Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (7 page)

"For pity's sake, Lee. The girl's fighting for her life too."

Lee pierced Irving with a glare. Lee had a reason for breaking with a century of thespian tradition.

Irving just wanted to see fifty-one winters.

The coward.

Irving stared down at the floorboard. "Where do you think they'll strike?"

"Same as usual." The enforcers knew their role very well. Supporting cast like them were so eager to please, they rarely thought beyond their scripted lines. Little did they know it would be the performance of a lifetime.

But there wouldn't be an encore.

Irving looked down the length of his sling. "I reckon there'll be one on each side."

"That's usually how it works." That's where Lee had laid his booby traps. He guided the mule deeper down the throat of the canyon.

The walls closed in. Sand muffled the clomp of hooves. Here and there, the whistling wind had whittled away a column from the canyon face. Ahead a collapsed pillar lay in pieces across the path. Gaps appeared between the chunks. They looked random, but Lee knew better. He’d spent an hour under the moonlight arranging them just so.

Irving leaned toward him. "Thought you'd cleared a path?"

"Don't worry about it." The fool. If Lee had moved the boulders, the enforcers would have just knocked over another one. He kept the mule heading straight.

The animal balked in his traces, pulled to the left.

Lee cracked the whip and the mule slowed but stayed the course. It stomped on the crushed stone before clearing the debris. With a steady hand, Lee guided the wagon wheels through the openings he'd strategically arranged. The canyon forked dead ahead. They were almost there.

Irving leaned over the side of the cart. "Well, I'll be damned. You did it!"

Of course Lee did. This escape was two months in the making. Sweat beaded his upper lip. Unfortunately, that was the middle act, not the final one. "Look alive. The enforcers could decide to attack us."

Irving's back popped as he straightened.

Sammy giggled.

"Move to the middle of the cart, girl." Over the creak of the wood, Lee heard fabric rustle. The mule took the left fork.

"There's one of the buggers!" Irving pointed halfway up the canyon wall. He raised his sling again.

Lee set a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Twenty yards away, a beefy man struggled up the loose sand and rock of a landslide. He reached for a tree growing from the canyon wall to pull himself up. Branches shook from the weight. Leaves fluttered down before a board swung free of the limbs. The booby-trap drilled a cutting knife into the would-be executioner’s back.

Gotcha! Lee smiled. One down; one to go. 

Turning on the bench, Irving raised his hand and cackled. "Damn, that's fine directing."

"This ain't my first rodeo." Lee completed the high five. His palm tingled from the slap. Then he saw it. A stone headed straight for him. He grabbed the other man by the shirt front and dragged him to the right.

"What——" Rock hit bone, caving it in. Irving slumped forward, blood drizzling from his parted lips. Life abandoned the crooked husk.

Another rock clunked against the side of the wagon.

Sammy whimpered.

The enemy would not win. Lee's granddaughter would live. He slapped the reins on the mule. The beast lurched forward.

Another rock thumped against Irving's body.

Lee positioned the corpse in the line of fire. Bending forward, he eyed the cassia bush. Butter-yellow blossoms waved from the silvery leaves. Once he reached that, they'd be home free.

Two more projectiles shattered Irving's bones.

"You need more rocks, Paw-Paw?"

"Stay down, Sammy!" He urged the mule faster. The contrary beast kept the same pace. If he had his whip... But he didn't. Just a little farther.

The pelting stopped.

Had the enforcer run out of ammunition? Lee fought the temptation to look. As an actor, he knew what happened to those who did. When the path curved to the right, he shoved Irving's corpse over the edge. It landed with a thud and rattle, right onto the bush.

Bull's eye.

A heartbeat later, a piece of wood clattered against rock. Then rock banged into rocks. The noise grew from a soft rumble to a rolling thunder.

Lee picked up his whip and cracked it over the mule's head. "Stay down, Sammy!"

A man's scream echoed down the canyon then a wall of dust overtook him. Pebbles rained on the umbrella, pelted Lee’s back and knocked against his hat.

Coughing, he blinked the dust stinging his eyes and gave the mule her head. Thanks to traveling this route weekly since Sammy's illness returned, the animal knew the path. A preternatural stillness engulfed him, broken only by the jingle of the harness and the slowing of his heart.

