Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

  He adjusted his pack. “So what’s the plan when we get there?”

  “Rule number one: don’t make plans.”

  The stench lessened as they approached the edge of the slums. A cramped road opened into fields. Bright green sprouted from the black loam. Farm houses squatted in the center of plowed squares.

  “Rule number one, have a back-up plan.”

  “Oh, I do.” She grinned at him.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  The railroad tracks lay two fields away, black ribbons shimmering in the sun. A white nose poked out of an opening in Abaddon’s stone fence. With a high-pitched rev, the engine shot out, dragging four coaches and two freight cars behind.

  “We’ll have to wait for the next train.”

  Sera continued her march, focused on the switching station ahead. The small building would have passed as a telephone box before the apocalypse. Now, it was just rundown enough to be ignored.

  He grabbed her elbow. “They’ll have shut the gate by the time we get there, and I seriously doubt they’re gonna open it again, if we just ask.”

  “How many times have you snuck into the city this way?”

  “Five or six.”

  She laughed. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “In the last year. The mayor doesn’t like me much. Doesn’t like anyone much.” He fingered the tattoos on his neck. “If you have money, he wants it. If you don’t, he tries to lock you up. Sell you as labor.”

  “I see.” That fact hadn’t been discovered in her research. A lot of things hadn’t been. How much had been sanitized by people who didn't want to remember?

  “Do you really think your people will get involved?”

  “Slavery and cannibalism aren’t something our Cabinet would condone.” She threaded a path through the rows of corn, careful to avoid stepping on the new shoots.

  “Then why haven’t they done anything until now?”

  “Our scientists want to study how our cultures diverged.” It was a poor answer, one that made her a little ashamed. But it wasn't all Dark Hope's fault. The new arrivals weren't telling the whole story either.

  “How many more people have to die before their study is finished?” He growled.

  She set her hand on his arm. Not a soft spot in his corded muscles. Light winked from the top of the fence. The guards were watching. Fortunately, she had a plan for that. “Some of us are trying to change things. But few are willing to come forward. They fear for their families, still out here.”

  “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.”

  She grabbed his shirt and backed him up against the switching station.

  Raising his hands, he cupped her arms. “I counted four guards. All watching you.”

  Angling her head so the guards would think she was kissing him, she pressed her body against his then yanked his shirt from his pants. “When we get inside, I need you to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t live long enough to miss those bits you fantasized about being minced.”

  Pushing him away, she crooked her finger then marched to the door.

  Harlan hitched up his trousers and flipped the flightless bird to the guards.

  “Nice.” She opened the access panel and pressed her palm against the reader. Locks tumbled and the door sprang open.

  “Didn’t want them to think we were up to anything other than sex.” He ran his hand down the steel-plated door.

  A soft hum filled the tiny square room. She stepped inside. Her reflection wavered on the stainless steel walls. “Stand as close to me as you can.”

  Frowning, he joined her. His large feet bracketed hers. The door swung closed behind him. “Now what?”

  “Just wait.”

  He glanced at the walls. “If this goes on much longer, I’m gonna have a hard time living up to this record.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve only been in here thirty seconds.”

  He winked.

  The floor shifted and slowly began to drop.

  He latched onto her shoulders, dug in his hands. “I don’t think this is very stable.”

  “Relax, it’s an elevator.”

  His grip tightened for a moment, then he let her go. “You could have warned me.”

  “Rule number one of the Outlanders, always keep score of who wronged you and when. It’s not good to be out of balance.” And the whole shirt incident counted twice because he had looked and dodged her stun-gun.

  His eyes narrowed. “I hate that rule.”

  The elevator coasted to a stop and the door opened behind him.

  Sera caught the flash of a gun barrel before it was drilled into Harlan’s temple. “Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  Chapter 22

  Harlan raised his hands. Well, shit. This is what he got for trusting someone——a gun pointed at his head and a giggling woman. He should have known there was something funny going on, when she acted all innocent, then proceeded to kick his ass. Fool that he was, he'd even fallen for her Dark Hope fairy tales...

