A Dark Grave (Elysium Chronicles, .5)

A Dark Grave

A DARK GRAVE

J.A. SOUDERS

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Jessica Souders 2012

Cover by Eithne O’Halon

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Also by J.A. Souders

Available from Tor Teen:

“Grim, vicious, riveting. RENEGADE is a
haunting, unforgettable debut.”
–
ANN AGUIRRE,
National best-selling author.

“RENEGADE is a dark tale of deceit, with
twists that will keep you turning the pages, and an ending that
will have you on the edge of your seat.” –
LISA
DESROCHERS, Author of Personal Demons.

Table of Contents

A Dark Grave

Scene 1

Scene 2

Scene 3

Scene 4

Scene 5

Coming Soon

About the
Author

November 13, 2160

The house is as quiet as a tomb.
Not
a good thought on the day I’m hunting on a supposedly haunted
island.

I
shudder at the chill that runs through my body; haunted or not,
I
’
m hunting that island and I
’
m coming back with a
boatload of meat.

As quietly as I can, I grab my rifle, my
bow, and double-check my pack. Plenty of ammo? Check. Arrows, extra
nocks, tips and quiver? Check. First-aid kit? Check.

I pause as I pass my brother’s room, and
then move on quickly before he notices I’m leaving. He was upset
when he found out I wasn’t taking him on this trip. I used the “too
dangerous” excuse, and in all fairness, it’s true, but I really
just needed to get away from his incessant chatter. There’s only so
much a guy can take.

Mom’s got it in her head that I’m not
“social” enough. That I need to spend more time with kids my age
and, better yet, get a girlfriend.

“A nice, pretty girl from a good family,”
she keeps saying.

Right. It’s not that I don’t want a
girlfriend, just that they usually want things I don’t want to
give. Like time. And attention. Besides, I learned long ago that
friends are more dangerous than enemies.

On my way to the door, I stop when I see a
package on the kitchen table with a note.

Just a few things for your trip.

I’m so glad you’re finally spending time
with friends!

Don’t worry about us; we’ll be fine while
you’re gone.

Tristan will get over it.

Have fun and be careful.

Mom

Grinning, I tuck the bag into my pack. I
know what’s inside -- the same thing she’s made every time I go on
long hunts: cookies. She knows it’s just about the only thing I
can’t get in the Outlands.

Except this time, I’m not going to the
Outlands. But if Mom knew where I was going, she’d never let me
go.

I automatically glance up above the door as
I walk out and press my fingers to my lips, then to the picture
hanging there. Just like I do every time I leave, though today, I
only hope he understands why I had to lie to mom about where I’m
going.

Dad’s been gone eight years. Mom says he was
killed in the Outlands on a hunting trip, which left only me, the
only one skilled enough to hunt, to take care of the family. But I
know better.

With a sigh, I look to the sky as I make my
way to the beach on the other side of the cove to wait for my
hunting partner. The stars are all gone and the moon has set, but
the sun won’t be up for another hour or so. The crickets have long
ceased their songs and the birds aren’t stirring yet.

It’s the perfect time of day.

No one will see us sneak our way over to the
island, which is why we’re leaving now; we’re not exactly supposed
to go there. Because it’s “haunted.”

I don’t believe that. I do believe, however,
in all the fresh game I’m sure flourishes over there. It’s ripe for
hunting and I plan to come back with so much meat that my family,
and Conn’s, won’t have to worry about food for a long time.

I’m not going to let a few ghost stories get
in my way.

Footsteps in the sand pull me from my
thoughts and I glance over to see Connor making his way toward
me.

He’s not my normal hunting partner. Usually
it’s no one or, if I want company, Tristan. But with the possible
danger of the island, I needed someone I knew could take care of
himself -- who could also make sure I didn’t end up dead like my
dad. My family would starve if I disappeared, too.

Conn has been hunting for as long as I have.
We used to go out as kids with our fathers. Besides me, he’s
probably the best hunter our village has. He’s also the only other
person besides Tristan and my mom that I trust.

He stops next to me, peering out over the
water to the island, shading his dark eyes with his hand. “You sure
about this?”

“What?” I grin at him. “You’re not telling
me that you’re scared of a teeny tiny island.”

He snorts and tugs his pack higher on his
back. “How we gettin’ over there?”

Instead of answering, I lead to where I
stashed the makeshift raft I made out of driftwood. I’d been
working on the damn thing for the better part of six months. It may
not look pretty, but it floats.

I drop my pack onto the raft and bend to
push it into the softly lapping waves. At least the water is
calm.

I glance up to Conn.

He twists the little silver loop in his ear
and gives the raft an uneasy look before he sighs and tosses his
pack next to mine. He knows as much as I do that the potential game
on the island is worth the risk.

Together we shove away from shore. He gives
me another look and I just grin at him, before we each grab one of
the long poles we’ll be using for oars and drag our way toward the
island.

It takes longer than I expected to cross the
expanse. Even though the water looked calm on the surface, there
was a strong current underneath that kept trying to push us back
toward the cove. The sun is coming up over the horizon when we
finally drag the raft onto the shore.

The trees are all covered in fog thick as
smoke. It’s not surprising. The island is always covered in fog.
The pink dawn makes it seem surreal and a bit eerie.