For a moment in time, it was just him and Sammy. He imagined her healthy——pink cheeks, strong arms and eyes bright from happiness, not fever.

The moment passed. Soon the air cleared. The desert stretched for miles in front of him. He eyed the lone tree in the distance. The marker for the supplies he'd squirreled away. Lee aimed for the chunks of black that marked an ancient road, a road that would take them to Abaddon and his granddaughter's health.

Wood creaked. Plumes of dust rose as Sammy retracted her umbrella. She smiled. "You did it, Paw-Paw."

"That I did Sammy-girl." Once he collected their supplies, he could just kick back and relax. "From here on out, it's all rave reviews and encores."

Chapter 8

Harlan had finally gone nuts. He stared at the footprints in the soft sand by the river and kept walking. The flat-soled impressions of the tributes. The rough weave of the ‘Viders. Squatting, he tested the tracks. Another half hour and he should be right on top of the group.

And then what?

His internal crazy man demanded he attack. Dusting his fingers on his pants, he resumed following the group. If he attacked, he might find high ground. Shoot six or seven with his cross-bow.

Which left another half dozen uninjured ‘Viders to overwhelm him. And probably another three or four, really pissed off injured ones, to pour a can of dead all over his ass. Good times. But he wasn’t about to waste his life.

None of the tributes would think to run.

Harlan raked his hand through his short hair as his throat closed up. The fools still trudged obediently behind the ‘Viders. Didn’t one of them suspect anything? Didn’t any of them want to run? If not because of the threat they faced, then just to return home?

He sighed and turned his face to the setting sun.

And there it was. With his men slaughtered, he couldn’t save all of the tributes. But he had hoped to save one or two at least.

Surely, one or two would try to escape and Harlan would be able to help them. Recruit them to his cause.

Maybe even kill a ‘Vider or two in the process.

He’d restocked his quiver and even had a few spare arrows in his pack. Raising the crossbow, Harlan stroked the stock. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask. He could climb one of the pines along the bank and pierce a chest or two with an arrow. If the wound wasn’t fatal, he’d gladly finish the job with his knives.

 Maybe then the angry beast simmering in his gut would settle down. Give him time to think and plan. Allow him to wash a little innocent blood off his hands.

He shook out his fists and scanned the ground. Here the sandy banks gave way to rocky shores. No more daydreaming. He needed to focus if he planned to save even one. His thighs burned as he climbed the slope and checked the vegetation. Trample marks in the grass. A few bushes with broken limbs.

At least they were making it easy for him.

With his luck, he’d finally find the ‘Vider camp. God always gave him opportunities when he couldn’t do a damn thing with ‘em. No doubt——

Harlan paused near a patch of dirt before crouching down. Well, well, what have we here? He traced the footprint with a trembling finger. A fancy sole like the tributes wore, but the treads were deep, not worn. Similar to the boots worn by the bastards who had killed his men. So whoever had sent the tribute had one of his men with the ‘Viders. His insides sprouted wings.

Maybe God wouldn’t make him the butt of some heavenly jest.

Maybe he was given an opportunity to silence some of the screams inside his head.

Rising, he followed the meandering river several paces. Overturned rocks near the water’s edge indicated the tributes and ‘Viders went one way. He searched fifty more feet. The new tracks weren’t among them.

So be it.

He backtracked to his new quarry. He’d find the bastard, creatively interrogate him for his boss’s name, then go after the tributes. Easy. He loped after the tracks then stopped.

The weave of a ‘Vider’s shoe overlaid the treads. Hot damn. He was gonna get a twofer. Releasing the safety of his crossbow, he plunged into the dark woods. The bad guys were gonna die today.

Chapter 9

Her stalker would have to attack soon. Sera bit her lip and struggled over the uneven terrain. Pine needles crunched underfoot. No point in being quiet. Her stalker certainly wasn't. He'd crashed through trees, caused small rock slides down inclines and swore loudly. She'd heard him behind her ten minutes after crossing the river.

A good half hour ago.

Yet, he hadn't attacked.

