Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  “M-my name is Graciela,” his sister said softly, with no intimidation, and much-practiced pronunciation. “This is my—”

  “What are you doing!” Santiago hissed in Spanish, yanking her elbow to spin her around.

  Fragile beams of light from the main room highlighted her remorse in pale grays. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I thought someone might be in danger.”

  “We could be in danger,” Santiago growled.

  He made no effort in trying to conceal the sound of him drawing his knife as the two of them turned to face the wall again.

  “Your knife doesn’t scare me,” the stranger croaked weakly. Her next words sounded muffled, and the strike of a match burst to illuminate the cigarette she had perched between her lips. “Death would be better than going on living like this.”

  From the ember of the lit tobacco, Santiago could just make out the concave under her left eye and the bulbous protrusion of her upper lip. While one arm cradled her front tightly, the detached strap of her top hung loosely from her other armpit, swaying against her tightened hand.

  Another watery burst of her lungs made it sound as if she had swallowed glue.

  Graciela winced. “That sounds terrible.”

  The woman’s cough became a laugh, before fading back into a cough after a few hardy bellows. “Believe me, sister, bigger trouble lurks for me, than this here flu.”

  Beside Santiago, Graciela took a hard inhale and resumed speaking in the woman’s presumed native tongue. “What happened?”

  The question looked like a punch in the gut. It seemed the obvious message was that she wanted to be left alone. But, while Santiago’s skin crawled to do just that, to walk away and pretend they’d never encountered her, his sister seemed inclined to do the opposite.

  Graciela took a step closer and squatted beside the battered woman. “May I see?” she asked softly.

  At first, Santiago didn’t know what she was talking about. As far as he knew, there wasn’t much to be done for broken cheekbones and fat lips outside of surgery and time for healing. Regardless, her wounds seemed non-lethal. Then again, Santiago wasn’t a medical professional and didn’t know where the line between life and death existed. That was more Graciela’s expertise.

  The woman’s eyes were wide, making her seem more like a hollowed shell than a human being. With a quivering lip, she raised the arm wrapped around her stomach to reveal a gaping, bloodied hole.

  “Give me your shirt,” Graciela held a hand out to Santiago and waggled her fingers.

  While keeping his eyes on the doorway behind them, Santiago unwound the shirt from his head and gave it to her willingly. She pressed it firmly against the wound and the woman winced.

  “They killed my husband, and”—her voice faltered but she pushed through the echo of pain— “they killed our son. All for a couple of measly peaches. They tried to kill me too, after…”

  Both Santiago and Graciela let the woman’s words melt to tears. An eerie silence followed, one that reminded Santiago that they were in a pitch black building with a complete stranger and no awareness of their surroundings. Paranoia had him scanning every darkened corner and crevice of the room.

  Finally, the woman cleared her throat, sniffled, and wiped the unscathed side of her face, leaving behind a smear of grime—or more likely blood, Santiago realized once he noticed it was the same hand that had been cradling the wound in her side.

  “I’m a nurse,” Graciela said softly. “If we can move you into the other room, where there is more light, I can tend to your injury.”

  The woman burst into another fit of coughing, smoky and hoarse like a crackling fire. Even in the room that seemed to snuff-out light, Santiago could see the blood that spewed with each force. Graciela cocked her head to dodge the impact but didn’t move fast enough and wound up spitting blood that wasn’t hers onto the ground. She used the shoulder of her shirt to wipe the rest of it from her face.

  Santiago’s revulsion was only outmatched by his fury. He moved forward and pried Graciela away from the stranger.

  “What are you doing?” she pleaded, straining to return to the woman.

  “What am I doing?” Santiago’s eyes bulged, as did a singular vein down either arm as he held her straight before him. This time, he too spoke in English to make sure the stranger didn’t mistake his rage. “What are you doing! She just…there’s blood all over you! You don’t know what is wrong with her.”

  Still holding the sleeve in her hands, Graciela wiped her face again. “I do know. She’s injured. She’s lucky to still be alive and maybe if I help her, she will still survive. But I can’t help if you—”

  “Don’t bother,” the woman said, catching them both off guard. “I’d rather be left for dead. Why do you think I crawled into this grotesque hole? I have nothing left to live for.”

  His sister practically gasped. “That’s not true. You have plenty—we all have something. We…you can’t give up!”

  Santiago placed a hand on Graciela’s shoulder. It was clear her rambling wasn’t helping anyone. Where his sister found hope in desolation, Santiago could see the despair. He understood the desire to resign. Even if this woman wanted to fight for another day, judging by the amount of blood and the lack of medical supplies at Graciela’s disposal, there was only a slim chance she’d live much longer anyways.

  She wasn’t giving up, she was accepting her fate, something Santiago was beginning to grapple with himself.

  “Your optimism will either serve you well, or be your end,” the woman’s words were strained, sharpened by an apparent fit of pain. “I truly hope it serves you better than it served me.”

  “Thank you,” Graciela said so softly that it was almost inaudible.

  Suddenly remembering the horrors of the world that this stranger hinted at, Santiago chose the moment to look out the singular window in the other room. Everything remained unchanged and barren, at least from that small viewpoint. It didn’t mean it would stay like that for long though.

