Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (24 page)

Indistinct whispering drifted through the speakers.

Sera dropped her mangled cake on the desk. Why was the cabinet whispering? Were they as embarrassed as she by the betting on the massacre?

Harlan dropped onto the desk in front of her. His pristine cake sat next to hers. "Terror is contagious."

He pointed to the handful of survivors running down the dirt road leading toward the village. Each paused to pound on doors. More people spilled out, fled toward the center of town.

Only a few stopped to pick up anything that could be used as a weapon.

Her attention drifted to the edges of the screen. "The 'Viders are spreading out, running ahead of their victims."

"They'll surround the village, and close in." Harlan scooted back on the table, one leg swinging. "And they're not killing any now." He drew a finger across his Achilles' heel. "Just making it so they can't run. Their screams will increase the fear and panic."

The hair on the back of Sera's neck stood up. An older couple hobbled from the house. One 'Vider bashed the man upside the head while the other raked his scythe across the woman's heels. Both went down and the 'Viders entered the house.

"They're clearing the houses as they go." Uncle slammed his fist on the desk. "Tell the security forces to set their weapons on maximum stun."

Thackery pressed his finger to his earpiece and relayed the order. "Uh, Sir. The airship with our men has been recalled."

Recalled? Sera leapt from her seat. "What? That can't be right!"

Aunt Maggie clucked. "The cabinet sees no reason to interfere in the matters of Outlanders."

No reason? No reason! Sera glared at the camera relaying her image to the cabinet then pointed to the screen. "There are people dying down there."

"Dark Hope's enemies, Sera. These 'Viders have done us a great service by eliminating them."

The room fell quiet.

Her mouth dropped open. Murder was a service? She raked a hand through her hair. Had the whole world gone mad?

Uncle walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the death scenes playing out on the screen. "With all due respect, Margaret Robertson, the founders of Sanctuary were our enemies a hundred years ago. These people have done nothing to us."

Aunt Maggie snorted. "Those people have been buying advanced weaponry from a traitor within our very city. They are not innocent, nor shall we risk a single citizen in their defense."

The 'Viders had been in the area, not Gavin Neville's descendants. The savages could have obtained the weapons, if she hadn't neutralized them first. Sera opened her mouth.

Silencing her with a shake of his head, Uncle swore under his breath. "We have no proof the stun-guns were bound for them."

"You have no proof they weren't either. And given Gavin Neville's last words in Dark Hope, the Cabinet must conclude the obvious."

"And the 'Viders?" A vein throbbed at Uncle's temple. "Are we just going to ignore the threat they present?"

"The 'Viders must be studied further." Aunt Maggie's voice competed with the sound of drumming fingers. "Now we suggest you do your job and find the traitor within and stop trying to start a war. Humanity is still at dangerously low levels. We cannot afford to waste people."

On screen, a 'Vider rammed his spear through a man's chest. The bald savage paused by the dead man to reclaim his spear then ran on.

"Most people." Aunt Maggie cleared her throat. "And as we did not authorize Sera's departure, the Cabinet strongly recommends you return her to Dark Hope immediately. The media will be in a frenzy if they learn she could be in danger."

Sera shook her head. Home? She didn't want to go home. The cabinet hadn't been convinced to act. Not by a long shot.

"What's that, Maggie? I think those solar flares are interfering with the signal." Uncle faced Thackery and drew a finger across his throat.

"Joseph Dawson, don't——"

Thackery's fingers danced over the screen. "We lost connection with the Cabinet, sir."

"Solar flares will get our satellites every time." Shaking his blond head, Mayfair peeled aside the wrapping of his cake.

Kennedy swaggered to his desk. "I wonder what technical difficulties people encountered before the magnetic poles began to switch places?"

Uncle smiled. "Communication was always problematic in the field."

Harlan balanced her dessert on top of his. His features were blank, not even a twitch of emotion. "So that's it then? Dark Hope stays safe and everyone else can face the 'Viders."

She'd let him down, let down all those people who would have to face the savages alone. She set her hand on his arm, muscle solidified under her palm. "Harlan——"

"Over? My hairy ass." Uncle yanked out a chair and plopped into it. His fingers danced over the keys. "We haven't even begun to fight. That isolationism bullshit is standard SOP for the Cabinet. They’re afraid, pure and simple but they won’t admit it."

