The Blood Pawn

By Nicole Tillman

My country is in shambles.
An epidemic plagues my home, turning friends into enemies, spouses into threats and neighbors into snacks.
Now, it's up to me and fifteen other surly teenagers to aid our last hope of survival in containing this new terror.
Everyone on my team has a job.
The King and Queen guard our ward, ensuring his safety. The Rooks, Bishops and Knights take their shots from a distance, only charging in if the need arises. But the Pawns... we're on the front lines.
The disposables.
Sacrificial lambs, so to speak.
But sometimes a lamb doesn't want to be sacrificed. Sometimes... a lamb is strong enough to survive the slaughter.
That's me.
Maya Winters.
The resilient lamb.
The Blood Pawn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Tillman
• Release date: Apr 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386146278

Nicole Tillman

Nicole Tillman is an author who hasn't always had a love of reading. As a child, she struggled to string words together and would hide in the back of the classroom with her head down in hopes that the teacher would forget she existed. Eventually, she was introduced to a young adult series by a family friend and her love of reading bloomed. Nicole now weaves her own stories, content to lose sleep in order to write both contemporary romance and thriller/suspense novels. She lives in the Ozarks of Missouri with her husband, two sons, and two dogs. Nicole has an Associates Degree in General Studies though Missouri State University and was on her way to completing her Bachelors in Creative Writing when she decided to take a sabbatical to focus on work and her family. Now a stay at home mother, she dedicates her time to her boys, writing, and photography.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Ready to go?

Jared meets me at the bottom of the stairs and I peck a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing my coat.

Yup. Let me just tell the folks we're leaving.

He smiles that swoon-worthy grin of his, making his dimples pop, and I fight to contain a squeal as I make my way to my father's study.

Jared and I have been together for over a year now, and in that time I've fallen stupidly in love with the man he's turning into. Well, as in love as a sixteen-year-old bookworm can be with an eighteen-year-old track star.

It's true we have little to nothing in common when it comes to extracurricular activities, but that just makes our time together that much more exciting. You'd be surprised by how well two teenagers of opposite genders can keep themselves entertained in the back seat of a car.

Since I turned sixteen and my parents finally allow me to go on actual dates, my time with Jared has quickly become the nucleus of my social life. Most parents might frown on that, but luckily mine are absolutely over the moon for Jared; a fact that makes my life abundantly easier when it comes to asking for alone time.

I rap my knuckles against father's open door to get his attention.

"Hey, Dad, we're heading out.

He looks up from the papers he's busy filing away. His brown eyes, the ones that match mine, all the way down to the random flecks of amber, look tired. No doubt a side effect of a long day at work followed by a dinner interrupted by a handful of text messages and calls to his cell concerning a particularly dire patient he left behind at the hospital.

There's always someone in distress; someone who needs my father.

Have a good time, he says distractedly. I'll tell your mother you left.

She in the shower? I ask. They're scheduled for a night out on the town as well. My mother definitely deserves to be wined and dined after dad's absence the last few days.

Running late. As always. His smile loses its brittle edge as he shuts the desk drawer and crosses the room. His lips tap against my forehead in a light kiss. Call if you need anything.

Will do.

I flutter my fingers in a wave and race back down the hall where Jared's waiting in the foyer. Intertwining my hand with his, I let him open the door and usher me out into the cold November evening.

Two for Good Humor, Jared tells the ticket lady when we breeze through the door, several minutes late.  

I don't care if I miss the trailers if it means a few moments alone with Jared in the back seat of his Corolla, but I don't want to miss the movie.

We're both hardcore film buffs, but where I like comedy and romance, Jared's tastes tend to run a little darker. Which is why we're about to see a movie about a possessed clown. But I'm not one to complain, especially not when it means I get to cuddle up against a solid chest in a dark theater.

In line at the concession stand, Jared slips my ticket into the front pocket of my jeans and reclaims my hand. He takes a second to pull my knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss, and I blush.

Popcorn? he asks.

I roll my eyes.

Like he even has to ask.

Butter, I say. Lots and lots of butter.

After claiming our extra large buttery popcorn and two Cokes we find our seats and settle in for the two-and-a-half-hour long flick.

If this scares me and I spill the popcorn I'm kicking your ass.

