Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel (29 page)

Shoving open the door at the bottom of the stairs, she emerged into the city. The air stunk of plants and animals. Greenery closed in on her, and she batted aside the tree boughs. Multi-story buildings crowded the narrow streets. Clawing at her throat, she struggled to breathe. How did people live like this? Give her the open desert anytime.

North's attention darted back and forth across the road. "With these buildings, it will be hard to set up a defensible camp."

The fool. Could he not see the potential? How had she ever considered him serious competition for Head Provider? He lacked vision and sense. "We shall take this area over."

She gestured to the rows of houses. Their shiny openings reflected her image back to her. Tearing off a piece of ear, she chewed. These tribute had no sense of security, but that would change once her 'Viders moved in. The lower levels with their doors of glass would be blocked up. She'd order the plants ripped out, so she could see her enemy approach. Pickets would keep the tributes inside.

She could see it all.

The shining sun, meat roasting over glass-enclosed fires, and blood in the streets.

It would be the Great Spanner's promised land.

And Marshall would rule it.

They turned down the next street. Fountains of lights blazed around a sprawling white building. The mayor's house, just like Mother said.

Marshall clung to the shadows.

North tapped her on the shoulder and held up four fingers.

Four guards. Mother had been right again. They headed for the side closest to the sunrise. The living quarters. If Mother's streak held, the Mayor would be there.

Lights flickered inside and illuminated the front entry.

Someone was up.

With two fingers, she ordered North to cover the left flank. He branched off, disappearing through a break in the shrubbery. Marshall eased forward. Since they'd gone to all the trouble of turning on the lights, she wouldn't want to disappoint them.

Her footsteps whispered across the stone entry, stirring fallen leaves. Pausing by the door, she rested her free hand on the knob then glanced left and right.

North's hulking silhouette tossed a body onto the grass before he stopped by one of the windows and yanked up the sash.

Marshall opened the unlocked door and stepped into the wide entry. Reed mats muted her movements. High overhead, candlelight flicked from a mass of hanging glass shards. Eyes stared at her from the portraits on the wall. She ran her fingers over the etching attached to the wood frame.

Mayor Stanford Lake.

Dates were etched underneath.

Strolling down the hallway, she checked the pictures. Each had the same name but a number of 'I's distinguished the different faces, bearing, and clothing.

These were Abaddon's leaders.

Her likeness would grace these walls. Her children would rule.

Two doors down, North emerged, wiping fresh blood on his pant leg.

She hoped he hadn't killed the mayor. By rights, that honor should go to her.

He gestured to the door between them. Light shone underneath.

The study, according to Mother, where the Mayor waited for them. Marshall closed the gap between her and the door, to meet North half way, when a flash of red caught her eye.

She turned and faced the portrait.

Like his sires, this man had black hair and blue eyes. He also sported a star-shaped stain on his arm. She scanned the other images. All carried the stain of heritage upon their inner arms.

Just like her.

Proof of her heritage, Mother had said.

Proof that she wasn't a 'Vider at all. That she was related to one of these men, not the man who had raised her.

North’s growl rumbled through his massive chest. “You are tribute.”

Chapter 33

Marshall leapt back, avoiding North's slashing blade.

"You are tribute." North's knife swung from the right.

"No! I am Head Provider." Raising her arm, Marshall blocked the blow. The bite pierced her cracked plastic arm guards but the impact nearly brought her to her knees. Shit! She wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.

"You are dinner." His weapon sliced the air with every step.

She ducked and scrambled backward. She needed another weapon——one with a longer reach. Retreating, she glanced around the hall. No help there. Just the stupid paintings on the walls and closed doors.

The door opened on the study, and a woman stopped on the threshold. She blinked when she saw them. She opened her mouth.

North slammed the butt of his weapon into her face.

Blood gushed down her chin, and her eyes rolled back in her head before she collapsed.

With a roar, North swung again, carved up the nearest painting. "I shall butcher you and bring this back as proof."

She somersaulted, felt the cold marble roll over her back before gaining her footing. Balancing her weight, she sliced open the back of his shirt, drew a red line down his spine.

