No one would think to look under an outhouse floorboard near the stable's manure pile. The stench alone practically made her eyes bleed.
He whipped around, hands fisted at his sides. "Gold is trouble."
At least, he hadn't said she was trouble. Let's face it. She needed him a little more than he needed her. Navigating the Outlands proved trickier than building a house on quicksand. If this was her only official taste of freedom, she had to make it count.
She had to find out if those stun-guns were meant for the 'Viders or Neville's descendants in Sanctuary.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I should have trusted my gut and not ordered those prostitutes. Killing the guards would have been better."
She shivered. Objectively, she understood killing was sometimes necessary, but he spoke of it so casually, like the weather. "We could have just shot them with stun-guns."
But he'd refused. How he justified blowing things up instead of quietly zapping them, she didn't know.
And he wouldn't explain, my world, my rules, he'd said.
If he repeated the phrase, she might not be able to stop herself from shoving the words back down his throat. She couldn't remember what she didn't understand, especially without rules attached.
"The explosives are our last resort. I don't want anyone knowing what they can do, let alone that we have them." He stared west down the remains of Interstate Seventy. "They could take ‘em and use ‘em against us."
"They might take them, but they can't use them." She stared at the city wall. Did someone just lower themselves over the side? The vegetation rustled. "The trigger requires your fingerprint. It won't fire unless you pull the trigger."
And if the bad guys tried to shoot them, a feedback charge would knock them out. A win-win scenario. She stroked the stun-gun's round barrel. Unfortunately, the TSG-17's didn't have that feature; otherwise she would have keyed them all to her touch, then returned to collect the unconscious bodies.
The bushes behind Harlan rustled. Spinning about, he waited for the new threat. A blade glimmered in his right hand.
Sera switched her flashlight to a dull yellow setting, then twisted the body to turn it on.
The beam fell on a young man's face. Huffing and puffing, he shielded his eyes and stumbled onto the road. "Oh, thank God you haven't left."
"You lost kid?" Harlan placed himself in front of her without blocking the light.
Bending over, the young man braced his hands on his knees and panted for breath. "Nope. Found you. Harlan. Westminster."
Harlan stiffened. "Wayne send you?"
The young man shook his head. "No. Came to help."
The Abaddon train station logo appeared on the breast pocket of his blue uniform, but the shirt was several sizes too big. Add in the softness of the guy's hands, and something didn't add up. Maybe Wayne had betrayed them. Sera balanced her weight then shifted her best foot forward. If the man tried anything, she would be ready.
"You're going to free... the tributes." He straightened and licked his lips. "I'm going with you."
"Sorry, kid, I already have all the men I need." Angling his body, Harlan shoved the blade back up his sleeve without the young man seeing.
"Not kid. Otto. Otto Brass." Otto focused on Sera. "And I can take that guy. What do you think the 'Viders will do to him?" He thumped his narrow chest. "You need me."
Harlan snorted. "Go back to your fancy mansion, Brass, or I'll let her whip your candy ass seven ways ‘til Sunday."
Sera squared her shoulders. Ha! Harlan knew she could take the kid.
Otto speared her with a glance. "Her? You're risking a breeder?"
Harlan crossed his arms over his chest. "She's my breeder. She goes where I go, does what I say, speaks only when I give permission."
She gritted her teeth. She understood that women didn't account for much in the Outlands, but so help her God, if he peed on her to mark his territory, she'd personally feed him his testicles.
Then she'd work her way through all the other jackwagons she encountered until there was nothing left in Abaddon but eunuchs.
And on assholes like Wayne, she'd use a dull blade.
"Right, Peaches?"
Bastard. "Your wish is my command." She bared her teeth, watched the sarcasm sail over his head.
"Now, go back to your mansion and count your gold, Brass. The Outlands are no place for a spoiled little rich kid." Harlan studied his chipped nails.
Otto sputtered. His face turned red.
The man was on a roll. He'd insulted everyone in the vicinity and it wasn't even dawn. He viewed it as a gift. She hoped it didn't get him killed before she completed her mission.
Screaming, Otto charged.
Harlan kicked him in the stomach then slammed his clasped fists on the kid's spine.
Gasping for breath, Otto collapsed onto the road.
Crouching, Harlan grabbed a fistful of hair and raised Otto's head. "Go. Home."
Otto curled into a fetal position. "I can't. His honor claimed our house and all our belongings. Sent my mother and brother to the 'Viders. If I show up, he'll have me arrested, too. I have to save them."
God, his family had been given to the 'Viders. A sour taste flooded Sera's mouth. She started to stoop, to offer comfort.
"Going in hot under the collar will get you killed. Do you think your mother or brother would want that?" Harlan cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the west.
Six horsemen rode toward their position. A wagon followed closely behind. Wayne was coming.
Otto scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks, smeared mud over his skin. "I'm dead anyway."
"Yeah, well, you may be, but I plan to live another day." Harlan stepped back. "Now get."
Sera clamped her lips together. Did he have to be so cruel?
He gripped her arm, pinned her to his side and whispered between clenched teeth. "One word and I send you back to your uncle."
She nodded, every muscle in her body tighter than an over-wound violin string.
