Liquid Death (The Edinön Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

              “Kandi, did I do something?” Juan is behind me now, concern and pity oozing from him like sweat.

              I shake my head and breathe as though for the first time.
As long as you don’t touch me, I’ll be fine.

              Juan hesitantly inches away.

              I close my eyes and think of my mom’s face. I think of Traci and her innocent smile. I recall the relief I felt after my high school graduation. I think of fresh strawberries and bumblebees and meadows.

              Eventually, the nausea subsides, and I open my eyes. I return to the rock to find Juan repacking the food. “Let’s keep going,” he advises. “We should find shelter before it gets too dark.” The way he looks at me has changed since two minutes ago. I can’t place what is different in his eyes – only that there
is
a difference.

              I nod in agreement and lead him further into the forest.

***

              By twilight, we have located the perfect spot between two oak trees where the ground is soft enough to lie upon. I telekinetically acquire a large number of green leaves to create a makeshift bed and immediately lower myself to the pile with my back against one of the trees. Juan rests about two feet from me after securing the food in the branches above my head.

              I stare at him while he adjusts his position until he’s comfortable. Then he stares back at me, and my ability to swallow disappears.

              “Are all aliens as beautiful as you?” he asks, a gentle smile gracing his full lips.

             
Holy
.
Crap
. How am I supposed to respond to that?

              “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I’ve just...” He tugs on his collar. “I’ve never seen a girl that looks like you.” His eyes glisten in the diminishing light. “Is perfection the norm on your home planet?”

              My chin trembles with emotion.
I don’t know.

              “So, to your people, are you, like, royalty, or something, since you are a continuation of the Death bloodline?”

              I nod.
Something like that.

              “Is that why they would travel so far to rescue you and your father? I mean, how long did it take to travel to Earth from your home?”

              I shrug and tuck the left side of my hair behind my ear. My father said after his ship was sucked through a wormhole, he had drifted aimlessly through space with his crew for thirty years before Earth’s gravity reeled them in. Depending on the rescue team’s navigational proficiency, it could take anywhere from thirty to a hundred years since our loss of communication twenty years ago for them to find us. By then, the sentient inhabitants of Earth will be extinct. However, I am sure they would go to any and all lengths to collect Jeremy. Their planet is likely in chaos without Death.

              Juan nods and looks at his feet. “Do you want to go home?”

             
I want to belong somewhere.

              He pauses and breathes, comprehension shining in his eyes. “I understand.”

              My lips twitch into a near-smile.
Tell me about your mother, Juan.

              He lays his back against the leaves with his hands behind his head, gazing through the canopy above at a rare starry sky. “She tried so hard to do everything right. I never blamed her for the circumstances I grew up in. She wasn’t always there when I needed her, but she
was
always there when I needed her most. I suppose that’s what counts.” He blinks. “She taught me that I could do anything I wanted with my life, and I threw any chance at a decent life I could have had out the window to join a rival gang of my father’s. I wish I had listened to her. It was the biggest mistake I had ever made.”

             
What happened?

              “One night, we broke into a professional baseball player’s home to steal a batch of meth my father had cooked so we could study his formula and improve upon it.” He licks his lips. “A traitor in our midst tipped off my father’s men, and soon we were surrounded. Three members were killed, and I was taken in for questioning. I expected my father to beat me to death, but instead he took it out on my mother. There was nothing I could do. My mom was hospitalized that night, and all I received was a black eye. The next day I was playing baseball with my friends when I saw a man in black, and suddenly everything went fuzzy. When I awoke, I was on a table next to a girl covered from head to toe in blood, and I could tear through leather bonds like paper.” Juan looks at me. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

             
Yes
.

              He sighs. “Soon after that, Emanuel, the
jefe
, decided I was ready for my official initiation. He was eager to test my loyalty after that night at the baseball player’s mansion. He was especially on edge after one of his own betrayed him, so he prepared a special form of initiation for
me
, his rival’s bastard son,” Juan says bitterly. He breathes through his nose. “His goons kidnapped a girl my age and brought her to our headquarters.”

              My throat aches with his emotion. I can taste his bitterness on the back of my tongue. My heart contracts and freezes. Images begin playing out in my mind. I see Juan collapsing on a baseball field. I see him breaking free of his bonds and shedding excess blood. I see...

