First Blood: Dystopian Romance Serial (The Eleventh Commandment Book 1)

by Norah Wilson

  He thought again of Zophia’s words. She’d given him much to think on as the scorching sun moved across the sky.

  Chapter 7

  MAREE BRACED herself as Kallem threw her to the ground. Or rather threw her to the ground again. She lifted her head for protection from the hard blow; braced her whole body. She slapped her left palm down. Then she looked up at the man who towered over her, squinting into the sun that came from behind his shoulder, darkening his silhouette as he took a step toward her. She waited for Kallem to speak. He extended a hand as he locked eyes with her, an offer of a lift up.

  Still on her back, Maree raised herself up onto her elbows. “Well?”

  “Not bad.” Kallem’s face was grim, determined. His posture serious. “We’ll do it again.”

  “Not bad?” Ignoring his hand, she pushed herself to her feet. “What do you mean not bad? That was a perfect breakfall.”

  “Perfect? Hardly. I told you to breathe out. That’ll—”

  “Yes, I know. Keep the body more relaxed, and so less vulnerable to injury.” Dammit! She would have to do it again.

  Zophia giggled. “Want me to show you how it’s done again, big sister? Who’s head of the class now?” She giggled all the more as Maree shot her an acrid glare.

  The basic aggressive techniques that Kallem had taught the two women—a couple short, hard strikes to be aimed at a man’s most vulnerable regions—Maree had readily picked up. Easily and quickly. She’d wanted to learn more offensive skills, and right away. More aggressive moves. Debilitating and painful strikes. Death blows. But Kallem had insisted she needed to know basic self-defense also. He was right, and she knew it.

  But in truth, Maree had to work on the conceptualization of it. The anger in her, the rage, was fierce and righteous. She was determined to strike blows, but never to receive them. Never, ever again.

  Zophia, of course, had read her mind. Eased her mind. “We’ll get there,” she’d whispered, laying an easy hand on her sister’s shoulder. She drew herself even closer. “Yes, there. And then we’ll fear no more. Never need to cower and take a strike. But until then, we do need to know how to survive.”

  Confronted by such wisdom from her little sister, she settled her emotions. She could do this.

  She would do this.

  “Fine,” she said to Kallem. “But this time I—”

  He flipped her before she could finish the sentence. Maree protected her head, slapped down her palm to absorb the shock of the fall, and breathed out as she did. Kallem was right! The exhale made her whole body less tense as she hit. She jumped up to her feet like a cat.

  Yes! That was a—

  “Damn good breakfall.” Kallem gave an authoritative nod.

  Zophia laughed. Kallem even looked like he might break into a grin too.

  Almost.

  With the back of her hand, Maree wiped the sweat from her brow, only then realizing the exertion she’d been putting forward in Kallem’s fighting lessons. He’d been a reluctant teacher, at first. And though Maree had no experience asserting any kind of authority with men, she had insisted he show them how to fight. At least a few moves of offense. “For when you leave us, soldier,” she had said, emphasizing disdainfully the position he had claimed to have abandoned. It was a test, of course; they’d all known it.

  “The knife,” Maree now said. “Show me how to use my knife.”

  “And yet this, you already know,” Kallem said.

  Maree tensed. There was a hardness to Kallem’s tone. He was speaking about the Prophet—about her attempt to kill him. And it was, after all, his ornately carved knife that she now called her own. He'd had it specially made when he'd come into power, by the finest craftsman. It bore the symbol of his testament.

  “That’s enough for today,” Kallem said. Maree’s knife remained in his rucksack. She'd awoken this morning to find it missing, and had known that Kallem had taken it. For his own protection, he'd assured her. So he didn't trust her either. Though she now knew the few moves he’d taught her, Maree wasn’t foolish enough to imagine she could overpower the man to retrieve the blade. Not even with Zophia’s help.

  At least not yet.

  No, she did not trust him. She never would. But she needed his knowledge. Needed the skills he could teach her. And the sooner she acquired them, the sooner she and Zophia could ditch him.

