Barren

By Dawn Vogel

The oceans rose, plant life withered, and humans could no longer reproduce. Now, years later, Lemy has found evidence of a place impacted only by the ocean rise. But the politics are even more treacherous than they were at home. With only a child to trust, she must navigate this new landscape to keep herself and Sky alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DefCon One Publishing
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005013981

Dawn Vogel

Dawn Vogel has been published as a short fiction author and an editor of both fiction and non-fiction. Her academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, helps edit Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats.

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Barren

Dawn Vogel

Copyright 2021 Dawn Vogel

Smashwords Edition

historythatneverwas.com

patreon.com/historythatneverwas

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Chapter One

Beachcombing is lonely work. You have to arrive when the tide is lowest if you want to gather the only green thing left outdoors, the seaweed that washes up onto the beach. It's not worth eating--it's bitter and coated with machine oil--but it burns once it's dry, and that makes it valuable when there's almost no wood to be had, at least not for burning. But the tide is fickle, so it often means being outdoors when the sky is dark as jet, your only light a hurricane lamp or, if you're lucky, an LED headlamp.

The headlamp's downside is it makes you a target.

I alternate between scanning the beach and waterline. I'm exposed, but without fuel, I can't cook. I grow few plants that can be eaten raw. It's how it's been since the Wilt, when plants had stopped growing outdoors, and we had used up most of the remaining wood before realizing what we'd done.

My basket's nearly full when the first Thing comes from the water. Some people call them sea monsters or mermen. They were human once, but exposure to the toxic brew in the oceans had changed them into something else. They're still humanoid, two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head, but their appearances are changed beyond recognition. They're covered in thick scales that serve as armor, their fingers and toes tapered into wicked barbs, and their teeth sharp as needles.

They're not worth fighting. It's easier to stay away from them, and when you encounter one, get away quick and quiet.

I sling one strap of my basket onto my left shoulder, keeping my right hand free to grab my machete if one gets too close. I don't make eye contact with these Things; some don't have eyes, while others' eyes have gone milky white. I keep them in my sightline, my head on a swivel, making sure they don't try to flank me as I back away from the beach.

I feel and hear the strap on my basket tear at the same time, an hour's work tumbling onto the sand behind me. It's a loss, but it's not the worst thing that can happen. If I get half the basket home, it's better than nothing.

I turn to grab it, and the Things surge toward me, not trying to remain silent in their approach.

On a good night, I'd make a break for it, abandon my basket, come back for it once the sun's come up. It's high enough on the beach that the tide won't take it away.

But a Thing has moved around behind me, and I wonder if that torn strap is thanks to barbed digits.

Doesn't matter, in the end. My house is isolated, so the odds of anyone hearing me cry for help are slim. I give a loud yelp regardless, in case I'm not the only beachcomber tonight. I slide my machete from its sheath.

The scales help the Things avoid most attacks, but they have gills on their neck. Given enough force, a machete could decapitate them.

I don't have enough force.

They still bleed, even if it's like tar in color, consistency, and aroma.

I wound the one who snuck behind me, getting him out of my path, and I run like my life depends on it.

It does.

The Things don't normally pursue me beyond the beach. The remnants of a road loom ahead. They've never crossed it. If I make it to the other side, I'm safe.

On a good night.

The barbed talons on their feet skitter across the fragmented asphalt. They're pursuing me.

I can't run much farther without leading them to my house. The walls are sturdy enough, but the windows aren't, and there's no way to fix those after they're broken.

So I turn to face them again.

If I'd brought a lantern with me, I'd throw it at their feet, hoping the oil would leak and catch fire, driving them back to the ocean.

I adjust my headlamp. The Things might not care if I shine a bright light in their eyes, or at least in their direction for the ones without eyes, but they avoid the beach near Bruder's compound, and that's lit up both day and night. I turn the knob to the brightest setting, so bright the tips of my eyelashes glimmer.

Half the Things run from the light. More stop their advance. Two still move toward me, but they've slowed, keeping themselves out of machete range.

A second light blazes across the dilapidated street, from somewhere to my right, as bright as my headlamp, maybe brighter.

I take advantage of the extra distraction to leap forward and slash my machete through the first Thing's gills. Cold blood splashes across my face, dimming my lamp, but the other light remains bright.

Between that and my attack on the apparent leader, the other Things make their retreat.

I turn toward the light now, shielding my eyes against its brightness. Who's there?

No response, but the other light dims, showing a silhouette of wild curls.

I turn off my headlamp and approach.

It's a young woman, with skin as dark as the good soil I use for my plants, and eyes like the night sky.

Serea. What are you doing here?

