The Dark Sky Collection

By Amy Braun

Ten years ago, vampiric beasts called Hellions invaded the city of Westraven and decimated it with fangs, claws, and cannon-fire. Now, survivors live underground and sustain themselves with the scraps left behind, often under the cruel fist of self-made leaders and grounded sky-pirates. Living under such rule is Claire, a talented young engineer working only to ensure e a life for her sister, Abigail. When Abby is kidnapped by the Hellions, Claire becomes desperate and finds herself allying with marauders– hot-tempered pirates equally as dangerous as the Hellions themselves.

As Claire forges a shaky relationship with them and their cynical young captain, she unearths truths about her past she could never have imagined, and realizes that the only way to protect those she loves is by challenging the Hellions head-on, an endeavour that could see the end of the Hellions once and for all, or secure their reign once and for all...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Braun
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370801237

Amy Braun

Amy is a Canadian urban fantasy and horror author. Her work revolves around monsters, magic, mythology, and mayhem. She started writing in her early teens, and never stopped. She loves building unique worlds filled with fun characters and intense action. She has been featured on various author blogs and publishing websites, is an active member of the Writing GIAM community, participates in NaNoWriMo, and is the recipient of April Moon Books Editor Award for "author voice, world-building and general bad-assery." When she isn't writing, she's reading, watching movies, taking photos, gaming, and struggling with chocoholism and ice cream addiction.

Book preview

For my family and the readers who supported this series since I started it.

AMBER SKY

A Dark Sky Novella

Amy Braun

Amber Sky, a Dark Sky novella by Amy Braun

© 2016 by Amy Braun. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author.

Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

ISBN: 978-0-9938758-9-2

Chapter 1

The fight couldn’t have been going worse.

I got that Ryland wanted his champion in the Crater. I got that he wanted to give the Runts and the Dogs a show. I even got that he wanted to push me so I’d stronger, faster, better. 

But I didn’t get why he had to pick the two biggest, meanest bastards from the crew to fight me. Two men who wouldn’t stop beating me until I was just a red stain on the ground. The taunts and advice from the crowd over our head didn’t help either.

Crush ‘em, Nash!

Come on, Stanner!

Hit him, Dylan, hit him!

Nash is costing me bets! Someone kill him already!

Being the Crater’s reigning champ definitely had its drawbacks.

Stanner moved along the edge of my vision. He lifted his foot, ready to drive it into my head and crush my skull. I rolled, grabbed his foot, and pulled. Stanner barked angrily as he lost his balance and landed hard on the ground. I crunched up and slammed my heel into his chest. There was a loud crack that made Stanner cry out in pain, and gave me a chance to–

If Dylan hadn’t shouted his rage, I never would have known he was coming. He snapped a kick down at my head. I crossed my arms and blocked him, gritting my teeth as his shinbone connected with the bruises on my arms. 

I pushed his foot away and blocked the punch that sailed toward my head. I surged to my feet and pushed Dylan back. He swung a fist at my skull. I ducked under it and ploughed into him. Dylan might have more muscle than me in this two-on-one brawl, but I wasn’t small or helpless. 

The moment he hit the ground, I hammered blows onto him. 

Skin bruised and split under my knuckles. Bones crunched and cracked. I didn’t stop when his eyes swelled shut. I’m not sure I would have stopped at all if a thick forearm hadn’t wrapped around my throat and tightened.

I clutched the arm and tried to yank it off, but the hold was good. Wasn’t long before my lungs started to burn. Punches started smashing into my battered ribs, each one harder than the last. Weakening me. Keeping me from fighting back. 

But my sight was red. I lost control when I got Dylan on the ground. It was out of my reach now.

And I didn’t want it back.

Growling like an animal, I bent my knees and jumped back, letting myself fall onto the ground. Crushing Stanner beneath me. He screamed as my weight pounded on his fractured chest. The arm around my neck was gone. 

Then I rolled off him, and really started the beating. 

Stanner couldn’t move. Probably couldn’t breathe. None of that stopped me from kicking and stomping every part of him I laid eyes on. He tried to kill me. Would have killed me.

Should have known better. 

"Nash!"

I stopped. He called my name, shouted it at the top of his lungs. The rest of the crowd fell silent. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d shouted at me. 

I looked over my shoulder, lifted my eyes from the wide dirt pit, and found Ryland. 

He was impossible to miss, nearly twice as big as me, despite his age. Broad shoulders and swollen biceps strained against his black leather vest. With long grey hair hanging to his shoulders and a wild grey beard, Ryland looked every bit as rabid as the snarling dog tattooed on his chest.

He stood on the rim of the Crater, staring at me with piercing grey eyes. A scowl twisted his weathered face, slowly turning into a smug grin.

Congratulations, he said for the crowd to hear. He looked at the rugged Dogs and the filthy Runts. Let’s hear it for Nash, still the undefeated Crater champion!

Most of the crowd roared with joy. Others booed. I was too tired to care about which I appreciated more.

A rope ladder was rolled over the edge of the Crater. Before I went to it, I looked back at my opponents. Now that the rage was gone from my vision, I could clearly see what I had done.

Dylan was still lying in a heap, his face red, swollen, and lumped from bruises and broken bones. Stanner groaned and winced, rolling on the ground with his hands wrapped around his ribs and chest as if to hold his bruised and likely broken bones inside his skin.

Horror filled my chest, the way it always did when I finished a fight in the Crater. Crushing shame filled my heart and drowned me. I took a couple steps closer to Stanner, wanting to help him. 

He cringed at the sight of me. 

Nash!

I stopped and glanced over my shoulder at my captain. He was waiting impatiently. As far as Ryland was concerned, anyone beaten in the Crater didn’t need help from the Dogs. Until they proved otherwise, they were beneath us. Weak and useless.

I grabbed the rope ladder and climbed from the Crater, my victory feeling more hollow with every step.