  Guess his men's deaths had knocked him stupid.

  "Step out of the elevator, real slow." The man with the weapon retreated a foot. White hair bristled on his chin and in short spikes over his head. Lines trailed from the corner of his eyes, met up with the grooves of his feral smile. "Wouldn't want my gun to accidentally go off. Brains and blood are hard to scrub off the stainless steel."

  Sera snorted before chuckling again.

  Harlan hoped they were enjoying themselves. Especially her. Eventually, he'd get the upper hand then he'd be the one laughing. He stepped off the elevator, felt the darkness close around him. Christ, he could reach both walls of the tunnel by raising his hands, and the ceiling wasn't much taller than his own six feet. "Congratulations, Peaches."

  Somewhere in the distance water dripped. A string of white lights disappeared down the narrow throat. The air tasted musty but fresh. A small draft brushed his face. Good news for him——there must be another way out.

  Shoving his shoulder, she squeezed past. "Oh, stop pouting. You know rule number one. Never trust someone until they've proven trustworthy."

  He shrugged. He kinda thought her attempt to rescue the girl tribute in the forest had proven that. Guess he was wrong. Being wrong sucked. He clamped his lips together.

  Rising on tiptoe, she kissed the gunman's weathered cheek. "Hello, Uncle. I see you received my distress code."

  Uncle? Christ, if she told him about the whole shirts off ploy, his favorite bits were in serious danger. Harlan shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Thankfully, he still had his knives up his sleeves. If he had to go, he’d go fighting. He excelled at that in close quarters.

  "I did." Uncle's bushy eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose. "But I didn't realize it would be over him."

  Oh, now, that was insulting. People whispered his name out of fear. Still, he might be able to use their ignorance to his advantage. "Obviously, there's been some mistake. I'll just leave the way I came."

  The door shut behind him.

  "Don't dismiss him so easily, Uncle. He killed two people. Silently."

  Now, she defended him? He straightened. She'd still have to pay for her betrayal, just maybe not so much. "I could just have gotten lucky."

  "We know all about you, Harlan Westminster. And have wanted to talk to you for a long time."

  They knew his name. His skin tightened. Who, besides everyone he knew, had he pissed off? He shrugged. "I'm not much for conversation."

  "I think you'll make an exception for me." Uncle holstered his weapon and held out his hand. "Joseph Dawson, Head of Dark Hope's Security forces."

  Harlan stared at the hand. Was this some kind of trick? What the hell. As long as they weren't cutting him up for information, he'd go along with them. Besides, he'd really like to learn just what was being said about him. He slid his palm against the other man's.

 
; Dawson's grip was strong, sure, but not crushing. "How did my niece convince you to come in from the cold?"

  It wasn't cold outside. It was nearly summer, planting time. "She promised me a warm bed and——"

  "That is my niece!” Dawson slammed him against the wall and jammed the gun into his nose.

  Harlan raised his hands. Damn, the man was fast.

  "It was bad enough you gave everyone a show on the way here, but I will not have you objectifying Sera for your personal pleasure. Got it?"

  How the heck had they known about that? She must have told him in some secret hand maneuver. At least his gut hadn't been wrong. The protective streak ran deep in both of them. With them at his back, he might finally find his sister and put an end to the 'Viders.

  "Oh, for pity's sake!" Sera tugged on her uncle's arm. "You know how easily Outlanders are distracted by sex. We used it to our advantage."

  Dawson's eyes narrowed. The weapon lowered just a smidge. "Seems to me you could have just shot them with the stun-gun and be done with it."

  "And leave trace behind?" She pushed her uncle's shoulder before finally wedging herself between them. "There was a chance the bodies would be found. The TSG-17’s scorch marks are unique. Word might have gotten back to Dark Hope, and then we would be accused of fomenting revolution."

