New World Inferno: Book Three in a Young Adult Dystopian Series

  Copyright © JENNIFER WILSON 2017

  This edition published in 2017 by

  O F T O M E S P U B L I S H I N G

  U N I T E D K I N G D O M

  The right of JENNIFER WILSON to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by KimG Design

  Interior book design by Eight Little Pages

  For Annette and Dawn

  Because dedications are better than capes—

  they won’t fly in your face or suck you into a plane.

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  1. HOME

  2. BETRAYED

  3. SCARS

  4. AMBUSH

  5. SOUVENIRS

  6. LOYALTIES

  7. FUSE

  8. BLOOD

  9. TRANSACTIONS

  10. RETRIBUTION

  11. TRAPPED

  12. MASTERED

  13. WALLS

  14. HONESTY

  15. FOOLISH

  16. FAULTS

  17. ADAPT

  18. GHOSTS

  19. THREATS

  20. VERMIN

  21. PELTS

  22. AMBUSH

  23. INTELLECTS

  24. TRIPWIRES

  25. GATHERING

  26. CHOICES

  27. SPEAK

  28. FURNACE

  29. FLOOD

  30. COLLIDE

  31. ENLIGHTENMENT

  32. WALLED

  33. TRESPASSERS

  34. MORTALITY

  35. REVENGE

  36. ABSOLUTION

  37. GIFTS

  38. COMPASSION

  39. FACADES

  40. INCURSION

  41. POWER

  42. END GAME

  43. DYNASTY

  44. DEATH

  EPILOGUE: REBIRTH

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PREFACE

  T HERE IS THIS strange moment before war begins, a moment of peace, of hesitation and calm. It’s almost like watching water the instant before it breaks a dam. For one split second the rebellious liquid brims at the edge of its enclosure as if questioning its resolve. A single drop will bead at the rim, holding its brethren back, as if trying to stop the inevitable. For that one moment there is a flicker of hope that the water won’t spill over, that the chaos won’t ensue, and that it will recede. But the truth is, it’s always a false hope.

  Too many things have been set into motion.

  Too much pressure has built behind the dam and regardless of how much you pray for that water to stay within its confines, it’s going to overflow the wall and the bedlam will come.

  War is like that droplet. Always on the verge of breaking out, even though most of us refuse to see the signs. We close our eyes as it clings to the edge, praying the walls won’t be breached, that our precious worlds won’t be affected. But they will be. For when it does come—and it will—all you can do is try not to get swept away in the flood.

  1. HOME

  T HE WHISPERED STRING of profanities barely reaching my ears cut off under yet another deluge of gunfire. Chunks of brick and mortar rained down, nicking flesh in stinging bites.

  “Damn it!” Archer’s voice was audible this time even through the onslaught of bullets. Her vocabulary was becoming exceedingly more colorful with each shot fired. Feet tucked beneath her, the lanky ex-Wraith shouldered her rifle and began to rise. Without hesitation I lashed out. Grabbing her good forearm so tightly she flinched, I shook my head, my eyes screaming at her to shut up and sit down. Her loud mouth was almost as good a target as a moving body. Wrenching the captured arm away, she shook her gun at me, but paused in her now elevated crouch.

  “You have a better idea?” She hissed, wincing away from another bullet that was a little too close for comfort. Her long dark fingers flexed greedily around her rifle.

  “Let’s start with you not getting your head blown off.” I yanked at her again and this time she sank back to the ground. The jet-black barrel of her gun vibrated with the tension emanating from Archer’s death grip. Another explosion of debris assailed us.

  “What the hell are these pricks doing out so late?” She growled, covering her face with what remained of her partially amputated left arm. She jerked her head backwards indicating the dilapidated building on the other side of the disintegrating barrier we were crouched behind.

  We had been five blocks from the clock tower, five blocks from food and shelter when the air was suddenly riddled with flying bullets, sending the five of us scattering like cockroaches.

  “At least they’re firing at us.” I snapped.

  Hidden in the shadows of a large electrical box twenty feet to my right, I could barely make out the sandy head hovering in the darkness. Lower, widened with fear, two brown eyes stared back at me. Triven and Baxter’s arms were thrown wide shielding the little girl as they watched helplessly from their shelter. A bullet tore through the wall next to my right ear, searing the tip. Involuntarily I flinched back, clutching the side of my head. The bodies across from us lurched, and then crept forward in the sallow moonlight.

  NO! STAY! My hands flashed out, bloody palms signing commands. Mouse’s sign language was paying off in a multitude of ways. While no words were spoken that could give away their location, the message was clear. Fascinating how a person can shout without uttering a word. Miraculously, Triven listened, staying behind their rusted metal box, but as he shifted Mouse behind him into Baxter’s arms, I knew it wouldn’t be for long.

  “We have to move.” My words were for Archer as I glowered at Triven’s shadowed form.

  “Ya think?” Archer’s tone was pinched with sarcasm. I ignored her.

