by Jenn Nixon
Published by
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.
Novi, Michigan 48374
The rights of Jenn Nixon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover Design by:
Pretty AF Designs
Edited by:
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Published by:
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Copyright© 2018
All rights reserved.
Jenn would like to thank everyone at CHBB Publishing, especially Sarah and Elizabeth for all their hard work. A special shout out to Pretty AF Designs for bringing the cover to life, and last but never least, to the readers, my friends, and family for sticking with me all these years.
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Virginialand, Eastzone
April 2062
The tinny door chime echoed through the air pulling Cyndra away from her meager breakfast. She gazed up to see a well-dressed man, wearing a fedora she’d almost kill for, stepping into her trade shop and displaying a big smile rarely seen around her village. A quick glimpse over to her solarclock and realizing it was too early for a tax collector to visit, she fidgeted on the stool and slipped her hand under the counter taking hold of the weapon she always kept handy in case a wacker showed up to rob her again. The leader always used a disguise.
Sheer force of habit made her smile back as she offered the usual greeting. “Pleasant morning to you. Welcome to Raine Tradepost.”
“My greetings, miss. What an adorable store you have here. I love these old truck trailers,” he said, dipping his head and lifting his hat for some strange reason.
“Um, thanks. Can I help ya find something?”
“Oh, no, sorry,” he replied, reaching into the worn leather bag strapped to his chest. She tensed and curled her fingers around the weapon’s handle. “I won’t take much of your time, making a delivery to Cyndra Raine.”
“Delivery?” Cyndra rose to her feet, but stayed behind the counter as the man approached, now holding a wooden box about the size of an old-fashioned school book. He set it down with a heavy thump. “From who?”
“Are you Miss Raine?”
“One ‘n only.” She tapped the top of the antique cash register where she kept a spare copy of her ID badge.
He tipped his hat back as he leaned closer to the holographic picture. One of his bushy eyebrows arched. “Lifelong Eastzoner, huh, ever go through the darklands?”
Cyndra curled her lip. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I make the trip once a year, go back home to see the family. It’s quite the experience.” The man set a minitablet next to the box. “Please sign by the x.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She traced her initials on the screen, curious if he had a working phone to go with it since he certainly seemed rich enough to afford the rare luxury of bi-coastal communication. Her gaze fell as he slid the box over, then he touched the rim of his hat and smiled again. “Thanks.”
“Pleasant day, Miss Raine.”
As he exited the shop, Cyndra realized he never answered her initial question and frowned when she stared at the strange markings carved into the top of the dark gray box. Something about it seemed familiar yet she was certain she’d never seen either before.
The door chimed again.
This time she didn’t need to look up because the scent of pine, blood, and a dirty teenage boy wafted into the shop.
“Cyndra!”
She pulled her gaze away from the box and winked at the kid. “You’re back early.”
“Wait until you see what we caught,” Milo called from the welcome mat as he kicked his mismatched boots against the doorframe. His dark green canvas bag had two talons and a fish head sticking out of the top.
“Looks like a haul,” she replied, coming around the counter and meeting him at the deli station, which doubled as her personal kitchen when she had enough scraps leftover to cook.
“Mavi caught a pheasant,” he said, hefting his bag onto the butcher block.
Cyndra set down a clean cloth and watched him pull said pheasant out of the bag first, followed by two smaller birds and two fish. Slightly worried about the health of the fish, she flipped the switch on the Geiger counter and passed the silver wand over the entire lot of game.
Milo’s smile brightened when nothing happened. “Sweetness, gonna hit that spot again. Dad told me not to tell anyone.”
“Can’t say I blame him, Milo, two more families moved out of the village last week. Trying their luck in town.”
“I heard.” He frowned and rubbed his matted hair. “Rumors are goin’ ‘round that Eastzone’s governor is sick and people are scared the new guy’s gonna take over farming. Mom’s not happy at all.”
“Which is why I’m stocking up while the weather is still warm so we have plenty of meat for winter. You should too. I can teach you how to salt and store so you don’t have to take up space in your icebox.”
“Super! Can Mavi come? She’s practically thirteen now.”
“As long as your father says it’s okay, bring whoever you want,” she replied as she picked up the birds and fish and placed them on the scale knowing every kid needed all possible skills at their disposal if they wanted to survive past the teenaged years. “Fourteen pounds, good job, kiddo.”
“Thanks, my aim is getting better every day.”
“Practice makes perfect.” Cyndra reached into her pants and pulled out her small roll of cash then counted off seven dollars.
“Where do you get these weirdo sayings?”
“Books. They’re just as important as hunting and self-defense skills. I still have a few old fiction paperbacks, fun stuff to read, better than classwork. You should take one. No charge.”
