The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

‘Madison, and, like you said, can’t help the bloodlines.’ He wiped his face dry on his sleeve. ‘Here, every trophy needs an inscription.’ He handed it back before resting his hands on his hips, still catching his breath.

She studied the two small lines carved into the side of the blade, perfectly straight and easy to see.

‘You good from here?’ he asked.

‘I can find my way,’ she nodded, pocketing the knife. ‘Council or Rebellion?’ She looked around for any unwanted company.

He pointed in front. ‘North’s that way,’ he paused. ‘In case you’re wondering.’

She wasn’t getting an answer. ‘Eastbound actually.’

His eyes widened. ‘Back to the Sectors. Are you sure that’s a smart move?’

‘My ride’s there, my job. It’s where I live.’ She smiled. ‘See you around, C Mads.’

‘Hope so, J Rae – stay safe in Sector Three, huh.’

‘I wasn’t the one in cuffs,’ she said, walking away from him. The rain threatened to start again, and her boots, already full of water, felt heavy with the mud underneath. The comment about Sector Three sunk deep into her thoughts.

‘See you in the Rebellion, wise-ass,’ he said.

She glanced over her shoulder, quick enough to see his back disappear into the thick trees, heading west. She headed east, hell bent on getting her bike back – and, hell, her life, for that matter. But she did wonder why she was heading to Sector Three.

29
TH
APRIL, 2018,
SECTOR #5

Late again!

Julianna’s bike shuddered as she increased its speed. She pushed it more. She needed to lose the patrols closing in. Pedestrians crossing roads in ready for curfew yelled abuse as the bikes sped past threatening to strike them down in the excitement, but the engines drowned their noise. The scant evening traffic on the open two-lane road made it easy to pursue.
Too easy,
she thought, swinging a glance into her side mirror. The space between them was narrowing down; the comms’ in her pocket chinked against each other. The Guild visit was productive, but she’d left her return to the city later than normal, and with no crowds for concealment, the Militia had found her again.

Twice in one day, a habit she didn’t appreciate. Taris was pulling out all stops, throwing caution to the wind. He desperately wanted her back. His revenge went beyond the call of his duty. It felt personal. The Guild had listened to Julianna’s reasoning; they politely shook their heads with silent disagreement before handing her another comms to deliver to the safe house. The back entrance to the third Sector was road blocked and she didn’t have time to turn around. The comms could wait. Work was her priority, her only cash paying job.

She glanced over her shoulder. Their powerful bikes reflected the sunset; their bodies bent down against the wind, gaining,
gaining
,
GAINING
. Hers didn’t contend the race against the patrol division. She checked over her shoulder again. Her loose hair under the helmet slapped at the visor. She pushed it away from her focus to see the road in front.

The buildings blurred and the lines in front of her melted into the road, until they were one straight white line, pushing fast under her wheel. Yet they still closed their gap, unwilling to let her disappear. Another thick strand of hair blocked her vision, as she hunted for escape routes. She needed a change of plan. She needed to turn, to go deeper into the Sector to lose them.

Her mind took over.
Of all the nights, why tonight?

But the thought wasn’t as distracting as the creeps behind her.

She examined the road ahead. The right lane cleared of traffic enough that she geared her bike down quickly; their powerful bikes sped past in a blur. The passing traffic held them in their place. Their necks snapped back, and in their dark visors, Julianna saw the reflections of the buildings behind her. They were watching and waiting for the next chance to turn.

A hover flew overhead and it paused to take her reading, before two looters carrying arms full of stolen goods, distracted it. The temptation for an arrest overrode its programmed orders on Julianna, and it followed, beckoning to them like a rabid dog, issuing a warning to stop.  Its mechanical voice blared over the empting streets, ordering them to stop and prepare for scanning. The two men bumped into each other, panicked and running, as the hover drone darted after them.

Her eyes returned to the center of the road, where the patrols had turned; they were starting back towards her. They’d request a second drone, or recall the other. She’d worn a patrol division helmet before, and it’s inbuilt voice programming made recall easy. They had their orders and she knew chances were slim that she’d escape them.

These guys are fast.

They approached cautiously.

The opening remained.

Closer.

