Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel Page 5

  Not that she could read it. Besides Lee, only Irving could make sense of the letters. He could tell her she was required to strip naked and dance a hula and she'd believe it, if Irving backed him. Bracing his feet, Lee stood on the cart. From his position, he stood at eye level with the Guild.

  Irving cleared his throat. Director Cole turned her head slightly and he nodded. She thrust the book into the boy's stomach and shooed him away. Irving ran his hand over the boy's flanks when he passed.

  "Very well." The Director cleared her throat before smiling wide enough so everyone could see her canine teeth. "Will your son not be present for the reading of the roles?"

  The bitch was enjoying herself. Lee forced his hands to his side. "Brad Neville is here. But as his sire, I am invoking my right to stand-in for him."

  "So be it." She inclined her head. "Players, take your marks."

  The younger Guild members Janice and Stanley stroked their throats.

  So, they too wanted blood. Lee grinned back. It would be his pleasure to deny them.

  The crowd in his right peripheral vision shifted. His daughter-in-law lifted her faded yellow skirts as she climbed onto the stage. She kept her face averted but he saw the smile playing on her lips.

  Blood pounded in Lee's ears and his vision narrowed to a spotlight on the stage. His wife's favorite dress. The whore wore his Lilly's favorite dress! He sucked air through his clenched teeth and forced the trembling from his limbs. Calm. He needed to be calm.

  The crowd twittered and whispered.

  Alisha Dean-Neville stood to the right of the Guild and peeked at the audience behind her curtain of blond hair.

  Oh, she was good. He'd give her that. Her cunning made her perfect breeding stock for the Nevilles. Lee would have put up with it too, if she'd done her part. But the woman had gotten greedy and now he would punish her.

  Director Cole banged on her table. "Alisha Dean-Neville is cast as the Innocent Victim."

  Lee snorted. Innocent his ass. The woman hadn't been innocent since she developed breasts and ambition.

  "Brantlee Neville standing in for Brad Neville is the Villain of the piece and Samantha Neville is the Martyr."

  Applause exploded around him. Someone cheered.

  And there it was. His kin a Martyr and Villain. Tainted, rejected by God. Lee's knees buckled. He turned his weakness into a stoop and pulled a nine-inch knife from his boot. The blade winked in the sunlight. He'd show them the Nevilles were neither.

  The members of the audience nearest him stumbled back a few steps.

  Director Cole sat back in her chair. "Whenever you are ready."

  Lee clasped his hands behind his back. Since the Innocent Victim always took the first spotlight, he'd take his cues from her. Not that it mattered, his course was set.

  Clearing her throat, Alisha tucked her hair behind her ear and stared at the audience. Her gaze skittered off him before landing to his right. "I have sinned before God and He has punished my daughter with Corpse Belly."

  Lee's leg twitched. Could he have misjudged her? This defense wasn't new; others had used it in the past. Others had failed in the past except when... His heart seized in his chest. Damn. Could she be carrying a new Neville... Was she sacrificing one child to save an unborn? He chewed on the inside of his mouth. Then why hadn't she come to him? Was there still time to save the family property for his new grandchild?

  Alisha dropped to her knees, cradling her belly. "While I was married to Brad, I lay with another." She swiped at her dry eyes. "I hungered for him and gave into my passions. It was after that first time that Samantha became sick. When I conceived my lover's child, Samantha's illness returned."

  The crowd gasped.

  Well, shit. He never should have taught the bitch to read. Now Sammy's death would be all the suffering Alisha would suffer. The precedent had been set; he'd set the damn thing in his first year on the Guild. Lee glanced at his son's body. And his boy had killed himself for nothing.

  "Who?" The word scratched his throat as it left.

  Director Cole pounded her meat tenderizer. "That is not relevant and as you are standing in for the Villain you don't have the right to interrogate the Innocent."

  Lee speared the director with a glare and picked his nails with the knife in his hand. "By admitting to her sin, Alisha Dean-Neville rewrites her role as Innocent Victim and is now the villain. By default, I am now the Innocent and can ask questions."

  Fanning the Script, Irving nodded. "Neville is correct."

  Alisha wrung her hands before glancing at the Director.

