The Offering
The Offering
By E.R. Arroyo
Book Two of The Sovereign Series
Copyrights & Credits
Copyright © 2013 E.R. Arroyo
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Credits:
Cover Photography by Todd Yandell
Cover by Todd Yandell & Najla Qamber
Cover Model - Nicole Fancher
Dedication
To the savages I know and love…
My brothers and sisters.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright & Credits
Dedication
Contents
Preface
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Links & Back Ad
Excerpt from Transgression
Preface
War seems to be a constant in humanity. We fight for things like justice, equality, and freedom. But I hoped somewhere in the process I would find peace. And I thought I could, right up until the night I pulled the trigger over and over. Right up until I dug my knife into human flesh. Until I walked away from battle with blood on my hands feeling more tormented than when I’d arrived. The adrenaline tricked me into thinking I had won. But I had lost. Too bad freedom isn’t free.
Chapter One
The pipes squeal as I twist the shower knob. Waiting for the water to turn warm, I listen to it drawing from somewhere deep within the earth. Before the flow evens out the water sputters and renders a loud thump that startles me. I wasn’t this jumpy before. I wasn’t this broken either.
I thought fighting for honorable reasons would make my sorrow cease to exist, or at least make it bearable, but sorrow is all I know now.
Steam fills the room while I’m hit by a barrage of faces flashing in my mind like a volley of arrows, soaring high only to come down on me, piercing my heart. I thought rescuing so many people would make the sacrifices worth the loss. Titus, Vance, Alyssa, Twig. My father. Probably my caretaker Ginny too. I never found her that night. I searched every face for hers but never saw it.
Staring into a dingy old mirror, I realize I’m still searching for her face, but it’s my father’s face I see. When the steam takes over the glass, he and I both fade from view. I shed my clothes the way I wish to shed these memories, but they’re still with me when I step into the shower and allow the hot water to sear my skin. I’m grateful for the heat because it soothes my sore muscles.
I wonder—shouldn’t I be happy, at least to some small degree? After all, we won the fight. Saved the day. Now here we all are in Mercy no longer anyone’s captive, but still struggling to feel free.
Mercy has been good to us, but I still feel like a displaced orphan. Antius was little more than a prison to me for ten years, but it’s the only home I remember. I never fit in there either. The only true sense of belonging I’ve ever felt has been in my relationship with Dylan. Nothing can change that.
The water pours over my scalp and drips down my face. I know I should hurry because the water won’t stay hot for long. But I can’t bring myself to move just yet so I stare at the cracked, once-white shower tiles. They remind me of the shattered mine bot that would’ve ruined the entire rescue had I not risked my life to destroy it. My fingers drift instinctively to the mangled flesh on my chest, to the wound patterns that perfectly match the old scars from my first encounter with a mine.
Before I even begin to clean myself, the water temperature drops a little. I attempt to lather my hair but my effort is half-hearted at best. I stare at my hands, covered in soap, wondering if I should be ashamed of the things I’ve done with them. Of the lives I’ve taken. Disgusted with myself, I scrub my body top to bottom trying to wash away the guilt.
After I’m done, I stare into the drain as the cold water attempts to pull the suds down, but for a moment the froth turns red, the water now the color of blood. I gasp, shut off the valve, and squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for the image to pass. As water drips down my back sending a cold chill across my skin, I wipe my face and reach for my towel.
Minutes later I get dressed in my only outfit and limp outside to the lawn to stand in line for breakfast with the others. Most of the colony’s buildings are arranged along the fences, leaving an open space in the center where they’ve set out tables of food. The people in line grab what they need and move on, finding places to sit outside. When I’d passed the dining hall on my way out here the tables were full.
Mercy is bustling with all the kids and teenagers we rescued. Still suffering withdrawals, the women are holed up in the makeshift hospital. Dylan and I tried our best to advise the medical team based on our experience from when he was coming off his meds, but I’m pretty sure they figured it out on their own.
It’s warm and bright outside, a stark contrast to the dim shower stall which lent itself perfectly to the wallowing I did while in there. I tip my head back a little hoping I can hold onto the light. Somehow overcome my own despair.
“You forgot something,” a deep voice booms over my shoulder. I can’t help but grin as I turn to meet Dylan’s caring gaze. Before I can fully appreciate his easy smile he thrusts a pair of crutches into my hands and points to the line that’s moving without me. A kid looks around Dylan’s shoulder to see if I’m going to move up or not.
I narrow my eyes at Dylan as I draw the crutches under my arms. I turn on my heel and hobble forward hating every moment of using these dreadful things. I can’t imagine they’re doing any good. I left them behind on purpose. Dylan knows that. Obviously.
“How are you? Did you sleep okay?” he whispers. I spent the night in my father’s bed. The colony let me have his room but I didn’t sleep much.
“I’m fine.”
