walker saga 07 - earth

• Dedication
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Chapter 11
  
• Chapter 12
  
• Chapter 13
  
• Chapter 14
  
• Chapter 15
  
• Chapter 16
  
• Chapter 17
  
• Chapter 18
  
• Chapter 19
  
• Chapter 20
  
• Chapter 21
  
• Acknowledgements
  
• About the Author
  

EARTH

To Ava, Hollin and Nayte – thanks for being awesome cousins. Movie parts are yours, as soon as Hollywood comes calling!

EARTH

Jaymin Eve

Earth

Copyright © Jaymin Eve 2015

All rights reserved

First published in 2015

Eve, Jaymin

Earth

1st edition

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Eva

Six months.

It had been six months since Eva Walten had witnessed the brutal destruction of everything she had known and held close to her heart. Six months since she’d heard the laughter of her parents, wrestled in the grass with her younger brother, or lived in her country home. Six months since her heart had shattered and she had become nothing more than the shell of a human.

She existed, but it could barely be called living.

Most days Eva wished that she had died with them. That would be a hell of a lot easier than living with the pain which ate away at her insides. Like a cancerous growth, malignant and deadly. She knew her hurt and anger was destroying her, but she was at a loss as to how to find the light at the end of this hellhole. She couldn’t eat, sleep or halt the nightmares.

There was one thing she had, though. One thing which wiped all thought from her world.

Battle.

Her father had taught her to fight – he was the toughest person she’d ever known, and she still couldn’t believe he was gone. An unseen knife had ended Craig Walten – well, removed him from the mortal plane, anyway. He had died a hero, engaging the gangers long enough to ensure that the rest of them escaped.

Except not all of them had; the men who’d waited at the end of the path ensured that.

Eva was the only one not to fall. She was a good fighter, but hadn’t been strong enough to save her mother and brother and, even though she’d suffered what should have been mortal wounds, had somehow awoken the next day sore but alive. She still did not know what had happened, but knew somehow she must have misjudged the extent of her injuries. Of course her family hadn’t been as lucky.

Eva cut the thoughts off. If she spent any longer dwelling on this, she’d probably lose her shit and start screaming and rocking in the corner. Something which she was doing less of thankfully. A cold numbness was starting to replace the agonizing heat of loss. But the pain never really dulled.

Right then she was in a warehouse on the edge of New York City. Living the life of a nomad. Wandering the streets. Looking for a fight. She wasn’t alone. There were others who shared the same life. A bunch of girls who had found her a month ago when she was attempting to slice her way through a dozen tattoo-faced assholes. They had helped, and for now she stayed with them.

A crack like lightning shattered the silence.

Eva shot up from her half-asleep pose. That was definitely gun fire. Her hand automatically closed around the blade secured in its sheath beside her sleep sack. The sword, Mortem
,
so named for its ability to bring death to any too slow to escape its razor-sharp edges. Edges which never dulled, edges which seemed to thirst for the taste of blood.

The sword was unusual in other ways: shaped with double blades, curved slightly at the tip, it was reminiscent of weapons from many years past. But still unlike any in the history books.

Eva had never seen a blade like it, and she’d done a lot of research over the years. Her father was a scientist and he loved books. Their old farm house had a room completely dedicated to history, but even though she had scoured through facts on all the world wars and battles, there was no weapon like Mortem.

The blade was even red, as if the metal it was made from was naturally a deep burgundy color. And there was the subtlest glow to it when she was in the presence of those meaning her harm.

Mortem was a gift from her father, and had saved her life more than one time. She rarely let it leave her sight. Craig, her father, would clam up whenever Eva pressed him about its origin. But he had taken the time to teach her how to use and respect the blade. Despite his nerdy scientist persona, her father was actually a third Dan black belt and had been trained in more than one martial art. He was a complicated man, and her best friend. Her mother had been her best friend also, but the bond with her father was special.

Fingering the ornate hilt, gilded and with three tiny jewels deeply embedded, there was no glow to the blade right then.

The gunshot had come from one of ‘them’. A misfire. Something which would not go down well. Bullets were rare and prized – oh, and the dumbass could have killed someone.

A gleam of pale skin caught her eye. Eva had no problem seeing in the half-light, and recognized the hard, lithe figure of their leader. Kata. The tall, brunette female was young, but she was in charge of this operation. Of course, what she lacked in age she made up for in hardassness.

The willowy, dirty-blond female who had misfired the small handgun – and was still waving it around like an incompetent miscreant – started to back away in slow, measured steps.

“Shit, sorry, Kata,” she said, her voice emerging as nothing more than a squeak.

