Bound to Ashes [Book 1 of The Altered Sequence]

By Maranda Cromwell

If only the virus that wiped out nearly all of humanity seven years ago had finished the job... Dev and the other remaining genetically Altered supersoldiers wouldn't be facing what could be their final days scraping by. Because of humans, they went from being science experiments to vermin—and today is the last straw. Their plan to finally end the fighting backfires, and now they face an even more frightening reality. The new human leader, Alessandra, doesn't want them dead.
She needs their help.
Alessandra’s goal: get into the Ecodome, humanity’s only chance for recovery. But the dome’s automated security systems stand in her way. She offers Dev and his friends an opportunity to help the humans break through the defenses and, in exchange, start a new life free of prejudice. Dev, unsure if his decision will save his friends or just get them all killed, accepts.
Alessandra (harboring hidden motives) must find a way to convince the supersoldiers that the problematic past of the Ecodome isn't what it seems.
And, for the sake of his friends and their future, Dev must find it in himself to believe her.

Bound to Ashes is a science fiction novel at ~90,000 words and is the first in The Altered Sequence trilogy.

Readers are saying:
"You can't help but become connected to the characters through their journey and be drawn into the mystery of the Altered."
"There is plenty of raw action and interesting plot turns in this book, but the shining feature is the development of the 'not quite human' characters that reveal the quintessential human struggles of self-identity, loyalty, and trust, and ultimately how to keep moving forward in the face of an uncertain future."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maranda Cromwell
• Release date: Jul 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311652386

Maranda Cromwell

I'm a fine artist and indie author living in the Pacific Northwest. I enjoy the outdoors, dogs, collecting animal remains (ethically sourced, of course!), and reading. I'm always down for an adventure, be it written or physical.

Book preview

Bound to Ashes

Maranda Cromwell

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2015 Maranda Cromwell

All rights reserved.

To mom.

CONTENTS

1 Another Day in Paradise

2 Tin Cans

3 Mess Hall

4 Contents Under Pressure

5 Ecodome

6 Unwanted Guest

7 Broken Bread

8 Rain, Rain

9 Thousand-Yard Stare

10 On the Road

11 Welcome Home

12 The Eleven-Year Secret

13 Coward’s Relief

14 The Amniotic Sea

15 Strangers Again

16 The Unfinished Mission

17 Fool’s Paradise

18 To Heal with Gold

Acknowledgements

About the Author

1 • ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE

[Dev]

Sometimes, I think, it would be nice to be able to go outside without getting shot at.

I’ve got a can of string beans in my left hand and a couple packets of something called ‘Souper Ramen’ in my right. Which one takes up the least amount of room... provides the most energy... Aw, hell. They’re both barely even food. I cram all of it in my duffel bag.

Hurry up, Cain yells at us. He’s kneeling at a window at the front of the crumbling store. He reloads the rifle clenched in his grip and the bullet casing goes flying. Sun filtering through the broken window gives us just enough light to search by. Not that it helps much— this trip’s getting cut short. They already found us.

A cutting voice bites through the air— Shut up, Scruffy. It’s Jules, slipping a roll of duct tape around her wrist. She flips a fallen shelf over to reveal another pile of junk to rifle through. You’ve got no rank! She kneels and paws through the empty boxes and shelled-out garbage with quick fingers, eyes darting back and forth.

Cain snarls but sets the gun on the boarded-up, glass-less window so that the barrel peeks out between the boards. He’ll buy us time if he sees a human round the corner.

Jules appears next to me, a stack of small boxes tucked under her arms. Maybe some kind of pasta. She settles her back against the side of the empty shelves and says, Where’d Dogfeet get off to?

It’s pointless to roll my eyes at her. I don’t know. I peer around the aisle. Cain still has his eyes trained on the street and holds perfectly still. For a second, I can almost hear the dust settling. Right about now, I bet the humans are hiding and regrouping, planning a route to the side of our building. They probably saw the shots Cain was pulling off and had to stop. But we better not press our luck.

