Redeemed

Book 3: Sins of Our Ancestors

by Bridget E. Baker

Genres: YA Dystopian; YA Romance; YA Science Fiction

Synopsis

No matter what happens...the end is near.

Seventeen-year-old Ruby Behl never expected to be thrust into a position of power. But so much has changed in the past few months, she's prepared to accept the responsibility. Her best friend Wesley was Marked with the Tercera virus. Her boyfriend, Sam, was shot to death. She found her father's journal with the key to a cure. But the leaders of the port cities have assembled with a threat of their own: to Cleanse the world of the remaining Marked.

When a vicious attack accelerates the virus, Ruby and her friends have less than a week to find the cure, prevent the Cleanse, and rescue her aunt from execution. Ruby is convinced her father's old partner stole the antidote, but she has no clue to his identity. Torn between saving her family or hundreds of thousands of Marked, she must figure out who he is and find him before time runs out - for everyone.

Release date: November 15, 2018

Publisher: Purple Puppy Publishing

Print pages: 334

Sample

I watch through thick glass while my biological father's body burns into ash. 

No tears well up in my eyes. No sorrow swells in my heart. I didn't cry when my mother shot him, either. It probably means I'm broken inside. Although, to be fair to myself, he was a narcissistic, abusive sociopath whom I didn’t know existed until last month. 

Even so, his half a million subjects loved him fanatically.

“I hope you've prepared something appropriate to say at his funeral tomorrow,” Josephine Solomon says. In spite of being the one who shot him, my mom harbors mixed feelings. 

“How’s this?” I ask. “David Solomon is dead. I'm really hoping he won't haunt my nightmares any more, now that I've watched the flames incinerate his body into powder. I’m planning to dump the ashes into the sewage processing plant where they’ll fit in with the other filth. Succinct enough, you think?” 

Josephine frowns. “He was a great man in many ways, you know.” 

I shake my head. “You keep saying that, but I haven't seen much evidence.”

“The point,” she says, “is that as the new queen of World Peace Now, you'll need his popularity to transfer to your rule. Things will go much easier for you if the people like you half as much as they loved him.” 

I snort. “No one needs to like me. They only need to obey.” 

“Spoken like someone who's never ruled a day in her life.” 

I grit my teeth. “I don't want to be a queen at all. You wouldn't know this since we just met, but I never played princess growing up. I didn't have make believe crowns, and I freaking hate dresses, with or without princess puffs.”

In fact I'd love to walk away from all of this. The only thing I'm dreading more than David Solomon's funeral is my coronation the following morning. I'd gladly run and never return to World Peace Now (usually called WPN), or Galveston ever again. 

Unfortunately if I leave, the new leaders of WPN will carry out my biological father's plan to massacre the hundred thousand or so people infected with the Tercera virus. My delightful bio father, the late great monarch, planned to “cleanse” the earth of the plague that almost destroyed humanity more than a decade ago. He believed killing the infected kids, who were struggling to survive on their own, was a small price to pay to ensure the bright future of his half a million subjects. 

Actually, he told me killing them was mercy on his part. He said God infected people to punish them for their sins. As for the infection of children, well, they were paying for the sins of their parents, and he was dispensing God's mercy by killing them and ending that just suffering. 

See? Sociopath. 

“If you really can't think of anything to say, I can write something for you,” Josephine says. 

“Yes,” I say. “That's a good plan, but I'm not much of a public speaker. Maybe keep it short.”

Behind me, Wesley chokes on a laugh. 

I scowl at him over my shoulder. “Why's that funny?”

“I've heard you speak in public, is all,” Wesley says.  

“I'll keep that in mind,” Josephine says. “Since I now have two speeches to prepare, I'd better get started. I do expect you to write your own coronation address.” After dropping that bombshell, my mother walks down the hall and turns the corner toward the exit.  

