Praise for the DEATH Series:
“... For those of you who have read the entire series and are awaiting this final novel, I believe you will love it just as much as I do. It couldn't be any more perfect. And for those of you who haven't read any of the series, or only part of the series, well, this is a series you will not soon forget. It's full of wonder and true-to-life characters, dialogue, and situations that will make you connect to the characters in ways you didn't know you could connect to fictional characters from a book. I highly recommend this series, and am hoping that maybe, just maybe, a spinoff series is in order. Five stars for a truly perfect ending ...” Shana, abookvacation (Unrequited)
“ … Tamara Rose Blodgett's writing pulls me into the world of Caleb Hart and his friends. I found myself emotionally invested in the lives contained in the pages of these books. I can't imagine how it could have been better. It's also exciting that a door seems to have been left ajar. . .will we be seeing some of our favorites in another book? I really hope so. Ms. Blodgett is such an original. It has been amazing to indulge my paranormal cravings with such original and well crafted works. Will happily purchase upcoming releases ....” LBLanding, Reader (Unrequited)
“ … I love this series and am glad there will be more! The transition from a ya series to an adult one was very smooth and natural and made major sense for the progression of the story line. To stay young adult would have been impossible to say the least! I cannot wait for the next book to come out ...!” Nocturnus, Reader (Unrequited)
“ … ....The storyline was deep and rich, and the characters were amazing and super realistic as usual. The world that Tamara [Rose Blodgett] has built is deep and immersive.....” Logan Rutherford (Screams)
“ … It does not matter which book you read, you, WILL, go out and get the entire series. Not only is it inexpensive, it is so entertaining. I won't give any spoilers, it would just ruin it for you, but, I read through these in very few days, as I just could not put it down. I love caleb and, though, sometimes you can guess which way things are going to go, it doesn't stop you from going on and on. She has one more book, of this series, coming out in September of 2014, and, I cannot wait for it. I really hate to start a series and find out they are still being written, because it takes to long to wait. I will be re-reading these ones. can't help it...” Monica S. (Weeps)
“ … I'm a grandmother, but, I still enjoyed reading this book. I've read the first two books in this series and now I'm ready for the next book. They are very entertaining...” Kathy (Speaks)
“ … This is a great author, if you like to read about other worlds and science fiction these are the books to read. Once I got started on her books, I have gone to reading other books written by her. I've enjoyed everyone. There is time travel, as well as different forms of people made by mad scientist...” Carol Brooks (Inception)
“ … The plot was well thought out and written. Did not want to put this book down and am looking forward to reading the rest of the series. Would recommend this book for13+ (adults included)....” Bre (Whispers)
Table of Contents
Praise for the DEATH Series: 1
DEDICATION: 5
[Main] Character Index: 7
CHAPTER ONE 9
CHAPTER TWO 14
CHAPTER THREE 20
CHAPTER FOUR 27
CHAPTER FIVE 33
CHAPTER SIX 39
CHAPTER SEVEN 44
CHAPTER EIGHT 49
CHAPTER NINE 54
CHAPTER TEN 60
CHAPTER ELEVEN 65
CHAPTER TWELVE 70
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 75
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 81
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 85
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 91
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 96
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 101
CHAPTER NINETEEN 106
CHAPTER TWENTY 111
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 117
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 122
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 126
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 130
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 135
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 140
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 146
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 151
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 157
CHAPTER THIRTY 162
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 167
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 174
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 178
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 184
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 189
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 194
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 198
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 202
THE REFLECTIVE-excerpt 211
Acknowledgments 229
More Books by Tamara Rose Blodgett 230
Books written under the pen name, Marata Eros 231
About the Author: 233
The year is 2049 and in the new dystopian order, the Randoms have risen to the top. Because of the Helix Complex and their illicit use of mass sterilization, Earth faces dire consequences. The virulent Zondorae concoction of 2030 made many who could have children into mules. Now middle-aged, Death’s children do their best in a world where technology and paranormal powers collide in a mix of tragedy and circumstance. Those in power have raised zombies for the slave trade.
Paxton and Deegan Hart are grown and on the radar for those that understand how critical they are for future exploit. The tight-knit circle of friends are forced to network for solutions to the depravity that has taken hold.
Can the original group protect a new talent, so dangerous it shouldn't exist? Will the new generation of Randoms find a solution for propagation, or will their power base cannibalize those who choose harmony over greed?
FOR the LOVE of DEATH
Book Seven: The Death Series
Copyright © 2014 Tamara Rose Blodgett
Kindle Edition
ISBN-10:1475210507
ISBN-13: 978-1475210507
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
Edited by Red Adept Publishing
Proofed by Linda Palomera-Terpe
bigstockphoto.com: stock photo by :Ando6
Font art: Bookish Brunette Designs
DEDICATION:
Shana Benedict
A book all to yourself~
Words aren't enough.
