Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel

by Linda Andrews

Screams came from the village, then footsteps pounded.

  Harry opened the bundle, selected a shiny metal object and dropped the one with the red stripe onto the couch. "Someone's coming."

  Through the window, Belle watched as women she'd known for the last few years ran around the corner. Terror masked their faces, they surged forward——young children in their arms or sprinting at their side.

  Two male prisoners tackled one woman and her toddler. They went down in a tangle of limbs then other prisoners of both genders swarmed over the fallen, kicking and swinging.

  Screams pierced the air, then fell silent.

  "Nattie, cover the windows, block the doors." Harlan ripped the curtain off the rod. Dust danced in the air while he tied the fabric around his waist. "Belle, get the girls and hide."

  Hide? He expected her to hide? Where?

  "Each clip has seventy rounds." Nattie stuffed four rectangles in his waistband. "Make them all count."

  Harlan nodded, opened the door and stepped outside. "There's so many of them, it'll be hard to miss."

  Next, Nattie handed her the machete then shoved her to the bedroom with her children. "Focus, Belle."

  Belle stumbled along.

  "Momma?" Cat sat next to her brother and their sleeping younger sister.

  "It's alright." But it wasn't. It wouldn't be again. God had decided since Belle couldn't.

  Today, she would stop being.

  Nattie laid another little girl on the floor next to Cat. "Watch her, too."

  Cat nodded and raised the rock. "I fight, too."

  "We'll seal off the windows first." Nattie ripped the mattress off the bed and shoved it against the sole window in the room.

  When she pushed at the dresser, Belle helped. "I can't just do nothing."

  "No." Nattie frowned before wrestling the bed frame between the mattress and dresser. "I expect you to cut off anything that comes through that window."

  Footsteps pounded in the other room. Two women and four children rushed into the living room.

  "Arm yourselves and block the windows and doors." Harlan shouted.

  The women pushed their children toward Belle then slipped into the kitchen.

  Nattie left. Then furniture scraped the floor in the room next door.

  Clutching the machete, Belle perched on the dresser and pressed against the bed frame. No one was getting in through the window. Frightened eyes stared up at her. "Alright everyone, let's sit down and I'll tell you a story."

  Two more women stumbled in. Only one child.

  Four women. Five children.

  The children sat in a tight knot, leaning and touching each other.

  Belle cast her mind back to her childhood and dredged up a story.

  Number five and six came in. Three more children. A battered man stumbled across the threshold, carrying an object wrapped in a bloody blanket.

  Harlan backed into the living-room, his arms raised in front of him. He kept firing outside. The door slammed shut and he wedged a chair under the handle.

  Six women, one man, and nine children, out of a camp that once boasted four hundred.

  Belle licked her dry lips and prayed, even as she told the story. "There once was a young girl named Goldilocks.”

  Nattie left the bedroom and two women, armed with knives, rushed inside.

  Setting down his motionless bundle, the man and two other women picked up the sofa and carried it to the kitchen.

  Harry crouched in front of the window. His muscles tightened and relaxed at even intervals as he shifted his aim along the sill. "How many are coming?"

  Holding her axe and North's long knife, Nattie dipped her ear toward her shoulders then rolled her wrists, testing the weight. "All of the prisoners, and they want revenge."

  Chapter 41

  "Get down, Sera!"

  Skidding on a patch of slick pine needles, Sera grabbed hold of the girl’s arm. Oxygen rushed from Sera's lungs when she slammed into the ground, then she was rolling, protecting her head and shielding her companion.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She shouldn't do something just because someone told her to. Those were 'Viders out there for pity's sake. Spitting mud and leaves, she glanced up.

  Uncle Joseph marched from the tree line, weapon pointed.

  The air above Sera crackled when the charged projectiles zoomed overhead.

  A grunt followed.

  Then a thud.

  Checking over her shoulder, she counted one 'Vider on the ground, one falling, and a third charging. Blue light danced over their yellow teeth before they fell.