Nor had he called out, as she'd been told to expect in the Outlands. Was this one of the gun smugglers, then? She climbed up the ravine, keeping to higher ground and scanned her surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. No line of sight to plan a counter-offensive or to determine their exact number.

There was definitely one closing in on her right. She swerved around a limestone boulder. The skin between her shoulder blades itched. But she couldn't help thinking there was another stalker on the left, using the buffoon's lumbering to disguise his movements. The random snapping of twigs and cascade of rocks grew nearer. As if on cue, a pebble skittered across her path.

Had to be another stalker. Wild animals tended to freeze when faced with an intruder in their home.

Sera licked her dry lips and gulped down air. Running time was almost at an end. Thankfully her newly acquired TSG-17 hung on her pack's carabiner. She shook out her fists and reached for the weapon. Her hand wrapped around the stun-gun's barrel before freeing it from the hook.

Thumbing off the safety, she settled her finger on the trigger. When she switched the setting to maximum stun, the weapon hummed to life. Even if the old thing only fired once, she was hardly defenseless. She had fingers to poke out eyes, legs to kick, and arms to strike.

And a knife in her boot.

Right. She could do this. She had to do this. Following the terrain, she turned around another boulder. Needles slipped underfoot when she stopped.

A man blocked her path. Black streaked his bald head. Light glinted off the curved blade in his sausage-link fingers. A coarse shirt streaked his mammoth shoulders in patches of black, brown, and red.

"You're a fine tribute." His gaze raked her from head to toe then back up again to linger on her brown hair.

Swallowing the wad lodged in her throat, she shifted one leg behind her, raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The weapon fizzled. Well, shit. She'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. Muscle coiled around bone. When he attacked, she would use his momentum against him. With luck, she might be able to fling him into the tree trunk next to her or smash him upside the temple with the useless piece of crap in her hand.

"Tribute?" She balanced on the balls of her feet. A karate chop to the throat was out. He'd probably tuck his chin before rushing her. So she'd leap aside maybe with a kick to push him into the tree. Anything to avoid an intimate encounter with his knife.

"Your kind." He pointed his blade at her. "Not of the blood. Weak."

She'd show him weak. Keeping her attention locked on him, she strained to hear the other. It wouldn't do to be blindsided. "I'm not the one who needs a knife to take on a little girl. One would think you're compensating for something with a weapon that big."

He narrowed his eyes and flashed yellow teeth in a snarl but didn't rush her.

Well, damn——either the asshat was smarter than he looked, or he was too stupid to know she'd just insulted him.

A twig snapped behind her.

Shit! She'd forgotten option three. He was waiting for his buddy to attack from behind. 

Baldy's attention shifted over her shoulder.

Dropping the stun-gun, Sera dipped. Her fingers slid into her boot, brushing the hilt of her knife.

Roaring, Baldy charged.

An odd flutter sounded on her right. Black streaked in her peripheral vision before she caught sight of the arrow.

It plunged into Baldy's chest until only the feathered end protruded. He clutched at it; his mouth fell open.

Option four. The two aren't working together. But that didn't exactly make the man behind her an ally. Knife in hand, Sera sprinted for the tree-line on her right. Ten feet had never seemed so far away.

Baldy pitched forward, plowed the detritus on the forest floor with his face.

"Stop!" A man shouted behind her. "Or I'll shoot!"

Her thoughts exactly. Five feet to safety. If she could just put a tree between them... She leapt over a boulder. Two more feet.

Lightning bored into her right bicep, knocking her forward. Her toe caught on the tip of the rock and the knife fell from her hand. Diving for the rock strewn ground, she brought her hands up.

Footsteps pounded behind her.

Her right arm folded upon impact. Twisting, she smacked her head against a boulder, then everything went black.

***

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now.”

Sera grit her teeth and rolled onto her side. Smug bastard, wasn’t he? She fluttered her eyes as if just waking and flexed her hands and feet. Her right shoulder throbbed. Straps bit into her flesh and her skin tingled. Her nearly numb fingers brushed her rubber boot soles. Hog-tied without the slipknot noose. Today was her lucky day. Now to distract him while she worked herself free.