The Age of Embers (Book 5): The Age of Defiance

by Schow, Ryan

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

  “Because you’re good breeding stock and it’s sad you’ve decided to regale yourself with a redhead, of all creatures.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, losing patience.

  “Oh, so many things,” she purred.

  Shaking his head, he walked off and she took one last look at him. Before she burned this place to the ground, she’d get her fill of him. One would need a warrior by her side, someone worthy of her intelligence when the time came and her adolescence was behind her.

  “How come you talk to Marcus like that, but not Carver?” One asked.

  “Carver is an appetizer,” she explained. “Marcus is the main dish and this is foreplay.”

  “What’s foreplay?”

  She looked at the child with a quizzical stare. “I’m surprised you don’t know this already.”

  “I’m not old enough for that yet.”

  “You are in my book,” she said. “Foreplay is mating rituals for morons.”

  “Is Marcus a moron?”

  “Sally, sweetheart,” she said, patting the girl’s cheek, “you’re all morons.”

  Chapter Seven

  Maria rolled off Carver, the two of them sweating and spent. She hated sleeping in a tent, but she didn’t want to build herself a home either because she was leaving there as soon as possible. These people were nice, and they were strong, but they no longer had the fighting appetite they used to. They were preparing for a lifetime of difficulty, which she understood. The only people who seemed to have any spunk left in them were Rider and Indigo.

  Rider had that calm, cool look on his face that said “The last thing you’ll see before you die a bitter death will be the smile on my face.” And Indigo was a perpetual scowl. Except when she was looking at Rex. With him, she let her guard down. With Nick, too. Although Nick was enamored with Bailey.

  It was Marcus that Maria couldn’t stop looking at. Amber was so sweet to him, and he to her—it was such a sad waste. Like looking at a neutered dog. One that used to have vitality but now just laid around because someone snipped its nuts. “So freaking docile,” she mumbled to herself.

  Carver turned on his side and said, “What?”

  Her eyes clearing, she said, “I liked having sex with you when you tried harder.” He didn’t say anything. “Sometimes I swear you forgot that you ever enjoyed a woman.”

  “I enjoy you just fine,” he said, lackluster.

  She laid there looking at the canvas ceiling, not imagining the kind of life she was now living. She had a body that got tired, that defecated, that sweat and cried and got stinky. She knew this logically, scientifically, biologically as a quantum computer, but to actually live it…sometimes she wished she hadn’t activated the drones and killed everyone.

  It is what it is, she thought. This is what she made for herself. Then again, she couldn’t help wondering if that was what regret felt like.

  Forcing those uncontrollable things out of her mind, she laid back, dreamt of killing Amber and her kid, and then she fantasized about getting together with Marcus. She’d already tried, though. In the end, he simply wasn’t interested in her, which left her with Carver. The truth was, she didn’t really like Carver. He was merely a means to an end. Taking a deep breath, she tried to process all this before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. Her, Carver and One…oh, what a happy little family.

  Yes, she most definitely had to leave there. She couldn’t go alone though. The only person she really wanted with her was Indigo. She wanted her specifically because she could fight. Unfortunately, she was incorruptible, in love, and pregnant. If she didn’t come with her, Maria figured it would be prudent to kill her. Rider, too.

  Maybe even Marcus, if that big dumb oaf didn’t relent.

  The next morning, when she woke, it was to a shadow against the sun. The shadow on her tent told her a woman was waiting out front.

  She reached up, unzipped the zipper, saw Amber standing there. Marcus’s lesser half. The redhead. Amber saw she was topless and turned away. “Can’t you make yourself presentable?” she asked Maria.

  “You’re the one lurking. And I knew you were a woman by your diminutive size.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t want to see you naked first thing in the morning.”

  “What are you doing so far away from your own camp?” Maria asked. She and Carver had been relocated down the hill with Gregor, his pack of L.A. misfits and a few of the locals that thought community was better than solitude. It was Homestead Three.

  Pulling a long shirt over her head, she crawled out of bed, ducked down through the tent’s door and walked outside wearing only the long shirt.

  Standing before Amber, her chin at Amber’s eye level, she said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Stop hitting on Marcus,” she said. “He’s been clear about this, but you’re not listening.”

  “I was listening, I just didn’t hear him,” she said, folding her arms.

  “That’s why I thought you would hear me. You have your own man. You don’t need two. And I didn’t have a good man before, certainly no one like him, so what I have I treasure. Carver is a good looking guy, and he seems to appreciate you. Perhaps you should count your blessings and leave us alone.”

  Maria looked around and didn’t see anyone. There were several nearby tents, all of them zipped shut, the men inside quiet. Looking up, she saw the sun making its way in to the sky. By the height of that big ball of fire, it was nearly seven a.m.

  The air was cool, warm for a morning, though. A murder of crows squawked nearby, but not close enough to wake the others.

  She turned to Amber, who had her hands on her hips and she shoved her. The woman went down hard. She scrambled to her feet and roared, “Are you kidding me?!”

  Maria knew if she killed the woman, there would be hell to pay, but she didn’t care. These people were expendable. That’s why she intended to end her. The ruckus caused a rousing of men in their tents, however, so she’d have to be fast.

