Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 7

They left. The door shut behind them, locking me in an underground tomb. Alone, with me, myself, and Alex’s asshole of a toxin to keep me company. The burning pain in my throat intensified, starting up a conversation I didn’t want to have.

  What happened to my I Wanna Live theory? Had I left it in the dark, damp alley, or with the guards I’d beaten? Guess so. Dying would be easier than this. Except, Sammie. I couldn’t give up on her.

  I twisted my head to the side. A tearing sensation ripped across my neck. Hot liquid oozed down to my collarbone. The bitter scent of rotting flesh—like bad breath, but worse—churned my stomach. I picked at the wound with my fingers. A sticky yellow substance streaked with red covered my fingertips.

  “Oh, blazes.” I wiped my neck again. More gunk ran down my shirt, soaking the fabric. Transfused blood couldn’t fix this. I’d have to cut out the source—the toxin settled into the wound.

  Or I could burn it out.

  Burn the wound. My toes curled from the idea.

  A knife lay a few feet away, tucked under a palette. Probably left behind by a careless Anemie. With leaden limbs, I dragged myself over to it and picked it up. Rust sprinkled the handle. Dried flecks of something green stuck to the blade. It hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Put that to my throat, and I’d give myself another hundred diseases.

  I dropped the knife and crawled to the shelves, using them as a ladder to climb to my feet. They held my weight. Starting with the row at chest level, I searched all the boxes, pawing through their contents like a raccoon scrounging through a garbage can. The sixth box held what I wanted—a metal rod, relatively clean linen, matches, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I set everything down on the floor and slouched over it. My fingers fumbled with the bottle cap. I squeezed more goop out of the wound—mother of eff, that hurt!—then poured half the bottle on my neck.

  A tense hiss escaped my mouth at the sting. I leaned over, pressing my forehead to the cool floor.

  When the pain subsided—scratch that, turned down half a quarter of a notch—I wrapped several strips of linen around the rod and soaked the tip in alcohol. After several deep breaths—puffing myself up with courage—I lit the rag, then let the initial flare subside. Once it burned at a slower rate, I slammed the towel against my neck. A scream rumbled from my chest and burst out of my throat in a harsh wail. I dropped the rod, hands refusing to comply with the self-torture any longer.

  I retreated to the pile of blankets and collapsed, moaning, wailing, crying, sobbing. If I focused on air going in and out of my lungs, I could distract myself from the hideous pain and nauseating dizziness.

  I’d accomplished one of two things: Either the toxin had been burned up, or I’d flooded my system with it.

  Beams of light flickered and grew brighter. At first, I thought my brain had invented a new trick—the ability to see in the dark. Zack and Martin’s concerned faces swam into focus. Zack hovered over me while Martin busied himself with adjusting the lanterns.

  “Justin, are you all right?” Zack’s swollen lip and deep gash across his chin said that he wasn’t.

  “Yeah. How ‘bout you?” My voice rasped, gravelly like the gritty burn in my neck.

  “Aw, hey, this is nothing. We only had to take down, what, four guys?” He shrugged like fighting for blood equated to picking wildflowers.

  “Four more than I would’ve liked,” Martin grunted, rubbing his elbow. His shirt was torn, as were his pants. He risked too much for me. I doubted it was because his NCAAR friend or friends made it easy.

  “Guards?” I asked.

  “Nah.” Zack plopped his hand on my forehead, not bothering to fully answer my question. “Hey, your fever’s gone.”

  Martin set a lantern by my head. “You sure?”

  I sat up and waited for the swirls to take over. They didn’t… too much.

  “What’s that smell?” Zach scrunched his nose, then pawed at the mess I’d left—a pile of my bloody, pus-stained shirt, the rags, the rod, alcohol, and matches. “Ugh, gross.”

  Martin let out a low whistle.

  “I had to get the infection out. I think some of the toxin stayed in the wound and the oozed slowly into my blood. That’s why the symptoms kept getting better and worse… and then worse and worse.”

  “Dude.” Zack stared, slack-jawed.

  Martin gave me a slight nod of respect. “Let’s get the transfusion going.”

