Outliers_A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Novel

by Kate L. Mary

  Outliers

  The Outliers Saga

  Kate L. Mary

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kate L. Mary

  About the Author

  For Rebekah, who suggested I watch The 100,

  which helped inspire this world.

  You were right. It’s amazing

  Published by Twisted Press, LLC, an independently owned company.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kate L. Mary

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1984122056

  Print ISBN-10: 1984122053

  Cover Art by Kate L. Mary

  Edited by Proof Corrections by Callie

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

  1

  The feast was the biggest one yet. After three years of working in the House of Saffron, I should have been used to it. But there were days when no matter what I did, I found it impossible to block out the sights and smells that accompanied my job. The smoky fragrance of roasted meat that begged my stomach to pay it mind, and the mountain of mashed potatoes, complete with rivers of melted butter carving their way through the peaks. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it all, there were moments when my senses took over. On those days my arms and legs worked on muscle memory alone. Carrying the bottle of wine, pouring it ever so carefully so as not to ruin the fine clothes of the people sitting around the table. Serving the dessert, baked apples with cinnamon or raspberries sprinkled with chocolate, all things that never once in my twenty-four years of life had passed my lips. Things that made my mouth water and my knees threaten to give out. Things that my stomach begged for.

  Today was one of those days.

  It was to be expected. Yesterday had been a bad day, so I had taken my meager rations from the kitchen home to Anja and our mother. It was something that the head housemaid frowned upon, but as long as I only did it sparingly, she chose to look the other way.

  “Indra.”

  The sound of my name cutting through the conversation snapped my brain into focus. Saffron was at the head of the table, sitting with her back so straight that it looked as if she had a board tied to it, and she was waving me over.

  “Mistress.” I bowed when I stopped at her side, careful to keep my head down.

  She was a short woman, as were all the Sovereign, and standing with my head dipped the way it was meant that we were practically eye to eye. This close up her skin appeared fake. It was the same pale shade as everyone who lived in the city, but waxy and much too smooth to belong to a woman more than half a century old. Her cold eyes were the same shade of gray as her hair, and she possessed a healthy roundness that signified her station in life, yet did not boast the same gluttony most of the other Sovereign’s bodies did. Standing next to her always made me feel like a withered leaf that would soon be blown away by the wind, and today was no different.

  “Your master just had the most wonderful thought,” Saffron paused the way she always did when she spoke. It was her way of making sure everyone was paying attention, something she should have been unconcerned about within these walls. When the head of this house spoke, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. “Do you know of someone in need of a job?”

  I kept my head low, but my eyes snapped up faster than usual. Was this a trick? Saffron had no sense of humor, but the request still felt wrong. The Sovereign had not created a new position in decades. Our jobs were passed down from generation to generation. Three years ago, when my mother had gotten too sick to keep working, I had taken her place, just as she had taken the place of her mother when she was a young woman.

  “A young boy, perhaps?” Saffron continued when I said nothing. “It’s just that Lysander is about to become a man and I’m sure he could use a Hand to help him throughout the day. He will be starting his own life very soon, you know.”

  I did know. Everyone knew that the son of Saffron and Bastian was about to marry. The house had been preparing for the celebration for nearly a year. I was also painfully aware of the fact that Saffron’s only child had been a man for many years now. A man who preyed on the kitchen staff, who cornered women in the pantry and had his way with them. I had been in that position myself, but only once after first arriving at the house. After that I had learned how to watch my back, being careful never to make myself vulnerable so I would be forced to endure the humiliation of that day again. Not that my efforts had prevented other women from succumbing to the same fate. It was impossible to recount how many times I had been forced to stand by and do nothing as the pleas of another woman penetrated the pantry door. There was nothing for me to do, of course, but I hated myself all the same. Lysander of Saffron was a monster, and yet he was among the class that ruled our little world, and Outliers like myself were powerless to do anything to stop it.

  Saffron’s gray eyes held mine as she waited for my response. They were like two stones, as cold and emotionless as she was, and yet sincere. She was being genuine in her inquiry, and even though I found it impossible to understand the motivation behind her sudden goodwill gesture, hope bloomed in my chest. A position like this could change a family’s life.

  “I do, Mistress,” I said, once again lowering my eyes. With Saffron, or any of the Sovereign for that matter, eye contact needed to be kept as brief as possible. “I know the perfect boy for the position.”

  “He isn’t too young, is he?” Bastian asked, and as always I found it difficult not to cringe at the sound of his nasally voice. I was fortunate that he rarely spoke.

