by Eden Crowne
Plagued, Book 1
By Eden Crowne
Copyright 2015. All rights reserved
Published by CoolCats Publishing at Smashwords.
ISBN: 9781310320569
Discover other titles by Eden Crowne at http://www.edencrowne.com
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely unintentional.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Prologue
Time Capsule essay
Skylar Christensen
English 303, Mrs. Schneider.
The apocalypse is actually not as bad as you might think. My mom says the world today is still recognizable as the world she grew up in. Quieter, of course. Two thirds of the population – depending on who's counting – wiped out in the blood plagues following the bird flu epidemics equals a lot of quiet.
Stupid birds.
There are no zombies in our apocalypse. Lots of corpses and empty cities and towns, but no walking dead. America has a government and electricity and sanitation and water, TV and the internet. Negatives are trying to make sure that doesn't change. No matter how much the Victims Army and the Hemogoblin blood gangs might try. Redneck power!
That's what people call Negatives – people with negative blood types -- like me. Rednecks. The scarlet barcode tattooed on our necks once we turn sixteen and enter active duty marks us as 'safe'. We can go anywhere, even during the winter flu season. The only ones perfectly and completely immune. As such, we have a duty to our country. To serve and protect. Not just for the ten years of mandatory government or military work after high school, but always.
Civilization doesn't just rebuild itself, you know!
Unfortunately for the world, negatives are a single digit percent of the population, no matter the ethnicity.
Of course a lot of Positives survived the initial die offs. Some people have a natural immunity to viruses. Others are just really, really good at keeping their hands clean and wearing filters during the winter. Survival rates are way up now that the blood lottery is in place. Completely draining an infected person's blood and replacing it with clean blood cures the plague. The problem is, there's just not enough clean blood to go around. That's why we need the lottery. The lottery is a good thing.
Rednecks are trained and taught to serve their country with weapons handling and at fifteen, military tactical training. From sixteen, we go active. Active duty means HK's, Hunter Killer patrols. Blood has become the ultimate currency – that's what the news calls it – and there are people willing to kill to take it.
I hope that whoever digs up our time capsule lives in a world we helped to make better. Peace out!
Sky, this is much to general. They can read facts in the history books twenty years from now when they dig up the time capsule. Make it more personal. A real slice of your life. Put in some family anecdotes.
Mrs. S.
Chapter 1
New Blood
The body was tied to a tree; spread-eagled, arms wide. A bloody mess. Naked, deep cuts on the throat, wrists, and inner thighs. Sara Anne took one look and threw up. Which was not unusual, Sara Anne threw up on most patrols, body or no body.
Sky was okay. She knew he'd probably been dead before those wounds were inflicted. The Hemogoblin gangs would have drained him of every drop of blood before leaving the mutilated corpse to taunt the patrols and frighten civilians. To show everyone they weren't afraid of the Home Guard or Tactical Police.
Her squad scrambled after Control received an anonymous 911 call about a scarecrow in the University woods near the stadium. The team set up operations fast and quiet. They'd done this many times over the last six months.
Sergeant McNeil ordered Rickey in the mobile command van to send in a swarm of dragonfly shaped flybots. The tiny robots would scan for organics and explosives. Sky and the others fanned out, keeping about ten yards between them. Anonymous calls often came from the goblins themselves. They planted booby traps around the bodies and waited nearby to film the fun and slap it up on the Net.
The air surveillance 'bots swept the ground ahead as the squad moved forward. Their info was downloading to the screens on the right side of each helmet's visor. The 'bots were looking for heat signatures and formations that could mean pocket mines or trip wires.
Sky didn't watch the read-outs, using her eyes to search for heat flares that would mean a living body. Her level-up from the plague vaccine-- a side effect everyone with negative blood types experienced – had given her the ability to see far beyond the normal spectrum of light. Too far sometimes, she thought ruefully.
Sara Anne and Sky had been the first to reach the scarecrow.
Her eyes registered him as navy blue. Dead and gone. She and the flybots picked out two more bodies further on at almost the same time. They were an icy blue. That meant they hadn't been dead as long.
“Two more bodies at eleven o'clock from our position,” she radioed.
“''Bots have picked them up.” Rickey acknowledged. “Copy that.”
“Checking for infection” That was Chase, to her left.
Sky trotted over to his position. He had the scanner on one of the wounds. “Negative for infection, both of them. They're clean.” He clipped the scanner back on his belt. “This one's B positive, the other AB positive.”
Sergeant McNeil reached them, cursing long and loud. “Goddamn it.” He kicked at the dirt. “What a waste. Two uninfected human beings. We need every person we can get and those bastards just drain them. Bastards, bastards, bastards.”
It was true. The world needed repopulating. Every life lost affected all of them.
“Sir! Over here! I've got a breather.” Daphne, their Med Tech, waved several trees back and to the right. “Not a scarecrow. She's a Negative, but no barcode, sir. No immigration band, either.”
Sky looked towards Daphne and saw the warm pulse of yellow and orange next to Daphne's healthy red glow.