  “How many did you count before we took cover?” I asked. The ringing in my ear dulled my voice. I groped it, hands coming away slick. Not good. Why did head wounds have to bleed so much? I had counted two guns glinting in the darkness and based on the rhythm of the rounds, that sounded like an accurate calculation. However, as neither of us was about stick our heads out to get a better look, conferring with Archer seemed like the next best option. She hesitated, looking as though she was considering jumping up again. I kicked her boot, earning a glare.

  “Two. I think there were two, but maybe three.”

  I nodded. Three we could handle.

  There was a soft scraping noise to our right. The toe of Triven’s shoe barely slipped passed the electrical box before a rain of bullets sparked the metal barricade and seared the ground around them. As Triven dove to cover Mouse, Baxter leaned out around them catching my eye for the briefest second. That was all I needed. Pointing two fingers at him, I gestured to my eyes and then the building our snipers were shooting from. He barely nodded before I was scrambling to my feet. Hands pressed to the tar rooftop, I crouched.

  “Ready?” I barked at Archer, grabbing a large piece of dislodged mortar off the tattered roof.

  “For what?!” She fumbled with her rifle, startled by my sudden movement.

  “GET READY!” I screamed at the top of my lungs so Bax
ter could hear too. I chucked the debris to my right and as soon as the bullets lit up the roof following the distraction, I took off in the other direction. Rubble ground beneath the soles of my shoes as I launched forward. Archer’s startled cry resounded in my wake as I launched past her.

  “Prea!” Triven’s shout was filled with reproach, but I was already sprinting.

  Come on! I thought, follow me you bastards!

  I made it two strides before the Tribesmen fire began to trace me. Their bullets sprayed in my wake, trailing my steps as a smug smile pulled at my lips. Though I could not see them in the darkness, I could hear the bullets whistling through the night, see the sparks on the ground as they leapt at my feet. “NOW Archer!”

  I felt more than I could hear Baxter and Archer moving to their feet. Seconds seem to stretch, then it was our shots puncturing the night as we returned fire. The bullets raining down on me ceased for three beats. What little glass was left in the building across from our roof shattered, tinkling as if fell, spraying the streets below.

  “ONE DOWN!” Baxter’s deep voice broke through the gunfire.

  My legs pumped, fire burning through the muscles with each stride as my eyes stayed locked on the building’s edge.

  One still alive and ten feet to go.

  A bullet snagged my hair, the stench tainting the air. Several of Archer’s favorite words sprung from my lips as my legs pushed harder. I did not survive The Minister merely to die on this rooftop tonight.

  Five feet.

  Archer cursed as the gunfire stopped. Twisting, I saw her step out from behind our blockade, rushing toward the front of the building, gun raised. A body was falling from the building across from us. The woman’s tattooed-covered arms flailed uselessly like a broken bird as she plunged toward the pavement below.

  “Mine!” I hollered over my shoulder. Don’t kill her, not yet.

  Without hesitation, my legs thrust forward, launching me over the side of the building and plummeting down into the alley below. My hands caught rough surface after rough surface, slowing my progression with each stinging contact. The tendons in my shoulders screamed. You’ve gotten soft, the voice in my head whispered. As if proving the point, my feet landed with a thud, jarring my knees as they absorbed the impact. Three months ago that would never have happened. I cursed the stiffness of my joints and pushed them onward, ignoring the pain that caused me to limp the first few steps. Instinct took over, coercing me to slow at the mouth of the alley. I knew Archer was standing over me, watching my back, but still, one did not step out onto the streets of Tartarus carelessly. Glass speckled the cracked street, like glittering lethal confetti. Each piece glimmered as I shifted in the shadows, the Milky Way of this damned broken city. I wondered idly if that’s what the stars had once looked like in the sky, when you could still see the stars, that is.

  The crystalline path flared out, swirling around the unmoving shadow sprawled across the street from my alley. The Taciturn woman lay splayed on the black pavement, a halo of glass glittering in her auburn hair. It was almost angelic if not for the unnerving position of her limbs. One leg in particular stuck out at an odd angle, protruding sideways at the knee, and then there was the ominous dark pool leeching out from beneath her animal skin jacket. The fur itself appeared to be bleeding.

  I hadn’t heard her body hit the ground, but my mind could imagine the wet sounds of flesh splitting open, the crunches of bones breaking. I repressed a shudder—surely, she was dead.

  Still my gun rose, trained on the motionless head as I approached. Not even my Sanctuary grade boots could remain completely silent on the wreckage that filled the streets of Tartarus. Each crunching step was excruciatingly loud in the hushed wake of the gunfire.

  Ten paces away, I froze. Impossible…

  The woman’s chest rose and fell. It was ragged and shuddering, but the Tribe member was breathing. Unbelievably she had survived not only the fall, but also the two bullet wounds oozing from her chest. Tough chick. Regardless, without medical attention, she would be dead within minutes.

  One swollen brown eye cracked open, roving the dark night before it fell hatefully on me. Despite the blood streaming from her chest tainting her tattoos crimson, a guttural snarl parted the Tribesman’s lips. The barrels of my gun did not leave her face. Feet crunching, I closed the gap between us. Our eyes flickered warily, silently scrutinizing the other. Fascination sparked in my mind as I watched her face furrow in confusion. As the woman’s eye wandered over my slight frame, colorless clothes, she could find no Tribe markers. No sign of alliance. A smirk split my lips as I remembered my own shock at discovering there were not only five Tribes roaming Tartarus.