So I step into the open center of the store and head for the back wall. It’s easy to see Ashton towering over the aisles. He’s looking at books, of course. Of all the things.

How did this get to be a bestseller...? he says to himself, turning the book over and reading the back, probably for the third time. His dark hair hangs in his face and swishes aside when he looks at me.

You’re kidding, right?

He pockets the small book, says, Sorry, and smiles. I smile back even though he’s wasting time.

I checked the back already, Ashton says. I get the feeling he offers the information to make up for his wasting time. Not much we can use.

That’s what we get for picking a ground-level place, Jules says as she joins us. They’re worthless. She plants a fist on her hip even with a load of supplies tucked under arm.

Well they’re here, Cain yells, adjusting the rifle and firing. The gunshot sends vibrations through the air and makes my skin crawl.

Then let’s go, Ashton says, shouldering his backpack. There’s a back door. He glances sourly at Cain, who fires again.

I’ll clean up. Meet you outside, Cain says without looking at us.

Ashton lets his eyes linger on Cain longer, as if searching for a comeback, but just grumbles instead.

The back door Ashton described is a broken-in wall, crumbled in heaps of drywall and mortar. The rubble crunches under our feet.

The darkening city stands like canyon walls around us. More gunshots and yelling echo down the empty streets. Jules and Ashton hesitate, but I say, Cain can handle it, let’s go.

Ashton follows me with no hesitation, but Jules waits for a moment. She glances back at the store, then at us, furrows her brow, and breaks into a jog to catch up.

It’s amazing how fast it gets dark. Even after eight years being out of the labs, it still seems wrong that the sun sets this fast.

You think they came from only one side? Ashton asks, looking around anxiously. Seems unlike them.

He’s right. Just keep an eye out.

Oh, easy for you to say, Dev, Jules snaps. You and your cat eyes. I can barely see a thing—

Jules, now’s not the ti—

Stop, Ashton says, holding up a hand to quiet us. He stands tall and focuses on something in the distance, listening. Hold on. He jumps onto a trashed double-decker bus and freezes. He closes his eyes. Jules looks around and shrugs at me as if to say, ‘What’s there to listen for?’ but I just watch him. Ashton’s hearing beats out mine and Jules’ both, he’s our best early-warning system. His long dog-like legs, ending in clawed toes, stretch to their tallest. His tail idly swishes back and forth. Then his eyes shoot open and he steps backwards for a moment. Like something struck him. He jumps off the bus and says, They’re coming from the west, too.

Sooner or later, these close calls are going to wear me down like sandpaper. Eventually, they’ll be expected. One day I’ll wake up and prepare to be ambushed, prepare to be shot at. I’ll be an expert at making my peace with the world before a human guns me down.

I don’t want that day to ever come, but at this rate, it could be tomorrow. Or today.

Jules and I sprint after Ashton, like it’ll do any good. He’s way too fast, taking corners on a dime, disappearing behind burnt-out storefronts and cars. Running is his element. He never stands still and moves like lightning— wish he’d ease up.

Slow down, Jules says. We’re running full speed and he still outpaces us like it’s nothing.

He stops, but shuffles his feet anxiously. Sorry, he says, not even winded, they’re on skimmers.

What?! You’re joking.

But his look tells me he isn’t.

But those things run on corn-based fuel, Jules cries, Where the hell are they getting the corn?!

Ashton throws his arms in the air and says, That’s what you’re worried about?!

We can outrun a human on foot, but not on skimmers. I have to get us out. Now. We need to get higher. They’ll be on us in seconds. I pull out a tight coil of rope from the bag. Ash, can you get to that ledge? The face of the high-rise in front of us has a gaping, blackened mouth high up, maybe from the bombing. The sight of it makes my skin crawl; my body almost refuses to move. But Jules and Ashton are depending on me.

Ashton looks up, takes a moment to mentally judge it, and nods. I toss him the rope and zip up the bag. I don’t have to say anything else, he knows the plan.

