God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling Book 4)

by Keri Lake

  Its black, soulless eyes stare back at me.

  Hungry.

  Violent.

  A scream in my throat fails to break free, the air locked tight in my lungs and choking my voice. I stretch a trembling hand toward Gwen, who, a quick glance tells me, remains unwittingly asleep. The brush of my fingers across her shoulder startles her awake. She lifts her head, and a scream bounces off the walls of the truck as she kicks back beside me.

  The Rager shifts, as if excited.

  Another hops up inside the back of the truck.

  And another. This one female, with long, straggled hair, and sagging breasts beneath her tattered shirt.

  The three create a wall, blocking our only chance of freedom.

  Only one thought consumes me: I’m going to die.

  Chapter 4

  Cold metal scrapes over my belly and chest, my nails clawing for purchase, as the Rager drags me by my ankle. Gwen’s screams outside the truck add a terrifying soundtrack to the fear thrumming through me.

  I still can’t scream. Can’t make so much as a sound, my body too focused on escape.

  The lip of the truck disappears from beneath me, and my face slams into the dirt below. Pain shoots up into my sinuses, rendering me momentarily stunned, and I raise my shackled wrists to my nose in an effort to thwart the acidic pulses climbing into my skull.

  Somehow, I manage to twist around, and the earth grinds into my back, the jagged rocks tearing at my skin. Ringing inside my ears mutes Gwen’s screams, and I stare up at the black sky, with its diamond stars twinkling down on me. Calm. Peaceful. If I die tonight, it’s inconsequential to those stars, which shine in spite of it.

  The world blinks to blackness.

  I open my eyes to a gravelly bed of jagged stones beneath me. The rough surface chafes the very tips of my toes.

  Screams slice through the hazy confusion that clings to my brain. Pressure pounds inside my fingertips, and I tilt my head back to find the chain of my binds trussed over a rusted stretch of twisted rebar that sticks right out from the wall of rock behind me. I trail my gaze over a wooden structure overhead, which seems to be a support for the surrounding stone. Man-made. A mine shaft, maybe?

  Memory trickles in too slow for how desperate I need to remember.

  The stars.

  The black eyes of the Rager.

  Ragers.

  I snap my head forward, the screams from before coming into sharp focus as I stare across the cave. On the gritty, mine floor, a mutilated, naked body moves over another beneath it. Rutting against her like an animal in heat. All I can make out are the back of her calves, bent beneath its hunched form that swallows the rest of her body. The dark hair trapped beneath its bony arm gives some indication it might be Gwen.

  The others. There were others.

  A tremor vibrates beneath my muscles as I scan the cave for other Ragers.

  Nowhere.

  Stretching to reach the ground, I can hardly balance on the tips of my toes, as I attempt to wriggle the chain over the ridges of the rebar. Pushing off what little surface my toes touch of the stones below, I jerk my body forward. Each deep groove in the metal poses an impossible landscape to cross, while the full weight of my body dangles beneath. As Gwen’s tortured cries drone on, tears gather in my eyes.

  I won’t give up.

  I can’t give up.

  Soft grunts give voice to my toil, and after minutes of wriggling and jerking, I’ve not even reached halfway across the rebar. A sob tears through me, my body sagging with the impossible task, but on a rush of adrenaline, I try again, jerking the chain small steps at a time.

  It finally slips over the edge of the rebar, and I tumble to the ground. Without so much as a glance back, I clamber to my feet and run toward the faint beam of moonlight just ahead.

  My feet fly out from beneath me, and as a growl echoes around me, I twist onto my back.

  The Rager from earlier climbs up my body, chattering its teeth.

  I kick away, managing one hard thump to its chest, but that only seems to piss it off more, its growls like a warning of the pain yet to come.

  On a roar, it yanks me closer and tears the hem of my dress out of its way.

  No. God, no, please.

  A scream breaks free of my throat, and my body spasms and convulses with the will to survive.

  The Rager stills, its face over my exposed belly. Confused and out of breath, I watch as it drags its nose over my stomach.

