Marked (Sins of Our Ancestors Book 1)

by Bridget E. Baker

  Muddling on alone hurts. I wanted to tell my dad about everything ten years ago, but I couldn’t, not anymore. He never heard about my ideas, my thoughts or my accomplishments. I rarely wish I could tell him things now, but when I do, it’s more of a dull ache than a sharp pain. What really guts me now in a way the sharp pain at the beginning never did is how time eats away at my memories and erodes the loss. Like moths gobbling up my aunt’s crocheted shawl. What hurts the most is that I don’t hurt anymore when I think about him. My memories of Dad are fading, and once they’re gone, he’s gone forever.

  Who am I without my dad?

  I walk past a beautiful neighborhood, full of large homes on enormous lots. Even here, even these stately mansions are being swallowed whole by trees, grasses, bushes, vines and weeds. Exactly as Tercera swallowed up all the people. Millions of people, billions, all gone now. There’s nothing left of them, their lives snuffed out. No one remembers them at all. The last rays of sunlight disappear, and I can’t see the houses anymore at all.

  Even knowing the magnitude of the epidemic, if a genie made me an offer: save the world, or save your dad, I’d probably trade all of them to get him back. At the end of the day, I don’t know any of them, and I love him still.

  Humans are crappy when you think about it.

  “Hey, I think I see a decent spot—” Sam pulls up short. Suddenly he’s standing right in front of me, grabbing at my hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  I realize tears are rolling down my cheeks. Big, fat, girly tears.

  “Nothing,” I say, my voice depressingly wobbly. “I didn’t realize how awful the world outside of Port Gibson really is. All these people are gone.”

  He pulls me against him and strokes my hair with one hand. “You haven’t been out much.”

  I sob against his shirt until the tears dry up, but even then I don’t pull away. It’s been a long time since I felt safe. Finally, I push back, and wipe my cheeks with the side of my hand. “So where’s this place you saw somehow, in the darkness?”

  “Over there.”

  I squint in the dim light at a complex of buildings surrounded by a cracked and broken concrete parking lot. I follow as he veers away from the main road and toward a largish building. As we draw near, my flashlight reveals a sign that reads, “Happy Feet Floors.” It fell sideways sometime in the past ten years and now dangles at an angle, but the store looks mostly intact.

  Sam smashes the glass on the front door with a hunk of concrete, and shakes glass shards off his jacket.

  “Why this particular place?” I ask.

  “It was getting dark enough that visibility began to suffer. This looked like our best bet.”

  “Why’s it the best?”

  “Why a business, you mean?”

  “I guess, yeah. One of those huge homes would’ve had nice beds and sofas, but we’re smashing the door on a flooring store.”

  Sam reaches through and flips the lock. He tugs on the doorknob, but it doesn’t work, probably because it’s stuck. Sam jostles it, knocks some vines out of the way and tugs again. Finally, it creaks open.

  “Most people died at home, Ruby.” He steps through, motioning for me to follow.

  Oh. Right. Gross. I hadn’t thought about that. It made me think more of Rhonda for going on all those scavenging trips. How depressing.

  “When I’m looking for a place, I look for businesses with intact windows and doors, bonus if they’re covered in vines. Flooring stores frequently have piles of carpet. Not as nice as a bed, but better than concrete, dirt or tile.”

  Sam finally clicks on his flashlight, a brighter beam than mine.

  “You check that way.” His light motions right. “I’ll check left. Look for a decent spot for the night. Check walls and ceilings for animals. Locked front doors don’t exclude animal inhabitants.”

  I shudder. “What’s likely?”

  “Middle of winter? Mostly den critters. Raccoons, foxes, skunk. Coyotes or bobcats would be the most irritating.”

  “Skunks? Really?”

  I haven’t gone ten feet when my light encounters something enormous and I scream.

  After all the death and horrible sadness I’ve encountered, I shouldn’t be scared of a cockroach. But I’ve never seen one this size. It could eat a small dog and still be hungry, I swear it on Dad’s grave.