              I see Juan sneaking outside with several other males of varying ages between about 13 and 25. The night is very dark, and there aren’t many stars in the sky. The boys are running through a couple acres of tall grass toward a large warehouse that appears to be abandoned. I hear them whispering to one another in a combination of broken English and Spanish. They cautiously approach the building and pass through a cellar door. Juan is one of the last boys to enter.

              The room is brightly illuminated, with blood-red walls and a hazy atmosphere as a few well-muscled Hispanics lounge on one of the sofas smoking what appears to be marijuana. The boys who just arrived gather on the right side of the room. Juan remains close to the entrance and folds his arms.

              Someone speaks to him in Spanish, and a moment later two large, tattooed men drag a girl of about fifteen years from the back of the room on the left and shove her toward Juan.

              The look on Juan’s face…

              An argument ensues. Juan refuses to follow orders. The girl, blond and still in her pajamas, looks paler than a ghost. She is bawling and clearly terrified.

              Juan loses the argument. Twenty-or-so men reach for him and push him against the right wall, expeditiously binding his hands to a metal loop protruding from the wall and battering him to a pulp. Juan screams and tugs on the restraints so hard that trails of blood roll down his arms from his wrists. His face is black and blue, and his lips are crimson.

              “Please! Please! No!”

              The men beat the girl until she can hardly move. Her blood-curdling screams soon turn into weary moans… then nothing.

              They stop when she quits emitting sound. A boy of about the same age, an Hispanic with a spider web tattooed on his forehead, tiredly advances toward Juan and releases him. Juan drops to the floor like a limp noodle. His face is swollen and completely unrecognizable.

              The boy utters through suppressed tears, “Sorry, Juan. ‘t ‘ad to be done.” He then departs with the rest of the gang.

              Sunlight begins to peek through the tiny holes in the cellar door. Juan lifts his head from the ground and drags himself across the floor toward the girl -- who doesn’t appear to be breathing. He gingerly lifts her onto his lap and holds her. After a few minutes of rocking, tears finally begin to trickle from his black, puffy eyes.

              “You see it, don’t you?” Juan inquires softly.

              I sniff and swipe my eyes. My face is hot and swollen from crying. “I’m... sorry,” I whisper. Recognizing night is falling and the air is cooling, I point to a pile of sticks I had prearranged and light them with natural orange fire. Shivering profusely, I crawl from the safety of the tree trunk to Juan’s side, compelled to relieve his anguish.

              My breathing grows labored as I extend my right hand to touch his face. Juan blinks twice and knits his brows at me. “What are you doing?”

              Once my palm meets his prickly jaw, his entire life flashes before my eyes. Everything negative he has ever felt floods my system simultaneously, and I nearly scream and recoil. My hand is shaking, but I refuse to budge, intent on feeling everything for him. I vaguely sense a hand grasping my wrist, but I disregard it.

              “Kandi, stop, please.” He grits his teeth and gasps.

              I release his face, panting and shivering vigorously despite the jacket. Juan sits up and wraps his arms fiercely around me, careful not to touch my skin directly. I feel his torrid breath on my neck and look at the sky, envisioning a giant ship descending from the heavens to take me home.

              “Kandi, are you with me?”

             
“I need an ambulance… lots of blood… I don’t know what’s wrong… soon as you can…”

             
Beep. Beep. Beep.

              So much pain. I have never felt so much pain.

              “Why did you touch me?” Juan asks helplessly, crushing my small body against his. His warmth is beginning to seep into my bones, and it soothes my quivering soul. He smells like sweat, wood, and dirt, and never has such a combination been so intoxicating. I have the strangest urge to taste him, but I can’t move. I can barely exchange carbon dioxide for oxygen. 

              My vision darkens. A dripping blanket of tar smothers my consciousness.

              “No, Kandi, stay with me. Look at me.”

              Like a wizard’s spell had been spoken, I look at him. Our eyes collide, and a nuclear warhead explodes in my diaphragm. I expect Juan to assault me. That is what men do when they order me to look at them. Terror grips my trachea with an iron fist.

