Title: Dead of Night
Author: Carlyle Labuschagne
Series: Aftershock Series (#1)
Genre: SciFi/YA/Dystopian
Publisher: Fire Quill Publishing
Release Date: Sept 21 2015
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook
Blurb/Synopsis:
In a dark and desolated After Earth, love still does exist, but the cost of bearing such a flaw is death. World War III has left Earth in utter turmoil. People’s beliefs are said to be the cause of the worldwide destruction. After The Clearing new laws are set about – to show certitude in anything besides the law is weak and chargeable as mutiny. To be illogical and have faith in religion is illegal, to be limitless is dangerous. And Illness is seen as a defect – all flaws that are inexcusable.
But to love is the greatest betrayal of all mankind. It is a fault the world has long forgotten and punishable by death, a fatal risk Aecker and Opel are fully prepared to take – because in love there is freedom. But how far can they push back before it claims their lives and of those they care about?
CHAPTER
ONE
HEART
ON FIRE
HIS VOICE ECHOES THROUGHOUT THE VAST room.
It’s a voice I feel I could know, one
that is as familiar to me as his handsome face. When he moves, the bunk’s
springs squeak like a little rodent that is desperate to scurry away. I don’t
mean to stare—but those soft gorgeous lips and strong jaw, the warm smile that
brings sparkle to his honey-colored eyes, carries forth a loud voice in my
head, telling me this boy can be trusted.
Lingering beneath his gentle stare I can
see something else, the embers of concern. They drown out the spark in his
stare as he waits for my answer.
Why would he show me this consideration? I
don’t know who this beautiful stranger is.
I look around,
realizing that I don’t even know who I
am. Or, if the blue cotton uniform I am wearing is even mine. I glance back
down at the green tin cup I hold in my hands, and the sweet and salty aroma of
corn soup fills my nostrils.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is
calm, but the quickening thump of his pulse and the tight set in his jaw relays
something else entirely.
He inches closer, beads of sweat darkening
his dusty blond hair, giving away the secret he is trying so hard to hide. He
is upset. Nervous. Maybe both.
Is he withholding something?
Unknowingly, my head tilts to the side,
trying to figure out what happened to me, and who this perfect stranger might
be. And why I think I might know him. The stabbing sensation in my head throbs
with each breath I take, making it hard for me to think clearly. I feel wrapped
up in a thick fog, and just beyond it lives some useable memory.
From across the room, I stare at dirty
clothes disregarded near the burn shoot. They reek of vomit and old blood.
Staring at the clothes, I can immediately tell they belong to a female. The
material is new, stretchy, and cut for a slim, short figure. Quickly glancing
down at my body, I assume they could be mine―those
clothes most definitely hold clues as to who I really am.
My familiar stranger sits across from me on
the bunk bed, his body turned slightly toward mine. My hand creeps up to my
head wound, making me wince at the feel of the raw, painful flesh. At my
obvious discomfort, he immediately moves closer, his breath warm and sweet as
he leans in. His gentle fingers lift the hair from my forehead as he inspects
the injury. “We need to get you to a doctor.” His voice comes out shaky,
uncertainty tainting his beautiful tone.
“No.” I jerk away. The dregs of my warm
soup spill over the rim of the cup, splashing onto my raw fingers and wrists.
He watches me carefully as I stare
forcefully into his eyes. His hand suddenly moves away and then I feel it―pain. I pull back farther, even though I crave his touch.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving one seat over,
his back resting on the gray, concrete wall beside the bunk.
“It hurts,” I say, confused as to what
hurts more, the wound or the fact that I have no idea what is going on. “How
long have I been out?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Not more than two days.”
I sigh at his answer, one that comes from
somewhere deep and mournful inside me. As the feeling of loss wraps around me,
it’s like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe anymore.
I close my eyes, attempting to block out whatever memory is making me feel so
utterly terrified.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that.”
But, I must ask myself, who is ‘he’? Who is
this brutal attacker I do not even remember?
Standing slowly, I place the soup cup on
the wooden bench situated beside the metal-framed bed. As he looks up at me, I
feel the sudden need to run far and fast and never look back.
“Thank you for your hospitality, but I-I must
go.” I stumble over my words.
Moving too quickly, my head meets with the
source of light above me. The light ebbs out for a second, and I pull in a
sharp breath as pain shoots through me once again. Suddenly, I am terrified of
the dark and feel myself reaching out for him. His forearm is soft, warm,
strong, and alluring all at the same time. The fear that makes my pulse race
alters slightly. I suddenly fear being trapped by an emotion I do not
understand. Ruled by a feeling that is strong and fatal. I lose control of my
thoughts.
He chuckles. “Where are you going to go in
this storm?”