She geared up, revved her bike, and sped through the center of their line formation. The back wheel of the middle bike caught the tip of her boot, sending her on a balance struggle before she accelerated. One cursed and another screamed for backup.

The first of the curfew sirens boomed when she took the sharp turn. In fifteen minutes she’d be the the last person outside. She envisaged her arrest: the patrol division would wait on their bikes; the drones would hone in on her body temperature until they tracked her. It wouldn’t take long at all. They’d have told Taris her whereabouts in Sector Five; he had her wings clipped. The desperation rose at the thought. If she didn’t reach Sector Six before the second curfew call, she might as well ride to Central Command and surrender herself.

Julianna rolled her bike along and her feet tipped the ground for balance. The street turned into an alleyway. The scattered wooden crates and overflowing dumpsters created a maze, forcing her to weave the bike in and out of the abandoned and filthy causeway. She looked up, her feet touching the ground, and she sat on her bike, which purred in its place.

Shit!

A chain mesh fence blocked her in. She took her helmet off, risking the hover drone returning to take her candid picture, and rested it between her thighs. Leaning on it with her arms crossed, she stared up at the two rows of razor wire lacing the three-meter-high obstacle. It was thick and tightly wound, and had Sector Six behind it.

The rev of their engines approached.

Double shit!

Julianna turned her bike around to face them. The patrol division was perched in her path, straddling their bikes in their all-black uniforms with their reflective visors turned down to conceal their faces.  The humming of the drone in the sky returned.

The hover’s laser flashed, as it fed her features into Central Command’s database. It sailed between her and the patrol, its metallic disc bobbing up and down, waiting to counter her next move with its laser. Those wanted in the New World Order didn’t stand a chance – the Militia always silenced the prisoner, either with a bullet or reprogramming camp – and she was very, very high on their most wanted list.

Julianna turned the ignition off, pocketed the key, and kicked down the bike stand. She swung her leg over the seat to greet her hunters. The concealed blade strapped to her wrist, slipped underneath her jacket, and into her fingertips. Her good luck charm from Caden; she never left home without it.

The two patrols remained where they were, their bikes humming, ready for another pursuit. The larger officer, burly and brood shouldered, walked his bike to where she stood. He mirrored her actions, releasing his bike stand so it rested where he dismounted. His large stature diminished Julianna when their boots toed each other.

The hover drone settled above.

‘Julianna Rae, you are under arrest by order of the—’

Her helmet aimed center of his groin. It hit his stomach instead, and he caught it one-handed before tossing it into the overflowing dumpster beside them. He closed in their gap again, another boot stepping forward and his hands ready to catch. The drone followed, with its laser pointing eagerly.

Julianna watched him extend his baton from his belt clip. A bright streak of lightning stretched between its two prongs as he flicked its neck to extend to her reach. Twenty-five hundred charged volts pointed in her direction.

‘You’re in nonconformity of Article 7.82 and 7.30,’ he said.

She dropped to her knees and placed her hands behind her back. She could sense the officer smiling under his dark visor, laughing as he arrogantly sauntered with his baton ready, and his handcuffs loose.

The knife loaded into her wrist and she felt a whole lot better for it.

I need to do this. I do, I really do. Damn it, why corner me like this?
The thoughts slipped into whispers resting on her lips.

Julianna slipped the knife farther in her lunge. She swiped quickly with its razor sharp blade and watched the burly officer crumple to the ground, screaming and clutching helplessly at his freshly bloodied thighs. Red sprays spurted over him and his men ran to his side, of no use as he rolled on the ground begging, bleeding to his death.

Julianna hurried to her bike, forgetful of Central Command watching the events unfold through the hover drone’s all-seeing eye. They aimed the drone’s laser. Two shots fired into her shoulder, crashing her into her bike. Julianna’s charred skin and jacket smoldered as she lifted herself onto its back, and she fumbled for her keys twice, before pushing them into the ignition.

The hover shot another burst into the wall above her head, sending bricks through the dust, as she bolted past the bikes and along the alleyway. It followed in a temper, its lasers set, then faltered in the sky. She pulled to the side pavement to watch it flounder above the power lines that rarely worked, the triangular eye switching off as it attempted to keep its angry course. The confused bird dropped into the concrete with a metal
thud.

