  A jittery panic shivered through his bones.

  A few peasants stood silhouetted in their doorways, but everyone was silent. The only sound was the steady, thrumming pulse of footsteps as a dark mass of people moved down the opposite hill and down into the valley. Pinpricks of light, from oil lamps and candles, flickered from the dark and traced a dozen alien, somber faces. A man stood at their head — tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a knitted cap and fleece jacket.

  The group disappeared below the curve of the hill. Eli glanced across the street, where Olive's yellow windows cut sharp, bright yellow rectangles through the dark. She stood before one, a black shape without detail, flanked by two men. Eli didn't have to see her face to know she was angry. He wondered how he was going to slip out later, with Olive's watchful eyes sharpened, her fury sparked.

  The chorus of boot steps grew louder. So many men. How would he evade them, too? He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.

  The group's leader emerged from the crest of the hill, pulling the thumping black mass of men behind him. He broke away from the group and raced to the top. He pointed at his chest, then the guest house, and motioned to Olive with curved fingers to join him, shouting something Eli couldn't hear. Olive's slender silhouette remained in its spot, staring out toward the new arrivals.

  Eli's stomach hollowed at the sound of the stranger's voice. The man's shape, the way he moved, the thin face and thick red beard were familiar. Suddenly Eli couldn't breathe, and the world spun and sputtered into darkness.

  He was in that room again, the cold one with the hard linoleum floor. Women wailed and groaned in pain. Blue eyes stared up at him, pleading and crying, and a voice whispered an order in his ear.

  Let's teach Mr. Percy a lesson. Kill them all.

  Eli had stared at the man cowering and sobbing in the opposite corner for hours. He'd never forgotten his face. It stood out clear and familiar from his nightmare.

  And he was staring at it again.

  The face of Quinn Percy.

  Chapter 39

  The last time Eli saw Quinn Percy, he was lying on a thin cot in one of the asylum's cells. Quinn had shuffled past the door, hunched, his feet dragging on the floor and moans sputtering through his lips. A broken man. Seth told his men to leave Quinn alone and let him die.

  That night in the asylum, Eli had listened to Quinn's footsteps pacing up and down the hallway until he fell asleep. The footsteps echoed across his dreams, melded into pained screams. The voices screeched in his ear and he woke with a start. Quinn's footsteps had stopped, but the howls continued. High-pitched and rhythmic and racing down the hallways. Skeletal bodies whipped past his room.

  Parasites.

  He'd always wondered how they got inside. Now he knew — Quinn let them in.

  Eli had shut the door and waited for the sounds to fade. Then he sprung from his room and raced down the hall, plummeted down a dank stairwell to the bottom floor. Burst through a door into a hallway and ran past empty cells. His world was reduced to the sound of his own ragged breathing, his boots smacking against the floor, voices keening from the asylum's distant, invisible corners.

  The hallway opened into a lobby. A knot of men grappled there — his comrades. Two were bent over double, screaming, turning. One man clutched a gun as three Parasites advanced, purring with desire, their arms grasping. He shot. First the three Parasites. Then his friends.

  They dropped in a circle around him and blood poured from the bodies in black pools across the tile floor.

  Then he pointed the gun at Eli.

  Eli raised his hands. "It's me!"

  But the man was too afraid to listen. Three bullets ripped through Eli's body. He clutched the wounds in his torso with one hand, reached out with the other.

  "It's … me ..."

  His comrade lowered his gun. "I'm sorry."

  They stood there a moment, looking at each other, underst
anding they were the last ones left. Eli scanned the bodies at his feet. He recognized a few faces.

  Then, footsteps. A figure slithered from a black hallway behind his comrade.

  "Watch out!" Eli said, but it was too late. A hand grabbed the man's shoulder and a Parasite lunged for his throat, mouth open.

  It was Seth.

  His comrade screamed and Eli ran. Across the lobby to a door, into a courtyard streaming with light, through another door into a large, quiet room. A tall shape loomed in the corner: a stack of furniture.

  He hid behind it in the dark, listening.

  Stay calm, stay invisible.

  Minutes passed. The distant screams grew closer. The door crashed open.

  Furniture fell to the ground. Light streamed into Eli's hiding place. Faces peered through the gaps: the faces of his comrades, all of them screeching with desire.

  Eli crawled backward, searched the space behind him for a way out. Ran into blackness until he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

  Then, a strip of light peeking beneath a door.

  Eli ran to it and crashed into sunlight and woods. He ran until the screams faded and the asylum had shrunk and disappeared behind him. Blood poured from his body and down his leg, leaving a trail through the wilderness.

  He collapsed by a river and lay on the ground staring at the blue sky, hoping he was infected. Praying for oblivion. If he was a Parasite, he'd no longer be Eli Stentz, the killer. He'd be something else.

  His only comfort was knowing Quinn was dead or infected, his suffering over.

  But Eli was wrong. Quinn's suffering had just begun.

  And he had changed. Eli watched Quinn, standing on the road only a dozen feet away, his hands propped on his hips, staring up at the mansion and Olive. In the three years since Eli killed his family, the man had grown thinner and stronger, his body reduced to bone and muscle, his once soft skin now grizzled and leathery.

  "Dr. Beedie!" Olive called.

  Eli was jolted from his thoughts. He spied Jane, jogging to Olive's side. Together, they walked to the guest house, where Quinn was waiting with the door open, a slice of yellow light cutting through the darkness. The three figures vanished inside. Quinn slammed the door shut with a thud that echoed down the yard.