Conceived in Blood, A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Novel Read online

  And the perfect gift would be North and his family's death. She cracked her knuckles. She'd make sure they delivered it to her.

  Chapter 12

  Mirabelle clutched her stomach and panted. Sweat stung her eyes. Bitterness flooded her mouth. Oh, Lord, she was going to vomit. Again. She blinked but her eyes refused to focus. Where had she put that pot?

  Her 'Vider’s hand dove underneath her shirt and settled against her back. "Is my son coming?"

  "I——I'm gonna be sick." The room spun. Rolled blankets, discarded clothing and her 'Viders brown and green armor hanging from a rod swirled into a cyclone of color.

  Liquid sloshed and the sour scent of vomit clogged the air.

  "Here." Fingers dug into her scalp as her head was pushed forward.

  The half full bucket materialized under her nose.

  A cramp squeezed her distended belly. She heaved, opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Folding in half, she tried again. Spit drizzled from her lips. She lay back on the pallet. Soft cotton molded to her body. "What's happening?"

  She'd never been this miserable. Not even the beatings had made her body try to turn itself inside out. Was she finally going to die?

  "Did you use bad meat?" He leaned over her. Watery chunks splashed into the pot.

  Maybe if she'd eaten two bowls of stew, she'd be able to throw up too. Anything had to be better than the dry heaves.

  "No." She shook her head, then sunk deeper into the pallet. There'd been no meat in the stew. Ann hadn't returned with any by the time he'd eaten breakfast with Belle.

  His hand slipped to her stomach. "My son?"

  It kicked at his hand.

  Smart baby. Fight your sire's bad influence. Belle scratched the red welts on her arm. She blinked the bumps into focus. A rash? Had her 'Vider given it to her when he'd taken her in the bushes?

  "Mirabelle," he growled.

  What? A chill swept down her spine. What had he asked? About the baby. Right. "I've never felt this way before."

  Never.

  This was like a sickness. She froze, trapped air in her lungs. Oh, Lord, the elders had talked of a great sickness——one that stole your breath away. The Redaction had swept across the land, killing nearly everything and everyone. Only a few scattered souls survived, found each other and survived.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Before her grandparents' time even.

  Yet, everyone whispered that the Redaction would return to finish the job.

  Until dust and ash were all that remained of the planet.

  Belle's stomach clenched. Had it returned already? Turning her head, she faced her 'Vider. "You're sick?"

  He never got sick.

  Not once in the ten winters since he'd claimed her.

  Not a one.

  What did that mean? Her skull practically throbbed as the question chased round and round inside her head. She stroked her belly. What would happen to her baby? Her children?

  His green eyes narrowed. In a flash, he sat up. Sweat slicked his broad back, followed the raised scar tissue to his ass. "I'll kill her."

  Throwing off the blankets, he stood. A heartbeat later, he landed on his knees and swayed. With a shake of his head, he managed to stand again.

  Belle's chest tightened. Oh, God, this was bad. Very bad. He was weak. The 'Viders didn't accept weakness. And this, the day of the Blood and Body ceremony. She reached out to touch him, but pulled her hand back before making contact. "Who?"

  "Rest." A gray tint washed over his tanned skin. He jammed his thick legs into his pants.

  She shook her head. Although she doubted she could raise her head, she couldn't rest. A voice deep inside was screaming danger. She pulled her legs as tight against her as her stomach would allow. "Did someone do this to my baby?"

  He pinned her with a glance. "My son."

  Swallowing the wad in her throat, she nodded. It must be the headache causing her to forget her place. "Your son."

  His hand shook before hooking his shirt from the line and slipped it on. "That meal you named."

  "Ann?" But why? Belle closed her eyes, felt oblivion sucking her down into the darkness. She mustn't go. She mustn't. No matter how tempting. She bit her lip, used the sharp pain to focus.

  He bent down, grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. "Look at me, Belle."

  Her neck burned from the movement but she obeyed.

  "You haven't gotten attached to that rabid bitch Ann, have you?" A fire raged inside his glassy green eyes at the mention of the tribute he’d beaten that morning.

