Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1)

by Alexa Hamilton

  “We want you to go back to the Training Center for this year’s Demonstrations.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like several folded sheets of paper.

  “And do what?” Kilt rubbed his hot head.

  Maxim moved his head from side to side as if weighing his options. “This assignment is a bit…tricky.”

  “Tricky?”

  “Dirty.” He began unfolding the sheets. “We want you to assassinate an enemy of our country.”

  “Assassinate? You’re out of your mind.”

  “His name is Eli Jackson. We’ve received word he is going to the Training Center as a trainer for a young woman, a girlfriend or something. It will be a good opportunity for you to get to him without raising questions.”

  “No.”

  “He is a powerful hacker and a nuisance both to Eurasia and your own government. So think of it as you doing the world a favor.”

  The burning from within Kilt’s gut had climbed and he was seeing red. “I’m not doing any jobs for anyone else! I’m done. Alright?” He jabbed his finger in the air. “So you can go tell your fucking bosses that.” He turned and strode away.

  This time Maxim stormed after him. “Then my orders are, if you refuse, to kill you where you stand.”

  Kilt stopped, slowly turning around. Maxim had a knife. The steel blade glistened, not gold like the sun and the wheat, but a hard, silvery cold. He knew he should be smart about his next move but he was too hot for that. He dropped his shirt and took a bold step toward Maxim. “So you think you can just come here on my land and insult me? Insult my country? And then order me around like a damned trained monkey? Is that it?”

  There was a flicker of fear in Maxim’s eyes and it was enough to fuel Kilt’s fire. He took another step. “You’re in enemy territory buddy and there are a lot of people around here who would love to tear you limb from limb. All it would take is one word from me and you’re finished.”

  Beyond the Eurasian’s padded shoulders a small fire had started in the grass. Kilt made the mistake of trying to go past him and extinguish it. But as soon as he took a step Maxim, probably thinking he was being attacked, reached up and swung his arm around, trying to drive the knife into Kilt’s neck. Kilt caught his wrist and grabbed his shoulder with his other hand.

  Maxim’s knee shot up but Kilt, younger and faster, shifted to the side and avoided it. Kilt pushed him away while keeping his grip on the wrist with the knife. Maxim maintained his footing, reared back and tried to land a punch to Kilt’s face, but again Kilt moved and it only caught his shoulder.

  Kilt reached his leg under Maxim’s knees and kicked up sending the large bodied Eurasian falling on his back. Still holding on to his wrist, Kilt stood one foot on Maxim’s neck and held him down.

  “Drop the knife!” He demanded. “Drop it and I’ll let you go.”

  Maxim, purple faced, continued to struggle, jerking under Kilt’s hold. Kilt bore down on him harder. The salty, acidic scent of smoke hung in the air. Kilt, out of the corner of his eye, noticed the fire was spreading, moving fast through the dry wheat leaving a black trail behind. The wind was taking it straight to the gassed up combine.

  Kilt shouldn’t have allowed his attention to wonder. Suddenly Maxim got an edge and twisted underneath him. He was able to move just enough to slice Kilt’s hand.

  “Aaah!” He stumbled back, the warm blood flowing across his wrist. Maxim jumped to his feet, and went for Kilt again. This time Kilt moved toward the combine and dodged him.

  Twice more Maxim took swipes and each time Kilt moved away within an inch of the blade. He was just getting his footing when all of a sudden he felt an incredible heat. He was standing on the edge of the fire. “Shit!”

  He lurched forward and when he did Maxim was ready with a raised knee that pounded into his gut like a meat cleaver. Kilt fell to the ground, inches from the fire, sucking in lung-fulls that felt like breathing nothing. Maxim didn’t waste a moment He held the knife in both hands and went to leap on Kilt, but just when he came down, Kilt kicked with all his strength, landing the sole of his boot in Maxim’s chest.

  “Ugh!” Maxim fell back and landed in the fire. “AAAAH!” His scream ripped through the air.

  Kilt took the opportunity to kick the knife out of his hand. Then, he pulled Maxim out of the fire and sent him rolling on the ground.