The woven hair parted, revealing a trail of blood.  Muscle tensed but he didn't cry out. He excised the portrait's star-shaped birthmark and skewered it on the tip of his knife. "Your mother will eat this as I kill her. Slowly."

Hatred burned in North's eyes despite the grin on his face.

Mother. Marshall's chest squeezed tightly. She lunged, nicking the inside of his arm, slicing the bindings holding his wooden arm guards to his forearms.

He growled and his armor fell to the ground. "That's the last blood you will draw, tribute."

In sweeping arcs of sharp metal, he stalked her down the hall.

With each hit, burning trails opened her armor, sliced her skin. She parried and thrust, landing her own injuries.

But he didn't slow.

If anything, his motions increased with his fury.

Lunging, thrusting, parrying. They locked blades once, but he shoved her back.

She stumbled and fell, landing on her ass. The fall clattered through her bones and her grip loosened. She must use his anger against him; his carelessness was her only advantage.

Leaping, he closed the distance.

"Weak tribute." Laughing, he slashed his knife at her throat.

Blocking it with the back of her arm, she drove her dagger into his groin, not stopping until her hand hit soft flesh.

North howled.

Warm blood rolled down her hand. Her grip slipped on the dagger when she pulled it out.

His blade arced toward her shoulder.

She lunged to her feet and thrust her dagger under his ribcage and twisted. "I am not weak."

He was unable to correct for her change in position and his arm slammed into her shoulder, but his knife raked down her back.

Her legs buckled from the strike and her grip slipped from her blade. She collapsed onto the floor, crushed under his weight. His dead weight. She'd done it.

She'd killed North.

And when she returned to camp, she’d butcher his spawn and that bitch Mirabelle. Mother always said the fastest way to a man's heart was his stomach. A raspy chuckle escaped her dry throat. No one would threaten her rule again; the 'Viders were hers. She would lead them against Abaddon, against her relations on the wall. Gasping for breath, she shoved at North's shoulder.

He didn't budge.

The bastard was uncooperative even in death. Wiggling and pushing, she freed herself from his corpse. Pain stitched her side. She glanced down. Red stained her shirt around the hilt sticking out of her side.

Son of a bitch. North had used a second blade! He’d stabbed her. Her! He would pay for the offense. Holding her breath, she yanked out the knife. Her body and blood slurped at the steel. Gripping it in two hands, she plunged it into his body. Over and over. Belly and groin. Metal scraped bone as she stabbed his chest and throat. The blade snapped off in his eye socket.

She left it there.

Swiping at the liquid in her eyes, Marshall sat back and licked her fingers clean. She savored the warm, metallic flavor. Her stomach growled. She'd really have to eat now. Without food, she wouldn't be able to make it back to camp.

She plugged the gash at her side with her finger, ignored her body's scream of pain.

Nattie would know how to treat this injury. She'd treated so many before.

With her free hand, Marshall removed her dagger. Her hand shook over his body. Since he had hurt her, his flesh should sustain her. Hell, he already resembled ground meat. Her gut clenched at the thought. 'Viders didn't eat 'Viders.

And she was a 'Vider, the Head Provider, even if she was related to one of the men on the wall.

She would have to pick up a meal on her way out of town.

Pushing to her feet, she waited for the world to settle then staggered down the hall. Blood glued the cut canvas to the floor. She picked it up and tucked it into her waistband.

Mother had a lot of explaining to do.

And if it was acceptable, she would be allowed to live.

Marshall leaned against the wall and blinked. Blackness ringed her vision. She had to ride an unclean animal back to the 'Viders. Although, she'd never done it before, it couldn't be that hard. Tributes did it all the time. But where to find a rideable beast? The stables.

According Mother, they were behind the house. And all the rooms on this level had doors that led there. Wonderful. She would leave a message for her kin; let them know she would be returning to claim what belonged to her by blood.

She shambled to the door.

A tribute moaned.

Marshall watched her breasts rise in one giant wave before she leapt upon her and slapped the tribute's face.

