The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

‘Sorry,’ she said.

Julianna reversed her bike and lifted her visor. She twitched the papers against her leg, tapping madly away, and all three sentries and her escort watched her in their annoyance. She smiled weakly and stopped with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders.

Don’t be so nervous.

She met his eyes.
Trying.

A nod from the sentry and gesture from his hand to move forward released the blue Triumph. It was her turn. As he parked his bike on the other side of the wire perimeter, she moved between the guards’ dubious expressions. He lowered his glasses and tucked his papers inside his jacket.  The stranger rolled a cigarette casually between his fingers, licking the paper once, ignoring her interrogation.

The sentries stole her attention; two circled her bike and scanned for contraband. The third silently extended an open palm for her papers. Julianna handed them over, a small, black folder folding them inside. The senior sentry snatched them, glancing back and forth between the image in the book and the eyes under her raised visor.

‘Helmet,’ he demanded. 

She removed it slowly, hoping the pendant would stay in place with her stretch. It did; she sat with the helmet resting under her arm as he continued to leer over her. The black hair was throwing them off.  Her photo had blonde and the drones had red.

‘Good to go,’ he said, and returned the papers with a smile and a wink. His face softened to just another person doing his job. ‘Why you would is beyond me. Dangerous place, S-Seven. Don’t forget curfew at seventeen hundred, miss.’

Julianna fastened her helmet under her chin. ‘My regards to the Militia...you guys run a tight ship.’

Two hovers hung in stasis on each side of the posting and tuned into her voice. She drew a sharp breath and her escort’s attention moved from the cigarette pushed into his pocket to the drones’ solid focus. The drones followed, turning in their place to follow with their eyes as she revved her bike and joined him on the other side. They rolled along the abandoned streets side by side again, listening to the gates closing behind them, aware of the narrowly avoided conflict. No one else followed so close to curfew. 

‘I hate this place,’ he muttered. ‘Purgatory for the living dead.’

Julianna glanced at the wide streets lined with built-up rubbish in gutters, and overgrown nature strips resembling jungles of knotted scrub and weed. The homeless crept into their view, comfortable enough with the new arrivals to return to squatting beside makeshift shelters.

A stray cat darted across their path to chase the wind’s toys and to hunt for nature’s scraps. At least the world here was suited to someone, she noted; the cat looked healthy.

‘It used to be nice until the Militia did this,’ she said.

He shot her a glance from beneath his glasses and all she could see was her reflection. 

‘You miss the part where I grew up here?’ She leveled with him. ‘When you read me, huh? Not interesting enough for you?’

The eyes from the makeshift huts along the road followed them; her voice piqued their interests, but she refused to look, riding past him instead, to be alone along the third-world street.

You should look, maybe Dad’s here looking for you.
She raised her eyes at the command of her own inner voice.
Maybe not.

The memory of him smiled down, handing her a pink bouncy ball, speaking quietly, gently instructing her to play in the backyard. Mommy and Daddy need to discuss something, grown-up talk.
Not for the little one’s ears.
Like all good children, she went into the backyard where the beautiful roses grew, cupping the large yellow one in her small hands, that sprouted from the ugly pot by the door.

She wasn’t alone in the yard. Someone watched from a distance, someone perched on the outdoor table with blonde hair, but she could never see his face.

The Triumph caught up. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ he said apologetically.

‘Yeah, you did.’ The helmet muffled her words, but she knew he heard her, with his senses more attuned than most. His intrusion was strong.

He sped past, swinging his bike into her path at a sudden halt and forcing her to brake. Julianna’s back wheel reared. They sat in the neglected road with the homeless as their audience. 

‘You wanna head down there for a look?’

He was referring to the home she had spent her first early years in, before things turned to shit. The answer was no. She took her helmet off. There weren’t any hovers around this area – no need for them. They were alone but for the bums and rats.

‘Last chance to see your childhood memories in the flesh.’

‘Last chance?’ she said. The wind went through her and she shivered. A storm was threatening from the east, quickly moving in their direction and kidnapping what was left of the warmth.

‘You know, get some closure. Shelve some ghosts.’ He lowered his glasses again. ‘Or not. Come on, race you.’ He revved his bike and circled her twice. Time was wasting, but he shot off anyway, leaving her behind.