  While Maxim was extinguishing himself Kilt rushed to stomp out the fire, but then suddenly he was drenched with water. He staggered back and looked up. The Sphere had sensed the fire and turned on its raining function. Only a ten foot radius was in the miniature storm which included Kilt, the combine and Maxim.

  Kilt eyed a now hatless, dripping wet Maxim who was on his knees looking down at his blistery, red hands peppered with third degree burns. Yellow bile was dripping down his wrists.

  Maxim’s face was red and he was panting, glaring up at Kilt. A string of curses in his native tongue spewed from behind clenched teeth. Then he spit and began speaking slowly, deliberately. “Because you did not kill me, my employer might spare you.” He stopped to catch his breath, and then wincing, he continued, “But you will assassinate Eli Jackson. Of that I assure you.” He stood up with a struggle and began walking towards his car. “If you do not,” he said, his back turned, “then you and James are good as dead.” He walked away holding his hands out from his sides as if he were carrying a giant, invisible ball.

  Kilt reached down and snatched up the knife. The image of him running at Maxim’s back flashed through his mind, but he knew better.

  Instead he stood there, and watched the Eurasian drive away, back to wherever it was he went to hide out.

  The rain stopped.

  Later that night, after cleaning and wrapping his hand in gauze, Kilt went to bed. But, his eyes flew open when there was a single, crisp knock to the door. Quietly and on alert, Kilt took Maxim’s knife and crept across his carpeted floor. He slowly wrapped his hand around the knob and raised the blade.

  He jerked the door open. No one was there. Only the dense night stood before him, barely illuminated by the Kradle moon miles and miles away above the Corporates.

  Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw what the noise was.

  On his door, was Yella’, hanging from a knife stabbed through the white patch on his throat. His floppy little ear hung limply over his eyes, and his pink tongue dangled from his mouth.

  “Jesus!” Kilt half screamed, half sobbed into the crook of his elbow.

  Blurry eyed, he placed his hand under the body and removed the knife. As he did, something else fell that was attached to Yella’. Kilt cradled the dog in his arms and looked down. It was the same white, folded sheets of paper Maxim had pulled out of his pocket earlier. Only now, they were soaked in blood.

  He bent over and picked up the sheets. Then he sat down on the dark porch and clutched his pet to his chest, staring off into the distance where the glass of the Kradle both began and ended.

  Chapter 31

  Mevia

  It was a cloudy morning the day Mevia went into the jungle by herself. After a week of gardening followed by long naps, replacing old bandages and wandering around aimlessly trying to learn what she could, Mevia decided she was ready to begin taking on more responsibility. She started by helping Telly with cooking and then when she heard they needed more mushrooms, she volunteered for the task.

  The following day after breakfast Thomas gave her instructions and then repeated the characteristics of which mushrooms were safe. “Remember: Parasols have parasites but Puffballs are a man’s delight. Hen of the Woods, ugly to the sight but for suppertime it feeds us right.”

  This was about the tenth time she’d heard the rhyme and she assured him she understood.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and eyed her skeptically. “Are you sure you feel up to going out on your own?” He asked, “Because we could send someone with you, Kurt or—“

  Mevia absorbed the warmth of his hand. “No, no.
I’m fine.” She gave him a confident smile. “Really. I promise.”

  Thomas quickly nodded. “Of course. Of course you are. Good.” He handed her a basket.

  As she set out on her own, despite her reassurance to Thomas, she couldn’t stop checking over her shoulder after each step. She half expected Grunt to jump out from behind a tree or bush. The greenery was tall and thick, choking out the light making every shadow seem like a trap, or a waiting ambush.

  She moved deeper into the brush, trying to search for mushrooms, but there was nowhere to crouch or even stand without being attacked by leaves and branches. Every so often she would pause and pick up a vine for a future weaving project or an herb that looked like the ones Thomas used.

  It seemed that with every step her ankles were nicked by the cruel growth, bleeding into her sandals. Blinding sweat stung her eyes. Strands of hair clung to her spongy face, tickling her nose.