Dylan rubs his hand over my shoulder in that comforting way he often does, returning some of the warmth to my skin.
When we finally reach the table laid out with a small selection of food, I grab a plate and take a piece of bread and some meat. Dylan takes my plate and his own, making a path for me through the crowd.
Just as we find a spot outside to sit Max appears, worry drawing lines across his forehead and tugging at the corners of his eyes. Not only did he share the loss of my father, his good friend, but he’s also the military commander of Mercy’s troops and suffered even more losses than I did.
I wonder if Max spent the last two nights in mourning. I haven’t seen much of him since we came back, but he did help me to my father’s room when I was released after my surgery. He refused to let Dylan assist me since Dylan is technically injured too. Much to Dylan’s dismay.
“How you feeling?” Max asks me.
I grunt, “I’m fine.”
He almost smiles at my annoyance. “The leaders are convening this afternoon. I’d like you to be there to deliver the news of your father. If you’re able.”
“Why are they convening?” I ask.
Max shifts his weight as he crosses his arms. “Debriefing, more or less. And we need a game plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“For evacuation. We can’t stay here. Antius knows Mercy’s location. Our citizens will be safer in another colony.”
I look at Dylan, gauging his expression, but I don’t know what to make of it so I turn back to Max shaking my head. “I didn’t realize…”
“We knew the risk.”
I wriggle my bare feet in the grass, contemplating how I’d wanted this place to feel like home only for it to become a fleeting notion.
Max pats my shoulder, “I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”
Dylan helps me to the ground. Sitting beside me, he hands me my plate. I mumble over a mouthful of bread, “Why do I have to tell them?”
“Because you were there.” Dylan’s eyes are sympathetic and I love him for it, but I don’t need pity. Especially not from him. I look away, my cheeks getting warm.
The grass in front of me blurs while I focus on nothing, my throat growing tight as I dread reliving my father’s final moments. Dread saying it out loud.
“Eat up,” Dylan tells me.
“I’d like to check on the women.”
Dylan’s hand glides over my cheek as he turns my face to his. “She’s not there, Cori. I’ve looked twice.”
I stare into his eyes, emerald pools against his dark olive skin. I hold his gaze for the longest time, something I’d not been able to do only weeks ago. I’m sure he can see my agony but I fight the urge to look away, breathing heavily. His brows are drawn in, worried, as he considers me, but he relaxes his features. I breathe easier as soon as I see a hint of a smile.
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” he asks, changing the subject. Thankfully.
“Because no one can make me wear them—not anymore. I can go barefoot if I want to.”
He grins. “You could go naked if you wanted, but I don’t think you should.”
I pick a blade of grass and rub it between my fingers thinking of other things I could choose to do. Maybe I can find a big field and stay a while. Just Dylan and me. I could let my hair down to blow in the wind alongside tall blades of wild grass. Or I could even kiss Dylan right here in front of all these people, something that was forbidden when we were growing up in Antius. Seriously considering it, I start to lean in.
“Eat,” he demands again.
I still don’t like being told what to do.
“Cori!” a young voice calls. A smile takes over my face as my old prison-mate pushes his way through the crowd. Pete throws himself to his knees and wraps his arms around my neck.
“You’re okay! It’s good to see you.” I pat his back, bewildered that he’s so affectionate so soon after leaving Antius—the home of the no-touch society. Then again, Pete never bought into their rules thus the nights he spent in jail.
He sits back on his heels beaming a smile so bright it warms me just enough to not fully regret our rescue mission. When I think of kids like Pete, I know everything we did was worth it.
Someone whispers nearby and two sets of young eyes peer at Pete with shock, no doubt just as surprised with his display of affection as I’d been. They’ve grown up with certain beliefs and it will take time for them to accept a different way of life.
I force a smile to comfort them and though apprehensive they come to us. Two boys a little younger than Pete, both brown-headed, one green-eyed, one blue like Tyce. I bite my lip trying to ignore the building tension in my chest.
The boys sit cautiously on the ground beside Pete.
“Guys, this is Cori. Cori, that’s Collin,” Pete says, pointing to the green-eyed one. “And that’s Sammy.”
“Hi.” I smile, hoping to set them at ease. Before our rescue mission, it hadn’t occurred to me how difficult it would be for everyone to transition to a new lifestyle. I read a book once that said people held captive often learn to care for their captors and grow comfortable in their captivity. I hope the people we rescued come to embrace their new lives.
The boys don’t speak—they just watch Pete and nibble on some bread they’ve carried over. I don’t know what else to say so we all eat in silence and I share my bread with Pete for old times’ sake.
After breakfast I hobble to the medical space with Dylan constantly at arm’s length helping me—opening doors and shooing people from my path. Standing by the entrance to the gray cinderblock building, I can tell he doesn’t want me to go in but he knows I’ll do it with or without him.