“Med team E.T.A. five minutes,” Rickey's voice came over their com.
“Copy that. Keep that Negative alive for intel, Daphne!”
“Do my best, sir!”
No code on a Negative meant Victims Army guerilla or a foreign infiltrator. Only American's wore the red code, and it was mandatory for all registered Negatives. Legal foreign visitors were issued a digital wristband with all their personal information when they passed through immigration.
Skylar's screen read-out flashed a proximity warning and the directional targeting in her helmet began to click. She tapped the motion tracker on her gun's screen and scanned it left and right ,waiting for the clicks to get faster and show her the direction.
“Two targets, Sarge.” They must be wearing some sort of stealth suit, neither of them was giving off any heat she could see. “In pursuit.”
The targets began to run and so did she.
The eucalyptus forest surrounding this side of the University was a good place to hide but not somewhere to slip out of silently. A thick layer of dead leaves and broken branches co
vered the forest floor, and every step was a snap, crackle, of sound. Sky could hear them a short way ahead; they were not even trying to hide their progress.
Another figure blipped on her screen. Looking up, she saw a red glow. No suit on that one.
Three now. Two in front, one following close. The clicks from her ear piece faded in and out as they ran between the close-set trees. They'd split soon. Either that or lead her into a trap.
“Christensen!” Sergeant McNeil's voice blared in her ear making her flinch. “Wait for back-up, Reynolds and Stephenson are behind you.”
If she waited for Daphne and Chase to catch up, she'd lose the goblins. The clicks in her ear were almost non-stop, she was practically on top of them; close enough to get a hit.
“Engaging target,” she said into her mic as she flicked her weapon to lock-on mode for motion seeking. It was after curfew. If anyone was in the forest beside goblins; they deserved what they got. The gunsight blinked green, and she fired four rounds in quick succession. They were just blips on a screen, she told herself. Hemogoblins are killers. Put them down.
There was a sharp cry and another and what sounded like a fall. Two lights blinked out. Two hits. One kept moving. The one without the suit.
“One active,” she called in. “Perp headed for University Drive. Pursuing.”
“Christensen hold your position!” She heard the words just before a hot red blur loomed out of the darkness, right on top of her. There was only enough time to think, 'wait, what?' before something slammed into the side of her helmet, knocking her to the ground.
Flat on her back, the world spun in slow motion.
Blinking, she saw a figure move to straddle her. Glowing brightly from heat to her enhanced vision. A big man wearing a thick parka. He had a jagged combat knife in one hand that glinted under the full moon. He was grinning. Skylar fumbled for her weapon, trying to bring it up, but she couldn't seem to get her fingers to do what she wanted. Skylar met his eyes and saw her death mirrored there.
He raised the knife and she couldn't breath. The weight on her chest was crushing the air out of her lungs. It was a heartbeat before she realized the man was on top of her. Instinctively she struggled. Punching at his face and windpipe before realizing he was struggling as well. Someone was on top of him. No wonder she couldn't breath. The weight shifted. Something hit her hard in the stomach, and she choked on the pain.
Indistinctly, she saw two figures tumbling together near her. Crashing back and forth. Or maybe they were standing still and the ground was moving. She couldn't focus. She was dizzy and couldn't think. There was cursing and a shot. Just one short, sharp burst.
A face loomed over her just as she finally managed to close her fingers around the gun grip. A different face. Boy? Man? The features fuzzy, blurred. He pushed the gun aside.
“Shh,” his voice was low, soothing. “Shh, don't be afraid.” He pulled off her helmet and ran a hand carefully over her head.
She yelped as he pushed on her temple. Everything started to spin, and she had to turn on her side to be seriously and thoroughly sick.
Branches snapped nearby. She reached for her gun.
A figure in tactical gear held up both hands. “Skylar! It's me, Daphne.”
“Where'd he go?” Her voice was hoarse from being sick; her throat burning.
Daphne knelt close, the leaves crackling under her combat boots. Gently pulling Skylar's eyes wider, she shone her penlight on each pupil. “Who?”
“The guy.”
Daphne looked to Sky's left, bringing up her little light. “There's a body there. You mean that one?” Without waiting for an answer, Daphne stood and prodded the body with her foot until she could kick it over. “Damn girl. You nailed him good. Right in the heart.”
While calling in her report and position to Sergeant McNeil, Daphne tugged at the body's clothing. “Full on Goblin bastard. Tattoos and everything. Jerk off.” Standing, she kicked the body hard.
“No, the boy...man. The one who saved me.”
Daphne used the light on her gunsight to illuminate the area.
“There is no other boy, Sky. Just you and the corpse.”
Chapter 2
Blood Simple
An hour later, Skylar sat on the 'release' side of the emergency room at University Hospital with an ice pack pressed to the side of her head. Sergeant McNeil insisted she get checked out. Less out of concern for her welfare than so he could yell at her for disobeying orders, Sky thought. She'd ridden to the hospital with him and the rogue Negative in the ambulance. He'd taken the opportunity to recount her failings several times.
