Paradise of Lead Trilogy

by Mackenzie Morris

  Paradise of Lead Trilogy

  Mackenzie Morris

  M.A.G.E.

  Copyright © 2014 by Mackenzie Morris

  T.I.M.E.

  Copyright © 2014 by Mackenzie Morris

  W.A.N.D.

  Copyright © 2014 by Mackenzie Morris

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Other Works by Mackenzie Morris

  Paradise of Lead Trilogy

  M.A.G.E.

  T.I.M.E.

  W.A.N.D.

  Paradise Awakened Trilogy

  Android 43

  Archon

  Heaven's Chains

  Paradise Forgotten Trilogy

  Zodiac

  Nova

  Troy

  The Lights of Agramont Trilogy

  The Lullaby Blade

  Tide of Treason, Storm of Slaughter

  Song of Ocean's Peace

  Wings of Onyx Shadow

  M.A.G.E.

  Paradise of Lead Book One

  1

  Byron glances through the lead bars of his cell every few minutes when the guards aren't paying attention. Where's the signal? It's four minutes until midnight and lights out. He swears that if that crazy priest forgot about the plan, he is going to strangle him with his bare hands the next chance he gets. When he starts to panic, he taps on the wall three times and a man whispers to him through one of the empty spaces where he has removed a brick from the wall.

  "What now?" The raspy voice asks.

  "Tell me you have the bag." Byron says as he holds up a book and pretends to be reading while a guard walks by the cell.

  "I have the bag. Everything is good to go. Where's the signal?"

  "I haven't seen it yet." Byron whispers. "Okay, once I do see it, you have to stand back as far away from any lead material in your cell or your magic won't work. In the back right corner of the room there is a place that is just far enough away that I have been able to use mine. This entire wall is going to crumble. Then while Blice and Isidore distract the guards, we are going to slip through the air vent in the ceiling of your cell. We have to be quick. How much do you weigh?"

  "One seventy-five." The voice answers back.

  "Okay. You'll get on my shoulders and then once you're in, you'll pull me up. The other way, I'll just end up crushing you. What's your name again?" Byron asks.

  "Damien Montgomery."

  "All right, Damien Montgomery. Get ready to either get to freedom or die trying. Wasn't there some guy in history that said something like that?"

  "Give me liberty or give me death." Damien says.

  "Yah. That one." Byron says.

  "It's from before the war when this used to be America."

  Really? No one cares about that anymore. It was over a hundred years ago. "Whatever. Who cares?"

  "People who aren't idiots."

  "Two minutes 'til midnight." Byron says.

  "We have to wait for the signal."

  "There's not going to be a signal. That Isidore bastard is crazy. We're going without him."

  "He's the transportation." Damien says.

  "I'll run really fast." Byron says.

  "You're as crazy as he is."

  Byron sees the reflection of the mirror from across the hall. "There's the signal. Stand back from the bars and cast your magic. The change in the atmosphere should be enough to jumpstart the others' magic. Then we will fill this deathtrap with our powers."

  "Then what? If the guards catch us, they'll kill us."

  "No they won't. We're too valuable to them alive. We're their little weapons and they need us. Besides, I already said to run really fast."

  There is a high pitched whistle and the lights go out. Just in time. Someone screams as a crash shakes the building. Byron jumps into action and throws his weight against the wall which collapses and he rolls into Damien's cell. He stands and backs up against the wall until he can feel the freedom of the power flowing in his veins. It's only a trickle and a fraction of what it used to be, but he has to do what he can. Byron takes a deep breath and slams the palm of his hand against the wall. A flash of bright orange light fills the air and the flames spread up to the ceiling and around the floor in a glittering inferno.

  "You weren't joking about that, were you?" Damien asks.

  "No. Now get on my shoulders and get that vent opened while the guards are putting out the fires in the main room. Feel that? The others are using their powers too. It's about damn time we got a chance like this. Now go."