Chapter 2

The Runts that didn’t see the fight were waiting for me when I limped back to the den. I wrapped my arms around my middle and shuffled along the wall. As much as I wanted to ignore them, I could feel every slave’s eyes on me.

Most of them stayed along the opposite walls, not wanting to provoke me. Even if I said the fight was over and I just wanted to sleep, they wouldn’t believe me. I was one of the Stray Dogs, member of one of the dangerous marauder Clans still active in Westraven. Most had been slaughtered in The Storm, or taken to the massive Hellion ship looming in the dark clouds. Those that remained were scattered into small hovels and corners to avoid the raiding skiffs.

Some survivors, who hadn’t been marauders before— like me—  were press-ganged into servitude and able to advance through the Clan’s ranks, though not every Runt had been as lucky as I was.

If luck was even the right word.

Keeping to myself, I wandered through the slave den to the earthy archway leading into the Alpha den, ducking my head to the little corner room that was mine for the next few hours. Most of the Stray Dogs slept on the floor in the Alpha den. Since our Clan lived in a series of underground tunnels, there wasn’t much to be done for accommodations or living space. A few sparse rooms were dug into the walls of the cavern and blocked off with sturdy wooden doors. They were the only barriers separating the Runts from the Dogs, the Crater, the holding cells, the electric-room, Ryland’s quarters, and a couple tiny hovels used as healing rooms. I couldn’t see where Stanner and Dylan were, but the other Dogs paid me little mind as I entered the den. Muttered whispers carried through the cavern as I clung to the shadows.

Did you see Nash beating on Dylan? Never thought the kid would take that big bastard down.

How about the way Stanner got scared off? Not like him to be afraid of a boy.

It’s all luck. One of these days, someone’s gonna knock that brat down a peg. Hope it’s me.

I sighed and pulled a skeleton key from my pocket, which Ryland had given me after I emerged from the Crater. He insisted that I get some rest and relaxation. I would have found his words comforting if I didn’t know how just he just wanted me to heal fast so I could fight for him again.

I opened the door and walked inside, happy to have some time alone.

Except that I wasn’t.

On the far wall of the room was a wooden pallet with a straw mattress on top. As well as a woman. She turned her head and smiled at me. I was in too much pain to smile back. Even if I hadn’t taken a beating, I don’t think I would have managed so much as a smirk.

With her long blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and smooth skin, Sonya was undoubtedly beautiful. That came with a price. The Dogs had needs, and when they chose to satisfy them, they were anything but gentle.

I didn’t know how Sonya dealt with it, being the prize for anyone Ryland was pleased with at the moment. Did she force herself to enjoy it? Was too scared to defy them? Was she used to it by now?

Seeing her bare, freshly washed skin under the blanket from on top of the mattress made her intentions impossibly clear.

I closed the door behind me and shifted on my feet, trying not to look at her and remember how that skin had felt under my hands.

I didn’t think you’d be here, I muttered.

Of course I am, She smiled, but I saw the tension in her eyes and heard it in her voice. You won the fight, which means you won me.

I winced. Sonya frowned and I quickly looked away.

I’m sorry, I said. I just… The fight gave me some new bruises and I kind of lost it, and…

I thought we’d stopped doing this.

Last year, when I turned sixteen and won my first fight of the year, Ryland offered Sonya to me as a gift. I knew who she was. She was always kind to me. But I didn’t know what she did for the crew.

She showed me that night.

It was also the first time I found out her bruises weren’t very different from mine.

Sonya did her best, but it had been awkward and uncomfortable. Every slight movement caused one of us to wince. I hadn’t known if I’d been too rough with her because of the bruises and even with her gentle instructions, I hadn’t known if I was doing the right thing to her.

Afterward, when we lay on the mattress with nothing but bare skin and a woolly blanket to keep us warm, Sonya told me that I’d been her gentle and hadn’t hurt her. It was the others who did. She told me she trusted me and felt safe with me.

The more fights I won, the more I learned from Sonya. Our lovemaking was slow and delicate, and when I tried to change it, I could see the fear grow in her eyes. Fear that I would become too wild, too much like the other lovers she’d had.

I told her I would never hurt her, that I would protect her from them. I even told her that I loved her, and believed it.

But Sonya had shaken her head. This isn’t love, Nash. It’s comfort, and that isn’t the same thing, she’d told me.

For the next few months, things were even more awkward between us. I tried to convince her that I loved her. I was even more gentle with her when we lay together. I held her, stroked her hair, did everything I could to make her feel like the most precious person in the world.

When Sonya couldn’t stand it anymore, she broke my heart.

I don’t love you, Nash, she’d whispered. I care about you, but I lost the love of my life in The Storm. No one will replace him, and I don’t want anyone to try. Then she’d offered me a small smile and said, But if I’m sure of anything, it’s that you’ll find another girl to love. And when you do, she’ll be the luckiest girl in the world.

Sonya may have broken my heart, but that she introduced me to lust, love, and passion made me glad to have slept with her. I recalled those sensations when they’d been at their peak. I wanted them again, and wanted them with someone who would extend them my way.

Pulling free of the memories of us, I walked from the door to the pail of clean water resting on a crate of clothes and medical supplies. All things she must have brought me before coming into the room and stripping off her clothes.

You’re not in the mood at all, are you?

Hearing her voice outside of my memory sent me back to reality. I glanced over my shoulder to where she was sitting up on the mattress, the sheet clutched loosely to her chest, exposing the top curves of her ample breasts.

Sonya tilted her head, golden hair spilling down her shoulders. Or are you?

Her husky purr and the playful smile on her lips sent a warm shiver through my stomach, and curled well below my belt. Heat rose in my cheeks and I quickly turned to the wash bin.

No, I… I mean, I didn’t remember you might be here. I winced. I mean, I didn’t forget you, I wouldn’t do that because you’re gorgeous, but I… um…

I dipped my fingers in the lukewarm water and slapped my wet hands against my face.