  Holy shit. How many 'Viders had been deployed as pickets? Sera caught her breath. More than she could comfortably take at one time, that's for sure. Tree branches swayed. More? She faced Dark Hope's Security forces, waiting for the signal. "Get ready to run, Ester."

  Uncle Joseph smiled as he squeezed the trigger. Martin stood next to him.

  Red-headed Thackery dropped to his knee on her uncle’s other side and fired two rounds. "You really should be behind us, Sir."

  "Fuck that noise," Uncle Joseph took his finger off the trigger. "This is the most fun I've had since my wife taught self-defense classes." A spark flashed in his eyes. "She would have wanted to kick their asses the old-fashioned way."

  "Bare knuckles don't stand much chance against swords, Sir." Weapon at the ready, Martin darted forward.

  Thackery followed close behind and trained his TSG-27 on the 'Viders on the ground, ready to shoot if they moved.

  One by one, Martin set his finger against the 'Viders' necks and shook his head.

  Dead. All of them. Sera didn't know whether to be happy or sad.

  Uncle Joseph lowered his weapon to his side. "Clear."

  Sera pushed to her feet. Her communicator dangled in two pieces from her hair and her body hummed with adrenaline. Crap, she'd forgotten about her gum. Rolling it between her teeth, she spit it out.

  Ester mimicked her actions then spit a few more times.

  Oh, come on. It hadn't tasted that bad. Sera brushed the leaves and twigs off her clothes. "Thanks for the rescue."

  Uncle nodded and scanned her from head to foot. "What happened to the two guns you took from my armory?"

  Damn. She'd hoped to return them before he'd noticed their absence. Sera rubbed at the dirt on her elbow. "They're secure."

  Kinda.

  Okay, probably not. Anyone could find them in the haywagon. But she and Harlan were the only ones who could use them. So that counted.

  "Uh-huh." Uncle Joseph's eyes narrowed and his attention slid to the girl next to her. "Is this a 'Vider?"

  "No, this is Ester."

  The girl strode forward like a diva in a one-woman play. "Ester Cole, a descendant of the original Cole and related by marriage to Sanctuary's illustrious founder, Gavin Neville." She fanned out her skirt when she curtsied. "At your service."

  "Neville." Thackery aimed his stun-gun at her.

  Really? Couldn’t he see the real threat? Sera placed herself in the line of fire.

  Uncle Joseph pushed Thackery's weapon down. "Just introduce yourself as Ester from now on."

  Straightening, Ester bowed her head condescendingly. "As you wish."

  Brow furrowed, Uncle Joseph glanced around him. "Where's the other one?"

  Sera blinked. "What other one?"

  "Here." A young man stumbled over a tree root. He staggered a few paces before righting himself.

  Recognition spiraled through Sera. This was the kid that had tracked her and Harlan outside of Abaddon. The one whose mother and brother had been handed over as tribute. "Otto?"

  He grinned and adjusted his green shirt. "You could have told me your fellow raiders were gonna pick me up."

  "My fellow raiders?" What was the kid talking about?

  Martin waggled his fingers. "Couldn't leave him behind to compromise the mission."

  Geez. Sera combed her fingers through her hair. She and Harlan had been tracked the entire
time. A chill washed over her. "You could have been caught by the 'Viders."

  And if they'd resisted like they'd been trained, they would have been killed.

  Horribly.

  Uncle Joseph pointed to Ester and Otto, then the ground. "You two, park your keisters where I can see them and be quiet."

  Both sat.

  "We had the camp and surroundings under surveillance the entire time. We knew where the bad guys were, and were just looking for another way in when you called."

  Thackery held his finger to his ear. "Sir, airships are in position."

  Sera glanced up. The tree prevented her from seeing the dirigibles. Her ears strained. There it was, a faint hum on the breeze. "I thought muffling the engines was only theoretical."

  "And you'll continue to tell everyone that." Uncle Joseph checked his own earpiece and swore. "Damn things never work when I want them to."

  Thackery's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Security Force is asking for permission to deploy now, reporting fubar in town. Our boots on the ground near main entrance are reporting no opposition. They're moving through the canyon like a hot knife through butter."

  "Give me eyes." Uncle Joseph glared at her. "What did you do, Sera?"