Isis had tracked her again. Isis had saved her again, she thought. She sat on her bike in the main street eyeing the CCTV, the one thing remaining from the old world. Big brother watched and so did Isis. He would follow her movements until she was safe under the guise of Club Star. He’d have her back, keep her safe, and then he’d have her head, when she returned to the safe house.

The comms – she fumbled inside her jacket pocket, the glass plates still intact; the time on the city monitors reminded her of Club Star.

She missed her first performance
again,
and it wouldn’t go well two nights running. Her jacket rubbed against the fresh injury and she cringed at her shoulder through the burnt material. She dared to touch it with her fingertips, pulling away as soon as she did.

No, being late wasn’t an option, for a reason she kept to herself. Caden Madison’s rumored appearance did more than intrigue her.

The sun settled into the pink horizon through the grey scattering of clouds. She folded the knife into her jacket pocket, before joining the last of the traffic. The burn on her shoulder eased with the wind pushing against the pain, but she would need healing before her performance, and wondered if she’d find a nearby watcher, friendly enough to help her. The chances were slim; the handful she knew either hunted her, were at the safe house, or dead.

She looked up at the CCTV and monitors as she rode.
Is Isis one? Will I ever meet the man?

She would thank him again for saving her ass. It was becoming a habit and not one going unnoticed.

She followed the road to the outskirts of town, toward Club Star, trying to find an excuse for her boss.  In her heart, she knew he’d risk losing patrons, rather than fire the closest thing he had to a celebrity. A public outcry would occur, and not just from the watchers, walkers, and norms, but from the Rebellion and the Guild. It was where she found their best recruits and contacts and where she hoped she would find one more, for her own peace of mind.

CLUB STAR, SECTOR #6

The crowds sat perched for center stage. They whistled, cheered, and leered for more as she wrapped her leg around the gold pole, taking her body with it in a full circle, outstretched, tempting the men before her. Tonight she dressed in black. The eye mask concealed her features, a mystery that Club Star guests loved. Her full lips, which she painted deep red for the occasion, pouted below her tiny nose; a trace of her high cheekbones was visible if they looked close enough. Yet her identity remained a guarded secret. Only the owner and her two support dancers knew her name, and she intended on keeping it that way. The black lace top, which unbuttoned across her generous breasts, hid her shoulder injury. The black hot pants, easily substituted with a twenty-inch piece of material around her ass, showed enough to satisfy the Club Star crowds if she raised her legs right. She never did, she only ever teased. It appeased her boss, who never asked for more from his star performer. That was a job for his backup dancers.

The crowds were the usual faces: watchers, with their dark brooding eyes; walkers, lurking in the corners, paranoid of everyone else; incubi scanning for their evening’s prey; the norms, trying for a piece of the action. The norms disgusted her most. She’d give anything to experience their life, to move away from the underworld, out of the Rebellion, with the family she still couldn’t find.

She grieved as she danced.

She pictured her other family,
the family
, sitting beside a warm fire, toasting each other with vintage wines and fine whiskeys, discussing and praising their success of the day. The New World Order was of their doing. She recalled her uncle discussing the large business’ he bought, dominating the economic markets with the Senate and Council firmly persuading the international banking level. They showed no mercy during the takeover. Slowly but surely, one after another, Julianna witnessed the smaller powers falling into their hands, so subtle that no one cared to notice until it was too late.

Until the military coup happened and everything that once was, ceased to exist.

The very notion infuriated her.

Thanks very much, Militia and Leader Rosewalt. Thank you very much indeed.

To have been a part of it disgusted Julianna, though the choice was not hers. She was proud she’d left of her own free will – but not without consequences. The few days spent in camp 4.5.2 were the beginning of her torment. The interrogation revisited her in night terrors, of running through the woods – but alone, and not with Caden Madison beside her keeping her safe.

Her eyes averted from the crowds who turned her stomach. The music blasted over them, and she danced, watching for new contacts to serve the Rebellion and the old notions of patriotism.

The report from Isis of Caden Madison flooded back. She watched the steps leading from the street-level entrance, scanning the crowds along the way, and wondered if he’d appear. Isis suggested he would, earlier in the day during the last reprimand for her careless actions.

