The thud of footfalls ended his prayers.
Obviously the thug-uglies had a death wish. Zig-zagging around scraggly bushes, he plucked an arrow from the quiver under the crossbow's curved limb. Dropped it. Shit. He reached for another.
A sapling's trunk snapped behind him.
Great, the assholes didn't need to run around the plants like ordinary folks; they could plow right through them. His fingers shook when he loaded the arrow into the flight groove. It slid home on the third try.
Branches crackled to his left and right.
Sweat beaded Harlan's upper lip. Well, wasn't that just the cherry on his day. They were trying to outflank him. Guess a few brain cells had survived a crushing death by their rolls of muscle. Now for the hard part——arming the crossbow.
Doubling over, he ducked under a low pine bough. In the darkness, he slammed his back against the trunk. Stepping on the metal cocking stirrup, he grabbed the string and pulled it into the latch. Setting his finger on the trigger, he cupped the foregrip.
Now he just needed a target.
His breath echoed in the shell of his ears. Where were the thug-uglies? They had to be close. Fractured moonlight lit the carpet of brown pine needles. But the nearby woods stood still. For such big guys, they moved quietly. Too quietly for his skin. Why couldn't they crash about like drunks soaked in potato ale?
A pop sounded to his left.
Harlan smiled. The sight of his weapon tracked his eyes’ motion. All but one shadow writhed when a gust of wind shook the trees. He aimed for the circle at the top then paused and checked his supply of arrows.
No spares. Today just wasn't his day. Killing one would not get him out of this fix. The other twin would just hunt him down and rip him limb from limb. He needed one muscle-head incapacitated enough so his twin would stay with him.
Harlan didn't want to end this night dead.
Lowering the barrel, he aimed for the widest part of the shadow. Another twig snapped to his right. He froze, processing the sound. His heart picked up tempo. His current target was closer and still——a golden opportunity. Be a shame to waste it.
His finger tightened on the trigger. But a chest shot wouldn't stop the thug-ugly from chasing him.
The arrow hummed through the darkness before finding a home in his victim's meaty thigh.
A howl reverberated through the woods. Moments later, the darkness creeping across the ground swallowed him.
"Quinn?" Shouted the thug-ugly on his right.
Quinn? What kind of name was that for a man who could probably crush a human skull between his hands? Lowering the crossbow to his side, Harlan flattened against the pine's trunk. Bark scratched his jacket and pattered against the ground.
"Here," called the shadows on the left.
"You get him?"
Hell no! Harlan was alive and well. A situation he planned to maintain for the foreseeable future. His eyes strained in the darkness. Where was the other one?
"He got me."
"Bad?"
Harlan held his breath. Quinn crept ten feet away from him. Light sparked off the oversized curved blade in his hand. Figured the meat puppet would have a big knife. He probably needed it to compensate for something infinitely smaller——his smarts.
"Can't walk," the injured thug groaned.
Craning his neck to keep the other man in sight, Harlan eased around the trunk. He'd backtrack to the observation camp, retrieve his favorite throwing knives then rejoin his men. The meat puppets wouldn't expect that.
A cloud scuttled in front of the moon, tossing a black veil over the forest. No way could he move now. He'd most likely fall and break his neck.
Grunting and cursing followed the brothers' reunion.
"We gonna go after him?"
Harlan rolled his eyes. Good luck with that. They'd never catch him again.
"Nah." Quinn didn't bother hushing his movements as his brother hefted him to his feet. "We gotta report to the big boss. He ain't gonna be none too happy about the thief gittin’ away."
Harlan stiffened. He wasn't a damned thief. What these bastards gave wasn't theirs in the first place. Silver bars of moonlight skimmed across the forest. Harlan watched the thug-uglies walk/hop in the opposite direction of the observation camp. He loved it when the enemy cooperated with his plan.
"This is all Thurman's fault. He shouldn't have tried to kill the fucker."
Yeah, he should have offered me ale and bread. That would have been a nice change from the 'I'm gonna kill you' routine. Harlan turned away, then stopped.