  He opened his backpack and pulled out a pint of blood, IV tubing, and a needle. He set everything up with the confidence of an expert. The guy couldn’t be too much older than me, but he knew so much more. My stomach tightened. Had NCAAR helped him that much? Or had I wasted my time avoiding everyone and missed out on alliances and knowledge? Things had been different before Dad died. In a lot of ways, he’d left Sammie and me ignorant. Okay, so I could read and use big words sometimes, but what I knew was wrong. Vie didn’t kill all Anemies. Vie drank Anemie blood. NCAAR gave real food. And shelter. To some.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.” I folded my arms.

  I’d never needed a transfusion before. I’d considered myself lucky. Blood wasn’t easy to come by and you couldn’t be sure if it was clean or not.

  “Don’t be a baby.” Martin held out his hand, the coldness of his smile reminding me of a Vie’s, if only for a second.

  I shoved the thought down and returned his stare. The ice in his eyes had melted. Must have imagined it. “How did you get this stuff? Put an order in at NCAAR headquarters?”

  “Does it matter? The fact is, I got it, and that’s all you need to know.” He stuck the needle in my vein and connected the tubing to a pump.

  Zack taped it in place… with way too much tape. It’d take an hour to peel off later.

  “Why is it a secret?” I asked when it was clear neither of them wanted to answer. The amount of unanswered questions would fill an entire warehouse if we kept this up.

  Martin turned on the pump. The bag dripped steadily. Plop, plop, plop, plop, plop.

  “How about you say thank you instead of interrogating me? We could save this pint for someone who’ll appreciate it.” He put me in my place.

  I ducked my head to prove it. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Zack snort-laughed.

  “And thank you,” I added.

  Martin said, “You’re welcome. I know it’s not easy. Helping each other out isn’t the norm, but that’s what we try to do here. Give it time. It won’t feel so weird after a while.”

  Always give thanks where thanks was due. Maybe soon I’d get to meet some NCAAR members and thank them.

  Year 75, Month 5, Day 20, night

  wenty Anemies sat in a circle on the concrete floor. Before they’d arrived, I’d helped Zack drag a mat to the center of the room. Go me! The three of us sat on the thin cushion, Martin to my left and Zack on my right.

  I shivered, regardless of the three layers of socks, a pair of sneakers, and two blankets I wrapped myself in, all salvaged from the cardboard boxes Zack had pointed out earlier. He’d repeated everyone shared items, which made me feel only slightly less guilty. Who was I to question and who was I to refuse charity? I’d accepted food and water pellets, donated by the NCAAR, distributed by their human slaves. This wasn’t any different. Right?

  Except Sammie wasn’t here for her share, and if anyone deserved real food, real shoes, a toy, it was her.

  “Where’d all these kids come from?” I whispered to Zack.

  “Shh.” Zack stared at Martin, rapt, like the others.

  Okay, so Martin had saved my life, or at least put off death for a while, but being overly infatuated with someone was dangerous. It left you blind to their faults like I had been with Dad. Then he’d gotten killed, and Sammie and I had to fend for ourselves, practically helpless.

  Martin stood. He pulled a rectangular pamphlet from his bag and unfolded it. The Book of Vie. A sticker on the bottom corner read: A Gift from NCAAR.

  Put too much faith in one thing and it’
ll end up disappointing you.

  Martin read, “In the days where the lowly starve, one will be born among them with the power to release them from the eternus victus.”

  “The Bringer of Death will free the living,” the group replied.

  I sat straight. What the bleeding hell was going on? Martin led the group in a responsive reading? No. Way. These kids—who’d no doubt seen the raw power of Vie—couldn’t seriously believe humans would someday overthrow them. Especially when the pamphlet was written and distributed by Vie themselves.

  Martin closed the book and sat. “Members. We have a new recruit. Please welcome Justin. Then we can take turns introducing ourselves.”

  “Whoa, whoa, hold on.” I put my hands up to interrupt. Despite the medicine and blood, the tingling in my fingers remained, an ever-present reminder of Alex’s bite. “I’m not a recruit.”

