by Perrin Briar
Quinn was visibly upset, pacing around the office. Greer turned to him with a look of compassion. He motioned for Quinn to sit, and they both sat down in the two leather chairs in front of the desk.
“I appreciate your ability,” Greer said. “Everyone here does. And you have a great mind for tactics. In the old days, you would have made an outstanding army officer for sure.”
Quinn enjoyed the compliments, but he knew they were a prelude. He looked at Siren, who smiled and nodded her head as if to say, Look at you. Aren’t you something?
“The reason I’m insistent that we must defend ourselves,” Greer said, “is so we can show the Raiders, and any other attacker for that matter, that there is something about us that is unconquerable. If it is just you defending us, then you become an obstacle, and Whitegate is still the prize. Eventually, they will find a way to get close to you and take you out, maybe while you are sleeping, I don’t know. Maybe something else will happen to you, God forbid.”
“We have guards, we have-” Quinn said, but Greer stopped him with a raised hand.
“That’s not even the most important reason,” Greer said. “We want the Raiders to never come back. And for the word to spread, so others don’t replace them. But if Whitegate is subject to a protector, there will always be the possibility of a guy like Rafael taking over again. Siren, you saw what he did?”
Greer turned to Siren, who looked like she did not want to get involved.
“He beat up Bess,” Siren said. “He flogged Emile. He had a man dragged to a town meeting.”
“He was just getting started,” Greer said. “They wouldn’t get rid of him, because they couldn’t. The Raiders were always worse than him in their eyes. I’m sure you can understand.”
He looked intently at his son.
“When a general goes down, for any reason, there is always someone to replace him,” he said. “Another soldier takes his place and the army keeps fighting, because they know how to fight.”
Greer sat a moment. Quinn pondered this. There was no denying the logic of it, but the risk was high as well. Then Greer leaned forward.
“Last night, you heard me talking about family,” he said. “About how we as a community have to pull together in the same way a family does. You remember that?”
Quinn nodded slightly, quietly.
“A father does protect his family, but he also teaches his children to defend themselves,” he said. “And they teach their children.”
Greer and Quinn looked at each other for a full minute in silence. The point was made. But Quinn still had reservations.
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “How do we defend ourselves as a town? We only have a few scouts who know how to use weapons, and we have hardly any real weapons at all anyway.”
Greer shook his head. Quinn could see that Greer did not really know how his plan could be executed.
“I have an idea,” Siren said.
Quinn and Greer looked at her, surprised, as if they hadn’t even noticed she was there.
“It’s an idea that requires us all to work together,” Siren said.
“What?” Greer said.
Siren stood up and leaned forward, hand on the desk.
“Fear,” she said.
Chapter Forty-One
WAVES of heat rose from the pavement ahead of the band of Raiders approaching Whitegate in full strength. The sun had been overhead for hours and not a single cloud had passed over. They stopped a half-mile from the Welcome to Whitegate sign, killed their engines, and dismounted.
Kutcher removed his sunglasses and squinted. He could see figures moving in the town, but they were too far in the distance for him to see what they were doing. He looked around, then pulled his shotgun from its niche in the pipes of his Harley. He checked his trench knife, which was sharp as a razor, twirled it on his finger, and replaced it in its scabbard.
The rest of the Raiders checked their weapons in suit. Everyone held guns at the ready. Rafael stood beside Kutcher with a revolver. Then they walked carefully forward.
Rafael knew the town had no guns and few would know what to do with one. The Raiders would attack straight-on. The only resistance they expected was the Grayskins. There had been a lot of them last time, and it caught them by surprise. But this time the Raiders were ready to cut them down before the Grayskins had a chance to surround them.
As they approached the auto shop and the dance hall, they saw what the movement was that they had seen earlier from a distance. Grayskins. They were gnawing on bones and lethargic, as if satiated after a big meal.
“No one ever comes out here,” Rafael said.
“Maybe they were running away,” Kutcher said.
They moved on en masse. Suddenly a pair of Grayskins charged from behind a tree. Rafael raised his revolver. Kutcher put a hand on his arm and Rafael lowered his weapon, confused.
Then Kutcher took his trench knife and slashed one monster’s throat, twirled three hundred sixty degrees and got the other one. Their heads were not completely cut off, but were detached enough that they rolled around. They looked like Grayskins Pez dispensers. Then they fell.
“Save your ammo!” Kutcher said to his men as he stepped over the bodies and moved on.
“I don’t like this,” the slight Raider with the red leathers said.
They all started grumbling, but Kutcher pushed on. The deeper they got into town, the more Grayskins there were. Leaning out of windows looking around, stumbling down alleyways, or just standing around.
“There’s too many of them, boss,” one of the men closest to the front said.
A Grayskin ran up to him right then. He was taken by surprise, but slashed wildly and in a few strokes had struck the Grayskins down.
“This town’s infested!” a Raider screamed. “There can’t be any people left!”