My sputtering died off when Sonya gently laughed behind me. It’s all right, Nash. I think I picked up what you were trying to say. She fell silent, but I felt her eyes on me for a long time.

Are you all right? Sonya finally asked.

Yeah, just… I looked at the dirt under my feet. The fight was rough.

I can see that, she said, trying to make light of the situation. I have to stay here for at least ten minutes. Long enough for Ryland to think I did something. She paused, then asked, Do you want help with your wounds?

I was tempted to say no. I could take care of the wounds myself. I’d learned to do so before I learned how to touch a woman. But it was just us here. I’d shared my body with Sonya and offered her my heart. She hadn’t betrayed or laughed at me. She was someone I could trust, even if she didn’t love me the way I’d tried to love her.

If it’s not too much trouble, I mumbled. But can you please put some clothes on?

Nash Worthington, are you saying you’d give into temptation if I cleaned your wounds while I was naked?

My lips curled downward. It had been a long time since I’d heard my last name. Sonya was the only one I’d ever told it to.

My brain would say no, but my body… Recollections of her pale skin under my dark, rough calluses and her soft moans of pleasure sent another hot ripple through my belly. I gathered more water and threw it on my face.

Sonya laughed. All right, all right, give me a minute.

The sheets rustled as Sonya pulled on her clothes. A few seconds later, she padded to my side dressed in a simple, threadbare dress with tattered edges. A piece of cloth that did little to compliment her beauty. An insult to a woman who deserved so much better.

Sonya’s gentle smile faded as she looked at the bruises, dirt, and blood coating my skin. She reached into the crate, took out a moderately clean cloth, dabbed it in the water, and rubbed the grime off my face. Her smile was gone the moment she started touching me.

You know it won’t get any better, right? she said. This is the most we can ever hope for.

I looked at my reflection in the murky water. I know.

Then why do you fight it? You have protection. Food. A room to sleep in for a few nights. You can have me. Might not be the life you dreamed of, but it’s better than most. Don’t you want a little bit of happiness? Can’t this be enough?

I watched the water ripple, an obscured mirror of myself.

Could be. But it’s not.

Sonya kissed my cheek and tried to make casual conversation as she cleaned and wrapped my wounds. Thankfully nothing was broken this time. I did my best to be polite and friendly so she would smile, but my mind was on autopilot. I barely even noticed when she left.

Sonya’s words nagged at me when I was alone. Pushed against what I believed.

Three years of fighting for my life in the Crater taught me how to survive. But not how to live. And that was what I was hoping for.

A life where I didn’t have to suffer in battles for my life. Where I could trust someone on my own terms. Where I could fall in love again without worrying that I’d only be a way to pass time.

Stupid hopes in a world overrun with bloodthirsty monsters and cold-hearted warlords. But I remembered my life before The Storm. I remembered having a family. Being safe. Cared for.

I wanted those feelings to come back more than anything, but the more I fought, the more I saw, the more my hope began to fade.

Chapter 3

Being around the Runts should have made me feel lucky that I wasn’t considered one of them anymore. Ryland and the Dogs considered them lower than dirt, men and women debased and abused until they lost all strength and willpower. They looked empty and weak, like beaten children with the most basic needs. I felt pity every time I looked at them.

I moved the supply crates into their hundred- foot den, a tiny space with ragged, patchy fabric strewn across the ground to serve as blankets. I knew from experience that the fabric was scratchy and so thin you could feel every rock that stabbed into your back when you tried to sleep.

Dirty cookware sat discarded on the bare patches of dark brown earth where small fires would be made to cook dismal amounts of food. The Runts were given scraps– which I was currently bringing them– so the air constantly smelled rotten. The putrid stench wasn’t helped by the holes dug in the ground to serve as chamber pots. The only light in the area came from the dim light bulbs strung around the room, hammered into the wooden beams that supported the ceiling.

Sadder than the living conditions were the Runts themselves. The grime and dirt covering their bodies did nothing to hide the bones I spotted under the burlap sacks they used as clothing. At least on those lucky enough to have clothes. Some of the Runts wore nothing at all.

Their hair was in tangled, clumped, or oily messes, their eyes bloodshot and tired. Two dozen men and women coughed and gagged, going about menial tasks like equipment repair and sewing. They would do whatever tasks Ryland assigned them, when he was inclined to remind them of the control he had. Most of the women went about their duties with empty, distant eyes. Shadows of their former selves. Sonya’s mind hadn’t shattered at the job she was forced to preform for the Stray Dogs. Others weren’t so lucky.

I tried to keep myself anonymous as I dropped off the crate of spoiling meat. The slight thunk of wood on hard earth got their attention. The Runts stopped what they were doing, eyes going wide as they saw me standing there. My heart sank. After three years, I thought they would realize that I wasn’t their enemy. I would never hurt any of them. But all they could see was the rabid animal inked to my arm. They knew that if Ryland ordered me to discipline them, I would be very hard to resist. Being the famous and feared champion in the Crater didn’t help matters.

I turned and walked away before their stares could deject me further. I entered the tunnel that connected the Runt den to the Alpha den. It resembled and old miners cave, dead and dying string light bulbs tacked to rotting wooden beams. I trudged through them to my room, hoping that I wouldn’t run into trouble.

I should have known better.

They seemed to come out of nowhere, so I was grateful that I heard them moving at all. I looked up and stopped in place.

Dylan and Stanner were healed, save for some minor bruises, and ready for revenge. I saw the malicious intent in their eyes as they stormed closer. They hated losing to a kid half their age who just fought to see the next day.

The Runts scattered to the shadows. My fingers curled slightly, ready to form into fists the second they stormed closer.

The two men stood in front of me and glared.

Something wrong? I asked, flicking my gaze between both of them.

Ryland wanted you in his den an hour ago, Stanner grated out. The vein in his left temple bulged. His temper must have been on a hair trigger.

