Savage: an Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector Seven (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Conner Kressley

  All of them had been rounded up and destroyed by the government. Or, at least, I thought all of them had.

  The energy collided with the Ravager, knocking it backward and burning a hole in its chest.

  “You alright, Jenny?” Chester asked, breathing hard and looking over at me.

  “Fine,” I replied, ignoring the fact that my name wasn’t Jenny. “But how did you get one of those things?”

  “This?” he asked, looking at the still shining blue pistol. “It was the only thing my daddy left me that was of any account.” He shoved it back down into its sheath. “Not a bad parting gift, though.”

  “We’re not supposed to bring weapons in here,” I said instinctively. “It was in the rule booklet.”

  “And there wasn’t supposed to be gangly-ass monsters in here, either,” he balked, throwing his hands out at his sides. “So, I guess we all got reason to be sore, don’t we?”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “And thank you. You just saved my life.”

  “Nothing to it, Jenny,” he replied, patting me on the shoulder. “Though, to be honest, I’d have figured that your super-duper witch power might have warned us about that. Guess maybe the visions aren’t what they used to be, right?”

  As his hand brushed against my shoulder, one of those visions filled my mind.

  I saw him lying on the jungle floor. A divot had been clawed into his gut. His throat had been slashed wide open. He was dead.

  I shuddered, moving backward quickly.

  “I guess—I guess not,” I stammered in response.

  Chapter 3

  Chester and I made our way into the heart of the Outpost just minutes after the attack. It was so close, in fact, that I could still smell the burning stink of the Ravager’s body on the dust-ridden ground.

  Thinking about that again, I couldn’t help but let my mind rest on the vision I’d just had. If Chester was going to die, then wasn’t it my responsibility to warn him about it? If he was really going to end up there on the ground, bleeding out and terrified in the jungle, then maybe I could tell him about it and stop it from ever coming to pass.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t come to pass at all. Maybe the act of telling him about it would be the tip fate needed to bring it to fruition.

  My powers were a bitch like that, and, no matter how much I tried to stop it, whenever they flared up, I always found myself in trouble.

  “I figured you’d be a little bit tougher than that,” Chester said as we made our way into town.

  The buildings looked worn and dated, at least a ten old, with their squared-off rooftops and wooden shutters on the windows. They were outdated, but, more than that, they were empty. Where was everyone?

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, looking over at him. Somehow, the rickety nature of this place made him look less sketchy. He seemed like he fit in here among the filthy front porches and wide-open saloons. Of course, that may might have been the point.

  “You’ve hardly said a word since our little run-in with the Ravager,” he explained. “I was hoping your skin would be a little thicker than that. I mean, the darn thing barely got near us before old Chester here put a slug in his belly.”

  He grinned widely, obviously brimming with a sort of pride that I had rarely seen in the noblemen in the Hills. Sure, they felt good about themselves, but they always seemed to lack the self-made happiness that came with even the smallest accomplishments.

  “That’s not what it is,” I said, trying not to allow the sight of his dead body linger too long behind my eyelids. “It’s just that this place is a lot different than what I expected.”

  “Me too,” he replied, and shrugged my bag from one shoulder to the other. “Isn’t it great?” he asked with a huge smile. “I never expected a saloon and a diner. I mean, one or the other, sure. But what kind of place has both?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, staring at him long enough to be reasonably sure he wasn’t joking. This place was a dump, an absolute embarrassment when you took into consideration that Roamers were the people who kept the Savages and Ravagers from breaching the walls and kept us safe. They were also the people who brought in enough food to make up the difference between what our people needed and what they were able to grow within the Sector.

  So, the idea that this hole was the place they were designated to live in was more than a little troubling, especially for a girl whose father had taught her that hard work and sacrifice led to prosperity.

  “You hear that?” Chester asked, taking his hat off again to wipe more sweat from his brow.

  “Hear what?” I asked, turning backward, the way he had, and peering off into the distance we had just traversed.

  “Like thunder,” he answered, holding his hat up to shield his eyes from the quickly setting sun. “Like a damn wave or something. It’s like–”

  I heard it now, too, a roaring sound that reminded me of the steam trains that used to roll through the Hills before the Regent discontinued them. And what was more, I knew exactly what it was.

  “A stampede,” I muttered, blinking into the sun as the wall of the Outpost expanded, pulling itself open. I felt Chester stiffen beside me, a low and half-excited moan escaping his lips.

  They came slowly at first, glimmering in the sunlight like some sort of heat-stroke-induced mirage. Then, as the thunderous roar grew louder and louder, the details started to become clears.

  Men on horses came rushing up, hooves clumping one after another on the dirt road.

  They were the most majestic things I had even seen as they rode toward us, eyes forward, their uniforms all matching. Roamers wore brown coats and golden stars. Their ten-gallon hats were adorned with feathers, a sign of respect to a Regent who had more than a passing fascination with birds, the only live animals that were allowed within the grounds of the Sector.

  As they neared us, I saw one man galloping ahead of all the others. He was older than most of those following him, with silver hair and a handlebar mustache on his face that matched. I didn’t need to see the bars on his shoulders to know who he was. It was clear in the look on his face, sunburned and wise. It was clear in the way that all the other Roamers stayed reverently behind him.