  Keeping my head bowed, I allowed my gaze to move across the table to Saffron’s husband. He was a plump man, even bigger than average, with a gut that strained against his shirt, threatening to pop the little white buttons that kept it closed. Like his wife, Bastian’s skin appeared waxy in the light of the kitchen, but that was common for Sovereign since they spent very little time outside.

  Bastian dabbed his napkin at his mouth before saying, “We don’t need a good-for-nothing running around the house.”

  “No, Master,” I said, once again focusing my eyes on the floor. The rug under me was worn but still bright, and soft under my tired feet. “Ten. The perfect age for training.”

  “Indra knows our ways. She will pick a good one,” Saffron said, dismissing her husband with a slight wave of her hand. “Her family has served us faithfully for centuries.” A pause. “How is Dichen?”

  I curled my fingers and dug my nails into the fleshy part of my hand. “My mother is very good, Mistress. I will tell her that you asked after her.”

  “Good, good. It was a shame to lose her, but you have proven to be just as manageable as she was. It’s
not always the case, you know.” Saffron was no longer talking to me. She had turned to the guest at her right hand, the mistress of the neighboring house, but I remained where I was. “Eslanda, you’ve had such a difficult time with your help, have you not?”

  “The most difficult time.” Eslanda paused with a fork full of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth and the electric lights glistened off the butter. “That’s why I’m supporting Stateswoman Paizlee’s bill.”

  Saffron frowned at her guest as she waved her fingers at me, motioning that I was dismissed. “You can’t be serious.”

  I backed away as Eslanda raised a plump hand to stop Saffron from saying anything else. The head of the neighboring house was robust, twice as big as Saffron, and the rolled skin at her neck was a bitter reminder of how much those living in the city had compared to my own people.

  “I know you’ve had good fortune with the Outliers in your service,” Eslanda said, “but not all of us have been so lucky. One of them stole from the House of Kora only last week.” She popped the mound of potatoes into her mouth in a triumphant gesture.

  “What’s this?” Bastian asked, his nasally voice booming through the room, earning him a glare from his wife. “We haven’t had a gathering in years.”

  “Well, I may be exaggerating.” A white speck flew from Eslanda’s mouth and landed on the lace tablecloth, lost in the intricate white design just as I turned my back to the table. “But there was an incident at the house. I’m not certain exactly what happened, but whatever it was, it was enough for Kora to change her views on the bill. We need more regulations when it comes to the Outliers. We can’t just let them in and out of the city like they’re one of us. They aren’t. They’re different.”

  The last word seemed to hit me in the back, and for the first time today the wobble in my legs had nothing to do with the food piled to excess on the table. My steps faltered as I passed the line of Fortis guards, and the one closest to me reached out when I stumbled. He caught himself before his fingers could make contact with my arm though, and his hand dropped to his side as his fingers curled into a fist.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in a voice just loud enough that I was able to discern it above the conversation going on behind me.

  Shock forced my gaze up, but the man was so tall that I found it difficult to keep my head down while lifting my eyes to meet his. I had seen him before, every day since first coming to work in the house, but until now he had never addressed me directly. He was older than me, but not by much. Currently he stood in the shadowy recesses of the room, making his bronzed skin look darker than usual. The light hanging above the dining room table at my back cast a shadow across his face, accentuating his strong features and making his brown eyes look almost black. His hair was cut close to his scalp, so short that he almost appeared bald, and unlike many of his Fortis companions, his face was free of hair.

  The man’s gaze met mine, but only for a beat before I once again lowered my eyes to the floor. The House of Saffron was one of the most affluent homes in Sovereign City and employed more guards than the average house inside the walls. Still, during my three years of employment, not once had I ever spoken to the dozen or so men and women who guarded the family. The Fortis may not have been Sovereign, but they were still better than me. I was an Outlier. I was nothing.

  I nodded once in response to the man’s question, not daring to utter a sound, and then hurried to my place among the other Outliers.

  Isa stood at my side, and the uniform she wore looked on the verge of swallowing the bony fourteen-year-old girl’s body. She had been in the house for only two weeks now, having replaced her sister, Emori, who was too swollen with child to continue working. Unlike most of the Outliers who came to work in the city, Isa had lost weight since she started. I knew why: she had been sneaking her rations to her pregnant sister, but I also knew it would have to stop. Once a week was acceptable, but if Isa took food outside the city too often, even if it had been given to her, someone would take notice and accuse her of stealing, an offense that Outliers rarely risked. The penalty for theft was much too harsh.

