Read After [A Journey of the Twins Novel] Online
Authors: Janet Durbin
After [A Journey of the Twins Novel]
Forbidden Publications
www.forbiddenpublications.com
Copyright ©2008 by Janet Durbin
First published in 2008, 2008
Learn more about Janet at www.janetdurbin.com
AFTER
JANET DURBIN
Copyright © 2008
Cover Art by DAWNE’ DOMINIQUE © 2008
Editor—BRIEANNA ROBERTSON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact the publisher via regular mail.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
ISBN: Not Assigned.
Published by Forbidden Publications, MARCH 2008
Forbidden Publications
PO Box 153
East Prairie, MO 63845
www.forbiddenpublications.com
On a late summer night, in a city left barren and desolate by the ravages of time, a bum scrounged through the trash trying to find anything of value. An old, tattered hat sat half-cocked on his unkempt gray hair; a faded and worn brown suit hung off his skinny body as if it had belonged to someone several times his size. The shoes covering his feet had holes where holes were not meant to be, and the laces were long since gone. Everything on him was from a time long forgotten, just like him.
He knew better than to go out once the sun ducked below the horizon. Bad things came out after dark. Unfortunately, these were desperate times. The stores of food hidden in his small, ramshackle home were all but gone. His stash of spirits was all but gone too. That would not help his aching bones during the cold months to come. He needed the warmth of the alcohol to make it through to spring, or at least that's what he told himself all the time.
The year was 2215. Technology had long since disappeared, although its remains were evident everywhere. Skyscrapers that once reached for the stars above now lay in heaps. Their rusty frames stood in the moonlight like sentinels watching over their beloved homeland. Foliage from neglected parks covered areas that had once been a thriving society. The remains of the dead city went on for as far as the eye could see.
The old man was bent over, digging through a pile of crumpled boxes, when a noise sounded behind him. He glanced over a stained shoulder with eyes he knew were bloodshot.
Nothing.
He returned his gaze to the trash beneath his hands. He was in the remains of a store where alcohol had been sold during a time much easier, a time 200 years in the past. The old man had been lucky to find an unbroken bottle here once before. He hoped his streak of good fortune would continue. If he couldn't find a bottle, maybe he could find something to trade for the spirits he so desperately wanted, in addition to some food.
He knew his chances were slim of finding anything else; he continued scrounging through the remains of the store anyway.
The face of the full moon glowed bright through the missing ceiling. Its rays reflected off the bits of broken glass, throwing a beautiful design on the walls. The reflections reminded him of when he'd been a boy. He smiled.
He heard the noise again. This time it was right behind him. He turned. A large silhouette of a man stood there, tall and still, his features hidden by the darkness. For an instant, fear coursed through his body. Mistrust and anger replaced it.
"What you look'n at?"
He was anxious to get back to his search. His prize awaited him and he wasn't interested in wasting any more time on some mysterious stranger, especially one who showed up out of nowhere.
"Go back where you came from. I ain't got nuttin’ you want. And I ain't sharing nuttin’ I find wich you neither.” He turned his back to the man, ignoring him. It was the last mistake he made.
The stranger moved fast. A hand flew up and knocked the hat off. He seized the bum's hair and pulled back hard, knocking him off balance. An arm wrapped around the old man's chest, lifting him off the ground, pinning him against a muscular body.
The bum struggled. He tried to break free; but he couldn't. The grip holding him was too strong. His neck was fully exposed.
The old man whimpered as the dark silhouette leaned over. Hot breath blew on his cold throat. An intense pain coursed through his body as teeth sank into the soft flesh and ripped the neck open. A sucking sound followed. He twitched. His eyes rolled back, then death came.
When a pulse was no longer evident, the stranger let the body fall to the ground. With a shudder, he turned and left the store, disappearing into the blackness of the alley, leaving the thick smell of death behind.
The sun shone bright in her eyes when Shyanne awoke. She stretched and rolled over to look out the window. A banner with a rearing stallion on it waved in the breeze. From the angle of the light shining in, she knew it was mid-morning.
Shyanne had ridden into town late in the evening. She liked small towns versus the big, ruined cities. The people didn't have haunted looks in their eyes, or jump at the least little noise. Several had even helped her find the stable and this inn. It was a welcome change.
"Drayco ... where are you?” she whispered to herself.
She stared out the window a second longer before returning to her back. She thought about what had to be accomplished today before moving on. Restocking of her food and water supplies was foremost.
Shyanne flipped back the covers and sat on the side of bed. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair fell over her shoulders and down her back when she stood up. Her small stature and slim build led some people to believe she was a mere female, until they saw her wield her sword.
Reaching her arms over her head in another stretch, she inhaled deeply. The breath left her in a whoosh. “Boy, do I need a bath."