No one told me about it, I said. Thought I was supposed to help the Runts.

Dylan looked at the men and women cowering against the wall and scowled with disgust. I bit back my comment that he didn’t look– or smell– any better than they did. We all lived in the dirt here.

But nothing I said would get through to him. It wasn’t just that he was bigger and stronger than the rest of us, or that the snarling dog tattooed on his right forearm marked him as a Stray Dog and not a Runt. No, if I said anything, violence would ensue because I said it. They’d spent nearly a month nursing their wounds and thinking up revenge schemes as they regained strength. A better way to fight me and turn me into a bloody pulp.

You’re not one of them, Stanner pointed out. Steam was all but coming from his ears. He pointed to my right forearm. You’re one of us.

I glanced at the tattoo, a duplicate of theirs, given to me when Ryland thought I was worthy to fight for him. He saw something in me when I first survived the Crater at thirteen years old. The rabid hound growled at me as I stared at it, furious and savage. It was a mark of what I was supposed to be. What I became every time Ryland forced me into the Crater.

Not by choice, I said plainly.

For someone I beat to pulp only weeks ago, Dylan moved with alarming quickness. His hands fisted my shirt and shoved me against the earthy wall. Cold, hard soil lined into my back, but I just stared blandly. I wouldn’t let him think he intimidated me.

You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that? he snarled. You don’t know how good you have it. You don’t deserve to be in the Crater.

I narrowed my eyes. You want to go into another hole in the ground? Keep pushing me, and you’ll get your wish.

Dylan hissed and pulled back his fist, but I was ready. I knocked my head against his, crushing his nose. When he was dazed, I hammered my fists against his forearms. Released, I shoved him hard into the middle of the hall.

Stanner was quick to replace Dylan, swinging his fist wide. I blocked the strike to my head, though I couldn’t do anything about the one to my stomach. Still gripping his first hand, I twisted it until it was pinned behind his back. Stanner roared angrily, fighting a cry of pain that had to be rushing up his arm.

Dylan rushed to my open left. I snapped my head in his direction, then swung Stanner into him. The two men collided and hit the wall. I stepped back and raised my fists to defend myself again.

Nash!

I frowned. I hated when people shouted my name.

Moving to the right so I could keep Dylan and Stanner in my sights, I looked at the new voice. My scowl became a grimace when I saw Ryland’s new favourite lapdog– Benson– staring at me from the tunnel junction at my back.

Benson was the filthiest of the Stray Dogs. Given that we lived in a cave, it certainly said something, though I think he enjoyed being rotten. His clothes were constantly covered in grime, his pasty skin covered in streaks of soot. The oil from his thinning hair was slick against his head. His eyes rheumy eyes were fixed on me, but at least he wasn’t smiling. Seeing his black and yellow teeth almost always made me gag.

Ryland wants to see you.

Benson turned and started walking toward the Alpha den. He wouldn’t care if I were late or not, but Ryland wasn’t renowned for his patience.

I glanced at Dylan and Stanner. The look in their eyes promised me that our rivalry wasn’t over, but they wouldn’t draw Ryland’s ire for petty revenge. At least not yet.

Sighing heavily, I followed Benson to the next cavern. This cave was double the size of the one the Runts occupied, filled with makeshift mattresses and cots for thirty men. Tables and chairs were piled high with tools and equipment in random order at the centre of the room. Crate upon crate was stacked along the Alpha den walls, each one filled with supplies that were almost embarrassing to use. Rusted or broken tools. Clothing that was little more than tattered fabric. Food growing with nightmarish mold.

And our marauder Clan was considered to be one of the wealthiest remaining in Westraven and in Aon itself. Not that we had other Clans to boast to, since most were killed by the Hellions in The Storm eight years ago.

Scrounging through the crates were a dozen thickly built men. Five more sat on the ground grumbling and cursing each other in a game of Liar’s Dice. Scars lined the skin of their arms and exposed chests. Cold eyes and hard frowns were the collective expressions. Every man had a rabid dog inked on his right arm.

I walked past the Stray Dogs, avoiding their gazes even when I felt aggressive eyes on me. To these men, my supposed crew, I was nothing more than an inexperienced boy who was lucky in the Crater. They had never accepted me, would never try. For reasons I gave up trying to understand, I was no better than a Runt to them. A slave with a touch more respect than the actual Runts, but a slave nonetheless.

Benson led me past the offended eyes to the wood and iron bolted door at the back of the cave. Two men with barrel chests and pistols on either side of their hips– Carter and Jensen– lounged outside it, sitting on a pair of crates that amazingly held their weight. They went rigid as we approached. They paid Benson no mind, but scowled at me.

Boss still wants to see him, Benson replied.

Don’t know why, the man on the right– Jensen– grumbled. Kid ain’t worth shit outside the Crater. Barely worth it in there.

I didn’t bother to be offended. If three solid years of fighting and becoming an undefeated champion couldn’t make them respect me, nothing would.

Just following orders, Benson quipped before rapping his knuckles on the door.

A muffled grunt came from inside, signalling Benson to enter. He strode in with his chin held high. I let my shoulders slump.

Ryland sat on a leather trunk behind a wooden desk. Both were stolen from a wealthy house in the artsy drafter district, but damned if they didn’t make him look like a powerful leader. He polished a flintlock, adorned with a silver skull and black gems for eyes. It had been one of the most popular firearm models among marauders in the years before The Storm, when piracy was at its peak. Now there were only handfuls left. They were rare, powerful treasures, and their owners would kill to keep them.

Get out, Benson, Ryland muttered without looking up.

The marauder sputtered behind me. He had come far and wanted to continue moving up the ranks until he was Ryland’s equal. A dream that would never be fulfilled. Ryland saw himself as a king under the ground. He would never allow anyone to become his equal, content with killing off the competition.