  She held up her hands. "They were in the middle of a fight to the death..." Oh crap. She'd forgotten. "Harlan. We have to hurry."

  She turned. What if he was killed?

  "Negative on that, Officer Tahoma." Uncle Joseph's order halted her mid-step. "Westminster may think allowing yourself to be captured is a valid plan, but I do not."

  She slowly pivoted. Uncle thought Harlan had planned to be taken prisoner? She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion.

  Martin opened his pack and removed a solar panel and a cylindrical holo-projector. He hung the delicate, shiny fabric from a tree branch, angling it to catch the sun, then deployed the projector's legs and planted it like a stick bug in the ground.

  With a flick of a switch, he turned the projector on. A topographical map of the camp appeared in three-dimensions about waist high. The town square filled the entire four-by-three image.

  The barbed wire pens were empty. Bodies slumped over tables or sprawled on the ground. The 'Viders were dead. As for their tribute... Blood halos surrounded bodies. Thanks to the magnification, she could see the women and children had been beaten to death. She searched the carnage for a familiar face. Please don't be there. Please.

  "Report, Tahoma."

  What in the world had happened? That hadn't been the scene she'd left. And she'd only been gone fifteen to twenty minutes. Licking her dry lips, she shrugged. "The prisoners must have escaped and overpowered the 'Viders."

  But the 'Viders were trained warriors.

  And there were few civilian casualties.

  The image backed up, expanding to include most of the town. Dozens of women and children ran for the canyon, toward the armed Security Forces. Dark Hope's troops wore brown, tan and green uniforms from their steel-toed boots to their helmets. Even their visors were tinted brown.

  She pointed to the converging groups. "Those would be civilians."

  Uncle Joseph adjusted his mic. "Ground Force One, this is Dawson. Set weapons to moderate stun, you have panicked civvies headed straight for you."

  "Roger that." A woman responded. "Weapons to moderate stun."

  "I think I can guess where the rest of the 'Viders are." Martin chuckled.

  Sera's gaze skittered across the map and her heart nearly stopped. A single house was being mobbed by the prisoners. She knew that place. Her finger sunk into the holographic house. "Don't let them take the house."

  "Secure that house." Uncle Joseph nodded. "I repeat, secure that house."

  The hologram blinked, then white lines snaked down the image. Loud booms ripped through the air, shook the trees around them. The swarm around the house ducked, covered their ears or passed out. Black lines dropped from the airships, men dropped from them, firing on the way down.

  Those still standing scattered.

  Sera's fists clenched. Had they been in time? Had Harlan even survived his death match?

  "Let's get this reunion on the road." Uncle Joseph unsnapped the holster at his side and handed a pistol to Sera. "Where's your shortcut?"

  "Follow me." She welcomed the weight of the old-school pistol then checked the clip and the chamber. Switching off the safety, she raised the muzzle and took point.

  Uncle fell into step behind her, followed by Ester, Otto and Thackery. Martin covered the rear.

  "How many crates of weapons are in that house?" Her uncle climbed out of the ravine, nimble as a mountain goat.

  One of these days she wouldn't feel like a lumbering ox next to him. Sera shoved a branch out of her face. "There are no weapons in the house."

  Her uncle growled, "I authorized a full-scale assault of a rinky-dink town, and you haven't even found a rusty knife stamped made in Dark Hope. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  Ester hissed, "Dark Hope."

  "Keep walking, traitor." Thackery prodded Ester with his weapon.

  "Ester, walk. We’re here to save the children and your village." Sera waited until the girl started moving again then marched toward the tunnel. "And you didn't assault anything. You liberated Sanctuary from a worse threat: the 'Viders."

  Uncle grunted. "The Cabinet doesn't believe they're a threat. Even Westminster couldn't convince them."

  "I have reason to believe that someone in that house will convince them otherwise." Please, let her still be alive.

  "Who?" Hands on his hips, Uncle frowned at the solid wall of rock ahead of him.

  "Natasha Wilson." Sera grabbed the flashlight off his combat belt and switched it on.