The roads pointing to the northwest were wide. He was already a few houses down, weaving playfully along the stretch of road when he summoned her mind to follow. She didn’t refuse his call, but she kept her distance. The houses on each side stood tall, most being period houses from the nineteen hundreds, and standing two levels high in their weatherboards. The once-wealthy street now beaten to complete ruin; derelict to time, but for the few who chose to remain as its residents.

A man in crumbled pajamas checked for mail. A matter of habit or insanity, she wasn’t sure; the snail mail had stopped years ago but for the couriers in the middle Sectors. No one would deliver a parcel out here. The sentry would never allow it. He glanced at her passing bike, closed the letter box and wandered back to his door, nodding to her as he went. She returned the gesture; a watcher still in these parts. Her heart rose to her throat.

What was that? Did we just connect? Did I—?

Her bike careened across the road, narrowly missing a mound of rubbish as she struggled to keep its balance.

He stood in his doorway watching her when she glanced back.

I’m barely a half-caste.

Are you?
The old man smiled.

The mystery of her parents returned. The watcher was superior in thought and ability, the walker in strength, and half-castes rarely got a twinkle of either. Yet they lived by the same rules: strict values, strict beliefs, the role of a woman. Christianity was punishable by lashings, and marriages arranged. These were all her certainties, the things that had made her run. Half-castes diluted in bloodlines; granted the luxury of ignorance and mortality. She belonged to the latter group. The old man’s grin burned inside her mind. 

‘I think,’ she said quietly.                            

The memory faded for the two-story house peeling its white paint, looming in front of her. Weeds over-ran the driveway and the yard was knee high in grass, but a single large rose teetered about in the light breeze above the back gates. She parked her bike, all the while watching the yellow blossom dance. The yellow petals had survived against the odds of the forsaken NWO, and she longed to smell its fragrance again.

He folded his glasses over the V-neck of his T-shirt and stood before the front door hanging loosely from its hinges. The slide of it against the wood decking was loud, and he propped it on the outside wall beside him.

Eighteen years of neglect and she was no exception. Julianna stepped cautiously onto the rotting deck, and surveyed the insides of the house from the doorway.

The window shutters on the second level flapped in the wind, threatening to fall on top of them. The white paint curled on the banister lining the rotting deck, exposing the grey timber beneath. She ran her hand along the black graffiti sprayed across the entrance wall, as she stepped into the empty house.

Julianna slipped her knife into her palm as she moved beside the staircase, one slow step after the other, flicking it open and holding it low, waiting for an attack from vagrants. But no one came. The house was inhabitable, even for the poor. He protested, raising his Militia-issued Sig hanging in his grip, to challenge her choice of weapon.

Oh, for crying out loud, really?
She wondered.
A pissing contest about weapons…how long’s it been since he was Militia?

She wondered how much she could trust him.

His bottom lip pushed out. The sulk of a watcher shone through, as Caden had done when she’d turned down his camping request. Taris did the same during an argument – until he tired of her, then he’d raise his fist instead.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and returned her sights to the house inside, empty and ruined. 

His foot pushed through the first stair without effort. ‘Better keep to the lower level.’

He peered into the hallway with his gun held high, and she followed closely into the open kitchen area. The smell of mold overwhelmed their need to breathe, and they raced through the hole in the wall where the glass doors used to stand. The yellow rose outside bowed for her to tip its petals.  

Christ, if she could see her father one more time.

She vomited.

He touched her arm, standing behind with angled eyes, sympathetic. The sick feeling lingered before his touch took it away. He nodded to the overgrown yard where a swing, rusted by time, sat near an overturned bike.

The grass was long and damp underfoot where the swing rested. She outstretched her fingers to trace the stick figures her mother had painted on the steel frame. It was still there – two big stick figures with a smaller one between them. Her family – what was left of it. The only recorded picture. She traced her fingers again, stifling the cry that tried to escape.

He put his gun under his jacket when she lowered her head to her hands. She was in shock; gutted and winded by the memories she was unable to accept. 

She rocked on her haunches on the low, tiny swing, holding her head tightly to muffle the cries she wanted to scream. Her mind searched for the one elusive answer that Douglas Cathan held and would never give, taunting and mocking her, and keeping her in her place until she would lash out again, like a wild animal. She longed to dance in bare feet on the grass on a cool spring day – how she longed to be free. How she longed for the fucking truth about her family.

