First Blood: Dystopian Romance Serial (The Eleventh Commandment Book 1) Read online

  “And where are the soldiers?”

  Silence.

  “Why aren’t they chasing us with the dogs?” Zophia sat up and stared at Maree, waiting for an answer.

  Maree had none.

  Perhaps no one had found him yet.

  If they had, would they not be out in full force? Swagg—the Prophet's second in command—would stop at nothing to find her.

  Or maybe they searched for another.

  Her stomach lurched. Maybe one of the other females of the compound had run when Maree had left the fence open. Dear God, Liz! If her friend saw the fence opened, she’d make a run for it in those unguarded minutes. Liz knew the things Maree knew. She’d seen what Maree had seen. Felt that fury.

  The inoculation had failed on her too.

  “I don’t know why the dogs aren't following,” she finally answered her sister. “But...but we can’t assume they’re not still after us. Can you go on, Zophia?”

  In answer, she stood. “Where are we going?”

  Maree’s heart leapt in her chest. She looked to the waning moon in the clear sky. Looked to the stars that surrounded it. “North,” she said. “We’re going north. We’re going to find it.”

  “What?” Zophia’s voice was a whisper, and yet a hopeful one. “To find what?”

  She swallowed hard and spoke with as much conviction as she dared. “We’re going to find Society Three.”

  As if suddenly weak, Zophia sagged against the birch. “That’s...a myth. A legend. Society Three is just a—”

  “Hope. And it’s the only one we have.”

  Maree grabbed her sister by the hand and led her as they ran.

  Chapter 2

  MAREE SET a hand on Zophia’s back, conveying her meaning without words: Lie very still.

  Obediently, Zophia lowered her head to the damp earth. Still facing Maree, she closed her eyes, but not in exhaustion this time. In fact, the sisters had gained a few hours’ sleep as the burning sun had risen, taking respite by a small, reasonably uncontaminated stream. They’d even found enough berries to quench their hunger. No, this time Zophia closed her eyes as she closed in on herself. Maree had seen this display, this behavior, many times in females. Sometimes the only way for them to find their souls’ reprieves was inside themselves. Sometimes that was the only harbor that felt safe at all. Still at all. And Zophia had gone there now as her sister bade her lie still. To go deep, down, still.

  And it broke Maree’s heart to recognize Zophia knew how to get there.

  Maree kept watch.

  They were lying on the ground behind a little knoll, under the grey and green cover of leafy alder branches. Maree would’ve liked to have led them deeper into the thick growth, but there’d been no time. The man had come upon them that quickly.

  “Where are ya, whores?” He grabbed at his crotch as he bellowed. “Come out before I have to come find ya! Before ya make me mad.” He was a huge man, at least six-two with a scraped head and face. Broad shoulders, and the unmistakable alphanumerical brand running down the side of his filthy neck.

  A Reprobate. The stuff of nightmares.

  This too she could thank the Prophet for.

  At the coming of the New Holy Order, no attempt had been made to inoculate and retrain the hardened criminals. Rather, the prisons had been commanded to throw wide their gates and disgorge their prisoners into the wild where they scrounged the broken earth for food. Maree had seen them often; all the women had. They snarled and fought by the compound fences while the soldiers—laughing—fed them scraps meant for the dogs.

  The Prophet had painted the prisoners’ release as a punishment. No more being fed and sheltered at the state’s expense. Maree had no doubt that was part of it. Nor did she doubt that thousands of them had died. Most had died within months, living in the harsh reality of the outside world, the sun blazing through a depleted ozone layer, toxins, a scarcity of food. Only the strongest and most hardened had survived. And for those who survived, it was a mean, hardscrabble life they eked out. But she also knew the Prophet had had another motive in turning out those prisoners. These hardest, cruellest criminals had been released as a threat. A further incentive to stay within the walls and fences, to serve the Holy New Order.

  The soldiers sometimes paraded the younger girls by the fences, ostensibly to torment the men, but Maree knew it was also to send the girls a message: See what awaits if you try to escape? Or when you are of no more use, and we turn you out? Serve well.