Jared bobs his eyebrows up and down as he leans in close and the lights around us dim, signaling the movie is about to start.

If it's that scary I'll let you kick my ass, he whispers. His shoulders bounce with suppressed laughter.

With our hands joined, the lights extinguished, and our popcorn perched precariously on my bent legs, we inch just the tiniest bit closer to one another and turn our eyes to the screen.

Was all that gore really necessary?

Jared laughs, and I guess I can't blame him. What's a horror flick without gore? Or mutilation? The movie probably would have fallen flat without the ick-factor.

Yeah, babe. It was necessary. If it wasn't for the gore we may as well have been watching a McDonald's commercial.

I shrug, even as my stomach continues to roll from the hideously brutal blood bath we just witnessed.

Seriously, though. Eye jelly? I shudder, remembering the way it oozed down the clown's chin. That was too much.

Mmm, I disagree. He shakes his head as we step out of the darkened theater and into the hallway. I think it was the icing on the cake.

You would.

Need to pee before we leave? he asks as we near the bathrooms.

I roll my eyes. Surely to God there's a more tactful way to ask that question.

If there is, I don't know what it is. Here, hold my drink. Be right back.

Jared half-walks, half-jogs to the men's room, stopping to take a quick sip from the water fountain.

Hey, Einstein, I call. If you have to pee so bad, I wouldn't suggest drinking anything until after you empty your bladder.

He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth before pointing it my way. That right there's why I keep you around.

When he finally disappears behind the door, I brace my back against the wall so movie-goers can pass on their way to the theater. They're about to get their money's worth. It's one of the better horror flicks I've seen. I just don't have the stomach for that kind of detailed dismemberment.

A moment later, I glance up to find Jared rushing toward me. His eyebrows are drawn together, his lips pursed together in a tight line.

What's–

Let's go, he snaps, cutting me off.

Before I can form a retort, he grabs me by the arm and we race out the door. His rough hand never slackens until he shoves me in the passenger seat, and I'm so shocked I don't know what to say.

I hug my purse to my chest, trying to make heads or tails of the change in his demeanor. Jared has instilled a plethora of feelings with me. Lust. Compassion. Appreciation.

But fear?

Fear has never been part of that cocktail. Not until he starts the car and breaks every speed limit between the theater and my house. As he drives, my mind flips and spins, trying to decipher his sudden shift in mood. I don't say a word. Whatever is happening, I don't want to set him off again if I can help it, so I mull silently, praying for the tension to leave the air between us.

When we pull to a stop in my driveway, Jared shoves the car into park and I turn to face him, just as I do every time we bid each other goodnight. But through the shadows playing across his face, I know something isn't right.

Jared's eyes are wide, his face shines with sweat, and bright red blotches mar his usually clear complexion.

Are you okay? What's wrong with your skin?

Nothing. The word rings of finality as he points to my door. Go.

What? I scoot closer. This isn't Jared. Jared doesn't say things that rip at the seams of my heart. You're scaring me. What's going on?

Don't worry about it! he snaps.

I ignore his outburst and reach across the console for his hand. He snatches it away from me, but not before I feel the heat emanating off his skin.

Jesus, you're burning up!

Turning in my seat, I lean in close and press my lips to his temple for just a second, letting my skin register the feel of his fever.

Something's wrong.

He shoves at my shoulder, and it's the hardest he's ever touched me. My stomach clenches with the dismissal.

Go inside, Maya.

I'm not leaving him like this. I can't.

Come with me, I urge. I have some Tylenol. You can lay down on the–

Go inside! he bellows. Now!

I flinch so hard the back of my head smacks against the window. He's never spoken to me like this, and I don't know why he's doing it now.

Okay, I whisper, holding both hands in the air.

My fear overrides my love and worry for Jared, so I carefully exit the car and shut the door behind me. All the way up the sidewalk and onto the front porch, pain twists my gut, telling me I've done something wrong. Something unforgivable. I've displeased him somehow through the night.

But no matter how hard I try to pinpoint my misstep, I can't. I thought we had a good time. It was just like any other date.

Inside, I lock the door and flip a lamp on. Silence greets me, so I know my parents haven't returned from their own date. A date I'm sure went far better than my own. As always, I drop my purse on the couch and make my way to the kitchen for a drink.

