Age of Blood

By Shauna Granger

Hope is a dangerous thing, but powerful. Hope keeps you going. Hope can keep you alive.

But hope can shatter your world.

Kat and Dylan have found a home, but the monsters are still out there. The pox and plague still ravage the world. They have hope of finding a vaccine, but their encampment isn't equipped to develop it.

Dylan is still too weak from the pox to leave the encampment, so Kat must decide between staying by his side and protecting her last remaining family member as he leaves to find supplies. Separated for the first time since they came together, Kat and Dylan will have to fight their own battles to save what is left of their bloody world.

Kat will have to hold on to hope that she has anything left to save and someone to come home to. If she can survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shauna Granger
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310596582

Shauna Granger

Shauna Granger lives in a sleepy little beach town in Southern California with her husband, John, and their goofy dog, Brody. Always fascinated by Magic, Shauna spent most of her teen years buried in books about fairies, elves, gnomes, spells, witchcraft, wizards and sorcery. When she's not busy working on the next installment of the Elemental Series she enjoys cooking, entertaining, MMA fight nights, watching way too much TV and coffee. Lots of coffee.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Stars still dot the indigo sky when I reach the top of the hill. In the distance, a girl with her head down follows two men carrying a body. When I turn my head just the right way, I can smell smoke on the early morning air. I wonder if the world will ever stop smelling of smoke and burning bodies. If it does, will I ever forget it?

The grass is still damp underfoot. Only the tread of my boots keeps me from sliding down the slope as I follow the silent trio. She doesn’t know I’m following her, but I couldn’t let her do this alone because, after today, she really will be all alone. I remember what that’s like.

What she’s going through is my fault, so I have to be there for her. I have to stand with her. I have to watch with her. I have to watch.

The gun in my thigh holster feels heavy, but it’s a comfort this far outside the perimeter of the encampment. I can’t even see the fence anymore. I left my rifle behind, not wanting to feel its weight on my back this morning, but I am missing the security of it. My hunting knife, the one thing I still have after everything I’ve gone through, is in my boot, where it belongs. And a bandana hangs loosely around my neck, as if I’m one of those cheesy, old western movie villains my dad loved so much. I am safe enough—safer than the girl I follow, who is unarmed and has only a dust mask to protect her face.

Sweat breaks out at the small of my back as I follow them up another hill. I’ve only been at the encampment for about a week, though keeping track of days is nearly impossible anymore, but I’ve never been to the pyre.

At the top of the hill, the girl stops, but the two men carrying the body keep walking forward. I lose sight of them until I reach the top of the hill.

Mary doesn’t look at me. When I step up to her side, I find that I cannot yet look at her face. I can see it out of the corner of my eye, but like a wraith in the shadows, I think that if I look right at her, she’ll disappear. She’s smaller now than when we arrived. She’s not eating enough, and when she realized Jesse probably wouldn’t make it, she seemed to lose something, shrinking in on herself.

Smoke curls in the air, reaching for me and drawing my attention away from the ghost girl at my side. The pyre is tall, taller than I expected, so when Jesse’s body is placed on it, he looks too small, like a child wrapped in the sheets he died on.

Of course, we’re all children in this world. All of us are orphans trying to figure out how to hide from the monsters that are no longer under our beds or in the closets. Moms promised us the monsters weren’t real or that they’d never let the monsters get us, but they are real and they are getting us, one by one. And some of us have become monsters.

Even the men preparing Jesse’s body aren’t really men. They’re probably within a year or two of my age, but their faces are worn beyond their years and their weight loss shows in the hollows of their eyes. The encampment is safe and we have food here, but not enough to keep us all truly healthy. But I still think of them as men because it seems wrong somehow that we would only have children to perform the last rites of another child. There should be grown-ups to help us.

The men are waiting for Mary to give them the signal that they can set Jesse’s body on fire, but she doesn’t move. I finally find the courage to look at her and see that she’s not even crying. Her face is pale, though, too pale, and her cheekbones press at her skin. Her lips are chapped, and her hair is lank around her face, darker than it should be. Her name is caught in my throat, so I turn to look at the waiting men and give them a nod. It’s all they need.