  Smelling me?

  It rears back its head, as if it’s stumbled upon something unpleasant. When it lifts its eyes to me, a brief look of curiosity hardens to violence, before it lunges toward my throat.

  On reflex, I stretch my hands out to block the hit, closing my eyes for the impact, and at the first snap, I open them to find the chain pressed into its throat. Teeth just inches from my neck.

  It pushes against the chain, forcing my muscles to bear its full strength. Arms trembling, I scream and hold it back, fatigue setting in faster than the rush of adrenaline pulsing through me. One bite, and it’ll be over. There will be no need to fight, because if I’m not completely consumed, I’ll become infected.

  It seems to get closer.

  My arms grow weaker.

  A shot rings out, and the Rager jerks against me.

  A hole in its skull oozes blood, and I shove at the chain, knocking him away.

  Cold paralyzing shock crawls over my spine, as I lay staring at the small stretch of chain between my trembling fists still held above me. Broken pants of air fail to fill my lungs.

  Movement draws my attention toward a pair of boots stepping into my periphery, and I trail my gaze up the legs to a shadowy figure that looms over me.

  “In here!” he yells, and the volume of his voice has me looking around for more of the Ragers.

  “The others. They’ll hear you,” I whisper, lifting my head to search for them.

  Ignoring my warning, the stranger lodges his hands beneath me, helping me to my feet. It’s only when I’m upright that I catch a glimpse of Gwen, still lying on her belly, twitching. Blood between her thighs marks the Rager’s brutality.

  As I lurch toward her, the stranger swings his arm out to stop me. “Stay back. She’s bit.”

  As soon the words tumble past his lips, I see a patch of deep red up by her neck, where the Rager must’ve torn away her flesh.

  “She … she hasn’t … turned yet.” My words stick on the dryness and shock that swells in my throat. “She ... needs … help.”

  A second stranger strides up to her, and before I can stop him, he points a gun and shoots.

  “No one can help her.” The man holding me lowers his arms, and when I step back, the gravity of this bears down on me.

  “That … could’ve been ... me,” I mutter, eyes focused on the ravaged state of Gwen’s body. The scratches over her spine. The blood. The dirt. The barbarity. A wave of dizziness claims my balance, and I stumble back into the man, who catches my arm. Once the vertigo passes, I regain my footing. “There were others.”

  “Probably heard us outside the cave. Killed ‘em, a couple yards off.”

  Through a blur of tears, I lift my attention and find the face of a boy, maybe eighteen, staring back at me. At the mouth of the cave, three other men sit crouched, examining the carnage. One shakes his head, throwing his hat onto the ground, before exiting the cave on a curse.

  Who are they? Marauders? Hunters from a nearby hive? Good? Bad?

  Something thumps against my chest, and I look down to see canteen pressed there.

  “Drink,” the boy commands, and without hesitation, I accept the proffered vessel, tipping it back to guzzle the fluids, which sizzle down my parched throat.

  I hand the empty canteen back to him, not even remorseful for having finished it off. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Sam.” He nods toward the man who shot Gwen, now crouched at her side. “That’s my uncle Albert.” Twisting back toward the mouth of the ca
ve, he points to the two men still standing there. “That’s Ed and Otis, and my Pop just left.”

  “Marauders?”

  “Nah. C’mon.” He jerks his head for me to follow. “You’re hungry?”

  I couldn’t eat a damn thing if I tried right now, but I nod anyway, not wanting to spend another minute in this cave. Any moment, the reality is going to break through the shock and pull me under. Until then, I have to keep my wits about me.

  The dull throb at the back of my skull tells me I’m in for a world of pain once the numb sensation fizzles away. I ignore it, along with the incessant tug of memories trying to pull me back into those seconds before these men showed up.

  Outside of the cave sits a red pickup truck with an open bed, and I hobble on shaky legs toward it beneath the sky, where the moon and its stars are as unmoved as before.

  Inconsequential.