  Her hair tickled his chin and Harlan smoothed it out of the way.

  Dawson's jaw clenched, but he eased his weapon back into the holster on his hip. "And whose idea was it to take your top off?"

  Harlan stilled. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Never had balancing the books looked so good.

  "Mine."

  Damn. She lied, and to her uncle no less. Harlan scratched his upper lip to disguise his smile. These Dark Hopians held potential after all.

  Easing free of them, she stalked down the tunnel. "Now can we get on with the debriefing?"

  Harlan fell in behind her. The backpack hung just above her ass. It was a nice view, and better yet, it would piss off her uncle.

  Dawson cleared his throat. "Why did you decide to pay us a visit, Westminster?"

  Pausing by another door, Sera set her hand on the small black box next to the jamb. It flashed green then the wheel in the center of the door turned on its own.

  "The 'Viders have his sister, and something happened to his men." She tugged on the wheel and the door hissed open.

  His jaw went slack. He may have mentioned his sister, but he hadn't said anything about his men.

  She grinned at him. "Rule one: Don't engage the enemy without a friend or five at your back."

  Dawson pushed him inside. "I thought rule one was if it isn't about survival, it's about sex."

  "They're all rule one, Uncle. It's kinda fun."

  Puddles formed on the concrete floor before channeling into the drain. The floor vibrated just a bit and water gurgled through a pipe.

  Harlan glanced up. Rust pimpled the grayish ceiling. They were under the river. He rubbed his hands together. Hot damn. With such marvels, the 'Viders didn't stand a chance.

  Dawson swore. "Frost, too?"

  They knew about Frost? Well, hell they knew about him and the naked Sera show, they probably knew he didn't wear drawers under his pants. Frost had always kidded him about it. Grief lodged in Harlan's throat and he jerked his head once.

  "Damn, I wanted to shake that man's hand. You two did some great work together."

  Sera opened the next door. "I am sorry about the loss of your men."

  That and a gold ring would buy him a drinking binge. To his surprise, a spiral stairway soared in the small chamber on the other side.

  Sera's footsteps tapped the metal as she climbed.

  He followed a little slower. This view was even better.

  Dawson prodded his back. "Our files don't include any references to family. How long has your sister been gone?"

  Harlan kept his pace steady. "Years."

  "How do you know she's still alive?" Dawson set a hand on Harlan's pack and shoved.

  Yeah, yeah. He picked up his pace. They were nearly to the top anyway. "I'd know." He thumped his chest. "Here."

  The knock sounded hollow, empty.

  Dawson grunted.

  Opening the next door, Sera marched through. "Where are we debriefing?"

  "War room." Dawson slammed the door shut behind them and checked to make certain it was locked. "If Harry here spills his guts in front of everyone, then it'll save me from having to repeat it."

  "Harlan, not Harry." Only his sister called him Harry. Until she was found, he was Harlan. Only Harlan.

  They walked down a long hall, closed doors on either side each with a hand pad next to them. Mirrored bubbles hung from the smooth ceiling. Aside from a draft coming from a metal vent, everything was silent. Even their footsteps. He glanced at the thick tan carpeting. This stuff was pretty handy.

  "Fair enough, Harlan." Dawson drawled out the name.

  Sera opened the door in the middle of the passageway and drew up short.

  Harlan slammed into her back, grabbed her shoulders to steady her, then looked up. Another Sera just as she'd been——stripped at the waist, back arched and breasts jutting forward. She looked good.

  Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one looking.

  Four men filled the room, each staring at the image as it tightened on her chest.

  In one smooth motion, he removed his pack and hurled it at the fake Sera. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? Where is your professionalism?"

  All four men jumped. One flew to a desk and frantically pounded on the top. The image disappeared.

  "If anyone, anywhere ever sees that picture again, I will personally force feed your testicles to every man in this room." Dawson's voice was soft, deadly.