One grabs the burning torch, the cause of the smoke that’s been teasing me on the journey up here, and sets the flame to the bundles of sticks and dried grass. Black smoke rises almost immediately, following him as he sets each corner aflame before stopping in front of me. He doesn’t even look at Mary. He asks me if I want to keep the torch just in case we need to use it again, but when I look over his shoulder, I see the pyre has taken the flame, so I shake my head at him.

With a nod, he motions for his partner to follow him back down the hill. I can’t hear their footsteps. I tug my bandana into place, covering my mouth and nose with the cloth so that I won’t breathe in the smoke and ash, though what difference it would make anymore, I don’t know. I glance out of the corner of my eye and see Mary’s dust mask still hanging loose around her neck. I want to put it into place for her, but I don’t. I shift toward her, trying to find the ability to speak, but before I have to choke out any words, Mary comes back to herself, and her delicate fingers place her mask over her face.

We know Jesse didn’t die from the Pestas’ plague, but he did die of infection, an infection that riddled his body in a matter of days. In this ruined world, we don’t take any chances. I breathe a little easier now that she’s covered her face, and I turn my attention back to the pyre and the flames that reach higher and higher. Warm air washes against our faces, making the wispy hair around my face flutter back.

In the distance, the sun is starting to lighten the sky, but it’ll be an hour or more before the stars disappear and the inky sky becomes a clear blue. It’ll be another warm, late summer day, beautiful and clear and totally, completely inappropriate. It should be gloomy and cold. The world should mourn the passing of another innocent child, lost to this nightmare of a world. But it doesn’t because this is our reality. This is normal.

Mary still isn’t crying. I want to take her hand, hold it, and give her some small comfort. Tell her she’s not really alone, she still has me and, fate willing, Dylan. But I don’t. I can’t.

Last night, as the encampment slept, only the guards on the perimeter awake, I found myself unable to sleep. So I made my way to the medical tent to see Dylan, to crawl into bed with him and find some peace. The nurse had been keeping me away from him most of the time because he needed rest to recover, but in the night, they couldn’t stop me. Blue didn’t even stir when I crawled out of my tent, leaving Mary asleep with him, and zipped the flap closed.

But when I crept into the medical tent, expecting to find Dylan and Jesse asleep on their respective cots, I froze at the sight. Dylan was asleep in his cot, the medicine doing its job, but Jesse’s cot was empty, the sheet half-fallen onto the ground as though he’d tumbled out of bed. I lifted my flashlight to sweep the tent, and the white beam of light landed on Jesse’s crumpled form across the distance. A box was open at his side, and the silver scalpel in his hand glinted in the light.

Don’t, he warned, holding up his empty hand as though he had the strength to fight me off.

Even in the narrow beam of light, I could see his hands were shaking and sweat covered his face, making his dark hair cling to his clammy skin. I breathed his name and was at his side in a moment, ignoring his warning to stay back. The ground was damp, soaking the knees of my jeans as I knelt in front of him. I dropped the flashlight and reached to take the scalpel from him.

No, he said, but it came out in a sob. His eyes squeezed shut as tears leaked down his red cheeks.

He tried to lash out at me, but I caught his wrists easily. I felt the bones through his skin, and if I gripped hard enough, I think I could’ve broken them. He was so weak, so wasted.

Jesse, I said again as I pried the scalpel out of his hand, desperately careful to keep from slicing either of us before dropping the blade back into the box.

No, he said again, sobbing. His shoulders shook as he slumped to the side, only my hands on him keeping him from sinking into the ground. Please, he managed through sobs. I can’t keep doing this.

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Every day he was closer and closer to death. The infection in his side had gone septic, and we just didn’t have the supplies to do a damn thing about it other than ease his passing. But Jesse wouldn’t take the pain killers, insisting that they would be wasted on the dying.

I thought he was being brave, but as I looked into his sallow face, tears cutting tracks along his cheeks, I knew he’d been holding on by the skin of his teeth. He’d had enough. Death, it seemed, was both too slow and too fast all at once.

I gathered Jesse into my arms, cradling him to my chest. His skin was hot, and he was shaking like a leaf. We sat like that until my feet started to tingle with blood loss, but I just bit my lip and held Jesse, unable or unwilling to move him. When his sobs finally stopped, he pushed away from me, reaching for the box again.

I kicked it out of his reach, making him cry out in anger and frustration. Darting a look at Dylan, I saw that he was still asleep. He was probably so medicated that it would take a lot more than that to wake him, thankfully.

