Marked (Sins of Our Ancestors Book 1)

by Bridget E. Baker

  “My dad’s best friends with your uncle.” His hand reaches across the distance between us and holds his palm out to me. Sam would never hurt me. I know that.

  I take his hand.

  “My dad knew your dad, too. They worked together at some point. My dad took me out to Nebraska when your dad died. That’s the first time I remember seeing you, and you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But sad, like you thought the sun was gone forever. I’ve wanted to bring it back ever since.”

  I don’t remember much about those first weeks. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I—”

  “It’s okay.” He brushes my hair back from my eyes. The rain has slacked off, so it’s no longer pelting us. Of course, maybe that’s because Sam slid closer, and his body’s shielding me. “I don’t expect you to remember, but I recall the very moment I knew I liked you more than anyone else I’d met. You’d just found a tiny, wounded bird.”

  The bird I remember. “I’ll never forget that evil cat.”

  “You were such a little thing,” he says, “always. That cat was enormous. It caught a sparrow and was playing with it.”

  I shudder. I’d grabbed a stick and hit the big, shrieking, hissing cat, swinging the stick at it until it ran away. I’d taken the bird to my aunt, desperate to save it. I hadn’t saved my dad, but I could save that bird. I had to save it.

  And I did. Well, my aunt did anyway.

  “You fought that cat off and sat by that bird for days. Weeks, maybe. You fed it worms and bugs you dug around in the dirt to find.”

  Then it comes to me, and I remember Sam too.

  “You were there,” I say. “You brought me oatmeal.”

  “I told you to eat, and you protested. You told me you were fine.”

  “You threatened me. If I didn’t eat my breakfast, you’d bring me worms next. You’d force feed me like a baby bird if you had to.”

  “I said that, yes.” He chuckles. “You were so stubborn. And too thin, even then.”

  He squeezes my hand. “That’s when I knew I needed you. I’ve never doubted. It’s also how I know you aren’t a coward. You’ve always been courageous.”

  “For shooing off a cat?” I arch one eyebrow. “I wasn’t that small.”

  “Ha,” Sam says. “It wasn’t that part that impressed me. It was that you took a chance on that bird, knowing it might die. You stared death in the face and said ‘Screw you. You can’t take anyone else.’“ Sam squeezes me. “I wish you saw what I see. Nothing would stop you then.”

  I look up at Sam, at his gorgeous eyes, his chiseled jaw, and beyond it to the strength inside. If he’d shown me how he felt back then, I might never have noticed Wesley existed. “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

  Sam looks sheepish. “I wanted to, but I didn’t have much to say. You were always playing the piano. Dancing. Painting. Reading. Studying. I didn’t know how to talk to you. I didn’t have anything to offer. I’m not a science prodigy. I’m not creative or genius smart.”

  Neither am I, but I don’t want to fight about it. “So you ignored me instead?” I ask.

  “No.” He shrugs. “I hung out with Job. We had nothing in common either, but that doesn’t matter much to guys.”

  “I always wondered why you two were so close.”

  “Being Job’s best friend meant I had a reason to be near you.”

  As if on cue, Job’s head appears across the street. I really hope he found us someplace dry, because I’m sick of being wet, and I don’t need the rain anymore. I’m done with crying for a long time.

  Chapter 20

  We have plenty of time to move further apart while Job walks up the road to where we are, but neither of us moves. I lean against Sam’s chest, my hand caught in his. Job’s eyes widen, but he only says, “I found a place.”

  When I stand up to follow him, the wind cuts through me like an iced arrow. I start shivering and can’t seem to stop. A cold front came in while we escaped in the rain, and even with my jacket on, I’ve forgotten the meaning of warm. Job leads us across the small bridge and past several roads before turning down a street. He motions for us to follow him into a sagging yellow house. Two shutters have fallen off, and another hangs at an angle. Bird nests line the porch overhang, and the steps sway when I climb them.

  I hesitate in the doorway, eying Job nervously.

  “It’s clear,” he says. “A lot of these homes were vacation homes, so no one died inside.”