  Uncle's bushy eyebrows met in a vee above his nose. "Natasha?"

  Thackery bounded to the front. "The Natasha Wilson? The one who wrote about how the meltdown split humanity into two distinct races?"

  Martin shook his head. "Can't be. She disappeared nearly thirty years ago."

  Sera watched her uncle. "She didn't disappear; she was captured by the 'Viders. Has lived with them the entire time. You want a reliable witness that the Cabinet can't ignore. I can give you the woman whose doctoral thesis is taught to everyone in Dark Hope."

  Uncle's face bloomed with happiness. Even the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. "You're my favorite niece."

  "I'm your only niece." She slipped behind a rock and entered the tunnel. Sweeping the beam of light from side to side, she looked for the children. "Guys. It's us. You're okay to come out."

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Three spots of light joined hers.

  "Hello?" Sera picked up the pace. Why weren't they answering? "Ester, you call them."

  "It's okay." The girl's voice echoed in the tunnel. "You're safe now. These...people have saved us."

  Sera spied her empty backpack, drained bottles of water and food wrappers. But no children. She hurried outside. Where could they have gone? Raising her hand, she shielded her eyes from the light and cleared the boulder hiding the entrance.

  Children, women and men sat on the ground in rows, clasping their hands on their heads.

  The Security Forces in camouflage uniforms turned their weapon on her.

  "Don't shoot!" Dropping the flashlight, Sera raised her hands. "I'm Officer Serendipity Tahoma."

  The front officer pointed his weapon at the ground. "Even a blind man would recognize you, Tahoma."

  Uncle strode past her. "Well done. Well done. Is the house secure?"

  "Momma!" Ester called out and stumbled into the rows of people to a pudgy woman near the end.

  "Yes, sir." The front man saluted. "Our men are sweeping the camp, picking the nits."

  "Westminster?"

  Sera didn't wait to hear. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the house. Harlan had to be okay. She owed him for leaving her tied up in that moldy courthouse.

  "Stop looking at my niece'
s legs and answer the question, officer." Uncle barked.

  Chuckles followed her.

  The ogling officer cleared his throat. "The medics are with him now."

  Medics. She pumped her arms faster, leapt over unconscious bodies with their hands zip-tied behind their backs. How badly was Harlan injured?

  The officer stationed by the back door waved her to the front.

  She surged forward and rounded the corner.

  Harlan sat, shirt off, on the warped steps.

  A female medic smoothed white tape over his muscled stomach, glancing up at him from under her lashes. “I love your tattoos.”

  Sera shook out her fists. "If the tape isn't sticking, you might want to get another roll."

  The medic jumped back. "Uh, that should do it." Her hands fluttered around her body before she scooped up her medical bag. "I'll just check on the others."

  Harlan watched her swaying backside as she slipped by him.

  What a jerk. How could she have been worried about him?

  Leaning back on his elbows, he clasped his hands over his stomach. Wincing, he let his hands dangle at his sides. Blood seeped through the bandage. "You responsible for this dog and pony show, Peaches?"

  That was gratitude. She resisted the urge to kick his foot. Barely. Sticking her hand in her pocket, she stroked the compact stuffed with explosives. She still needed him. They had those weapons to find, and a whole platoon of Dark Hope security forces to elude. "Your sister?"

  He jerked his thumb at the house. "Inside. Kiddies are safe."

  Standing on tiptoe, Sera peered through the broken window pane. "What about Natasha?"

  The older woman couldn't survive twenty-seven years with the 'Viders to die at the moment of rescue.

  He squinted up at her. "Who?"

  "Most folks call me Nattie." Natasha Wilson strolled through the door. Her matted hair had been shorn nearly to her scalp. Black tattoos snaked up her muscular arms and spots of red dotted her skin where she hadn't washed it clean. Sera's stun-gun dangled from her hip, next to a bloody ax. She flashed a black rectangle at Sera. "I think this might be important."

  Three green lights beeped on the shiny surface. An arrow pointed to the left.

  "It's a tracker." A tracker leading to three boxes of stolen stun-guns. Sera reached for it.