Doc

By Jude Mason

The son of a healer and a warrior, Doc is forced to take on both roles when his village is destroyed and his lover...gone.

Returning from a visit to one of the outland farms, Doc finds his village destroyed, his family either gone or dead and his lover vanished without a trace. The few survivors hidden among the ruins tell a tale of ruthless, sadistic marauders taking what they want and burning the rest. Doc finds too many dead and his heart breaks for those he finds alive. Mothers whose children are gone, husbands who have lost everything and everyone.
Pulling as many people as he can together and tending their wounds, Doc vows to find the rest of his people. His father is among the dead, but his mother, his sister and lover are not.
The hunt is on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9780857154903

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A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Doc

ISBN #978-0-85715-490-3

©Copyright Jude Mason 2011

Cover Art by April Martinez ©Copyright March 2011

Edited by Janice Bennett

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing.  Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.  This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Daybreak 2525

DOC

Jude Mason

Dedication

To the dreamers of this world, without whom speculative fiction wouldn’t stand a chance.

Chapter One

Terror stopped Doc and froze him in his tracks. The scene confronting him was one he’d seen before but never dreamed he’d see here. Not his home. Not his tribe.

It was daybreak, and the view of his village from the top of Elk Ridge had always made his heart beat a little faster. The prospect of being home, in his lover’s arms, had made the joy of returning a special occasion. Now, all he saw were smouldering piles of wreckage and bodies sprawled where they had no right to be. Bodies that, for a moment, he feared looking at too closely.

While his mind raced, he peered at those closest to him and tried to identify them. Unfamiliar faces, clothing he’d never seen before… He sighed, greatly relieved he didn’t recognise any of them. The few wooden buildings in the area leant precariously, one way or the other, and smoke rose in winding columns of dark grey from many of them. The breeze picked up, sending pale wood ash into the air, and a new flicker of fire flared up at the base of what had once been the trader’s cabin. The smoke drifted away from him, and Doc knew that was why he hadn’t heard or smelled anything on his way in. Rags and paper blew around the central meeting square, which was empty except for the fire pit and its pile of split wood still stacked neatly beside it.

He dropped the satchel filled with his doctoring tools and herbs to the grass and unslung his bow. It was a small affair, made of some mysterious alloy manufactured before the big war.  He’d discovered it in what remained of the old city to the north and found it easier to aim than the long bows he’d been using. With a great deal of practice, the small weapon had proven extremely accurate, and he rarely travelled anywhere without it. An arrow in hand, he automatically notched it but didn’t draw it back. When he leant down to pick up his satchel, he saw movement below and again froze.

Doc squinted, hoping to see Jazz crouched amid the piles of rubble. His mother and father would be there, and his sister Robin—unless they were dead. Just thinking about it made him cringe. The warriors, where were they?

He noticed several of the bodies ahead were very small. His stomach churned.

More movements below caught his attention. The familiar figure of a white-haired elder shambled out from under one of the heaps of debris. Each tribe in the region seemed to have at least one person who kept the histories of what had taken place over the last few centuries, passing on stories from one to the next. Seth was one of these ‘Rememberers’, keeping the records of their tribe. Being the oldest person, he’d lived through much of what needed recalling.

The wind turned, and Doc got his first whiff of the fire and of the burnt flesh. His belly rumbled. He swallowed bile and gagged.

Straightening up, he squared his shoulders and looked carefully around. The woods surrounding the village remained undamaged and quiet. There were a thousand places to hide. He watched for several heartbreaking moments, knowing he had to be sure those who’d attacked were gone before he ventured in.

When he was confident no one remained in hiding, he returned to the path leading down the hillside. His pace quickened until he was jogging. He scanned the brush on either side as he hurried on his way. Visions of the atrocities he’d seen, mingled with flashes of his family, and Jazz, his darling, sexy Jazz, leapt into his mind.