  Sam rushes over like I’m in peril for my life, and within one second, his gun’s trained on the cockroach. I kind of wish he’d pull the trigger.

  “A bug? All that noise for a bug? If you’re scared of insects, you’re in for a rough trip. Texas creepy crawlies come super sized.” He turns back the way he came, and I follow, not even a full step behind.

  “Ruby?” He stops and I bump into him. His hand reaches out to steady me, circling my waist.

  “Yes?”

  “You aren’t going to check that side, are you?”

  “Nuh-uh. No way.”

  “You’re seriously scared of cockroaches?” He holsters his gun.

  “It’s dark and that thing was bigger than a dog.”

  Sam snorts.

  I forget about the bugs. His hand on my waist and his breath on my hair demand all my attention.

  Neither of us moves at first, but I slowly sway toward him in the dark. His left arm tightens around my waist, and the hand holding his flashlight drops down to circle my waist from the other side, his fingers nearly meeting.

  A tingle zings up my spine and transforms into a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. I turn my face toward him reflexively, like a flower to the light, but I don’t worry because he can’t see me in this darkness. I only know I’m facing him because his voice came from this direction. I lean even closer to the warmth of his broad chest. The blackness is freeing somehow.

  My kiss with Wesley springs to mind unbidden. I’d been giddy waiting for that, and impatient, even scared. I don’t feel any of that now. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and I don’t know what might happen if I step off. Will I fly to the clouds, or fall and shatter? After my repeated stupidity over the past few days, I fear messiness in my future. But there isn’t a seatbelt to be buckled, not this time. There’s only Sam and me under a cloak of darkness.

  Sam’s breath on my face tells me he’s leaning toward me. He’s so tall, it ruffled my hair before. My heart stutters, and I reach a hand up to pull him closer, but he tenses and straightens before I can.

  “What was that?”

  He steps away quickly and quietly, and a bucket of ice water wouldn’t have shaken me more.

  Sam invented a noise to escape? I’m glad for the dark, because I’m blushing right down to my toenails. This is so much worse than the seatbelt. I leaned into his chest! He must think I’m a total moron.

  Until I hear it, too.

  An engine growls in the overgrown parking lot. The sound grows louder and louder and then quieter again. Finally, it cuts off entirely not far past our building. Sam didn’t make anything up. I exhale with relief.

  I shouldn’t feel relieved, of course. A roaring engine outside our location a few scant miles from WPN, is much, much worse than a cockroach.

  Chapter 15

  I surprise myself by pulling out my gun. I maneuver my way over to where Sam now stands near the front of the store. I keep my flashlight angled toward the ground, but even with the filthy front windows, there’s enough moonlight to make out his shape. I lightly touch his back so he’ll know I’m there, and he doesn’t shift a hair. He probably heard me come up behind him since my version of quiet and his aren’t quite the same. I’m not shocked the gun in his hand is much larger than mine and most definitely not a tranq.

  He leans close and whispers in my ear. “Stay put. I’m going.” His hand finds mine and clicks off my flashlight. “No lights, and no screaming, even if a cockroach proposes marriage.”

  I muffle a laugh. “If I come, I might help.”

  There’s just enough moonlight for me to make out his ex
pression. Incredulity doesn’t suit him. Okay, maybe it does, but I don’t appreciate it.

  “You said I was a decent shot.” I hate the petulant tone in my voice.

  “I can’t deal with them effectively while worrying about you.” His hand touches the side of my face.

  Worrying about me like he’d worry about a child? Or something else? I sigh. “Fine.”

  I’ll sit in here alone while creepy cockroaches crawl all over me, and Sam’s who knows where, watching people do who knows what. I shudder.

  He starts toward the door, and I try to stay put, but my body follows him automatically.

  He turns back abruptly. “If you come, it could ruin everything.”

  A bullet could not have halted me more effectively. I turn back and flee into the dark, dank store, stumbling over rugs and carpet, but not stopping.