              Instead, Juan simply gazes into my eyes like he sees a million galaxies. “Hey,” he murmurs shakily. Our faces are a mere breath apart. “Never scare me like that again.”

              For the first time in eight years, a giggle slips past my lips. If I had any control over my eyes, I would roll them. I think of what Traci would say in a moment like this. “Don’t be a dork,” I mutter hoarsely. My forehead smacks against his chest, and I conk out in an instant.

              I open my eyes to the sounds of birds enthusiastically cooing and chirping. I immediately recognize the barrel-sized arms constricting my lungs and remember I fell asleep in Juan’s embrace last night.

              This realization triggers a bout of nausea in my gut. I would focus on the fact that I suffer from severe claustrophobia if not for the fact that Juan is warmth. And warmth is life.

              The morning is brisk, so I have no choice but to savor the sensation of heat-radiating muscle surrounding my upper body while the beast soundly slumbers. I blink away tears when I hear Jim’s gruff voice crudely emphasizing the imperfections on my body while he meticulously carves into them. I know Juan would never say such things to me, and this knowledge brings me great comfort. Here, I feel safe. This feels more like home than home ever did.

              Although it would be nice to remain snuggled next to a sweaty blanket for eternity, my stomach will not allow it. The claustrophobia is too powerful to discount for long.

              I disentangle myself from Juan’s arms and stumble across the bed of leaves to a crop of blackberry bushes behind the oak tree. My stomach spasms violently until I have spewed everything that was once inside me to the soil. I dry heave for a minute afterward. Shivers and goosebumps ravage my arms and legs while I stagger back to the “camp” and guzzle a bottle of water. I consume an apple down to the core and toss it over my shoulder, then return meekly to Juan’s side, hoping to experience his heat a little longer. I lay on my side and curl into the tightest ball, pressing my forearms, shins, and nose into his body. Still, it isn’t enough. My veins are coated in ice crystals.

              Then his arms come around me, and his left leg crosses over my lower half, pulling me closer. I hold my breath for a few seconds and gradually exhale. I can already feel the ice crystals melting.

***

The Chase

              July 11, 2017

                           
While scouring the land for Kandi Levinson
, I ventured with no clear expectations. I knew she had been tortured frequently throughout her life, and I knew she harbored issues with communication and physical contact. What I didn’t know was that she wasn’t human, she had an IQ of 412, and she could pretty much do anything she set her mind to. Literally.

              I have yet to tire of her internal rants and ramblings. It helps that she has the face of an angel. I can imagine a guy with as weak a will as Kyle would have caved long ago. Kandi has thought about the forced lip-lock many times – how his mouth seared like a cattle brand against hers, and how leaving her body was her only defense. As long as my determination to keep my distance stays ahead of the temptation, I should be fine. Kandi should feel safe with me. I
need
her to feel safe with me.

              She truly puts me to the test at night, however, when she pushes herself against me while she sleeps to keep warm. I am aware she is very sensitive to alterations in temperature. A slight breeze in seventy-degree weather will elicit a shiver. I borrowed a thick, soft blanket from a random house we passed last week, but it didn’t dull the chronic ache in her bones. The only solution is to hold her against me while she sleeps. I don’t understand it. I wish I could enjoy holding a beautiful woman without losing sleep worrying I might accidentally brush the bare skin on her neck, face, or hands.

              Regardless, I am enjoying my time with her. She has helped me cope with my past in a way no one else could.

              We are in Wyoming, roughly three hundred miles from where we started. We stopped at a small, dusty town called Passage late this afternoon and have settled in a shoddy motel to eat and delineate our next move. We don’t have money, of course, but Kandi can be very persuasive.

              I spread our map across the table and pin our location. “What are we doing, Kandi?” I ask, frustrated. “We can’t wander in the wilderness for forty years. We have to come up with a plan to save those Patients and stop the Doctors from...”

             
From what? Finding a cure for the Coma Disease? Juan, there is no way out of this. The safest place for those Patients to be right now is under hefty surveillance.

              “Shouldn’t the Patients at least be with their families before the world burns?” I feel her pacing behind me.

             
Yes, we will go back, I promise. But I need to focus on a plan to stop my father.

              “Where is he, anyway? Why hasn’t he appeared?”