  Sadly, this house is in the best shape of any on the small street. Too many storms hit the coast for buildings to fare well without regular upkeep and repairs. The humid, salty air destroys what the storms don’t. We follow Job through the doorway and around a corner to the kitchen. It isn’t much warmer inside.

  “I found some food that isn’t rancid or spoiled. I figure we should conserve as much of the food in our packs for the trip home as we can.”

  He points. Several open cans sit on the table in front of mismatched seats.

  “Where’d you put the bad ones?” I ask.

  He points to a pile in the corner of bulging and warped cans, all unopened. “What about the ones that surprised you?”

  He points to a window that’s still open a crack. Better outside than in. We all learned a few things in the years after the Marking. One was how to spot cans that have gone bad. The bulging cans are obvious, but sometimes they look okay, and foam, or bubble or outright smell foul once opened. Extremes of heat and cold are the biggest cause of canned good spoilage, but time’s a worthy enemy, too. Usually by now, in relatively temperate climates, one in five cans has survived.

  I take the smallest chair, not much more than a stool. It doesn’t look like it could bear Sam’s weight or even Job’s. I squash a spider egg sack and sit down. The boys find seats on either side of me. Sam takes the wooden kitchen chair, displacing a lizard in the process, and Job sinks down on an ottoman, moved into the kitchen by way of the family room I assume. I peer into my can. Pork and beans. Gross.

  I must have curled my lip because Sam holds his can out to me. “Trade? I’ll eat anything.”

  I glance at his can. Chunks of chicken swimming in meat juice. Even worse. I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

  “I’ve got vegetable barley soup if you’d prefer that.” Job’s eyes still look sad, but only kindness is directed at me.

  “Thanks.”

  Job trades our cans with a small smile. “There’s more,” Job says, “but I grabbed the best ones first. I only had to toss three out the window, but the rain’s strong enough no one will notice.”

  I eat the soup and then scope out the remaining cans. Tomato sauce. Black beans. Green beans. Peaches. More canned chicken. Job did pick the best first. I crack the peaches, but tiny bubbles rise up through the juice. Bacteria. I’m not brave enough, or enticed enough by the options, to keep trying.

  Sam pulls jerky from his bag and shares it around. Job, undaunted, tries the remaining cans and finds two more good ones. “We have another can of chicken and a can of clam chowder. Any takers?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’ll take them both.” Sam slurps the chicken juice first, pours clam chowder over the remaining chicken and wolfs it all down.

  Some of my disgust must show on my face.

  “What? It takes a lot of fuel to maintain all this.” He flexes his pecs.

  I’ve never seen Sam flex before. I guess I’ve never seen him flirt before, either. It’s weird, but good weird. I grin. “I appreciate your sacrifice.”

  Job looks from Sam to me, and back again, understanding dawning. “What’s going on?”

  Sam shrugs. “I like your sister. I have for a while, actually. She’s trying to decide whether she likes me back.”

  If I expected a big reaction from Job, I’d have been disappointed. His eyes widen again, but after a moment, he simply scratches his head. “Maybe I missed something. What happened to Wesley?”

  Sam growls.

  Job turns his hands pa
lms out. “Okay, sure. She could do worse.”

  “We’re good?” Sam asks.

  “As long as you treat her well.”

  “Great.” Sam pulls out more jerky and tosses some to Job, not unlike tossing a treat to a dog for good behavior. I wonder if he’d have whapped Job on the nose if he’d freaked out. The image makes me snort-laugh.

  Sam raises one eyebrow at me. “Let’s talk about tomorrow.”

  “Not much to talk about. At first light, we cross the bridge and tell them we want to join,” Job says.

  “You and me,” Sam says. “Ruby stays.”

  When I shoot up off my chair, it sways precariously. “No way. You were just saying the reason Rh—” I stop, suddenly unable to say her name. “You were telling me that I needed to go, that you needed me to be there to find the cure.”

  “Maybe we do,” Sam says, “but we can go scope out the situation first, and make sure it’s safe. It’s a recon mission, and we don’t need you for that.”

  “You’ll tell me to come in how, exactly? Smoke signal?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

  “No,” I say. “Absolutely not. Only I can get into that safe.”