  She stopped, her heart galloping into a race. From somewhere beyond there was the crashing cracks of sticks breaking and leaves thrashing, chaotic, clumsy and distinctly human. Where were they coming from? She jerked her head in every direction but couldn’t tell. Perhaps it’s one of the tribesmen. She tried to tell herself, however, her panic was saying something different. Whoever was out there was looking for her. Hunting her.

  Her knees shook, her breathing rapid and squeezed, burning in the thick humidity. She pulled a knife made of bone from her belt.

  Mevia sank to her knees, the leaves brushing her face as she moved down, trying to make herself as small as possible. They were coming closer.

  The tussling grew louder but she still couldn’t pin point their position. The chaos of the jungle was making everything from sun to sound formless and sporadic.

  Someone came up from behind and grabbed her shoulder. “Hello little girl.”

  Mevia jumped, but her feet got caught in the weeds and she twisted, falling to the ground. She turned over on her back, knife raised.

  Standing there, peering down like she was a trapped piglet was Lin. His diaphanous eyes were fixated upon her body, looming up and down her legs, the hook in his ear gleaming in the light. His mouth was curved into a sickle stretching up the side of his sunburned cheek, his wet teeth exposed and wolf-like. “It’s dangerous for little girls to be out in the deep, dark woods all alone.”

  Mevia struggled to get to her feet, but her right ankle was caught in the weeds. Lin took a step toward her, extending his hand.

  “Get back!” She demanded. Her entire body was numb. Her only awareness was of her fingernails digging into her palm from squeezing the knife. Her heart jarred against her chest with such force it sent drumming vibrations through her head.

  Lin took a step closer, his outer-worldly gaze lingering, his predator eyes tasting every inch of her body.

  “Go back to the Clearing, Lin,” she tried to keep the quiver out of her voice.

  “Let me help you.” He was only inches away.

  “Mevia! Mevia?”

  Lin’s eyes shot up, searching the woods. Someone else was near.

  “Here!” she called. “I’m over here.”

  “Mevia?” James came bursting through the trees, sweaty and out of breath. “Mev—“ He stopped, his mouth hanging open, confusion falling across his face as he looked from Mevia: lying on the ground, knife raised; to Lin: crouched over her, a guilty look in his eyes. “Hey, what’s going on here?” James frowned.

  Lin stood upright, adjusting his shirt collar. His lips separated into a yellow smile. “I was just out looking for good vine to weave some rope and I ran into Mevia here.” He offered his hand to help her up.

  Mevia eyed it as if it were covered in goat shit. She pulled herself to her feet. “It was more of a sneak up than a run-in.”

  “Don’t be shrill,” he said evenly. “That wasn’t my intention.” He turned to James. “And what brings you out here?”

  James still had his mouth open, as if unsure what to make of the scenario. “Uh, I came out here to get you, Mevia, because we’re having a tribe meeting.”

  “Now? What for?” She frowned.

  He sighed. “I told them about our plan to go get Flora.”

  Mevia bit her thumb, but it tasted like salty dirt and, she spat it out. “What’d they say?” She studied his face.

  James half smiled and shrugged. “They want to have a meeting.”

  Mevia turned around, suddenly realizing that Lin was gone. “That guy is a creep,” she muttered.

  James shrugged. “Sandra says he’s ok.”

  “Hmph.” She inserted the knife into her belt and picked up the overturned basket from a bundle of clover. “Alright, let’s hurry back then,” she said with a sigh. She wanted to be mad at James but knew she shouldn’t be. Hopefully the tribe would see things their way, maybe even help. Actually, lately, she had started to worry about the Triton’s well-being. Maybe it would be best if they were involved.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” said James, his eyes round and pleading. “I had to say something. This affects them too.”

  Mevia shook her head. “I’m not mad at you, and I think you’re right. We should discuss it with the group.” She grabbed him by the shoulder. “Just tell me one thing though.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re still in, right? You still want to go get Flora and the module?”

  James stood up straight. “Of course.”

  “Ok,” Mevia said as she walked passed him. “Don’t forget that in the meeting.”