A couple of injections and an I.V. took care of the nausea. Her helmet saved her from a concussion according to the MRI, leaving her with just a bad knock on the head. She knew the boy, whoever he was, saved her from much worse.
Still October, the ER was pretty quiet. Flu season wouldn't start until mid-November or later in California. She sighed, tired and sore and hungry. Her stomach growled noisily. The Sarge said he'd give her a ride home after he made sure the Negative was stabilized. Home meant dinner. Her stomach rumbled again.
The clean-room bell chimed, and the light above the heavy metal doors to the exit blinked from red to green. She watched as a tall boy in jeans and a denim shirt with a gray sweater tied around his waist, came out. His hair was tousled and damp from the air jets they zapped you with going in or coming out of the treatment areas. He had thick, wavy black hair, longer in front than at the back. He pushed it out of his eyes, blinking away the slight sting of disinfectant. He saw her watching and gave a quick, wide smile.
Sky dropped her eyes, staring at her combat boots. She recognized him from school. Hugo St. James, a Senior. He'd only transferred in a few of weeks ago. Hugo was already the talk of the school for his brains and his looks. He was AB positive. She knew that, too. She'd seen his bracelet. All positives wore blood I.D.s. That was a tough blood type. Before the plagues, AB could receive blood from any group. Now, once infected, they could only get transfusions from other AB types. Statistically speaking, there wasn't a lot of AB blood to spare.
She looked up, startled as he sat down next to her. There were several empty couches. He didn't have to sit here.
The plastic upholstery squeaked as he settled himself. Sky shifted a few inches to the left, her sidearm holster creaking, suddenly uncomfortable. She became very focused on readjusting the ice pack.
“Hi.”
Why was he talking to her?
“You go to Redwood High,” he said.
She nodded, still wondering why he was making conversation. Seniors and juniors didn't mix much either in Tactical or at Redwood High. Negative seniors thought themselves vastly superior to lower classmen because they were already learning to operate drone weaponry, jet packs, and heavy artillery. Plus, both Negative and Positive seniors got to plan Prom, which automatically made them more awesome.
He waved his hand to encompass her uniform and weapons. “I'm Hugo. I didn't realize you were a Redneck.”
Sky automatically reached to adjust the collar on her tactical suit. The narrow, red barcode tattooed around her neck identified her as a Negative. A member of the elite. The envy of every Positive. Immune to the plague. Then she remembered she was in full tactical gear with the same red barcode plastered across her chest, and put her hand down.
Idiot.
She might as well introduce herself. It would be weird no to. She cleared her throat, her mouth felt unaccountably dry. “Skylar Christensen.”
“How do you do.” He flashed her a quick smile and held out his hand.
She looked more carefully at him as she shook his hand. He smelled like blood. There was a smear of dark red on his trouser leg near the knee.
“You have blood on your pants,” she pointed with her other hand. “Are you hurt? You smell hurt.”
His eyes widened as though she'd surprised him. He covered it quickly, giving her another half smile.
O
h my, he had an a great smile. And a great mouth and cheekbones and chin.
“I smell hurt?” He bent forward so he could meet her eyes. “What does that even mean?”
'Oh my gawd, Skylar,' she yelled at herself. 'You just told him he smelled!'
“Oh. Um. Enhanced sense of smell,” her voice came out a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat again. “I can smell stuff.” She tapped her nose. “One of my level-ups from the blood mutation. You know.”
She looked at him for confirmation he understood, but he shook his head.
“Come on, everybody knows.”
“I'm British,” he said. “Perhaps things are different in England.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really, really?” He was probably just having her on.
“Tell me,” he gave her another very charming smile – he seemed to possess rather a lot of charming smiles – crossed his legs and leaned a little closer.
Still looking for the hidden punchline, Sky explained the flu didn't kill Rednecks; it did change them. The Bird Flu vaccine gave everyone a light case of the flu. No matter what age you were vaccinated, afterward, things happened. 'Enhancements' the government liked to call them. 'Level up' was what she and all the other kids said. Their muscle development and sense of sight, hearing, smell, sound and even taste were magnified. Each person, however, leveled up again in their own individual way. Some of Sky's were not very explainable by science.
“I actually do know that. I meant, how did it change you.”
“Lots of ways.” She tapped her nose again. “My sense of smell is very acute. I smell when people are scared, or happy, or lying. Their body chemistry changes.”
He gave her a slightly strange look. “Okay. Did not know that was possible. That makes two things I've learned tonight.”
She glanced at the Clean Room light, hoping it would turn green. Come on, squad leader! To say she was uncomfortable sitting here in her flak suit with both her guns plus the electric blade strapped to her belt and her helmet at her feet, chatting to one of the most popular boys in all of Redwood High School was an understatement. She felt like a freak. Like she'd been caught playing soldier. She was a little shy with people she didn't know. Especially people who weren't Negatives. There was always too much underlying tension.