"Go on." Harlan kicked the ground, spraying dirt on Otto.
With one arm wrapped around his waist, the young man pushed to his feet. His features scrunched into a hard knot. "There's a reward for your arrest. I'll turn you in for it, unless you let me go with you."
Sera tasted his desperation. Maybe she could help him another way... Food, water, a place to stay.
Harlan squeezed her arm until her fingers tingled. "Do that, kid, and you'll be in Hell before me."
Otto's shoulders slumped. His bluff had been called. "What am I supposed to do? I have no gold, no friends I can trust...Nothing."
Harlan shoved him toward the shrubs. "Get to the Peterson's farm. Stay there. If your mother and brother are still alive, I'll send them there."
Sera blinked. He was helping the kid, going out of his way to help him. "You will?"
"You will?" Backing away, Otto bobbed up and down. "Once we regain our fortune, I'll pay you back. I promise. Name your price."
"Just don't get caught. It's a wonder he stayed alive this long." Harlan muttered under his breath.
Wayne's cortege was almost upon them by the time the kid disappeared into the brush.
"You're really going to help him?"
Harlan draped an arm around her shoulder and drew her against his side. "I didn't want you pestering me for the next few days repeating his sob story over, and over, and over again. This seemed to be the best way to shut you up."
He could keep saying that and maybe one of them would believe it. Flicking off the flashlight, Sera leaned against him. "Thank you."
"Don't get used to it."
Wayne drew his stallion to a halt five feet away. "If you're not finished with the breeder, the boys and I will wait."
She just bet they would. The perverts.
"What took you so long?" Harlan dragged her toward the wagon.
Nice animals. Quivering muscles and radiating heat. How odd that they weren’t hoarded by the rich
, and doled out to the favored, like the gold.
"The guards got themselves a nice piece of ass, and we decided they should share." Wayne adjusted himself, and the other five laughed. "Of course, once ain't enough for dipping some wicks, and we got a long way to go, if you've a mind to share. That's fresh hay in the back, shouldn't hurt her too much to help us pass the time."
The hair on Sera's nape stood at attention. Her fingers immediately dropped to her stun-gun. Oh, hell no.
Harlan shoved her up onto the bench. The driver shifted over and patted the board next to him. Through the darkness, she felt his leer. Bracing her hand on the seat back, she adjusted her weight as the wagon bucked under Harlan's weight.
He sprawled across the seat then pulled her onto his lap. "Any one of you get your wicks anywhere near her, I'll be having a weenie roast over your burning corpses."
Wayne chuckled.
It wasn't a pretty sound. Sera had a feeling the scum-bucket had viewed Harlan's threat as a challenge.
A challenge he thought he could best.
Kicking his heels into his mount's flanks, Wayne and his horse shot forward. The others followed, with the wagon bringing up the rear.
Harlan cupped her head and lowered it to his shoulder. "Sleep while you can."
Right. Like that was going to happen. Sera forced her eyes closed. But she had to try. Eventually Harlan would need to sleep, and she would have to be on guard.
Chapter 32
Standing on a thick tree branch, Marshall swung her leg over the stone wall and dropped to the ground. Crouching, she took in her surroundings. A narrow parapet, perfect for fighting, encircled Abaddon. Behind her, two guards bled out through the gash in their necks.
North lowered a third to the ground. Blood dripped from his long knife. "Do you wish to keep killing or use the lower ground to reach the mayor?"
She prodded the guard's jiggly belly. So much meat. Her stomach grumbled. Too bad she couldn't just have a little tidbit to tide her over. "We'll take this to the residential quarter, then the surface streets to the mayor's house."
North stepped back, allowing her to precede him.
As it should be. She took the lead, knowing the route. Desert on the right. Buildings on the left, lots of buildings with plenty of tributes inside. And farms in the distance to keep everyone plump and tender. "My 'Viders could grow fat with such abundance."
"If they survive the taking and keeping of Abaddon." He closed the distance between them as they approached the guard tower.
The fabric awning snapped in the wind but the flame under glass remained constant. She must possess this type of fire. Could it be used for cooking?
Her grip tightened on her dagger. "You doubt the skill of our people?"
"Not the skill. The tributes numbers would overwhelm us." He gestured to his hand.
Even in the dark hours of night, people roamed the streets. Some drove wagons brimming with produce. Others mounted the unclean animals, riding their backs. Women in a tribute's traditional long skirts strolled with basket in hand. All waited to be herded through the street, like the wooly animals they called sheep.
"Their numbers would ensure the lean times never came again." Marshall patted the wall. "This rampart will protect us and our food from raiders."
"We will kill the raiders."
"Yes, the raiders will die. As will the mayor." But Mother had been right. This was the promised land, waiting for someone to take over——waiting for her. "My people could live here. We would allow the tribute to grow their crops. Our food would always be plump, not like the wasted offerings we now get. And the succulent tender flesh of children..."
She wiped at the drool. The young would be plentiful and fat. But not just anyone would enjoy such a delicacy. Only those in her favor.
"We would have to call up our kin to the south."