  Job looks confused. I fill him in.

  “That’s why Rhonda stayed behind,” Job says. “I wondered, but it makes sense. Rhonda’s always been a pragmatist.”

  I look down at the table.

  The boys hash out a plan. We’ll scope things out, search for a boat, and take it around the northeast side of the island, looking for the Palisade Palms. If we’re caught, we pledge our service to WPN.

  “I’m going to look for some buckets to catch rainwater,” Sam says. “Our canteens are almost empty. I’ve got treatment tablets, but I’d rather treat rainwater than puddle water.”

  Job says, “I searched for a boat today without luck, but tomorrow we can look a little further from the bridge. It’ll all go much easier if there is a boat close by.” Job leaves with Sam. I’m cold, so I stay put.

  I think about our plan. It’s not so great. We don’t know if my uncle has reached WPN yet. We don’t know what WPN knows about me, or about the cure. I’d like to think they know nothing, but somehow the Marked are out looking for me. It could be that Wesley’s desperate to find me like Sam thinks, but that feels wrong somehow. I’ve known Wesley for years. He’s never been controlling or manipulative. If I’d gotten that note sooner, I’d have gone to see him. I’m still a little pissed Sam kept it from me.

  But also, I get a little flutter in my belly when I think about him being jealous. Basically, I don’t know what I think about any of that.

  Whatever I feel for Sam, I want to keep him safe, and I love Job like a brother. Fear grips my belly and familiar ice floods my veins. Fear controls my life and I’m sick of it. If I’d simply called the police years ago, I could’ve saved my dad, and probably the whole world. If I’d read his journals sooner, instead of wallowing in guilt, I’d have insisted we do something to retrieve the cure. If I’d refuted Rhonda earlier today, I’d be facing the people who want me, including Wesley, instead of leaving my sister in my place. Each time, fear controlled my actions.

  Never again.

  In a moment of perfect clarity, I recognize that Sam and Job got me here, and they’re undeniably stronger, faster and more dangerous than me. But that might be exactly what we don’t need. WPN’s dangerous. Its population is armed to the teeth, and evil enough to plan the massacre of a bunch of kids who are already dying.

  I might have a better chance of getting the cure without Sam and Job along.

  The biggest problem is that I’m not sure how to get to the Palisade Palms precisely. I mean, I know where it is geographically, at least as well as any five year old could on an island the size of Galveston. I’m confident I’ll recognize the building if it hasn’t collapsed or been destroyed by a storm, but I have no idea where it is in relation to WPN’s power structure.

  I do have an idea about how to get in, but my plan won’t work for Job and Sam. I have something no one else has—a skill set that has nothing to do with my blood or my family. It’s all me. I have experience in Sanitation, a job no one wants, a work choice that disappointed my family so thoroughly.

  What’s the one job that goes everywhere? Janitorial. Everything gets cleaned. I spent the last eight months in Sanitation back home, so I know everything there is to know about disinfecting, boiling, cleaning, sanitizing, polishing and removing stains and filth.

  Surely WPN could use another person willing to do manual labor. Once they confirm I’m not Marked they’ll let me in. And I’ll get to the Palisade Palms, one way or another. The boys will never agree to send me in alone, but I’ve worked out the rudiments of a plan by the time they return. They find me rummaging in the pantry.

  “Any luck finding a boat?” I ask.

  Job shakes his head. “We weren’t even really looking. We did find buckets to collect rain.”

  “Still hungry?” Sam asks. “I found more food.”

  “Not really,” I say, emerging triumphant. “I wanted something special, and I found it.” I pull out a plastic container, and shake the lumpy, bumpy contents. “Sugar lasts forever!”

  Job rolls his eyes. “You and your tea.”

  “It’s been a bad day. Mint tea helps me sleep, and it’ll help you too. We all need good rest before tomorrow.” I lean over and pull out my dried herbs, hoping I brought mint. I did, thank heavens.

  “You have a plan to heat that, sunshine?” Sam asks. “Because otherwise, no offense, it’s going to be gross no matter how much sugar you add.”

  “Says the guy who ate cold chicken chunks swimming in congealed clam chowder.”