She relaxed in her seat. They weren't giving up, just working around the system. "So what's the plan?"

"To begin with, I'm requesting a dozen more officers. An outsider breached our perimeter, and we'll need more guards." Uncle winked at her before returning his attention to the screen. "Mayfair, I think you're due for a two-day refresher course in firearms."

Mayfair sat up straighter. "Ingrid will be glad to see me."

Uncle nodded. "See if you get her to part more than her legs for you. We'll need at least four dozen TSG-23s and a few dozen bricks of explosives."

Geez. Could they rub in her naivety any more? No human on Earth had evolved. Sera studied her nails.

Harlan nudged her knee. "Sex and survival must be a universal rule."

She nudged him back. "Gloating isn't attractive. Guess that's why you pay for it."

His grin widened. "We negotiating?"

One of these days, she'd——

"Sera," Uncle snapped. "You know your duty. I suggest you get ready to depart."

She whipped around in her seat. "But Uncle——"

"That's an order, Officer Tahoma." Uncle pointed to the door. "Out!"

Yanking her back pack off the floor, she strode to the door. She was more than a PR stooge, she was an officer and a damn good one. Hadn't she proven it by finding and neutralizing the stun-guns? Hadn't she brought Harlan in, convinced him to tell what he knew about the 'Viders?

Okay, maybe that one hadn't gone exactly as planned.

Grabbing the cake, Harlan walked to his pack.

"Sit your ass back down, Westminster. I'm not through with your debriefing." Uncle removed the stun-gun from his holster and set it next to him on the desk. Her stun-gun. The one she'd rebuilt.

Harlan's eyes narrowed but he sat in her vacated seat.

"Bye, Sera." Thackery whispered as she passed.

"See you." There had to be a way out. If she didn't find it, the Cabinet would never allow her to leave Dark Hope again. Her fingers trailed over the cold metal knob before she pushed it down and tugged open the door.

"Mayfair, you'll return on Captain Saldana's ship."  Uncle rocked back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Cousin Leon will know how to smuggle our extra cargo on board. If you're caught, we'll say it's a security test. God, I love our drills."

Sera shut the door quietly behind her. Let them have their plans. She had her own to make. And it all started with a trip to the armory.

Chapter 27

He was going to die. Lee blinked back the hot tears stinging his eyes. And Sammy, his darling granddaughter, would be alone. At the mercy of the assholes who killed him. He jerked on his shackles. Why? Wasn't he a Neville? Why had God allowed the wicked to rule, and the righteous like him to be punished?

He sagged in his chains. Blood trickled down his sticky arms. Cold seeped into his bones, numbing the pain his torturer had inflicted. Perhaps he deserved to suffer, but not Sammy. The hope, the cure, it had all been a mirage.

Lee had abandoned a century of traditions, a glorious last soliloquy, and the best damn farm in Sanctuary for what? To be cursed for violating God's rule. Man held no sway over Corpse Belly or other diseases.

He'd been a fool to think otherwise.

Worse, he'd been made a fool. Damn Tino. Lee hoped the man’s twin brother, Quinn, rotted from the inside out. Watched his leg putrefy, blacken, then see the sickness creep into every part of his body.

Water dripped nearby, punctuating the silent torture chambers.

 Fatigue burned Lee's eyes, but he shook it off. He wouldn't sleep away his last moments on Earth. Perhaps he should try again to reach his tools.

And then what?

He squeezed his eyes closed. How could it have come to this? Had he not presided over the Actors Guild and fairly enforced the laws? Had he not treated everyone in the manner they deserved?

A whisper of movement sounded outside the door.

Lee's head snapped up. So soon? He must have fallen asleep. A key rasped in the lock.

If this was the life he had to give, so be it. But they would remember he went down fighting. Balancing on tiptoes, he wrapped his fingers around the manacles. He'd get in a few kicks before they offed him.

The door opened on silent hinges.

A shadow backed inside. Metal glinted in the man's hand. He rested his free hand against the wall near the switch.

Lee tensed and his mouth dried. A knife was a better way to go than that switch. That damn thing felt like he was being filleted alive.

The man's head cleared the door, then he eased it closed. Turning, Tino smiled. "His honor must think lots of you to put you down here."