Bah. Those 'Viders had chosen to stay in the land of sandstorms and merciless winds. They had not seen her father's vision. Why should they profit when her 'Viders had forged a path in these new lands?
She slanted a glance at North. Why should he profit when clearly he doubted her wisdom?
After the mayor died, so too, must North. Perhaps, she'd lay them side by side. Give the others here something to consider when her people showed up. The cowards would no doubt surrender when they spied the full 'Vider force.
Then they would be gutted, roasted and eaten in the green pockets in the city walls.
Slowing, she crept closer to the guard shack. A large man sat in a chair. His arms folded across his chest, head back, and mouth open. Asleep on the job.
Pressing a hand on his chest, she drove her blade under his ribs and into his heart. Warmth trickled over her fingers.
The guard went limp.
Removing her dagger, she licked the blood off the blade. Her stomach rumbled. A little snack couldn't hurt. Just something to chew on, so her hunger didn't betray her. She sliced off one ear then headed for the stairs leading below.
North tsked behind her but followed.
'Viders didn't eat on a mission. She resisted the urge to turn around and bury her weapon in his chest. She wasn't a 'Vider; she was the Head Provider. And she was hungry. Besides, he had eaten some jerky that bitch Mirabelle had packed for him while they were running in the desert.
Had he offered to share?
Of course, but he'd given her the smaller piece. She should have had the bigger one. Or she should have had it all.
Shoving open the door at the bottom of the stairs, she emerged into the city. The air stunk of plants and animals. Greenery closed in on her, and she batted aside the tree boughs. Multi-story buildings crowded the narrow streets. Clawing at her throat, she struggled to breathe. How did people live like this? Give her the open desert anytime.
North's attention darted back and forth across the road. "With these buildings, it will be hard to set up a defensible camp."
The fool. Could he not see the potential? How had she ever considered him serious competition for Head Provider? He lacked vision and sense. "We shall take this area over."
She gestured to the rows of houses. Their shiny openings reflected her image back to her. Tearing off a piece of ear, she chewed. These tribute had no sense of security, but that would change once her 'Viders moved in. The lower levels with their doors of glass would be blocked up. She'd order the plants ripped out, so she could see her enemy approach. Pickets would keep the tributes inside.
She could see it all.
The shining sun, meat roasting over glass-enclosed fires, and blood in the streets.
It would be the Great Spanner's promised land.
And Marshall would rule it.
They turned down the next street. Fountains of lights blazed around a sprawling white building. The mayor's house, just like Mother said.
Marshall clung to the shadows.
North tapped her on the shoulder and held up four fingers.
Four guards. Mother had been right again. They headed for the side closest to the sunrise. The living quarters. If Mother's streak held, the Mayor would be there.
Lights flickered inside and illuminated the front entry.
Someone was up.
With two fingers, she ordered North to cover the left flank. He branched off, disappearing through a break in the shrubbery. Marshall eased forward. Since they'd gone to all the trouble of turning on the lights, she wouldn't want to disappoint them.
Her footsteps whispered across the stone entry, stirring fallen leaves. Pausing by the door, she rested her free hand on the knob then glanced left and right.
North's hulking silhouette tossed a body onto the grass before he stopped by one of the windows and yanked up the sash.
Marshall opened the unlocked door and stepped into the wide entry. Reed mats muted her movements. High overhead, candlelight flicked from a mass of hanging glass shards. Eyes stared at her from the portraits on the wall. She ran her fingers over the etching attached to the wood frame.
>
Mayor Stanford Lake.
Dates were etched underneath.
Strolling down the hallway, she checked the pictures. Each had the same name but a number of 'I's distinguished the different faces, bearing, and clothing.
These were Abaddon's leaders.
Her likeness would grace these walls. Her children would rule.
Two doors down, North emerged, wiping fresh blood on his pant leg.
She hoped he hadn't killed the mayor. By rights, that honor should go to her.
He gestured to the door between them. Light shone underneath.
The study, according to Mother, where the Mayor waited for them. Marshall closed the gap between her and the door, to meet North half way, when a flash of red caught her eye.
She turned and faced the portrait.
Like his sires, this man had black hair and blue eyes. He also sported a star-shaped stain on his arm. She scanned the other images. All carried the stain of heritage upon their inner arms.
Just like her.
Proof of her heritage, Mother had said.
Proof that she wasn't a 'Vider at all. That she was related to one of these men, not the man who had raised her.
North’s growl rumbled through his massive chest. “You are tribute.”
Chapter 33
Marshall leapt back, avoiding North's slashing blade.
"You are tribute." North's knife swung from the right.
"No! I am Head Provider." Raising her arm, Marshall blocked the blow. The bite pierced her cracked plastic arm guards but the impact nearly brought her to her knees. Shit! She wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.
"You are dinner." His weapon sliced the air with every step.
She ducked and scrambled backward. She needed another weapon——one with a longer reach. Retreating, she glanced around the hall. No help there. Just the stupid paintings on the walls and closed doors.
The door opened on the study, and a woman stopped on the threshold. She blinked when she saw them. She opened her mouth.
North slammed the butt of his weapon into her face.
Blood gushed down her chin, and her eyes rolled back in her head before she collapsed.
Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel Page 22