Music that inspired me during the writing of this work:
Gravedigger
David John Matthews
Arranged by Timothy C. Takach
Gravedigger~
When you dig my grave,
could you make it shallow?
So that I... can feel... the rain....
[Main] Character Index:
Paxton Hart
Deegan Hart
Caleb Hart
Jade LeClerc-Hart
“Jonesy” Mark Jones
Mia Cote-Weller
“Bry” Bryan Weller
“Tiff” Tiffany Weller-Terran
John Terran
Lewis Archer
“Soph” Sophie
Gram/Ali Hart
Gramps/Mac O'Brien
Grandpa/Kyle Hart
“Mitch” Mitchell- Deegan's zombie
Clyde Thomas-
Caleb's zombie
Bobbi Gale-Thomas
George & family- Paxton's zombie family
Brad Thompson
Jeffrey Parker
CHAPTER ONE
2049
Pax
Gramps takes Gram's hand.
“Pop, don't. It won't help. There's nothing more they can accomplish here.”
My eighty-year old great-grandpa pushes a stray silvering hair away from Gram's face, tucking it behind her ear.
It's my turn next.
We all have to say goodbye.
Like a sixth finger, a slim needle punctures skin thinned by cancer, dehydration, and age. Gram’s skin resembles a drug user’s, riddled with pockmarks from many different needles. Those veins have retreated as though in fear. Now the only spot they can stick is her hand.
The hospital is some sick insult.
I swallow my disgust. My anger, so like my dad’s, bleeds underneath my skin.
Pulse monitors instantly recognize her pain levels, and Gram gets another squirt of morphine and saline.
Like a goddamned camel.
I turn away and listen instead of watch. Easier without the truth beating me over the head through my gaze.
“Ali—Peanut…”
I clench my teeth. My fists follow. A vein in my forehead throbs in time to my heartbeat.
A doctor breezes in, and I splay my fingers. My eyes, the exact shade of my dying grandmother’s, tag his progress. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. Solid.
Dr. Shreya’s espresso skin begins to molt. Every beat of my heart steals his vitals.
I know I'm out of control. I get it.
The doctor throws his hands around his throat, his pulseboard clattering to the white floor.
Gramps stands then looks at me. “Pax. Cease and desist.”
I shake my head. It's the doctor's fault. Technology is too advanced to let my grandma die.
Cancer's for chumps.
My arms are stiff tortured stripes of rage by my sides, hands clenching and unclenching.
Gram tries to sit up. Can't. Lies back down. “Pop, do something.”
The vitals pulse monitor on the wall sounds an alarm.
Gramps approaches me cautiously. “Trying, Peanut.”
“He’s having a fit,” she says, code for using talents I don’t have a handle on yet.
Like now.
The doctor falls on his ass, his face turning an awesome shade of bruised plum.
Gramps’ low, even voice filters through. “Control it, Paxton. Pull it back, pal.”
The shame is so bright, it feels like internal combustion as a hot, fat tear rolls down my face. “I don’t want to.”
“I understand son—boy, do I. But this isn’t the way.”
The door swings open, and John Terran strolls in. “Hey, Pax, I could feel you from the North Pole.”
I scream, “She’s fucking dying, Uncle John!” The tears scald trails of fire on my face. Then I’m in his arms, a twenty-year-old man acting like a damned infant.
I hate this. I hate me.
I hate.
Great whooping exhales sound behind me on the floor as the doctor regains the use of his lungs.
John hugs me tight. “I’m here, Paxton. Don’t let it rule you. You’re in charge. Only you.”
“I’m in charge,” I repeat, as though from a distance. He grips my shoulders as I gaze into his pale blue eyes, measuring my breathing.
“I’m in charge,” I say again. I can’t stop the tremor in my voice.
That feeling I get when John Terran is near sweeps over me, and my horrible abilities go back into the box where I store them.
There are no words for the relief.
*
I can hear my parents arguing in the next room. Not a fan.
Probably because I'm not used to it.
Caleb and Jade Hart are the perfect couple.
They just have two shitty kids.
How does that happen?
I stare up at the ceiling, checking out the same tic-tac-toe pattern of wood beams I have from this couch a million times. I jerk the wool afghan up to my chin and give a rough exhale.
My gram made it for me. To match our eyes, she said. It’s a million colors of blue, from slate to gray, pewter storm clouds to the true blue of the Caribbean Sea.
I toss it onto the floor.
“You can’t do it!” Mom fumes. I visualize her throwing her arms in the air, because it’s impossible for Mom to talk without using her hands. We’ve tried it and no, it doesn’t work.
I sit up on the couch.
I’d love to have a cig.
Bet Gramps has a stash.