  “Do it.” The Taciturn snarled, the words bubbling up a froth of red spit. Both her arms were limp at her sides, one twisted into an impossible angle. Even in the dark I could see the fingertips were turning blue. A memory of a dark alley, a heat-seeking bullet and a scared little girl flashed through my mind. Doc’s serum had brought me back from worse.

  The snake skeleton tattooed on the woman’s face twitched, winking at me. She is the enemy… or at least she was. My finger yearned to pull the trigger, to rid the world of one more violent Tribe member. But that wasn’t why I was here. That wasn’t what Ryker had asked of me.

  Leaning over the woman, I spoke in hushed tones. “What if I saved your life tonight? How would you repay me?”

  She coughed up a foamy laugh. “I would kill you.”

  “Survival of the fittest.” I smiled humorlessly at her. The Tartarus way. “And if I killed you?”

  Her words were becoming harder to make out as her lungs labored to breathe. “My family would avenge me.”

  The word took me back a moment. Her family? “You mean your Tribe?”

  “Your skin would make a lovely addition to our leader’s coat.” The words were slurred, but still held the gravity of their threat. She tried to laugh again, to appear unafraid, but as her shuddering breaths became desperate gasps, a shot of fear crept into the Taciturn’s eyes.

  Despite the bravado, in the end we all feared death. She was no different.

  Good, fear was something I could work with.

  “Fortunately for you, your hide serves me better alive than dead.” With a flourish, I pulled a green vial from my vest pocket, swirling it above her good eye. The barrel of my gun never left her face as I crouched over her. Smiling devilishly at her, I uncapped the syringe and held it over her struggling heart. “This is going to hurt like hell.”

  “What are you?” Her question hung in the air. Her eye stretched wide with apprehension.

  I knew what she meant, what answer she was looking for, but I belonged to no Tribe. Thanks to my parents, thanks to Ryker, I was one thing and one thing alone.

  “Damned.” I said, plunging the syringe into her chest.

  The reaction was to be expected. A cry escaped her lips as the green liquid pushed free of the clear vial and began coursing its way through her body. It was fascinating watching Doc’s regeneration serum work when not on the receiving end. Tissues began to knit themselves back together in a spider web of scabs and raw flesh. The minor breaks began to reset, the swollen yellow skin deflating to its natural pale color. The larger breaks—like her leg—remained unhealed, but she would survive until we could set them for proper recovery. The girl could be an asset, and if not that, then at least good for bartering. Gratitude slowly replaced agony as the Taciturn’s body relaxed back against the pavement. Her hands unfurled as the muscles relaxed, no longer in excruciating pain and a genuine smile crept to her lips. In the absence of her cries, I could hear glass crunching in the alley behind me. My eyes flicked up for a millisecond towards the sound and the instant I saw Triven’s approaching face, I knew I had made a mistake.

  His lips twisted in a shout of warning just as a blade buried itself into my bicep and a single gunshot pierced the night.

  2. BETRAYED

  A SHARP HISS escaped through the gaps of my
teeth as I struggled not to wince. The girl’s brown eyes were still staring at me even though we had abandoned her body over twenty minutes ago. Open, glassy, dead. There was a single bullet wound that had been lodged in her forehead—an angry third eye weeping a solitary bloody tear. I glared at the figure sitting in the shadows across from me. Her knee was bouncing rhythmically as she watched Triven clean my wound.

  “You know a little gratitude might be nice!” Archer threw her good hand up, glaring back at me. Popping up from her seat she began to pace. “I just freaking saved your life and you’re looking at me like I ruined your day. Soooorry!! Next time you feel suicidal, let me know and I won’t step in to save your ass. I’ll just let the rabid Tribesman stab you to death, okay?!”

  I glanced down at the floor, biting the side of my cheek to keep from screaming back at her. As mad as I was at Archer for shooting our first possible recruit—or prisoner, depending on whichever would have been more promising—if I had been in her shoes, I would have made the same choice. That was one truth I never questioned in this world of kill or be killed. I would always choose my people first. Alliances be damned.

  The four of us were holed up in the clock tower’s main room, bathed in the green light flickering in through the soiled faces of the decrepit timepiece. We didn’t dare light a torch, but instead stayed in the shadows cast by the city’s numerous fires blazing outside. On cue, another explosion tremored in the distance, its blaze of light illuminating Mouse’s wide worried eyes before dulling to another flickering flame. I could almost feel the heat on my skin, despite the gooseflesh prickling my arms.

  The others had better get back, soon.

  Baxter had separated from us shortly after we abandoned the now useless bodies. We were to wait here no longer than two hours for his return with Arstid, then if they didn’t show, we were to move onward without them. The idea of seeing the leader of the Subversive—of seeing Triven’s mother again—was making my scalp prickle. I had a feeling despite the fact I had brought her son home alive, the new discovery of my lineage wouldn’t warrant a warm welcome. She already blamed my parents for her husband’s death, how was she going to feel when she found out I was The Minister’s only remaining blood heir?