Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (2 page)

She hissed through the pain as her fingers probed her side. Thankfully nothing appeared broken, just bruised. She could still check the cargo. Limping to the door, she flicked the switch. The overhead lamps blinked on.

Cradling her sore arm against her body, she headed for the aisle behind her and turned the corner. Black straps wrapped around the oversized wooden crates and secured the seven-foot high stacks of boxes. Nothing clogged the aisle.

That's odd. She’d definitely heard something fall.

"Is anyone here?" She kept walking. Maybe the cargo had come loose at the end, or on the other side.

A soft swish of fabric rang above the drone of the engines.

Her stomach cramped. She paused and peered through a crack between stacks. Nothing moved in her narrow range of vision. "Hello? I’m with the Security Force, please let me know if you’re hurt."

A loud thump sounded from the other side. She shook off a twinge of unease. The sound could be made from cargo slipping together. A whisper of movement shifted in the shadows. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Get a grip. A moan sounded ahead and to her right.

Her heart stuttered inside her chest. Crap! Someone was hurt. She rushed ahead, playing through her first aid training.

Just as she neared the last crate, the lights clicked off. Red, green, and white flashed through a square in the floor. Holy shit! The hatch was open. She tried to stop.

Something hit her across the shin and she pitched forward. She flapped her arms, desperate to grasp something. Anything. Fingers scraped wood, nails snapped in a pop of pain, then she hooked fibers and stopped. Her torso and arm hung over the portal. A bloody sunset painted the ground below. Far below.

OhGodOhGodOhGod. She tried to swallow. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, making it impossible. She'd nearly been splattered over the ground. Not the impression she wanted to make on the Outlands. Sweat misted her upper lip.

She swung her free arm. Her fingers brushed the netting. Missed. Dang it. She gritted her teeth and swung again for the netting. Got it!

The crate tumbled forward, pushing her through the hatch before falling after her.

Air screamed in her ears as she plummeted toward the ground.

Chapter 2

Fools never learned. Harlan Westminster focused his binoculars. Across the desert, columns of men and women traipsed behind bald-headed 'Viders. Willing victims.

Rolling onto his back, he groped for his crossbow. He squeezed his eyes closed until white spots danced in his vision. But it didn’t help. He still saw the valley below and the tributes. For a moment, the persistent humming in the air echoed the frustration roiling through him.

"How many did ya count?" Crouched under a low pine branch, Dennis Kramer broke the limb into bits. A tidy pyramid formed at his feet.

"Thirty-two." Harlan opened his eyes. In the dark skies of the eastern horizon, red and green stars flickered in the twilight. Thirty-two men, women and children sacrificed and for what?

Dennis whistled low. "Wow. That must be a prosperous town to offer so much."

"It won't be enough." The Providers never got enough. Harlan tucked the binoculars into his breast pocket. And it would be his pleasure to deprive them of this lot. "Let's get the men."

His band of six would liberate the offerings. Not that they'd thank him for it. Some of those idiots probably still believed they were going someplace nice —— a city stocked with clean water, abundant food and cancer cures on every corner.

They didn't get that life sucked, and then you died——usually horribly.

Dennis dropped the rest of the branch onto his pile of tinder and dusted his hands. "Anyone we recognize in the bunch?"

Harlan scooted down the outcropping. "No."

He'd learned early on not to return the tributes to their homes. They'd just be offered again. And again. Thankfully, he'd found some folks willing to send the tributes up North, far from the Providers' reach...for a price.

He hoped the fools stayed there and spread the message.

Unfortunately, people down here didn't seem to get the news. And the Providers kept coming, kept demanding more tribute.

"Any lookers among the women?"

Harlan lowered his head. Dennis was a good man. A little too preoccupied with females, but then he'd heard his wife wanted a baby and was willing to look the other way to get one. The birthing cancers affected some folks that way. "Why don't you use some of that gold you've acquired to buy a breeder's services?"

Dennis's cheeks flushed and his hands curled into fists. "I'm healthy enough not to pay for it."

Harlan fingered the web of scars on his neck, jaw, and cheek. With each passing year, the white lines showed a little more through the black tattoo. Hell, he didn't have a problem paying for it. It was a fair trade as far as he was concerned. Life was hard. He could make a few women's lives easier in exchange for a half hour or so.

