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  PERSEPHONE’S CURSE

  SANDRA BATS

  Persephone’s Curse

  Copyright © 2018 by Sandra Bats

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For information address Sandra Bats,

  c/o AutorenServices.de, Birkenallee 24, 36037 Fulda.

  [email protected]

  www.sandrabats.com

  First Printing, 2018

  To those who still cherish books for what they really are – portals to foreign worlds.

  Prologue

  I wasn’t going to scream. I wasn’t going to scream. I wasn’t going to scream. Blinding pain radiated from my lower back. I bit down on my lip. I wasn’t going to scream like I had the first two times.

  The sickly-sweet stench of burned flesh lingered in the humid air. The burning pressure on my lower back let up and I was pushed forward. I stumbled over the concrete floor and my knees hit the ground. I sucked in a few gulps of air and refused the urge to press my hand to the freshly burned spot. I knew I’d find three parallel lines there — two of them older and the one they’d just burned into my skin.

  A heavy boot kicked at my side and the owner of it ordered me to get up and stand back in line to wait my turn. The girl in front of me turned and grabbed my arm, hurling me to my feet. I dared to glance to the front of the line. Only three more girls in front me.

  Then it would be my turn. The guard would put his hands all over me; would force himself on me, try to impregnate me so the government could find a cure for the virus killing women during childbirth.

  I grasped at the details drilled into my mind. That the experience was supposed to be for the greater good; that I should be proud I might help to find a cure for Persephone’s virus; that the experiments that scarred my stomach could have made it possible for others to survive childbirth someday.

  That I was a worthless pawn, kidnapped by government-run labs to be impregnated like cattle, to be branded and experimented on and when I eventually died I’d leave behind a child they could either sell to rich people or experiment on.

  Only two girls in front of me. Girls I’d never seen before. Girls older than me. I was just fourteen and I’d just started my period the week before, which was why I was there; suddenly considered fertile and ready to be put into another cell from that day on. In a cell with the other girls who were raped every so often.

  The government that told us that we should have been proud to contribute to the greater good, was the government that brought this onto us. They had unleashed this virus around the time I’d been born and had engineered it to cull the population. But the virus got out of hand and soon enough, there was nothing saving women from bleeding to death when they should rejoice that they bore new lives. There was no help. Once you fell pregnant there was no cure. Once a placenta formed, removing it would see you bleeding out within hours.

  The girl right in front me was next — the one who had pulled me to my feet — and the guard dragged her forward, and harshly forced her pants down and I couldn’t look at her. Instead, I glanced at the guard doing the brandings. He was in a hurry, likely because they were short staffed that day. The guards all looked the same — same buzzed haircuts, same navy-blue uniforms. They all symbolized the same to me; horror and pain and death.

  Something clattered to the ground right before my feet and I glanced down. It was the guard’s gun. He hadn’t noticed yet, he was preoccupied, still raping the girl in front of me. I picked up the gun. It felt surprisingly heavy and not-so-surprisingly cold against my skin.

  I only planned to use it on myself. That was the only way out. The only thought that occurred to me. But the guard noticed. He gave a shout and before I knew what I was doing, I pointed the gun at him. And I pulled the trigger. Screams echoed off the walls. I turned to the guard doing the brandings. I aimed at him and pulled the trigger. It was all a blur. I couldn’t feel my body. My own movements. Only this drive to live that I didn’t know I possessed.

  There was a door behind him. Screams all around me as I rushed towards it. I hadn’t thought I’d survive this long. My hands trembled. Adrenaline coursed through my body and that I could feel. That spoke to me. It said; “Kill more of these monsters!”

  I ran out the door. I blinked for a second. Glanced around. Shrill alarms rang. The guard patrolling the hallway turned. The window to my left was bright; a beacon of hope. The patrol guard lifted his gun, aimed it at me and for a second, he stared. I heard more guards approach. Orders being called out. I had no time. I lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. The guard hit the ground and I turned and ran towards the window. One shot. Two. The window splintered. I broke right through it, falling into bright daylight.

  The ground hit me sooner than I thought, and the crash knocked the wind out of me. The ground? How was I not dead?

  Disoriented, I clambered to my feet. A fenced-in courtyard. A concrete pipe to my right. Did my feet hurt? I didn’t know. I ran when I heard more shouting, heard more shots fired. I hit my knees and crawled through the pipe. Got back to my feet and kept running.

  I tried to grasp at something that could tell me where I was. Where I needed to run. But I didn’t know the city. I ran past people, through alleys. Ran until my breath left me. Ran until I found a dark corner. Then another one. Hid underneath a bridge smelling of death and waited. I waited and waited, praying to whatever there was that they wouldn’t find me. Waited until my injuries from the jump finally caught up with me and everything suddenly went black.

