Nineveh's Child

By Gerhard Gehrke

"A different approach to the dystopian genre…a great read" - DSJM Reviews

"I loved it." – Science Fantasy Hub

They told me the world above was dead.

They lied.

It was their world that was dying.

I escaped. Outside, I found a family, and I was loved. My new home had its struggles but it was very much alive.

Six years later, Nineveh came for me. And nothing would stop them from trying to take me back...

For fans of post-apocalyptic adventure, Nineveh's Child will keep you guessing Dinah's fate through the final page!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucas Ross Publishing
• Release date: May 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386812500

Gerhard Gehrke

Gerhard Gehrke is the author of Nineveh's Child, the Supervillain High series, and A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth.

Book preview

Part One: Hunters

1. The Farm

Most days were too busy for remembering. Dinah had no time for it. She rarely even thought about her early years in Nineveh except to remember her brother.

Special days like this one were few and far between. Every now and then, once Dinah and her stepsister Rosalyn did their chores and washed up and the planets were all aligned, Aunt Uma would teach them things in the kitchen. Uma had them mix sugar, ground flour, and goat butter while she prepared leftover apples and dried grapes from an old vine that grew near the farm’s front gate. The fruit she cut and soaked in some of Uncle Karl’s hard cider. Then she added more butter and sugar and put on the topping they had mixed. It went into the oven. While they waited, Uma had them clean the kitchen. Rosalyn grumbled and kept to her side of the dirty floor. Dinah watched Uma while sweeping and wiping down the counters.

Uma periodically consulted an orange book propped open on a high counter. Everything on that side of the kitchen was off-limits unless they were given explicit permission. Messing with Uma’s things was a bad idea. Even Rosalyn didn’t chance getting into anything stored underneath Uma’s kitchen counter. Dinah had gotten in there a few times, but it was mostly books, paper clippings, and curled and brown magazines that all appeared as if they had been soaked in water several times. Rocks held down each stack of paper. There was a definite order to it all, so she never moved anything.

Uma took a cinnamon stick from a jar. She had told them several times that this was the last of it, that there would never be any more cinnamon ever again. Dinah wasn’t sure if she believed her, but it never turned up while trading, and it didn’t grow among the foliage she frequently browsed. Dinah used a fine grater to put a thin coat of brown atop the dessert. She set the pan back into the oven.

Even though Dinah never took any of the cinnamon, when Uma wasn’t watching she liked to open the spice jar and take in the smell. It was like nothing else on the planet. And once Uma placed the dessert in the oven, the heavenly aroma soon filled the house.

Wash the cutting boards, Uma said.

Dinah had been standing motionless, tasting the air. It smells so good.

Uma wore an expression that wasn’t anything close to a smile, but it told Dinah that she knew that already.

Rosalyn came up next to Dinah. She had a hungry look on her face as she eyed the oven.

Go pluck the rooster I killed this morning, Uma said to her.

I can do the cutting boards, Rosalyn said.

Uma’s jaw tightened. At first, Dinah thought Rosalyn was about to stand her ground. This would be followed by her stepsister catching hell. Dinah cringed. But Rosalyn went out the back without another word.

Washing the cutting boards took but a minute.

I’m almost done, Dinah said. I’ll help her.

But Uma had her head in an orange book. Her mouth moved when she read. She was assembling a spice rub in a small bowl, and the new fragrance complemented the cinnamon and baking smells. She had already put salt and crushed dried herbs into the mix, and now she was just reading. Dinah went out back to help pluck.

Rosalyn sat on a stool. A large headless rooster soaked in a bucket of water in front of her. Dinah kneeled in the dirt next to Rosalyn and started to pull feathers from the fowl. Dinah worked without gloves, her callused hands well accustomed to the coarse work. The bird was long and tall but somewhat lean. None of the chickens were particularly plump anymore. Rosalyn also plucked and threw feathers aside. Pluck and throw. Pluck and throw. The water the bird floated in was greasy and pink.

You’re so good, Rosalyn said. There was enough acid in her voice to dissolve stone.

I’m just hungry, and you’re so slow, Dinah said.