Fuck’s sake, get a hold, J Rae!

‘Life sucks, huh. Didn’t know my family much either.’ He shuffled over cautiously. The frame held his weight precariously as he leaned over her small body. She wiped furiously at the stray tears running down her cheeks and his smile helped a little.

‘Old Hal back at the tavern was my caregiver, the silly old...’ He crouched down beside her. ‘One thing I learnt from it all is you can make a family with anyone if you let yourself get close enough. It’ll be easier when it gets tough. You know what I’m saying?’

She nodded, taking a deep breath. Her hands wrung each other and she nodded again, eager for more words so she didn’t need to speak.

‘The brothers are good leaders. Maybe you should get out of dodge until things settle. Stay at the camp. You’d be safe with them.’

‘Did Isis say something to you?’

He lowered his head. ‘No moving you to the side, just trying to keep a valued Rebel safe,’ he said.

She straightened, her ankles biting as she did; the swing held her bum between the chains for a moment before letting her escape.  

‘I don’t need anyone looking out for me. Last time it happened, I ended up engaged to an asshole and in a world of pain.’ She brushed past him. It was time to deal with Sector Eight sentries, and she hoped to God the man on gate twelve was a good man who remembered Isis.

‘It’s getting late; you coming or going?’

‘Right behind you,’ he muttered, and followed her out.

1340 HOURS.

WEST CAMP, 45 MILES WEST OF CAMP 2.2.1
.

The unseasonably warm breeze swayed the netting Caden unfastened. It hung around the tent canopy, trapping the bugs outside. Once convinced he was safe from their sting, he returned to his coffee waiting on the sprawled-out map.

He relaxed into the chair behind the table and glanced at the map again. Red pins marked the enemy camps; the scattering of them surrounding the blue pins was becoming a concern. It wouldn’t be long before they were pushed farther east, or back into the Sectors. East was not an option, west was impossible with Taris setting camps across the border – he knew it was a design specifically aimed at himself. Taris was setting a web, and it was strong. Caden was starting to worry.

He leaned back, resting a hand to support his head while he daydreamed. The other hand balanced his first fresh coffee in a month. The run into the city was worth the trip. The haircut had been a treat and he felt the cleanest he had in months.
Clean and guilty,
he thought. Not that his camp begrudged his indulgence for one moment.

And then there was Julianna.

Laughter reached the tent, and then a splash. He looked toward the sound, his mind leaving the blonde for a moment to enjoy his camp playing in the new warm weather. It was the least he could do to ease his self-reproach. His followers had welcomed a sanctioned day off in the middle of battle. Spring had finally arrived, and it was time to give the kids a day off.

J Rae, Julianna…
he sighed.

His brother pushed through the netting; it clung to his wet skin. Its grasp forced him to roll it back to its original position. Caden looked up in annoyance and slapped his neck. A spattering of blood sat between his fingers where he had flattened the bug to nothing.

‘Good morale boost.’ Bas sat heavily in the corner, toweling off his chest and shoulders from the swim over Caden’s bed. A bottle of whiskey sat open on the desk. Bas reached for it and its accompanying glass with the musty ring around the lip. He poured a third of a glass, and found the cap on the floor so he could close the bottle. ‘I haven’t mentioned the comms failure yet.’

‘No point sending them into blind panic.’ Caden eyed the wet patch on his blankets where his brother had been. Life was short in war, even for a watcher, so he let it go, thinning his lips instead.

He returned to the netting and loosened the ties holding it again. Another bug nipped at his arm and he slapped it away. The breeze moved through and Caden drifted with it as he watched his camp throw each other about in the river. The fire continued to burn and some were warming themselves, but most were enjoying their one day’s freedom out of uniform, almost literally.

‘Should tell Devo to cover up. She’s the only girl out there,’ Caden said. He still held his coffee and raised it to his lips. It was starting to cool.

‘She’s covered,’ Bas said. ‘Spoken to her about Katherine yet?’

‘Hoping you’d do it.’ Caden returned to his chair. ‘She doesn’t like me.’

‘More reason. I’m her only friend in this fucking place. She already hates you, why not just add to it?’ He screwed up his face. ‘Not telling her we’re leaving Katie behind.’

They exchanged looks.