I try to ignore the tears pricking to life behind my eyes, but it's hard. Especially since I haven't heard Jared's car start up and race down the street like usual. Maybe, just maybe, he's sitting outside, thinking about how big of a jerk he's being. Maybe he'll knock on my door in a few minutes and I'll open it to find him down on his hands and knees, begging for an apology.

To my knowledge, I've done nothing wrong.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

A rapid burst of bangs comes from the door, stopping me in my tracks on the way to the fridge.

I breathe out a sigh. Breaking down my door is not the greatest way to start an apology. He can't hear me, but it doesn't matter.

I rush back and go up on my tip-toes so I can glance out the peephole. Sure enough, Jared is outside pacing along the steps.

Stupid boy.

My fingers close around the cold metal lock and I'm beginning to turn it when the whispers coming from the other side of the door meet my ear.

I freeze.

Kill her.

My hand jerks away from the lock as my lungs seize within my chest.

Surely I didn't hear him right.

He wouldn't say that.

Carefully, without taking a single breath, I inch closer and press my ear against the door.

Kill her. No... No! Tomorrow. Not tonight. Yes, tonight. God, she smells good. So good. Kill her. Smells good.

What the hell?

A bang against the door has me stumbling back toward the stairs and I have to slap a hand over my mouth to contain a scream.

Jared... what's happening?

Tears constrict my chest but I force myself to return to the door and lean toward the peephole. I have to see him. Surely I'm not hearing him right. He would never say something like that. He loves me.

I glance back out the peephole.

Now he's not just pacing. His jacket lays on the ground near his feet as he scratches along his arms, scratching so hard he's breaking skin and blood trickles down his forearms. 

Kill her, he says again, louder this time. Kill her. She tastes– tastes so good. So good.

His head falls back and he pauses to sniff the air. Just when I think he's calming down, a fist flies out to bash against the door once again.

MAYA! he screams, his voice broken and gravely. Open the door!

Who is this man, and what has he done with my Jared? My sweet, kind, patient Jared.

Instantly, his demeanor changes. He stops pacing across the porch and turns all his energy toward the door. His arms and legs beat and kick against the hard oak. The panels shake with the intensity of his assault and the seams crack. I can't breathe. Can't think. This isn't right.

Let me in!

I turn on my heel and run up the stairs, gasping for breath, begging my lungs to cooperate, blinded by tears, fearing for my safety from the one man I'd always thought would be the one to protect me.

No, no, no, I whisper as I close and lock my parent's door behind me.

I'm being ripped in two. My heart begs me to reach out to Jared; to call his name and beg him to see reason. My instincts, on the other hand, they tell me to get to the safe.

In the end, survival wins out over love and I sprint to the closet. I push my father's suits aside and tap the panel on the safe to illuminate the buttons. Even with shaking fingers and blurred vision, I manage to enter my birth date and the lock clicks open with a hiss. My fingers close around cold metal and I clutch the gun in my hand, relishing the sense of protection that comes with its weight.

MAYA!

Jared's roar echoes through the house, telling me he's made his way through the front door. Terror sends adrenaline stampeding through my veins but my lungs still struggle to take in oxygen. I can't do this, I shouldn't do this, but I have to.

I have to.

I have to.

Scurrying as quietly as I can across the floor, I wedge myself into the far corner of the bedroom and face the door.

I wait.

The man stomping through my house is a man I love.

He's the man I gave myself to.

The man I promised myself to.

He would never hurt me.

His soft touch is one that has soothed me through thunderstorms. His calm eyes banish my anxiety and depression. His love is my most prized possession and yet... in my heart, I know that man is gone. I don't know how or why, but I know whatever we have together is about to come to an end.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The fist pounding against the door matches the quick beating of my heart. I have to swallow back my screams as his boot begins the arduous task of smashing through the wall. Cursing under my breath, I watch as the thin wood breaks apart, letting light spill in from the hallway. That's the weakest point in the wall and Jared knows that, seeing as how he helped my father remodel the upstairs bedrooms only four weeks ago.

Jared, stop! I cry, begging for him to come to his senses.

His hands continue to pull at the paneling, wrenching it back, splintering the wood until he has a hole big enough to fit his body through.

What are you doing? I shriek. Stop it! Stop!

Jared's body wriggles through the wall, and the second he lands on the ground he's bouncing right back up.