I turn to race after her and argue, but I’m met by a tall man with blond hair and sparkling bright blue eyes. I pull up short, taking in the standard issue gray uniform of the palace guard. Two gold stripes run down each shoulder, which tells me he’s near the top of the pecking order. He approaches and salutes. 

Once I look at his face, I recognize Adam, the first WPN guard I met when Sam and I were caught looking for the cure. He breezes past the four guards on duty without even acknowledging them, reinforcing my impression that he now holds a reasonably high rank. He stands a few inches taller than Wesley, which puts him about the same height as my boyfriend Sam. His shiny, short hair is combed sideways, not a single strand out of place, and his uniform accentuates his broad shoulders and deep tan. He probably surfs whenever he's off duty. Galveston might have a few things to recommend it when compared to Port Gibson, the perks of beach living among them. 

Stuff like that might matter if I were thinking of staying, which I'm not.

He straightens and says, “Your escort's ready, your Highness.”

Sam may be the hottest guy I've ever seen, but this guy's face is nearly as pretty. I assume a gaggle of girls probably follow him around too, like they always did Sam back home. “I'm sorry, my escort where?” 

“To the bridge, Your Highness.” 

“Right, an escort intended to keep me safe while I drive a mile out onto a bridge.” 

Adam frowns. “A bridge currently under attack by infected hostiles.” 

Hostiles I trust more than my head guard, not that I mention that to him. I glance around. “Uh, where’s Sam?” 

The tall guard's eyebrows draw together. “Samuel Roth? Your Highness’ recently appointed Chief of Military and Strategic Defense?”

I nod my head. “Sure, yep, that's the Sam I mean.” I forgot about the title I created so Sam could tell people what to do and come and go as he pleased. 

“Your Highness, he has many important tasks to complete. He can't be around to escort you from place to place like a common palace guard. He's in a meeting reviewing security for the coronation at present. My name's Adam Forsythe and you may not recall, but we've met before. I've been voted in as the new Chief of the Palace Guard. Your safety is my number one priority and I assure you I take it very seriously.” 

I bite my lip before I can swear, since that doesn't seem very queenly. I didn't expect Sam to actually need to do anything with his stupid made-up title. “If you’re going to be around a lot, maybe we should review the Your Highness thing. You don’t need to call me that. Like at all. Ruby is fine.” 

Adam’s mouth drops open but before he can speak, Wesley throws a hand up and waves it at Adam Forsythe, catching his attention and then shooing him backward. “Hang on a second, pretty boy. Ruby already has a boyfriend, the Sam guy she asked about. And she has a back up boyfriend.” He points at himself. “The last thing she needs is another genetically perfect model looking guy following her around all day, flexing, or whatever you’re going to do to keep her safe. I'm sure the four guards that already create a tripping hazard whenever we turn around are more than sufficient.” 

Adam glances from Wesley to me, and back again. “I don't understand.” 

Wesley rolls his eyes. “I'll enunciate. Go. Get. Sam. And while you're down there at central command, tell them we want the fugliest soldier they have to replace you as Chief of the Palace Guard. Got it?” 

“Appearance does not factor into a guard's performance review on any level,” says Adam. 

I laugh. “You can ignore Wesley. He thinks he's funny.”

“You appear to agree.” 

I roll my eyes. “Most days.” 

Adam raises one eyebrow. “If you believe my performance to be sub par, I will request the selection of a replacement.” 

I shake my head. “No, it's fine. We wouldn't dream of interfering with the way you select your positions or evaluate performance. But I do need you to send someone to let Sam know we're ready to go. One of the main reasons we're traveling down to the end of the bridge is so Sam can meet with the Marked leader.” 

Adam’s eyebrows rise. “In his capacity as Chief of Mi—”

“Yes, yes,” Wesley says. “As Head Poomba he needs to coordinate with the Marked.” 

Adam scowls at Wesley, but he walks back to confer with my four guards. One of them sets off down the hall at a trot, presumably to tell Sam we're ready to go when he is. 