‘All I’m saying is we haven’t heard from her for a while,’ Caden said. He waited for his brother to reply, while watching one of the younger male officers launch Devo into the water again.

‘It’s out of character, I’ll admit,’ Bas said and took a glance at what was catching Caden’s attention before sitting again.

‘We have to consider—’

Bas cut through him. ‘We don’t have to consider anything! She’ll make contact when she can. Fuck’s sake, asshole, the comms are down.’

Caden walked into the stare so he could sit behind the table. He gave up the coffee, sitting it on the already stained map. ‘We’ve overstayed here. With communications down, we need to move on.’ He pointed his finger at Bas. ‘You know this, Bastiaan.’

‘She knows what she’s doing.’

Caden scratched at his neck; the bite was swelling. He knew better than to mention the subject anymore, but he had a lot more to say. They’d been arguing over her for two days. Katherine was loved and respected, and neither wanted to tell her kid sister they were bugging out in a few days, and neither wanted to mention it to the rest of the camp.

‘Fuck it,’ Caden said. ‘Fucking hate this sometimes.’

‘Hearing you there, my man, hearing you there.’ Bas raised the glass to his lips again and the brothers became introspective.

Caden teased the mug of cold coffee by its handle, the red pins catching his eye on every turn, the blue pins taunting him. The laughter outside edged his guilt that little bit more. He shook his head before collapsing it into his hands. He felt like crying, but his demeanor would never allow such a betrayal. Watchers never cried.

His brother’s voice broke his thoughts and he rubbed his eyes hard until he saw stars.

‘You haven’t spoken a word about your trip into the city sectors. Everything go okay?’

Caden’s chin propped on his clasped knuckles. ‘The comms were delivered, I had a drink, I left.’

‘And the side mission? The one Isis asked our help with?’

‘Failed.’ He leaned back. ‘Dismally.’ The whiskey bottle looked attractive, but it was early. Not enough discipline to trust he wouldn’t end up blind drunk by lunchtime, and the camp needed him. Today he’d stay sober.

He outstretched his legs, bumping the carefully stacked rocks that propped up the sheet of thin wood, and the coffee tipped over its edge onto the map again. Cold coffee or not, it was coffee and hard to come by. He grabbed the mug and cringed at the bitterness running down his throat.

‘So you asked her?’

He sighed and scratched again. ‘I did.’

Bas reached for his brother’s T-shirt hanging above the bed and slipped it over his head. Another chill of wind sent a shiver through him again. It was a tight fit over his broader shoulders, but the weather was changing again and the hair on his arms begged for cover. The camp’s crew abandoned the river for the warm fire and their tents.

‘She say anything?’

‘Nope.’ He sipped his coffee again. He couldn’t do it. The mug was abandoned for the bottle of whiskey.

‘She pretty?’

His hand recoiled from the glass lying on its side from the night before and he tightened the cap on the bottle instead. Lowering it from sight under the table might ease the temptation. He liked the drink too much lately – even he was aware of the problem.

Beautiful. Stunning.

He shrugged. ‘Average...’ He trailed off, smelling her scent still lingering on his clothes from their night. He still tasted her.

Bas smiled. ‘One-word answers. She’s under your skin.’

‘She needs to be convinced. I don’t know how to do it.’ And he didn’t.

He had hoped for the kiss to convince her. He knew the truth wouldn’t. It would have made her run.

They exchanged looks, knowing looks.

He scowled. ‘
Not
under my skin,’ Caden said. ‘I’m too old for that bullshit.’

Bas peered over his glass with his lips curled in the corners. He knew his brother well enough to know when he had a crush – because it never happened. It
really
never happened and Caden was avoiding the subject too much. The last of the whiskey warmed his throat.

‘The other night unsettled me. I don’t think either of us can help her.’

Bas stood, deliberately placing the empty glass beside the coffee mug. ‘What happens when she turns up? Wasn’t he sending her our way for initiation training?’

Caden gave him his attention. ‘Huh?’

‘Julianna Rae is under your skin when you have a job to do.’ He paused. ‘We’re meant to be helping an old friend out. You’re
meant to be
her appointed watcher.’

‘We’re Rebellion for now, not Council.’