A cold, steel stare confirmed this. Benson bowed his bead and quickly scurried out of the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the marauder captain, his unknown intentions, and his gun.

Ryland rested the pistol on the desk and stared up at me. I didn’t feel any safer.

Have you heard the news?

I shook my head. I didn’t have any friends willing to gossip with me.

The Hellions are moving in the daylight now.

Of all the things he could have said, that was the last one I wanted to hear.

The bloodthirsty monsters that came from the tear in the sky known in as the Breach were nocturnal butchers. Flying down without warning in their grotesque raiding skiffs, they hunted and captured any human they set their blood-red eyes on. Knifelike fangs sank into exposed flesh, tearing it from bone. They didn’t have a preference about who they killed. Man, woman, child... Younger sister, baby brother. If it was human and it breathed, it was prey to them.

I dropped my eyes to my feet before the memories could resurface and bring old pain with them.

How do you know?

Our last scavenging party came back in ribbons. Literally. Russ’ arm was hanging by threads of skin. Stab wounds all over his body. All the bastard could say was that they had needles on their face, whatever the hell that means. Ryland shook his head. Amazing he got as far as he did. Can’t say I was pleased about his fate.

I grimaced. Russ wasn’t a friend, but he never actively sought to hurt me. That earned him one up from the rest of the Dogs in my eyes.

His fate?

The captain gave me an impatient sigh. What use is a crazy marauder with one arm?

Understanding dawned into horror. You killed him?

Ryland nodded without a trace of remorse. One of the snipers on the wall told me the moron was tying to get in. Screaming like a damned grieving widow. So I told him to put a bullet in Russ. Keep the Hellions away from the Barren before they heard him.

Maybe it had been a mercy. Maybe Ryland was looking out for the rest of us in the dens. I still thought it was heartless and barbaric, and the brutality of it shocked me.

Do you think he was telling the truth? I hedged, getting control over my horror.

Don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll find out.

I squinted. Sir?

Ryland stood up slowly. The leather trunk groaned with relief as his immense bulk was lifted from it. We’re going into lockdown, Nash. If Hellions are going to take over the day as well as the night, then we can’t risk as many scavenges. We need to take as much as we can, and make it last as long as we can before other Clans get their hands on it. Which means you need to start pulling your weight.

That was another reason the Dogs hated me so much. As far as they were concerned, I was getting an easy ride. All I had to do was heavy lifting, go on small scavenging missions, and stay alive in the Crater. I wasn’t a true crew mate to them. Not that I could do anything to get them off my back, since they all tried to kill me when they cornered me alone.

What do you want me to do, sir?

Ryland started making his way around the desk. We’ve been trying to push a farmer into our employ. Stubborn old coot named Davy. Doesn’t want our protection for a share of food from his farm. I want you to persuade him.

A cold knot formed in my stomach.

All due respect sir, I think this is the kind of job better suited to your regular scavengers.

Ryland stopped in front of me and folded his arms over his chest. They gave me their opinion on you, too. They think you’re weak. A coward too afraid of doing what you have to do for your family.

Rage bubbled under my chest. I couldn’t control myself this time.

You’re not my family.

Ryland didn’t wince at the dangerous growl in my voice. He showed no emotion at all.

We’re the only family that matters. Your other family is dead. Because they were weaker than you.

Don’t–

Ryland shoved hard against my shoulders. I stumbled back. "I made you stronger. Another push, another stumble. I made you better. Harder this time, almost toppling me over. I made you a man."

He pushed me again. When I stumbled, my back hit the wall.

And all you do is whine and cry like your bratty siblings did.

My temper snapped before I could realize what I was doing. I surged forward and drew back my fist, ready to knock out Ryland’s teeth. Which was exactly what he wanted me to do.

He knocked my hand away and slugged me in the jaw. Nearly dislocated the damn thing. My head was sill spinning when another punch collided with my right cheek and snapped my head to the side. Two hits smashed into my ribs and stomach, winding me.

Ryland’s enormous hand curled around my throat and yanked my head back to the wall. He bashed my head against it, squeezing my throat closed.

You need to stop assuming you’re special, he growled. I brought you in because I saw something in you. A strength to survive. You could be someone great if you quit thinking you’re the only one who has it rough. You want those boys to respect you? Do something to earn their respect. Show that old farmer where his place is.

Show him his place. Beat him to a pulp. They were the same thing in Ryland’s mind. I’d heard about Davy and his stubbornness when it came to his farm. He was tough to be sure, but he was fair. He didn’t form allegiances to one marauder Clan, because he knew everyone was equally desperate. He gave some to us, some to other Clans, and some of the underground colonies when they came up for Scavenging Day. Secluding him to us alone would make dozens of survivors suffer.

More than that, I didn’t have it in me to hurt an innocent old man doing his best in a broken world. Ryland had toughened me up, but I kept my morals in place. I would never break them, no matter what he did to me.

No, I rasped out.

Ryland scowled harshly, then jabbed me in the face. My sight flashed black for a split second. I had to blink white spots out of my vision when I did manage to open my eyes again. Ryland plowed his knee into my stomach and hurled me onto the ground. He walked toward his desk, making sure to step on my back and dig in his heel. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up.

Benson! Ryland bellowed.

The door burst open a second later. Feet shuffled and someone whimpered. I turned my head and froze when I saw Benson enter the room with Stanner and Dylan. Both men were holding Sonya tight in their arms. Her blonde hair was a twisted mess around her head, though it did little to obscure the red mark on left cheek, the split of her lip, and the tears on her eyes. I pushed to my feet and started to go to her. The slow click of a flintlock wheel stopped me. I looked over my shoulder. With his thick shoulders, cold steel eyes, and a loaded gun with a ready finger on the trigger, Ryland looked exactly like the killer he was.

I wasn’t making a request, Nash, the Stray Dog captain told me. "You will do this. I won’t kill you since you’re in your prime, but her?"