  White ringed Cole's thin lips. "Very well, who is your lover, Villain?"

  Alisha shook her head; blond locks slapped her cheeks.

  Irving rubbed his swollen finger joints. "Answer or you will take your curtain call. You've already admitted your guilt."

  Lee's lips quirked. Guess she hadn't done her homework after all. It would be justice if the bitch died because of faulty plotting. He could almost forgive her for the loss of his son then. Almost.

  Alisha hung her head. "George Cole."

  Laughter bubbled in patches around his wagon.

  The director's son. Lee inclined his head toward the soon-to-be grandmother. Well played.

  Director Cole pounded on the table for silence. "As the Villain's lover is already married, the Guild cannot force a marriage."

  Alisha's bastard would be born a Neville. So both she and the spawn could inherit his family land.

  Cole beamed at him in triumph. "Per the Script, the Martyr is to be presented for her curtain call. The Victim may choose to act as understudy, or Alisha may do so."

  Alisha rose to her feet and pulled a small blade from her waistband. "As it is my sin, I should be forced to do the honors."

  So they thought it was over did they?

  "I have not spoken my lines."

  The audience hissed. Someone in the back called for the show to continue.

  Lee would give them a show. Hoisting a leg over the seat back, he dropped to the cart bed. Sammy blinked up at him. Ignoring her, Lee hooked his son's stiff arm. Muscles burning, he levered the corpse over the side and pushed.

  The body hit with a thud.

  A teenage girl yanked on the bloody blanket and held it against her chest. Taking their cue, two boys fell on the corpse. Others jostled for position. Flesh smacked flesh. Someone grunted. Soon it would be stripped of all possessions.

  Director Cole toyed with her meat tenderizer. "Do you have anything to say that is relevant to the proceedings?"

  The cart rocked as someone slammed into the side. "My son is dead. His life has been exchanged for my granddaughter. I will care for Sammy as is my right. Furthermore as his wife is without honor and isn't carrying any blood relation, I blacklist her from any claim to my estate."

  Alisha stabbed the air with her knife. "You can't do that!"

  Director Cole rose and rested her hand on his daughter-in-law's arm. "His final curtain is next year. Without a protector, the girl will be Martyred and you will inherit."

  Climbing into the front seat, Lee grabbed the reins. And now the fun part. "Since Sammy and I will be required to take our curtain calls next year, I find myself in need of an heir. To that end, I shall select another one."

  The crowd shifted. Faces, in their blood masks, turned toward him.

  Now it was the director's turn to squawk. "You can't!"

  Irving creaked to a stand. "He can." Ripping the script out of the Dean boy's hand, the Guild member shook it at the women. "Who do you name?"

  Alisha swayed on her feet.

  And now for the entertainment. "The first person to reach my land."

  For a moment, nobody moved. A heartbeat passed, then the crowd pivoted and lunged forward. The younger three Guild members jumped onto the crowd below, knocking a few people down. Alisha yelled and leapt onto their backs. Waves of motion as men and women swung and punched the competition, trying to get an edge. Director Cole smacked
the Dean boy upside the head with her meat tenderizer before joining the fray.

  A minute later, only Lee, Sammy and Irving remained. Lee pulled the cart alongside the stage.

  Irving slowly lowered himself to the bench seat before digging a slingshot out of his pocket. "You know they've set up an ambush, don't you?"

  "I saw the enforcers leave." Lee slapped the reins and turned in the opposite direction of his home. The mule cantered out of town and plunged into the brush. He knew just where the trap would be laid. Hell, he'd set it up years ago. "Having second thoughts about joining me?"

  "Nope, I'm too young to take my Curtain Call next year."

  Lee nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Chapter 7

  Lee sawed on the reins steering the mule into the canyon. "Get those rocks ready, Sammy-girl."

  On the bench seat beside him, Irving pawed in his jacket for his slingshot.

  A cloud scuttled across the sun. Shadows deepened the run-off channels carved into the sandstone walls. Red, brown and white bands striped the steep walls.

  The place reeked of death.

  Deaths Lee had arranged.