Our eyes clash and my heart begins to crack.

He charges me.

Ugly sores pop up along his skin, blood-tinged saliva drips from his open mouth.

His hands lift in the air; fingers aimed at my throat.

When I look past all that into the blue eyes I love so much, I don't see my Jared. The beautiful cerulean stare I fell in love with is gone, replaced by the deep, ruddy maroon of busted blood vessels.

This isn't my Jared. This isn't even a person.

It's something else.

Something evil.

Something... hungry.

I raise the gun in my hands and take aim.

Forgive me.

His putrid breath hits my nostrils.

I pull the trigger.

CHAPTER ONE

Eighteen Months Later

Entrance Seven is secure.

I release the button of the radio clipped to my shoulder and wait. Russell stands by my side, his eyes never leaving the boarded-up window that served as the high school gym's entrance before the outbreak.

I've never been on a security check with Russell, and we don't know each other all that well, but I'm willing to bet money on the fact that he's thinking the same thing I've been thinking all night. That it would be complete bliss to travel outside. To breathe fresh air and feel sunlight seeping into our pores. But that's not going to happen. Not for us, at least.

Since we're some of the youngest people living in the compound, we aren't allowed to venture outside, not even with supervision. Apparently, we're too weak and helpless to protect ourselves in the outside world. So we're stuck inside, saddled with the task of wandering around the compound in the middle of the night doing safety checks.

Entrance Seven confirmed, the voice crackles through the radio. Proceed.

Russell and I make our way out of the gym and into the main hallway.

Why does it always smell like sweaty socks in this hallway? Russell asks, scrunching his broad nose.

Probably because half the kids that went here kept their nasty gym clothes in their lockers. That kind of stench tends to linger.

That's disgusting, he murmurs. Why not just take your clothes home at the end of the day and wash them?

I peer up at his flat blue eyes and shaved head sitting atop his six-foot-two frame. He looks and acts less like a teenage boy and more like a seasoned soldier. Everything by the book, orderly, and only done under direct orders. No questions asked.

You were never a lazy, sloppy teenager, were you? I ask, smiling at how out of touch he seems, even after less than a year living in the compound. You never cruised around with your friends, caring more about what trouble you could get into instead of marching home to launder your gym socks?

He answers with a curt no.

I roll my eyes. Of course not. Russell doesn't seem like the type to look for trouble, nor the type to make friends easily. Cracking through that hard outer shell and opening up to people would require too much vulnerability.

I feel bad for him. No one at the compound has tried to reach out to him, which is actually incredibly sad, seeing as how we're forced to live together in such tight quarters. So it's a no-brainer to assume the average teenagers who had space and time to roam wouldn't spare him the time of day.

But I can't feel too bad about it. It's not like I'm inviting him to the common room to play Yahtzee anytime soon.

We stop at the next door and I shake the handles to make sure the locks are still engaged. They don't budge.

Entrance Eight is secure, I radio in.

This time, the voice comes back only milliseconds later.

Entrance Eight confirmed. Proceed.

Turning back toward the south side of the school, we continue on down to the last two doors of the night.

Can I ask you a question? Russell says, surprising me.

I think you already did.

He looks down at me, his light brows drawn together. Good Lord, the guy needs to socialize more.

That was a joke, I clarify. Go ahead.

He clears his throat and shoves both hands into the pockets of his tattered blue jeans. Your dad's kind of a big deal around here, isn't he?

My head jerks back in surprise. Wherever I thought he was going to take the conversation, this definitely wasn't it. Yeah, it's a freaking godsend that we live in a community where there is a doctor present. Many other groups and colonies don't have that same luxury. And yes, that particular doctor happens to be my father, but I wouldn't consider him a 'big deal'.

In our new life, with our new family, he's simply a necessity that others have to go without while we don't. Out of the twenty-three people in our home, we have a doctor, two teachers, a handful of artists, three chefs, and at least seven retired soldiers. Our odds are better than most communities. Some are made up of nothing but homeless men and alcoholics. At least, that's what we're told.

I guess you could say that, but you'd be wrong, I answer. My dad isn't a big deal. Now, his degree? Maybe. His experience? Definitely.

I don't know. People here look up to him. Like he's the chief of a tribe. Or at least an elder.

My lips purse to keep from laughing when I