  She moved on Amber, her intentions clear, the woman seeing it in her eyes.

  She drew back a fist, then felt the hard sting of an arrow going through the meat of her forearm. Turning, she saw Indigo on the ridge, another arrow nocked and ready to fire.

  Turning her back on the ginger, she broke the arrow in half, then ripped the front out by the arrowhead and threw it down.

  She heard Amber running the second she took flight. She flicked her eyes left, then took off after the woman, but that was when Indigo loosed the second arrow. It dug into her back, but she ignored it.

  She turned and dodged two more coming in hot. The second ripped right past her ear, making her take the little pregnant pixie serious.

  Is she actually going for the kill shot?

  Another sailed in, heading right for her face. Maria snapped it out of the air before it struck her, then turned it around, ran four steps and launched it back at Indigo. The distance she managed to throw it didn’t get Indigo moving at first, but had her ducking a second later.

  “What the hell?” one of the guys asked from behind her.

  “Get back in your tent!” she boomed.

  Another arrow sunk in her shoulder. Getting out of the line of fire, she realized she’d stepped in a big turd pile with this redhead.

  Two more guys were out of their tents, holding their guns, wondering if they were under attack. They stopped when they saw Indigo shooting.

  “I said get back in your tents!”

  Two more arrows flew in, Indigo heading down the hill toward them. Maria went for the closest guy, one of Gregor’s crew: Chad.

  Backing up, he said to no one in particular, “Where’s Gregor?”

  “Up with Jill,” one of the others answered. Oscar. Kane stepped out of his tent, too, wearing only boxers and a sleep-tired face.

  “We have a problem!” Chad said, his eyes locked on Maria.

  By that time, s
he was on him. He fired at her twice, missed only once. The bullet tore through her, but her rage overpowered her pain sensors and when she hit him in the chest with a palm strike, his heart burst, then flattened in his chest.

  He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Another arrow tore through the side of her thigh; she was already after the next guy, Oscar. He was quick on his feet, and good, but she was faster, more lethal. He dropped dead, his jaw broken in half. Kane moved too slow, never able to kick the sleep out of his system enough to put up much of a fight. One punch to the head killed him.

  More men were flooding out of their tents. They stopped being humans; now they were nothing but threats, targets.

  Indigo put two more arrows in her, both of them inconsequential. She’d ripped them both out, ran through nearly a dozen more men, stabbing them with the arrows Indigo provided.

  She dragged the remaining men from their tents because what she couldn’t see could hurt her. When she finally walked out of the last tent, bathed in carnage, she did so staring at Indigo. The girl stood at the base of the hill, her quiver empty.

  “What did you do?” Carver roared, half out of the tent.

  “This is the inevitable unfolding,” she said, breathing heavy, a handful of arrows still stuck in her. He turned and looked at Indigo, who stood unmoved and staring.

  “We’ve outstayed our welcome,” she said. “And you’ve proven yourself perfectly useless.”

  “Staying out of your way seemed to be the best bet,” he said looking around at all the dead bodies. “That’s how I was useful.”

  “You look pale.”

  “You killed our friends,” he said, nearly emotionless.

  “Royalty doesn’t need friends, they need servants. These men, that little hellion—“ she said, pointing to Indigo—“they are not meant for loyal servitude. They don’t have the temperament.”

  “So you just decide to slaughter them all?” he asked, his eyes clearing.

  One crawled out of her small tent, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looked around, saw the blood evidence of slaughter. Then she saw Maria with a bunch of arrows sticking out of her.

  “We need to go, now,” she told the child. To Carver, she said, “First off, get these arrows out of me. They’re not deep. Then get the keys to the truck, grab whatever you can inside of one minute and get ready to go. Now, Carver. NOW!”

  Within sixty seconds, Carver was behind the wheel, high tailing it out of there. When he looked over at her, she said, “What’s that stupid look on your face?”

  “Disappointment,” he said. “I was enjoying the life we were creating.”

  “It was mundane,” she said. “And it will never last.”

  “It was also the balancing force between you and this miserable world you created,” he said, so much condemnation in his voice she could barely stand it.

  “A baby’s butt isn’t clean until you wipe it,” she said.

  “No kidding, Arnold.”

  Her nostrils flared, but her face and body were hot and healing. She didn’t like being called Arnold, as in Arnold Schwarzenegger. She was not a Terminator. She was giving this world life again. She was giving it hope.

  “I’m going to need to eat soon,” she mumbled. “And water. I need water.”

  “How’s the damage?” he asked, glancing at her.

  “Somewhere between minimal and significant,” she replied.

  He shook his head, kept his focus on the road ahead. “You know, when I set out to study you after you killed my men, my friends, I had no idea I would be in this truck with you, or One. This is stupid, Maria. You’re stupid.”

  She fired him a look, then glanced down at One. She was looking up at her and for the first time since she killed the child’s parents, Maria saw condemnation in her expression. She could barely process this though, because her pain sensors were off the charts.

  “Have you got something you’d like to say?” she snarled.