  They’d traveled a good deal this day by Kallem’s compass. Finding the small cave a few hours ago had been a Godsend, allowing them to rest unseen. Maree’s dreams had been troubled, but her body had greedily taken those needed hours of sleep. Zophia too had slept. And though Kallem had kept vigil at the cave’s opening, he too had rested, if not quite so well.

  But it was now early evening. They’d had that short rest and a dinner of cold rabbit and some greens Kallem had gathered. And of course, the self-defense lessons. Now it was time to move, on. Maree had insisted they travel the way the map had shown them—at night—for many reasons. Not the least of which involved eventually leaving this soldier behind. And though she’d heard no dogs and seen no smoke, and Zophia had felt no air of warning—at least not one she’d expressed to Maree—they had to be wary of what lay behind them. More soldiers could be coming.

  Soldiers. She hated the very word.

  A shiver shuddered through her and she hugged herself. “We should get going.”

  “Not just yet,” Zophia said softly, calmly. “Can’t we rest for a little while? I'm still so tired.”

  Maree looked at Zophia, seeing the exhaustion written on her face. Maybe something else—she just didn't look very well.

  “Kallem?” Zophia said.

  “It’s a good shelter. Better to sleep here for a bit and travel later. That way, I’ll have morning twilight to help me find the next suitable campsite.”

  That made sense, she supposed. Plus Zophia would never suggest they linger if she had any inklings of danger...

  “You’re right, Zophia,” she said, walking over to put her arm around the younger girl. “We need our rest.”

  It was good to see the smile on her sister’s face. The two of them went back into the cave and lay down together on the cool ground. But Maree leapt up again quickly as Kallem approached with the quilt. Her heart beating wildly, she snatched it from his hands with such force the blanket would have torn had it not been so strongly sewn. “Never touch my quilt! Never!”

  Kallem stared back at her, his eyes stormy with anger and confusion.

  Zophia put a hand on his arm. “It’s all we have,” she said simply.

  That was true enough. Females were allowed pitifully few possessions, but their own quilts the Prophet allowed. Hags on the outside of those fences made them for the females—gathered scraps, stitched them with strong twine then brought them to trade at the compounds’ fences for small bits of food, or clothing, or scraps of cloth to make more such quilts with their simple and plain patterns. The Prophet allowed this meager exchange between the taunting soldiers and the hags who'd gotten away.

  “Yes,” Maree said, not by way of apology but by way of explanation. “It’s all we have.”

  Wordlessly, Kallem returned to the mouth of the cave and resumed his earlier position. After five minutes, Maree knew he’d fallen into a light sleep. Soon Zophia was breathing easily in her own much deeper sleep. But Maree lay wide awake looking at the dozing man, and more so, beyond him as the stars came to light in the darkening sky.

  Maree pulled the quilt closer around herself.

  Chapter 8

  IT WAS ZOPHIA who spotted the pond. Well, Maree had to admit, she hadn’t really spotted it. She’d found it. Led them to this place of such value, just a ways beyond the northbound path they'd traveled for most of the night. Dawn was approaching; they would soon be resting again, but Zophia had begged them to travel this short ways with her off the path. “I feel it,” she'd told Maree. And Maree had trusted her. Her sister’s feelings seemed to be growing stronger, more urgent, the further they go
t from the compound.

  And the water she’d led them to was pure. Spring-fed, Kallem had explained excitedly, though she could see that for herself. Places like this were rare. But nature was slowly taking over again. Rising once more, little by little. She’d seen it even in the city as they'd escaped, in the encroaching grass and strong weeds that poked through the concrete and rubble of the abandoned streets. Dead trees had supported new green vines, which snaked up them. And the evidence had grown more abundant as they traveled through the wilds. Even the crows—those beautiful birds—seemed more plentiful the further they went.