             
I don’t know. He’s probably busy accelerating the Death of humanity.

              I pull out a red marker and draw a line between Blue Skys and Passage. “So where are we off to next?”

             
Rock Springs. I believe that’s where Jeremy has been hiding since he gallivanted out of prison.

              “What do you expect to find there?” I turn around and sit on the edge of the table, crossing my arms.

             
Answers, I hope.
Her eyes sparkle under yellow-orange illumination.

              I glance at the door and stuff my hands into my pockets. “What happens if Doctor L never obtains the cure?”

             
My blood, you mean?
Kandi asks as she delicately traces a loose string on the bed.

              I swallow and nod. Odd how her blood is both the cause and the cure to this fiasco.

             
Then humanity will remain intact until every last human dies quietly in their sleep.

              “So the human race is done for either way?”

              Kandi’s lips compress. “Yes,” she breathes.

              I throw up my hands. “Then what’s the point? What are we doing?”

              She looks at me with a slight quirk to her brow, like she believes I’m daft (which is completely true).
If I kill my father, I kill Death. If I kill Death, I
become
Death.

              “What happens once you
become
Death, Kandi?”

              She shakes her head and scoots further onto the bed, curling into a ball and gazing toward the window. Apparently she doesn’t want to think about it. I frown and turn away to roll up the map. My insides are curdling with fear and anxiety, and my nerves are tingling and forcing me to remain alert. I can’t relax.

              I step into the shower.

              Kandi is the daughter of an alien ruler, a living manifestation of Death from a galaxy far, far away. Two weeks ago I had believed she was merely the first Patient. Now I realize she is much more than I could have imagined. Apparently, Death is tasked with recording the dates on which souls are appointed to depart their bodies. So – if she kills her father and subsequently replaces him, she would inherit his responsibility. I can see why she is troubled with this prospect. I would definitely
not
want to know when and where everyone is supposed to die. Of course, this makes me wonder... what are the tasks of the other extraterrestrial deities? What does Intelligence do? Or Agency? Or Conscience?

              I turn off the water, wrap a towel around my waist, and exit. My hand swipes the fog from the mirror, and I stare at my reflection. I had borrowed a shaving kit from a local gas station; I use this now to shave my overgrown, unsightly beard.

              I can’t look at my own face anymore without being reminded that I am not fully human. My mother was Death’s servant’s little sister. How the heck has my life turned into this? Do I really exist? Would I be a second-class citizen on Planet X? Would I be Kandi’s servant?

I chuckle at the thought and splash my face with water to remove the last dollops of shaving cream.

              A few minutes later, I crawl toward Kandi and wrap her snuggly in the blanket. Her scent is indescribable. There is no substance on Earth that could possibly smell this divine.

              Though smothered in the blanket, she resumes shivering as soon as I depart to turn off the lights. I notice her face is wet and assume she is experiencing a horrific nightmare. After dimming the lights, I return to her side and wrap my arms around her – immediately discovering she is not only soaked in tears... but in blood.

              “Oh, gosh, Kandi,” I jerk away and cast the blanket from her shoulder. Vermilion has stained her skin and sheets from the top of her head to her toes. “Kandi, wake up!” For a moment I forget she is allergic to physical contact and peel her from the bed, cupping her tiny form against my bare chest as I rush her to the bathroom. I cannot determine the source of the blood when it has covered her entirely. “Kandi!” I gingerly set her inside the shower and examine her head, neck, arms, and toes, grinding my teeth together in worry. Heat rises in my face, and my throat swells shut. Kandi is still dreaming and shaking.

              I turn the knob to ‘hot’ and crouch above her as steaming water rains from the showerhead, slowly washing the blood from her face. “Kandi? Wake up!” I rub her arms to generate more heat and squeeze her close. As blood flows down the drain, more effuses from her skin. Snippets of the experiment – the night I was dubbed ‘the perfect subject’ – materialize before my eyes, and I remember how I had bled in a similar manner. What is the cure for this? How do I stop it?

              Should I? Can she even die? I am not too eager to find out.

              I grit my teeth and hold her a few inches in front of me. Her head flops to the side, wet strands of golden hair obscuring her face. “Look at me, Kandi!”