Soon enough there were feathers all over the ground and sticking to their hands and arms and even a few on their faces. A spattering of blood soaked into the dirt. Rosalyn dumped the bucket into the garden while Dinah held the chicken. Rosalyn returned with the empty bucket and a crude pair of pliers. Dinah put the chicken back in the bucket. Rosalyn started to work out some of the smaller feather shafts while Dinah kept the bird in place. Then Rosalyn let Dinah cut the bird open and pull out the guts. Baking smells wafted forth from the kitchen.

It smells good, doesn’t it? Dinah asked.

After a moment, Rosalyn said, Yeah.

When they were finished, Dinah followed Rosalyn as she carried the bird into the kitchen and put it in the pot on the butcher block. Uma took her mixed spices and began rubbing the bird down both inside and out.

When she noticed them standing and staring, she said, Wash up.

With no other addendum, they were free until supper. The smells in the house and the promise of a meal to remember meant that neither of them would stray far. Rosalyn went off to do her own thing.

Maybe she has some mice to torture.

Dinah went out front and found Karl there on the porch. He had some notebooks out and was writing in one. A glass of cider was close at hand.

He had a troubled look. His brow was furrowed. His jaw clenched. He absentmindedly scratched his scruffy chin. He put the pencil down and sipped his drink. When he saw her, the sadness on his face lasted but a moment longer, and then he gave her a warm smile.

We’re cooking a special dinner, she said.

I know. I can smell it all the way out here.

Is there an occasion?

He shrugged. Can’t we just be happy that we’re alive and that we have plenty for this day?

I guess so. What are you writing?

She could see which notebooks he was working from. These had lists of numbers taken from his barometer, thermometer, and hygrometer that all were attached to the front doorway. He also tracked several rain gauges set either just outside the porch or up at the fog collectors. He measured other things too, with a few machines that Dinah didn’t understand. Karl wouldn’t explain what they did. They made odd noises when turned on, and he didn’t turn them on when he knew she was around. These were powered with either batteries or solar energy, which made them different from everything else in the house or even in the local community, where working powered machines were rare.

Rosalyn said these little machines knew when Dinah’s time of the month was upon her and would let Karl know all her dirty secrets and thoughts. Dinah had played with the machines a few times when Karl or Uma weren’t around, but she always put the dials back to their original positions. She never figured out what they were for.

What am I writing? Karl asked the air in a ponderous tone. By the rolling pitch of his voice, she could tell this wasn’t his first cup of cider. What I am writing are conclusions. I have data here. He tapped one of the open notebooks. Then he pointed to the page upon which he wrote. And here is where I try and make sense of it all.

And does it make sense?

I wish it didn’t.

Is it the weather? Is it going to get better?

He sighed. Maybe one day. But probably not any time soon. But we can’t ever stop hoping. And we can’t ever stop believing that it will get better.

What can we do?

Stick together, he said. Share our knowledge. Work with our neighbors to get through this tough patch. That way, if we’re careful, deliberate, and conserve what we have, we make it through this to the good times that will surely follow. But smell that cooking, Dinah. Go on, smell it.

He made a show of sniffing the air, and he smiled. She did the same. The aromas of the cinnamon and fruit and roasting chicken with all those magical herbs almost overwhelmed her.

What does that smell like to you? he asked.

Supper and dessert.

Mmmm. More than that. That’s the smell of life. That we’re alive to live another day, and that we can do more than just scratch by if we’re careful. Sometimes you just have to stab back at the universe and let it know that you haven’t given up or given in or given out. It’s okay to be glad to be living.

He took a long sip. But the joy left his face once he looked again at his notes.

Now run along, and don’t be late for supper.

SUPPER TURNED OUT TO be everything Dinah could imagine and more. The big rooster took center table, and its golden skin looked like sunbaked heaven. The fruit crisp was a broken craggy road to the promised land. There were other dishes, too: roasted pine nuts, a medley of herbs and veggies, four red potatoes, and asparagus. Asparagus made her gag. But she’d eat the asparagus ten times over to just keep smelling the meal set before them.

Uma was humming when they all entered the kitchen and sat down. She lay down a cloth napkin on each of their laps. Karl had a grin so wide Dinah thought his face would break. Rosalyn was as enraptured by the spread as she was.