The light flickers back on. I look up as it
continues to sway back and forth above us, searching the room for something,
anything, yet I’m not sure what it might be. A feeling of anxiety washes over
me. It’s so intense it spreads and enters my chest, as if a bald eagle has
flown down to take my heart on gilded wings. The feeling to run tugs at me
again. But when I look down, I notice I’m still gripping his arm. Instinct
tells me that what I’m doing is wrong, that I should never be so close to a
human.
“Sorry,” I apologize. When I release his
forearm the golden color immediately returns to his flesh.
“It’s okay.” He smiles, invitingly. “Quite
a grip you have there.” He keeps the grin, shaking out his hand as if I have
stopped the blood from flowing through his veins.
I look away. “I can’t stay,” I announce,
staring at the glimmer of light bouncing off the silver armlet wrapped tightly
around my wrist―that shine, that glow, the entire piece is trying to remind me of something.
As he moves, the light brings out the blond
streaks in his hair, and his shirt pulls tight around muscular pecks as he
crosses his arms over his chest. He grins mockingly, and ever so slightly his
feet shift toward me.
Nevertheless, I am aware of every single
move he makes, like the way his eyelashes touch the top of his cheeks when he
blinks, and how the corners of his eyes crease with the revelation of his
gorgeous smile. His impeccable chest moves slowly as he breathes. His eyes
hover on my face, making me shift uncomfortably. I don’t like the way he looks
at me, it’s wrong. But I don’t know why I feel this way. All I know is that I
don’t want to feel weak.
“What?” I ask sheepishly, suddenly feeling as
if my dark, blue pantsuit has become transparent. Heat rushes to my face―an unexpected and unpleasant moment.
“You’ve been stalking me for weeks, and
that’s all you have to say? You’re not even going to ask me my name? Or thank
me for saving your life?”
It’s like an anchor falls, dropping me back
to the depths of the uneven mattress. The squeak fades away as shock kicks me
in the gut and allows me only one long, shuddering breath.
“I-I,” I falter. I have no recollection of
my assault, or anything else that came before.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispers,
his charming voice now peppered with unease. “It’s me, you can tell me
anything. You know that, right?” Sitting down, he keeps his distance, as if
making sure that I do not feel I am prey to his predator.
“I’m not sure…I know anything.” My brows
furrow, as my fingers tremble over the soft skin of my lips. The frigid cold
forms goose bumps on my skin as I stare into the thick, dark, naked concrete
walls of the bunker. I am just that. I am colorless and empty. I have no
present. And the past has vanished. I am back in that tunnel in the dead of
night, with no sense of anything other than the blackness and the loneliness
reaching out for me, attempting to make my soul crumble into dust.
“I don’t remember,” I finally admit, the
words bitter and brief on my tongue.
I
wait for a while in the silence of the moment, hoping my inner animosity will
dissolve, and that the fear will leave me alone so I can figure things out.
What thought might trigger a memory?
Gingerly, he grabs my hand and turns it,
flattening my palm against his hard chest. “Aecker. My name is Aecker. You
don’t remember me at all?”
I shake my head.
His eyes are gentle, digging up unsettled
feelings within me. But he is not really sad or bothered by my sudden memory
loss. In fact, he seems almost relieved.
I stare at his long fingers as they wrap
around my tiny wrist. The contrast between his tanned skin and my pale hand is
strikingly beautiful. But the shiny, silver bracelet that takes up most of my
forearm is what bothers me. I wish I knew what it meant. I feel my pulse
ticking beneath his fingers, sense the beating of his heart through my palm.
It’s slow and steady at first, but as time passes and as the silence mounts,
the heat of our touch grows into a black hole, sucking me in to his endless
gravity. I feel attached to him, as if my hand is melting right into his chest.
I want to grab hold of his human heart and become one with it. I wish to wrap
my hand around it and try to translate the language that’s making it move. We
are suddenly tethered to each other in ways I cannot begin to fathom.
With my gaze shamefully glued to his chest,
his heart rate increases. Strangely, this effect rubs off on me and I can feel
the beat of my own heart increase to match his, causing a perfect symmetry
between us. In slow motion, I watch his Adam’s apple move up and then down as
he swallows nervously. My eyes affix to his luminous, ochre gems as they grow
wider―the darkness of his pupils swallowing up the magic of his irises.
Abruptly, it all disappears, and I am aware
of another presence in the room. Jerking my hand away, the feeling I now own is
awkwardness, almost as if I have somehow been caught trespassing.
“Aecker, what are you doing?” a deep voice
calls out.
“I can explain.” Aecker stands, the bed
springs moaning at the release of his weight.
I stare up at yet another beautiful man,
with similar eyes and square jaw. He places a device on the center table, and
then his gaze falls on me. This tall man’s eyes widen.
“What happened?” He moves closer, lifting
my hair from my face, his other hand―fingers unbelievably icy―grips my chin, raising my face to the light.
“I couldn’t leave her…” Aecker begins.
“Who did this to you?” the man asks,
sitting me down beside him, allowing the creaks and groans of the mattress to
once again spring to life.