              Instantly, her eyes open, and she looks at me. Blood dribbles from her lips. “Daddy,” she murmurs, coughing and sobbing.

              I try to swallow, but can’t. “It’s Juan. You’re safe.”

              “Is it time to go home?” she asks, more blood seeping like tears from her eyes.

              “No,” I tell her, releasing her arms to caress her cheek.

              She launches herself at me and wraps her arms fiercely around my neck, wailing like she has lost everything dear to her all over again. “Please take me home,” she cries.

              Feeling helpless, I pat her on the back and hang my head. “I will, I promise.”

              Soon, the water runs out of heat, and Kandi’s incessant shivering worsens. I assist her out of the shower and close my eyes, jaw clenching. I know what I have to do, although I am aware she wouldn’t want me to see her like this. I keep my eyes tightly shut as I separate her from her soggy clothing, hands trembling as I force my fingers to remain as distant as possible from her skin. I don’t open my eyes until she is cocooned in the borrowed blanket on the floor next to the blood-soaked bed.

              Still, she does not cease quaking until I lie beside her.

What just happened? Why did she think I was her father? Why does she want me to take her home?

I don’t have much time to consider these pressing inquiries in my mind before succumbing to exhaustion.

***

             
The morning after the failed loyalty test with Emanuel and the gang, I carried Destiny’s body away from the warehouse to an alleyway in the city, arranging her in such a way beside a dumpster that her feet could be seen by passersby on the sidewalk, after which I staggered, crawled, and stumbled back home, keeping to the shadows to avoid street cameras and observant eyes.

              When I finally returned home, my mother was passed out in the living room, and the television was left on. I was utterly empty inside, void of tears and desperate to fill the hole inside me. Recognizing my mother drank copious amounts of alcohol to douse her own pain, I invaded her liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of vodka. My mind was somewhere else. I couldn’t stop seeing Destiny’s face, and I couldn’t stop drinking.

              I had a distinct impression the gang was going to track me down to finish me off, but they never came that day. I vowed to ensure they would regret the day they did.

              I woke up on the kitchen floor to my mother shaking and yelling at me. “Where have you been?” she screeched. “What have you done?!”

              Kandi is on the foot of the bed staring at me when I open my eyes the next morning. She appears perfectly healthy, with no visible signs she leaked a gallon of blood last night. Her hair is twisted in a bun, and despite the suffocating heat, she is wearing a forest green hoodie over long, dark jeans.

              “We don’t have much time,” she says. I am shocked to hear her voice utter more than one word. “Zidivin has reached this town.” She is playing with a string protruding from the comforter. My eyes are mesmerized by her twiddling fingers for several seconds before I comprehend her words.

              I clear my throat and rub my face. “Great. How much time do we have?” I ask as I stretch from the floor, back popping.

             
Technically, none
, she thinks.

              In ten short minutes, we have taken turns using the restroom and are striding out of the motel with a small, shredded suitcase full of borrowed food and water. The streets of Passage are desolate; vehicles parked alongside the road abandoned. The sky is clear blue, and the breeze smells of tree sap and gasoline.

              “Shouldn’t people be heading to work about now? Where is everyone?”

             
They are asleep
, Kandi replies.

              “You saved
me
from Zidivin. Maybe you could save them.”

             
We would be here for weeks.

              I nod and squint under the sun, habitually glancing either direction before crossing the road. “How did you do it?”

              She looks at me, rose pink lips thinning.
Do what?

              “How did you save me from the Zidivin?”

              Her eyes divert to the road ahead. “I killed it.”

              “It’s alive?”

             
It is a parasite my father can conjure and replicate at will.

              “Why did he create Blue Skys and experiment with innocent children? Why did he need Doctors to do his work? Why did he even go to prison in the first place? I mean,” I swallow, “why did he allow himself to be imprisoned when he is basically immune to human restraints?”

              Kandi smiles faintly.
So many questions
, her mind projects.
He was new to his calling when I was born. When my mother bore me, my father inherited his father’s position. His goal was to study the fragility and strengths of human beings so he could create a superior race with alien blood. My blood. Under the guise of disease prevention, my father secured government funding and support to build a project coined Blue Skys.