  He returned to his sister and the woman just as the stranger said starkly, “Don’t make the same mistakes we did.”

  “We don’t plan to,” Santiago said disdainfully.

  “Santi,” Graciela warned, as she often did when she thought he’d crossed a line.

  It had always been difficult for Santiago to restrain his impulse to snap when his intelligence was being questioned. He didn’t care if the woman was dying, to suggest that they were going to intentionally get each other killed was insulting.

  The woman, though, just laughed, a kind of weak and painful croaking sound. “I like your moxie but getting defensive means that you’re about to ignore sound advice, so lose the ego for a second and listen.”

  Not one for taking orders, Santiago prepared for another retort. But she was quicker.

  “It’s just the two of you. I know that feels safest—believe me, I know. But you’re wrong. You become an easy target for larger groups, whether they’re anti-Awakened, anti-Unawakened, or just plain jerks trying to make ends meet.”

  From the darkness, Santiago and his sister shared a look. Graciela’s eyes weren’t saying I told you so exactly, but the message was similar. Less snarky and more fearful. The woman was describing the same concerns that Graciela had always held but had gone along with because Santiago believed the risks outweighed the possibilities.

  “What do you expect us to do,” Santiago cut-in. “Beg the next group of people we see to let us join them and hope they’re not going to rob us or worse?”

  “Don’t you dare!” she said, seething, and Santiago caught his own overstep. She had found out firsthand that people on the road were untrustworthy. It had cost her everything. But rather than chastising him, she looked up at Graciela. “I’m talking about an established place.”

  “Like the sanctuaries,” his sister answered.

  “Yeah. My husband thought we should go. I argued with him for as long as the world has been like this, but he
finally convinced me to give it a shot. We were on our way to the one just north of here when we were attacked.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Graciela breathed. Then, with a sudden realization, she asked, “So, the communities have endured?”

  “As far as I know. I mean, it makes sense, right? All those Awakened coming together to protect one another. It would cause you to think twice before trying to attack the place. We’ve all seen what those people can do on their own, let alone when they’ve banded together.”

  Another look was exchanged between Santiago and his sister. The woman’s choice of phrasing—those people—made him feel like he was in immediate danger.

  “Relax,” she groaned, straightening against the wall she’d begun to slump down. Beneath her fingers, red splotches were seeping through the shirt Santiago had given Graciela to slow the bleeding. “My son was Awakened too. I spent the past year living every day of my life to defend his and I would do it again if given the chance. You have nothing to fear from me. If anything, I’d like to help you.”

  In his head, Santiago said something crass like that there wasn’t much for her to do while she was bleeding-out, but he had the forethought not to say it out loud.

  “How?” Graciela asked sweetly.

  The woman sighed. “Haven’t you been listening? You need to give up the life of nomadic loners before it’s too late. You need to join a sanctuary.”

  “And you recommend the one you were going to?” Santiago finished with a sneer.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” he continued, dissatisfied with her response. “You know nothing about us. Maybe we came in here to murder you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” she said with a smirk and eyed Graciela. “Like this one here could harm a fly.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that,” Santiago conceded. “But it still doesn’t make sense why you would recommend this place since you didn’t actually make it there. You’ve never seen it, you don’t know if it’s even safe.”

  Without warning, the woman flung herself to the ground, hissing through gritted teeth. As she writhed, Graciela leapt to her side to provide any care that she could, while Santiago stood motionless in the doorway. He didn’t understand how his sister was able to respond so quickly to these kinds of situations, especially ones where blood was involved. He thought to take a step forward, to offer help, but then realized he had none to give and stayed put while his sister removed the drenched shirt that had been his and tried applying pressure to the wound with a nearby newspaper instead.

  “I saw a first aid kit on the wall when we first came in,” Graciela said, addressing Santiago. “See if there’s any gauze inside.”

  “I told you,” the woman protested. “Don’t waste your time on—”

  “Just do it, hermanito.”

  Santiago decided to do as his sister instructed, not because he thought it would change anything, but because he knew it was best for his sister. She needed to do something, otherwise she’d wind up blaming herself if—when—this woman died.

  He circled back into the main room and quickly located the white box with a red cross on it. To his surprise, when he cracked the box ajar, it was still full. Grabbing anything fluffy or bandage-like, Santiago rushed back to his sister and handed her the supplies.

  The woman seemed calmer now, in less pain even as Graciela began to dress her wound. “You’re right,” the stranger said when she leaned forward so Graciela could wrap the bandage around her backside. “I’ve never been to there, but my husband believed in it and so did I.” She looked to his sister next. “Graciela, was it? You were wrong earlier, about me. I don’t have anything left to live for. When I lost my family, I lost the only hope I had. But you two, you still have each other, you still have that driving force pushing you forward. I might not know for sure if the sanctuary still stands, but if it does, I know it’s a place worth considering.”

  Not much was said after as they let her rest. They stayed with her until nightfall, when an airy breath hissed out of the woman’s mouth, her chest dropping with it, and then there was nothing left. The flies didn’t hesitate to begin their invasion.