“For real?” Milo’s eye lit up as he glanced over at the shelf on the opposite side of the shop where the books, paper, pencils, and other items she kept in stock for the zone’s teachers.
“Yep, find one for your sister too.” She folded the dollars in half and set it on the counter. Next, she placed the fish in her icebox and tossed the birds into a basket, hoping Kyle or one of the older kids came around after classes so she wouldn’t have to unfeather tonight.
Cyndra washed and dried her hands before returning to the cashier counter. Her eyes settled on the gray box again. Milo, holding two ratty books in his hand, went back to the deli counter and picked up his dollars, not even bothering to count it. She remembered being that innocent once.
“See you on Monday?” he asked on his way to the door.
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Cyndra nodded.
“Thanks for the books.”
“Most welcome. Happy hunting.”
“Enjoy plucking!” he laughed and darted out the exit with more energy than she ever had at his age, a half a lifetime ago. She sighed and hoped he enjoyed the last three years of his childhood, once seventeen came knocking, he’d have to grow up even faster.
Cyndra sat and popped the last piece of a lemon-flavored rationbar into her mouth, proud she made it last two days considering how tasty it was compared to the garbage the EZ government usually handed out. She didn’t regret trading the bar for the last of her canned meats since she hated that shit.
As she set her hand on top of the box to take a gander inside, the door chimed once more and Cyndra knew she was in for a busy day when a half dozen traveling traders from Northern Eastzone came in, ready to buy, sell, or barter enough items to stock her shelves for the entire weekend.
Long after sunset, the last straggler of the day walked up to the vegetable/fruit shelf and pulled two bananas off the pile. Cyndra readied a paper bag as she covertly eyed the older man, noticing the new pair of shoes hiding underneath his pristine jeans. She normally charged everyone the same, some lower if she knew they were in dire straits, but never more, regardless of what they wore or how clean they appeared.
“Pleasant evening,” he said, speaking softly and lifting his dark eyes to meet hers.
“New to Virginialand?”
“Passing through.” He paused at the counter offering no more and setting the fruit down. “Do you take the Zonecoins?”
“As a matter of fact I do,” she replied, smiling casually, hoping to make the sale, “but one is already too much for bananas.”
The man jerked his chin to her left. “How many for the bogwood box?”
“What’s bogwood?” Cyndra glanced over, furrowing her brow.
“Wood that’s cured in peat bogs, very rare these days and the carvings are…Six Zonecoins.”
“I’m sorry, it’s not for sale,” she said, motioning to the canned food section and trying to hide her disappointment. Zonecoins were like cowmeat to Southzoners. “I have a jewelry chest on the home goods cart.”
“Eight,” he said sharper, narrowing his eyes and moving closer to the box.
“Not for sale,” she reiterated and stretched to her full height, a couple inches taller than the old man.
His lip curled and his eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t even know what this is, what you have in your possession, do you?”
“The box?” Cyndra dropped her hand to her side, ready to grab her weapon, when the zone’s curfew warning alarm blared through the air.
“Your ignorance will destroy you,” he snapped, glancing back to the door. He had half an hour to get to wherever he needed to go. Everyone knew the penalty for traveling after curfew.
She pushed the fruit to the edge of the counter, totally done with this crazy guy. “Take the fucking bananas, no charge, but you’ll have to go, now.”
“Your prison is worse. I will find my way back.” Shaking his head as he swiped the fruit from the counter, the man sneered at her with disgust and walked to the exit.
Tempted to say something more, Cyndra kept her lips locked, processing his strange words and only started to breathe again when the echo of the door chime faded from the shop. She dashed around the counter and skidded in front of the clothing cart. After she jerked it back, she grabbed the large metal door and shut it tight before moving to the opposite side to do the same with the second door.
Once she latched the trailer closed, Cyndra secured the windows on each side of the shop and returned to the counter to scoop up the box and grab her weapon. She didn’t expect the old man to put up a fight considering the marketplace always had ZoneGuards on patrol, yet she never ignored her instincts when they kicked in. The old man had creeper written all over his face.
Cyndra waited, barely breathing for a few minutes, letting the paranoia fade and her pulse settle.
Calmer, she shut off the lights and ducked behind the flimsy privacy curtain she used to separate her personal space from the rest of the trade shop. The few acquaintances she still had around Turner’s Village thought she wasted her time turning the government trailer into a store back when she got hers at twenty-one. However, it turned out to be the best decision and easiest way to put all her skills to use and still have a place to live. That was the only way to survive these days.
She set the weapon down on the stepstool next to her mattress and sat in the rocking chair, the only good piece of furniture she owned. With the heavy box on her lap, Cyndra stared down at the carving again. This time she noticed four different symbols overlapping yet connecting with each other. As she traced the outer circle encompassing the entire carving, the waves of familiarity struck her again.
