Blood Rules

Table of Contents

 

 

The metal gray of the sky made Chaplin's brown coat look drab as we darted out of the shadows and into the safe cover behind rocks or more Joshua trees.

It'll be a long time before everyone forgets what happened back at the first homestead,
Chaplin said, chewing on his words.

“My lack of control made us vulnerable to Stamp, so I earned the wariness.”

Before the big showdown, I'd killed a few of Stamp's men when they'd encroached upon our territory, threatening us. We'd suspected they wanted our aquifer-enhanced dwellings, and I'd made sure they didn't get them. Then Gabriel had appeared one night, wounded, and Chaplin had invited him into our home. My dog had been under his sway, but Chaplin had overcome it, manipulating Gabriel into confronting Stamp for our sakes. But I, and the rest of the community, hadn't been able to stomach his sacrifice, and we'd gone to the showdown to defend him.

So if you went right back to the beginning, the death and destruction had all been because of me.

Mariah, there's always . . .
Chaplin began, then cut himself off.

I wasn't dumb enough to believe that my dog had an unfinished thought. He was luring me into something. Intel Dogs had been genetically bred and trained to be practical and lethal when the time called for it. He was my best weapon and, sometimes, my worst.

“Spit it out,” I said. A sand-rabbit leaped out of some brush in front of us, causing a rustle. “You gonna say it, Chaplin?”

I could've sworn my dog smiled at my vinegar. It meant that I was fully back to being human. For now, anyway.

There's always hope for a cure,
he said.

 

BLOODLANDS
BLOOD RULES

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

BLOOD RULES

 

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace mass-market edition / September 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Chris Marie Green.

Excerpt from
In Blood We Trust
copyright © by Chris Marie Green.

 

All rights reserved.

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ISBN : 978-1-101-54359-7

 

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To Torrey—a lady and a princess and my beautiful friend.
I love everything about you—especially
you
!

Again, I bow to my Ace team—everyone from Ginjer to Kat to the art and marketing and sales departments to the wonderful editors who catch my errors and the design team. Thank you to each and every one of you who worked on these books! And to the Knight Agency, I salute you, too. Sheree and Judy, you guys are my inspiration and anchors.

My critique partners aren't the only ones who inspire me—there's also Thomas Friedman, whose ideas about the future helped to shape some of GBVille. And a big acknowledgment to the “poet/prophet” William S. Burroughs: Thank you for the “running ones.” I have no doubt whatsoever that we will soon see them all over the place!

In a work of fiction, there are bound to be some licenses taken, and there are many of those in the Bloodlands. Forgive my overreaching and any mistakes, but I also hope you “enjoy” your stay in this new land. I so appreciate that you've taken the time to read these books, and hope that you will continue....

I
t'd been a quiet night in Asylum AA-23 until Patroller Hughes decided to check out the maximum-security block.

As he disabled yet another force field that separated the command center from the labyrinthine hallways, his ear communication implant crackled.

“Blok 10 secr,” said another patroller, using the casual Text language of the streets to say he'd secured his block for the night.

“Blok 5 secr,” said a third employee.

Hughes had already reported in, so he was on free patrol now. This block wasn't even on his normal beat, but he'd had an itch to scratch ever since last night, when Subject 562 had been brought from an asylum in old D.C. over here to GBVille. Subject 562 was supposed to be a high-level preter, and Patroller Hughes had a way of breaking in each new occupant. The staff had been warned about messing around with it, but Hughes knew how to handle even the most intimidating monsters.

He strolled the dim, steel-enforced maze, where cries echoed from each cell he passed. The invisible shields held the subjects captive, muffling screams, hisses, and whatever annoying sounds they made. Hughes could see every one of the grotesque shapes huddled in corners, staring at him with glowing eyes.

He passed a subject waving its lengthened, slimy fingers near its cell shield, and Hughes whipped out his taser baton, threatening the creature. It hunched, backing up, its spine bristling with spaded projectiles.

Patroller Hughes laughed and went on his way. He'd screwed the subject over but good when it'd first gotten here. With one shot of lazy-donna into its veins, Hughes had done his own little experiments. But the creature hadn't been humanlike enough to interest him for long.

Now he came to the cell he was looking for, where Subject 562 stood in a corner, its back turned, its hands hidden in the folds of its bleak, baggy institution gown. Humanlike. Its long silver hair was sheet-straight, hiding its face, skimming over the pale arms scraped with nearly healed, self-inflicted nail marks.

Patrolman Hughes fixated on the wounds. There'd been a lot of vague talk among the patrollers about 562's blood. He wondered just what was so special about it.

He flipped up the goggle lenses from the mask of his protective suit, allowing a panel-bound laser beam to scan his retinas. As soon as the security device recognized him, lasers zapped down from the cell's ceiling, surrounding Subject 562 like a temporary, purple-barred cage. The impenetrable shield dissipated long enough for Hughes to cross the threshold, then hummed back to an invisible wall behind him right after he entered.

Subject 562 remained motionless.

“Hya, wtr rbbr,” the patroller said, trying to get the creature's attention.

But it didn't react to being called a water robber. A lot of preters tended to ignore this particular insult, maybe because they didn't steal water in the human way, by siphoning it from dwelling tanks. No, sir, about half the preters here were unapologetic parasites that took the blood right out of humans, getting their liquids in that manner.

Or maybe Subject 562 wasn't reacting because it only spoke Old American, like most preters who'd tried to hide away from society and its goings-on after the world had changed. Maybe the thing didn't understand Text because it'd been tucked away with other water robbers for years and years, avoiding eradication and missing out on all the trends.

Hughes was always happy to teach preters the new ways.

With his gloved hand, he fetched the lazy-donna blaster out of a compartment in his utility belt. The gun held a dose that could put down thirty humans. It'd be enough for one monster.

He aimed the gun at Subject 562, and when the drug bullet slipped through the lasers and hit the creature, the skinny thing didn't even flinch. It just kept its back to him, its head lowered, its fall of hair covering any response.

A minute later, the subject withered to the ground, and Patroller Hughes used a vital sign scanner to determine whether it'd be safe to proceed.

GO,
the scanner said.

He smiled, then used a voice command to turn off the laser cage that surrounded the prone monster. Leaving the rest of his protective suit on, he stripped off one of his gloves, leaving his hand bare so it could feel.

As he approached 562, he thought he heard a cry from the monster across the hall: a wail. Maybe even the start of a howl. He ignored it.

“Im not gonna hrt u,” Hughes said to his pupil as he bent forward, catching sight of 562's slit eyes glowing through its hair. Red eyes, like something lurking in a forest of silvered trees.