Repulsion (Compulsion Book 2)

by Perrin Briar

  Wyvern and Quinn were oblivious. The candles flickered with the draft from the open door and broken window.

  In the kitchen, a Gray-haired Grayskin in a tattered red flannel shirt had his mouth on the broken pane of glass in the door to the outside. Siren wound up with the axe high over her head, bringing it down on the head with as much force as she could muster, cutting a slice of the Grayskin’s ear, cheek and chin. Then she remembered she had left the front door ajar, and turned to run back to the living room. What she saw sent her heart racing.

  The creature had Quinn’s biceps in each of its hands. Quinn sat still, concentrating, eyes still shut tight, hands out, palms up.

  Siren drew an arrow with lightning speed and fired across the room, missing her target completely. She could hear growling outside as the other Grayskins had reached the front steps.

  Siren closed the distance with Quinn and threw her booted foot with the force of her whole body into the chest of his attacker, knocking him back a couple of feet, as she fell to the floor and quickly came back to her knees, drew again and put an arrow through its skull.

  She immediately drew and fired at the Grayskins crowding through the door. She hit one. But she had dropped the axe in the kitchen.

  Siren breathed heavily, wildly searching for something that would help her fight these creatures off.

  A Grayskin man in a tweed sport coat came at her. He looked like a high school teacher. Siren grabbed a poker from the fireplace, wound up like a pro baseball player at bat, and smacked him in the face. This maneuver stopped him for a full five seconds.

  Looking around, Siren grabbed one of the candles between Wyvern and Quinn, and held it to the sport coat, setting it on fire. His clothes went up in flames, giving Siren time to retrieve the axe from the kitchen. It gave her enough distance to fire an arrow at the female Grayskin behind the professor.

  Siren hit her in the mouth, causing her to stumble back. Then she decapitated the professor and turned to thoughts of how to put out the fire. Fortunately she had been in charge of hauling water and knew right where the water jugs were. She grabbed them from the kitchen and doused the fire on the Grayskin.

  “Hurry up, Quinn,” Siren said.

  QUINN felt the strength of his power over Wyvern’s virus reach a plateau. He issued his final orders. In his vision, the fireflies began exiting Wyvern’s mouth in a stream.

  SIREN appraised the two men sitting on the floor amidst the carnage she had caused. They were oblivious to it all.

  But then she saw Wyvern reach out with his hands and place them in Quinn’s open palms. Something was happening.

  She stepped over the bodies and scanned the front of the house, careful of the side where the teenager had grabbed her. She saw no one. She walked back through the kitchen where she had sliced open a Grayskins’ skull. Those windows were not shuttered. She saw nothing outside on that side of the house.

  She walked out and completed a full perimeter of the house. As she did, she Sensed something.

  She felt a new tingle in her mind. It was not emotion, it was something else. And it was coming from the farmhouse’s front room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  INSIDE, Quinn opened his eyes and rubbed them. Wyvern did the same, but did not say anything. Quinn looked around at the bodies on the floor. He looked impressed by Siren’s handiwork.

  Quinn got up off the floor. Wyvern hadn’t moved, besides blinking repeatedly. Quinn walked to the kitchen and took a deep swig of water from the jug they had filled. As Siren finished her sweep, she entered by the front door and ran to Wyvern’s side.

  When she got to him, Siren sat down carefully next to her brother. His head was bowed. He was leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. She gently placed her hand on his back.

  There was no tension there like before. Siren let out a relieved breath. Quinn still hadn’t said a word yet. Siren leaned down so she could see into his eyes.

  “Wyvern?” she said, searching his face. “Are you there?”

  Silence.

  “Wyvern?” she said.

  Her brother did not respond nor look at her. A cold wind of realization blew through her hopeful, longing heart. Tears flowed over her cheeks.

  Looking up, trying to face the true fate of her brother, Siren heard Quinn’s footsteps as he paced in the kitchen, drinking a glass of cold tea.

