Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (18 page)

Biting her lip, Belle drew blood. She hated Marshall Zuni, hated the Great Spanner. Hated with everything inside her. Her sons would still be alive if it wasn’t for the ‘Viders and their stupid violence.

A large hand pressed against her spine.

North. For once, she found comfort in his presence. For once she didn’t want him to leave. She shifted closer, until her skirt brushed his leg. Cradled in her arms, her infant made sucking noises. John. Her only son left.

In five years, they would come for him, take him to learn the ‘Vider way.

Then it would be only a matter of time before he, too, was gone.

She hugged him tight, rested her cheek against his. His tiny breaths washed over her.

Marshall droned on.

Stupid things about ‘Vider honor. ‘Vider code. Sacrifice and survival. A stone for each word. Belle wanted to throw herself into the grave, pull the world in after her. But she couldn’t. Her daughters needed her. Her newborn needed her. But Lord how was she to go on, when her chest had been cleaved in two, leaving her heart hanging in the cold.

“Mirabelle, you must finish.” North pulled her hand from her son and pressed two stones against her palm.

She stared at them. Brown, ugly, dirty like this world. Why had she fought so hard to live in it? She rolled them against her fingers and looked up.

Marshall stared at her, a smirk on her lips.

Certainty filled the space in Belle’s body. Ham and Stil’s deaths hadn’t been an accident. The Head Provider knew it. Titan had been sniffing around Marshall’s skirts lately. Had he killed his nephews to gain favor? And should she tell North?

He wouldn't believe her——the 'Vider code forbade such things.

She was on her own. Glaring back, Belle pinched one stone between her thumb and forefinger. She’d been a good shot once. A stone to the head had felled many rabbits.

Would it take one or both to kill the Head Provider?

North grasped her wrist, stretched it above the grave and squeezed. “In blood we are conceived, in blood we are born.”

Belle released one rock. “In blood we are bathed and our blood we return.”

The last rock fell into the shallow pit.

Still smirking, Marshall turned and left. The others quickly followed. Nattie took the girls to pick wild onions and other herbs.

Belle stared at the grave. There would be no marker, no way for her to find her sons again. There would just be dirt and rocks. There wouldn’t even be time to plant a flowering bush over them. The camp was prepping to move.

North turned her to face him. His green eyes shone brightly. “I must hunt down those responsible.” His blunt fingers smoothed the baby’s hair off his head. “This son will grow old, be much feared and have many children of his own.”

No ‘Vider had ever lived to be as old as some in her village. “Will we ever come back this way again?”

Maybe then she could mark her children’s grave. Remember them as they’d been when they were hers——laughing in the creek, seeing shapes in the clouds, and complaining when she’d made them wash.

He cupped her cheek. “They’re not here. They’re with the Great Spanner, where food is plentiful and the Earth is green again.”

She didn’t want them with the Great Spanner, she wanted them with her father, mother, and brother. She wanted to see them running down the dusty road to the barn, to jump into the hay bales her father had stacked for the animals.

“I gave that rabid bitch Ann to the Head Provider. She should not trouble you again but just in case, don’t eat anything after she visits.”

Ann? North thought Ann had poisoned them? Mirabelle cast her mind back to yesterday morning. The girl had stirred the stew but she hadn’t been left alone with it. Yet, Belle hadn't watched her the entire time and Nattie and the girls had eaten before Ann’s arrival.

Only Belle and North had eaten it afterward.

Only they had fallen ill.

Doubt wiggled like a worm on a hook in the back of her mind. She was missing something.

North’s lips pursed. “You should choose a male from among the tribute. You will need someone to help you move.”

Someone. A male. This morning had been bad enough, to watch the hope die in the newcomer’s eyes. This way would be worse. She would discover his name, his story. And when North returned he would be butchered and served for dinner, and breakfast, and lunch.

She shook her head. “No. I won’t.”

“Mirabelle.” His jaw thrust forward. “You are a ‘Vider now. It is expected.”

She adjusted the blanket, covering the baby’s face from the wind. ‘Vider expectations were to be fulfilled at all costs. The only thing that trumped it was ‘Vider pride.