He slips the rope over his shoulder and fixes his focus on the ledge. It doesn’t take long. He uses the nearest car as a springboard and sails onto the ledge easily. The car rocks back and forth from the impact. He wastes no time in tossing the rope down.

We rappel off the building as fast as possible with Ashton bracing against the remains of the walls, hauling us up. We scramble into the building and slide behind the rubble. It’s ashy, and dirty, and the air still smells burnt, but we should be invisible to the humans. Jules and Ashton breathe quietly next to me.

The hum of skimmers breaks the silence. I can see them through gaps in the rubble: The black vehicles hovering over the ground have curved sides, perfect for navigating rocky terrain. There are only two, but two is enough. As the skimmers quiet down, they settle on the pavement on thin stilts, like plotting insects. The humans step out, the machine bounces slightly, and the headlights dim.

That was way too close. If we had acted a second later, we’d be full of lead.

My hands tighten into fists. One of the humans is Heydrich. He can hide behind that helmet and visor all he wants. He paces the street in front of his skimmer and looks back and forth almost casually. The other human steps out of the skimmer and Heydrich turns on him, yelling and gesturing. The other cowers, then points to the skimmer and shrugs. It’s a miracle Heydrich hasn’t killed him yet. He turns around and faces the road again— I hate his cocky stride, hands in his pockets, elbows out, leaning back. Like he knows where we are and is just messing with us. Like he’s waiting for the rats to come out of the grain stores so his cat can kill them.

My muscles complain from this cramped space. I wish it was easier to breathe in here. The air is close and claustrophobic. My heart jumps when I brush against something beside me. No, not now....

My teeth grit and my eyes press closed— but we hid in the buildings in the camps, behind the beds, crushed against each other and breathing— hot with no air and the soldiers will come and gun us down like they said they would, like they said they would, like they said—

Dev? Ashton’s whisper is far away.

My heart’s beating fast, and the hearts next to me. Wedged between furniture, pressed against hard floors, sweating, bleeding....

Dev?! Come on, snap out of it, Jules says, shaking my shoulder. She’s prying my hand away from my face and saying my name over and over. I can’t see an inch in front of me, but I blink and I can see again. I look over at Jules and Ashton. Their tilted eyebrows and dirty faces, I can’t stand it. I probably gave away our position.

The keening, thrumming sound of a skimmer snaps my attention back to the street. They’re leaving? Heydrich gets back on his skimmer. He jabs the air at his companion, who ducks his head submissively and moves off. Soon the skimmers are far out of view down the cracked street. They’re so silent and clean, it’s like they were never even here to begin with.

Are you... recovered? Ashton says.

Yeah, I’m fine, let’s go. There’s got to be a way out the back, I say, standing up, dirt crumbling around me. I ignore Jules’s small sigh.

We push through the ruins of the building— might’ve been offices once— and past the stairwell we find a broken window.

Anything?

Ashton pauses enough to listen, then says, We’re all clear.

I step onto the windowsill and glance sideways down the long street. A fallen building down the street blocks the whole road. No way are they coming from that way. The other street ends in a confusing twist of broken highway entrances. It’s as safe as it’ll ever be.

Despite our best efforts, even if we make sure to check the perimeter, clear the area, scout for spies, there’s always something. If I had been an earlier model of Altered I could’ve had more combat training, more tactical things. I could have been more useful to the others.

The drop to the ground is a few stories. The windowsill is lined with broken glass. I arrange my hands between the shards and jump out, the reassuring thumps of Jules and Ashton hitting the ground behind me help me feel more at ease. A little.

So, we kind of abandoned Cain, Jules mentions as we coast into a brisk pace.

He’ll be fine, Ashton says, barely jogging beside us but keeping pace. He adds in a mockery of Cain’s voice, He always is, after all.

It’s hard to ignore the detached feeling of being down a member. Splitting up is usually the last thing we want to do. Especially after what happened to Spec. He told us to go ahead.

Jules gives an unconvinced, Hmm, and flattens her mouth into a thin line.

We crest the highest part of the highway ramp when the night is darkest. I can just make out the silhouettes of my friends. They’re probably following me by sound alone. The moon isn’t out, but even if it were, it’d be choked out by the reddish grey clouds.