  The short blonde man crawls onto Byron's shoulders and grunts as he pries the vent open and pulls himself up inside. He holds out his hand. "Hurry before the alarm goes off."

  Byron jumps and grabs the edge of the air duct then Damien helps to pull him inside. "All right. Now get moving. You know where we're going."

  "No. You go first. I'll keep an eye out behind us."

  "Fine." Byron just manages to push past him and start crawling down the musty-smelling metal tunnel. He hopes this will be able to hold his weight. He doesn't feel like crashing down into another cell. Not this time.

  "Crawl faster, will you?" Damien whispers.

  "I'm going as fast as I can. Unlike you, I have the body of a real man."

  "What does that even mean?"

  "Muscles, brother." Byron says. "I have muscles and you have . . . I'm not quite sure what you have. Are you sure you're not a woman?"

  Damien pushes on Byron's foot. "Shut up and keep moving. Maybe you should cut back on the sandwiches."

  "They only give us two a day."

  "Don't pretend that you don't steal them from the kitchen." Damien says. "Yes, I've seen you."

  "How far do we have to go in here?" Byron asks, getting tired and his knees are sore.

  "There are five miles of ventilation systems in this compound. We have about half a mile until we reach the outer walls."

  So this is what hell is. "Half a mile? I have to crawl like this for half a mile?"

  "Do you always complain like this?"

  Byron ignores him and continues to crawl until they hear shouting and the screaming of an alarm. "Shit. Damien, is that the security alarm?"

  "Yep. They're going into lockdown. Don't think about it. Crawl like you've never crawled before. We have to get past the outer wall before the barrier goes up."

  "What kind of barrier?" Byron asks. "Is it that bad?"

  "Do you value having skin?"

  "Um . . . yes?"

  "Then you don't want to try to go through the barrier." Damien says then grabs Byron's leg. "Stop. I can look out here. There's a gap in the floor." He lies down and peers through into the light from below. "Thank God. There's Isidore with the van. Hurry."

  "Okay, okay. Calm down. You are one tense guy."

  They continue crawling until Damien cries out and stops moving. "Damn it, Byron. I just cut my leg open."

  "What?"

  "You were supposed to tell me if there was anything there that could hurt me. Did you not feel that jagged piece of metal?"

  Oops. "Sorry, man. Is it bad?"

  "I don't think so." Damien says. "Just keep moving. I'll tend to it later."

  * * *

  Just as they step out into the white sterilized hallway, a metal gate slams down in front of their faces.<
br />
  "Damn it. What now?" Damien asks as he ducks behind an unoccupied desk.

  Byron quickly looks around and spots it. "I got this." Byron places his hand on the console and releases the pent up energy from his body. The metal of the console begins to heat and turns orange with the heat then it begins to spark. The gate lifts. "Run now!"

  "Hang on. Where's Blice?" Damien asks. "I thought he was with Isidore, but he's not in the van."

  "We're not going back in. Hurry. The barrier is lowering."

  Someone moans from behind a desk in the reception area. Damien takes off running to it.

  Stupid. Should he just run for it and leave Damien behind? "Hurry up, Damien!"

  Damien stoops behind the desk and stands with a thin man on his shoulders. He joins Byron again in the hallway as the sound of gunfire echoes in the cell block. "Found him. Let's go." Damien grabs Bryon's arm and they run to the van then dive inside as the door slides closed. Damien throws Blice into the floor. "Hit it, Isidore. Let's get the hell out of here."

  As they speed off into the desert, a bright purple barrier of electricity flickers to life around the compound and explosions sound inside the chaos. They barely made it. Too close for comfort. But they made it. That's what counts.

  "So, what were you locked up for?" Damien asks as he takes off his yellow prison uniform shirt and slips a less conspicuous one from the bags under their seats.

  Byron does the same. "Robbing a military fuel station."

  "That's not so bad."