Isis had blasted her over the flat-screen monitor hanging in the safe house meeting room. Usually, the room was reserved for Commanders and senior rank, but his request for her presence in private, had allowed him the pleasure of demonstrating a new meaning to the phrase
ass tearing.
He’d covered her twice, risking the chance of the Militia tracking his location through the CCTV. He yelled and cussed, and if not for the borders on the screen concealing his identity, she thought he might have been pacing with the comms in his hand.

Tonight he’d done the same thing again, reneging on his promise in the meeting room that she would suffer on her own. He had saved her
again,
through CCTV
again,
crashing the drone that had shot her, risking his identity
again.
All had heard the quick meeting over the comms in her dressing room, behind closed doors.

Isis was pissed, big time. The crowds of Club Star faded away. The events in the alleyway unfolded, and she imagined Isis threatening her with a trip in-country again, to hide her away for the sake of the Rebellion.

The dance music pumped, contrary to Article 0005. The celebration of the illegal act happened nightly. The banning of music, along with art, dance and anything else relating to free thought, was ignored. The girls on stage danced for the whistling crowds and money landing at their feet. In the underground clubs, the Militia turned a blind eye, using them instead for a recruiting ground and a means to escape their harsh life for a night.

The girls skipped behind the black curtains. The time to own the stage for a solo performance arrived. She waited for her introduction, and for the girls to rush past in their high heels and knickers, while she remained barefoot, swaying around the pole, teasing with her leg, and daring not to give away too much.

The music reminded her of college days spent in lecture halls, studying with music firmly in her ears, miles from Club Star and its rotting crowds. Julianna’s science degree initially provided safety and Militia favor. Taris, and her uncle, provided training in weaponry and combat to complement her science background for a future with the Militia, believing her to hold traditionalist beliefs, someone to support their cause. It didn’t happen that way. Regret overshadowed their trust and conviction when they discovered her loyalty for the Rebellion.

The numerous family secrets she traded upon had pushed the Militia agenda back twelve months. Some remained hidden for her own benefit, for now, they needed to wait. For now, helping Isis establish the safe house as a stronger power in the Sectors was her goal. The safe house gave her refuge after camp 4.5.2’s escape, and she had empowered it in return. Not a lot – just enough to hurt the Militia – and she suspected Caden Madison might have added his own support too. Isis spoke highly of his name and success in the command of the country camps, but was always cautious in what information he gave away.

Caden Madison.

The name melted in her mouth like soft butter.

She scanned the crowds again. No sign, but for a man shadowing the back walls. The smoky haze hovered in the crowds. The lights hanging from the rig above the stage illuminated her performance. Most of the faces concealed in shadow, but the dark figure remained moody and withdrawn, watching over her…resembling
him.

Possibly.

Julianna danced.

She entertained the men with her much spoken-about performance, keeping the Rebellion in new recruits and contacts, and providing useful leads for her own cause: finding her parents. It paid her bills and she was safe from the initiation her uncle continued to plan. She’d rather submit to a slow, agonizing death at the hands of an incubus than transform into a full-fledged creature of the night.

Your destiny will be that when you become one of us. You will see your path in time, princess, but for now, stay hidden from the world.
Her father’s voice came every now and then, always with the same warning. His last words at the family estate weighed heavily in her heart. She never saw her parents again.

She swayed to the music.

Let no one influence you from it when it stretches before you; you have an important role to play, Jillie. You remember that.
He had tipped her nose, tucked her into the soft, warm bed, and kissed her goodnight.

The crowds thickened to see her dance. The man along the back wall was gone. She ran her view across the heads. The lights moved with the steady beat and her body followed, sometimes leaning on the pole, sometimes surrounding it with her body. The things she could do, the way she curved and turned her lithe body, sent the already untamed male hordes wild. Men dug deep into their pockets and reached over, tucking dollar notes into her black garter or throwing NWO coins at the wooden stage. On a good night, she made enough to pay the monthly rent on her downtown apartment. If she couldn’t afford the luxury, she’d crash at the safe house in Sector Three or one of the outlying camps, or with the Guild.

