Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

  The first man lowered his brother to a patch of dirt in front of the fire. "I'm Tino, and this here's Quinn."

  Quinn groaned. Blood oozed between the thick fingers pressed against his large thigh. The strip of cloth tied around his leg was stained crimson. Only the edges told of its original white color. Between the layers of fabric and his fingers jutted an inch of wood.

  "Lee." No way he’d introduce his granddaughter. Returning the sling to his pocket, he slowly bent over and picked up his spoon. Wiping it off, he stroked the handle. Maybe he could drive it into one of their eyes while they slept. The healthy one would have to go first. "How'd he get hurt?"

  "We were attacked." Tino's small nose twitched. Eying the pot of beans, he licked the spittle from the corners of his mouth.

  "Attacked?" Lee tapped his spoon against his plate. None of the strangers had mentioned violence, only the cancer and the cure in Abaddon.

  Swaying, Quinn blinked then toppled over to the side. His red hand dropped to the ground, fingers up. It lay twitching like a spider in its death throes.

  Tino stared at the pot.

  "Who attacked you?" And got the better of them. Must have been quite a formidable force. Or a very lucky one.

  Tino shook his head. "Raiders." The man's attention dropped to Sammy's plate.

  Lee followed his gaze. Hot damn! She'd eaten half of her food. The trip was an answered prayer. “How many were there?”

  Drool glistened on Tino’s chin.

  Well, shit. Lee wasn’t going to get answers unless he fed the clod. He eyed the pot then the man. It might be enough, especially since Tino seemed to have forgotten about his twin. But it wouldn’t be free. “If you tell us the way to Abaddon, I’ll give you the rest of the beans.”

  Tino wiped at the moisture. “Abaddon?”

  Great, the idiot brothers must be as lost as he. Lee reached for the spoon in the pot. Well, he wasn’t going to waste his supplies. No telling when he’d get to Abaddon, to Sammy’s cure.

  Tino’s attention shifted to Sammy, slipped from her bruised features to her swollen belly.

  Lee turned the spoon in his hand. If the fool made one move on his granddaughter...

  “You don’t want Abaddon, you want Dark Hope. They can fix her.”

  Dark Hope still existed? His ancestors said they’d buried the city and its wicked inhabitants living deep in the bowels of the Earth. Lee sucked in a breath. Tino must be mistaken. “We were told Abaddon had the cure.”

  Sammy raised her half-full plate in offering.

  Tino licked his lips and gently lifted it free. “Abaddon has the rails. They guide the train to Dark Hope. To the cure.” He scraped the spoon around the plate and mounded it with beans.

  Hugging her legs, Sammy set her chin on her knees. “They have a train?”

  “Uh-huh.” Tino shoved the wad of beans to the side of his mouth as he spoke. “It goes faster than the fastest horses but makes no sound.”

  “Have you ridden on it?”

  The big man dropped to the ground next to her. “Uh-huh. I went to Dark Hope with my sister. She was like you.” He rounded his hand over his stomach. "And sick all the time. If we touched her, she would cry, and Quinn and me would get in trouble.”

  Lee leaned forward. The spoon slipped against his palm. Could the cure really last? Others had healed her before, but the sickness always came back. “How is your sister now?”

  “Mean.” Quinn corralled the rest of the beans against the side of his plate. “But she don’t get sick no more. And she has three kids, all of ‘em healthy.”

  “Ha! That’s good news, very good news.” Lee finished his beans. He said he’d go to Hell and back to make Sammy well again. Guess the devil was taking him up on the offer. A Neville in Dark Hope, a hundred years after their banishment. Don’t that beat all.

  “What was it like?”

  Balancing the spoon on his dirty knee, Tino licked the plate. Sauce smudged his nose when he looked at Sammy. “Real clean. Their roads of the ancients aren’t broken but one big black chunk. There’s flowers and trees everywhere, and they have birds flying about.” He pointed to her slingshot. “But you’re not allowed to eat ‘em. So don’t shoot ‘em.”

  “Did it hurt?” She squared her thin shoulders but couldn’t stop the quiver in her chin. “The cure, I mean.”