Karl, why don’t you say grace? Uma asked.

This would be a rarity. Uma sometimes quoted verse, but Karl kept his Good Book and his words of thanks private, more private than his notes or his opinions on what direction the world was going. But today he didn’t hesitate.

Lord, we give thanks for this day’s bounties. We thank you for the kind hands that prepared this food, for the shelter that we have, and for our lives. As you see fit, help us use our lives well. Also, as you see fit, protect us as we are beset by troubles that weigh down our hearts. We look to you, Lord, for our salvation. Thank you for our family. Amen.

Dinah muttered an amen, but no one else did. Karl noticed and shot her a wink. Uma began to pass around the dishes of food. Karl took a knife and sliced at the rooster. With wet twists and pops, drumsticks came off the bird for both Rosalyn and Dinah. He put slabs of breast meat onto Uma’s plate and then his own.

It all tasted even better than it smelled. They ate. Dinah asked for seconds, ate more, and cleaned her plate with her fingers. Uma didn’t stop her. She would have licked her plate clean, but that would have been pushing it.

Once everyone was finished, Rosalyn and Dinah got up and began to collect the dishes. Uma stopped them, her expression hard now.

Just leave it. Go on outside for a while and play.

Rosalyn and Dinah looked at each other, and then put the plates back down and went out through the kitchen. Dinah heard Uma and Karl start talking, but she wasn’t able to clearly hear what they were saying.

Rosalyn headed toward the goat pen, walking through the bloody dust and scattered feathers from the chicken plucking. Dinah followed her. The setting sun was gone, the sky descending into bluish gray. There were scattered clouds above, but not the thick, cool fog that would take the temperature down for the night and feed the collectors.

Want to do something? Dinah asked.

No.

Rosalyn walked along the pen’s fence. Two of the goats got close. She picked up pebbles and threw them at the animals until they scampered away. They bleated in anger. Rosalyn wore a scowl.

What’s wrong with you? Dinah asked.

Rosalyn shot her a withering look. You don’t know what’s coming, do you?

Of course I do. It’s going to rain.

Rosalyn laughed and looked up at the dark sky. You think that’s why they gave us a last supper? This was a good-bye. There’s trouble coming, and Karl is going away. Just leave me alone.

Dinah didn’t know why, but she was crying by the time she made it over to Billy’s enclosure. The big goat had his nose through the wire and was nibbling on some frayed weeds. He ignored her.

Small flies buzzed about. One of them landed on her repeatedly, and she felt a pinch on the back of her neck. She retreated to the front of the house. Karl’s notebooks were all still there on the porch. It was too dark to read them, but she touched the books anyway, as if some of the knowledge therein would magically leap through the covers and into her head through her fingertips.

As she sat quietly, she realized she could hear Uma and Karl. Most of the words were low murmurs, but she heard Uma ask, "But why do you have to go?" Where was Karl going? Why did Uma sound more sad and worried than Dinah had ever heard her? She wanted to sneak inside, but the creaking front floorboards would give her away no matter how softly she stepped. Still, she took a chance and leaned into the doorway.

Karl was speaking consolingly and not answering Uma’s question. Perhaps he had answered it earlier. Perhaps it was one of those questions that had no answer.

Another fly (or maybe the same sneaky bastard) bit her, and the porch groaned. She backed down the steps to the dirt and ran along the path that led to the overgrown road in front of the house. The meal sat heavy inside her stomach.

An hour later, Uma called them inside. She was back to being Uma, and they helped with some of the tidying up. Karl was in the front room writing, an oil lamp throwing orange light onto the pages of his notebook. Once everything was clean, she sent them upstairs to their bedrooms and reminded them to brush their teeth.

Dinah put on her bedclothes. She closed the door to her bedroom and listened. Crickets were singing their one-note lullaby outside. Rosalyn was in her room, and Dinah could hear the creaks as she got into her bed and tossed about until she was comfortable. Her stepsister always slept like a rock once she went down. Uma came up the stairs next. Dinah heard the door to Uma’s room close, and then she heard soft weeping.