  And yet, no matter how dutifully she might serve The Order, it was every woman’s destiny to leave the compound eventually. For when they were too old and broken to be of use, they were turned out to scrounge for themselves. It was a sick ritual, a game. The soldiers would slice the woman's face on one side, ear to chin—a “hag” scar, they called it, the worst insult that could be given—then set her loose beyond the gates. She'd have a head start of two hours; no more, and no less. The soldiers would drink for those two hours, then stumble out after her. No dogs were allowed, not on this chase. The women had till sunup—if they made it to dawn, they were free. But still, almost always the women were caught. Then with a cry of victory from the soldiers, they'd slice her again with the knife, this time across the throat. If the hag got away from the soldiers, there was the threat of Reprobates always present outside the Compound fences.

  A threat that was very real right now.

  Beside her, Zophia did not move. Maree tucked further down, but her eyes did not leave the man as he raked the bushes, his frustration and anger growing. His burning gaze swept right past them, then he turned, and with his makeshift machete he began swinging at the low bushes. Further and further away, he went.

  Maree’s heart still hammered in her chest, but she drew a ragged breath when he moved out of sight. Only then did she release her hand-cramping grip on the knife. She wasn’t skilled by any means in using this weapon, but she’d use it again if she had to. However she had to.

  “Are we safe?” Zophia whispered just as the Reprobate moved completely out of Maree’s sight. Zophia’s timing, as always, was impeccable. Their grandmother had been an intuitive. A very skilled and sought-after one, especially as the world started to change, as the Ending Testament was whispered of, and authority had slowly shifted. People were looking for hope, security, salvation from a world gone mad. Some had sought her grandmother and those like her, but more had sought the powerful Prophet, and they’d voted him into power. Then people could vote no more. Thankfully, Zophia knew to hide her intuition from all except Maree. All others would brand her a witch for using this natural ability. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Maree’s voice matched her sister’s whisper. “For now. Hopefully for good.”

  There was a pause before Zophia lifted her head. “Now what?”

  “Now we keep going. Like I told you.”

  “There are more of these men out here. We’ll—”

  “We’ll be smart; we’ll be careful. We’ll make it.”

  “What if we don’t find it? What if…” Zophia’s voice drifted to silence, mostly out of mercy to her sister, Maree knew. They had to find Society Three. It was their only hope. She looked at Zophia.

  Maree knew it had been Zophia’s only hope long before they’d left the compound. Had been since the Prophet and his minions had found out Zophia's great potential as a breeder. She’d warned her sister to tell no one about her monthly bleeding when it started six months ago. But some of the other women in the compound had found out. One of them—a servant past her years of use and near to being hagged out—told the guard and the guard had informed the Prophet. Maree herself had been there with the Prophet when the news had come. Then there’d been the testing. Medical testing, a luxury reserved only for the highest-ranking males and potential breeders. Zophia’s reproductive system was practically perfect, seemingly unharmed by the environment. Perfectly able to carry a child to term. Many children.

  Maree herself had never experienced mens
es. No matter. No shock or dismay. Though more females than males were being born, a woman who actually experienced menses was a rare thing. Over the decades the population of the world had significantly shrunk, thanks largely to pandemics. But fertility had declined, too, more and more with each passing year. Thus, when a female had a menstrual cycle, it had to be reported immediately to the Powers. Tests were run. If there was potential for reproduction, they were bred with potentially fertile males, who were themselves afflicted with low sperm count. Thus a breeder was taken nightly, by many chosen as worthy, until she was shown to be pregnant. But still, the nightmare didn’t end. They were held virtual prisoners, confined while the baby gestated in their wombs. When the child was born, the mother was allowed to nurse it only for a few brief weeks, after which the babe was torn from its mother’s arms so that her cycles would return quickly, and she could be bred all over again. This was a breeder’s life—her service to the Holy New Order—a life lived in a maternity ward, locked in for the rest of her reproductive days.