It was those poor folks without females that deserved his pity. Especially when the land yielded poor crops and families still needed to be fed. Not everyone would settle for screwing a boy.

Harlan lifted his crossbow from the dirt. Counting the arrows in the quiver, he headed into the valley. Shrubs raked his sleeves as he passed.

Dennis stayed put. "I want to see them first."

Harlan paused. The other man had never asked that before. Damn. Dennis must be getting desperate. Not good for a mission where they were outnumbered two to one. Maybe Dennis should guard their flank instead of attacking the Providers with Harlan’s crew.

"Come on." Dennis shifted his weight from foot to foot. The sun's glow faded on the Western horizon. "It'll only take a minute."

If the man hadn't accompanied him on twenty-two successful raids, Harlan wouldn't even consider the request. Instead, he reached for the binoculars. "Get a bre--"

A twig snapped.

Harlan spun around.

Starlight twinkled off the blade shoved under his nose. Branches rustled as a man's face appeared.

Harlan's fingers twitched. The crossbow was already loaded. More arrows were within reach.

"Uh-uh."

The knife tip shifted and a cut burned across his chin.

"Drop it."

Fuck. Harlan shrugged and the strap rolled down his arm. The crossbow hit the ground with a soft thud. Footsteps pounded behind him.

"Arms up." The knife gestured, skimming Harlan's nose on the way.

Warm liquid trickled over his lips, flooded his mouth with a metallic taste. Harlan complied. For now. Just until he knew how many enemy surrounded him, and where Dennis stood.

"Good boy. Now back up."

Clenching his teeth, Harlan took a step backward then another. He hoped the man enjoyed his short stint of giving orders.

"Stop." Branches snapped when the man stepped through the shrub.

Well, fuck me. Harlan turned his head slightly, catching another stranger in his peripheral vision. These assholes weren't Providers. They wore suits. Dusty dark one-piece suits stitched from finely woven cloth. Had the Dark Hope pricks finally come down from the mountain?

He knew the bastards had to be related to the Providers. Rumors of both had appeared in his village at the same time.

Then the demands for tribute had started.

His sister had been offered first.

Two months later, the town and all its occupants had disappeared.

"Now turn around."

Harlan kept the smile from his face. How nice of the idiot to order him to survey the scene. One soon-to-be dead man stood in the nine o'clock position, two burly thugs bracketed Dennis, straight up at twelve, and another at four. Easy pickings if Dennis could take out the noontime buddies.  He glanced at his compatriot.

Dennis stared beyond Harlan's shoulder.

"Down boy."

Something hit the back of Harlan's legs. They buckled. His teeth rattled when his knees hit the dirt. A rock dug through his pants and into his flesh. Okay, the bastard behind him needed to die first. Then the one at four o'clock. He just needed to get Dennis's attention.

Dennis pointed at Harlan. "That's him. Just like I promised. Now, where is my wife?"

Harlan's shoulders drooped. Well hell, that was a pisser. Guess it was time for Plan B. He had a feeling there was a cartload of pain waiting in Plan B. Fingers curled in his hair and jerked his head back.

Spittle foamed at the corners of the bastard’s mouth. “This is the puke stealing our tribute?”

Harlan grinned.  Warm blood filtered between his teeth. “At your service.”

“Now, I want my wife. You promised to release her if I turned him over to you.”

At Dennis’s whine, a muscle twitched in Bastard’s face before his lips twisted into a sneer. “Send him to her.”

Really? It couldn’t be that easy. The grip on Harlan’s hair loosened and his head lowered enough to see his former compatriot.

The burly thug on the left held Dennis’s arms. The one on his right grabbed his head and twisted. Bone crackled. The smell of loosened bowels permeated the air. When the thugs let go, Dennis crumpled.

Harlan grimaced. Now he wouldn’t even have Dennis as a distraction. Plan B just got a little tougher. Good thing he was used to dealing with the impossible.

Bastard leaned down. His rancid breath washed over Harlan. “We’re supposed to turn you over to the ‘Viders, but your stealing has cost us too much.”

“Happy to oblige.” Harlan spat into Bastard’s face.

