Scion: Vestige, #2

By Deb Hanrahan

Heaven is closed, and the Apocalypse is at hand. The dead continue to walk the earth while the living face biblical plagues. Now that Clarke is gone, Micah's dream of an ordinary life has never been further out of his reach. And as the Antichrist's grip on humanity tightens, Micah begins to understand that he must embrace his legacy if he ever wants to see Clarke again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philyra Publishing
• Release date: Apr 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9780983526667

Deb Hanrahan

Dearest Reader,  Thank you so much for checking out my profile. As you may have noticed, I like to write in different genres. I currently have three YA books and three Women's Fiction/Romance books published. I initially published the latter under the pen name Daphne Hargrow. But as you already know, life gets busy, so I thought it best to merge the two names. After a long break, I am back at it. I plan to have LSC: Hester out this summer and a new romance titled The Stars Awaken out by Christmas.  - Deb Hanrahan

Book preview

Chapter One

MICAH HAD LOST TRACK of time. Before the power went out, he’d been keeping a tally of his days spent in his windowless holding cell. Every time Amber came by with food and water, Micah drew another vertical line on the wall next to Clarke’s graffiti heart. Last time he checked, there were fifteen marks. But then the building shook, the lights went out, and Amber stopped coming. Based on the twisting pain in his stomach, he guessed it had been at least two or three days since he last saw her, at least two or three days since his last meal, and at least two or three days since the earthquake.

As far as Micah knew, there had never been a big earthquake in LaGrange before this one. At first, he didn’t know what was going on. The police station shook for what seemed to be an eternity. Dust and small clumps of plaster showered down upon him. He worried the whole ceiling would cave in. When the shaking finally stopped, there was nothing but darkness. The generator never kicked on.

Right after, Manny checked in on him and gave him a plastic jug of water. But that was the last time Micah had seen or heard from anyone. He was alone, trapped in his pitch-black prison. What if no one ever came back?

He tried to ration his drinking water, but his thirst overpowered his will. Of course, a big enough swig would stop his agonizing stomach pain, but how long would this meager supply last if he didn’t take it easy? Once his water was gone, his suffering would only get worse.

Micah swirled the jug around and tried to guess how much was left. Maybe a quarter or a third? His mouth was dry. His teeth felt gritty, and his lips stuck together.

Aw, fuck it. Micah unscrewed the cap and finished what was left, careful not to spill a drop. At last, his stomach was full and his thirst quenched. But more importantly, he had no more decisions to make. Now he just had to wait.

Someone would come for him. Father Thomas, Amber, or even Manny, they all knew he was down there. Someone had to come. Before the earthquake, Amber had said Father Thomas and Martin would be busting him out soon. She told him to be ready. But what if Father Thomas had died back at Clarke’s house and Amber was lying to make him feel better? She would totally do something like that.

Grimshaw shot Father Thomas in the chest. Who could survive that? And if the initial trauma hadn’t killed him, Thomas could have died later from an infection or even a morphine overdose. But Micah had asked Amber about the priest more than once, and she swore he was alive. Her exact words were, Father Thomas is kind of bitchy, but otherwise he’s fine. She said he had a plan to get Micah out of jail and to DC. That would have been an elaborate lie even for Amber.

But what if Amber, Martin, and Thomas were all dead? They could have been killed during the earthquake or murdered by tagged people. Maybe he should have stretched that water.

Where was Manny? Micah hadn’t heard any movement on the other side of the door. He’d better be out there. How heartless would a guy have to be to leave a person to starve? Shit, Manny was probably dead, dead like everyone in the world probably was, dead like Micah would soon be.

Micah lifted the empty jug to his lips and tipped his head back as far as it would go. Nothing. Not even a drop. He tossed the jug across the room, and it bounced off the wall before hitting the ground.

Micah fell back onto his cot. If he could just sleep for a little while, maybe he’d be able to come up with a plan. He forced his eyelids closed and put his hands on his chest, noting its rise and fall. Up and down. Up and down.

The outline of his bruised ribs pressed against his taut skin. How much weight had he lost? How long could a person live without food? A week, a month, maybe two months? Shit, he was already out of water so he would die of thirst, not hunger. Does it hurt to die of thirst? Hopefully, he would just die in his sleep.

No. Stop. He needed to stay positive. He needed to think of something other than death. What about his pictures? With some effort, he pulled his mental photo collection to the front of his brain: pictures of the ordinary families playing in the park, pictures of him and Owen hanging out in the tree house, and pictures of Clarke—sweet, cute, funny Clarke. He imagined running his fingers through her long, reddish hair while getting a high from her strawberry smell. Mmm. And what about her kisses? How did her lips feel pressed against his? Come on, why couldn’t he remember? The harder he tried to feel her, the fuzzier she became.