The room that was filled two days ago with bleeding and dying soldiers in the aftermath of battle is now packed with sick, exhausted women suffering through withdrawals. As soon as I walk in I wish I hadn’t. Overwhelmed, I scan the room from one side to the other, my eyes wide and moist. Women are strewn across cots, chairs, and even the floor.
The lady directly to my left is curled up into a fetal position in her bed, covered in sweat, her face pale and tired. Every five seconds or so, a tremor shakes her body. Next to her cot another woman lies with her face on the concrete floor and a hand over her belly, looking just as sick as the other.
A few beds down, another woman jerks up and tries to rush somewhere but doesn’t get five paces before vomiting.
I look up to Dylan, whose eyes are so filled with empathy I almost mistake it for his own pain. “Why are they still sick?”
“I’m not sure,” he says.
“Your withdrawal only lasted a day,” I whisper.
He rubs his hand across my back, his eyebrows pulled together. “Maybe because they were on the meds longer.” Unsure, he shrugs, his lips pursed.
Farther in the room, some of the women look much better off. However, even the ones that aren’t convulsing or vomiting still look feverish and pale.
Karen walks in from the far end. She has a cloth over her mouth and nose but she lights up when our eyes meet. I haven’t seen her since before the mission. We keep missing each other and she has her hands full.
“Cori, hi.” She glances at Dylan too.
Silence grows between the three of us and I can’t tell if she just has nothing to say or if she’s struggling to decide what she might. I clear my throat and try to shift my weight. Dylan grips my waist to support me. Apparently forcing me to use crutches isn’t enough.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit you,” she says softly.
I glance around the room. “You’ve been busy. How are they?”
“No, no. Tell me how you are, hun.” She guides us back toward the entrance.
“Honestly? I’m a little tired of being asked how I’m doing,” I joke, and she laughs once. “I’m fine, Karen. Thank you.”
Dylan and Karen exchange a look when we reach the door. I don’t know what to make of it so I pretend not to see.
“I have to speak to the—”
“Cori… I’m so sorry.” I finally notice her eyes are tearing up. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Oh,” I manage, fighting back my own tears. I don’t want to cry anymore. “Me too,” I mumble. “Is there anything I can do here?”
“No, no. Just rest,” she says.
As soon as I put my hand on the door, Dylan jumps to take over, pushing it all the way open while I pass through. Ever since we got out of recovery he’s been in tune with my every move, jumping to help. I’m too tired to be stubborn, so I let him. I don’t dare venture another glance at Karen’s crying eyes. I don’t want to think about her tears or anyone else’s. Especially not the ones I’m responsible for.
“I’ll catch up with you later, Karen,” I call over my shoulder. As I whip my head back around to see where I’m going I almost bump into Max.
“We’re almost ready for you. You holding up okay?”
“Max, I’ll be just peachy if everyon
e would stop worrying about me. What’s going on in there?” I hook my thumb toward the building we just left.
Max tips his head toward Mercy’s central building, the one where most of the bedrooms are, including mine. It’s the largest building here and easily the oldest. Weathered red bricks cover the façade, and the window frames are wooden with chipped white paint. We follow Max along a well worn path, a strip of brown across the grassy yard.
“Honestly, this is a little over our heads,” he tells us. “As soon as we relocate to the Wisdom colony we can put our best on it.”
I shake my head, befuddled. “I didn’t think they’d be this sick.”
“Don’t worry. We’re taking care of them.” We reach the main building and Max opens the door.
I frown, not fully believing him, so I glance up at Dylan for reassurance.
“We are,” Dylan says.
Max leads us to the room where I first addressed the leaders of Refuge—the system of colonies Mercy belongs to. The space reminds me of my father—Refuge’s former leader—but despite the pit in my stomach, I walk in and take a seat. Just like before, the room is filled with metal chairs arranged in slightly curved rows, occupied by all of Refuge’s leaders. At the front of the room Henry sits with his hands folded and elbows propped on a small table.
I glance at him as I move to take a seat in the back but he waves me to the front. I swallow hard and take small steps toward him, hating the way the rubber bottom’s of my crutches squeak on the linoleum. I clear my throat and glance up at the brass lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling.
Despite my best efforts to disengage my emotions my body quivers when I squeak, “Hello.” I clear my throat again.
“Go on,” Henry says, motioning his hand in a small circle, encouraging me to continue. Everyone in the room knows why I’m the one doing this and not someone else.
Max sits on the front row. “Start wherever you’re comfortable,” he says softly.
“I…” I clear my throat again, my eyes already stinging. Focus. “We were beginning to retreat. We’d rescued women and children, but we were under fire.” I glance to the back of the room where Dylan stands with his arms crossed, frowning at me. For me? I’m not sure. “Dylan and I got separated. I climbed a tower to take out the sniper who’d shot Jason.” I suddenly grow self-conscious, wondering if my terminology is too crass.