  Belle's tongue stuck to her dry lips. She didn't like Ann, but that didn't mean she wanted to see the girl dead, carved up and pieced out. "No."

  "Good." He smashed his mouth against her and ground down.

  Her stomach lurched from the trickle of sweet blood.

  "The bitch will wish she never tried to kill you." He released her.

  Belle collapsed onto the bed. His son. He meant his son, not her.

  The tent flap opened.

  Marshall Zuni ducked inside then drew up short. For a moment, her lips thinned. "You're... here."

  Panting, Belle clawed at the blankets. Fabric bunched under her hands. Darkness tinged her vision before she managed to supplicant herself. Between her thighs, the baby kicked.

  Her 'Vider bowed slightly before stepping to the side and gaining his balance. "Marshall. You honor us."

  "You are not properly dressed for the ceremony." Hatred blazed in the Marshall's flat-gray eyes.

  Belle pressed harder against the blanket. Her arms trembled with the need to protect her stomach but she forced them to remain stretched in front of her. Please don't let her beat me. Please, God. She didn't know if she or her baby would survive a lesson.

  Saying nothing, her 'Vider pulled his armor off the rack, tightened the hair belt around his thin vest.

  Marshall licked her lips while she fiddled with the dagger at her waist. "Is something wrong with your son?"

  Blood slogged through Belle's veins. The woman wanted her child. And as leader, there was nothing Belle could do to prevent her from taking it.

  Her 'Vider strapped on his leg coverings then grabbed his knife. Sweat ran in rivulets down his head. "Nothing a good meal wouldn't cure."

  "Indeed." Marshall cocked an eyebrow. The skull tattooed on her head flashed a half smile. She waved her fingers in Belle's direction. "I've reserved a spot for...your tribute next to my dame."

  Belle shuddered. She had to do something but what? She was nothing? Worse than nothing; she was tribute.

  "That is a very great honor." Her 'Vider belched then swallowed hard. He closed his eyes for a moment then shook his head.

  "Are you ill, North?"

  A contraction wrapped Belle's belly. She sucked in a gulp of air. Oh, Lord, please don't let the leader notice.

  "Nothing a little blood letting can't cure." Her man lifted the flap and waited for the Provider to exit first.

  Zuni's attention cut to Belle. "Yes, spilling blood will solve many problems."

  The Provider smiled. Hunger blazed in her eyes before she turned and exited.

  Belle bit her lip to still the whimper convulsing in her throat. She had to get to her assigned spot. Sickness or no, she had to perform her part. She waited until the contraction passed. Gathering her dwindling strength, she crawled toward the exit.

  Left hand. Right. Twigs and pebbles dug into her palms. She gritted her teeth. Her children needed her. Left. Right. Her stomach clenched. Her baby needed her. She raked her hand down the armor rack before grabbing hold. Splinters dug into her palm but she dragged herself up.

  She couldn't fail.

  If she did, Marshall Zuni would carve her open and rip out her heart while it still beat.

  Belle stumbled a few steps then fell out the tent. Oh God, she was going to die.

  Chapter 13

  A siren trumpeted through the camp. It was time. Tucking her helmet under her arm, Marshall
stepped from her tent. The setting sun gouged bloody grooves into the gray sky. Raising her chin, she paraded down the rows of tents.

  The next generation of 'Viders cheered as she passed. Clasping their dinner by the ball joints, young boys and girls waved. Bits of flesh clung to white bone. Blood stained the mouths and clothing of the youngest.

  Her people. She squared her shoulders. The strong. The chosen. This was as much their celebration as hers. A testament to their divine blessing. She turned at the last tent. The smell of roasting meat mingled with wood smoke. Red-eyed campfires stared from the shadows.

  Marshall smiled.

  Now her favorite part. Prostrate tributes lined the path like a road of logs. Lifting her foot, she left behind the crunch of stone to step upon the backs of the weak. Soft flesh gave underfoot. With a slight twist, she ground the ball of her foot into their backs, reminding them of their proper place.