  “We didn’t even get her name,” Graciela fell back to her rear, an elbow resting on either knee as she stared at the woman in horror. Her emotions were starting to scream.

  “It’s…not your fault,” Santiago tried to sound reassuring and heartfelt, to give the sort of support she’d always given him when he was down. But his tone fell short of genuine. “She was already dead when we found her.”

  The only response Graciela could muster was two long, measured bobs, all the while keeping her gape on the dead woman at her feet.

  Santiago bent a knee and wrapped a frail arm around her shoulder. It zapped his energy just to give her a soothing squeeze. When she finally looked over at him, there was nothing but a vacant void in her eyes.

  “Gracie, we shouldn’t stay here,” Santiago whispered. “We’re like trapped mice in here, with no other exit if someone else comes poking around. And anyone else crossing the border will come across this building and start poking around.”

  “I know,” slowly, calmly, Graciela stood beside brother. “We should go. We should take her advice go to the Texan sanctuary.” Before Santiago could argue—and man, did he want to—she added with a corner smile, “We were going north anyways.”

  He shut his eyes, painfully, and considered. Every second they wasted was a second of his life he wouldn’t get back. Aside from a new first aid kit though, they didn’t have anything substantive to aid them in reaching California. As much as it pained him to admit it, going to the Texan community first, even if it was just to seek guidance and temporary support, was their only viable option.

  “Fine,” Santiago grumbled. “But let’s hurry. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mara

  Just as Mara had suspected, she found Sean hunched over the table in the strategy tent, forehead wrinkled from reading through copious log entries.

  “Any news?” she interrupted.

  He seemed to recognize the unspoken question underneath. “None overseas, I’m afraid.” Sean raised a hand to signal her to join him, even though she had already invited herself inside.

  Mara made note of the objects on the table: spiral-bound notebooks, loose-leaf paper, a pencil, a mirror. She began to slow-clap. “Ah, bravo. You remembered your ulipsi.”

  “I had to. I was reading and logging reports,” he said, holding up the latest in scribbles in the notebook.

  When he liberated a heavy sigh, Mara glanced over his shoulder. “What is it this time?”

  Sean swiveled in his chair and looked at her pointedly, one eyebrow crooked high. “Remind me again why I listened to you when you said that joining the Awakened Authority would be good for us.”

  She felt a twitch of satisfaction, “Because it was good for us. We are safer in numbers, you said so yourself. And with the alliance we are granted certain protections and liberties.”

  “Yeah, but every month they send us a new list of petty rules to enforce. Can’t it just be enough that we’re training our people, that we’re contributing resources?”

  Sean sounded exasperated, and Mara knew why. The Awakened Authority was the largest pro-Awakened entity in the world and, with that title, came structure, rules, hierarchy. It had to. How else would they keep everyone in line? At times, it was annoying to say the least. Like when they’d mandated a curfew or required an Awakened-Unawakened Alliance conference. But for the most part, Mara believed the initiative was well-intentioned and beneficial.

  Sean, on the other hand, often griped about them. She didn’t think he was used to them mandating how he ran his community.

  He wadded another letter, tossing it to the ground before picking up the next in a high stack of announcements. As much as it pained her to think it, she missed when the stacks had been taller. It only went to show how many of the smaller havens had fallen.r />
  Just then, a glow emitted from the ulipsi on the table.

  Eagerly, Sean retrieved the device and flipped it open.

  “FENRIR REPORTS,” a vague, monotone voice called.

  Sean positioned the mirror in the center of the table and Mara leaned over in time to see the panicked and bloodied face of the leader of Surviving & Thriving appear. “Mr. Turner. I recognize this request violates your terms with the Awakened Authority, but I’m afraid we have no one else to turn to. Our people are dying and AwA has ignored our pleas and refuses us aid.”

  Desperation didn’t quite describe the level of anguish in the man’s expression, even if his words were kept professional. The way he kept looking over his shoulder, the way his bottom lip quivered, he was irrefutably, completely terrified. He looked like a father desperate to save his family from famine, but with no more options left. No options and no time.

  There was a scream in the background, one so shrill the leader of Surviving & Thriving cowered lower to the ground before continuing in a rushed whisper. “Please send anyone you can to help us in this fight before we all perish.” He closed his eyes, sighing before he closed with, “United we are strong, together we will overcome.”

  And then the image faded, although his pleading eyes would be imprinted in Mara’s mind for weeks to come.

  Sean didn’t close his ulispi, not immediately. He stared back at the blank screen as if waiting for the leader to reappear. When nothing came, he gave his eyelids a vigorous massage.

  With a sudden snap of his ulipsi, Sean rose slowly from his chair, nostrils in full flare.

  Mara stood from her seat as well, warily examining him. “Sean?”

  “We’ve gotta help them.”

  “How?” she shrugged.

  With all seriousness, Sean said purposefully, “We go to them.”

  With wide eyes and a quirked brow, Mara tapped her skull. “I say this with only love for you in my heart but, have you lost your mind? We can’t leave Hope and we can’t go to their aid. What about the people here who need us?”