  “Quinn?” Siren said. “What’s wrong with him? Why is he like this?”

  “Give him some time,” Quinn said. “Now all we can do is wait.”

  The life of a dream always had some slight kink in it. There was always something wrong, something slightly out of place. That was what made it a dream and not the real world.

  At the Caldwell’s, it had been the missing girl that wasn’t spoken about, whose clothes Siren still wore. With the gypsies, it had been in the sly smiles, curious glances and trinkets.

  Siren pondered the dream of boring country life, as she sipped hot coffee cooked on a wooden stove at her new Texas home—home for the moment, that is. Her brother had become a sort of robot farmer, a vocation he had never had much interest in in the past.

  The sun came up each day, and drew Wyvern to his feet like he was a marionette. He had already eaten breakfast and was out in a field creating some kind of garden, using a hoe to till the earth. He would come in for lunch and go out again and work until the sun went down. Then he ate supper and went to bed. If supper wasn’t made already, he went about making it. He bathed and washed his clothes occasionally. As his face healed, he began to shave with a straight razor he had found in the bathroom. It was as if his virus demon had been cast out and replaced with a mindless ghost.

  Wyvern had still said nothing, and paid little attention to anything Siren said. That is, unless she called his attention to something that required completion, such as asking him to shut or open the barn door. He would obligingly carry out the task before continuing on with his own activities.

  But there was no passion in him. Everything he did, he did automatically. A robot in human clothing. Siren felt a deepening sadness. Quinn had warned her of releasing him from the virus, but she hadn’t listened. Her only comfort was Wyvern was no longer a raging cannibalistic monster. Nothingness was preferable to evil, she supposed.

  In tandem with her sadness was a growing anger she felt, directed at Quinn. He had been cooperating with the Raider that shot Wyvern. It was his fault the Wyvern she knew and loved would never return. The tension between them grew. She still felt bound to him, obligated.

  “Can you Sense him?” Quinn said, walking into the kitchen for the first time that morning.

  He held a pan of coffee and poured it into a mug Wyvern had washed the night before. Siren shook her head. When Quinn came around, her mood always soured, darkening, frown lines deepening on her young face.

  “It’s subtle, almost as if it isn’t there,” she said. “A fraction of what I usually Sense. There’s no emotion, more like a placeholder for it.”

  She looked at Quinn, interested.

  “What about you?” she said.

  “I lost him as soon as the virus left him,” Quinn said. “I Sense nothing.”

  They both watched Wyvern as he finished planting a new row and pulled out a bandana to wipe his brow in the mid-morning sun. Then he began hoeing the next row.

  “He does seem to be content here, though,” Quinn said.

  Siren smirked at Quinn’s attempt to find a silver lining.

  “Did he ever do any farming before?” Quinn said.

  “No,” Siren said, thinking back painfully through memories of their old life, how free she had felt under his protection. “Never.”

  She put her coffee mug in the sink.

  “I’m going to bring some water,” she said.

  Siren pulled on an old jacket hanging on a peg and went out the door. She picked up the empty five-gallon containers by the door and walked toward the pond, passing a line of graves Wyvern had buried his former Grayskin
brothers and sisters.

  There was always some little quirk.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE NIGHT before, Siren had taken a hot bath and slept for the last time in the most comfortable bed she could remember being in. She slept long and deep and dreamed of good things. She awoke ready to face the future. As usual, she had breakfast with Quinn. Wyvern had already eaten and hard at work in the garden.

  “We’re leaving today,” Siren said.

  She could see Quinn’s eyes brighten.

  “Okay,” Quinn said.

  “I appreciate your being patient with me, giving me time to think things through,” Siren said.

  It was hard for her to say, but Quinn had shown no need to leave, had given no indication he had a timetable. She knew he wanted to move forward, and wanted her with him when he did.

  “No problem,” Quinn said. “Now?”