"Now that we know what he looks like, we'll get him when he comes to town."
His grip tightened on the crossbow. When they put it that way maybe he'd be better off taking them out now. He mentally smacked himself. Of course, he'd be better off. But he was out of arrows.
They would live. For now.
***
Harlan ghosted over the spongy ground. Vermin scrambled in the underbrush. Overhead the moon neared the Western horizon. Retrieving his throwing knives had taken longer than he expected. Gold weighted his pockets. The Thug-Uglies hadn't been too thorough in their search of Dennis's body and they hadn't touched their compatriots at all. Their loss was his gain. Well, not his precisely, more like Dennis's widow's. If she was still alive.
His thighs ached as he climbed the last ridge, and his lungs heaved from running. Once he gathered his men, he would track the 'Viders in the soft ground near the river. He and his men could still free the tributes, hand Dennis's widow the gold, then shuttle everybody north. Easy.
Topping the rise, he slowed to a walk. The smell of charred meat hit him first. His stomach shot acid into his mouth. No! Not his men.
They knew the rules.
They wouldn't be cooking food or having a fire. Not when the enemy was so close.
He sprinted down the slope. Branches slapped him, leaving cuts and welts on his hide. They had to be alright. Gulping oxygen, he burst into the clearing and tripped. His knees dug into a squishy belly right as his hands splashed into a pile of cold entrails. The impact rattled his teeth. He swallowed the throw-up in his mouth and glanced back.
Johnson. Not even old enough to shave. Liberated on Harlan's raid two years back.
Shaking off the globs sticking to his fingers, he rose to his feet and skulked deeper into the camp.
A severed arm lay next to a bloody lean-to. The scar tissue over the missing pinky finger seemed almost obscene. Hernandez. A wily ol' coot missing most of his teeth and now divided into six pieces. Liberated four years ago.
Staked over a smoldering fire a body smoked. New boots shone from the untouched feet. Garcia. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Wife, three kids stolen by the 'Viders three years ago.
Harlan closed the dead man's eyes before walking on.
Cooke lay beyond Garcia wearing a blood bib from a sliced throat. Flesh boiled off his hands, stewing in a greasy pot of water.
Metal girded Harlan's chest. He picked a path through his men's belongings, searching for the last one. Maybe Frost had escaped. He'd been at Harlan's side for ten years now, searching for his own stolen family. Frost was cunning, smart. If anyone could survive this ambush, he could.
Please. Please. Please. Beyond a second lean-to, Harlan caught a flash of pale skin. His stomach dropped.
Frost swung from a pine branch. Naked. Gutted. Genitals mutilated. Wire cut deep into his neck, nearly severing his head.
Fists clenched. Muscles shaking, Harlan dropped to his knees. His jaw dropped and he screamed his rage silently at the night. God. The universe. Hot liquid streaked his cheeks. His nose dripped, tainted his mouth with the taste of death.
Later, when a rat darted out to sniff a corpse, he rose to his feet. Scanning their scattered supplies, he spied the shovel, staggered over and picked it up.
"Git!" He swung at the rat. Missed but the vermin retreated to the tree line to watch with red eyes.
"You're not getting them." Planting
the spade's tip into the ground, he stomped on the side and shoved the metal deep. "And I'm not giving up."
He pitched the dark earth to the side and continued digging. Shovelful by shovelful, he repeated his vows.
He would find his friends' stolen family members.
He would free his sister from the 'Viders.
Marking off the shallow grave, he added a new pledge. He would find the bastards responsible for this slaughter.
And he would kill anyone who stood in his way.
Chapter 5
Mirabelle Westminster folded the bottom of her apron before using it to lift the lid off the pot. Steam wafted from the boiling liquid, momentarily driving away the cold biting her cheeks. Her two daughters toddled toward a lump of blankets, sipping their cups of soup. Her four-year-old holding her two-year old sister’s hand.
Too bad her two oldest boys couldn’t be here; too bad they couldn’t stay young forever.