  It was horrific! Maree refused to let her sister live that way. Which was why she’d killed the Prophet.

  She’d overheard him say that Zophia was to be bred on the Sabbath, just two days hence. Since no woman had been put into service as a breeder before her sixteenth birthday, Maree had been shocked. She’d thought her sister had almost two months left before she needed worry about that.

  Maree had acted quickly. When next she was alone with him, she’d wielded the knife on the unsuspecting Prophet. From that moment on, she’d known there was a price on her head. There would be forevermore. She’d killed the Prophet. She, a mere woman. The Prophet’s whore.

  “Will they kill us if they catch us?”

  Once again, Zophia spoke Maree’s thoughts. And Maree knew she was no longer speaking of the Reprobates. There was no question those men would kill them, when they were done with them.

  “No,” Maree said, “they won’t kill you.”

  Zophia nodded. “But they’ll kill you. And…and I don’t think I could go on if that happened.”

  Maree looked at her sister.

  Though the elders in the compound did nothing to shield the younger females from the horrors of their respective fates—whore, servant, or breeder—Zophia couldn’t possibly know the depth of it as Maree did. The dehumanization that came with being taken over and over again. At fifteen, Zophia was still a virgin. There were rules about that.

  “We won’t be caught,” Maree said, her voice barely above a whisper now. She couldn’t see the Reprobate, but that didn’t mean they were yet safe from him. “I promise you.”

  “Maybe… Maree, maybe I could talk to Swagg.”

  Maree’s lips tightened at the mention of the Prophet’s second in command.

  “If the soldiers found us,” Zophia continued. “I mean, if…if I’m so valuable. Maybe I could tell Swagg that I need you. Want you with me. That…that wouldn’t be so bad would it? What if he let you stay with me? What if…what if I told him I was an intuitive? Then maybe he’d let me, let us—”

  Maree placed a finger on her sister’s lips to shush her. Zophia still had an innocence about her. One that would not serve her well in this jaded world. “Tell no one that you know things.”

  “But—”

  “Knowledge from a woman, Zophia? Truth not given by a man? Not from the Prophet? You know the Eleventh Commandment. If you believe in yourself, how can you believe in the Holy New Order? As much as your gift is a gift, it’s one you can’t share. You’d be in violation.”

  Zophia nodded, understanding maybe for the first time why Maree had always been so adamant that she hide her ability.

  “Besides, I killed the Prophet, Zophia. Your appeal would fall on deaf ears. But no matter.” She stroked her sister’s hair. “We’re not going to get caught. We’re never going back to that compound.”

  Maree watched as Zophia’s soft eyes suddenly widened. She knew by the fear in those smoky green orbs. The Reprobate was back.

  Maree crouched down within herself. She looked out between the branches and focused as the man approached again. He walked closer, closer still, scanning the ground as he went. When he was a mere few feet away, he turned toward them and met Maree’s stare with his own.

  She wrapped her hand around the knife.

  Chapter 3

  KALLEM PAUSED as he reached the forest’s edge, where it opened onto a small clearing. His breath came hard in his ears from the loping, ground-eating pace he’d set for himself, making it impossible to listen properly. But not for long. Years of hard training had honed both mind and body, and in under a minute, his pounding heart was under control again.

  He stood there, every sense alert, and waited. He was close; he knew it. If they were here in this clearing, better they betray their presence before he betrayed his.

  He’d used the Prophet’s best hound to find their trail initially. He and Mac, a fellow member of the First Guard, had followed the eager hound across miles of broken cement and crumbling pavement. They’d chased on through the night until they’d reached the northern edge of the old city where it met the wilds beyond. There the women’s trail veered north through the brush. A brush that encroached further and further each year. Confident he could track the women now without the dog, Kallem had ordered Mac to make camp in an empty building on the wild’s edge for twenty-four hours. If Kallem didn’t return by then, Mac was to assume he’d found the trail and didn’t need the bloodhound’s nose. They were to return to the Compound. The dog had been necessary to get them this far, but Kallem needed stealth now. The dogs were apt to give voice to their excitement when they neared the end of a successful track. That worked fine when the objective was to terrify the subject. It wasn’t such a good thing when the objective was to follow surreptitiously.