  “Let’s finish breakfast and pack,” Siren said.

  She glanced out the window at Wyvern.

  “There’s nothing here for us any longer,” Siren said.

  Quinn got up. He had already finished eating. He hadn’t expected they would leave this day, though he had hoped it would come soon.

  Siren finished a can of peaches and drained the last of her coffee. She got up and stared out the window at Wyvern, at the nice little farm she was leaving behind.

  There would be no tears today. She had been through all of that in the past few days, watching as her brother showed no signs of recognizing her nor caring she was there. She had no hope of him thinking of her at all. She could love him, but he could not love her back. It had taken some time, but she had come to terms with it now.

  Siren threw a couple of cans of peaches in her backpack. She would not be taking the compound bow. It was too heavy compared to her small bow. But she took the arrows, certain Quinn would take the shotgun, a valuable find even without ammo. She walked out into the garden.

  Wyvern was wearing the Texas Rangers ball cap she had given him at the gas station. He didn’t stop working even at her approach.

  “I’m going away for a while,” Siren said. “This is a nice place. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

  Wyvern didn’t even look up. But then, Siren hadn’t expected him to. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. He didn’t seem to notice. No tears today, Siren thought.

  She turned and found Quinn standing by the road, backpacks at his feet. They left side by side. On the road, she knew they would soon be joined by Grayskins controlled by Quinn, who was now her only companion.

  As they topped the next rise, she looked back at her brother, toiling away in the sun. Wyvern was free, of a sort. She had a new mission now.

  Despite all he had done for her, had attempted for Wyvern’s sake, she was determined to ensure Quinn would not succeed in his twisted plan. For what he had done to her, her family, he had to die.

  Chapter Eighteen

  EMBERS popped and crackled in the dying fire. The wind whistled through a valley below the camp, its pitch rising and falling like an opera singer warming up for a concert.

  Too much noise!

  Siren strained to hear Quinn’s breathing to determine if he was fast asleep. She turned her head to look at him. They had been lying down, saying nothing for a half hour.

  She was uncomfortably close to him. The fire was still between them, crackling, popping, dying. She heard the rhythm of sleep, matching the rising and falling of Quinn’s chest, and began making her first slow moves to rise.

  Siren pulled back the hammock, which doubled as a blanket when she could not find a tree. Moving no more than an inch a second, she rolled over, then got to her feet. She had removed her boots earlier. The ground was cool beneath her feet. The terrain was open, but there was no light save the fire, a layer of smoke concealing the stars.

  Around the fire they had placed some heavy rocks to radiate the heat. But the rocks were still too hot. Siren had to walk a few yards from the camp to find another one. She lifted it, with some effort, with both hands, and held it close to her chest as she walked back, directly toward Quinn.

  Hell’s Angel and his gang were gone already. Only Quinn remained. For weeks now she had lived with this man, eaten meals with him, slept beside him, breathed the same air, all the time knowing he had been in league with the Raiders, controlling the Grayskins. He was one of them. And now she had the opportunity to finish him. Her heart beat faster as she walked, careful not to make a sound.

  At last she came to Quinn’s resting form, quiet and harmless by the fire. No Grayskins to come to his defense. They would be a half mile or more distant. Her arms shook a little, not from fear, but from the strain of lifting the rock over her head, as high as possible, to take advantage of the acceleration of gravity.

  Her rage was a solid lump in her chest, her shoulders, her throat. She looked directly in Quinn’s face.

  His eyes were open.

  Whatever had awakened him, he showed no alarm. The campfire crackled. He could clearly see the determination on Siren’s face. His face belied no expression. He had been expecting this. He closed his eyes again. His arms rested calmly on his chest. He awaited his end.

  Siren realized then that what she had seen in his eyes was what she felt inside, what she now felt for her brother too. Self-loathing. Disgust. Of wanting to escape one’s own skin. A welcoming outlook toward death, reaching out. Desiring it.