Instead of stalling, Cyndra lifted the thick lid from the box revealing contents that made her heart stop.
“Ah shit,” she gasped, lifting her hand to her mouth as she stared at a note with her name on it in her grandfather’s handwriting. She set the lid on the floor before picking up the note and reading the cryptic contents.
I’ve departed this world and you are no longer protected. Seek out your cousin. Take your grandmother’s journal and pendant with you. When you are strong enough, her words will guide you. I pray you can save them, then my sacrifice to stay here and raise you will not be in vain.
He didn’t sign it with his name or leave any words of comfort, only questions, and a stinging reminder of why she left the minute she had turned seventeen.
Cyndra crumpled the scrap of paper in her hand and tossed it into the corner of the room. The thick, leather-wrapped journal inside had a black crystal in the shape of a long, thin obelisk on top. The silver chain twisted around the buckle secured the pages inside.
When she touched the smooth edge of the pendant, her fingers went numb. Her arm tingled and the sensation rose up her shoulder to the back of her neck. Cyndra’s eyes rolled and forgotten sights and sounds from long ago entered her mind like a dream. Grandma Evie’s smiling face filled her with warmth and joy. The days she spent with her family, when the world was still green and vibrant, was the happiest time of her childhood and the last she remembered seeing Evelyn Raine.
How did I forget that?
The entire trailer shook, pulling Cyndra from the memory rush. She clutched the pendant and jumped to her feet, knocking the box and journal to the floor. The warm tingling sensation from her hand spread through her entire body.
The old man formed in front of her as if materializing from the dust in the air. He stared at her with terrifying whited-out eyes. “I feel its power. Give me the crystal!”
“No!” Cyndra rammed her shoulder into his. When he stumbled into the privacy curtain, she darted across the room and snatched her weapon from the stool. He grabbed her bicep and jerked backward. Cyndra spun around and pressed the blade of her sai under his chin.
“It’s true, you’ve awakened…” he snarled and lifted his hand. “You’ll do even better, caster.”
The instant he spread his fingers, an indescribable pain filled her body. Cyndra’s legs buckled. Her muscles turned to jelly. The closer his hand got, the weaker she became.
Her head swirled and Grandma Evie’s voice filled her mind. The power will always be within you.
The pain evaporated. Heat from her hand spread over her skin like a protective barrier.
“I need to go back!” the man wailed, draining the life from her bones.
Cyndra squeezed the pendant in her hand, willing her grandmother to give her the courage and strength to fight…to survive. The heat vibrating inside her body pulsed outward, shooting off her skin and incinerating the air.
The old man screamed.
He grabbed each side of his head and fell to his knees.
“What the shit?”
Pieces of the man’s skin cracked and peeled off his body. She dropped the crystal an
d slapped both hands over her mouth. Just as he had seemingly come together from specks of dust, he disintegrated before her eyes.
“Holy fuck.” Cyndra’s stomach churned. Bile filled her throat as she stared at the pile of ash in the doorway between her shop and bedroom. Panic stricken, she scooped up the pendant and threw it back into the box with the journal, securing the lid and hefted it from the floor.
She rushed around her room and shop collecting everything perishable and anything else she’d possibly need on the road, filling her oversized backpack. The last thing she grabbed on her way to the back door was her packed go-bag of clothes and personal essentials.
Cyndra secured the padlocks on the outside of the trailer and set the basket of food in the spare icebox, hoping Milo checked it soon. After locking the door, she surveyed the dark woods behind the marketplace.
Most of the ZGuard stuck to the main roads and rarely ventured into the uninhabited parts of Eastzone. The floodlights at the entrance to the village, keeping out the mutated animals, flickered against the fog settling in the valley. It was a good night to travel the woods. No one else would be dumb enough to go in on a moonless night.
Cyndra slipped the stuffed backpack over both shoulders and clipped the go-bag on her belt then secured her sai on the other hip as she debated which of three paths leading into the woods to take. Knowing better than to use a glowlight so close to the marketplace, she went to the right, the path she knew best, even if it would take her an extra ten miles to make it into town. She had no choice but to find Pristy now. Cyndra hoped her cousin hadn’t moved far.
Halfway to the entrance of the thick woods, spiky needles attacked her fingertips. She winced and shook her hand. When she glanced down at her palm, Cyndra barely made out the discoloration in her skin. The triangle mark mimicked a branding burn, thick raised skin, darker than the rest of her palm.
The ten-minute warning alarm pierced the quiet night. Cyndra picked her pace, more fearful of being caught for murder than running into a mut-wolf, and dashed into the woods to find somewhere secure to sleep for the night.