  He was the Marshal, the head Roamer of the Outpost. Aside from the Regent herself, there was no one on either side of the Sector who had more authority than he. And within the confines of the Outpost, his word was law.

  He barely slowed down as he neared us, opting instead to pull hard on the horse’s reins, causing it to skid to an almost certainly painful stop right in front of us.

  “What in the seven circles is this?” he asked in a voice like grinding stone as he looked us up and down. “Did we have piss ants scheduled to arrive today?” He spit something brown and gross out at my feet, and I instinctively stepped backward. He shot me a withering glance before turning back to one of the men who had now settled beside him. “Did we have piss ants scheduled to arrive today, Marco?” he asked the dark-skinned man on the white horse beside him.

  “Is today Tuesday?” Marco asked, also looking at Chester and me like we were from another planet.

  “Fuck if I know,” the Marshal said, not breaking eye contact with me. His grey eyes ran right through me, and I felt like he was finding me very lacking.

  “If it’s Tuesday, then we definitely did. If it ain’t, then we maybe did,” Marco said.

  “Goddamn it, Marco. Ain’t you supposed to be taking note of stuff like this?” the Marshal asked, shaking his head. “Otherwise, what in fuck’s sake am I keeping you around here for?”

  “I suppose because you like me,” Marco answered in a flat voice that led me to believe they had had this particular conversation more than once.

  “Suppose so,” the Marshal said. “In any event, I suppose, now that they’re here, we gotta take them in.” He turned back to Marco. “Tuesday or not. So, why don’t you take them into the orientation room while I change out of these pants.”

  Looking dow
n, I saw that the Marshal’s pants were covered in a thick, dark-colored liquid.

  “It’s blood, honeybunch,” he said, catching my glance. “Blood of Savages, and you’ll need to get yourself used to it if you want to survive out here.”

  I bristled a little, which tickled the Marshal. He chuckled as his spurs dug into the horse’s sides, sending him galloping forward again.

  *

  It turned out that the orientation room in question was little more than a dusty, out-of-commission saloon. As Marco guided Chester and me into it, motioning for us to take a seat on one of the many wobbly-looking wooden chairs scattered around an otherwise empty room, he tipped his hat to us and told us to “Wait here.” Then he tapped his fist against the dust-covered bar and pushed his way through the decrepit-looking double doors and back out into the street.

  “Wonder if they got any ale back there?” Chester asked, then started to stand.

  “Would you stop that?” I said, then grabbed his arm and pulled him hard back down against the chair.

  “Dammit, woman, you’re stronger than you look,” he said, wincing and pulling his arm away. “Looks like you’re the one who oughta been dealing with that Ravager, given the force of your grip and all.” He shook his head. “Besides, I was just looking for something to take the edge off.”

  “And what if they don’t want us to take the edge off, Chester?” I asked, motioning out at the huge and obviously very unattended expanse we were now sitting in the middle of. “I mean, look at this place. It’s obvious the Outpost isn’t the way they sell it back in the Sector.”

  “No shit,” he balked, glaring at me from under the rim of his hat like I was the stupidest person in the world. “You thought it would be? I guess that’s where we differ from folks from the Hills. Out in railway country, nobody believes a damn word the Regent says about anything.”

  “I’d tell you that was treason if I wasn’t inclined to agree with you.”

  The Marshal’s gruff voice sounded through the room before we saw him enter. When he finally pushed through the double doors, his boots thumping against the floor,he was dressed in a new (and only slightly less dirty) pair of pants.

  “Still,” he said, “you might want to keep your voice down when you’ve got harsh words for the Regent, piss ant. Not everyone in these parts is as progressive as you and me.”

  “Why do you call us that?” I asked, looking up at him from my chair and noticing his silver mustache. It danced up into twisted curls at the ends and seemed to be the only groomed thing about him. “Piss ants?” I repeated, though the words felt wrong coming out of my mouth.

  “’Cause that’s what you are,” he growled. “Until you prove that you’re something else.” He looked me up and down again. “No matter how much you don’t belong here. Let me ask you a question, girl. What in tarnation brought you out into a hole like this? What are you, nineteen or better? Shouldn’t you be pushing out your third baby by now and making some poor man’s life difficult instead of whatever you think you’re going to accomplish out here?”

  Anger shot up my spine. No one, Marshal or not, was going to tell me what I was capable of. I might have been a woman. I might have been born into one of the softer communities in the Sector and spared some of the harsher hardships that people like Chester had to grow up with. But I had been through my own trials. I had found other sorts of rocks to break myself against. And no one was going to take that away from me. I didn’t care who he was or how many bars sat on his shoulders.

  Standing, I felt blood rush up and color my cheeks. “You don’t know anything about me, sir,” I said sternly. “You don’t know what I’ve been through or how I managed to get through it in the first place. I’m here because I want to make a difference. I’m here because I believe I can make a difference, and more than that, I’m here because I believe you need me. Becoming a Roamer has fallen out of favor with women. We make up less than two percent of your current roster.”

  “I know that,” theMarshal answered.