Dipping her hand in her pocket, Belle wrapped her fingers around the warm metal. Under her lashes, she glanced to the left. A bitter wind shook the hide tents but no one emerged. To the right, a handful of women tended their breakfasts or piled rocks higher to protect the meager flames.
No one paid her any attention.
She plunged the metal cup into the pot, netting bits of the floating green herbs before pulling it out. Through the clear broth, she spied chunks of wild onion, potato and carrots. That should do, Nattie. Belle looked toward the edge of camp.
As if feeling her gaze, a grizzled woman rose from her pile of rags. Dirty fingers clutched a threadbare blanket around her shoulders. Her emaciated frame formed hard angles and bumps under the cloth as she walked. Pale blue eyes surveyed her under matted salt and pepper hair. Nattie paused ten feet away.
Belle nodded and held the cup out to her.
Nattie hunched lower in her covering but shuffled closer.
"You're not supposed to feed her."
Belle jumped before turning so the speaker stood in her peripheral vision. About time Ann woke up, and did her fair share of the work. Slamming the lid on the pot, Belle straightened. Pain strapped her back and across her distended belly. She set her free hand on her spine as Nattie reached for the cup.
"I could tell our husband."
Ann always wanted to tell their 'Vider. The girl seemed enamored of the brute. Belle tightened her muscles to stop the shudder. Weakness should never be shown. Never. "Then do so."
Nattie sipped the brew while her attention darted between the two of them. A spark appeared in her faded blue eyes before it flickered out.
There but for the God's eternal grace. Belle scratched the stretched skin through her patched dress. The baby shifted at her touch. Then again, maybe her future was shivering in front her.
Ann stomped closer and held her palms to the fire. "You think I won't just because you're pregnant."
Belle clamped her lips together. The girl needed to learn her place. Belle had only to answer to her 'Vider or the head Provider.
"You're right." Ann sighed and raked her fingers through her tousled dark brown locks. "I won't because..." For a moment, fear blazed in the girl's eyes. She scanned the camp before shifting closer to Belle. "Because I think I'm pregnant too."
Two of his tributes pregnant? Her 'Vider should be strutting like a cock through camp. Belle eyed their tent. And yet, the brute still slept. Turning slightly, she raked Ann from head to feet.
At sixteen winters, the roundness of childhood hadn't left the girl's apple cheeks and her overlarge breasts didn't disguise her narrow hips. Ann set her hand over her rounded belly. The girl's stomach didn't appear any larger than when she'd arrived two months ago.
But then Belle hadn't shown for nearly four months after her bleeding time had stopped. Her 'Vider had finally stopped raping her at seven months, when Nattie had said she'd lose the baby. The brute had wanted his seed and had used other tributes to fulfill his needs.
Nattie laughed, flashing black teeth in red gums. Bits of white potato clung to her tongue. The neighbor woman behind her shuffled backward.
Straightening, Ann fisted her cotton skirt. "What's so funny!"
Belle shifted in front of the older woman. Only a handful of people in the village hit Nattie anymore, most feared her craziness was contagious. But Ann was new. Things tended to change when new blood mingled with the old. And it usually wasn't for the better. "How long has it been since your monthly blood-letting?"
"Two weeks." Licking her lips, Ann glanced at their tent. "Our 'Vider took me at least ten times during my bleeding time. He says he wants a strong son and that's the only way to get it."
Conceived in blood, bathed in blood, and sustained by blood that was the 'Vider way. Belle hated it with everything inside her, prayed daily to be delivered from this hell. "Have you told our 'Vider of your suspicions?"
Nattie's cackling died when she raised the cup to her lips. Tapping on the bottom, she shuffled away to the thump of metal.
"No. I don't want him to turn his attentions to you."
The brute had never turned his attention off Belle. Despite having a girl willing and able to do anything he wanted, their 'Vider sought Belle out four or five times a week to bathe his 'son' in his seed.
"I've heard we're heading into lean times. I plan to make him pick me over you if it comes to that." Ann finger-combed her long honey-colored locks. The wind picked up the strands and lifted them from her shoulder.