  Part I

  Finding Home

  One

  Jayden

  Two years later

  The Port – Capital of the Nation of the Americas

  “Sorry man, but you know how it is. If you don’t have anything to trade, I can’t help you.” The young guy in front of me threw me an apologetic look. I blew out a heavy breath and glanced to my side, making sure the other patrons of the dingy bar weren’t listening in on the conversation.

  “Come on, you know I’ll get stuff to trade sooner or later. It’ll just be a loan. Rowan knows I’m good for it.” I sounded an awful lot like I was begging. I could feel the weight of my gun against my back, where I had hidden it in the waistband of my jeans. It currently held only half of the bullets it usually could because that was all I had scavenged that morning. I needed to trade for ammunition soon or I’d run out.

  “The boss himself said to not trade with you at all unless you offered manpower. There’s nothing I can do for you Quinn.”

  “It’s Jayden,” I responded. The rebels liked to use last names for the impression of being a military group when they weren’t.

  “The boss says to use last names because it makes sure everyone knows their place.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah? Tell Rowan he’s a pretentious ass and also not my boss, so I won’t listen to this last-names-only bullshit.”

  My endeavor was a lost cause. I turned and left him standing there. I’d almost made it to the door when my path was blocked by a busty brunette.

  “Come on Jayden, you’re not leaving already, are you?” She snaked her arms around my neck. Pressed her body against mine. What was her name again? Barbara or maybe Brooke?

  “Actually, I was,” I responded, keeping my hands shoved into my pockets to not encourage her more. Maybe I just thought her name started with a B cause I’d called her Babe.

  She pouted. “Without a kiss for your girlfriend?”

  She was getting clingy. I rolled my eyes and grabbed her hips to gently push her away from me. “You’re not my gir
lfriend.”

  “Didn’t seem like that last night,” she said, then moved towards me again. I sidestepped her. “You seem stressed. Maybe you need a release.”

  “I told you before, I don’t do relationships.” Her hand was on my chest. She wouldn’t understand me, the way I’d put it, so I pushed her hand away. “Look, you’re pretty but I don’t like repeats. They bore me. Move on and keep the memories.”

  Judging by the sharp slap she landed on my cheek, she got it. Guess I deserved that. I moved around her and towards the door.

  The air outside smelled of sulfur and the sky was tinted yellow with the exhausts from the nearby electricity plant. I rubbed a hand over my cheek. It didn’t sting too much. I’d had worse.

  I glanced at my pocket watch. Just past seven. I could head home and grab some dinner. I’d been up for over twenty hours already. Heading home without any news seemed like giving up though. We needed food and antibiotics to get through the winter. We needed ammunition to hunt for food, or we needed to steal it. More importantly, we needed the ammunition to protect ourselves.

  The government didn’t look too kindly on groups of outcasts living together. Their fear of potential uprisings was far too great. It didn’t matter that most of the people I took care of had been harmed much more by the government than they had ever harmed the government. I decided to try my luck someplace else. Rowan’s rebels weren’t the only people who traded weapons.

  I walked towards another speakeasy. I’d traded with the owner once before. Maybe I’d have better luck with him. A snowflake drifted from the sky. A harbinger of the snow and freezing temperatures to come. I pulled my jacket tighter, insulating myself against the biting cold. People hurried along the streets to get home — if you could call the decaying shacks around there “home”.

  The Port was our Nation’s capital and as such, it housed far too many people. It had once been known by a different name but when the government had declared it capital they had chosen to rename it to The Port for it’s dramatic eloquence. The richer folks lived downtown where the buildings were made from stainless steel and glass. There, on the outskirts of town, people lived in houses made from scavenged wood and panel sheets, or anything that would offer some level of safety and privacy. Such shantytowns dotted the outer edges of the city.

  I navigated the cracks and potholes in the asphalt without much thought. Some of them were big enough to swallow you up. When I was younger, I’d fallen into one and been stuck for hours.

  I jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a rickety car that rumbled by. Its exhaust fumes hung around long after it was gone.

  The nice, new electrical cars downtown were less of a hassle. They were fitted with automatic brake systems to protect pedestrians. Or the hover ships the rich folks owned — they didn’t even need streets. Who could’ve afforded either around here?

  Winter had arrived far too early that year. It had just been September and the air was already cold enough to make my breath come out in little clouds. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Again, I considered heading home and returning tomorrow to look for ammunition trades.

  I stepped up onto the sidewalk just as the door of a nearby bar flung open and a young woman walked out. Her body was hidden by the dark, hooded sweatshirt she wore, but her delicate features revealed her gender. Two sizes too big, her black fatigues hung loose from her hips. I was about to turn away when a gust of wind blew the hood from her head. Burgundy red curls spilled over her shoulders, and her eyes darted towards my face for a second. In one fluid motion she grabbed her hair, pushed it back under the fabric and kept walking. I couldn’t keep myself from glancing after her.

  The creaking of the bar’s old door tore my gaze from her just as three guys tumbled into the street. They reeked of alcohol. People were so poor that drowning their sorrows was the only way to forget that death and sickness were as thick in those streets as the stench of garbage.