She had three choices: go to sleep, go to Uma, or go down and try to talk to Karl. She couldn’t sleep. Something was going on, and she needed to know what. Uma wouldn’t tell her anything and might even grab her by an ear and drag her back to bed. She slipped out of her bedroom and moved slowly down the stairs.

Karl had his notebooks put away. He stood over a large shoulder pack and was checking straps and pouches. Leaning on the front door was his boar spear: a nasty, sharp steel-tipped head atop a thick, smooth wooden shaft.

She watched him for moment before he noticed her. He walked over and kissed her on the forehead.

Where are you going?

I need to go out and check with some of the neighbors down in the valley.

He said check with, not talk to or trade with.

Are they okay?

I hope so. It should all be fine. He returned to his pack. He opened a small bundle of cloth bandages, needle and thread, and some scissors. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, and he put this back together and placed it into a side pouch. From a closet, he pulled out his goatskin parka and hat.

In case it rains, he said with a smile.

She didn’t smile back. When will you come back?

Soon. Don’t you worry.

She went over to him and gave him a hug, her arms barely making it around his chest. He hugged her back, patted her a few times on the head, and moved her away so he could continue his preparation.

He considered her for a moment and lowered himself so he was looking her in the eyes. But while I’m away, you can do something for me, yes?

She nodded.

Listen to Uma. I know you already do, but help her. And be nice to Rosalyn. She has a hard time with things, maybe even harder than you. And I left you something. Something that Uma doesn’t want you to have. It’s from before, the time and place we never talk about. It’s in my workshop in the black tin. I left you a note. Don’t let Uma see you with it, or she will take it away. It’s something you had when you first came to us. It belongs to you, and I fixed it. But don’t turn it on near the house. Don’t turn it on at all if you don’t have to. Take it with you if you’re ever in trouble. Just in case.

I remember. My device. When I came here, Uma took it away from me.

Aye, she did. But she also took you in. Not everyone is as kind. If others see you with your device, it will remind them of the bad times. They might want it, or they might hurt you so they can destroy it. And Dinah, you need to know there are even worse people out there. Just remember. Uma knows this, and she’s just trying to keep you safe.

Is that why you’re taking the spear? For those types of people?

Karl looked over at the spear. I hope not. That’s for the pig I’ll bring home for supper.

The stairs creaked. Uma came up behind her. She pointed back up to Dinah’s bedroom. Dinah didn’t escape a swat to the bottom as she ran past her and headed upstairs.

UMA WOULD SAY THAT Karl was a spiritual man, a praying man, as she put it when she talked about such things. Whenever Karl was out of the house, the only pre-meal ritual they engaged in was to wash up.

Karl also prayed when Uma wasn’t looking, as if it was a secret activity when done away from the dinner table, a ceremony that could be shut down by Uma’s glower of disapproval. But more than once, Karl invited Dinah over, and in a solemn tone he would ask whomever he prayed to that she one day find her brother. Later, Dinah would wonder if he’d understood what he was asking for. After an amen, he would send her off without any explanation as to how his request would help. When she would ask him about her brother afterward, he’d tell her they weren’t supposed to talk about it. Sometimes she spied on Karl in his workshop with his eyes closed and his mouth moving. He never bothered with crosses or woodcuts with faces or anything else she had seen at their neighbors’ or in the villages among the pious. No one in Nineveh had ever prayed.

With Karl away, they ate their lunch of vegetable stew unblessed.

After lunch, they had chores. Dinah was out tending the goats in their pens when she saw a line of black smoke coming from the cluster of small homes where their closest neighbors lived, a ten-minute walk away.

Dinah ran to tell Uma. Uma was busy with the wash, the gray water turning grayer as she turned the clothes and sheets by hand in a large basin.

There’s smoke coming from the Garza place!

Uma looked at her and gave the slightest nod. She took her hands from the laundry and dried them on her apron.

Come into the kitchen, she said. Dinah followed her.

She took a stack of wrapping cloth from a cupboard. Wrap bundles of food.

Dinah started to place cheese, nuts, bread, and dried fruit in even portions in the center of each cloth. Uma left the kitchen, and Dinah heard her speaking with Rosalyn. They headed upstairs, Rosalyn asking Why? over and over. Dinah couldn’t make out Uma’s words until she shouted, Just do it!