  “Then know this,” I continued. “I’m not going to. I grew up with a wild heart, sir. I might not look like I belong here to you, but what I look like has no bearing on what I’m capable of. I’m best damn prospect you’re ever going to see. I can assure you of that.”

  He looked at me anew now, and something like mirth passed through his eyes before it was immediately replaced by more worn hardness.

  “No need for the speech, girl. You’re here now, and I ain’t about to send a pair of able hands out of the Outpost, not when we need them so badly.” He started pacing back and forth. “Now I’m supposed to tell you a lot of garbage about what we do here. I’m supposed to tell you that the traitors from the Regent war have gone all savage out here in the jungles surrounding the Sector. I’m supposed to tell you that they’re trying to get back into the Sector and that, in doing that, they’ve managed to find a way to poison the grounds inside the Sector and make homegrown foods rarer than common sense in there. I’m not supposed to tell you that they’ve managed to find a way to do the same in here, though I suppose the barren desert you piss ants just walked through gives that away.” He shook his head again. “The fact is, I figure you already know most of this stuff and you’re here anyway, which either means you’re as stupid as the sand on your boots or you’re just the kind of people we need out here.” A smile tugged up his lip. “I suppose the two don’t have to be mutually exclusive, though. In any event, what I will tell you is that my name is Marshall Weston.As a Roamer, you’ll go head to head with these Savages and be expected to show them no mercy, and that it’s a dangerous and thankless job that holds none of the honor or perks that you were probably hoping it did. It’s hard, it’s disgusting, and you’ll probably die from it.”

  “Isn’t that just a bouquet of roses,” Chester muttered, looking up at Marshall Weston.

  “Is what it is, boy,” Marshall Weston answered, then spat another wad of disgusting brown liquid right on the floor. I had to stop myself from gagging as he looked over at me, wiping his mouth with a filthy sleeve. “You’ll be in the women’s facility. It’s at the east end of the Outpost, and, until our three other female Roamers get back from a mission they’re on, you’ll have the place to yourself.” His gaze slid over to Chester. “We’re out of beds in the men’s facility. You’ll be sleeping on a cot in the corner. How’s that for roses?”

  He turned and walked toward the set of double doors with the same lack of overture that he’d come in with. Then, turning back toward us, he added, “There’s also a ‘no fraternization’ rule among Roamers. So, y’all are going to have to promise to keep your naughty parts away from each other.”

  “Not a problem,” I answered instinctively.

  “That’s what you say now.” Chester smiled at me,; his only reasonably attractive feature. “But I’m like an infection:, slow and invisible at first, but before you know it, I’m everywhere.”

  “Keep it in your pants!” Marshall Weston yelled, his hands pushing at the double doors. “And be ready in the morning, piss ants. Training starts early.”

  Chapter 4

  Marshal Weston couldn’t have been more right when he told me I would have the women’s facility completely to myself. The ramshackle building at the far end of the Outpost was about a tenth the size of the one Chester was shuffled into, and empty as a tomb when I was forced into it at lights out.

  I hadn’t met anyone other than Marco, Chester, Marshal Weston, and that particularly dangerous Ravager since my arrival here. That didn’t bother me, though. It had taken all of three hours for me to realize that this wasn’t the sort of place that you made friends in.

  After the Roamers filtered through, galloping along on their horses, they all dispersed, moving into a saloon or into their own rooms, or to the bevy of rocking chairs that sat on the various porches strewn along the main drag. None of them seemed to be in the mood to interact with each other much, though. As I walked through the Outpost, taking i
n the sights (or lack thereof), all I could think about was how criminally quiet everything was. The only sounds that kept me from thinking I had gone deaf was Chester’s incessant chatter.

  We spent the majority of the evening with him telling me everything there was to know about him. I heard about his little sister and how she used to cry whenever she lost one of her baby teeth. I heard about his house and the way he bet that all of it could probably have fit inside my living room. I even heard about the one time he got to try chocolate. I came away from all of that thinking that, while he was definitely the sort of personality that I would have never been drawn to back in the Sector, there was a certain charm in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. There was a lot of love in this guy and, from what I could tell, absolutely nothing ugly.

  Of course, knowing that made the vision I’d had earlier in the day even more hard to swallow. Again, I had no way to know if it would come to pass or not. All I could do was hope that I had been wrong, that this lovable goof had many years ahead of him.

  I crawled into bed not long after the sun had disappeared behind the Outpost wall. Unlike the Sector, this place had no artificial light, so it was plunged into pitch darkness without the sun.

  Luckily, I found a few fresh candles in one of the cabinets and a match or two to light them. When I was a kid, I’d always had a thing about the dark. It had gotten so bad that my father had allowed me to sleep with a lit candle beside the bed. I hadn’t done it for years now. The entire thing just seemed too childish after my mother had passed on. I was supposed to be the woman of the house after that, and the woman of the house couldn’t exactly sleep like a scared little girl.

  Still, something about being in this strange house, in this brand-new place that was completely different from the way I had pictured it, left me longing for something familiar.

  So, when I found myself reluctant to blow out the candle beside my assigned bed, I cut myself a little slack.