  ***

  The tribe, including Lin, was already mingled around the circle of logs. Too hot for a campfire, a cold pile of ashes sat in the center, however it seemed out of place to be meeting without the fire burning, like a pep-rally without its mascot.

  Soon after Mevia arrived everyone took their seats. A water jug, kept cool in the shade of an underground cave, was passed around the circle.

  Sandra slipped by Mevia and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Nobody is upset.”

  Mevia was surprised at how much she needed to hear that. She gave Sandra a grateful look and then sat down with the rest of the tribe.

  Conversation dwindled when Sandra and Thomas took their places at the twelve o’clock of the circle, patiently waiting for everyone’s attention. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “Thank you all for putting aside your chores and meeting so quickly,” Sandra said.

  Cree called out. “Hey, no prob! Anything to get out of net mending.” He smiled and held up his clay cup like a toast. Everyone laughed.

  “My pleasure, Cree.” Then her face transformed solemnly and she glanced down at Mevia. “I asked you all here in order to discuss a serious matter. A matter that has often kept me awake at night while pondering the Triton’s future. Who are we? What do we represent? And most importantly, will we ever fall apart?” She paused. “I see that you all look confused, but allow me to get to the point. I wish to have a civil, open discussion about a potential rescue mission.”

  Murmuring broke out among the group. Mevia felt like a magnet for questioning eyes. She looked away and kept her focus on Sandra.

  “The rescue,” Thomas spoke up, “is for a girl named Flora, a quadriplegic due to one of the Poachers breaking her neck. Mevia and Flora were both held captive until of course Mevia escaped and joined us.”

  More waves of hushed discussion. She stole a glance around the circle. All eyes were still on her, with only Dila offering a relaxed smile.

  Lin raised his hand. “Do we even know for a fact she’s still alive?” He addressed Mevia.

  She looked away as if someone else had asked the question. “I don’t know. I’m choosing to assume so.”

  “So are we going to attack them? We’ll need weapons,” Henny said. This caused an eruption of questions.

  “What kind of weapons do they have? We can’t just start a war! Are the women going too? How are we going to carry a crippled girl back?”

  Sandra lifted
her hands and raised her voice. “Quiet! Let’s discuss this. None of us want a war.”

  “So, the entire world is at war except us and now we can’t wait to start up a new one. Is that how it goes?” Cree shook his head.

  “But we can’t just leave her there. What if one of us were captured? Would you sit by and do nothing?” Dila said.

  Mevia couldn’t seem to keep her leg from twitching. She glanced over and caught James’ eye as he peered up from hunched shoulders. His cheeks had paled into a thin, muddy tone. Her own stomach was shifting uncomfortably and listening to everyone’s fears and protests was making it worse. Her mind began spinning with doubts and questions. Who are you really doing this for? It wasn’t just Flora. That was the foul mouth truth. Yes, she was helping Flora, but really, was her rescue any more than just a step toward getting back to the mainland? She wanted to believe in the virtue of her intentions, but who was this “saving the world” business really about?

  She sighed. Rising to the occasion was well and good until you happened to see who was crushed on your way up. But you’re not your mother, so don’t make her mistakes. Abruptly her spine stiffened and she shot James a buck-up look.

  “That’s why this is so complicated,” Sandra continued. “We need to figure out where we stand, and essentially, our identity as a tribe.”

  “What sets us apart from those guys?” Thomas pointed out beyond the mountain.

  “Women. Strong women,” Dila said, firmly.

  “Let’s take turns. Remember, we need to discuss this calmly,” said Sandra.

  Kurt raised his hand. “Mevia, what is the situation? I mean, we know, roughly, where the Poachers live, but we don’t know much else. Do they sleep outside? Is Flora tied up? What are we facing here?”

  Mevia spoke loudly so everyone could hear. “They live in a cave, deep in a valley surrounded by rock like us, but much easier to climb. Flora and I were kept in a hole with a bamboo cage over the top. It was held in place by rolling boulders along the edges. Sometimes we were taken out and…” She took a deep breath. “But for at least half of the day we were kept in the hole. We slept there too.”