“North, I will not take a male into our tent just when you leave to hunt our sons’ murderers.” She set her hand against his chest like he demanded when he took her. “I will not let anyone say I disrespected you.”

“No one would dare.”

“Not to your face.” She dug her nails a little into his chest. “They fear you too much, but it is a small camp and folks talk.”

Said things she didn’t want to hear under normal circumstances. Definitely didn’t want to hear when the gossip was about her.

He pressed his lips to hers, softer than he ever had. “Your weakness will be the death of me.”

The hair on her neck stood on end and she shivered. “Don’t say that.”

He stepped away from her. “You are mine Mirabelle. Mine. And I will return for what's mine.”

She nodded.

He picked up his pack and stalked away.

She watched him join Marshall at the edge of the camp. A breeze stirred her hair. The sun hid behind a cloud. By the time it emerged, North and Marshall reached the ridge. For a second, he paused and turned back.

Belle raised her hand. This was all she was, all she’d ever be. With luck, she might live long enough to see her children grow up, take their own tribute, and have children.

A scream pierced the morning.

More followed. Some of terror, others of pain. The newcomers were being taught their first lesson. The crying swelled like a wave heading for shore.

The baby stirred. She quickly adjusted her hold, so he could feed. Then ducking her head, she ran away from the sound and toward her daughters.

She had to survive.

The alternative was to die. Horribly.

Chapter 20

"I'm sorry, Paw-Paw." Sammy hung over the wagon's side and spit. Blue veins pulsed under her skin and her eyes looked more sunken than yesterday.

"'S alright, Sammy girl." Lee handed her the canteen. She hadn't eaten this morning and had moaned quietly since they began at sun-up. Cold sweat misted his skin.

This trip could be the death of her.

She took a sip of water, swished it around her mouth, and spit. Shivering she raised the canteen to her mouth and drank. Her brown eyes brightened.

Lee clenched his hands into fists to stop from testing the heat of her forehead. She was sick more than healthy now. The appetite last night had been a fluke.

She collapsed onto her nest of blankets then scooted closer to Quinn. The big man stirred when she raised the canteen to his mouth and drizzled water over his lips. Fever painted the man's face in broad, red strokes.

Tino watched from his perch on the bench seat. "You're taking good care of my brother, Sammy-girl. He'll be good in no time with your nursing."

Lee stiffened. He didn't like the two getting all friendly. Tino and his brother were a means to an end, not friends. Even if the simpletons were about the same mental age.

Nodding, she capped the canteen before wedging it against the sides and her blankets. Sighing, she curled up next to the man, careful to avoid his injured leg. "He keeps me warm."

Lee tucked the blankets around her. She was asleep before he climbed onto the bench. Gathering the reins from Tino, Lee slapped the mule's rump and the wagon eased forward.

"She’s sicker, ain't she?" Tino smoothed the hair out of Sammy's eyes then positioned the umbrella so it kept her face shaded.

"She'll be fine." Lee guided the mule to the right side of the road as another wagon approached. A team of four gray horses pulled it. Horses. Big things with shiny coats and strong muscles. Strapped to a plow, the big brutes cut straight furrows in the dark soil on each side of the road.

The wagon driver laughed at the sight of Lee's mule——the pride of Sanctuary- as he passed. He glared at a cow chewing her cud. In a nearby pasture, wooly sheep and goats grazed.

If Lee's people had truly been on the side of righteousness, why had they been denied sheep, cows, and horses? Why didn't Sanctuary have a river with fish and clean water running through it?

"You could stop at the clinic with us." Tino ran his fingers down his moon-shaped face and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "They could give her something to take away the pain."

"I've got some bark tea left." Of course it hadn't been helping much lately. The pain and fever were too strong.

The square cut farms gave way to hovels built of crinkly rusted metal, broken bricks, woven grass and mildewed boards. The makeshift buildings leaned together like drunks supporting each other.

Lee sat up a little straighter. So, they had a few animals that Sanctuary didn't, but their houses were nothing to brag about. Thumping sounded behind him. He turned to see Sammy claw for the side of the wagon and dry heaved over the side.