  Chapter 5

  The boy drapes a blanket over my legs, where I sit with my back against the cab of the truck, and hands me a canteen that’s heavy with fresh water. “Might want to tuck the blanket under your legs. Wind kicks up pretty good back here.”

  Back at the Legion truck, his uncles attempt to salvage parts and siphon the gas, while we wait.

  “So, you … just happened to be driving by and heard our screams?” Call it innate suspicion, but I can’t hide the air of disbelief in my voice, even if the kid saved my life.

  “Saw the truck broke down. Followed a trail to the cave.”

  A trail? Perhaps where my body got dragged. Blood, maybe. “So, what now?”

  “Can’t leave you out here. Wouldn’t feel right. Gonna take you somewhere safe.”

  I lift my canteen for a sip, but pause midway to my mouth. “And where might that be?”

  “Anywhere in particular you’re headed?”

  There’s no way I’ll get back into Szolen at this point. “A convent, north of here.” Even at the risk of Mother Chilson’s wrath, at least I’ll have fresh clothes there, food, shelter, safety. And the possibility of a shorter sentence, if Jack can help me.

  “Sisters of Mercy?”

  “You know it?”

  “It’s the only one left. They tend to take in refugees, so we’ve taken a few women and children to them for safety. We can take you there.”

  I want to believe in the good will of man, but the stories my father told, the wretched nature of some human beings, along with the scarcity of women out here, there’s something about this that doesn’t seem right. “How lucky was I that a band of good Samaritans happened to be driving by.”

  “It’s true. Another minute, and I can’t imagine what that Rager would’ve done with you.” His words are deliberate and meant to redirect my suspicions, and at the moment, I don’t have a choice, unless I want to stay with the truck, in hopes that Legion might eventually come, risking both thirst, starvation, and whatever else might decide to snoop around.

  The one he introduced to me as Otis hoists a gas can over the tailgate, setting it down into a secured crate. The clank of the metal shatters across my nerves, and it’s then that I notice I’m still shaking. “Where we headed?” Occupied with his task, Otis doesn’t bother to look up when he asks the question.

  “North. The convent,” Sam answers.

  The older man finally lifts his gaze to mine, and I’m too drunk on exhaustion and fatigue to search for lies buried behind his eyes. “Then, we head north.”

  We’re joined in the back by Sam’s uncle and the other guy, Ed. I tamp down the unsettling feeling of being surrounded by so many strange men with the thought that, if they wanted to rape me, or worse, they could’ve easily done so by now. Seems a moving truck would pose more of a challenge.

  But then again, what do I know?

  The truck’s engine roars to life, and my body jerks as it lurches forward.

  “You’re comfortable?” Sam keeps his arms wrapped around his propped up knees. “Could’ve let you have the front cab with my Pop and Otis, but I figured back here would be better than listening to those two bicker the whole way.”

  “I’m fine. This is fine.” My attention shifts to the two men across the bed of the truck, who don’t so much as look at me.

  “You should get some sleep. The convent is a few hours away yet.”

  Not a chance.

  “I’m alright for now. If I get tired, I’ll sleep.”

  With a shrug, he reaches for something at his side, stirring my paranoia, and as if on instinct, my muscles lock up. “Suit yourself.” He pulls out a white cloth and opens it. Inside are strips of what looks and smells like jerky. “Hungry?”

  The last time I had venison jerky was when my father returned from a trip to the Deadlands. He always brought back small treats and gifts for Grant and me. On a shaky exhale, I accept the proffered meat, the smell of the pepper seasoning bringing back memories of sitting out on the porch, sneaking the treats. My mother called it food of the savages, and did her best to dispose of it, the moment my father left for another mission. So I began hiding the food in my room, and sneaking it when she wasn’t around.

  I can’t bear to imagine what my father might think, what a man of his training and stature might do, if he were in my position right now. What I know of him, knew of him, I imagine he’d tell me to do whatever I had to, in order to survive. As would any father.

  But to what extent?

  Would allowing Father Parsons to violate me on an alter qualify as a means of survival? Would bedding men for the next five years? I certainly could’ve avoided the near-death encounter with a Rager, if I had. Or the fear of the unknown, as I head north with a group of strangers whose intentions I find obscure.