  Crows had flown over the compound, too. The Prophet had told the people that that was the only place they still flew. That there was no sustenance elsewhere, beyond the compound walls and the precious nearby lands the women tilled and sowed and harvested. Beyond that, there was nothing but vast stretches of desolation separating one compound from another, or so the Order said. It was another teaching lesson. Death, destruction, decay—that was all that remained after the wrath of God had swept through the world. Ah, but the Prophet had offered hope. And perhaps even more importantly, he’d offered up a scapegoat—women. And sadly, so many women themselves had accepted that role even before the inoculation. Hope had been abandoned beyond the walls of the Prophet’s Order—his Holy New Testament. And that supreme, overarching commandment.

  Thou shalt not disbelieve.

  Zophia had been the first to the water, once Kallem had scouted the area to his satisfaction. And Maree had felt a motherly spurt of panic as her sister had bent to drink from it. But she bit it down. Spring-fed, she reminded herself. Perhaps not completely pure, but as close to it as they were likely to find anywhere. Maree, then Kallem, joined Zophia at the water`s edge, greedily drinking.

  And now, they stood back from that clear water, behind the cover of thick shrubbery very near to where Kallem had hung his clothes. The two women crouched down low and peeked through the branches, watching as Kallem, his bare backside to them, waded in.

  The water went up almost to his chest. He dove in, then rose again quickly and shuddered out a profanity. It had to be cold. He gripped a bar of hard soap and quickly began washing his body.

  Maree caught her sister staring. “Maybe you shouldn’t be looking.”

  Zophia battled off Maree’s only half-serious attempt to cover her younger sister’s eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t be either, Maree.”

  Maree snorted. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  Except Kallem Marsh’s naked form was nothing like anything she’d ever seen. Nothing like the Prophet’s.

  She’d felt the power of those muscles, of course, when he’d taught her the breakfall, and she’d seen his bare torso when he’d given her his shirt after the Reprobate’s attack. So it shouldn’t have come as a shock to see the whole of him exposed. Yet it did, somehow. She couldn’t deny the odd flutter in her belly to see how it all came together. The way his neck flowed into wide, powerful shoulders, then nipped in to lean hips. And his buttocks... Watching those rock-solid mounds as he’d strode to the water had been strangely fascinating.

  Kallem ducked under the water one final time, rinsing the last of the soap away. He raked his hair back with hard fingers, and started walking out of the frigid water. Maree could not have stopped her gaze from going to his groin if she’d wanted to. His penis swayed as he walked, but it was the ridge of muscle running from hip to groin on either side that grabbed her attention. Memory stirred. Movie stars used to look like that, in their low-slung jeans. Actors and models and athletes. When she’d been Zophia’s age, she’d spent hours with her girlfriends, giggling at such pictures on the Internet.

  The memory sent a tendril of dread through her. The Internet. Computers. Television and cell phones and tablets and streaming video with programming that wasn't the Prophet's propaganda. Freedom and friends and casual laughter. She hadn’t thought of those things in so very long. It was too dangerous. Too easy to betray herself.

  “Hmmmph. Not such a big deal.”

  Maree bit back a laugh at Zophia’s comment. Though she doubted he had a shy bone in his body, it wouldn’t do for them to be caught watching him as he’d bathed. Besides, she didn’t want to laugh at her blessedly-inexperienced sister’s lack of knowledge.

  “No, not a big deal…right now,” Maree felt obliged to say. “It shrinks in the cold. It can be quite different when it...um...warms up.”

  Despite herself, Maree tensed at the mere thought of an erect penis. Pain. Torment. Humiliation. That was all she’d known in the Prophet’s bed. How could she tell her sister this? How could she not? But at that moment, Kallem neared and she could say nothing. She only watched him dress. And then turn to where they hid.

  “You can come out now,” he said. “Show’s over.”

  Zophia groaned her embarrassment.

  Maree said nothing.

  Of course he’d known they were watching. Despite the slash through his tattooed arm, once a soldier, always a soldier. He’d have to know where they were at all times. He’d probably counted on it, damn him. He’d left his clothing and rucksack perfectly placed. Near enough to the shrub cover that they could spy on him, yet close enough that if they made a dash for the precious commodity of his gear, he could get to it just as quickly.