The woman gurgled her scream.

Marshall clamped her hand over the woman's mouth. One question, then Marshall would leave. "Is the mayor here?"

Eyes wide, the tribute shook her head.

The woman had outlived her purpose, but she could still serve another. Marshall stabbed her in the neck.

The woman clawed at her dagger.

Rising, Marshall grabbed the tribute by the hair, dragged her into the room, and kicked the door shut behind her. Today was turning out to be Marshall's lucky day. North was dead, she'd found a new home for her 'Viders, and she had food to sustain her on the journey home.

Books lined one wall, windows and doors made up the opposite side, and paintings filled every inch of empty space to the right and left. A red woven rug covered a six by nine foot patch of the stone floor. Flames under glass bubbled from the walls and burned steadily above a fat candlestick on the desk. The only chair in the room squatted behind the desk.

She pounced on the tribute just as the woman's body went slack. Marshall sliced the dress from the corpse. Folding the fabric, she packed her wound then wrapped more strips around her waist. She cinched the bandage tight and stars danced in her vision. That should hold her.

Finished, she sliced open the tribute’s soft belly. Scooping out the steaming entrails, she loped off two pieces of liver. She munched on one while raking the paintings off the wall with her free hand, then she wrote her message in the cleared space.

Stepping back, she admired her handiwork.

That should convince the mayor to surrender as soon as her 'Viders were spied.

Removing the heart and rest of the liver, Marshall shaved the tribute's head and bound everything into the skirt material. Now to find a mount. Slinging the bundle over her shoulder, she opened the door.

Gravel crunched under her feet and insects quieted at her intrusion. Lights shone on odd-shaped shrubs. Flowers grew in squares and circles along the path. Polishing off her snack, Marshall headed for a hulking shadow. Her nose wrinkled from the stench. The beasts must be ahead.

Hinges squeaked before a patch of light spilled over the ground.

Ah, good. Someone was home.

A slim boy led a beast by his shaggy head.

She crept along the edge of the barn, keeping to the shadows. Anticipation heated her body, pummeled extra beats from her heart. Closer. Closer.

"There now." Backing up, the boy stroked the horse's nose. "I've got you."

Marshall leapt at the boy, pressed her sticky blade to his neck. "I've got you."

The horse reared, hooves lashed out, caught the boy on the forehead.

The blow pushed him into her then he dropped, pulling the horse's head with him.

She jerked back the blade before he sliced his own throat and let him fall at her feet.

The horse kicked with his back legs.

Marshall grabbed the reins and jerked hard.

The horse bucked, yanked against her hold.

Gritting her teeth, she held on. Pockets of pain sprang up all over her body and sweat streaked down her face.

Finally the horse calmed.

Marshall led it near a fence and climbed onto its back. It sprang forward before she was settled, nearly throwing her. Wrapping her legs around its sides, she buried her fingers into its mane and hung on.

Chapter 34

Lee stirred, wincing at the sharp chemical odor. What the hell? Pain squirmed under his skin, infesting his muscles. Memories crowded his skull and his eyes fluttered. His capture. His torture. His rescue.

"Welcome to Dark Hope Regional Treatment Center. Medical staff has been notified of the change in your status. You have been listed as critical but stable. Please lie quietly, so you do not injure yourself further."

"Wh-" His swollen tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, garbling his words. He forced his lids apart. A bright, white light had him closing his eyes again. No shadows moved across his eyelids. The woman speaking must be far away.

But why? Her words confirmed he was in Dark Hope. Fear jacked his heart. Had they learned that he was a Neville? Did they still bear his kind ill will?

"Like the place where you came from, Dark Hope was founded one hundred years ago. We understand that many of you carry stories of a great plague that swept across the land, the truth is that a series of three disasters struck, one on top of the other."

Three? The Exodus told only of the righteousness' banishment from this place. Lee blinked rapidly until he could keep his eyes open. Fuzzy shapes emerged, until they coalesced into objects——a pink chair firm with stuffing, a faucet jutting above a cabinet, and moving pictures on the wall.