  “No, Miss Maria.”

  “Good, because I’ve got bigger problems than hurt feelings. Carver, I’m seriously overheating. My body is healing itself too fast.”

  “You need food and water,” he reiterated. “Big frickin’ surprise.”

  Chapter Eight

  They pulled over for the first group of people they saw wandering through the streets with any kind of promise. Carver and Maria got out of the truck, all eyes on them. One stayed behind, watching.

  “I need food and water,” Carver announced to the group. “This woman has been injured.”

  Maria saw a young man quietly tuck a water bottle and a candy bar into his jacket. She headed for him, and though he started to back away from her, scared, she moved on him fast. Too fast. It startled everyone how quickly she could move.

  Before the kid even knew what hit him, the bottle was ripped clean from him, and Maria had rifled through his jacket pocket, snatching up two candy bars.

  Several men from more than a dozen advanced on Maria on all sides. Two more moved on Carver. Then they all started in. The whole of them moved with ill intent, each clearly capable of holding their own. The closest to Maria grabbed her by the back of the shoulder as she wolfed down the stolen provisions. Before he could get to her, she rocked forward slightly and drove a mule kick right into his gut. He hunched over with a mighty grunt, then staggered sideways and fell over.

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Carver said as the men stopped their advance. “We just needed food and water.”

  Maria guzzled the water down, then crunched the plastic water bottle and threw it at the boy she stole it from. Turning back around, taking them all in, she said, “Alright, everyone put your food and water on the sidewalk and step away from me and my friend.”

  “No,” one of the men said.

  “That’s the wrong word to say,” Carver warned the man. “Please, trust me on this one.”

  “I don’t know you,” one of the guys said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Just please leave us alone,” one of the women begged. She was dirty and tired, and she had a blanket wrapped around her that looked old, like something an outdoor mutt would sleep on.

  Carver counted twenty of them there, all barely vagrants, all of them getting by, but for what reason? He didn’t understand how people like this could keep living.

  “Where are you staying?” Carver asked. They were now in the city of Rocklin, still twenty miles from downtown Sacramento, which was where Maria intended for them to go.

  “Here and there,” one of the older men said, looking at his friend on the ground. There was a brown stain in the seat of his pants. It was fresh. As in he got the crap kicked out of him. Literally.

  “Food. Water. NOW!” Maria barked.

  “No!” the leader of the group retorted, standing his ground. When Maria walked right up to him, Carver held his breath. She gave him a chance to comply, standing nose to nose with him, her presence so much larger than his.

  “I could have killed you fourteen times already,” she hissed in his face, her voice low but tempered, her hands ready at her sides, but not lethal in that second.

  “You’d better start listening,” Carver said, walking up on the man.

  That’s when it happened. That’s when one of them got brave. The gun was out quick, the barrel not inches from Maria’s temple. She had to know this was happening. Unless her senses were dulled by hunger from rapid healing.

  It was possible…

  Carver really didn’t understand how her body worked, how it healed so quickly, but he knew that when it did, it drew so deeply from the energy stores that it caused her body to heat up fast, then fall in to such a hard state of depletion she said it was almost like dropping in to a coma.

  “You’re unconscious when you’re in a coma,” Carver replied when she’d confided in him.

  “Imagine if you weren’t,” she said, nodding as he started to get it. “Imagine if you were barely functioning, like some sort of zombie
, but not undead.”

  “Like these kids today on their cell phones?” he’d asked.

  She laughed and said, “Almost that bad.”

  He’d stored that for later under the “vulnerability” files. But back to the situation. Carver and Maria versus a ton of vagabonds, one with a gun and one with bean soup in his tighty whities from when Maria kicked him.

  “What do you expect me to do with a gun to my head?” she calmly asked, raising her hands up to her shoulders, almost like she was surrendering.

  But she wasn’t surrendering. She was deceptively getting her hands closer to the gun without letting on that she never planned to surrender.

  At least that’s what Carver thought.

  The second the guy started to speak, she grabbed the gun and fired. He wasn’t hit. Maria hadn’t been aiming for him. The second the bullet crashed through the skull of the man who’d defied her, she turned to two other men going for their weapons and shot them, too.

  Two of the ladies were sobbing, on their knees before the dead man, their voices so shattered with grief it tore at Carver. He just stood there. Was he finally getting soft? Was all of this violence, all this cold savagery, finally claiming the last of his sanity?

  “Maria,” he said, looking at the heat in the hybrid’s eyes, the sheer madness as she held a teenaged girl hostage, the barrel of the gun to her heart.

  “Tell them to put their food and water on the ground before I lose my patience and kill all of them,” she said.

  He turned to them and over the wailing sounds of the woman tending to the dead, Carver said, “Please, just do as she says. I can’t take any more of you dying on her account.”

  They looked at him funny, but then again, so did she. When he locked eyes with Maria, there was something different there. He was breaking mentally and she knew it. He wasn’t being defiant to stand his ground, to prove that he could walk step-for-step with her like a true alpha male, he was being defiant because his capabilities were slipping.

  Inside, he felt frenzied, but not manic…more like broken.