"You bastard!" Lee kicked with his right leg. Pain kindled a fire in his arm joints. The fool had a lot of nerve to show his face after betraying Lee.

Tino held his finger over his lips. His bruised flesh nearly swallowed his beady eyes. "Shh, I'm on corpse duty, and you're supposed to be dead." Chuckling, he batted aside Lee's legs as if they were mosquitoes and raised his knife. "Dead folks are quiet like."

This was it. This was the end. Lee raised his chin, stuck his face right into Tino's armpit. His eyes watered. Holy shit, didn't the man ever hear of soap?

"Bossman wasn't too happy about the guards letting us in." Tino's moon-shaped face wrinkled. Metal slid against metal. "But once I showed him the gold you had, he didn't beat me too much."

The shackle slipped off Lee's wrist. His arm flopped down to his side, refused his commands. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head when the feeling returned.

"Hope you don't mind losing your gold. You won't need it where you're going." Tino undid the other shackle.

No, dead people didn't need gold. Lee's other arm dropped to his side and his legs buckled from his weight. The scores of whip marks reopened across his back and legs.

Tino swept him up and over his shoulder. "Now don't make a sound and keep your eyes closed. You're supposed to be dead."

Blood rushed to Lee's head and he felt every vein in his skull pulse. He sipped shallow breaths, fought unconsciousness. Useless arms flopped against Tino's wide posterior as he walked down a long hallway.

"Finally got yerself one, eh?"

Lee closed his eyes at the man's voice. Maybe if they thought he was dead, the new guy wouldn't torture him.

"Bruce went too long on the 'lectricity." Tino spun around. "He's practically bald from it."

Fingers probed Lee's scalp. He held his breath to keep from crying out.

The newcomer twisted Lee's head this way and that as if trying to unscrew it from his neck. "Bruce said this one was uppity. Asides, his honor didn't see no use for him." The newcomer stuck his fingers in Lee's mouth. "Any gold in there?"

Lee fought the urge to gag. Had the animal dipped his hands in shit? Was cleanliness unheard of among these people?

"Nope, his honor kept it." Gravel crunched. Tino walked over the dirt road.

Other footsteps sound close behind. "What about his balls and dick? Can I have 'em to sell as breeder’s aphrodisiacs?"

Lee clenched. They wanted his privates? Fucking animals.

"They're scorched." Tino shrugged Lee off his shoulders, then lay him carefully on a bed of straw. "Breeders won't want 'em, even the desperate ones. All shrunk up, like they are."

Lee opened his eyes to a slit. A body lay next to him. In the lamplight, he recognized Quinn. Had the brother died? Is that why Tino had turned him in?

But Tino was helping him escape.

Something didn't add up.

"Damn. His honor must be really mad at you if you don't even get to sell his parts."

The wagon bucked as Tino climbed aboard. "I got the wagon and mule. Sissy's been wanting one for ages."

"That ol' nag and rickety cart." The newcomer scoffed. "Together they ain't worth as much gold as I got in my tooth."

"Sissy'll be happy." Tino slapped the reins and the wagon jolted forward. "See you at the Royal House with the rest 'o the boys after I drop off Quinn at the station and throw the corpse on the fire."

Lee moaned as straw stabbed at his cuts. God, he hoped the clatter of the hooves covered it.

"See you Tino."

Lee counted the clomp of hooves. Twenty. Thirty. How far until he was safe? Forty. Forty-one.

"Got yer clothes out. Get dressed but don't stick your head up." Tino flicked a blanket over Lee.

Lee pushed the covering off his face. "Where's Sammy? I'm not leaving without her."

"She's on the train, waiting."

Lee's fingers dug into the blanket. "She's safe?"

"She's stabled, but sickly." Tino guided the mule through traffic. Music and lights spilled onto the street. Laughter and chatter swirled around him. "Doc Julia gave me 'til first train to get you out or she'd send Sammy to Dark Hope alone."

 Groping along the straw, Lee searched for his pants. He raked the fabric closer. How the hell was he going to get them on? "Won't they be watching the trains?"

"Yep, but Doc Julia's smart. And just between you, me and Bertha, his honor is a bit afraid of them folks from Dark Hope. Even if someone spies you, you'll get on that train."