  Tilting her umbrella back, Sammy peered up at him. Pain bracketed her lips. Bruises splotched her arm. Fist-sized ammunition teetered on her palm. "I've 'em Paw-Paw."

  Irving's crooked frame creaked when he turned. His cadaverous fingers danced over the pile before he selected two potato-sized rocks. Yellow teeth flashed between his thin lips as he loaded his sling.

  He would pick the best of the lot. Lee patted the spot next to him on the bench. "Set 'em here and when I say ammo set another five on the pile. Got it?"

  "Can I shoot too? I brought my sling." Sammy tugged a leather strap with a white patch in the center from under her blanket.

  Lee shook his head. The girl was too delicate. If she died before he'd even broken clear of the ambush, everything would have been for nothing. "Stay under the umbrella."

  "But Paw-Paw..."

  Her whining set his teeth on edge. "Samantha Neville, you will do as you're told."

  With a frown digging into her sunken cheeks, she dropped deeper into the wagon bed. The umbrella closed her in like the lid of a casket.

  "For pity's sake, Lee. The girl's fighting for her life too."

  Lee pierced Irving with a glare. Lee had a reason for breaking with a century of thespian tradition.

  Irving just wanted to see fifty-one winters.

  The coward.

  Irving stared down at the floorboard. "Where do you think they'll strike?"

  "Same as usual." The enforcers knew their role very well. Supporting cast like them were so eager to please, they rarely thought beyond their scripted lines. Little did they know it would be the performance of a lifetime.

  But there wouldn't be an encore.

  Irving looked down the length of his sling. "I reckon there'll be one on each side."

  "That's usually how it works." That's where Lee had laid his booby traps. He guided the mule deeper down the throat of the canyon.

  The walls closed in. Sand muffled the clomp of hooves. Here and there, the whistling wind had whittled away a column from the canyon face. Ahead a collapsed pillar lay in pieces across the path. Gaps appeared between the chunks. They looked random, but Lee knew better. He’d spent an hour under the moonlight arranging them just so.

  Irving leaned toward him. "Thought you'd cleared a path?"

  "Don't worry about it." The fool. If Lee had moved the boulders, the enforcers would have just knocked over another one. He kept the mule heading straight.

  The animal balked in his traces, pulled to the left.

  Lee cracked the whip and the mule slowed but stayed the course. It stomped on the crushed stone before clearing the debris. With a steady hand, Lee guided the wagon wheels through the openings he'd strategically arranged. The canyon forked dead ahead. They were almost there.

  Irving leaned over the side of the cart. "Well, I'll be damned. You did it!"

  Of course Lee did. This escape was two months in the making. Sweat beaded his upper lip. Unfortunately, that was the middle act, not the final one. "Look alive. The enforcers could decide to attack us."

  Irving's back popped as he straightened.

  Sammy giggled.

  "Move to the middle of the cart, girl." Over the creak of the wood, Lee heard fabric rustle. The mule took the left fork.

  "There's one of the buggers!" Irving pointed halfway up the canyon wall. He raised his sling again.

  Lee set a hand on his arm. "Wait."

  Twenty yards away, a beefy man struggled up the loose sand and rock of a landslide. He reached for a tree growing from the canyon wall to pull himself up. Branches shook from the weight. Leaves fluttered down before a board swung free of the limbs. The booby-trap drilled a cutting knife into the would-be executioner’s back.

  Gotcha! Lee smiled. One down; one to go.

  Turning on the bench, Irving raised his hand and cackled. "Damn, that's fine directing."

  "This ain't my first rodeo." Lee completed the high five. His palm tingled from the slap. Then he saw it. A stone headed straight for him. He grabbed the other man by the shirt front and dragged him to the right.

  "What——" Rock hit bone, caving it in. Irving slumped forward, blood drizzling from his parted lips. Life abandoned the crooked husk.

  Another rock clunked against the side of the wagon.

  Sammy whimpered.

  The enemy would not win. Lee's granddaughter would live. He slapped the reins on the mule. The beast lurched forward.

  Another rock thumped against Irving's body.

  Lee positioned the corpse in the line of fire. Bending forward, he eyed the cassia bush. Butter-yellow blossoms waved from the silvery leaves. Once he reached that, they'd be home free.

