Melt: (A TimeBend Novel - Book One), page 1
Melt
A TimeBend Novel
Ann Denton
Le Rue Publishing
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Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-9985437-0-3
First Edition
For Rob.
Contents
A note to readers:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Feedback
Burn Preview
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Be Social
A note to readers:
Yess! I feel like the kid who just got picked to be on your team. Woot! Thanks for picking up my book. Just so you know, when I hear from you, it’s a bright spot in my day. Please let me know your thoughts via email or Facebook. I promise, I’m only mean in person. 😉
Also, forewarning, there may be cliffhangers at times, but everything will wrap up eventually. If your heart can bear it, be patient, and I promise you, this series is the culmination of years of thinking and plotting, so it darn well better be good or I’ll smack myself on your behalf. Deal?
Chapter One
“Don't look. Don't-look-don't-look-don't-look,” Mala muttered under her breath.
Her eyes were fixed on her mother across the entryway. Erinne had her shotgun slung over her shoulder as she bent and dug through a trunk full of moth-eaten quilts, pulling out something that resembled a colorful spiderweb more than a blanket.
She's not gonna look, Mala chided herself. The light's too dim anyway.
It was true. Other than the window they'd crawled through, there was no light to speak of. The foyer of the mansion resembled a tomb. The bones of a rotted couch cast eerie shadows on the wall. And her mother dug deeper into the trunk, intent on scavenging.
She's not gonna look. Just do it. But Mala's heart didn't trust her head. It beat out a worried rhythm on her ribs.
Slowly, Mala crouched down and slid her hand between two jagged panes of glass that threatened to bite her wrist. She held her breath as she twisted a little knob. Luckily, it fell off without a fight.
She risked a glance down. A pitted, abused face stared back up at her. Jewels pried out of the center, numerals pried off the cheeks—someone had smashed this poor grandfather clock to pieces a long time ago. When gold had been worth something.
You are so stupid, Mala scolded herself. This isn't gonna work. Just leave— But her mother made a noise, and before Mala could argue with herself, she’d slipped the hour hand off the clock and into her frayed pocket.
Erinne led the way down a dim hall; Mala followed like a younger, suppler shadow. A cracked mirror gaped at the two women in threadbare brown trousers and collared shirts, the images of their untamed brown curls, sun-kissed skin, and chocolate eyes refracted back in slivers until the mirror saw only a shadowy, many-eyed monster.
The women peered in every direction as they both stepped over a marble column—a fallen soldier among the many guarding this vast house. Erinne held the shotgun ready; Mala, a trident dagger that had been her father's.
Erinne jerked her brown curls toward a bedroom. Mala followed, and while her mother checked the closet, the seventeen-year-old peered out a broken window at the forest. Her eyes flickered over the trees, searching, seeking. An eerie feeling crept up her spine.
Calm down. It's just another supply run. No one's here. Scouts said the last Erlender boat was thirty kilometers upriver. But a breeze caused the trees to shiver, and Mala couldn't help joining them.
She glanced back into the room to see her mother pocketing some rusted safety pins.
Mala returned to her mother. “We should hurry.” She tried to sound calm, simply cautious. She tried not to let the fear trickle into her voice. The house had looked deserted, but this far north it was hard to tell. This far north, it was dangerous.
When Erinne was ready to move on, she grunted and Mala followed her into the hall. They went through room after room, quickly eliminating most. But Erinne stopped short in the master bedroom.
A series of paintings stacked near the bed caught her eye. The first painting showed a girl swimming underneath the crusty hull of a ship. Mala barely glanced at it as she walked the perimeter of the room.
Crash.
Mala whirled around, prepared to throw the dagger. Her mother stood frozen, a hand to her mouth, the painting of the little girl forgotten on the floor. Mala followed her mother's gaze and saw the second painting. A ship aflame on the water. Her mother began to tremble.
Quickly, Mala crossed the room and turned the canvas around. She reached for her mother's hand but Erinne waved her off.
“Momma, I'm just trying to help—”
Erinne gave her the look.
“Fine,” Mala muttered. “I'm going to check the kitchen. You stay here. When I get back, we're leaving.” Her mother nodded absently, arms clutching her torso.
Mala sighed and walked purposefully down the hall to a vast kitchen. There was nothing to do but give her mother space when she was rattled like this.