“She has no idea,” Aecker replies. It’s
almost like his words filter right through me, and I feel like I am falling
into a downward spiral, face first, swirling into the void where the forgotten
stray.
It’s all sitting wrong with me; my sudden
memory loss, and the fact that this boy known as Aecker called me a stalker.
But the most disturbing, are the feelings I just experienced between him and
me. It felt sinful, but I couldn’t stop myself. So perhaps it was just as well
the stranger interrupted when he did, or who knows what would have happened.
The tall man stands, clears his throat and
asks me my name. From the corner of my eye, I see Aecker shaking his head.
“Do you have a name? Or shall I just call
you ‘girl’?”
“No, sir.” I shake my head, too.
“Sir?” His head jerks in Aecker’s direction
then back to me, as a look of confusion appears in his eyes. He takes a few
steps back, like I’m infected with some horrific disease that he will do
anything to protect himself from. “Do you remember anything at all?”
I continue to shake my head as if I were
made of nothing but wires and conduits―something completely
mechanical that is unable to think or feel, just follow orders.
“She
must be a City Dweller.” His words are said with distaste, sounding like he
wants nothing more than to spit on the floor at the mere thought of something
as hideous as me infiltrating his life.
When he notices the bracelet around my
wrist, his shoulders slump dramatically. Closing his eyes and pressing his
long, dark lashes against tanned skin, he looks as if he is trying desperately
to hold back something, yet impatience appears in his voice.
“She’s a Tracker. She must leave right now,”
he states with finality, making me feel like I have successfully drowned in
that black void where my forgotten memories live, where I will be washed away
and swallowed up, never to be seen again.
“She does not look anything like a
Tracker!” Aecker’s words are defensive.
“There are
whispers of the new generation.”
“It doesn’t matter, Dyllian!” Aecker says
passionately, moving closer and pushing the older boy away so that he is now
standing between us.
“You know it does. You have to get rid of
her. If they find her, if Cupola even catches one scent of this intruder and
your involvement with her, you will be killed and I can’t do anything to stop
it. Trackers bring nothing but death. You know that!”
Aecker moves even closer to me, his hands
come to rest on my shoulders as he stares into my eyes. “She’s nothing like
them.”
“What is a Tracker?” My thoughts are
finally voiced.
Dyllian steps back, resting an elbow
against the wall. With the other hand, he pulls out a dirty old rag and wipes
his face. “Trackers are soldiers, spies, assassins. They are here to kill any
Inborns and infiltrate their hideouts. To bring violent death to Believers and
make examples of their flaws.”
“Believers of what?” I interrupt again.
Dyllian’s eyes pin mine so strongly, I feel
like a deer staring down an eager hunter’s arrow.
“Of anything.”
Aecker notices my distress, and I grip my
hands together so they don’t see me shaking. Fear is a weakness.
“Like I said,” Aecker strokes my cheek with
the back of his fingers, “You are not one of them.”
Despite his tender eyes holding mine, trying
to offer comfort, his words still burn a hole through my chest. A deep and
intense heat causes my heart to beat erratically, because I realize that he is
looking at me like I am his only possession; his to protect until his very last
breath. And this time, I don’t mind the way it makes me feel.
As Dyllian turns to study me, something
alerts my brain that my small, dark world is about to be buried by this
revelation, and the flicker of hope I saw in Aecker’s eyes just moments ago is
about to be extinguished. I know why my heart feels as if it is on fire; I want to be his hope, but I don’t know
how I possibly can be. If I am a Tracker, it will mean the death of something
that is being born between us. I might not know who or what I am, but I know
unequivocally that I don’t want to live without the promise of a future and a
life beaming in Aecker’s eyes.
I like the way it makes me feel.
~ * ~
Author Information:
Carlyle is a South African award winning
author, with a flair for mixing genres and adding loads of drama to every story
she creates. For now she is happy to take over the world and convert non Sci-fi
believers.
Her goal as an author is to touch people's lives, and help others love their differences and one another by delivering strong messages of faith, love and hope within every outrageous world she writes about.
"I love to swim, fight for the trees, and am a food lover who is driven by my passion for life. I dream that one day my stories will change the lives of countless teenagers and have them obsess over the world literacy can offer them instead of worrying about fitting in. Never sacrifice who you are, it’s in the dark times that the light comes to life."
Carlyle used writing as a healing tool and that is why she started her very own writers support event - SAIR bookfestival.
"To be a helping hand for those who strive to become full times writers, editors, bloggers, readers and cover artists - it’s a crazy world out there you don’t have to go it alone!"
Founder of SAIR Book Festival
Co-Founder of Fire Quill Publishing.
Founder of Help build a Library in South Africa.
Co-Founder of Fire Quill Publishing.
Founder of Help build a Library in South Africa.
Author Links:
Blog
Facebook Author Page
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