Good evening, Lemieux. I'm sorry to disturb you.

Unfailingly polite, that's Serea alright. She calls me by my full name. Everyone else shortens it to Lemy.

It's not a disturbance when you helped me. What can I do for you?

You're needed on Sliver Island.

Sliver Island is one Bruder hasn't claimed as his own. I almost shake my head--it's not a good idea for me to go there--but I nod instead. When?

As soon as you're able. She pauses. Adalin herself sent me.

I smile. Adalin is why Bruder can't take Sliver Island. I should clean up first. Would you like to wait indoors? It's a long wait for the ferry to return.

She looks past me toward the beach. I should get back. Ferryman agreed to wait for me. If the sea monsters are active tonight--

I understand. I'll come by in the morning. If you see Adalin, tell her I'll bring beer.

Serea's eyes go wide, but she nods. Thank you, Lemieux. She slips away, headed for the dock at the north end of Beacon Island.

~

I wake up at daybreak coated in the fine layer of sweat that clings to me through the warm months. At least I scrubbed the blood off, or I'd stink too.

I paw at my bedside table for my locket, an antique thing passed down from my grandmother. My fingers brush across it, and it tumbles to the floor. The metal clink is soft, drowned out by pounding at my front door.

This early in the day, that level of noise means either there's an emergency or there's about to be one. Dealing with the former is often easier. Either way, I want clothes on first.

Hang on, I'm getting dressed, I shout.

There are many things I love about my house. It has four solid walls and a roof that leaks in only one room. The frosted colored glass they used for the windows on each side of the door wasn't a selling point.

The person outside is adult sized and human shaped, a good sign. I keep one hand on my machete as I open the door a crack to reveal Deke, tall and muscular, shaved head, and coated with sweat and grime already, or still. What are you doing here?

Bruder sent me to get the tithe.

Tithe? I shake my head. I paid last week.

Deke glances away, no longer willing to meet my eyes. Extra one.

I cross my arms over my chest, bringing the machete into view. Bruder didn't mention an extra tithe, and he's up front about such things. You sure this isn't for you, Deke?

No, not for me. It's for my--my friend. He's sick, and Bruder says if he can't work, he won't get fed.

This isn't my problem, but I've always had a soft spot. It's possible I'm one giant soft spot. Regardless, I put down the machete and open the door wide. Come in.

Deke shuffles in.

I linger in the door, letting the morning breeze wash over me, and planning my day. I'd wanted to get an early start to Sliver Island. Deke makes that difficult. There's no prohibition against travel amongst the small islands, but Bruder would rather I worked solely for him. Admitting I'm making a visit to another island will get his ire up.

But if I'm to make sure the food I give Deke makes it to his friend, I'll have to take it to him myself. My hope is to avoid Bruder while I do. I'm not in a mood to deal with him today.

It means I have to leave my plants unattended for a day, if not two. That's what it'll take if I go see Adalin as well. I head back in to pack a satchel.

~

Bruder's compound always seems like it's watching you, like some giant multi-eyed creature from nightmares. I come here when I must, and I stay for as little time as possible.

Deke takes me to his friend's room. It's barely bigger than my pantry and sleeps four young men. His friend is curled up on a bunk, pale and drawn. He has a blanket draped across his midsection, but his visible skin is pale green scales.

I look at Deke, my eyes wide.

He shrugs.

What's his name? I whisper.

Deke whispers Jeaux, and his friend stirs.

Hi, Jeaux. You hungry?

Jeaux sits up, his stare vacant, eyes the same color as his scales, his shaggy blond hair covering one eye as he tilts his head to the side. He snakes a slender arm toward Deke, and Deke allows the embrace. Jeaux nods, his voice a whispery breeze. Yes, please.

I hand him a jar of bean paste, the lid already unscrewed.

He mumbles a thank you before scooping out a glob with his fingertips.

Deke kisses the top of Jeaux's head tenderly. Eat that, then get some rest, okay?

Jeaux nods, though his attention is on the jar, not Deke.

As we leave, I jab Deke in the chest. You didn't tell me he's that far gone. He won't survive on land much longer, Deke. You're better off putting him out to sea.

I promised his mother I'd look after him, Deke mutters. I can't do that if he swims off.

If you don't get him to stop eating fish, it'll be that or burning his corpse. How likely is it Bruder would make it a fish fry instead of a funeral pyre?

Deke sighs. We don't have enough to go around, Lemy. Too many people rely on Bruder for food, protection, everything these days.

He's right. Despite no babies born since the Wilt--mothers' wombs as barren as the soil outside--Bruder's numbers grow. It's hard