Kat, please, Jesse said, bringing my attention back to him. I can’t. It hurts so much.

Take the pills then, I whispered.

No, he said, as he always did. I’m dying. Tonight, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter, it’s coming, and it’s taking too fucking long. I can’t, okay?

What about Mary? It was cruel to remind him of his sister, but she would be heartbroken if he took away her chance to say good-bye. I never got to say good-bye to my father. I knew what a burden that was.

Don’t you get it? he said, shaking his head. It’s killing her to see me like this. She can’t do anything, so why make her sit by my side and watch it?

Because it’s what she wants. I held his face to make him look at me. You’re all she has left, Jesse. Don’t take her good-bye away.

What about what I want? His voice was so small, so scared.

My throat swelled, and it was difficult to breathe just then. Jesse.

He looked at me, and I realized his eyes were too big in his face, the skin around them sunken and bruised with pain. He was wasting away, even as I stared at him. He was at the edge of death but taking too long to fall over. And it was all my fault. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I pressed my forehead against Jesse’s. I felt his hands on mine as we sat huddled on the ground together, crying.

Help me, he whispered, his breath warm against my face. A shard of ice pierced my heart, settling in my chest as his words sunk in. Please, Kat, help me.

He was a shell of the boy I’d met just days ago, and I was able to practically carry him back to bed. When I tucked the sheet around him, he looked at me with watery eyes, his lips chapped and split. But there was something in his eyes that I almost couldn’t understand: hope. Hope that I would help him. The ice spread through my veins until I was trembling, but somehow I managed to grip the pillow and pull it out from under his head.

Watch out for Mary, he said, his voice thready with anticipation. Tell her I love her, and I’m sorry, and I’ll always be with her.

I nodded, closing my eyes to let two more tears fall.

Tell her, he said, his voice already fading, as though his spirit knew it didn’t need to hold on much longer, that soon the pain would be over. Tell her I know she’s brave and strong, and I’m sorry for leaving her.

I didn’t promise him, because I didn’t trust myself to speak. If he’d said one more thing, I might’ve lost my nerve, but he finally closed his eyes and let out a long breath, his body relaxing into the cot. Leaning over him, my body went cold as the ice filled me, and I pressed the pillow to his face.

It took too long before his body finally stopped struggling under the weight of mine. When he finally went still under me, I collapsed against his chest and cried.

I didn’t know how I did it, but I found the energy to clean up the tent, placing the box back on the shelf where it belonged and the pillow under Jesse’s head and straightened his sheet.

His face was smooth as I gazed down at it in the dark, moonlit tent. The strain around his eyes was gone, and the lines of pain that had pulled his lips thin were gone, so that I saw the boy I’d met in the abandoned grocery store. Brushing back his hair, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, which was still warm to the touch, as though he just might wake up any moment.

Be at peace, Jesse, I whispered.

I couldn’t even look at Dylan when I stepped back. I just retrieved my flashlight and crept through the sleeping encampment to my tent again.

When I heard Mary’s scream this morning, cutting through the still-quiet camp, I knew she’d found her brother’s body before anyone could warn her. I buried my face in Blue’s warm fur, breathing in his musty scent and letting his warmth thaw the ice in my veins.

When I finally found the courage to go find her, bringing Blue with me, she was standing outside the medical tent, her hands crooked into claws in front of her face, and her whole body trembled. I didn’t meet her too-wide eyes before I walked in to find Dylan sitting up in bed, watching the nurses checking on Jesse, who lay exactly the way I’d left him just a few hours ago.

I left Blue with Dylan while I followed Mary.

Now the flames cover the pyre, obscuring the sheet-wrapped body that used to be Jesse. I sit on the grass, and after a moment, Mary sits beside me. She still isn’t talking, but she’s starting to relax. At some point, she’d stopped shaking.

My hands rest in my lap. I expect to see blood on them, but they are strangely clean, just some dirt under my nails. But I know—I know the truth. Hidden in my skin is the truth of Jesse’s death, and it’ll stay with me forever. I put Jesse out of his misery and the sentence of a slow, painful death, but I took away Mary’s good-bye, and that will haunt me.

A piece of wood pops and breaks, sending sparks into the air. When I lift my eyes to follow them, I see a raven in the distance. A massive black raven caws in the early morning light before arcing through the air and diving behind the horizon again.