  Grabbing Zophia by the hand, Maree led her out of the hiding place and over to Kallem. If he thought to embarrass her, he was wrong. And she knew the hostility was there in her eyes as she approached.

  Zophia moved to take the soap from his hand. But with a squeeze of her sister’s fingers, she stopped her reach.

  “And where will you be, Soldier?” Maree spat. “From where will you watch us?”

  Her heart was pounding, ready to rage. Some of the soldiers took pleasure, forcing the women upon each other. Watching them. She’d die before that happened.

  “Near enough to be sure of your safety,” he said. “But you’ll have your privacy while you bathe. I give you my word. Then I’ll leave you to rest, while I go in search of food.”

  Kallem’s answer surprised her—especially the latter part. Both that he would leave them, and that they needed food so quickly. An urgency rose in her.

  “What about the rations?” Zophia asked, glancing at the rucksack. “And we can fill the canteens here. The pond’s a little muddied now and will be even more so after Maree and I bathe, but the spring that feeds it is still clear.” She glanced to her right, automatically knowing—sensing—from which part of the dense blanket of dead trees the spring trickled into the pond.

  “Our rations won’t last beyond a few more days. If our journey is long…” Kallem’s eyes drifted from Zophia’s to Maree’s as he let his words trail off.

  He was waiting for one of them to answer of course. Waiting for them to betray how far they were from their destination—from Society Three.

  Silence.

  With a sigh, Kallem turned his back. Hands clasped behind him, feet spread shoulder-width apart. He waited.

  Maree could feel Zophia’s seeking eyes upon her. Maree said nothing, but nodded to her and they both began undressing. They dropped their clothes to the ground.

  With a girlish whoop, Zophia dashed toward the water and dove in. Maree felt a pang of panic to see her disappear beneath the water, but reminded herself the water had gone up to Kallem’s chest for quite a distance. As long as they didn’t venture out any further, they wouldn’t be over their heads. Maree followed more cautiously. She’d known how to swim before the mass inoculation, and assumed it was a skill she’d retained.

  Zophia broke the surface with a loud gasp. Maree dove into the water herself, and echoed that shocked gasp when she came up.

  “This is the coldest—” Zophia stopped mid-sentence and turned to Maree. “Do parts of us shrink up like that too?” She had an impish smile on her face, no doubt knowing full well the soldier could overhear.

  Maree snorted, then glanced up at Kallem. He stood where they’d left h
im, his back still turned, but she could swear there was a bit more tension in his shoulders.

  She splashed her sister. Zophia splashed back and soon they both were laughing. As their bodies adjusted to the cold, they ducked under and up again. Maree turned onto her back and dared a few strokes. She could still swim! Then, looking up at the sun, she simply rested there, floating these moments on her back.

  “I’m going to try that,” Zophia said.

  Maree stood again, then crouched down in the water. Now that her body had mostly adjusted to the cold, it was warmer beneath the water’s surface. “It’s not that easy.”

  Zophia eased herself onto her back in the water. She floundered briefly, but was soon doing it—floating on her back, trusting that the water would support her. Trusting enough to let go. There she was, victorious in the water, smiling up at the sky.

  Maree watched her sister’s innocent enjoyment. This is what it’s like to be free, This is what hope feels like.

  She caught herself. Hope was a dangerous thing. Hadn’t she always been taught that? Ever since the inoculation. Yet she was on this trek to find Society Three. There was a moment of sadness, which ached behind eyes hardened from tears that would not fall.

  Lost in thought, she startled when Zophia laid a hand on her shoulder. Her intuitive sister leaned in to whisper. “Nope, nothing shrinks out here at all. Nothing shrivels in the cold. We won’t let it. Especially our spirits. Right, sister?”

  Maree blinked rapidly at Zophia’s unexpected insight. But she shouldn’t really be surprised. More and more, Zophia seemed able to read her thoughts.

  “Right.” Maree smiled her broadest, sunniest smile. If nothing else in this world could, her sister would keep her going. She would cling to the faith of a child. One who had so far been spared the worst of the pain of the place they’d left behind. “Come on. Time to dry off.”