I’m starting to doubt they’re even clouds, they’re probably just smoky residue from the war. Stubborn and clinging to the Earth. Pointless. It hasn’t rained in a month. Before we left for the city, the creek bed was running mud, not water. It’s probably dry by now. Even the mountains far away are brown, not capped with white like in postcards.

We eventually slow to a stop and Ashton says, We should be far enough out.

Too dark to go Altered-hunting, Jules says snidely.

Thanks Jules, what would we do without your tact? There’s a semi up there, we can probably bunk there tonight.

Jules looks in my general direction and says, What, no time for a fire?

No. Those humans probably need to break for camp, too. A fire will draw their attention.

She folds her arms and sighs, Fine. She rubs her arms. Sure, it’s getting colder, so what. She can handle it. No way am I starting a fire.

Ashton is more understanding. It’s alright. I found a few blankets back there.

Oh, blankets, we’re saved, Jules says, throwing her arms in the air. "If only Dragonbreath here weren’t so chicken, we’d be all set.

Ashton replies by throwing a blanket at her head. Hey, she says, laughing.

I lead them to the trailer and crack it open. Empty. Must have been hauling food or bottled water at some point for it to be this empty. We settle in, but the thin blankets are nothing more than a nice thought. They’re thin and stiff from dirt.

If sleep is a basic function of life, then why is it always so hard? Everything sleeps. Dogs, vultures, humans. But what happens if that organism never falls asleep? Or sleep doesn’t bring rest? I’m pretty close to finding out. Spreading the blanket over myself and leaning against the metal trailer are just recitations. Nothing really works.

Even after the night starts to lighten, I don’t think I’ve achieved anything close to sleep. Not even that wavering half-sleep territory. Whenever I feel close, right on the edge, something tears me away from it. Bullets. Skimmers. Keep them safe.

Movement to my right—I jump a little, but it’s just Ashton. He carefully steps over Jules (who’s sleeping like a rock, lucky her) and sits over the edge of the trailer. The sun is rising between the huge metal buildings, at least the ones that are still standing. Ashton flips out his journal and pen and starts writing.

Isn’t it a little late for journaling?

He glances over and shrugs. He’s not even surprised to see me awake. It’s the only chance I get. His long, knobby fingers absently trace the scuffs and frayed edges of the little black journal. It almost has as many scars as we do. I remember when writing was still a conscious effort for him, but now his hands move across the page like liquid. He rubs his eyes with his other hand.

Why don’t you go back to sleep? You can probably get a couple more hours.

He laughs gently and says, Might say the same to you.

You’re funny.

He looks back at the journal, then to the sunrise. He looks out on the world not with disgust, but with something like sympathy and calm acceptance. I’m not sure how he does it. Good thinking back there, by the way, he says.

What?

When the skimmers were on their way, your suggestion to hide in that high-rise. I would have never considered that a possibility. But, you know me, he laughs. Flighty.

I smile and say, Yeah, you are that.

But, in all seriousness, thanks. Between all of us, you’re the most level-headed.

I almost laugh. It’s not that big a deal. I did what anyone would do. It’s my job to protect them. I pull my knees closer and stare at the grey landscape.

Well, he says. You’re one hell of a better leader than Cain.

The laugh finally slips out.

Ashton smiles with me and says, Hey, I’ll keep watch. At least just try resting your eyes, or something.

Right. He looks back to his journal, chews on the end of the warped and dirty pen, and sets back to writing. I experiment by resting my forehead on my arms and closing my eyes. Sometimes sleep is a little easier than being awake.

Bang.

Like the slam of testing room doors.

Bang.

Gunshots and the kickback of a military-issue weapon in my small, fragile hands.

Bang.

Little bodies falling.

I’m awake and staring like I’ve been awake my whole life, and Ashton is stepping out the trailer, yelling outside, Would you quit that?!

Jules stretches, yawns, and says, Looks like Scruffy’s back.