  “Nah. Sissy says she went to sleep and when she woke up, her belly was gone. ‘Course, she slept for days, but then she started teasing us like before, and she didn’t get spotted no more.”

  No more bruises. No more Corpse Belly. And energy to tease and laugh. If it wasn’t for the place’s name, Lee would call it Heaven. He opened his canteen and poured a little water around the dish. But they weren't there yet.

  He had to cast their roles. With these raiders about, Sammy would need a little more protection than just him. “If you take us to Abaddon to catch this train, I’ll try to stop your brother from bleeding to death.”

  Tino blinked and stared at his brother as if just remembering he was on the ground beside him. “You can fix Quinn?”

  “I can try.” After all, Lee had put men in worse shape when he was digging for answers. It shouldn’t be too hard to patch him up. He’d done it before, when his interviewees had tried to die before giving up the information he knew they possessed. “But you have to take me to Abaddon, whether he lives or dies.”

  Tino nodded. “You save him and I’ll put you on the train myself.”

  “Deal. Why don’t you finish off those beans while I prepare.” Lee drank the water off his plate then rose. His joints popped and creaked. “Sammy, you rest now.”

  She bit the quilt binding and stretched out on her blankets.

  He knew she would watch. It was pretty much the only thing she could do given her condition. Crossing to the wagon, he shifted the stacks of provision aside and unburied his kit. The contents of the metal box rattled as he lifted it. Rust and other dark stains colored the chipped gray finish.

  Standing by the fire, Tino shoveled beans from the pile on his plate into his mouth.

  Lee shuffled to Quinn’s side and set the toolbox on the ground. Flicking open the latches, he lifted the lid. Shiny silver tools overflowed the pockets. He parted the upper trays and reached inside. Soft fabric cushioned his fingers as he pulled out the bundle. Unrolling it, he considered the blades. The long flat one should do it. He removed it from the slot and lay the tip in the fire. Next, he examined the wound. “An arrow?”

  Tino nodded.

  “You’re in luck. I had plenty of practice removing arrows during our production of William Tell.” Lee pushed aside the wrenches. Where had it gone to? Ahh. He spied the familiar black spike in the corner and brushed the dust off it. His favorite tool. Good on both men and women. “You ever hear of William Tell?”

  “Nope.” Tino sucked bits of food out of his teeth.

  Definitely savages. “He was a famous archer. Our actors weren’t. At least not at first.” Selecting another knife from the pouch, he cut off the bandage. Blood trickled from around the arrow.

  Quinn moaned and shifted his leg.

  So he hadn’t passed out from the pain. He would soon. In the meantime... “I’ll need you to hold your brother down. I can’t have him moving while I’m working.”

  Lee had ropes in his wagon, but the camp wasn’t as conducive to tying someone down as his old workbench had been. He caught his granddaughter’s eye. Still, Sammy was worth a little inconvenience.

  Handing his empty dish to her, Tino stretched across his twin’s torso. “I can hold him like this.”

  “That’ll work.” Lee straddled the injured leg. An inch of the arrow's shaft jutted from one side, but he didn’t see anything on the other. He probed the wound and Quinn’s leg bounced underneath him. “I don’t feel the arrowhead.”

  “I broke it off. Quinn couldn’t walk.”

  “As long as it isn’t still in there.” Sister Barbara had died when he’d tried to pull the tip
out of her. He selected a pair of pliers and latched onto the shaft. Clamping down, he pulled and twisted.

  Muscle bunched. Quinn’s leg bucked.

  The wood slurped and blood bubbled free with every half-inch it moved. Sweat beaded Lee’s forehead. He hoped the guy passed out soon. With him tense, his thigh muscles held the shaft. Two inches of wood showed before Quinn moaned and collapsed. Another heave, and the wood came free with a wet pop.

  Blood gushed from the wound.

  Lee tossed the souvenir into the fire where it snapped and hissed. Using the bloody pliers, he grabbed the glowing red spike and drilled it into the wound. The air reeked of burnt hair and roasting meat. After a minute, he jerked the metal free and reached for the hot scalpel to finish cauterizing.