Eva turned away from the ass-chewing that idiot was about to receive. She rubbed at her face, her eyes as gritty as sandpaper. You got two chances in this group. Waste them and you were out on your own. Gangers, rebels, homeless – the streets of New York were not a place you wanted to find yourself alone. Something Eva had discovered the hard way. Although, Mortem had had a few fun months feeding its blood lust. Still, without this group, she’d have fallen by now. No doubt.

There would be no more sleep that morning, and since the creep of light could be seen through the grime-clad windows, she pulled herself up.

It took her mere minutes to tuck the insulated bedding into her backpack, and secure Mortem in the sheath across her shoulders. It sat just behind her neck and on the right-side of her shoulder blade. Easy access. She was reminded of the hours she’d spent practicing, just to make sure she could rip it free without losing an ear.

Shadows rose around her, the rest of the group waking up. Three days ago they had moved on from their last stronghold and were now in another of the millions of abandoned buildings in the outer areas of New York City.

Already the warehouse was heating up; the summer months were not enjoyable in the derelict city. She didn’t have a watch. Time had ceased being relevant, but judging by the trailing of light, it was just before dawn.

June had always been her favorite month, before the fall. Eva remembered lazy days beneath large trees, growing food, storing for the winter, laughter – she cut off the thoughts again.

Those days were gone.

The innocent child she had been growing up in the country was gone. Now she was focused on ridding the world of the scumbags: the gangers who smuggled humans like they were nothing more than property.

“Ladies!” Kata had finished her scathing attack on slippery-gun-fingers, and was now focused on the rest of the group again. “We move out in ten minutes.”

The tone brooked no argument. And more than one female had learned the hard way that if you weren’t outside, suited up with weapons concealed, then the group would leave without you. And since they never returned to the same building twice, you would not find them again.

Eva took a moment to brush her teeth; no matter how filthy she was, she had to have clean teeth. Her paste was getting dangerously low, and it was a real bitch to replace supplies. She’d have to keep an eye out. Shouldering her small pack – the bulk of it rested on the opposite side to Mortem – she strode out the door. They would eat rations as they traveled. Hunger was their constant companion.

Stepping through the rotting, termite-ridden barn-style doors, Eva crossed the concrete area to wait outside. Kata was already out, facing into the rising sun, the glow of light washing over her porcelain features. Eva stood beside the leader. Neither of them spoke, both lost in thought.

Kata never indulged in small talk. She kept her distance from everyone, ruling with iron control. She was not without compassion. Eva had seen her express softer emotions, but she had a personal space that was all encompassing and unyielding.

Which was totally fine with Eva; she could not afford to care. Emotions made you vulnerable, and she had no more energy to be caring or losing people. She could barely keep herself going most days.

Plus she was harboring some pretty large craziness in her head, something she had never told anyone. And never planned to reveal.

Within minutes they were joined by the other females. No one would be left behind today. They were silent as they all waited to receive the brief.

Kata wasted no time. “We’re moving back into downtown. There are two missions for this week. One is to take out the stronghold in the left quadrant of Central Park, and the other is to interrupt a convoy of smugglers that will be moving through Manhattan.”

Her dark eyes swept across the faces and Eva knew what the leader saw. A group of well-trained females aged from seventeen to about forty. Their numbers were at eighteen right then, but that changed pretty frequently. It was a tough life, not recommended for the elderly. These were seasoned fighters, features hard and weary, but determined.

“Alright, Vigiladies. It is time to move out.”

Vigiladies was their code name; vigilante females who had made it their mission in life to clean up the streets of their city.

The females had silent-stepping down to an art form. Vehicles were scarce, controlled by the few highest in power, so for the rest of those trying to survive on the streets, it was horseback or foot. And horses were almost as rare as cars.

Eva’s mother had often spoken about the world before the downturn, when animals had existed alongside humans. Tracey Walten had been a vet. She’d had to stop when the cruelty became too much for her. Most of the animals in this state were either eaten or destroyed, now extinction threatened every breed. Eva hoped in other parts of the world they protected their precious creatures, but she doubted it.

As they continued heading toward downtown, the sparseness of the area faded into a more urban landscape. It was still derelict, though, and massive shells of skyscrapers now formed the basis of the city.

“This anything like where you come from?”

The question came from the stocky brunette marching along beside her. Eva flicked her eyes across, just briefly, before resuming her diligent observance of the landscape around them. Janice, who was in her mid-twenties, was a collector of information, pushing and shoving her overly large nose into places it was not welcome.

Kata asked none of them about their past. All she cared about was their plans for the future. Their plans to clean up the streets of New York.

Janice, on the other hand, wanted personal information. She started subtle, but Eva was reaching the point where she was ready to use Mortem to shut Janice’s mouth.