Ryland pointed the gun at Sonya. She tried to twist away from the men holding her, and failed. She started to cry.

Whores are replaceable. And this slut’s been passed around so many times her novelty’s worn out.

Nash, please!

Sonya’s begging crushed my heart. The last time I’d seen someone so terrified, my little sister had been dying.

I couldn’t let that happen to Sonya. She taught me how to stay humane instead of rabid. She was kind to me. She showed me what love could feel like, even if she wasn’t the one for me. More than that, she was my only friend. I couldn’t lose her so brutally. I would never recover if I did.

You have three seconds to decide. One.

He really was giving me no choice. Sonya’s cries reminded me of my first beating in the Crater. I’d begged Ryland to let me go, and gotten a smack in the jaw for my troubles. I spent that night crying out every tear I had alone in the corner of the den with no one to comfort me. I hadn’t cried again after that.

Seeing Sonya weep so openly, knowing how close to death she was, rekindled those memories of hopelessness and fear. We both knew Ryland would kill her without hesitation. He never made idle threats.

Two–

All right! I burst. All right. I’ll do it.

Ryland lowered the pistol. My chin dropped to my chest. The captain’s hand clamped on my shoulder and squeezed painfully.

Good answer, Nash. And don’t worry. You might enjoy this job. After all, you could use a vacation from the Crater.

Chapter 4

It had been almost three months since I saw the surface of Westraven. I couldn’t say I missed it. 

Nothing stood upright. The proud metal towers and glorious white stone buildings were now quickly fading memories. The collapsed ruin was much more familiar. 

Heaps of rock lay strewn across the roads and sidewalks, covering the ground in what looked like clumpy snow. Shops with burned siding and shattered windows gaped like horrified faces. A few spots of road were splattered with dried, dust-covered blood. 

But it was the silence that put the shiver in my spine and the tension in my gut. 

No wind, no distant voices, no scrabbling rats moving over stones. I felt like the last man alive in a dead world.

I pulled up the collar of my ragged greatcoat and looked at the monstrosity hanging in the sky. 

The mother ship of the Hellions, the formidable Behemoth, hung in the thick grey clouds. Swirls of black smoke churned from the exhaust pipes at the stern like a toxic cloud. The main ship was a man-o’-war built from corrugated metal and heavy gears. Spikes jutted from its sides along with four rows of cannon guns. Lashed under the main ship with heavy chains was a docking bay where the Hellion skiffs sat until they decided the beasts decided they were hungry. 

From so far down, I couldn’t tell if the raiding ships were docked or not. Ivan, one of the snipers on the Barren’s wall, said he hadn’t seen anything. I didn’t trust him, but for now I would take his word and tell myself that Russ had been lying about the Hellion’s new daylight tactic. Best to get this over as soon as possible.

Refusing to look at the splintered concrete and fractured rebar wall at my back, or the tarnished cannons still mounting the structure that used to be seventy feet tall before it was shot to pieces in The Storm, I started crossing the empty space of the Barren into the western part of the city.

Before The Storm, the Barren had been called Dovercourt. Circled by ten miles of stone and cement, topped with watchtowers, cannons, and flags, it had been the perfect area for Westraven’s military elite to live with their families. I was the son of merchants, but I remembered seeing the air shows and military parades. The Sky Guard would race their sloops through cloudless blue skies, perform training and combat drills, tell stories of epic battles against marauders, and celebrate with feasts fit for kings. Dovercourt had once been a small city in its own right. My family didn’t live in it, but even we were proud to have such a respected garrison.

After all, not even the marauders had been able to defeat the Sky Guard. We thought nothing could.

Not until The Storm.

Dovercourt had been one of the first Districts to be hit. The Hellions seemed to know that retaliation would be possible, and they wanted to eliminate any threats as fast as they could. No matter how grim the thought was, I couldn’t deny that the monsters had been brutally efficient.

The seventy-foot wall surrounding the district was covered with holes like pock-marks, the scars of cannon fire from the Behemoth. Any major gaps were re-filled with serrated rebar and broken flagpoles that jutted out like misplaced daggers. Two remaining watchtowers remained, though their cannons had never been used.

As I walked toward the wall, I cast a quick glance at the space where the Sky Guard troops had lived with their families. The lovingly built houses were now heaps of broken wood, shattered glass, and crushed brick. Most of those materials were taken by the Stray Dogs and other small marauder Clans hiding in the Barren. I didn’t know what they did with the bodies of the dead, because there was no trace of them, or any blood for that matter. It was like a force of nature had swept in, shattered the houses, and erased any trace of life that had once been in this wide, open space.

I got chills just thinking about the fate of the tens of thousands of people that had lived here.

When I reached the closest wall of crumbled debris, I was able to push the memories from my mind. Climbing over it was easy, though I was careful to avoid the sharp pieces of metal and rebar that would slice me open if I fell the wrong way. At least Ryland hadn’t laid any kind of explosives down. There were a few places that the Hellions no longer bothered to raid, and the Barren was one of them. There was no need for traps to be set.

I hoped that wouldn’t change any time soon.

The walk to the farm would take all day. All major traveling vessels were had been shot down during The Storm, and any kind of small ship would either be stolen or seen as a target for Hellions. So I left the Barren behind and trudged through the broken city, trying to think about my destination, and not the memories threatening to surface.

But every step I took reminded me of a life long gone. The mechanics shop where my father did some of his best trading. The bakery where my mother would buy sweet rolls once a week. The market square where I won Marley a stuffed bear during the carnival for the Drafter Showcase. 

The fountain statue that collapsed on Colby and crushed his legs, leaving him defenseless when the Hellions reached him.

I shook my head and walked faster, pushing the memory as far back as I could. I had to pay attention. A quick glance to the sky told me the skiffs hadn’t left the Behemoth, but that didn’t mean I was safe. 