Jazz, the man he’d grown up with and had fallen head over heels in love with a handful of years ago, kept returning to his thoughts. If these were simply marauders, Jazz would have fought and probably died trying to protect the tribe. But if the attackers were after slaves or trade goods, the outcome might have been much different.

He thrust both of those thoughts aside. He couldn’t bear to think of Jazz dead. Captive or slave might be worse in some ways. Doc’s heart lurched. At least you’d be alive, my love.

Just let it go, he muttered under his breath. Wait until you know what’s true.

He knew his own advice made sense. Hell, he’d preached it enough to others. Until now, he’d understood the message—but never so deeply or how important it was to follow.

Nearing the outer edge of the village, he noticed the well and gave a huge sigh of relief. Undamaged. They would at least have clean water. He’d need it if there were survivors to care for. He prayed there’d be an ample supply of those.

He slowed his pace, unwilling to rush into the horrors he knew awaited. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, and he wished he could wake up from the nightmare.

Damn the outlander family he’d been tending the last three days. If only… His thoughts wandered from the young father and the leg the man had broken when he fell from his horse. Doc had set the fracture and stayed to make sure no infection took hold.

If only I’d been here instead of miles away. If only his mother had accompanied him, as she sometimes did. If only Jazz had talked him out of going or urged him to go food fishing instead.

He went around a corner into what should have been the market street. As he’d seen from the ridge, the sellers’ stalls and alcoves, or what remained of them, were in shambles. Food littered the ground and the stalls lay shattered on their sides, most of them burnt beyond repair.

It was the bodies that tore a sob from Doc. The stink of death wrapped around him like a cloak of sorrow, tight around his neck, his chest.

He saw the bodies of a young family first, lying sprawled in the remnants of the doorway to their home. Doc knew them well. He’d helped his mother with the child’s birth three short years ago. She’d been preparing him, then, to take over when she died.

He turned away from that thought. She can’t be dead. I’m not ready for her to be dead.

He refocussed his attention on the three villagers, rushing forwards to see if they were indeed gone. He dropped his satchel and touched his fingertips to each, to where they should have a pulse below their ears, quickly discerning the grisly answer. Doc closed the eyes of the dead and moved on.

It didn’t take long for him to come across the next victims. The warriors of the tribe hadn’t been idle. Doc had just made it to the corner of the next building when he saw half a dozen half-starved bodies strewn along the roadway. Unshaven, filthy, all of them seemed young, and that disturbed him. He checked to see if any were alive, but none was. A few paces on, he saw why. Trey, a middle-aged man who’d been a boon to the village and had a large family, lay dead from myriad wounds. A long slice from groin to sternum told the tale. Thankfully, Doc knew the death would have been fast, if painful.

Goodbye, old friend, he whispered as he dropped to his knees beside the man. He reached out and closed Trey’s eyes.

A noise from his left brought his bow arm up. Satchel thrust aside, he rose and turned all in one smooth motion.

Son, it’s only me, the ancient Rememberer said in his gruff, raspy voice. His long, white hair hung in tangled strands down his chest and back. His snow-white beard reached halfway to his waist. Doc always thought it made him look like a wizard from one of the ancient children’s books his mother had rescued. A well-worn hat and long, flowing robes, so unlike Doc’s own snug leather pants and rough wool jerkin, added to the whimsical effect.

Seth! Doc quickly lowered his bow and stepped forward. I nearly shot you, you old fool. He drew the man into his arms, and a wave of relief filled him. Even though Seth barely reached Doc’s chin, and his back was bent from age, the Rememberer held a special place in Doc’s heart. Seth had been the one to teach him about the old towns and cities, about the grandeur as well as the catastrophic plagues that had nearly wiped humanity from the face of the Earth. For some, the lessons held little meaning, but for Doc, they tore at his soul. He wanted to see more of the people who’d survived the great devastation, while others seemed happy just to scratch a living from whatever they could.

You’d never shoot me, unless you meant to. Seth hugged Doc with desperation,