  Martin waved my comment away dismissively then gestured to a kid sitting across the circle from him. “Ben, why don’t you start us off?”

  “But—” I shifted out of Martin’s shadow, but it stretched too far.

  His presence was that large.

  Zack tugged my sleeve. He shook his head, eyes wide.

  I glanced at the door. My most recent wave of fever had passed, but my muscles still ached, and my heart hadn’t calmed yet. Never mind the constant burning and gnawing in my neck where Alex had bitten me. And the tingling in my hands and feet. I wasn’t physically ready to leave this place, no matter how much I might want to.

  Ben recited his name then told me how he met the gang. A stolen apple earned him a beating from a guard. Death by baton—until Martin came along with three other kids. Outnumbered, the guard lost the fight.

  Then Anna, Ben’s girlfriend, spoke, describing how Ben saved her from being run over by a distribution truck as it sped away from an uncontrollable Anemie crowd. Her eyes sparked with admiration for him.

  After her, each member took their turn, telling his or her story. The whole thing sounded like a lot of scared little kids doing their best to sound brave. No one had surviving parents, all had lost at least one family member in a Vie raid, and everybody knew what it was like to beg for leftover food and water pellets from entitled slaves.

  Martin rescued each and every one.

  No one mentioned Martin’s NCAAR benefactor, a mutual blind spot of everyone here.

  “You gonna share your story, or not?” Anna pointed at me with a delicate hand. Her cheeks were hollow and her lips cracked from dehydration. Probably too much time away from Martin and his miraculously appearing supplies.

  I didn’t blame her mistrust of me; I just didn’t know what to say. So obviously I stalled by clearing my throat.

  “I…”

  “We told him about ourselves,” Anna pressed. “He knows our secrets.”

  “Ease off, Anna,” Zack warned.

  I rested an elbow on his shoulder, all calm and confident. Actually, all fake calm and confident. “It’s all right, Zack. What, exactly, would you like to know, Anna?” I used her name on purpose, a bridge to connect with her. Something Dad had taught me.

  Her eyes darted away. She wasn’t interested in crossing or meeting me in the middle or even taking one step closer.

  “Tell us your story.” Zack elbowed me, hitting me in the ribs to dislodge me from him.

  Since we started this little cult-like meeting, I’d sat on unstable ground. Outnumbered. Weakened from Vie toxin. Coerced to stay. “Well, uh, really, it’s no different from any of yours.”

  “It’s way different, man. None of us have survived a bite before.” Martin’s mouth warped into a smile, but his eyes remained sharp.

  Message received. Resisting or throwing a kink in his perfect persona and I’d find trouble—in the form of Martin, a one-man powerhouse with the proof of bragging rights stacked on the shelves and coursing in my bloodstream. The second message hiding behind his straight teeth: I totally, completely, one hundred percent owed him.

  Didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him. “It’s only because you gave me blood. How did you get it anyway?”

  His smile faltered. “Tell us first how you escaped the Vie raid.”

  His play worked. The room quieted so much I thought my head would implode. Everyone scooted closer and twenty pairs of eyes zeroed in on me.

  “Yeah, well, uh… Alex, he—”

  “Tell them who Alex is,” Zack interrupted.

  Martin shushed him. “Let him talk.”

  “Alex is the Vie who kidnapped my sister, Sammie. He bit her, and I staked him—”

  “You staked him?” Martin’s voice raised an octave.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. “It didn’t work. He lived.”

  No one interrupted while I spoke. These prophecy followers latched onto my story like the dirt sticking under their fingernails. Good thing I stuck to the short version, the one without the really wild parts. Like, I totally left out the part where Alex acted higher than a flying bird and the part where Alex said he was taking Sammie and wanted me to find him. Honestly, there wasn’t much to say after I omitted all that. It didn’t matter. Even with what little I said the questions started almost immediately after I finished.

  “I thought they didn’t drink from us,” Anna said.

  “How did you escape without the Vie trancing you?” Ben asked.

  “Isn’t the toxin fatal?” Anna followed up.

  “Where’s your sister?” Martin caught a hole in my story and struck the most painful nerve.

  “Like I said, Alex took her,” I said.