  "Then I set it on fire and killed sixty soldiers and a captain." It's one of Byron's favorite memories.

  "Oh. Serves them right. It's their fault anyway."

  "What about you?" Byron asks.

  "I attempted to pass on my genetic code." Damien says.

  "That'll do it. So, did they castrate you like the others?"

  Damien reaches under the seat and pulls out a switchblade. "No. Thank God. What about you?"

  "I'm still good. They're insane. I got in before they started doing that a lot. I'd been in there for five years."

  "That explains it. I think they just forgot about me because I don't cause chaos like the other prisoners." Damien says as he cuts through the seatbelt.

  Byron laughs. "Trying to get out on good behavior? That's not the way it works in there. Once you're in, you're in for life. Then longer if they want to keep manipulating your body."

  "That's comforting."

  "It's true. This country has gone to hell and there ain't nothing we can do about it except lie low and try to wait this entire fiasco out. Eventually, one of the other countries will step in and help us M.A.G.E.s."

  Damien wraps his shirt around the bleeding gash in his leg then secures it with the seatbelt. "That is the stupidest name I've ever heard. So now we are like the people in those fairy tale novels?"

  "Don't you know what it stands for or did they neglect to tell you that too?" Byron asks.

  "I know what it means. Material Altering Genetic Experiment. That doesn't make it okay."

  "I don't know . . . it kinda makes me feel special." Byron says. "You know, in a failed government experimental weapon that can destroy the entire human race kinda way. At least I know that I'll be the one doing the destruction."

  Blice is curled up on the floorboard between them in the backseat of the van. His black hair is plastered with sweat to his face and he groans as he trembles.

  "What's wrong with him?" Byron asks.

  "Drug withdrawal." Damien says as he reaches into his pants. "He hadn't been in prison for more than a couple of days and now he's feeling the effects."

  "Damn. Maybe we should find him some. He doesn't look so good."

  "Mind if I help him?" Damien asks.

  "I don't give a damn what you do with him. It's none of my business."

  Damien pulls out a plastic bag and leans over to Blice and nudges his shoulder. "Hey, what do you need? The red one, the purple one, or the green one? No . . . you look like a black pill guy."

  He looks up and nods his head.

  "The hard stuff. No wonder he looks as bad as he does." Damien digs through the colored pills in the bag.

  Drugs? "You have drugs with you?"

  Damien shrugs. "Hey, don't judge me. I have headaches."

  "Sure. How did you get these past security?" Byron asks.

  "How did I get my lover past security every week?" Damien asks with a mischievous grin on his lips.

  "Really?"

  "Yah. She didn't like my magic, though. Said it scared her. Whatever. She's gone now." Damien reaches into the bag and pulls out a couple of shiny triangular black pills and gives them to Blice. "There you go. I know what it's like to need something so bad it almost kills you. That's all you get until we can find some more. If we keep heading west, we'll go deeper into this sand pit, but we'll reach Rubble City in a few hours. There's bound to be some medicine there."

  Now Byron is curious. "I've never done pills. Do those do different things to you or something?"

  "Your magic is fire, right? Heat? Then you want to take a red one. It calms down the urges and helps you control your need to cast your magic. Good for hiding the fact that we are escaped genetic weapons." Damien says.

  "Can they hurt me?"

  "Only if you take too many or not enough. Once you start, you have to keep taking them or bad things happen. Like that guy."

  "Gotcha." Byron says as he looks out the window at the blowing sand and rubble from the collapsed buildings.

  "This guy's got it bad." Damien says. "His are the most expensive ones and the hardest to make. We'll stock up when we get to Rubble City. We might have to do some gambling but hey, it wouldn't be Rubble City without it."

  "What are the black ones for?" Byron asks.

  "Dark matter manipulation. Don't make him angry or you will disintegrate and meet a very awesome but very painful death."

  Well that sounds dangerous to have around. "Can we trust him?"