She heard panic in Uma’s voice.

She began to pack with less deliberation, dumping food into small piles and only tying each bundle off once it was bulging. Uma returned to the kitchen. She had a coat on, even though it was hot. She plopped an armload of blankets on the floor and said, Fill skins with milk. Uma left her to it.

Dinah opened the cabinet to get the skins, then stopped. Through the window, she saw someone out back. A man of slight frame stood by the hanging laundry. He wore a long overcoat and a broad hat and was looking at something in his hands. When he looked up, his eyes reflected the light as if they were mirrors. She ducked. Then she heard the front door open.

Heavy boots clomped on the floorboards of the entryway. At first, she thought Karl was home. Then Uma screamed. Before Dinah could do anything, the back door clicked. Someone pushed at it first, then pulled it open. She crawled under the preparation table. It had a long, draping tablecloth that hid her. A shadow came into the kitchen. She saw black boots with thick rubber treads unlike anything any of the locals wore. Whoever it was moved past her and into the hallway toward the front of the house. He made a soft clicking noise with his mouth, like a nervous tic.

Uma said something in an urgent tone, followed by No! No! No!

There came a soft sound, followed by a heavy thud. Dinah didn’t hear Uma say anything after that.

She crawled to the wall next to the tallest cupboard. One panel came off. Behind the wall was the cool crawlspace where they stored butter. She squeezed inside and pulled the panel closed.

Two sets of footsteps went upstairs. She heard a shuffle, and Rosalyn screamed. Dinah started to cry into her hands. She pressed her fingers against her mouth and nose and tried to suppress the sobs. She couldn’t move. There was butter jammed thick into clay pots on all sides.

Someone was coming back down the stairs. Rosalyn squealed. Dinah heard more footfalls and boot scrapes. Rosalyn was putting up a fight, and Dinah burned inside knowing that she would do nothing but hide.

The sounds faded until the house was quiet. She waited, trying to control her breathing. Her lower lip bled from biting down on it. She began counting to get her mind off anything that might have happened or was still happening to Uma and Rosalyn. The numbers in her head were unfaithful. They didn’t line up. Then she heard a floorboard creak right in the center of the kitchen.

She hadn’t heard anyone come in. There must have been a third man. How long had he been there? Had he heard her? She almost gagged as she held her breath, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She smelled the briny butter and felt some of her hair sticking to the pots.

A cabinet door opened. Closed. A soft step. The cupboard next to her made a sound. Some jars inside were moved. She put an eye to the seam of the panel. She could just make out the table and the cloth bundles of food. A man backlit by the window stepped across the light. The floor creaked, the vibration traveling to where Dinah was hiding.

He stopped.

He held a device in his hand, one that looked just like her own device. But he was distracted. He spoke softly, barely saying his words. He paused and nodded as if someone had spoken back to him. Then the light and shadow played again across the seam of the panel, and he was gone. She thought at first that he had vanished, but then she heard a floorboard creak down in the hallway. It had taken her months of practice to master walking soundlessly in the house, and she still missed spots. She listened as he moved toward the front door.

She could do nothing but wait. Her arms and legs were trembling, and she had to pee.

The house fell silent. Her mind raced in anger and frustration, but she dared not move from her hiding place. She calmed herself, focused on breathing, did some long division in her head. Then the smell of smoke reached her. What had happened to the Garzas was now happening here. If their device was what had led them here, they hadn’t trusted it enough to keep searching for her.

She slowly opened the panel. The kitchen was empty. One limb at a time, she extracted herself from the cubby like a spider emerging from a crack in the wall. She heard screaming come from the goats out back. They were terrified.

A trail of dark smoke came from the front of the house and down the hall. She got down on her knees and crawled that way. She saw Uma lying on the floor. One arm extended in Dinah’s direction, as if she were reaching toward her for help. Uma’s eyes were open, staring lifelessly. The image seared itself into Dinah’s mind. But she didn’t see any blood or external wounds. What had they done to her?

The front door was open. Someone moved about outside carrying a burning bundle of twigs and walked out of sight. She heard the popping sound of fire come from the front porch and smelled the sweet fragrance of burning wood. An orange glow danced on the door. If the fire was only outside, she knew she had just a few minutes before the entire house went up. She crawled forward past Uma’s body and tried not to look.