After the devastation of The Storm settled, most of the survivors did whatever was necessary to reclaim their lives. Others sought pure and simple power. Electricians took control of the substations to reroute energy to their underground empires. Even Ryland was forced to negotiate with them as he worked to regain his foothold in the Barren.

In a way, the marauders had it the worst. They were never ones to give control easily, and they couldn’t take revenge against Robertson Kendric and his famous Wanderer Clan. Rumour was that he and his sadistic son Davin followed the explorers to find the Breach, and something had happened that spurred the Hellions into rage. When they followed the marauders and explorers back through the Breach, the Kendric Clan was among the first to fall. The marauders were grounded and forced to disperse, unable to give the Wanderers the punishment they deserved.

After The Storm, the rest of us became desperate. Food, tools, gadgets, clothing, and weapons were snatched up and hidden. As stores got lower and lower, survivors were forced to find alternatives. Offering service and slavery to those who had abundant resources. Killing others for what they had. Some people were even said to have resorted to cannibalism. 

Those who died in the early years found the easy way out. The rest of us did our best with the scraps left behind. 

I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. Thinking of the Westraven and Aon’s sorry states and my own problems wouldn’t change anything. The best I could do was find Davy, and think of a way to persuade him without using my fists.

***

My feet and legs were aching by the time I reached the farm.

After hours of straight walking, the buildings and rubble became less prominent. The cracked concrete under my feet stretched to an open patch of concrete, stopping at a single free- standing structure in the middle of it.

All the farms in Westraven were self-sustaining and capable of producing more than one product. In front of me was a fifty-foot wide structure made of foggy glass and dented metal. The top half of the farm was constructed of windows and topped with cracked, black solar panels. It was hard to see from the corner of the building I was hiding behind, but I could have sworn I saw green plants and wheat struggling to grow beyond the windows. With so little sunlight, I doubted that many of the plants were getting the light they needed. Most of them were probably shrivelled and drooping. The vegetables and barley growing inside the greenhouse would be small and meagre at best.

The lower half of the farm was made of battered sheet metal. It had no windows, so I didn’t know what was hiding inside of it. I wondered if Davy managed to keep some livestock behind those walls. That would have been a miracle, but if there were cows or sheep in the farm, they had to be dangerously unhealthy. If humans were struggling to find food, the animals were starving.

Next to the farm was a large metal water tower. Its stilted legs were had probably been blasted away during The Storm, making rebuilding virtually impossible under the eye of the Hellions and the Behemoth. So rather than being rebuilt to stand, a series of thick metal pipes were fastened to both halves of the farm. The rainy season wouldn’t hit Westraven for another couple months, but when it did, the rain would fill the top of the water tower and slip through the pipes into the greenhouse and the lower half of the farm. Maybe it would be enough to save whatever Davy was trying to grow and produce in there.

Maybe. But probably not. Whatever he did wasn’t going to be enough to save the people dying in the ruined city.

And it wasn’t as though anyone could simply walk onto Davy’s property. He knew his resources were beyond valuable, so he took precautions. A twenty-foot wire fence surrounded his property, topped with coils of sharply pronged barbed wire. A series of black boxes lined the fence, thick wires tracing down the siding to the ground. They must have held some kind of electric charge, probably set in place by an Electrician’s colony, no doubt a trade-off for a portion of whatever food Davy managed to grow.

I could only imagine the pressure the old man endured from every corner of the starving city. This was the largest, still working farm I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t help but pity Davy. My eyes found a small, two story wooden shack that must serve as Davy’s actual home. How he managed all of this alone was a mystery.

Especially since he was only a hundred feet from the barricades.

Set by the Hellions as soon as the Behemoth crippled the Sky Guard to keep their food from escaping, the iron wall cut off any view of the horizon and the country beyond. Angry spikes jutted out from the metal, which had unwashed blood smeared over parts of its surface.

It was possible to climb the barricade, but the trick was crossing the open space before Hellions spotted you. Over the years, people stopped trying to get over. The Hellions would see anyone running there now as a welcome chase and an easy kill.

But as I looked at the cloudy sky over the metal wall, the temptation called to me.

I wanted to do it. Or try, at the very least. There was nothing for me here. No family, no friends, no girl, no purpose… But I couldn’t leave.

My thoughts trailed to Sonya. Her terrified face and heartbreaking cries. The way she would be tortured when I didn’t come back, just because Ryland and his brute squad would want someone to take their aggression out on. Even if I died out here, they would do worse to her. Not coming back from a mission meant failure and suffering. I couldn’t do that to her. I didn’t love Sonya anymore, but she was my friend. I would never forgive myself if she suffered because of me.

I snickered. Champion of the Crater, hulking warrior, crewman for the Stray Dogs, I thought, and a bleeding heart all the same.

Knowing time was against me and an innocent life was on the line, I steeled myself to cross the property line. I had no idea where Davy was, though I assumed his house was a safe place to start looking. 

Just as I was about to step out into open space, the front door on the lowest left corner of the barn opened and two men exited. I slunk back behind the crumpled building and narrowed my eyes to get a better look at them.

Davy was easy to recognize. Short and round with age-speckled skin and wispy white hair, he moved with agility and confidence. Even dressed in black rubber boots and blue coveralls stained with soil, grease, and other dark splotches I didn’t want to think about, Davy held his chin high. A man proud of his work, no doubt.

The man walking beside him with a bulky wooden crate couldn’t have been more opposite. A full foot taller and at least fifty years younger, he could only be described as a rogue. He wore a sooty leather jacket lined with fraying grey piping and spotted with tarnished buttons. It must have belonged to a military officer once, because the boy was too young to be a soldier of the Sky Guard. Under the jacket he wore a white tunic loosely tucked into black pants, the edges hidden by a brown belt that secured a flintlock pistol to his right hip and a curved cutlass to his left. Messy chestnut hair sat on top of his head. I couldn’t see his face, but something about him screamed trouble. 