She looked around the rented room. It reminded her of a cabin her family had used during their summer vacation so long ago. A stove, round table, barrel filled with water, and a bed were all that furnished it. The only window allowing light into the room was the one next to the bed.
"All the comforts anyone would want."
Chuckling softly to herself, she walked over to the potbelly stove used to heat the room. The small fire inside was reduced to a few glowing embers. Two logs grabbed off the pile next to it rekindled the flame.
A beat up metal pan hung from the side of the barrel. Hot water was a luxury nowadays. She relished every moment she got the chance to use it, even this little amount. Filling the pan to the top, she set it on the stove to boil.
While the water heated, Shyanne went to her travel bag and took out a fresh set of clothes. Her brush followed. By the time she finished halting the progress of the snarls that made their way through her hair, the water was boiling.
She wrapped a rag around the metal handle before carrying the pan to the table. One leg was a smidge shorter than the other three. It rocked back and forth, causing some of the precious hot water to spill out. After making sure no more was lost, she shed her dirty clothes and dunked the rag into the pan. A sigh of pleasure escaped as the warmth of the water caressed her skin.
"What I would give for a tub full of this stuff."
She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth against the rest of her skin. Once every part of her grungy, stinky body felt clean, she bent over and dunked her head into the water. Well-calloused fingers scrubbed the scalp. Afterwards, while she dried herself with a worn towel; her stomach growled, reminding her of the need for food.
"Ok, ok, I hear you."
Shyanne tugged on a pair of deerskin breeches and a pullover shirt. She wrapped a belt around her waist to keep the shirt from being too loose. Well-worn boots made of tanned leather followed. Finally, she pulled her long, thick hair back into a braid.
She picked up her sword. It was like no other. The blade was double edged and as sharp as hag's tongue. The handle was shaped like a crouching puma, its fangs bared. She had found it in a weapons shop during her many travels. Out of all the swords there, this one seemed to draw her to it.
The role of women in this post virus society brought back memories of her history class. The women stayed home and cared for the children while the men worked and fought to keep their families safe.
She could be one of those women, the ones who slaved to a husband, but it was not in her nature to do so. She could not see herself bowing to another's will. One day she wanted to find a good man and give him children. Now was not the time. She had her quest to complete first.
Shyanne positioned the scabbard across the middle of her back with the handle in easy reach over her right shoulder. Picking up her bag, she threw it over her left shoulder and exited the room. Her loyal friend and companion, Drizzle, a humecat, materialized next to her as she started down the hall.
He was large for a puma, thanks to mankind's tinkering. His body features were that of a mountain lion. The differences were that the front hands and the mind were human in nature.
He walked on all fours, making the pads of his hands as tough as his hind paws. Those hands, which were covered with the same tawny fur as his body, hid sharp, retractable claws. Drizzle's mind was just as sharp. He had the ability to speak, yet when he was happy, he purred like any cat. Shyanne remembered all the times he had comforted her with that purr.
"What are we going to do today?” Drizzle asked. His long tail waved in a leisurely manner as he kept pace with Shyanne.
"The usual, look for Drayco."
"I say again ... are you sure he's still alive? It's been a long time."
"Of course he is, silly. I would know if something had happened to him.” Shyanne tapped her chest over her heart.
Drayco and Shyanne were twins. They'd been born in the year 2002, a bustling time filled with modern conveniences like cars, subways, and all night fast food restaurants. The big cities had millions of people coming and going to their destinations; the countryside filled with others trying to get away from it all. The government did its political duty watching out for society. Or so they thought.
That was before the virus broke out; a virus so devastating that three-quarters of the people on the planet died before anyone understood what hit them.
Over time, Shyanne discovered that her aging process had slowed greatly. The virus had mutated her. She looked like she was still in her late twenties, even though she had aged 213 years. Her brother was not so lucky. The virus inflicted Drayco with the need to drink blood to maintain his youthfulness, and to stay alive.
"Before we go looking for him, we need to get something to eat,” the cat moaned. “My belly is so empty I heard an echo when it growled this morning."
"Are you sure it was your belly that growled? I know about those wonderful dispositions you wake up in."
She reached out to pat him on the head. Drizzle ducked away before she touched him. He emitted a deep growl that would have made any other person pray for their survival. She shook her head, smiling.
They entered the dining area and found a booth close by. Shyanne tossed her pack down next to it and slid to the center of the bench. Drizzle crawled under the table. He was so quiet; no one noticed he was there.
While she waited for service, she looked around. She noticed a large, burly man with scruffy hair and a shadow of a beard sitting at the opposite end of the room. He had the make up of a body builder, except for his belly. Too much ale had made it grow and sag. A smaller man with shifty eyes and a beak-shaped nose sat across from him.