  Would he call me a fool for my decisions?

  I can’t imagine so. But then, if he could counsel me now, his advice would be coming from a man beyond the grave.

  A man who’s already felt the cold breath of death on his neck.

  Maybe he’d tell me the worst is yet to come.

  “Thalia, can you hear me?” My father’s voice is a warm blanket against the cold wind that rushes over my skin.

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  “You need to wake up, sweetheart. Wake up!”

  The anger in his voice startles my muscles, and my eyes shoot open to blinding sunlight. I glance around to find the bed of the truck is empty. Neither Sam, nor the other two, are anywhere in sight.

  I must’ve fallen asleep at some point, and slept long enough to wake with the sun.

  The sound of voices reaches my ear, and I sit up, looking around to find we’ve come to a stop in unfamiliar surroundings. Rubble is piled over cracked concrete, overgrown with grass. Houses too close together, boarded up and sprayed with all variety of obscenities. Some kind of rundown, abandoned neighborhood, with fancy mansions, like the ones on Phase Three back at Szolen.

  Not a convent.

  “You promised two. Therefore, you’ll get half of what we agreed.”

  At the sound of a woman’s voice, I drop low and peer around the cab of the truck, and spy a pudgy, older woman, older than my mother, with graying hair and all kinds of jewels hanging off of her. The sight of her has me mindlessly reaching for the delicate gold chain still at my neck.

  “You haven’t even shown me the goods. Christ, she could be some grotesque little scab you picked up off the side of the road. Infected with every disease known to man.”

  “She’s clean. Virgin Daughter of Szolen. My contact assured me.”

  The sound of Sam’s voice sends a jolt of rage through me. Not that I’m surprised he betrayed me. In fact, any other outcome would’ve been more surprising. Keeping my eyes on the group, I back myself toward the tailgate, but get stopped short, and a glance down at my wrists shows a loop of a rope through the chain of my shackles, both ends of it disappearing over the edge of the truck.

  I follow the paths of the rope, find them trapped beneath the truck’s tire, and careful not to rattle the metal and make too much noise, I jerk the
binds in a laughable attempt to snap the far too thick rope.

  “It’s the Virgin who survived?” The woman’s voice is white noise against the rage-spiked blood pulsing in my ear.

  “Yes. Had to put the whore down. Got bit.”

  “And you’re certain she’s a virgin.”

  “Priest didn’t even get his dick in her.”

  “All right, then. I’ll consider the full trade. But I want to see her first.”

  No. No, no, no. I try to saw through the rope with the chain, but it’s no use. The truck dips as Sam hops onto the bed of it behind me, and I kick out at him on all fours.

  “You lying piece of shit!” With one swift, backward kick, I manage to hit him square in his nose, and he stumbles back on a curse.

  “You’re lucky you’re worth more than an ass beating right now.”

  “Fuck you.” I reattempt the same maneuver, but he dodges my kick and leaps onto my back, knocking the wind out of me. “Let me go! Let me fucking go!”

  “Listen to me!” His arms wrap tight around me. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to. We need weapons. And supplies.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you need, you piece of shit!”

  “Madame Beaumont isn’t bad. Better than the convent you wanted me to take you to.”

  “Madame? She runs a fucking brothel!” I squirm and kick, using the bed of the truck for leverage. Hot metal scrapes over my knees, mocking my effort with a cold sting of pain.

  “You’re too valuable as a virgin. She isn’t going to whore you out.”

  “What the hell ... else … does she want with me?” My words, broken by struggle, fail to convey the absolute fury blazing inside of me.

  “She’ll probably keep you as her personal servant.”

  “Or sell me … to some disgusting pig ... who has a thing for virgins! Asshole!”

  “Look at her. Does she look like she needs anything? You’ll be well fed. Well cared for. Better than the nuns, who’ll keep you locked away in some convent. I could’ve sold you off to marauders, but I’m trying to do the Christian thing here.”