IN THE SPRAWLING branches of an oak tree near the auto shop, Siren, Greer, and Quinn sat still and quiet. Siren felt the strange Sensation of another Compeller working beside her, as she and Greer worked the fertile field of fear in the Raiders, nudging them, subtly encouraging their suspicions and anxiety.
Meanwhile, Quinn directed his Grayskins like marionettes, hands raised. They had decided to split things up, Greer working on Kutcher and Rafael, Siren Compelling the rest. The Raiders were about twenty yards ahead.
Kutcher had slowed, looking around more carefully.
A shot rang out.
“Sorry,” a Raider to the rear of the pack said. “Sorry that was me. My… My finger slipped.”
Back in the tree, Siren grinned, pleased with her work. She’d worked the Raider up into a frenzy of fear. The shot had attracted some Grayskins, which had been getting thicker and greater in number as the Raiders progressed deeper into town.
Kutcher scowled. They were almost at the Chamber of Commerce building. They could see it. Then Rafael motioned for them to stop.
“That’s Greer’s,” he said, pointing at two Grayskins near the front door of the Chamber building.
They were sucking on bones and eating what at first just looked like flesh. Then they could see it was a human foot. The bones and flesh were stuck to a purple jacket.
“I recognize that jacket,” Rafael said. “They got him.”
More shots rang out. All around, Raiders were slashing Grayskins.
“I’m telling you, boss,” the red Raider said. “This ain’t right.”
“Okay Red,” Kutcher said. “I think this town is dead now. There’s nothing here but scavengers. Let’s go! Move out!”
He backed up, then turned and led the group back the way they had come.
“It worked,” Siren said.
“Hold on,” Greer said.
He pointed. Rafael had not moved. He eased around the back of the Chamber of Commerce building.
The Raiders were moving slow, even though Quinn had made the Grayskins give them a wide berth on their way out. The fear had taken hold. But they did not see the three conspira
tors slide out of the tree and make their way back into town to see what Rafael was up to.
When they found Rafael, he was outside the Corral, sneaking, not so stealthily, down a wall toward a side door.
“He knows that’s where most of the food and other supplies are stored,” Greer said. “It’s visible and easily guarded.”
Rafael was fumbling for a key.
“He’s going in,” Greer said. “Quinn!”
Quinn raised a hand and several Grayskins walked silently through the front door of The Corral, out of sight of Rafael. When he got the door open, the Grayskins started walking out with food all over them. One of them had a large can of chili with the top torn off, eating it with his hands.
Rafael was so scared, he dropped his revolver, and ran down Main Street to catch up with the Raiders. As he reached them, he slowed down and glanced back. Siren Sensed disappointment and sadness. He almost had it all. He would have lived like a king for the rest of his days, or so he thought. And now that dream was gone.
Behind a nearby building, Siren, Greer, and Quinn leaned against a wall. When they heard the distant rumble of motorcycles, they visibly slumped in relief.
“The foot was a nice touch,” Siren said to Quinn.
“Well, I don’t think Old Man Smith will mind,” Quinn said with a chuckle. “He’s been dead for a couple weeks.”
Siren frowned.
“Too morbid?” Quinn said.
Atop the water tower, a guard emerged, who had been hiding around the back of the tank. When the Raiders disappeared in the distance, he gave the sign.
Quinn sent the Grayskins quickly away beyond the town. People began quietly emerging from their homes. Slowly, hesitantly, as if it might break the spell, they began to cheer, fists pumping the air in victory. They were ready for a fresh start, to rebuild, to return to normalcy.
Chapter Forty-Two
EMILE smiled, hands clasped, a fresh white chef’s hat on his head. He stood at the end of a table where Quinn and Siren were finishing breakfast, along with Bess, Elizabeth, and some others.
“Best fried chicken and waffles I ever had!” Siren said.
“I’m willing to bet you have never had the combination before,” Emile said. “But I accept it as a compliment anyway.”
He had a huge smile on his face. As a man, Quinn could tell Emile was taken by Siren, just as he had suspected days ago when they were walking toward town. She wouldn’t need to Compel any of the young men here. She was no longer a freak. Everyone wanted to know her.
“Are you sure you won’t stay?” Bess said. “The children are really going to miss you.”
Siren smiled, touched.
“I’ll miss them too, Bess,” she said, “and I’ll miss your guidance, too. But I have work to do elsewhere.”
“I’m sure you do,” Elizabeth said, with an understanding look only an older woman can give.
“You’re all going to do great here, you’re very resilient,” Quinn said.
“We hope you’ll come back and visit,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m sure we will,” Quinn and Siren said together.
SIREN and Quinn stood near the door to the supply room. Siren held her backpack open while Quinn dropped in supplies. Her bow and a few arrows were tucked in. Greer stood outside waiting. Siren frowned at Quinn with each heavy item he dropped in. She was going to have to carry all of this.
Finally he stopped and she heaved the backpack onto her shoulders. Quinn’s pack was even heavier. Having said most of their goodbyes, they walked out of The Corral toward Main Street.
“You don’t have to leave, you know,” Greer said. “You could stay here and help us defend Whitegate.”