  I should’ve headed home, but when the guys stumbled down the alley after the girl, my feet automatically turned in the same direction. Rounding the corner, I stopped short. They had the girl pressed up against the wall.

  They were heavily intoxicated, slurring obscenities at her. They had crowded around her in a half circle. Each time she tried to move out of that circle, one of them pushed her back. The guy directly in front of her tried pushing his hand under her sweatshirt. She shoved it away. The two others hooted at their friend for being rejected.

  They seemed so drunk it should’ve been easy for her to push them off — had she actually tried. Instead she only lightly pushed at their hands. Squirming at their touch wouldn’t be enough to get her out of there. Maybe she was too shaken to fight back. Despite them being drunk it was three against one.

  Those sorts of things happened all the time, but her not fighting back was out of place — even here. I cleared my throat and pulled my gun.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s agreed to being groped in an alley.”

  Four heads swiveled. The guys stared at me, probably calculating their odds. One of them still held the girl against the wall, but the other two took a step back. The girl’s eyes rested on me; wide open and filled with surprise.

  “S’is none of you’ business,” the one closest to me slurred, but his friend let go of the girl after throwing another glance at my gun.

  “I’ll make it my business,” I said and took a step forward. I held my head high, kept my stance strong and after another tense second, they faltered. One of them tried giving me a threatening glare — at least I thought it was supposed to be one. He was so wasted he nearly went cross-eyed before his friends dragged him off. They left, called the girl a “bitch”, and snarled that she wasn’t worth their time.

  She leaned against the wall, sucking in a deep breath. She buried her hands in her pocket when she pushed herself from the wall and turned to face me. Her voice was strong and unwavering when she curtly thanked me. She didn’t sound scared, but how could she not be?

  I jogged to catch up to her when she walked away. She sped up, and when I closed the gap between us again, she narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I agree with you groping me, either!” she announced. I choked on my own spit. Her tense reaction was sudden and unexpected.

  “I was just wondering if I could walk you home. Make sure you get there safely.”

  She snorted, then stopped under a bridge. Her face was stoic and her voice hinted at bitterness. “You did. This is home.”

  She lit a small fire using old newspapers as kindling. I scanned her scarce belongings. If not for the blanket in the corner I’d have thought she was kidding me. The orange light of the fire drew bright reflections in her hair. She crouched down to warm her hands on the fire, her sleeves riding up a little. Her wrists were so skinny my fingers could’ve encircled them. She was young, probably somewhere around my age. Quite pretty if you got past the too skinny appearance. Definitely too pretty to be living under a bridge in that part of town.

  Piercing green eyes focused on me. She watched my every move. I pulled some water from my jacket, offering it to her. She made no motion to take it.

  Maybe food would get her attention. I pulled some bread from my jacket pocket, tore it in half and extended a piece to her.

  “It’s not exactly fresh, but it fills you up,” I said.

  She snatched the bread, then returned to her spot by the fire. I was acutely aware of the space she deemed necessary to put between us. Her eyes rested on me and she waited until I took a bite of the bread. Only then did she gobble her half, leaving me wishing I had more to give to her. Timidly, she moved closer and reached for the water.

  “I’m Jayden. I’m with a group in an old school not far away. We have food and shelter. Even electricity — as long as the generator doesn’t break. It’s not much, but we always have room for one more.”

  She raised an eyebrow, lips pursed as she stared at me again. In a civilize
d gesture, very unexpected from someone around here, she held her hand out for me to shake it.

  “I’m Elin. And thank you, but I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

  I frowned and gazed at her. She no longer looked at me. As I stammered my way through asking how she slept at night, she stared at her feet. I explained that I didn’t understand how she could refuse help when she had to avoid being killed by the next drunk idiot who came along. Voice level, she told me she didn’t think they had intended to kill her.

  I snorted. “No, they surely didn’t. They intended to rape you.”

  “Well, it’s not like I wouldn’t have survived that.” Her voice was flat, not worried or scared. Resignation colored it. As if something like rape wasn’t the stuff of nightmares — no matter how common it was.

  I couldn’t help asking what had happened to her. She lifted her face to glare at me, her lips pressed in a thin line and her jaw locked. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut even before she got to her feet.

  “It’s none of your business. I didn’t ask for your help! Just leave!”

  “If you change your mind, we’re in the school on 148th Avenue. Just tell the guards you know me.”

  She scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  ◆◆◆

  Nestled in one of the outlying sectors — the areas where few people went — was my home. The remoteness provided us much-needed security. I slipped through the fence, past the large trees surrounding the property and the two guards out front.

  Camden waited for me in the former principal’s office. Those days, it was where I spent my time; kept things in order. Cam, on the other hand, mainly used it for privacy. It was a precious thing to him — having room to breathe. Cam needed space, as he shared his bedroom with his two younger cousins, whom he had also raised.