Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Read online

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  © 2016 Laura Diamond

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  ISBN 978-1-62007-401-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-405-3 (paperback)

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  This book is dedicated to second chances.

  With their glorious Arrival, immortal Vie inherited the earth to rule with absolute power. Enslaved mortals, tormented by their bloodthirsty masters, abandoned hope and bore the yoke of submission without protest. The lowest of the low, the outcasts among outcasts, begged for mercy, but the immortals denied them. Then one day a mortal was born among them with the power to break the curse, free all mortals, and bring the gift of death.

  —The Book of Vie, Author Anonymous

  New City, Year 75 A.L. (After Landing), Month 5, Day 17, late afternoon

  hated afternoons the most. Soon after came darkness—the time when a raiding squad could snatch you out of bed and drain all the blood from your body. It was amazing that any Anemies survived with the extermination campaign ridding the world of us red blood cell-deficient freaks.

  I gently squeezed my sister’s hand to make sure she kept up. Dirt caked under her fingernails like it caked under mine. The cuff of her torn sleeve had stains like mine. Her pant cuffs were rolled up six times… also like mine. A younger version of me—mouthiness and all—in girl form. Unlike me, Sammie tended to dawdle, and since we held onto the last rung of the society ladder by the tips of our fingers, giving in to distraction could get us hurt—or killed.

  My gaze jumped to the pale, indifferent sky then jittered to the partially constructed biodome edge as I walked. Large, clear panels filled the metal framework in a beehive of hexagons. Eventually, the damn thing would cover the entire city, including the river surrounding the island and part of the ocean capping the south side. The project had been progressing since before I was born.

  Once the construction workers completed the biodome, Vie wouldn’t have to fear the destructive UV rays of our sun and could wander freely during the day. We’d have no safe period whatsoever. Vie could get us any time.

  As soon as that thought entered my mind, I snapped my attention to the cracked sidewalk. More Anemies than usual filled the streets today, and I needed to be on high alert. At noon, we’d compete for the rations served by tranced human slaves. Most Vie wanted Anemies extinct, but the New City Association for Anemie Rights—NCAAR—fought for us. And by fighting for us, I meant they gave us nearly rotten leftovers, lab-made food, and water pellets. Vie members of the NCAAR—who somehow remained anonymous in spite of everyone knowing what the organization did—knew we Anemies kept on the move and we didn’t carry much with us, so they designed food and water pellets to fit in our pockets. The pellets also lasted a week or more, depending on how strictly you rationed them.

  I snorted. Vie had no idea what it was like to look up, down, left, right, ahead, behind, sideways all the time and all at once. They couldn’t comprehend fearing the vulnerability of sleep (yes, I’ve fallen asleep with my eyes open; Sammie screeched, thinking I’d died). The sensation of constant hunger never tortured them. As advanced beings, they’d evolved past such things.

  “What’s so funny, Justin?” Sammie’s little voice barely carried over the growing crowd. She tugged my arm, the force of it little more than the peck of a baby pigeon’s beak.

  “Nothing, just something stuck in my throat.” I craned my neck, searching for a safe place for Sammie to wait.

  She’d be trampled if I dragged her along with me into the mess of emaciated, dirty bodies.

  About half a block away stood a three-story row house with wide, concrete stairs. The bricks had crumbled in sections, and large cracks fissured along the mortar. Vie construction efforts would move north at some point to smash this and other buildings down and replace them with gleaming skyscrapers. For now, the northern section of New City slowly yielded to ruin.

  Soon after their Arrival, Vie had destroyed the outer boroughs, torching houses, buildings—whatever humans had constructed. They called it part of their Cleansing. Forests had grown up in those once-urban areas. I longed to return there. To be free of terror. To be free of Vie. Then I reminded myself it would never be true. They’d moved in and taken over, reshaping the world into their vision of perfection.

  I guided Sammie to the steps. “Stand on the top one.”

  I fished a finger and thumb in my shirt pocket and yanked out a whistle attached to a string. Fixing it around her neck, I pointed the mouthpiece to her lips.

  “Blow if anyone comes at you,” I said.

  “I know.” Her little fingers eclipsed the body of it.

  I kissed her forehead, smack dab on the tiny heart-shaped birthmark sitting above her left eyebrow, like Dad used to. When I let go, she tapped my nose with her index finger and giggled. It was our ritual. Every time we parted, we had to say goodbye, uncertain if we’d be reunited.

  Not that I ever strayed more than a few feet from her.

  People started shouting as soon as the distribution truck came into view.

  A large semi rambled along the street, the letters N-C-A-A-R painted on its side. Air brakes screeched as the vehicle stopped about thirty yards away. Dank exhaust fumes overwhelmed the small block. My throat burned from the caustic gas, and I swallowed memories of fire and burnt flesh.

  With a deep breath, I joined the throng of Anemies already crowding the truck’s rear, elbowing and shoving my way along. I’d promised Sammie some real food this time, and she’d pitch a fit if I didn’t follow through.

  A stupid promise… and one I couldn’t fully guarantee.