I toss aside the blanket to hop out of the trailer. Cain is lowering his rifle from the side of the trailer looking no-nonsense as usual. He’s glaring daggers at Ashton, who’s using his height as an advantage and towering over Cain threateningly. Their fights are usually bloodless. Too much is at stake to fight among ourselves, and besides, Spec died a long time ago.

Late-risers, Cain says. You should have been awake hours ago.

I just squint at him and massage my temple, but he’s already headed down the highway like it’s business as usual. The rifle’s slung over his shoulder.

Ashton breathes out angrily and says, Thinks he’s a general or something.

Just leave him.

But he huffs again and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. The sleeves are way too short for his arms.

Jules bounds between us and follows Cain, saying, Burnin’ daylight, you two. Her dark braid trails behind her and bounces with her every step, the first of many on the long road home.

Empty factories and charred rubble pass us as we go by. Brown vines crawl through broken buildings, claiming them as their own. Trees never got a chance to turn green again after the firebombing and droughts, so they’re just skeletons, too. The word firebomb makes my chest hurt and for a second, my painful hunger seems insignificant.

The road cuts through the factories and offices, we pass signs that read ‘Corporate Park’, whatever that means. Just miles and miles of overgrown shrubs and dead buildings. In the distance I can finally see the rows of dead, brown trees. It looks like a mustard gas fog from here.

The miles of naked trees become corridors of pillars topped with gnarled hands grasping for the bleaching sun. Ashton said they used to grow cherries, and every season their branches would be covered in thick, pink flowers, like clouds. But I don’t believe him. I don’t remember that at all.

Next to the dead orchard is our home. It’s hard to call it home, though. It’s just a hole in the ground.

We slip into the metal trapdoor one by one and pull the white dust in with us. We drop down to the entry corridor: empty and metal and coated in dust. It’s the normal routine. Wait in the entry and shake all the dust off our clothes and hair or it’ll itch like crazy. Jules has to take apart her long braid, finger-combing the city grime and dust from it. Some days she doesn’t even bother. Mine’s short enough to just run a hand through it. Ashton finishes up de-dusting, his black hair hanging in wavy strings, and says, Anyone else starving?

I can almost laugh. Why ask a question when the answer is always, ‘yes’?

I’ll go see if the fire’s alive, Jules says and moves quickly through the narrow halls into the darkness. The old missile silo we call home is consistently a few things: dark, dusty, and cold. At least it keeps out the drought’s heat, or else we’d cook.

Down the cylindrical hall and narrow walkway, down the stairs, through a door. The main chamber catches some last-minute rays of sun through the stuck-open zipper-teeth ceiling. Cain just crosses the chamber and is up another ladder, disappearing behind another door. His typical routine. We stopped asking where he goes.

Bad news, Jules shouts up to us as we climb the ladder down to ground level. Her voice echoes in the empty chamber. Fire’s dead.

Great. Exactly what I wanted to hear.

And there’s no getting out of it this time, she says, pointing at me.

I wrinkle my nose at her. Fine.

Around the fire pit, she and Ashton are already digging into the packs we’ve piled on the floor, rummaging through them for what food we found. Jules shakes a cardboard box with a chewed corner— she shrieks. A mouse scurries by her feet. Her hand shoots out like a snake and the mouse, dead, hangs in her hand. She looks up at me and Ashton and says, Split it three ways?

All yours, Ashton says.

Setting the mouse aside, she and Ashton move onto the canned food. They make a pathetic pyramid out of baby corn, string beans, two cans of peaches, and a small can of salmon.

I need that one, Jules says, snatching it up.

Ashton reaches for it but she curls back. Come on, he says, I expend more calories than you.

Yeah right, you expend more calories! I do just as much work as you, Leggy, she sneers.

I could make the argument that I’m the one naturally producing combustible fluids, but I don’t want to fight them for it. They deserve it more than I do.