Then he glanced toward the old school building.
“I’m sure there are other ways you could employ yourselves as well,” he said.
“Some day,” Quinn said, nodding. “But we have to try this thing, bringing Grayskins together with people.”
“You could come with us,” Siren said to Greer. “Help us.”
“I don’t think so,” Greer said. “Sometimes you can work so hard to make a better life for others that you forget to do it for yourself. Never make that mistake. You have one life. Make it count. With all the beauty in the world—even now—there’s never a reason to be bored. Seize this moment, because you never know. It may be your last.”
Then Greer turned to face Siren.
“I want you to know something,” Greer said. “I was going to set you free. That day we captured you.”
“With a bullet in my head,” Siren said. “I was there that day you met with Hell’s Angel.”
Greer frowned when he heard the name. Quinn put his hand on Siren’s shoulder.
“The Merchant’s right-hand man,” he said.
“You heard me say I would kill anyone with the Skill,” Greer said.
Then he looked at Quinn.
“But now I know it is not the skill which decides how someone uses their power, but the person who wields it,” he said.
They began to walk together down Main Street.
“Nearest community of any size is Arthur’s Port,” Greer said. “Head south west. Good luck to you both. Come back safe. Soon if you can.”
They embraced. Quinn and Siren walked out, waving at people who returned the gesture as they swept the front of their stores and went about the business of life in Whitegate.
The sun was bright in their faces. The only clouds were off in the distance, and the road got hotter with every step.
Chapter Forty-Three
A COOL BREEZE from the northwest fluttered Siren’s ponytail as she squinted into the Sun. She felt good. She felt free again. Now, she felt no malice toward Quinn, though there was still a mystery about him.
“How long to Author’s Port?” Siren said.
“Weeks,” Quinn said.
“Good thing we’re not in a hurry, eh?” Siren said. “Since we have all this time, I think it’s about time you told me about this plan of yours to save the world.”
Quinn looked at Siren for a long moment, studying her eyes and the happiness that would not leave her face even in a moment of seriousness, the slight smile that was always there. It brought a smile out of him too.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “It’s actually very simple.”
“A plan for world domination,” Siren said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
They walked on, laughing all the way.
Epilogue
RAFAEL sat cross-legged facing away from the campfire watching small animals warily creep at the outskirts of the Raider’s camp, hoping for a morsel of food or a bone carelessly thrown in their direction.
The Raiders grumbled around the fire behind them. He eyed the tin can next to him, representing his most recent meal, which had been a gruel made of water mixed with a coarse powder meant to feed cattle.
What had he done wrong? Were the freaks just too powerful for him? Great leaders can control such people. It certainly wasn’t the people of the town, they were like sheep to his shepherd-wolf. The Raiders must have been the problem. If they had been able to handle those Grayskins he would still be in control. They were incompetent. And now he was stuck with them.
As he sat there thinking, the Raiders talked among themselves, occasionally glancing back at Rafael, and sharpening sticks like they might be going to roast marshmallows or hot dogs.
After the failed raid, they blamed him for its failure. They had been desperate. Food had been scarce, and they were all hungry. They wouldn’t talk to him anymore.
Rafael knew it wasn’t going to work, but he had nowhere else to go. He had lived in Whitegate for decades, even before the outbreak.
Dejected, he hoped sleep would help him think better. Perhaps he should beg for a blanket.
Then he felt a Raider grab his arm. Another, his other arm. Then his legs.
“What’s going on?” Rafael said.
Soon, all of his clothes were bein
g stripped off as he was carried to the fire. Kutcher stood before him with the biggest knife he had ever seen.
For miles around, a terrified scream was heard, as “The Butcher” lived up to his name, and Rafael finally gave the Raiders the full bellies he had promised them.
An Additional Gift From the Author
I hope you are enjoying Repulsion. The next book will be released very soon. In the meantime, why not check out my other series Blood Memory. As a special gift I’m giving you an exclusive behind-the-scenes peek of its opening. Details of how to grab the next book are available after the excerpt.
-EXCERPT-
Blood Memory
Book One
1.
Anne recognized the sound. She’d heard it dozens of times over the past week. She peered over the boat’s edge. The fog was so thick she couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the prow.
At thirty-two, with a thin wiry body and dirty blonde hair that barely reached the nape of her neck, climbing over the thirty-eight foot Viking yacht was easy for Anne, though her legs and arms still bore the scratches and bruises from the first few turbulent days on board. She held onto the railing that wrapped around the cabin’s roof and edged along the narrow rim to the stern.
A body floated in the water. Only the torso was visible, the legs lost to the fog. The man’s head patted the boat with a hollow thud, the cause of the sound she’d heard. The man would have been handsome if it wasn’t for the puckered purple cut across his left cheek, his pallid skin, and nose bent at a broken angle.
“Joel?” Anne’s words were muffled by the fog. “Come up here!”
She listened but there was no reply. She stomped her foot on the deck like a buck calling a female.
“What?” a voice called out.
“Come up here a minute.”