  The trailer door trundled up and a pair of slaves, dressed in their crisp, blue-gray jumpsuits held up their hands in unison to shush everyone. The yelps and cries lowered to a tense murmur. Hunger—even for salty, bitter pellets—trumped order.

  The blond one on the right barked out instructions. “Those of you under age ten, move to the front, please.”

  A moment’s hesitation and a wall of bodies propelled me forward. Caught in a wave of starvation, I used the momentum to hurtle ahead and slipped past a row of kids my age, and then another much younger group.

  Our combined stench could singe off eyebrows; showers were hard to come by. I breathed through my mouth.

  “My sister, she’s only five!” I stretched my arms high in the air, well over the heads of the kids in front of me.

  Fists pummeled my back, along with protests, but I ignored them. This was about getting food for Sammie.

  The blond slave smiled curtly and plopped two food pellets and two water pellets in my palm then turned to the next kid, his forehead glistening with sweat. I closed my hand into a fist to keep the others from snatching the pellets away and drew my hand to my chest.

  “What about the fresh food?” I yelled over the cries of starving Anemies wanting their share.

  Since the distribution had started, the crowd dissolved into frenzy. I risked getting crushed into the trailer’s frame if
I didn’t get the heck out of there, but I’d made a promise.

  “Move on. You’re not the only one wanting pellets,” the blond slave snapped. “Be glad we gave you two.” He ran a hand over his slicked hair.

  His partner frowned and waved me on with a flick of his wrist, reminding me of my place—beneath him.

  “Get out of here,” he said, shooing me away like I was a mangy dog.

  Vie considered all mortals less than, and Anemies were less than less than, clearly something this slave bought into. Guess he forgot all mortals were disposable, and he had no immunity to that.

  I peered inside the trailer. Boxes upon boxes lined both sides, half labeled Food Pellets and half labeled Water Pellets. No bruised apples or brown bananas. No leftovers. No stale bread.

  Another surge of beating arms and shouts assaulted me. Done, I sidestepped toward the sidewalk and Sammie.

  Clear of the group, I shoved the pellets in my left pocket. A stake—to be used on Vie when no other option, like running, was available—stayed tucked in my right pocket. Killing a Vie was impossible unless their hearts were obliterated or their heads lopped off, and no one got close enough to do either. It had something to do with an ultra-fast ability to heal coupled with a double nervous system and an evolutionarily advanced circulatory system. Still, it felt good to have some kind of defense. Or at least the illusion of it.

  I waved Sammie over. Her feet slapped on the concrete as she hopped down the steps, yanking the whistle off at the same time. She absolutely refused to carry it when we were together, no matter how many times I begged. I collected the whistle and hefted her in my arms for a quick exit.

  Sammie hated being carried—she was a strongly-opinionated child—and only tolerated it after a distribution. After passing Sixtieth Street—two blocks—she squirmed uncontrollably.

  “Put me down. I wanna walk.” Her fingers curled around my tattered collar. “Justin!”

  Kneeling so her feet could touch the ground, I said, “Okay. Feet, meet Ground. Ground, meet Feet.”

  She giggled. “Where’s my present?” Her dark eyes widened expectantly as she bounced on her toes.

  I drew in a deep breath. “I… uh…”

  She stopped bouncing. The smile faded.

  “They didn’t have any real food this time.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You promised.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe next time they’ll have something.”

  Tears welled.

  Crap.

  A shout came from behind. “Hey! You!”

  I whirled, blocking Sammie from whoever called. A tall kid—over six feet—jogged toward us. His shaved head gleamed. Several red pimples dotted his face, dark bruises banded his eyes, and a deep cut split his upper lip. Crusted blood filled the wound—not too fresh, not too old. Even his nose bent at an odd angle. The kid was one hundred percent trouble. I widened my stance, placing one foot slightly behind the other and held his gaze.

  “Give me your pellets.” He halted within punching distance.

  I retreated one step. Enough for a buffer, but not so much as to give away my fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” First rule of fighting: start with denial.

  He matched my step. “I’m not asking for your pellets. I’m telling you. Give. Now.”

  If I got a good swing at his nose, he’d go down quick. “No.”

  He grinned, cocking his head to the side. “What did you say?”

  “Go pick on someone else.”

  “You’re a sludge brain, aren’t you?” He stuck his tongue in the gap where a front tooth should have been.

  His wide punch gave me enough time to block with my left arm and lob my right fist at his face.

  Contact! Yeah!

  He dropped to his knees, wailing and cradling his now doubly-busted nose with his hands.

  “Come on, Sammie, let’s—” I turned to find two more kids, all with shaved heads, staring at me with their arms crossed over their chests.

  I couldn’t take three, that is, if Toothless got himself together.

  “Run!” I shoved the whistle at her.

  “No, Justin!” Her scream mixed with the smug laughter one of the kids. She stumbled a couple steps, primed tears escaping to race down her cheeks.

  “Go on.” I pushed her again, shoving the whistle in her palm, eye contact locked on the guys.

  Sammie, please just go. We’d practiced this so many times. Run away from a fight and meet up somewhere safe later.