The forest had already reclaimed a good portion of the kitchen. Ferns and stubby trees huddled in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the tattered roof. Mala yanked on a warped cabinet drawer. It wouldn't budge. Neither would its neighbor.
The top cabinets hadn't sealed themselves shut, and a quick glance told Mala they'd been raided long ago. But as she moved to close the last one, a glint from the top shelf caught her eye. She set down her knife and hoisted herself carefully onto the old stone countertop.
The lower cabinets groaned but held as Mala peered inside. She saw a single gleaming jam jar. It was full of bullets. Flooding hell. I knew it. Her heart raced as she reached for the jar. Behind it, well-polished and oiled, was a gun. Mala nearly fell off the countertop.
“Sludge!” she cursed and clung to the shelves. She tied a knot in her shirt and shoved the jam jar inside. She took the gun in her shaking hands and checked it. The magazine was fully loaded.
Mala wanted to yell for her mother, to run screaming down the hall and grab her. Instead, she counted internally. One, two, three ... her pulse started to calm. And then she slithered silently to the floor. Gun in one hand and knife in the other, she crept back to the master suite to collect her mother. But Erinne was nowhere to be seen.
“Mom!” she whispered, panicked. “Momma?” She ran across the room to a door on the other side. The breath fled from her body and cold flooded her. She grabbed the door handle for support.
Oh God—they've taken her.
The door smashed Mala in the face. She groaned.
Erinne peered around the edge apologetically. Mala clasped her jaw, but didn't feel the throbbing. She only felt relief. Her mother held out a long white plastic bag as a peace offering.
“We have to leave now! Forget that stuff, whatever it is. We have to go. Someone's been here. Someone's staying here. I found this.” Mala held up the gun. Erinne's eyes widened in alarm.
“Come on!” Mala tucked the knife in her waistband and pushed at Erinne, but her mother wouldn’t relinquish her hold on the plastic bag. “Then bring it—I don't care, but we've got to be out of here before they get—”
An explosion rattled their teeth. Mala grabbed her mother's hand and the two exchanged a long look. Then they raced down the hall, back toward the
Mala peered out the window before launching through it and dropping to the ground. Her mother landed softly beside her.
A sudden crash made the women freeze. Mala grabbed her weapons and flattened herself against the wall of the house. “Erlenders,” she croaked weakly to her mother.
Erinne shuddered in fear next to her. Mala tightened her grip on the gun. She swallowed. If I have to shoot someone, I have to. I have to protect Mom. If I have to shoot someone… oh, please don't let that happen.
The gun quivered in her hand. The seconds dragged slowly, agonizingly, and each breath Mala took felt like a deafening roar, sure to give away their location. She held her breath.
But it did no good. A second explosion rang through the forest. Before Erinne could fully lift her shotgun or Mala could recover from her shock, a thick bull of a man barreled through the trees right in front of them.
Smack!
Pain radiated all the way from Mala's spine to her fingertips. It sang in her head like a bell. It reverberated through her body, shaking every last ounce of flesh.
Mala fought her body and forced her eyes to focus on the man in front of her. To her shock, she recognized him. He wasn’t an Erlender.
Deep brown skin, screws piercing his ears, snub nose, a black fish tattoo covering his chin and half his neck—he was one of the best soldiers in Bara's guard.
“Sorgen?” she whimpered.
“Mala!” Blood gushed down his forehead, into his eyes. “Help me.”
Chapter Two
Years later, decades later, eons later, they reached the safety of the river. Or so it seemed to Mala's aching back. She'd had to carry Sorgen; the explosion had taken a huge chunk out of his right leg and it was a miracle he'd collapsed onto her.
The wide belt of water had never looked so inviting. Mala longed to dive in. But she knew she wouldn't be able to keep herself afloat. Only her swimmer's strength had let her stumble along with Sorgen this far.
As she'd struggled through the undergrowth, Mala had tried to ask Sorgen what had happened. She wanted to ask why he was off in this tributary instead of on the main patrol route, but the blood loss had shut him up and a glare from Erinne had shut her up.
She navigated carefully down the sloping bank. So I guess this is what the front lines feel like ... Mala's thoughts fizzled as she focused on making it through the undergrowth without pitching face-first into a fallen tree with a grown man wrapped around her neck.
Finally she was close enough to the water that she could set Sorgen down in the mud. Her body singing in relief, Mala didn't take a moment to relax. She slid down the riverbank.