Dad raises his voice. “Jade, if I can do Clyde… I can do Mom.”
Uh-oh. It’s the old “make Gram a zombie” convo.
Yeah.
It isn't going to work. Gram's okay with dying. Doesn't matter the rest of us are pissed as hornets about it.
She’s a goner, and we’re left to deal.
Blows goats.
I bounce up and walk into the kitchen. Mom’s face is pink, and she turns her head. Her long black hair swings to cover her face. Mom hides when she’s embarrassed or angry. Like it’s not cool to feel anger. But the way she was raised, it was always Anger Central. Getting caught arguing with Dad qualifies.
“Pax,” Dad starts, and I hold up a hand.
“Not interested in exhausting the why, Dad.”
His lips thin, and I tread softly. I don’t fuck with Dad. Or Gramps. Ali and Kyle, as grandparents, are the tightest. They’re softer on me. I guess living has rounded the hard corners.
Gramps missed the whole round corners thing.
Dad rolls his brown eyes. His short buzz cut hides the gray through length alone, but he’s not old. At forty, he could still kick my ass. And if he can’t, he could bring the undead. They’d take care of business.
Of course, so can I. I’ve been taught by the best.
“We’re discussing the thing at the hospital.”
“The thing?” I tear open the fridge door and look at all the healthy food.
Disgusting.
I slam the door and Mom is there, holding out a sugar-free pudding. I carefully pluck it out of her hands.
We avoid touching.
Common courtesy with Empaths. I’m a low level, but first-degree relatives amplify it.
Then her fingers wrap my wrist and a fractured river of jagged thoughts intrude.
Sympathy.
Love.
Understanding.
She lifts her hand and looks at me.
“God Mom, ya think I don't know that?”
“Pax,” Dad warns.
Mom lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes it's faster.”
Every time, is what she means.
I plow my fingers through hair the same shade as Mom’s. Black. Sometimes I hate looking like anyone. I just want to look like me.
But I can’t escape genetics. The entire bullshit strand has been passed down. I have Dad’s straight Roman nose, his mouth, my mom’s wide eyes and hair color, Gram’s exact shade of blue irises, and Dad’s build squared.
We few kids keep getting taller. Must be those hormones, outlawed by the time I was ten, in the meat and milk.
I’m six-foot-three. I’m not a mountain like Dad’s friend Alex Sims, but I’m working on it.
“You can’t kill the doctor ’cuz you’re pissed about Gram,” Dad says, trying for reason.
It’s so ridiculous said aloud I bark a laugh.
I agree. Too bad my power has a will of its own and it’s so closely linked to my emotions.
I spin to face him. He’s a hair shorter, but Dad always feels big. A son always wonders if he can take his dad. I gave up about five years ago, but sometimes I have a spot of amnesia.
We stare at each other like dogs fighting for dominance.
“Don’t, Pax. We’re past this. We have to honor what Gram would want.”
“You don’t wan
t to, any more than me.” I jab my thumb into my chest.
Dad swipes a palm across his nape.
Death energy flexes and Dad’s doses me, stealing my breath. His ability is a thing of legend. The company he works for keeps him busy relocating the dead.
It’s either that, or he raises them in his dreams. Which, irony-much, is kinda nightmarish.
“That’s what you and Mom were arguing about,” I add.
Dad exhales roughly. “She’s my mom. I want her to live. I’m as pissed as you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
Dad narrows his eyes, and his trim body tenses. “You think I wouldn’t do anything to keep Gram here?”
I chance a glance at Mom. Tears litter her face, and guilt swamps me.
I know I’ve been a first class A-hole for the last year since Gram’s been sick.
Deegan says I’m heartsick. If that’s true, then I don’t have one left.
They used to say men don't cry.
They just don't say what's happening inside a man when he doesn't. Where do those unshed tears go?
So yeah, heartsick works.
I sweep Dad’s hand from my shoulder. “No—eff that. I’m taking off.”
He opens his mouth, and Mom’s hand falls on his arm.
I throw the parental unit a crumb. “Don’t say it—I’ve got Uncle John’s number. If things get saucy, I’ll pulse.”
Although we don’t really “pulse” anymore, the term sticks. Everything is Brain Impulse Disc to Disc now. Dad used to carry around a physical pulse. It’s laughable how lame that was.
Many Randoms have “sponsors.” We’re not the alcoholics of the past, but we still need a go-to. If I get into trouble like earlier today, John Terran is alerted through a special pulse-to-mind link. It’s a safety measure.
He’s Null enough to shut my shit down.
At least I don’t have a Null guard like Dee.
Today was scary because I wasn’t sure I wanted “help.” It had felt so good, so right, to steal Dr. Shreya’s air in a telekinetic swoop.
Death 07 - For the Love of Death Page 1