  Tino rolled back onto his knees, picked up his brother’s hand and cleaned the dirt off of it. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “We’ll know in the morning.” Lee retrieved a heavy blanket from the wagon and tossed it to Tino. “Keep him warm and pray.”

  But one way or another, they were heading to Abaddon in the morning.

  Chapter 16

  Belle’s hands fluttered around her body. Vomit dripped from her ‘Vider’s face. Oh no! Now, she’d be taught a lesson in front of everyone. Bracing for the blow that was sure to come, she held her breath and swiped at the black goo.

  North slowly lowered her to the ground. Shaking off her touch, he threw back his head and laughed.

  Belle’s legs trembled. He’d often laughed when he was his most savage, but not like this. That laugh curled her hair and raised goosebumps.

  Scenting the blood in the air, the other ‘Viders angled closer.

  He swiped the mess from his eyes then spit near her bare feet. “You threw-up on me that first day I claimed you. It is a good sign as we begin as ‘Viders together.”

  Belle felt her jaw go slack. He wasn’t going to beat her? He remembered the first time they met? Someone nudged her arm. She shifted her attention.

  Cradling Belle’s infant son in one arm, Nattie offered her a damp cloth with her free hand.

  Accepting it, Belle cleaned North’s forehead, then moved down his cheeks.

  Marshall Zuni circled closer until she stood behind Belle’s shoulder. “You’re a ‘Vider now. Viders don’t do menial work.”

  North’s eyes narrowed.

  But Belle wasn’t, not really. Sure, her new found status may stop them from killing her outright, but there were other ways to die. She just had to look at how they treated Nattie. Belle stilled for a moment then continued to clean him. As long as North was around, as long as she still held his favor, she would be safe.

  Her children would be safe.

  Belle finished with his face and picked up his hands. She had to remain with him to survive.

  “Perhaps, you are not fit to be a ‘Vider,” Marshall hissed.

  North’s fingers curled into fists.

  Belle eased them open. Her anger had dulled to acceptance so long ago but the resentment... She faced the Head Provider fully. Around her the other ‘Viders watched, licked their lips as if tasting the violence in the air. Obviously, this was some kind of test. Thankfully, it wasn’t a physical one. Tribute turned ‘Viders weren’t allowed to fight.

  She fell back on the words that had surrounded her since her arrival, words that hadn’t applied to her before now. “‘Viders take care of family. North is my family. We are tied by blood. The blood of our children.”

  Hatred glowed like banked coals in Marshall’s eyes.

  North shifted behind Belle, placed a callused hand on her shoulder.

  She raised her chin despite the fear trailing icy tendrils down her spine.

  Tension drained from the air, leaving only pockets of animosity behind. Men and women shifted then began peeling off in handfuls.

  “Let’s go see the tribute.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find one like Mirabelle among them.”

  Belle shuddered. As much as she wanted the new arrivals to survive, she wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.

  North moved in front of her, his brows drawn. “Our sons return from shopping.”

  She nodded and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. There would be no avoiding the newcomers’ arrival. Not as a newly ordained ‘Vider; not as a mother of two warriors. “I shall be there to welcome them.”

  After one last look, he strode away.

  Turning to Nattie, Belle bit her lip and hugged her son close. The downy swirls of hair smelled like soap——clean. Tears stung her eyes and her nose. The babe was innocent. He shouldn’t see what his future held, what he would eventually become. Just for a little while, she could pretend life was different.

  “Shall I take him?” Nattie held out her thin arms.

  Belle kissed her son’s head, imagined a real home, one made of bricks, not fabric. A husband with calluses on his hands not from wielding weapons but plows and threshers. Maybe those little fantasies of hers were how the madness started. Handing over her son, she dried her eyes. “I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

  Nattie cradled the boy, protected his face from the wind. “Will you choose?”

  Choose a tribute of her own. Someone to boss around, beat and torture. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Be careful. It’s easy to become a traitor.”

  “I know.” They had talked often of claimed tributes participating in the ‘Viders brutality. It was like their mind broke from too many beatings and they wanted to see others suffer worse than them. “My daughters?”