  Harlan nodded. He would take care of the other bits.

  Sera squeezed her eyes shut and shook herself. When she opened her eyes, a determined glint shone from their depths. She removed her pack and set it on a table. "Thackery, if you could bring up a map of the area."

  "Yes, ma'am." The man who'd pounded the desk nodded. A blush stained his lean features and he didn't glance in Sera's direction.

  Harlan cracked his knuckles. He knew Thackery. Hell, he knew the other three as well——Mayfair with his blond hair and perfect smile that needed to be messed up just a little, Kennedy had dark, curly hair and an irritating swagger, and Martin had brown hair and ice blue eyes that needed to be blackened. They had taken his gold to ferry the rescued tribute out of the 'Viders reach. If they were such do-gooders, why had they accepted payment? His hands curled into fists. "Where do you send the tribute?"

  The wall picture flashed images of the land as seen from a bird. A flying bird. He recognized the river's snaking blue line, Abaddon's circle and rectangular patches of farms. The top ones were planted, brimming with life, but the ones below were fallow, forgotten. From up high, he could even see where the ancient roads had been.

  He traced it to the bottom but didn't find where the road had branched off toward his old village. Not that it mattered. His father was dead. His mother was dead. His brother was dead. Who cared if anything remained of his old home?

  "We take the people to one of our Burbs." Clearing his throat, Dawson shoved a chair at Harlan. The wheels squeaked as it rolled over the carpet.

  Harlan stopped it with his foot then perched on the table near Sera. "How many Burbs do you have?"

  She rolled her eyes. "There are twenty-three cities in the Confederation. Each accepts a share of the people you save. The gold you pay funds our mission here, gets guards to look the other way when we smuggle folks aboard the train to ship them out."

  Thackery tapped on his table again. Abaddon shrunk smaller and smaller until blue appeared on the sides and bottom. Pacific Ocean, Atlantic Ocean, and Gulf of Mexico shimmered on the blue. Red bubbles freckled the land.

  Words he'd seen in the animal book. Harlan picked Dark Hope out near the center. He gripped the desk to k
eep from sliding off. "Is that all that's left?"

  The world before the Redaction had seemed so big.

  Thackery and Mayfair chuckled.

  Sera pinned them with a glare and they choked on their laughter. "That's North America. There are six more continents around the globe."

  He nodded. Good, that was good.

  "Save the history lesson." Dawson stabbed the air with his index finger. "Tell me why the hell you deviated from the plan and jumped ship? Literally."

  Ho! Harlan shifted off the desk and plopped into the seat next to her. "She didn't jump. She——"

  Sera kicked him in the shin. "I——"

  Dawson shook his head. "Since you are so fond of speaking for each other, let him finish Serendipity."

  "Yes, sir." She swallowed. Hard. Her attention remained fixed ahead.

  Harlan rubbed his sore leg. If he kept the secret of her being pushed from the airship, then she would owe him. He liked the idea of her owing him.

  "Stop grinning like a baboon, Westminster, and tell me how my officer fell into your wandering hands."

  Twisting in his seat, Harlan faced the men. He'd let the comparison to the primate slip, but he was damn sure his ass never turned blue despite having nearly frozen to death a couple times. "She caught a parachute and floated safely to the ground."

  Dawson grunted. "And how did she happen to get a TSG-17 when they were supposed to be recycled months ago?"

  Harlan shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know? He'd never heard of the things 'til she tried to shoot the 'Vider.

  Sera cleared her throat. "It was in the crate that I followed to the ground. I don't know how many were unloaded before I discovered it, but I'd estimate at least four."

  "Manifest!" Dawson pounded on the table.

  Thackery jumped. Another picture appeared next to the map. "All items were recorded as delivered."

  "It's possible one of the crew is involved." She combed her hair into a ponytail. "They would have been able to load more cargo without anyone questioning it."