  Her mother sat near the end of the human carpet. In a half bow next to her, that bitch Mirabelle rubbed her pregnant stomach. Two other pregnant tributes sat on her side. Marshall set her hand on her flat stomach. Perhaps she should have insisted they be part of the processional. But that wasn't the 'Vider way and there were 'Viders in their weak vessels.

  Mirabelle trembled, her shaking visible in the snaking motion of her long brown hair.

  Marshall's fists clenched. Why hadn't the tribute died like she should have? As for her 'Vider... Marshall's gaze cut to the podium and the man behind it. That bastard actually looked like he would recover. North steadied the wobbly wooden speaker platform. For a moment, a ray of sunshine highlighted the chipped blue circle on the front. The fading eagle at the center faced toward the arrows in its left talons.

  Mother shook her head. Gray hair covered her face like a curtain.

  Marshall sucked in a calming breath. This was her day. She would deal with North later. And this time she wouldn't fail. She simply needed an opportunity to eliminate him.

  It would come.

  She just had to be patient. She paused on the last tribute's back and bounced softly. North's newest property. The young female's spine popped. Rumor had it, she was with child. Marshall would take care of that little problem, too.

  Stepping back onto the dirt, she nodded to North and handed him the helmet.

  Squaring his shoulders, he raised it high. "The Provider is dead! Long live the Provider!"

  "Long live the Provider!" 'Viders chorused.

  Fabric rustled as the tributes rose on all fours. They crawled on their hands and knees behind their 'Vider masters' legs before hunkering down into indistinct blobs. Screaming at the tops of their lungs, the children ran down the recently vacated aisle. They jumped and swung their dinner bones before dropping down in front of their fathers.

  Marshall stared as North's youngest toddled to her mother. A daughter, still young enough to wear hair. She did not appear to be ill at all. Was the poison bad? The children should have been the first to die. Perhaps, the oleander extract worked best on tribute. Obviously, 'Vider blood could overcome it. Most likely, the bitch still lived because she carried a 'Vider.

  The siren wailed again.

  Marshall pinned her attention to the front.

  Three young 'Viders paraded next. Each carried the heads of tonight's offering on spears. North's oldest daughter dipped hers toward the crowd. The severed head of Marshall's former tribute stared with unseeing eyes. Knives flashed. The young sitting on the ground, oohhed and opened their hands to catch the falling hair.

  Smiling, Marshall clapped with the others. The young were always so eager to make their first hair shirt.

  Once the offerings had been sufficiently scalped, the three pall bearers leaned the spears against the podium. North cut off a patch of matted gray hair from the severed head and passed it to his daughter. Giggling, she shook the lock in her hand before joining her mother and sister on the ground.

  The pregnant bitch wrapped her arms around her stomach and groaned.

  North's eyes narrowed as he studied his prized tribute.

  Marshall's grin widened. Tributes were to remain silent during the ceremony. Perhaps North would beat her tonight. That should help her lose the baby.

  The third siren swelled in the dusk. Its cry started as a low grumble. When it reached a high pitch, her advising jury began their march toward her. The 'Vider in front raised the rusted white siren high. The woman next to him draped the cloak of chipped blue scales around her shoulders. The procession stopped in front of Marshall.

  At her side, North cleared his throat. "Marshall Zuni, do you freely accept the burdens of Office of Head Provider?"

  She scanned the crowd. Her people——bald heads shining as the sun faded to a cold fire on the horizon. "I do."

  "Words are nothing, Marshall Zuni. They do not put food in our bellies. They do not clothe our children. They do nothing but shield the weak, the forsaken."

  A handful of men echoed his sentiments.

  She lifted her chin. Perhaps 'Vider North enjoyed issuing the ceremonial challenge a bit too much.

  "Are you weak and forsaken, Marshall Zuni?"

  "No!" She yelled. Her heart hammered against her breastbone.

  'Viders pounded on their armor.

  When the clamor faded, North banged his fist on the podium. "Again, you give us words Marshall Zuni."

  She tilted her head to the right, exposing her jugular to him. "I offer my blood."

  North whipped out his knife and pressed it against her throat.