I hung back in the shadows, for once grateful for the crushing silence. With no wind in the air, I was able to hear what the two men were saying.

It’s true, I tell ya, the old man said. Hellion skiff was flyin’ low this morning.

Probably just the last of the raiding party, countered the younger rogue. 

Davy stopped and crossed his arms. I imagined he would have stamped his foot if he were a little younger.

I know what I seen, boy. Those damned beasts are coming out in the day.

The rogue turned and looked at the farmer. He shifted the crate in his arms and took a deep breath.

Look, Davy, I was out all day taking care of those Rattail jackasses for you. I didn’t see a single skiff.

I swore I saw Davy turning beet red, and imagined his lips quivering with rage. 

You callin’ me a lair, boy? Pirate scum like you?

Pirate? At least now I knew who I was dealing with.

You wound me. The rogue’s voice was thick with sarcasm. Why don’t we go back to our deal? You give me a crate a month, I clean up the riffraff and keep you breathing. Sound good?

His bluntness and arrogance surprised me. He acted like a captain when he was no older than a deckhand. I wondered what Clan he was from that would allow someone so young to command so much authority. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I didn’t want any witnesses when I confronted Davy. No telling how messy that scenario would be. 

Come on, Davy, the rogue said. We both know that’s as good a deal as you’re going to get in Westraven, especially with Ryland and the Stray Dogs so close.

Davy snorted. I ain’t scared of those inbred curs. They’re a pain in the ass, but not a knife in the ribs.

The rogue chuckled. Just looking out for you, old man. He glanced around, his gaze passing over me. I shrank back into the shadows behind a craggy, boulder-sized piece of stone that might have come from the caved in apartment on my left. I was certain he hadn’t seen me, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.

You never know who might be out there, he continued.

Davy scoffed, and I peeked out from behind my cover. You worry too much, boy. That ain’t somethin’ marauders are known for.

The young man shrugged and grinned. I’m unconventional. He shuffled the crate in his hands again, trying to get used to the weight of it. Guess I should be off. This isn’t exactly a bundle of tissue, and if the Hellions are running around during the day now, I don’t want to be slowed down.

He started walking away, heading through the open gate of the fence to the right side of the streets. He would be at least a couple blocks from me. This time, Davy actually did stamp his foot. "They are, I tell ya! One day you’ll see it, and you’ll be the fool, Sawyer!"

The rogue– Sawyer– stopped and turned to Davy with a mischievous grin. I’ll make sure to count the hours.

Sawyer continued walking with his loot, the grin still on his face as he left the old farmer behind.

Davy stamped his foot again and shook his head, muttering something I couldn’t hear. He turned and marched back to his collapsing home. He didn’t bother to close the gate, maybe forgetting to do so in his temper tantrum, but I remained in the dark. I waited another ten minutes until I was sure that Sawyer would be out of sight. His deal obviously involved fighting off unwelcome marauders for Davy. I didn’t really see him as a threat– even from where I’d been sitting, I knew I was bigger than him– but I still didn’t want to risk another confrontation. Regardless, I had a knife tucked in my belt, but I had no intention of using it. Not unless I was pushed.

Assuring myself that no one was going to interference, I slipped out from my cover and crossed the open space to the farm. I moved quickly, glancing at the Behemoth. I told myself that I was alone, but with that ship lurking up there, no one was ever really alone. The Hellions watched, waited, and killed when they wanted. The feeling of eyes around me didn’t disappear as I slipped through the open gate and reached the porch of Davy’s house. I tiptoed up the steps that creaked every time I planted my foot. I was big for my age, so I was relieved when the steps didn’t cave in and take my foot with them. 

I stood in front of the door, wondering again if I could make it over the barricade and find somewhere else. A place to start over and live without hating myself every day. 

Sonya’s pleading voice echoed through my mind, and I sighed. 

I knocked on the battered wooden door three times, shook out my wrists, and waited. Davy’s grumbling and cursing could be heard from the other side. 

Dammit, Sawyer, I told ya–

He spoke while opening the door, coming to a halt when he saw me taking up the entire frame. His sharp brown eyes widened, flicked to my right arm, and widened again. 

Ryland has a proposition for you, I said.

Davy scowled. That so? Well, you tell that dirty mongrel I ain’t gonna–

I grabbed the straps of his coveralls and yanked him onto the porch. 

I’m going to tell you nicely. Give up your supplies to us and no one else, and we’ll make sure you’re protected. Say yes, old man.

He continued to glower. There was fear in his eyes, but most of what I saw was rage.

Or what? You’ll beat on me?

At least he knew what was on the way. Just say yes.

I got a better answer for Ryland.

He spat in my face. I blinked, but didn’t let him go. I shook my head, then turned sharply and hurled Davy off the porch.

The old man hit the ground hard, crying out in surprise. He cringed and clutched his elbow to his chest. I wiped my cheek and stomped down the steps.

When he looked at me again, the rage was being replaced by fear.

I don’t want to do this, I said as he started to crawl away. I grabbed his ankle and yanked him across the pavement. Davy’s hands scraped raw on the rough ground. I really don’t. I grabbed his coveralls straps again and jerked him closer. His breathing became ragged. But you should have said yes.

I cocked my fist and got ready to swing. I froze at the sound of a clicking hammer, and the feel of a cold gun barrel pressing against my temple.

Didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect your elders?

I grimaced, keeping hold of Davy as I slid my eyes to the right. Standing beside me with a steady hand, a cold expression, and fiery tawny eyes, was Davy’s supposed enforcer. Sawyer.

You walked away once before, I growled. Better do so again if you still want to use your legs.

The rogue grinned at my warning. Guess I’ll have to take the risk. That’s my supplier you’re threatening.

I narrowed my eyes. Not anymore. Get lost.

He nudged my head with the pistol. Might be a good idea to remember that I’ve got a gun. Sawyer’s grin vanished. "Now let him