  Two more projectiles shattered Irving's bones.

  "You need more rocks, Paw-Paw?"

  "Stay down, Sammy!" He urged the mule faster. The contrary beast kept the same pace. If he had his whip... But he didn't. Just a little farther.

  The pelting stopped.

  Had the enforcer run out of ammunition? Lee fought the temptation to look. As an actor, he knew what happened to those who did. When the path curved to the right, he shoved Irving's corpse over the edge. It landed with a thud and rattle, right onto the bush.

  Bull's eye.

  A heartbeat later, a piece of wood clattered against rock. Then rock banged into rocks. The noise grew from a soft rumble to a rolling thunder.

  Lee picked up his whip and cracked it over the mule's head. "Stay down, Sammy!"

  A man's scream echoed down the canyon then a wall of dust overtook him. Pebbles rained on the umbrella, pelted Lee’s back and knocked against his hat.

  Coughing, he blinked the dust stinging his eyes and gave the mule her head. Thanks to traveling this route weekly since Sammy's illness returned, the animal knew the path. A preternatural stillness engulfed him, broken only by the jingle of the harness and the slowing of his heart.

  For a moment in time, it was just him and Sammy. He imagined her healthy——pink cheeks, strong arms and eyes bright from happiness, not fever.

  The moment passed. Soon the air cleared. The desert stretched for miles in front of him. He eyed the lone tree in the distance. The marker for the supplies he'd squirreled away. Lee aimed for the chunks of black that marked an ancient road, a road that would take them to Abaddon and his granddaughter's health.

  Wood creaked. Plumes of dust rose as Sammy retracted her umbrella. She smiled. "You did it, Paw-Paw."

  "That I did Sammy-girl." Once he collected their supplies, he could just kick back and relax. "From here on out, it's all rave reviews and encores."

  Chapter 8

  Harlan had finally gone nuts. He stared at the footprints in the soft sand by the river and kept walking. The flat-soled impressions of the tributes. The rough weave of the ‘Viders. Squatting, he tested the tracks. Another half hour and he s
hould be right on top of the group.

  And then what?

  His internal crazy man demanded he attack. Dusting his fingers on his pants, he resumed following the group. If he attacked, he might find high ground. Shoot six or seven with his cross-bow.

  Which left another half dozen uninjured ‘Viders to overwhelm him. And probably another three or four, really pissed off injured ones, to pour a can of dead all over his ass. Good times. But he wasn’t about to waste his life.

  None of the tributes would think to run.

  Harlan raked his hand through his short hair as his throat closed up. The fools still trudged obediently behind the ‘Viders. Didn’t one of them suspect anything? Didn’t any of them want to run? If not because of the threat they faced, then just to return home?

  He sighed and turned his face to the setting sun.

  And there it was. With his men slaughtered, he couldn’t save all of the tributes. But he had hoped to save one or two at least.

  Surely, one or two would try to escape and Harlan would be able to help them. Recruit them to his cause.

  Maybe even kill a ‘Vider or two in the process.

  He’d restocked his quiver and even had a few spare arrows in his pack. Raising the crossbow, Harlan stroked the stock. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask. He could climb one of the pines along the bank and pierce a chest or two with an arrow. If the wound wasn’t fatal, he’d gladly finish the job with his knives.

  Maybe then the angry beast simmering in his gut would settle down. Give him time to think and plan. Allow him to wash a little innocent blood off his hands.

  He shook out his fists and scanned the ground. Here the sandy banks gave way to rocky shores. No more daydreaming. He needed to focus if he planned to save even one. His thighs burned as he climbed the slope and checked the vegetation. Trample marks in the grass. A few bushes with broken limbs.

  At least they were making it easy for him.

  With his luck, he’d finally find the ‘Vider camp. God always gave him opportunities when he couldn’t do a damn thing with ‘em. No doubt——

  Harlan paused near a patch of dirt before crouching down. Well, well, what have we here? He traced the footprint with a trembling finger. A fancy sole like the tributes wore, but the treads were deep, not worn. Similar to the boots worn by the bastards who had killed his men. So whoever had sent the tribute had one of his men with the ‘Viders. His insides sprouted wings.