  She held her breath. He could kill her now. Would kill her if he suspected she had poisoned his food. The blade bit into her flesh. Warmth trickled down her neck. Her heart ceased to beat. She locked her knees. No weakness. No doubts. No regrets.

  "Your sacrifice is accepted." North grabbed her palm and sliced it open.

  Pain burned up her arm. But she didn't cry out. She was the Head Provider, a descendant of four Providers. Blood quickly filled her palm, dripped between her fingers.

  "Conceived in blood. Bathed in blood." After dipping his fingers into the small pool in her hand, he streaked his face with red. He lifted her hand and slurped up the liquid. "Sustained by blood."

  "Conceived in blood. Bathed in blood. Sustained by blood." The 'Viders chanted. The young pounded their dinner bones on the ground.

  North released her hand.

  Marshall stepped toward her advising jury. One by one, they painted themselves and drank her blood. A handful of others came forward to do the same.

  Her head grew light and an odd buzzing filled her ears. She swayed when a young one demanded a sip. She couldn't fail, not now. Not after everything she had done.

  Finally no one else came forward.

  She counted heartbeats, waiting for North to say the magic word.

  At thirty, he pounded on the podium. "Marshall Zuni, your gift of blood has been accepted."

  She fisted her hand, clenched it tight to stop the blood flow. The ceremony wasn't over yet. The hardest part still lay ahead. She licked her dry lips.

  "Have you anything else to offer?"

  "I offer the flesh of my body." With her bloody hand, she pointed to her mother and stopped. The pregnant bitch was gone; her two daughters had taken her seat.

  Twisting at the waist, Mother retrieved a covered platter and held it above her head.

  Shoving off the domed cover, Marshall grabbed the platter and offered it to North. Black charred the spit-roasted torso of her father, the previous head Provider. "By eating the flesh of my flesh, we become one family. One people. United."

  North used his wet knife to carve off the choice piece around the nipple. His teeth flashed white as he ripped off a hunk. Juice glistened on his chin. "We accept your offer of flesh."

  Marshall turned and held out the platter for the other six members.

  "One people. United." The 'Viders chanted waiting their turn to be fed. "Livers, arms and eyes for all."

  Ribs showed through as she turned
to serve the 'Viders on her right.

  She crouched, so the youngest could be served before their elders. Small fingers stripped the sweet flesh. The children smacked their lips as they chewed, but none went back for seconds. That would be ill-mannered.

  "Marshall Zuni," North called from the podium, "recite the story of the Turning as you begin your life-long mission to feed, clothe, and protect your family."

  She took a deep breath. The true test was here. She could do this. She'd practiced the story since she was ten. She knew this. The platter slipped against her blood palm and it tilted forward. She righted it before the torso fell off.

  "A long time ago, the earth was crowded with people. So many they lived on top of each other and you couldn't travel far before encountering a stranger."

  A girl 'Vider pulled off a strip of meat. Her eyes widened. "A stranger?"

  Marshall nodded and raised the platter to the next in line. "Those not of the family were strangers. And strangers were not to be trusted."

  "Blood matters." A woman 'Vider set her hand on the tot in front of her.

  "The Great Spanner looked down from above and did not like what she saw."

  The siren swelled in the night before choking off.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched her advisors fiddle with the tail connecting the siren to the scaly-blue cloak. "The Great Spanner called upon her advisors germ and warfare to breathe their poisonous breath across the land. The foul wind, Ann Thrax, felled the sick, weak and puny but the strangers remained."

  The siren screeched before once more falling silent.

  Reaching the end of the line, Marshall spun on her boot’s heel and headed back up the other side. "The Great Spanner saw this and sought to smite the strangers. She spoke in a loud voice, that covered the land, ordering the chosen ones to abandon the den of the strangers and head into the wilds. She promised food, water, shelter and healing to those who stayed to the appointed path."

  "Hail the Great Spanner!" Her people shouted.

  "And there was food, water, shelter and healing as promised." Marshall crouched in front of an infant. Wisps of downy hair curled over his high forehead. Balancing the platter on one hand, she tore off a piece and eased it between the babe's lips.