  The rock came back to her chest. She dropped it, letting it fall to the ground. Quinn opened his eyes again and, seeing that his suffering was not to be ended just yet, rolled over. He almost looked disappointed. Siren knew how he felt.

  Quinn got as comfortable as he could and fell back to sleep. There was no relief for Quinn tonight, and none for Siren either. Quinn was still human, despite what he could do. He wasn’t crazy enough to be happy about being different this way.

  Siren was surprised to find she felt a kind of kinship with him, an understanding. She could not bring herself to kill him. She walked back to her hammock and lay down, staring up at the massive, slow-moving dark blue-gray clouds above her.

  She had planned to kill Quinn for weeks, and now her mind came alive with thoughts of what Quinn planned on doing once they reached their destination.

  Maybe Quinn was just making the best of a bad situation. Maybe he really did feel an obligation to do something. But the idea of Grayskins and survivors working together side by side seemed impossible. How could he think it could work?

  Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he just needed a dream, something to strive for. As long as the Grayskins existed and the living fought each other for resources, there was little to look forward to.

  Siren rolled over and pulled the hammock over herself. She was exhausted, but yet she could not sleep. She could not kill Quinn, but she didn’t have to stay with him either. Wyvern was in a happier place now. She was back right where she had started. She could take care of herself. Maybe she would go back to the Caldwells. Maybe she could find another motorcycle.

  Dawn crept toward her as she pondered all the avenues of possibility and, dare she think it, hope.

  Chapter Nineteen

  SIREN ate the last of her canned peaches cross-legged in front of what had been the fire. Quinn sat on the opposite side. There was nothing to be said. All was understood between them.

  For Siren, a new chapter would soon begin, one that did not include Quinn. There was no need to trouble him now, especially when a bunch of Grayskins could be waiting around the corner. Quinn chewed on some berries and scraped his face with a razor.

  “How do I look?” he said.

  “Honestly?” Siren said.

  “Yeah, seriously,” Quinn said. “I don’t have a mirror.”

  “Are you auditioning for a show today?” Siren said. “Or scored a job interview?”

  “It always pays to be presentable,” Quinn said. “As presentable as possible, anyway. Remember that, young Padawan.”

  Siren rolled
her eyes and grunted in disgust. Quinn continued shaving, feeling his way with his fingers.

  “I DON’T THINK they would stand a chance,” Siren said.

  “Come on,” Quinn said. “With a regular team you have a bunch of individual guys running around doing their own thing.”

  “They have plays!” Siren said. “Do you know nothing about football? You’re not from Texas are you?”

  “I know they have plays,” Quinn said, ignoring her question. “I’m just saying they act with eleven minds, whereas my Grayskins team would work as one, with only one mind: mine.”

  “That’ll be their falling grace then,” Siren said. “Having to rely on a poor mind to lead them.”

  Quinn grinned. Siren shook her head.

  “Okay, what about this,” Quinn said, pointing in the air at nothing at all. “The other team is controlled by you, and acts with one mind as well. Living versus Grayskins, a Compulsion super bowl. Huh?”

  Siren looked at Quinn, smiled a little, and then shook her head again, looking at him like he was crazy. It was a stupid conversation. The kind they both missed having, the kind you had when you’re not concerned every minute with survival. Smiles and laughs were rare, and welcome whenever they came. But they never lasted.

  Structures lay ahead, small structures clinging to the hill they were perched upon. Siren could already tell it was abandoned. First of all, there were no defensible structures. Just a few wood slat buildings, painted white, with pitched roofs. A church and something else, probably a store or the post office.

  Grayskins or Raiders would have no trouble entering and taking whatever they wanted. If they had enough ammunition, they wouldn’t even have to come in to take out every uninfected. They could just shoot through the thin walls of the structures. Grayskins could gnaw through them just as easily.

  “Any Grayskins present?” Siren said.