The hair on Belle's nape rose. The girl learned quickly and had adjusted to life as a 'Vider's personal property all too easily. Pregnancy was as close a guarantee to living another day as female tributes received.
But it wasn't an absolute.
With the birth of her sixth child, Belle knew the 'Viders would value her over the girl. Especially since four of them still lived. Especially since the new head Provider had been watching her so closely. "Who says we're heading into lean times?"
"Everyone." Ann shrugged and crouched by the fire. She held her hands near the flames before rubbing them together.
"I've been with the 'Viders ten winters, I have never encountered lean times." God help her, she prayed they would happen. Practically offered her soul for them to happen. But there was always another village to demand tribute from, then when the townspeople balked at yet another offering, the 'Viders raided and took what they wanted.
"But 'Vider Stake offered his sister-wife to the congregation." Ann daubed at the saliva at the corners of her mouth before breaking a branch in half and feeding it to the fire. "Why would he do that if we were not in the lean times?"
Sister-wife. The girl was delusional. They were nothing but property to be used and abused as their 'Vider saw fit. Everyone learned that lesson sooner or later. Most had only minutes to digest it before their lives ended.
"Mandy was sacrificed because she had not carried a child in the four years she'd been here." Even Nattie's herbs couldn't overcome the sterility left by her breeder's cancer. If 'Vider Stake had learned that the woman knew of her barrenness when she'd been claimed, her death would have been prolonged and painful.
A lesson for everyone to learn.
Ann wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked. "I'm sure I'm pregnant."
Belle swallowed the lump in her throat. Her daughter did that when she was scared. But Ann wasn't her daughter; she was a rival. A deadly rival. "I would wait for a new moon before telling our 'Vider."
Ann's brown eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"He doesn't like to be disappointed." Hated it just as much as he hated everything else. Belle tugged her tattered sleeve over her scarred wrist. He'd found out she was pregnant the day before she miscarried. That lesson, he boasted, had toughened her up enough to carry their five children to term. She stroked her belly.
And the sixth looked like it would make it, too.
"I'm going to have a boy." Ann jumped to her feet. Her top lip curled. "I'll never bear any stupid, weak girls like you."
Keeping her gaze down, Belle stirred the coals under the pot. Girls were a blessing. They didn't have to become warriors. And so far, her youngest two hadn't wanted to learn the Warrior Way. Please, God, let them never want to.
"Maybe I'll ask to be trained as a 'Vider. I can do it."
Belle bit her lip. She shouldn't help the girl, shouldn't but... she was so young. "I wouldn't ask if I were you."
Ann's hands fisted at her side. "I'm not weak like you. I'd be a good 'Vider. The best."
The hide snapped. From the corner of her eye, Belle watched her 'Vider saunter out. His green gaze skimmed Ann to land on Belle. Blunt fingers trailed down his coarse, woven shirt and he adjusted himself through the dark blue trousers. Her attention shifted to the white stripe on his shirt and her stomach cramped.
That patch had been her first time weaving human hair into cloth.
Her dead parents had provided the material.
Ann skipped to his side and plastered herself against this chest. "I have something to tell you."
Pushing the girl away, he focused on Belle's stomach. "Later."
Apparently, this morning's bump and grind hadn't sated his appetites. She added another twig to the fire. Her skin tightened around her frame. She could get through this once more. She had to. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other women scurry away from their morning fires.
Ann stumbled a few steps then found her footing. Running, she caught up with him and latched onto his arm. "But it's such good news, I--"
He punched her in the face.
Blood poured from her nose and her head snapped back. Ann blinked, raised her hands and stroked the crimson. "Why? I--"
Oh, God, the girl didn’t know enough to back down. Belle swallowed the bile in her mouth and turned her attention to the pot.
"Mirabelle!" He shouted. "Watch!"
Vision blurring, Belle turned. Think of your daughters. Their soft black hair when you brush it.
Her 'Vider spun on his heel and kicked Ann in the stomach.
Gasping, the girl doubled over.
"You are not to speak unless I let you." He slammed his clasped fists on her back.
Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel Page 3