His throat tightened, and his heart twisted. How could Clarke ever think he would pick Jess over her? Why didn’t she trust him? Sure, he got why she would be mad, seeing Jess and him on the floor together, but why didn’t she give him a chance to explain? And why in the hell did she leave with Grimshaw? So maybe she didn’t know her new dad was the Antichrist, but she must have noticed he was unusual.

If Micah could just go back in time, he would tell Clarke everything about Grimshaw. He wouldn’t leave anything out. So what if she thought he was crazy. At least she would be safe in LaGrange instead of in Washington DC.

Micah’s breathing slowed as he melted into his bed.

MICAH SAT IN HIS TREE house with Clarke tucked under his arm. Her body felt cold, so he pulled her in closer. I love you, Clarke. He buried his face in her soft hair. Ah yes, there it was—sweet strawberries.

She pushed away from him and gazed into his eyes.

He expected a kiss, but she didn’t move in. Instead, she stiffened. Her eyes were empty.

Clarke? What’s wrong? Her stare drilled into him.

Without answering, Clarke stood and walked toward the stairs. She leaned forward and looked over the edge.

Are you leaving? Micah stood. Where are you going?

She turned back toward him and scrunched her nose. Do I know you?

Of course you know me. What’s wrong with you? Micah’s heart pounded.

Before she could answer, the tree house began to shake. Clarke teetered on the edge of the stairs, struggling to keep her balance.

Micah reached for her, but he was too late. Clarke fell from the side of the tree house.

Micah leaned out, over the stairs. He held his breath, half-expecting to see her body splattered on the ground below. But when he looked, the ground was gone; his yard was gone. The tree house hung over a pit of flames. And there was Clarke, floating back and forth like a feather, falling deeper and deeper into the fire. Her dull eyes remained fixed upon his. He reached for her, but she didn’t reach back. Even though Micah watched in terror, Clarke didn’t seem afraid. She seemed...hollow.

A PIECE OF PLASTER hit Micah’s face. He sat upright on his bed and grabbed the metal frame. The building rattled as it had done before. Another earthquake.

CLARKE DRIFTED IN AND out of consciousness. Every time her brain tried to kick in, a pinch in her arm would send her back into a deep sleep. But her sleep wasn’t restful. She dreamed, but nothing made sense. Images, some strange and some familiar, fought for her attention—her locket, a huge snake, a wheelchair, a knife, a propeller in the middle of a field, the number six. And the sounds of people echoed in her head—laughing, screaming, grunting. But the smells overpowered everything else—alcohol, musk, earth, sandalwood. The combination acted like a kind of smelling salt, prodding her to wake up.

Whenever her thoughts came close to making sense, panic would set in. Her dad. She had to get up. He was waiting for her. She couldn’t let him get out of bed on his own. He might hurt himself. But this wasn’t fair. How could she be expected to take care of him on her own? If only she had enough money to...Wait, what about Lilith? She should take care of him. Clarke had to...had to...had to...what?

It was happening again. She was slipping away.

THE SECOND EARTHQUAKE seemed stronger than the first one. As soon as the rumbling ceased, Thomas and Martin went back to work, freeing Micah from his cell. The two men had spent the better part of a day clearing a path. Just a few more pieces and they might be able to open the door to the stairwell. Hopefully, the basement hallway wasn’t as damaged as the main part of the police station was.

Manny, can you still hear me? Thomas yelled. We’re almost through. That last tremor loosened up some of the debris.

Yeah, I can hear you, a muffled voice responded.

The two men walked to opposite ends of a three-foot support beam that had wedged itself in front of the door.

You have that end, Martin? Thomas struggled to grip the mangled piece of steel. His joints and muscles were stiff. With each passing day, it grew more difficult to move. What would he feel like in a few months if his body continued to deteriorate?

I’ve got it, Father. On three. One...two...

Thomas pushed the door open and pointed the flashlight at the trapped guard. A gray dust coated Manny’s entire body, and white pustules covered his face and exposed hand. Some of the sores were the size of a nickel.

Finally, I thought I’d be stuck in here forever. Manny held his casted hand up to block the light. So, it’s just you two, huh? No wonder it took you so long.

Already Thomas didn’t like this young man. If only he could still see the auras. Manny’s aura was probably as black as that tattooed boy’s aura was. What happened to that ne’er-do-well anyway? Thank God he wasn’t hanging around LaGrange anymore. Micah didn’t need a friend like that. Anybody with a snake tattoo had to be trouble.

How did you burn your face? Martin asked Manny.