  "As long as he has his drugs, we can. That goes for any of us. Here, take this."

  Byron shakes his head. "I don't think so. I'm good."

  "Fine. When you start having slip ups and uncontrolled releases of energy, you'll be begging me for it. You've been surrounded by lead for so long that you don't remember the true power you have surging inside of you. Speaking of which, it's about time for mine. Purple. Wanna take a guess?" Damien asks.

  "I honestly have no idea."

  He reaches over and places his hand on his shoulder. With a quick snap of his fingers, a jolt of electricity courses from his hand into Byron's arm.

  "Damn. Take your pill and stop electrocuting me."

  Damien laughs and leans forward towards the driver. "Hey, Isidore. Which one do you need? Are you electricity, heat, regeneration, or dark matter?"

  "None of those. Got any clear pills?" Isidore asks as he takes his hands off the wheel to braid his long silver hair and steer with his bare feet, much to Byron's dismay.

  "Clear pills?" Damien asks then his eyes grow wide. "Oh my God. You're one of those new experiments, aren't you?"

  "Yep. I'm one of three. The other two are missing from the data I retrieved before we left. I hacked the computer system and pulled off some files I thought were interesting."

  "Wanna share your findings?" Damien asks.

  Isidore laughs. "If you share your pills."

  "I don't have any clear ones, sorry. Those are probably expensive, huh?"

  "What isn't anymore?" Isidore asks.

  "True. So . . . time, right? That has to be really annoying when it bugs up."

  "You have no idea." Isidore says as he ties off his braid. "First off, it's hard on a person. That's why my hair is already grey. I'm only twenty. I lived through my tenth birthday four times before someone gave me a pill. It was fun the first two times. Then it just got really old, especially since I knew I was reliving it and knew what was going to happen. No one ever has any clear ones. There was one guy in prison that
made them in his sink, but I was his only customer and I don't want to talk about what the payment was."

  "Oh God . . . that's . . . that's . . . I'm sorry." Damien says.

  "Why? I do what I have to do to survive. That's it. Even with the high concentrations of lead in there, I was still having momentary flickers in my time and I was reliving seconds here or minutes there. It's not pleasant."

  They continue to drive into the blazing sun and the desolate landscape until they come up on a small settlement.

  "Oh, look . . . they have Alezi Blue." Isidore says as he points to the bar on the side of the road.

  "I love Alezi Blue." Byron says. "It's so hard to find agave tequila anymore. Come to think of it, it's hard to find agave anymore. I'm not surprised that the landscape hasn't improved since I was imprisoned. That's it. We're stopping so I can get drunk off my ass."

  "We just escaped from prison and you want to stop for a drink?" Damien asks.

  Byron smiles. "There's not a better way to celebrate."

  2

  As soon as he steps into the bar, Byron notices the young woman in the back corner of the room dressed like the other prostitutes in a thin purple gown with high golden heels. There's one difference, though. She isn't flirting with the patrons like the other over perfumed women adorned with all manner of jewelry from the wealthy rebuilt parts of the country. Something about her detachment draws Byron to her and he moves across the room to her. "So, do you take paying customers?"

  She smiles a timid smile and pushes her brown hair behind her ears. "I'm supposed to."

  Byron looks her over. Nice figure, not stick thin like the others, pale skin, pink lips, brown eyes. He sighs. "You look too pretty to be whoring yourself out in a place like this."

  "Oh, well . . . to tell you the truth, I've never done this before." The woman blushes.

  Byron becomes even more interested. "Is that right? Tell me, are you a virgin? You look innocent enough."

  "Please don't hurt me, sir. I am."

  Virgins are highly prized and can be sold for high prices around here. She's in danger even telling him that piece of intriguing information. "I see. You're coming with me." Byron takes her arm and leads her outside. He pins her against the wall of the building where the black paint has peeled and chipped off. "What are you doing? Are you this desperate that you have to sell your body?"