More and more ravens have been appearing in the distance, coming ever closer to our encampment, but the horde of Pestas we ran from still hasn’t reached us. What they’re planning, we can only guess, but every day, we wait for them.

My hand is on the handle of my gun, my eyes still watching the spot on the horizon where the raven disappeared. I’m ready to draw and fire without hesitation. Fingers graze my hand. Mary takes my hand off my gun and laces her fingers through mine, letting our hands rest on the damp grass between us. I want to pull my hand away, sure that if I let her hold on too long, she’ll feel the secret, the betrayal hidden in my hands, but I hold on.

She’s lost everything this morning, and I can’t let her drift alone in the abyss. I took her brother from her. The least I can do is hold her hand and watch as her brother becomes nothing but ash.

Chapter 2

Hours have passed, and the sun has risen. The pyre is a smoldering pile of black. When the center caved in, Jesse’s mummy-like body was covered by the burning sides, no longer discernible among the wreckage. But still, Mary watched, and so did I.

Now that the flames are dying, no longer flickering and casting shadows, the black smoke has turned white, and only orange embers glow through the black. The heat still presses at our faces, and I wonder if our skin is red. When I look at Mary, I see flecks of ash covering the exposed skin above her mask and know that my face looks the same.

Her face should have tear tracks in the soot, but she’s holding back. For what, I don’t know, but when that wall inside her finally breaks down, it’ll be ugly.

I give Mary’s hand a squeeze to warn her that I’m going to stand. Her fingers fall from mine, and it takes her another moment to climb to her feet. Our jeans are damp from sitting on the dewy grass. My back aches, and there are pins and needles in my legs, and my stomach is knotted up with hunger. I don’t know if Mary’s willing, but I’m going to try to get her to eat something.

Yes, she’s lost the last of her family, but letting herself waste away shames what Jesse tried to do. He helped me because he wanted me to get Mary to a safe place, to the encampment. And I did that, damnit. She can’t just give up.

Ready? I ask, my voice as rough as though I’ve been breathing in the ash and smoke this whole time.

It takes her a moment to look at me, as though she’s working on some sort of delay, but when she does, her eyes are wide—too wide.

Ready? I ask again.

This time she nods, and we turn away from the smoldering mound as one.

I would worry about leaving the pyre with embers still buried in the ashes, but it was placed out here because there are no trees for as far as the eye can see, and if you keep walking downhill, you’ll eventually make it to the ocean. It’s the safest place to have the pyre without actually going to the beach. The council decided pyres on the beach were too dangerous just because it was too far away for anyone to run back to the encampment if there was danger.

But on the hillsides, you can stay out of sight and make it to the fence, and to safety, if you outrun your pursuer. I’m just glad we don’t have to test that theory today. I check over my shoulder a few times, watching for the raven I spotted earlier, but it doesn’t appear in the sky again.

I nod to the two girls manning the side entrance as they pull the gate open just far enough for Mary and me to slide through. Though I’ve been assigned to guard the perimeter, I don’t know everyone’s name yet. The guard crew is so huge because if you don’t have a skill to contribute to the encampment, you join the perimeter guard. But I recognize these two girls. They’re sisters, both with dusky skin the color of burnt sand and dark hair that I imagine once tumbled over their shoulders in thick waves. Now, like everyone else’s, it’s limp and oily, tied back and out of the way.

Saw a raven, I tell the taller of the two girls—I think she’s the older sister, but really, who knows? I point toward the pyre. Maybe another five miles past the pyre?

Got it, she says with a nod.

The smaller girl slides the chain through the gate to padlock it. Mary’s waiting for me, as if she’s lost and doesn’t know her way around the encampment. I touch her elbow to turn her in the right direction and lead the way. Actually, it’s entirely possible she doesn’t know her way around—the entire time she’s been here, she’s gone from our sleeping tent to the medical tent and back again, never deviating from that path.

It takes us some time to find the food court, and when we find it, the breakfast lines are gone. I just pray there’s a little something left for us. We call it the food court, but really it’s just four open canopies, their legs zip-tied together to form one big space. Massive pots rest on open flames. Plastic tables are lined up as a barrier between the cooks and people waiting for food.