  Job chuckles. “I kind of like you guys together.”

  Sam’s grin splits his face from ear to ear.

  “I have a can of Sterno and a little rack for it. Hang on.” Job pulls out a tiny can from his bag and holds it out to Sam. He pulls it back when Sam reaches for it. “I’ll even let you use it if you promise to refrain from calling my sister pet names around me from now on.”

  “I’ve called her sunshine for years in my head.” Sam keeps grinning and then, fast as lighting, snatches the fuel out of Job’s hand. “How’s this for a counteroffer. I keep using ‘sunshine,’ and you realize it doesn’t bother you after all.”

  “Fine, but no putting your tongue in her mouth.” Job pretends to gag.

  Sam lifts his eyebrows. “I think bargaining with her brother about what I can do and say sets a bad precedent. Ruby?”

  I roll my eyes. “You two are absurd.” They both stare at me as I rinse out three of the empty cans and fill them with water from one of Sam’s canteens. Sam lights the little heater and I set one can on the rack over it, and dump the tea leaves in.

  Sam watches a moment longer before turning toward the doorway. “I’m going to look for a decent place to sleep. Dry bedding, maybe some dry clothes.”

  Job says, “I’ll come. No way are you making some little love nest and sticking me in another room.”

  I’m relieved they’re leaving, but I don’t want them to know that. “Well hurry. This won’t take too long and I don’t want the fire to burn out and the tea to get cold.”

  I fill two of the other cans a third of the way with water and drop a sleeping pill into each can. The pills are a little gooey from my wet pocket, but mostly intact. With any luck, they’ll dissolve fast. I add a second to Sam’s for good measure. He’s pretty big. One knocks me out, but I probably weigh less than half what he does. I stir as vigorously as I can without spilling the water. I agonize while the tea leaves steep. I stir in the sugar and heat each can for a bit to dissolve it. When it’s ready, I pour some of the water off into each of the other cans, and then reach into mine to pull out the soggy leaves before dividing the infused water. I finish seconds before I hear boot steps on the stairs.

  “No way,” Job says.

  “Look, it makes sense. Ask her yourself. The
only safe room is the family room, and she’s gonna want to sleep next to me because it’s cold, and she’ll be warmer than if she’s sleeping alone.” Sam winks.

  I hope he isn’t kidding. That night in the truck was the best sleep I’ve gotten lately.

  “I do want to sleep by him.” Even if it makes it harder to sneak away. The thought of a few minutes, or even an hour with him before I walk like a sacrificial lamb to the WPN compound sounds heavenly.

  “Fine,” Job sighs heavily. “But don’t forget I’m four feet away. Ridiculous, both of you.”

  I hand Job a can.

  “Drink up, and calm down,” I say. “We need to get some sleep.”

  Job fumes. “She’s still sixteen, Sam. Don’t forget that.”

  Wait, what day is it? I mentally count.

  “Actually,” I say, “I’m seventeen tomorrow.”

  “Fan-freaking-tastic,” Job mutters.

  “Oh, relax,” Sam says.

  I hand him one of the other cans. Sam sits down on his chair next to me.

  “My intentions are completely honorable.” He leans over and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Ruby, a few hours early.”

  Job sips his mint tea and pulls a face. “This tastes strange.”

  No, no, no. They need to drink it. If I can’t get the sleeping pills in them, I’ll never sneak out without waking them up.

  “Too delicate for your girly constitution?” Sam smiles mockingly, but when he takes a swallow, he gags a little. “It’s got a real kick to it.” He turns to me. “How’s yours? Are we sure the sugar didn’t spoil? It’s kind of bitter.”

  “Sugar doesn’t spoil.” I sip mine, which tastes fine. That means it’s definitely the sleeping pills. I need another scapegoat. I make a face, too, and drink a little more anyway. “Maybe I didn’t rinse the cans well enough, but I was trying to conserve water. Mine tastes a little like chicken.”

  Job drinks more. “At least it’s warm. I think you’re right though, I can taste the chowder, which does not mix well with mint.”

  Sam shrugs. “It’s not awful, just a little bitter.”