Tino's meaty forehead wrinkled. "They gots stuff at the clinic that goes right into the body. She won't be able to throw it up."

Muffled sobs scratched Lee's ears and his chest tightened. His grandbaby was so brave, a true Neville. She deserved a little reward, a little relief. He couldn't have her dying when they were this close. Hopefully, the little gold he'd amassed would cover everything. If not, he'd find another way. "Where is the clinic?"

The mule clomped across a stone bridge. White foamed around the boulders jutting from the blue water, and tall grass swayed near the water's edge. On the other side, greenery crawled up a stone and brick fence.

A stocky man with a stubby bow stood in front of large black doors. Sharp creases ran down the legs of his green uniform. Not a fleck of dust marred the matching jacket. Underneath a smooth helmet, his face was in shadows. Stiffening, he aimed the weapon at Lee.

What the hell was this? Lee tightened his grip on the reins, stopping the mule. His idiot companion beside him hadn't said anything about guards. Christ, would he demand gold to pass? The invaders in his village claimed that gold could buy anything.

"'Lo Harold." Tino raised his hand in greeting.

Shifting his attention to Tino, Harold lowered the cross bow. "Tino, my man, was it good hunting?"

"Some good, some not so good." Leaning over, Tino bumped fists with the guard. "Quinn took an arrow."

Frowning, Harold checked the passengers and the wagon. "He don't look so good."

Lee gritted his teeth. The guard was poking around his tools. His! He had better not take anything.

"The clinic will patch him up real good." Tino leaned back. Reaching around Sammy, he dug into the hay and pulled out four hard boiled eggs.

God damn it! Was he just supposed to sit here and be robbed? Leaning forward, Lee reached for the machete he stored under the seat. Thieves had their hands cut off.

Tino shook his head, then tossed two eggs at Harold. "These should hold you until lunch."

Harold caught one but the other bounced off and dropped into the wagon. He fished it out then backed up. "Thanks man. Nice to see working for the mayor hasn't gone to your head."

"I remember what these long shifts are like." Facing front, Tino shielded his eyes and threw the eggs at the wall.

What the hell? Why was the idiot wasting food?

At the last minute a man popped up. His spear rattled against the wall when he dropped it to grab the eggs. "Thanks Tino. Mayor wants to know the minute you get back."

Lee swayed. Son of a bitch. He'd have to be more careful. If he'd attacked, he'd have a spear sticking out of his back right about now. And then where would Sammy be?

"I gotta drop my brother off, then I'll see him." Tino fixed the blanket around Sammy then patted her head.

Peeling his booty, Harold tossed the shells into the river. "Don't forget. He expected you back last night."

"Won't." Tino jerked his head toward the gate. "Meet me at the Royal House tonight. I'm buying."

Lee urged the mule between the thick walls. Once through, he whistled.

The folks in Abaddon had fared much better than those in Sanctuary. Boxy hedges and leafy trees lined the graveled street. Shiny glass windows and bright white curtains adorned white-washed homes. Porches and roofs were straight, not warped. Wooden signs hung over the people, depicting the goods sold within in bright colors.

Men and women walked along cobbled paths near houses and businesses. Although most wore pants and jacket similar to the guards, the colors rivaled that in a rainbow. Handfuls of women wore black dresses, the better to show off the gold and gemstones roping their necks, binding their wrists, dangling from their ears and weighing down their fingers.

It was easy to pick out the wealthy.

Lee's palms itched. Acquiring a little more gold wouldn't be a problem if he ran out.

"We go straight to the next block then turn..." Tino's face scrunched up for a moment, then he pointed to the left. "That way."

Lee nodded and did as directed. Alleys cut behind the pristine facades. On hands and knees, men in chains scrubbed the cobbles near a rectangular carriage with bars over the windows. Nearly naked young women in chains stood against a wall while the jailor talked to an older woman in red.

Tino gripped the bench. "Looks like Maxie's getting a new crop of breeders."

That explained it. This town had flourished because they'd eliminated the undesirables through a breeding program. And to think, the Actors Guild had said such a heartless policy would breed the talent right out of the town. Lee snorted. Most in town weren't that talented to begin with.