  I finally reach a wall and lean against it for a few minutes, still smarting from Sam’s reprimand. When I don’t hear anything, I take a step to the side. My knee bumps something. It’s so dark I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. I could walk right into a badger den. No lights? Yeah right.

  I hold my shirt over my flashlight so it shines dimly into the room in front of me. I should at least be able to use it to find somewhere to sit so I can wait patiently. And wait. And wait. I don’t know how much time passes, but I figure something out.

  Waiting sucks.

  The longer I wait, the more my boredom morphs into worry. What if something happens to Sam? I don’t want to ruin anything, but what if things have gone wrong? What if he really does need my help? Wouldn’t it be awesome if I saved him after he’d been such a jerk about it?

  I wait a little longer and listen as closely as I can. I don’t hear a thing. I look at my watch. It’s almost nine o’clock. Knowing the time isn’t helpful because I hadn’t looked at it before.

  Twenty minutes later, I can’t wait another second.

  I stumble toward the front of the store and shut off my flashlight before I leave. I might not move inhumanly silent like Sam, but I’m not so loud I’ll give myself away. I grumble (quietly) to myself as I walk. I wish I’d seen the car so I knew where to go, but then there aren’t many cars on the roads these days. Surely I’ll spot the only one in running condition.

  I walk a few yards past our little floor store and continue beyond another tiny building too. What if Sam really is in danger? He could be hurt or dying. Panic rises in my throat and my legs pump faster. I need to find him.

  I worried about spotting the vehicle, but when I round the corner, it becomes obvious. A van’s parked in front of the entrance to a large building and it’s in decent condition. The paint’s patchy, but there’s no rust. The real giveaway is that something drips from underneath it, puddling on the buckled pavement. The van doesn’t really draw my attention however, thanks to the lights shining out of the adjacent building. At least I know where Sam went.

  I circle around and creep up slowly from the south, keeping close to the side of the building all the way to the entrance.

  Unfortunately, the entire front of the building’s made up of windows. I recognize why when I read the sign. It used to be a grocery store, which really sucks. There’s a lot of accumulated debris in front of the windows, including several creeping vines, but they won’t block my movement if I walk past.

  Two men with guns talk to each other in the front part of the store. The shorter man’s belly hangs over his pants, which is rare these days. His red hair pokes up every which way. He walks back and forth in front of two big boxes. The taller man gestures angrily, and I realize they aren’t boxes at all. Two people are tied to chairs. They’re too far away for me to make out details.

  The light radiates from two gas lanterns, and the movement from the men waving their hands around casts strange shapes across the occupants of the chairs. One of the people tied up is bigger than the other, but big enough to be Sam? I doubt it, but I can’t be sure from this far away.

  I try to listen, but I can’t make out much. The sound I hear comes from a broken window a few feet away from me, near the center of the store. Since they’re located in one enormous room, I catch intermittent phrases depending on where the speaker’s standing. Something about cleansing, or maybe cleaning? Mention of a waste, but a waste of what?

  This is pointless. I have no idea what they’re saying from here. Unless I move closer, I can’t figure out whether Sam’s in trouble. It’s a risk because they have guns and two captives already, but I’m armed too, and they don’t know I’m barely competent. I click the safety off my twenty-two, and creep toward the broken window.

  I forget one critical thing when I begin creeping toward the window. Grocery stores had automatic sliding doors. In my defense, the gas lights didn’t indicate the building had power. I should have thought of it anyway.

  The doors slide open when I approach, which immediately alerts the guys with guns to my presence. So much for the element of surprise. I leap to my feet, gun pointed outward.

  “Put the gun down.” The portly redhead points his gun right at my face.

  Mine’s aimed at him, too. I think. We stare at each other, my hand trembling. The same image comes to my mind over and over. My dad’s face when he was shot. Surprise, pain, fear. I want to save Sam, but I can’t do that to another person. I can’t fire this gun. Lucky for me, this guy doesn’t know the truth or he’d already have fired.

  I let my dad down ten years ago. I let Wesley down last week. My uncle had so little faith he left without me, and sent Sam to babysit me. All I ever do is disappoint the people I love. I want to do better, but I can’t shoot someone to do it.