  “I shall keep them busy.”

  Wooden legs carried Belle toward the ‘Viders. Rounding the tents, she staggered. A cramp seized her stomach, more blood trickled down her thighs. Nattie’s vile potion hadn’t completely cured her. Holding her stomach, she stood at the fringe of the crowd.

  Children raced up and down the street. Two ‘Viders checked the barbed wire of the holding pens. Dark stains on the dirt marred where the last two tributes had been slaughtered——Ann’s parents. Belle searched the crowd for the girl, found her near the front of the line.

  As expected, a handful of tributes waited behind their owners, craning their necks to see those arriving. The group formed a tight knot.

  Interesting. The newcomers usually stretched in a long line, weary from the journey. Was their village close? She had seen a column of smoke in the distance.

  Marshall stalked over, pinched Belle’s arm in a vise-like grip. “What are you doing back here, Mirabelle? You need to be beside me.”

  Belle steeled herself from shrinking away. She had to be strong, for her children’s sake. “I wouldn’t think of standing next to you, Head Provider. This is your first home delivery.”

  “You’ve already tied yourself to me.” Marshall spat. “Now, we’ll see if you are truly worthy of being a ‘Vider.” Digging her fingers into Belle’s muscles, Marshall dragged her toward the front of the crowd. “You will have the honor of choosing the first tribute to serve as our communal meal.”

  God, no! Anything but that. She couldn’t do this. But what were her options? Return to being tribute? She had to think of her babies.

  She had to think of a way out of this.

  “Head Provider, I——” The blaring of the horn drowned out her words. Probably a good thing. She had no idea what words could help her escape the ‘honor’.

  North slanted a glance at them as Marshall pushed Belle into the cluster of ‘Viders. For once, they didn’t grope her. Instead the four men and two women shifted aside to make room. Body armor clanked together. Heart racing, Belle slid through the odor of sweat and death into an opening near North. Tension bound her shoulders tight. Darkness tinged her vision and she remembered to breathe.

  He clucked her under the chin and forced her gaze to meet his.

  “I am supposed to choose the communal meal.” Bitterness flooded her mouth and her voice cracked on the last word. She’d experienced the welcoming ceremony only once——when sh
e had been the tribute. Clammy sweat trickled from her hairline. She hadn’t been able to stomach it again.

  Especially when her parents and brother had been part of it.

  North’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead before crashing down. Spearing Marshall with a glance, his green eyes darkened and whispered for Belle’s ears only. “Do not pick the first male to speak. He will be the Lesson.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. The Lesson. Young Jeremy Taylor had been the lesson for her group of Tributes. She trembled. He’d tried to stop North from taking her. North’s warm hand wrapped around hers before he squeezed. Pain rocketed up her arm, clanged warning bells inside her head.

  He eased closer and stared down at her. “Pick a male, young and strong. Prime meat.”

  Prime meat. She raised her hand to her throat and was surprised she couldn’t feel the wad of sorrow lodged there. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk among the strangers and chose one to die. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  North tightened his grip.

  Her fingers went numb.

  “To refuse would be an insult.”

  And insulting the Head Provider was punishable by death. Belle knew it wouldn’t be hers. It would be her new baby, John. Named after her father. She inhaled a shaky breath. “Male. Young. Prime...”

  She wouldn’t say meat.

  He nodded and stepped back.

  The group had reached the camp. The newcomers had stopped to look around. She remembered it all. Dusty, worn tents. A slops ditch a hundred feet away. Crude cooking fires. This wasn’t the famed Dark Hope; this was worse than what she’d left behind.

  Their jaws slacked, and hope drained away. If only that was the worst they faced. And then she heard it.

  “Is this our new home, Mama?”

  Belle wanted to turn away but couldn’t. Mama. A child. Children were the first to be selected——better than prime cuts, they were a delicacy.

  The little boy clung to his mother’s hand, bounced eagerly at her side.

  “I don’t know child.” Wearing a worn blue jumpsuit, she pushed her long, black hair out of her face.