You mean these blisters? Manny held up his uninjured hand. I don’t know where they came from. I didn’t burn myself though. They’re on my face too? Manny lifted his hand to his cheek and winced when he touched his skin. Shit, they’re all over, and they hurt like a motherfucker.

Maybe you’re allergic to something in the building materials, suggested Martin.

Are the doors to the cells blocked by anything? asked Thomas.

There are a few chunks of stuff, answered Manny. I moved some of it, but with one hand still in a cast and the other covered with these sores, I couldn’t do much.

Why the cast? asked Martin.

A couple of weeks ago, this dumb bitch stabbed me and broke a few of the bones in my hand. Manny looked at his cast as if it was a wounded pet.

Do you think the prisoners are okay? Thomas didn’t want to let on that they were there for Micah. Can you hear anyone moving around inside?

I only have one kid locked up. The other two holding cells are empty. Manny scratched his cheek, causing a few of the sores to burst open. When he was done, he wiped his fingers on his pant leg. After the first quake, I checked on him and brought him some water. He was fine then. I think I heard him hollering during the last quake. I bet he’s still alive.

Martin screwed up his face and looked at Thomas.

You shouldn’t touch those. The discharge might be contagious. Thomas had been in many hospitals and had seen many sick and dead bodies but had never seen anything similar to Manny’s affliction. You don’t want to pass that around, and you especially don’t want an infection.

After we free that kid, maybe you should come back with us, suggested Martin. We have some medical supplies. We might even have some topical antibiotics.

Thomas cleared his throat and glared at Martin. Why would Martin tell an outsider they had medicine?

I can’t release the prisoner, said Manny. He’s not tagged. Once he’s out of that cell, I’ll have to lock him up someplace else.

Thomas glanced down at his right hand. He hadn’t touched up his fake tag in a few days, but maybe the lines were still dark enough to fool Manny. Thomas then glanced over at Martin’s hand. His tag had faded quite a bit. They would need to hurry and rescue Micah before Manny figured out what was going on.

Once they were out of the stairwell, they headed down the hall, clearing a path as they went. The flashlight beam exposed large particles of airborne debris. That must have been why Martin and Manny were coughing.

Thomas couldn’t help thinking about the last time he had been in this basement visiting crazy Jon. Although Thomas now realized that Jon might not have been crazy at all, just misunderstood. That poor man. At first people ignored him or laughed at him. And then after the disappearances, they treated him like a terrorist. But, in all actuality, he was the only one who knew what was going on.

Huh, if Micah was the only prisoner, where did Jon go? He had told Thomas the beast was coming. So did that mean Grimshaw took him?

When they reached Micah’s cell, Manny kicked the steel door. Hey, you all right in there? If you can hear me, back away from the door. Manny put his key in the lock and turned it. He took a deep breath, and as if expecting a lot of resistance, he pushed the door with his whole body. But there was no resistance at all, and Manny tumbled into the cell, landing on his injured hand. Ow...shit.

Thomas waited for Manny to get up, and then he pressed a gun against the back of the young guard’s head. Don’t move, and put your hands behind your back.

Come on, man...Are you fucking kidding me? Despite his protest, Manny still followed instructions.

Martin, get his gun and tie his hands, said Thomas.

Father, is that you? Micah’s weak, disembodied voice was barely audible.

You okay, Micah? Thomas pointed his flashlight in Micah’s direction.

Now I am. Micah sat up on the edge of his cot, his hand shielding his eyes from the light. I was starting to think you weren’t going to come for me. Where’s Amber? Is she okay?

Yeah, she’s fine, replied Thomas.

Amber was part of this? asked Manny. That little...

Is she here? asked Micah.

No, said Thomas. She’s too much of a liability. We’re uncertain of where her loyalties lie.

Loyalties, pff. Of course, she’s loyal to us...to me, said Micah.

I know you consider her a friend, Micah, but I’m losing trust in her, especially since she’s developed feelings for this clown. Thomas tilted the beam of light toward Manny. I refuse to let teenage hormones get in our way.

So Amber does have feelings for me, said Manny. I knew it.

What should I do with him? Martin finished binding Manny’s hands with plastic restraints.

We’ll have to leave him here, said Thomas.

No! Wait! You can’t do that, begged Manny. Take me with you. I can help. I’ll...I’ll get you by all the checkpoints.

The checkpoints are deserted, said Martin. The military is gone, so there are no more rules.

No way, said Manny. I can’t believe that. I would have received new orders.

Enough talk, said Thomas. We need to go.

You can’t leave me here. Manny pleaded his case to Micah. I didn’t leave you, did I? I even brought you that jug of water. And what about Amber? Come on, dude. She’s your sister, and she has feelings for me. She’ll be pissed when she finds out you left me here to die.

He’s right, Micah said. "Father, we can’t leave