  I lower my gun and set it on the tile floor.

  I’m lifting my hands in the air when two loud shots ring out and both men drop, blood pouring from identical holes in their foreheads. Who shot them? Both shot clean in exactly the same place. I think back to the clearing that morning. It feels like days ago.

  I glance behind me at Sam. Of course it’s him. He holds his gun out in front of him while advancing toward me slowly. I turn back, eyes drawn against my will to the two people he shot. The two lives snuffed out like candles right in front of me. Neither of them even twitch.

  “They might not have shot me.” I’m too shaken to be properly grateful.

  He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy scanning the inside of the building.

  “I mean thanks for saving me, but did you have to kill them?”

  “Yes.” He bobs his head toward the corner of the large room. “They were about to kill those two, but more importantly, you don’t wound someone aiming a gun at someone you care for. In that instance, you always shoot to kill.”

  He shot them in the head because of me. I close my eyes and try not to cry. Everything I do is wrong.

  A whimper from the corner draws my attention. The people on the chairs are gagged, their gloved hands bound behind them. One of them’s wearing a bright red, knit cap with a golden puff ball on top.

  I gasp.

  Now that I’m closer and not in imminent danger, I recognize the hat. I circle around the two of them and see familiar faces, too. Sam didn’t just save me. He saved Job and Rhonda as well. I run toward them, intent on removing the ties and gags so I can ask what they’re even doing here. I’m only a pace away from them when Sam yanks me back.

  “Ruby, no.”

  I look up at him. “What?”

  He doesn’t explain, but the sorrow in his eyes worries me. I thrash against him and smack at his chest with my gun. Why won’t he release me?

  He growls. “That safety better be on.”

  I click it on and thinking about a possible misfire calms me.

  “Put me down so I can free them.”

  He turns me around, but keeps one hand on my arm, shackling me against his chest. Job and Rhonda’s faces mirror Sam’s stoic one.

  I finally notice it high on their foreheads. Oh, no, no, no. Heaven and earth and everything in between,
no. Not them, too.

  They’re both Marked.

  Chapter 16

  I’m cursed.

  My dad created Tercera, and I let him die before he could perfect the cure. Now everyone I care about is contracting it, one by one. I sink to my knees a few feet away from the closest thing to a brother and sister I’ve ever known. They look fine, but now they’re dying slowly, just like Wesley, just like their mom.

  “What . . . How . . .” I don’t know what to say.

  Muffled sounds remind me of their gags. I start forward to release them, but Sam’s hand stops me again. “Gloves.” He’s wearing them, and I’m not. I left mine back at the carpet place with our other stuff.

  He walks around behind them and pulls the wicked looking knife from his boot. With a flick of his wrist the jagged edge meets the fabric and Rhonda’s gag falls into her lap. Job’s is only a second behind.

  “Thank you so much, Sam,” Rhonda says.

  Sam cuts the ropes binding their hands and feet next.

  “Seriously man, great timing,” Job says.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “And why were they going to kill you?”

  Rhonda stands slowly, stretching. “Mom and Dad left, and then you and Sam left too. Port Gibson was in an uproar.”

  “The Marked attacked a second time, right after you left,” Job says. “The pressure’s on for a cure. Dad had some motorcycles stashed in case of emergency. Rhonda knew where they were kept. We thought we’d pass you on our way down. It’s pretty easy to make good time with motorcycles. Easier to avoid potholes. I guess we passed you without knowing it?”

  “How did we miss you?” Rhonda asks.

  Sam sighs. “Ruby didn’t convince me to leave until we caught what must have been the north end of the second Marked attack. A whole bunch of them had guns on us. We started out north and headed down a roundabout way.”

  Rhonda nods.

  “So, what happened?” I ask. “How’d you get—”

  “Caught?” Job asks. “We couldn’t figure it out at first either, but WPN must lay trip wires on the roads in from Marked territory so they know when someone crosses. It’s the only thing that makes sense. They set a trap and we fell right into it.”