The arrangement of kindling has to be just right. I lean them together, using their bark and ridges to make sure they rest snugly. I can only put off the fire part for so long, though. I swallow. We need it, though. They need it. So I kneel low, take a deep breath, and blow a small plume of fire under the stack of sticks. The drought-dried wood takes in an instant. I pull back and clamp my mouth shut, and try to make my heart stop beating so fast. I wish it didn’t happen every time.

Ashton and Jules are caught up in their own world, they’re not even paying attention to me. Watching them loosens my nerves. Ashton topples over her reaching for the can in a mad scramble, much to her loud and vulgar protests.

You got the mouse, you can’t have both—

You let me have the mouse, I said we could split it—

Finally, Ashton’s long reach gets the better of her, and his fingers clasp around the can. Jules reaches over and slaps a hand on his arm. Both his arms go limp. Resorting to foul play to win the can, how disappointing.

Agh, Jules, that isn’t fair, Ashton complains, rolling over and lying on his back. His arms drape over himself awkwardly, framing his scowl.

Perfectly fair, she states, standing and brushing herself off. If you can use your freaky spider arms, then I can use my own abilities.

I stand up, grab the can, and it slips out of her grip no problem. She let her guard down.

We’ll split it. Before she can immobilize me, I pop it open. It smells salty and fishy and wonderful. Much better than mouse meat.

She folds her arms and smirks. Ashton’s tail thumps against the metal floor in agitation and he says, If we’re splitting it, I’m gonna need my arms back.

Laughter is as rare as a decent meal around here, but sometimes it comes around, usually when we need it the most.

2 • TIN CANS

[Dev]

I should be happy that it’s windy so often. Tracking footprints on dust is impossible. But when it’s blowing flecks of sand into your face like it’s trying to peel your skin off, it’s pretty hard to be thankful. Guess a sandstorm is better than being tracked by human spies, though. Even though there hasn’t been a spy in months. Something about that makes my breakfast sit funny. They could be planning something. But I always think that, and nothing happens, so what do I know? You’re just paranoid, Dev.

Wind whistles past the bus windows. I used to wonder why there was a double-decker bus out in the middle of nowhere, half buried in dirt and sand, rusted to bits... but it’s a good place to get away from the other, bigger metal shell in the ground. A change of scenery. The dusty wind outside paints a haze in front of the brown trees in the distance.

There’s a harsh tapping on the rusty frame of the bus. The driver’s seat creaks from my startled jump. Ashton crouches and leans over to see inside the cab. For a normal pair of legs, it would be a normal squat, but with his long feet it looks like he’s on small stilts.

Sorry, he says. Room for one more? His easygoing half-smile makes it hard to say no.

Sure.

Ashton squeezes through the broken windshield, somehow, twisting himself around. He might not have been able to fit when the bus’s second floor was still intact, but it crumbled away a while ago. He sits in the passenger seat next to me and tries to orient his legs so they’re not bunched up. He finally leans back and says through a heavy breath, Kind of hot out here for this, isn’t it?

It’s cooler than it was yesterday.

But he still makes exasperated noises and fans himself with his hand. It’s not that hot.

So what’re you doing out in the bus, anyway? Ashton asks conversationally, looking out over the orchard. The winds kick up and the dust almost blocks out the trees, washing them out. Some of the ply boards nailed to the windows clatter from the wind.

Just thinking.

You can’t say, ‘just thinking,’ and not expect me to ask what you’re thinking about.

Yeah, yeah, okay. Walked right into that one. I’m thinking about the human spies. Or, well, how there haven’t been any in a while.

He nods. True. That’s kind of a windfall, though, right?

Windfall. That’s... a blessing? A good thing? I guess.

You guess?

Well, no, I’m glad they’re gone, but what if it’s because they already know where we are? What if the reason they aren’t sending spies is... because they don’t need them anymore?

Ashton shivers despite the heat. That’s heartening.

I shrug. It’s a possibility.

I almost add, ‘It’ll be a relief if the humans come and kill us.’ But it doesn’t seem productive to say something like that. But underneath my logical self, I think it’s true. I would be happy— well maybe not happy, but at peace— if they humans showed up with their guns and skimmers and got