  Isa tugged at the sleeve of her dress, a sign that she was not yet used to wearing the strange clothes of the Sovereign. It was a sensation I remembered all too well. The fabric of the uniform was too stiff, too unnatural feeling after a lifetime of wearing fur and animal hides. Although it was not the fabric alone that made Outliers feel like intruders in this world. The clothes the Sovereign wore were too colorful, unnaturally bright and garish compared to the drabness of Sovereign City, as well as too long and with too much excess fabric in general. The women wore dresses with sleeves that covered the entire length of their arms, even when it was not cold outside, and skirts that flowed around their legs when they walked. The men, too, seemed to dress more for looks than for comfort, with long pants and clunky shoes, and jackets that were unnecessary for keeping warm. Despite how hard my mother had tried to prepare me for my position in the city, it had still taken me some time to adjust to the new world I had suddenly found myself immersed in, just as I knew it would be for Isa.

  I had been much older than her when I arrived at Saffron’s house though, and the passage markings on the young girl’s temples that indicated she was now the main provider for her household seemed to contrast with the childish roundness of her face and the flatness of her chest. Fourteen was much too young. Even when I had received the passage markings on my own temples at the age of twenty-one, I had felt the weight of the lines. It had not been the pain of the half circles and dots being carved into my skin, but the knowledge that it was up to me to make sure my mother and sister did not starve. I could only imagine how difficult it was for Isa.

  “Did you eat the stew you were given this morning?” I whispered to Isa. I had to look up because even at fourteen she was taller than me, which was not unusual. Almost everyone towered over me.

  On my other side, Mira shot me a warning look, but I ignored her and focused on the teen.

  Isa shook her head.

  “You must,” I whispered, my gaze darting to the table quickly before going back to the girl. “You have taken Emori enough food.”

  “She needs it.” The teen stuck her chin out defiantly and kept her eyes straight ahead, avoiding my gaze.

  “She also needs a sister who has both hands.”

  Isa’s dark eyes shot down, capturing mine. They were big eyes, round and brimming with innocence. The eyes of a child who had been protected too well by her mother and older sister. Emori and Cera had thought they were helping Isa by taking on the burden of life for her, but now that the girl had been forced into service, her naïveté was a hindrance. She needed to be better acquainted with the ways of the city or her time in the House of Saffron would be short, and then Cera, Emori, and the baby that would soon join them, would struggle to survive.

  “You promise me you will eat the stew?” I hissed again.

  Mira’s fingers wrapped around my wrist and I tore my gaze from the young girl at my side so I could focus on the table. Saffron was watching me from across the room, her gray eyes like icy thorns. I would be punished later, I knew, but I also knew that I could not let Isa be found out. Her punishment would be much greater than mine.

  “Promise,” I hissed, talking out of the corner of my mouth even as I watched Saffron. The mistress’s lips turned down, but I was rewarded for my efforts when Isa’s head bobbed twice.

  I lowered my head and only a beat later Mira’s hand slipped from my wrist, but not before I felt the tremble in her arm.

  2

  After dinner, the family and their guests retired to the drawing room while the servants went about the task of clearing the table. We did it wordlessly, knowing that Saffron was still nearby and would not tolerate conversation of any kind while company was in the house. Around the room, the Fortis guards stood watching over us, and the black fabric of their uniforms blended into the shadowy corners as if they would soon become one with the darkne
ss.

  The room was silent enough that I was able to discern the quiet hum of electricity from the light hanging above the table. A “chandelier” Saffron called it. It consisted of nearly a dozen light bulbs and hundreds of polished balls of glass dangling around them. I had never seen anything like it before coming to work here, and had been enthralled by the delicate balls for the first few weeks in the house. Then I had been tasked with cleaning the thing. Spending hours on a ladder polishing the little pieces of glass had cured me of the obsession. Now I only saw it as a nuisance.

  When the dishes had been cleared, I stripped the lace tablecloth off and took it to the back of the house. The air in the laundry room was cozy and warm, and the drone of the dryer as it flipped the clothes nestled inside was soothing enough to make me wish I could curl up and take a nap the way the Sovereign often did after their midday meal. A silly wish, and one that would never come to fruition for someone like me.

  Back in the kitchen, the other Outliers were washing pots and pans, and packing leftover food away. The atmosphere was less tense than it had been in the dining room because we were no longer within earshot of Saffron. The kitchen was the one place in the house where we were able to talk a little more freely, and even though it had its limitations, I was always thankful for the break.

  Isa alone was not working, but instead sat at the table in the corner of the room eating her stew, much to my relief. The girl had appeared thin in the dim light of the dining room, but in the brightness of the kitchen it looked as if her collarbones were trying to push their way through her dark skin. She had been giving her sister too much, something I would need to address. Pregnant or not, Emori had to know that Isa needed the food just as much as she did.