  “No. I’m not leaving you.” She hiccupped the words, caught in sobs.

  “The little chica is braver than you,” Toothless said, circling my right side, cradling his nose with a hand.

  I squared my stance. “All you guys want broken noses, then? I can do that for you. No charge.”

  Second rule of fighting: use fake bravado when denial fails.

  “Pass. And don’t worry. Once we’re done with you, we’ll take good care of her.” Another slick smile, all grease and oil.

  I curled my fingers into fists. “And do what?”

  “Sell her,” he replied with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing.

  My stomach plummeted.

  Toothless’ two sidekicks moved in, already drawing their arms to swing. They had the same wide arc.

  I dodged the first fist only to be hit in the ribs by the second. Covering my head with my arms, I bent my knees and pitched a kick at the left kid’s groin. He grunted and collapsed.

  I launched from my heels and slammed my shoulder into the other kid, knocking both of us over. Then I grabbed his skull with both hands, lifted, and smacked in on the concrete—not once, but twice.

  Rolling off him, I prepared to defend myself from Toothless, who had to be making a move soon.

  He was gone. His “move” was to disappear…

  I whirled, scanning the street.

  …with Sammie. “No, no, no, no!” I wailed.

  The whistle’s high pitch bleated, followed closely by a squeaky, “Justin!”

  I blasted around the corner. Toothless carried Sammie over his shoulder. She beat him with her little fists, screaming all the way. He ran fast.

  I chased them full tilt, a sharp tightness stabbing my ribs. A growl escaped my throat as I plowed into him and we all collapsed to the ground. Shoving a knee into his backbone, I twisted his neck enough to show I’d have no trouble snapping it.

  “Sammie, are you all right?” I barked.

  She sat up, cheeks streaked with tears and dirt. “Y-yes.”

  “Go to the end of the block and wait for me.”

  Without arguing—for once—she jumped to her feet, turned, and ran.

  “Who are you selling kids to? And why?” I torqued Toothless’ neck a little more.

  “Why should I tell you?” He bucked. Not too hard, considering I was treating his spine like it was made of rubber.

  I jabbed him in the kidney with my knee. “Because I’m asking nicely.”

  “Eff. Off.”

  I gritted my teeth. Every passing second, Sammie got farther away. I couldn’t leave her alone too long wasting time on Toothless here.

  “Don’t bother us again.” I high-fived the sidewalk with his face. Not gonna lie, it felt good.

  Third rule of fighting: make sure your adversary can’t get up when you’re done.

  I scrambled off him, checked to make sure the others weren’t following, and rushed to Sammie.

  She stood around the corner, whistle in her mouth, hair tousled, with fresh holes in the knees of her pants. I’d have to check how bad she’d scraped them up. Clean them good if she had open wounds. We couldn’t afford an infection, especially since we didn’t have any treatment.

  Poor kid.

  “Justin,” she said.

  I scooped her into my arms. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

  She nestled against my neck. “Carry me.”

  “Always.”

  rubbed the bruises blossoming on my knuckl
es as we walked, wishing Sammie didn’t have to watch me pummel those guys. Lucky for her, her knees were bruised, but the skin remained intact. Lucky for both of us, we walked away from the fight. Toothless and his gang could’ve left us starving, injured, or worse, dead. It didn’t make sense, Anemies willing to kill other Anemies. I mean, we competed for food and shelter, sure, but even that didn’t make sense. And selling Anemies? Why? To who? We should fight Vie, not each other.

  “Justin, I’m hungry,” Sammie squeaked, tugging at my shirttail. She hadn’t mentioned the fight, as if she’d already blocked it out. There wasn’t anything to say anyway.

  “Me too.”

  My stomach growled, and I rubbed my belly to quiet it. Hunger, the only constant in our lives. The scientist who came up with the idea of food pellets and water pellets substituting real food must have enjoyed making people suffer. Sucking on a sawdust-flavored pill never satisfied. Vie didn’t need food, only blood, so what did they know?

  I missed eating real food. Sun-ripened blackberries, venison, fresh bread, milk. If only Dad hadn’t blown it. He thought peace with Vie was possible, was our only way to survive in the new world they created. But they proved him wrong. Now he was dead, along with Mom, and Sammie and I were on our own.

  Sammie stopped short. “I want some pellet.”

  Her refusal to keep walking meant only one thing. I could expect a full on cry fest in 3… 2…

  I turned in time to see her eyes fill with tears and her chin quiver. Rather than give her a fresh pellet, I pulled a well-chewed pellet from my pocket and handed it to her. We’d save the new ones for later. “Make it last.”

  She popped it into her mouth. Sucking noises sounded infinitely better than wails. I clasped her hand in mine, holding her so tight that my knuckles went white, and led her to an abandoned building at the end of the block. Two stories high and covered in dead ivy, the place stuck out like an oozing boil on an otherwise perfect face. A name was carved over the entrance: East Manhattan Charter School. Dad talked about schools. They closed before I was born, so he took it upon himself to teach me math and reading and even some writing.