Erinne's old speedboat, a rusting green pill with Bara's black fish painted on its deck, floated serenely on the water. Hopping aboard, Mala cleared the cabin and stood watch while her mother floated Sorgen to the ladder. With a lot of grunting, heaving, and near misses, they managed to get the unconscious Senebal warrior aboard.
“No more raiding,” Mala said earnestly, as she gunned the engine and they sped away, heading south to safety. “We didn't find anything useful in that place. Wasted trip.”
Erinne shook her head and slowly unwound the plastic bag she'd tied over her shoulder. A brilliant blue dress cascaded to the floor. It looked like the night sky, a deep navy encrusted with sparkling stars. The skirt fell out in a bell. Mala couldn't believe her eyes. But she swallowed her awe.
“Really, Mom? A dress? Are you going to rip that up for bandages? Because I don't see how it's gonna help Sorgen.”
Her mother rolled her eyes and went into the cabin to get their meager supply chest. It held the few medicines sent from DasWort, ripped cloth strips that had been boiled to serve as bandages, and jars of roots and herbs gathered from the banks of the Gottermund River.
Hopefully it's enough, Mala thought as the river swayed to the left. She didn't look down, but she knew her frayed khakis were soaked in blood. She hadn't looked closely, but she knew Sorgen's wounds were bad.
Mom's dealt with bad before. It will be enough. It has to be enough. Because the few jars were all they had. And because Mala couldn't stand the thought of losing another member of their guard. Couldn't stand the thought of another funeral.
But Erinne was a miracle worker. Everyone in Bara's contingent said she was the best medic they'd ever had.
And this is Sorgen, Mala's brain scoffed. He was one of the best soldiers Bara had, probably one of the best soldiers in the entire Senebal nation. He’s lived through four major battles and an alligator attack.
Some people joked that Sorgen's ferocious determination kept him alive, that he was too bloodthirsty to die. Of course, he always said it was his lucky coin, a pre-bomb relic he wore on a chain around his neck. And he’d walked out of the smoking battle grounds more than once with it gleaming on his chest.
She'll fix him. Mala turned her attention back to steering, feeling more confident as Erinne settled to work on the deck behind her. The thrum of the engine was lulling and Mala's thoughts began to wander. Her eyes slid back to the dress.
She'd never seen anything like it. Most of the clothing factories had gone up with the bomb. She only knew of one left in the capital city DasWort, and it only produced the most pedestrian necessities. There was no telling how old this dress was.
Someone really left it behind all those years? Mala grimaced internally as she realized the reason her mom had taken the dress. She's gonna make me wear it at the celebration tonight. But then she heard something that drove the celebration from her mind entirely.
Sorgen howled ferociously. Mala glanced back just in time to see him retch onto Erinne's lap.
Navigating to a bend sheltered by cyprus trees where they wouldn’t be easily seen, Mala cut the engine, tossed an anchor, and crouched to help her mother.
“Sorgen,” Mala touched his scarred arm. His eyelids fluttered, his eyes rolled ... and then he stilled. Mala took his pulse. Thank goodness. She gave a sigh of relief. It would be easier if he was unconscious.
She took stock of his injuries. His facial wounds were shallow: a bullet had grazed his forehead, another his lip and lower jaw. A lump formed in Mala’s throat. His necklace was gone. It’s just a necklace, she scolded herself. But she didn’t really believe that.
She glanced down where her mother worked on the ragged leg wound, the shredded muscle and exposed bone.
“Is that—from the explosion?” Mala asked.
Erinne gave a brief nod and sifted through her supplies, selecting those she would need. She made an absentminded gesture, but Mala knew exactly what her mother was thinking.
We need a better tourniquet. Mala scanned the deck. She settled on a gnarled old piece of rope from a canopy pole. She offered it to her mother and gritted her teeth as they tightened it around his thigh.
A low moan escaped Sorgen's lips. Mala turned slowly to find his eyes on her. She froze, panicked. But he—he was passed out. She looked at her mother, but Erinne was bent over the leg. Mala backed up. Just look away. Look away. She tried to focus on her breathing. She stared at the blood coating the deck planks.
“Sorgen. My mom’s fixing you. You’re gonna be okay,” Mala prayed her words proved true.
“Verrat …” he murmured his wife's name.
Mala shifted her eyes to her mother's hands.