Food. That’s too broad a word for what we have. It’s broth, always broth. Once in a while I’ll get a peeling of some vegetable or a few cubes of tofu. On good days there’re hunks of stale bread with the broth, but never twice in one day. I’ve heard rumors of oatmeal and grits making an occasional appearance, but I’ve never seen them. The vegetable patch is still just seedlings and tiny leaves, but one day we might have solid food again.

I never thought I’d miss my diet of canned foods, freeze-dried pouches of food, and candy, but damn if I don’t. The broth is warm and salty, keeps us going, and feeds everyone, but it’s rough on the stomach. I almost want to volunteer for a scouting party just for the chance to eat something I need to chew before swallowing.

Morning, Kat, Eleanor says as we duck into the shade of the canopies.

Morning, I say, lifting on my toes to look around her. Any chance we’re not too late?

The food crew is cleaning the pots and cups we eat out of. Eleanor’s eyes drift past me to look at Mary, who’s lingering between the sun and the shade of the canopy.

How is she? she asks in a low voice.

Honestly? I glance over my shoulder at Mary before answering. I have no idea.

It’s done though?

It is, I say with a heavy sigh.

Eleanor nods and turns her back to me before turning around with a tray in her hands. On the tray are two steaming cups and two hunks of bread, larger than I’ve seen since I’ve been here. She slides the tray across the table to me. I saved this for you two.

Eleanor is a sweet woman, probably only in her forties, but that makes her at least twice as old as most of the people around here. Her frizzy brown hair is shot through with white and is always caught up in a bun on top of her head. She’s tall for a woman, with broad shoulders that remind me of the lunch ladies from elementary school, but her face is sweet and covered with smile lines, making me think she laughed a lot before. Her green eyes are flecked with brown and gold and are the kindest eyes I’ve seen in a long time.

Thank you, I whisper, relief flooding me and making my stomach loosen. At least I won’t have to wait to eat until dinner. Only two meals a day are served here in an effort to make the food stretch as far as possible, but we’ve been warned that when the supplies run low, we’ll be lucky to get breakfast.

I carry the tray outside, trusting Mary to follow me to the ring of logs we use as makeshift benches. Everything is makeshift now. I balance the tray on a log and straddle it. Mary copies me so the tray is between our knees. We sip the cooling broth and dunk our bread to make it soft enough to chew.

When our broth is half gone, Mary speaks. I don’t know what to do with myself now. She isn’t looking at me; she’s looking past me, at nothing in particular. Her brow is pinched over her brown eyes, and her lips are puckered.

I chew my soggy bread for a moment before answering her. You’ll have to volunteer for a job. No one gets to sit around unless they’re sick. As soon as that last sentence is out of my mouth, I want to snatch it back. Holding my breath, I wait to see if Mary reacts, but she just nods before taking another sip of her broth. Do you have any skills?

Guess that depends on what they consider a skill, Mary says into her cup, swirling the last dregs, then tossing it back.

Probably anything, I say with a shrug. Can you sew?

Not more than a stitch, she says.

Me too. Cook?

Mary sighs, her eyes sliding to the canopy and the crew inside, still scurrying around like ants. Even though we only eat twice a day, there are hundreds of us, so their work is never done. Yes, I can cook.

I lean toward her to whisper, You don’t have to, you know? If there’s nothing you can do, you can be on the perimeter guard crew.

Like you and Keenan and Malia? she asks.

I nod. Can you shoot?

I don’t know. She shrugs. Never tried.

You’ll have to fake it then. I’d say I could teach you, but I kinda learned by trial and error. Besides, can’t waste the bullets practicing.

Did they make you prove you could shoot?

No, I say, popping the last bite of bread in my mouth. Not everyone is happy joining the guard, so anyone who volunteers, they’re happy to get. You okay with killing Pestas?

Mary snorts, an ugly, angry sound. Yeah, I think I’d actually really like that.

Okay, I say as I gather up our cups and tray. Go find Malia at the main gate. She makes a lot of the decisions.

You’re not coming with me? Mary looks at me as I swing a leg over the log to stand.

Trust me, it’ll look better to Malia if you go on your own, head up, eyes clear. I need to go check on Dylan and take Blue for a walk.

Mary doesn’t say anything, her lips pressed into a thin white line and her eyes hooded with worry. When she nods, she stands, dusts off her jeans, and turns toward the main gate.

When I duck into