The crowds all wanted the same thing. Regardless of the breed, they all wanted a piece of fresh norm ass, who they could easily manipulate. The outcry if they discovered who she really was…she considered herself a norm, tried her best to fit in with their living, but every now and then, a feeling lingered, or the touch of something residual reminded her of the Family connection. Initiation or not, she was one of them, and she wondered how long it would take before the truth was thrust upon her and her freedom stolen. She hoped to live her life out the way the Guild had suggested.

Dance, Julianna, just dance. These thoughts help no one. Just dance, for Christ’s sake, and forget they even exist,
but the thoughts, nagged, not entirely leaving.

The watchers congregated. Their cigarette habits arriving with their presence made it impossible to see the doors to the staircase leading outside. The tapered slits in the eye mask, slipped down on her face, hindering her sight. Julianna pushed her mask onto the bridge of her nose with her pointer finger and squinted across the crowds to scan them again, before drawing down to her naked leg.

Fingers gently caressed her thigh, slipping along her exposed skin until they reached her garter. The hand tucked a five-dollar bill skillfully under its lace before returning to her soft skin. The man, whose forbidden touch lingered, met her with his dark, brooding eyes and her heart missed its beat. She felt herself blush. Sweat trickled down. She moistened her lips. It was
him
on the back wall.

Caden Madison pouted under his thick black hair, and his well-set eyes stared before giving her a wink. His three-day growth from his camp incarceration was gone; now he passed for mid-thirties with a clean shave on his pale skin.

This isn’t his true face; it isn’t the same image as the portrait hanging beside the General.
Next to the General, he had traces of grey hair, something unheard of in a watcher younger than three centuries, so she knew him an ancient – or maybe it was rumor. She liked to refer to that photo as ‘mature.’
Council always boasts the three-century mark. He shape-shifted during our escape, into this younger face.

‘He’s old,’ the girls had teased when they had grouped with her around his photo.

‘Of course he’s old, he’s a watcher,’ Julianna had defended.

The corners of her mouth curled upward under his light touch. He caressed her thigh some more, feeling her skin, not wanting to leave her.

‘Exactly – he’s a watcher, and he’s ex-Council. Probably an ancient. Why go there?’

She stopped dancing. His finger lingered.  Only when it flicked her knee playfully did she remember the crowds. They stared, intently focused on the stranger who’d successfully caught the attention of the star who ignored everyone.

He was Council. You ran from them.
He’s the forbidden apple from the tree.

Julianna watched him turn. Had he placed his charm on her, she wondered.

No. He is the serpent tempting innocence – and how I want his hand to return to me, damn it!

He checked over his shoulder and smiled, he’d sensed her every thought and every whim. She danced against the pole while he ambled away, hunched in his black shirt with his eyes cast low. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, displaying the scattering of black symbols on his arms, warning anyone who’d dare cross a watcher with such ancient markings to think twice. With his back turned, she felt his charisma melt away.

He had allured her.

A hypnotist, too,
she thought.

The crowds watched him sit two rows from her center. A beer that he didn’t order was placed on his table. The younger watchers nodded in his direction, manically whispering back and forth like crazed fans. She wasn’t the only star feature of the night and from the pole between her legs, she witnessed the stir he created among his own kind.

He ignored it to watch her.

His dark eyes brooded, soaking in her legs wrapping the pole as she caressed it, and she was sure to keep his eyes on hers the entire time. It took little effort; she had his undivided attention. When she did her signature move and the crowds went wild, he sat in his seat with his beer in his hand and just smiled.

The hazy atmosphere that hung made his sign of the Rebellion difficult to distinguish. His fist moved subtly across his chest before flipping his shirt pocket open for his cigarettes and she saw the nod he gave her. He smiled again, slipped out a cigarette, and added to the haze above his head.

The music faded for more introductions; the table girls stepped into the men’s section for their private seductions, away from the stage and away from the gambling. Julianna took the two steps down in her bare feet, searching for splinters on the roughly sanded wood, not seeing the walker with his hand rising for a playful slap to the backs of her thighs.

A ruddy handprint stretched across her olive complexion, fingerprints forming across one leg with the palm print outstretched on the other. The offender pushed his chair away to tower over her between the cramped tables.

‘You’re in my way,’ he folded his arms, broadening his strong shoulders.  His deep voice broke easily across the crowds.

Caden leaned into his chair, watching with the masses. Their whispers of concern reached her.