  His gaze darkened. He fiddled with The Book of Vie pamphlet, rubbing the cover, deep in thought.

  “Blazes. Why?” Anna tucked a strand of greasy brown hair behind her ear.

  “They have some use for us after all,” I replied. Maybe they did need to hear some of the truth. Something I could offer them, free of charge. No returns allowed, though. Truth was non-refundable once you bought it.

  The other kids murmured, casting worried glances at one another and catching me in their sticky web.

  Ben asked, “What could they want with us?”

  “Is that everything that happened on the rooftop?” Martin changed the subject before I could explain the our-blood-is-a-drug part.

  I shrugged, tired of lying, tired of repeating myself.

  Anna stood. “People don’t just walk away from Vie, and Vie certainly don’t forget to trance people. It just happens. Which means…”

  Ben grabbed her hand. “Were you able to refuse his orders?”

  Zack whistled as realization dawned on him. “Whoa.”

  This cockroach of an interrogation required a huge, steel-toed boot to squash. They should be focusing on Vie, not me.

  “Guys, come on. You can’t think…” I rub my forehead like it’ll clear my mind, erase what they’re saying.

  So what if I could refuse Alex? He had told me to surrender, and I’d said no. Big deal. He had to be the one with something wrong, not me. Maybe drinking Sammie’s blood weakened him somehow and my staking him definitely affected him. I couldn’t be immune to his trance. Like Anna said, it happened automatically.

  “Have you read this?” Martin flipped the pamphlet over in his hands.

  Too many times. Dad taught me how to read from that book. He believed in it. He’d died because of it. “Yeah, but—”

  “Then you know.” Zack smiled. Why was he happy about absolutely everything?

  “No, I—”

  They couldn’t possibly be serious. They couldn’t really think The Book of Vie spoke truth.

  “The one to release us from the eternus victus will be immune to their powers.” His smile widened.

  My throat went dry. Delusional. They were all delusional. “This is ridiculous.”

  Ben jutted his chin at me. “Your story sounds ridiculous.”

  At least I could count on Ben’s suspicion of me, even if it was for the wrong reasons. If I could somehow spin his si
ghts on Martin, get him to start questioning his motives instead of mine, then perhaps the others would listen and stop this nonsense.

  Anna put a hand on his wrist.

  Zack pointed his finger. “I got no reason to doubt his story, Ben. So maybe you should just shut up.”

  The other kids murmured in agreement.

  I curled my fingers into fists, frustrated. No point in trying to convince this crowd. They so easily believed something false that they wouldn’t recognize fact if it bit them in the neck with toxin-tainted fangs.

  Martin watched, expressionless and silent. Bet he wanted to see how this played out before acting. Smart. Dad used to do the same thing. I never had his patience, always eager to move before it was my turn.

  I made it to my feet, tremulous and wobbly. “Enough already. Ben’s right. He’s got no reason to trust me. None of you do. Besides, The Book Of Vie, it’s…” It’s what got my father killed.

  “We see the marks on your neck. We see you in front of us, alive, when you should be dead. You staked a Vie. You survived the bite. It matches verses in the book,” Martin argued, swinging the pendulum backward so fast my head spun.

  Another round of nods trickled through the crowd.

  Did he believe in The Book of Vie or did he hide behind it like the NCAAR hid behind him, using blind faith as a means of control?

  Ben stood and folded his arms, a rebel within his own group. “Show us the stake. I want to see Vie blood on it.”

  His dark eyes burned with contempt. He had no idea that he put himself in a dangerous position with Martin. I admired his bravery and cringed at his foolishness. The group was pretty cohesive, almost thinking as one, and too much opposition could get him kicked out.

  “Fine.” I stood and pulled the stake from my pocket.

  Vie blood—oxidized to an orangey-rust color—sparkled in the lanterns. Our oxygenized atmosphere crystalized the blood on contact, creating a tightly sealed clot. Cell damage itself triggered a bunch of reparative enzymes that worked much faster than our own. Thanks to evolution millions of years more advanced than ours. Dad had explained it all, but I still didn’t really get it.

  Ben’s jaw went slack.