I shudder, but brush off the spider webs of
dread clinging to my skin. The forest should be like any of the
wooded areas near the village, but overflowing with animals.

The dread starts to come back when we land
and, besides the birds, there’s no other sounds on the island.

Why
aren’t there any more sounds?
There should be
something
in there making noise. Deer.
Squirrels. Bugs for God’s sake.

Is the fog sucking up all the sound? Or are
there just not any animals? The thought makes my stomach hurt, but
I brush it off. There have
got
to be animals here.

Conn and I glance at each other. There’s
only one way to find out. We grab our supplies, shouldering our
packs before dragging the raft further away from the shore. It
would completely suck if a wave washed it away before we got back.
I still hope to have a ton of meat to haul home.

We take a few moments to hide the raft,
combing the beach for debris. Just in case. Don’t expect anyone out
here to steal it, but can’t be too careful.

Just as I drop my last armful onto the raft,
Conn calls my name. There’s something in his voice that makes me
nervous. I turn to see him frantically waving me over from halfway
down the beach, panic in his movements.

Conn isn’t one to jump at shadows; something
is definitely wrong. I rush over; his face is pale and he looks
like he’s going to be sick.

I see something lying on ground by his
feet.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach tells
me I probably don’t want to know it is. But even as I tell myself I
don’t want to know, I already see.

It’s a body.

I lean down, trying to see if I recognize
the person. I’m hoping beyond all hope that it isn’t one of the
hunters we lost a few months ago. Honestly, I hope it isn’t someone
I know at all, but I realize the chance is slim. Who else would’ve
died on this strange little island?

I hold my breath as I inspect his face. He’s
young—older than Tristan, but younger than Conn and me. I feel a
weight lift as I realize it’s quite evident that this person isn’t
a villager. He’d been in the water awhile before he washed up here,
but nothing about him is familiar.

The skin is pale, as if it’s never seen a
ray of sunlight. The short blond hair is a strange yellow,
nearly…too perfect of a blond. It makes me think that this
boy—whoever he was--never saw the sun, but I don’t even know how
that’s possible. Or how he’d end up here on the island.

The cause of death is easy to see. I’d
recognize those wounds anywhere. Two gunshots to the chest. If the
shots didn’t kill him, considering how much blood is still staining
his shirt, he bled out. I’m just surprised he didn’t end up dinner
to any of the sea life. With that much blood floating around, I’m
sure a shark would have noticed.

Then again, I think, taking a closer look at
the body. It does appear
something
nibbled on him. Maybe he
doesn’t taste good.

I bark out a laugh, then suck it in when
Conn gives me a look.

Yeah. Probably not a good idea to laugh at a
dead body.

I glance around quickly, wondering if the
person who killed him is around somewhere, but the only footsteps I
see are ours.

“No footsteps,” Conn says, echoing my
thoughts. “More than likely the body was dumped somewhere else and
washed up here.”

I nod. “We should stay alert, just in case,”
I say.

I stand, brushing the sand from my hands. I
glance over to the woods and see a shadow pass through the fog.
Shuddering, I think of all the superstitious bullshit regarding
ghosts.

“They say if a body isn’t buried properly
the soul walks around haunting the place it died because it can’t
find peace,” Conn says.

A chill runs over my skin, making goose
bumps pop up all over, but I say, “That’s crap. When people die,
they just die. They don’t come back to haunt other people,
especially some stupid island.”

I glance down at the body. “But we’d better
find a spot to bury him. Doesn’t seem right to just leave him out
here.”

And that’s the only reason. Because it’s the
right thing to do, not because of some stupid ghost story.

Conn makes a face, but helps me drag the
body closer to the trees. We have only our hands for shovels and
the sandy beach is much easier to dig in, so we don’t go farther
into the forest.

We quickly dig a shallow grave and cover him
with sand. Conn disappears for a second, returning with a somewhat
large and unusually shaped rock that we use as a grave marker.

We stand quietly for a minute, paying our
respects to a boy we never met. I think how glad I am that I didn’t
bring Tristan.

Ever since Dad died, I’ve been responsible
for him, and the family, taking over where Dad left off. Tristan
had been just a baby. I’d helped feed him, change his diapers,
learn his alphabet, shoot his first rifle. I was even there with
mom for his first day of school.

I would never admit it, but seeing him sit
in that little bitty classroom, the same one with the same teacher
I had, made me a little teary. Maybe it was because he was growing
up or, more than likely, because my dad would never get to see it
and I had to stand in his stead. Tristan had never really known our
dad; he’s always looked up to
me
. And it was hard enough on
me to see the body; I can’t imagine what it would have done to him.
Especially if the killer is still on the island somewhere.

The thought makes me grip tighter to my
rifle and take one more glance around. Even though it’s obvious
Conn and I are the only humans alive on this island, I can’t shake
the feeling we’re being watched.

Feeling a little creeped out, Conn and I
silently grab our gear and make our way into the foggy forest.

Despite how promising the wooded area
looked, we’ve spent all day hunting without so much as a rabbit to
our name. It’s not that there aren’t animals; there’s a ton, but
each time we get close to one, they seem to just…disappear in the
fog. As if they were never there in the first place -- not even any
tracks to prove we saw anything at all.