Bas shook his head. He looked down at the pins. ‘Never thought I’d hear the day when you’d say we’re not Council. We’re the New Council; you know it, and Isis knows it. When this war ends – and it will – are you planning on heading to the mountains, or returning to our life?

‘We shouldn’t have agreed to it when we’re so far in the shit.’ He glanced at the map again.

‘He trusts us,’ Bas said.

‘This war could see us dead tomorrow.’

Bas headed for the door and gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze in passing. ‘It’s your turn to collect the wood.’

Caden watched his brother amble outside toward his own tent, whistling to himself a Barry McGuire classic as he went. He returned his gaze to the map. The lingering smell of alcohol reached his nose and he grabbed his jacket, leaving the last two buttons undone at the neck before reaching for his sidearm and taking his brother’s hint.

The sky was growing overcast. When he stepped outside the cold wind startled him; winter had returned for another day after all. His camp scrambled into their tents for dry clothes and relief. The weather was turning for the worst and he needed to head out to the trees before it got ugly, and before the fire died down too much.

Pulling the collar of his jacket against his neck, he started his walk along the worn track, hunching against the cold that surrounded him, and his thoughts taunting him. Julianna danced in front of him again and again. He wanted to touch her again, to kiss her in the tiny room in the back of the club; the things he wanted to do to her.

Urgh
! He kicked a rock into a nearby tree.

She was inside his head like no other. No matter how he tried, she stayed with him, sending his senses into over drive. Something was incredibly wrong with the picture.

Or maybe Bas is right. Feelings in a war are not good – as a watcher, very wrong. A friend’s daughter – shouldn’t even go there. Urgh, for fuck’s sake! Fucking stop it already!

He clawed at his neck enough that the pain cleared his mind, and he then healed the bite. The hike to the surrounding trees wasn’t a rough one; the trail was worn under heavy boots over the months. He wove into the trees, eyes front, sidearm strapped to his thigh, on the lookout for strays or Militia. The thoughts lingered, but the hunt for good wood pushed them slowly away. He would pile up a stack and make a return trip before the rain set in.

He looked through the canopies of branches hanging overhead; the grey clouds were swooping in. A storm was approaching and he really should have brought another set of hands from the camp to help. Usually they travelled in pairs for firewood, but he didn’t have the heart to break the day for anyone, and he wanted his own company. The kids always talked too much, like there was no tomorrow, and he sniggered at the thought.

For some there is no tomorrow,
he contemplated. For some kids, biding time was the only thing left.

He took another cautious step, one after the other; as he did, he surveyed around for wood. A fallen branch took his interest and he grabbed one end while giving the middle a hard kick. It snapped under his strength. One more kick gave him two solid chunks.

As he bent, the sound of steps on dry ground froze him.

His eyes shot up, his watcher senses leading his sight between the trees, deeper into the woods, scanning for a presence. His eyes narrowed and darkened and he could feel the change come over him like a welcome relief. The time spent hiding from the kids was setting him on edge, and the tension was building inside, like an animal caged and ready to pounce.

The steps hastened. His head twitched to the side, feeling the change in the breeze before him and his sights tracked in closer as his step barely touched the ground. It felt so good to chase again.

The branch dropped so he could curl his fingers around the grip of his semi-auto. The strap popped from its stud holding the gun’s body to his leg; the weight felt cold and comfortable. He held it discreetly by his side while he searched.

He leaned forward, keeping a large tree to his right side, which offered some concealment. Branches crunched underfoot and with them his heart pushed the adrenaline through his veins.

Yes, it is good to hunt again. Bas will understand.

He held his breath and waited for the footsteps to bring a body into his line of sight. The undergrowth continued to move, making noise against dry tinder and leaves; slowly, his gun rose up toward it.

A deer strode past, giving him a glance with its doe-brown eyes before ducking its neck for some fresh grass between the branches Caden had disturbed. His gun lowered, the feeling of being watched disappeared, and he grunted at himself for being so paranoid. He took a step forward and the deer startled, moving at a pace that only a watcher could track. A few feet more and green undergrowth sprouting between some rocks caught her attention.

His gun rose again and he had the animal in his sights. He was tired of river fish for dinner. A last grand meal before they bugged out. It would serve the morale well to have fresh venison tonight. Caden’s finger twitched on the trigger, one-handed, no need for support. He fired as the doe looked up. She never knew what hit her.