The bloody loogie oozed down his cheek while red stormed his features.

The thug buddies near Dennis’s corpse cracked their knuckles.

Bastard swiped at the moisture with his sleeve. “You’re going to die, boy. You’re going to die real slow.”

Chapter 3

Ho--ly shit! Sera glanced down at her dangling legs. The green light of the airship strobed over the ground a few hundred meters below. Swallowing the sour wad in her throat, she stared at the patches of vegetation. The leafy nubs didn't seem to be getting closer.

Tightening her grip on the ropes, she cut her attention upward. A bark of relief escaped her. The oversized crate was lodged in the cargo opening. Thank the good Lord! Whoever had pushed her out of the airship hadn't fully opened the bay doors. She was safe.

For now.

Swearing sounded above.

And obviously her luck would soon run out. Her would-be assassin must have realized his mistake. Muscles burned along her arms and her fingers tingled. Right. She had to act. Now would be good.

She threw her thoughts back to her training at the Security Forces Academy. Now what had she been taught? Not to be outflanked by the enemy in the first place.

Too late for that.

Although to be fair, she hadn't expected an enemy to be aboard the dirigible. 

Swinging her legs, she twisted her hands until the rough wooden crate scraped her knuckles and the coarse hemp rope abraded her palms. As soon as she escaped this mess, she'd warn her Uncle Dawson.

The sound of gears grinding scratched her ears. Looked like the bad guys had found the lever to open the bay. The crate dropped an inch and she jerked to a stop. The carabiners attached to her backpack clinked together.

Her hands slipped, leaving her hanging on by her fingertips.

Fear dried her mouth, leaving her tongue stuck to her palate. On the bright side, she couldn't scream. On the dark side, she probably wouldn’t be able to hold on once the crate's parachute deployed.

The dark side always sucked.

Come on, Sera. You're the brightest in your class. Figure this out. Wood scraped metal as the crate slid lower. She had a minute tops, plus another thirty seconds before the chute unfurled.

Getting a grip was her top priority. Which meant she would have to free one hand and that one would be her non-dominant left hand. Despite months of physical therapy, her right hand still hadn't regained its full strength since she'd broken it.

Kicking with her legs, she adjusted her grip then uncurled her right hand. She swung in an arc down. Pain blazed through her left armpit, and rope cut into her palm. Tears stung her eyes. She just needed to hold on a little longer. 

No way would she become a Rorschach image on the ground.

Reaching across her chest, she brushed a cold titanium carabiner. With shaking fingers, she unleashed the clasp and slid it free. Fabric whispered as the anchor runner jerked taut. Please let it be the newest one. Please let it hold.

She looked up.

Luck was still with her. The edge of the crate was wedged in the now fully open bay. Alas, the bad guy seemed to have realized her good fortune too. She detected grunting above the whirl of the airship's engines.

Gritting her teeth, she kicked with her legs. She needed to reach that bow in the rope netting before the crate fell through the bay. Once the chute opened, the rope would be snug against the wood. On the bright side, her fingers would be mashed between net and rope. On the dark side, fingers could easily be severed.

Swinging her arm up, she skimmed the cord with the top of the carabiner. Suck ass. She swayed away from her target.

The crate cleared the bay.

The parachute would deploy soon. Sweat beaded her upper lip and she kicked harder. One second passed. Then two. At three she was on the upswing. Holding her breath, she lunged for the net.

The titanium hook slipped over the top and she released the clasp. It sprang closed just as she detected the snap of fabric. Just in time. Crossing her arm over her chest, she clutched the shoulder strap of her backpack and straightened her left hand’s fingers. Her numb digits fumbled with the other strap before latching on.

The silk billowed open like a jellyfish, then the crate jolted upward.

The movement crackled down Sera's spine and the pack slid up her back. Her fingers spasmed on the harness before clamping down harder. Please don't let me slip out. Please don't let the harness break.

A moment later, she swung four feet from the bottom of the crate.

Thank God. Her head lolled against the pack and she sighed. Either the bad guy hadn't realized she was underneath the crate or its contents were more valuable than she was. Licking her dry lips, she counted to five while her heartbeat slowed. One moment more to savor her victory, then back to work.