I’m sorry, Dinah whispered.

The left side of the stairway would make the least amount of sound. She hoped no one outside would see her through the doorway. The smoke was being drawn into the house from the outside, and it stung her eyes no matter how low she stayed. She went up the stairs and into her room and quickly collected her things. She double checked that her own device was still hidden in her pack where she had put it early that morning. From there she went to Rosalyn’s room. The shutters were open. She peered outside, keeping her head low. No one in sight.

Rosalyn had always been able to exit the house the easiest, as she only had to swing down to the top of a small attached woodshed. This wasn’t possible from Dinah’s room. Anytime she had wanted to sneak out, she’d had to come to this room or go down the stairs. She looked down. She would have to drop at least a foot, and that would make noise. At least here the smoke would help conceal her as it cascaded up and around the side of the house from the front.

She had no other choice. The pack would have to go out first. She didn’t want to take the time to tie it to a sheet and lower it, so she dropped it. Thump. It landed on the shed. She swung both legs out and dropped down with a soft thud. Once on the shed, she pulled on the pack and climbed to the ground. If there were men out front and back, they would see her as she fled. The only nearby cover was Billy’s pen.

The shaggy beast was watching her through the beams of his fence. His nostrils flared. Then something distracted him. Rosalyn was screaming again, this time further away toward the road. Dinah wanted to go and see, to look for an opportunity to help. This would involve moving to the corner of the house. True, the smoke might conceal her, but at any moment another of the attackers might appear. She had no idea how many there might be. She ran toward Billy’s pen.

He bleated at her.

Shut up, she hissed as she got down and crawled behind his water trough and to the rear of the pen where Billy’s hutch could conceal her. She paused to catch her breath and took a quick look. More smoke rose, as the fire now burned in several places. No doubt the invaders had used their torches on the drying shed, the tool shed, and the other goat pen. The ladies were screaming.

The intruders would soon come around to this side of the house. The crackling flames began to roar. Toward the front of the property she saw two men walking away from her, their details obscured by waves of heat. Beyond them was a white truck.

Rosalyn was nowhere to be seen.

A man approached Billy’s pen from the back of the house. He carried a flaming brand. He wore gloves and leathers and had on thick boots like the ones she had seen inside the kitchen. Under his broad hat, a brown bandanna was pulled over his nose and mouth like some storybook bandit. His eyes were covered with goggles that shined like silver coins.

She sank lower into the weeds and stickers stabbed at her face. If Billy’s pen went up, the grass around her would quickly catch fire. Billy started to pace about. He bounced and kicked. Dinah crawled on her belly along the back of the pen. As long as the man continued walking in a straight line he wouldn’t see her. The gate was tied with a rope at its corner, and the knot was just above her. She reached up and began to work the hitch to free the rope. Billy snorted as the man drew close. She got the rope free. Billy would have to do the rest.

Nothing happened. Billy didn’t explode from his pen like a demon jinn from his lamp, eager to devour the souls of any bad men he could catch. Instead, the goat retreated to his shelter. She heard the man’s boots crunch on the gravel. The brand landed atop Billy’s house, and the fire spread immediately. Billy made his deep bleats, but he didn’t come out, and the man said nothing. Soon the grass around Dinah would burn.

She sprang to her feet and froze. The man had rounded the pen without her hearing him move. They stared at each other for a long second. She could see her reflection in his eyes. She took a step back, and someone called out from the front of the house. The others had seen her too.

She dashed forward toward the edges of the property, trampling pea sprouts and carrots. The corner of the pen blocked the man’s path for a fraction of a second as he moved to catch her. She veered in the direction of the tree line, toward the paths to the meadows and the thick undergrowth that she knew well. After a minute, she couldn’t tell if the man was still behind her or not. She pumped her legs and gritted her teeth and vaulted downed branches and rounded dead trees. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest. Finally, she chanced a quick look in the direction of the house.

All that was behind her was a rising curtain of dark smoke and the echoes of a goat’s screams.

NO ONE FOLLOWED HER, or she had evaded them. She returned that evening to Uma’s place to watch it finish burning. Not much was