  Mac had asked no questions. Not that he’d expected any. At least not after Kallem confirmed his charge came directly from the Prophet himself. Like a good soldier, Mac had been content to stay on a need-to-know basis. And like a smart soldier, he would also appreciate that the less one knew about situations like this, the better.

  Kallem’s mouth turned down on that thought. The Prophet counted him as his best soldier, and Kallem had worked hard to earn that recognition. But would His Holiness hold him in such esteem if he knew the cold slide of dread that had gripped his best soldier’s bowels as he’d stood at attention to receive this charge?

  Maree...

  Just thinking her name made his gut tighten.

  He’d been unable to get her out of his mind since the first day he’d seen her, herded into the encampment with fifty or sixty other girls. She’d looked more or less like the rest, until their eyes had met for a moment too long as she’d passed by the Guard. For a second, he’d thought her a heretic, a Disbeliever, but when he looked harder, the expression was gone, and her eyes seemed as placid and accepting as the rest of them. It was over in a split second, yet he’d been left shaken.

  She’d gone on, of course, to become a favorite of the Prophet’s. Kallem had even been called upon once or twice to escort her to and from His Holiness’s quarters. And on those occasions, he’d had to viciously suppress the rawness he’d felt on seeing the bruises on her wrists and elsewhere. He’d put it down to envy. Beautiful young women like Maree were not meant for a soldier such as himself—First Guard or not. Not until their youth and beauty were used up, or in some cases, until they were so broken all they could do was cry.

  But the knowledge that he would likely be dead in the line of duty long before she ever fell to his level hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing about her.

  And as he’d stood before the Prophet to receive his charge, his heart had pounded as he’d waited for the command to kill her, to bring back her head. He’d been shamefully relieved when the Prophet had instructed that she be returned intact, so he could kill her himself.

  A woman’s shout and a man’s coarse laughter ripped him from his reverie. The bleeder!
It was his life if anything happened to the young one.

  He was already off, racing across the clearing in the direction of the commotion.

  He emerged from a small stand of fir trees and was greeted by the sight of Maree facing down a giant of a man, her hand wrapped around a blade. He was about to shout a warning to the Reprobate to stand down when Maree yelled at the younger one.

  “Run, Zophia! Now! Just keep running!”

  With a sob, the bleeder turned and fled. Torn, Kallem followed the path of her flight with his eyes for a few seconds, then glanced back to Maree in time to see the man strike at her. She leapt back, but not quite quickly enough, taking a glancing blow to the head. But she didn’t go down.

  Rage exploded like a fireball of energy in his veins. He wanted nothing more than to rush up to the bastard and smash his head in with the butt of his rifle. And keep smashing.

  But no…the breeder. His priority had to be the young one. There could be other men about. Men who had no idea of her value. Men who would slit her throat if the screaming bothered them, then proceed to rape her dead body. And if they liked the screaming, it would go even worse for her.

  He cast a last look back toward Maree. She grappled with the Reprobate now and he couldn’t see who had possession of the knife. He lifted his rifle and sighted on the Reprobate briefly before lowering it with a frustrated curse. No possibility of taking him out with a bullet. Not without risking her life too. She fought in silence, and he knew she stifled herself so her screams of rage and pain would not bring the young one back.

  Gritting his teeth to suppress the savage snarl that rose within him, Kallem turned and raced after the bleeder.

  She moved faster than he would have credited for one so young, and one who must be bone-weary from having traveled so far. But terror must have leant her feet wings. She was pelting headlong downhill through rough terrain, and heading for an even steeper slope. Kallem feared she would trip and break her neck if she didn’t check her speed. Normally, he would have shouted to her, identifying himself and commanding her to stop, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to alert the Reprobate back there to his presence in case he decided to flee with Maree. So he ran on.