I glance at the incinerator. My father's body will burn for quite some time yet, but he's surely past the point of resurrection. Hopefully I'll sleep a little easier at night having witnessed that fact myself. 

Wesley walks beside me down the hall, and the guards take up positions in front of and behind us, Adam filling in for the one who took off. Having four guards in attendance at all times is super annoying. We walk the half a mile from the Crematorium back to the palace-that-isn't-officially-a-palace in silence, which is strange for Wesley. He generally talks even more than me. 

“Are you okay?” 

He shrugs. “I'll be glad when this coronation business is past us so we can shut down the Cleansing and actually focus on developing a cure that works.”

I only spent a few days in Baton Rouge, the largest Marked community, and I can't stop thinking about baby Rose, the newborn we saved using the antibodies in my blood. The face of her sweet mother springs to mind often as well. Sadly Libby's still Marked, probably because the Tercera virus in her system had already entered the active phase. Antibodies work well to prevent disease, but aren’t usually effective once it's entrenched. Unlike me, Wesley lived with the Marked for weeks. He's made friends there and feels even more pressure than I do to save them. 

Of course, it's not like his dad engineered the deadly virus, which I know because my dad did. Not the psychopath burning in an oven, but the man who raised me as his own. If David Solomon was right and God punishes children for their parents' sins, I may as well reserve a house down in purgatory. I have quite a list of things for which to atone, coming from both good old dad and my biological father. 

“If we’re lucky,” I say, “maybe Job's already made some progress.”

“Except he probably needs more antibodies from you to continue his testing at this point,” Wesley says. “We’ve been gone way longer than we expected.” 

I bob my head. “I know. I feel bad that I only gave plasma once.” And I’m so thin that it wasn’t very much. Not nearly enough. 

When we reach the palace I sit down on the steps to wait for Sam. I pointedly ignore the gesturing and pointing from my guards and the butler. If I'm really their queen, I can sit where I want, including a pristine porch step made of white marble. I kind of want to lay down and roll around like a puppy, just to see what they’d do.

Wesley puts his hand on my shoulder. “Even if we were still in Baton Rouge, you'd have needed some time to recover before they drew any more blood. Don't feel too bad about a delay in their testing.” 

I shrug. “But if I were there, I could help Job with interpreting the data and research.” 

“You're doing the most good here for right now.” Wesley starts to sling his arm around me, but then shifts at the last minute and acts like he was stretching. 

I glance around, because that kind of oddball reversal usually means Wesley noticed Sam. 

And I'm right. I stand up and my mouth stretches into a smile in spite of myself. 

“Hey sunshine.” Sam's wearing a navy blue military uniform with four bright yellow stripes on each shoulder. 

“Glad you're back, oh great and revered War Chief. The new Boss Guard says they're ready to take us out on the bridge.” 

“I'm ready to go.” Sam’s grin showcases perfectly white teeth. His impossibly handsome face becomes just a little more unbearably beautiful when it’s smiling. 

“Wow,” I say, “I thought you said no uniforms.” 

He lifts one eyebrow. “I did. Until this girl I know said she had a thing for them.” 

“She did, huh? Who is this girl? I already dislike her.” 

Wesley clears his throat. “Those buttons look hard to do and undo. If it means you keep more clothes on, I'm all for a uniform. Not that anyone asked for my opinion.” 

I roll my eyes at Wesley and then turn toward Sam. “Are you ready to go see Rafe?” 

Sam reaches down and takes my hand in his. He squeezes it tighter than he normally would. If meeting Rafe makes my brawny, scientifically enhanced warrior nervous, well, that's about the cutest thing ever. Rafe, also known as Raphael Roth, is the leader of the Marked. He’s also Sam's previously lost little brother. They haven't seen one another since before Tercera ravaged North America, a time we usually refer to as Before. Eleven years is a long time between family reunions, even for me.

“Come on.” I tug Sam toward the bridge and he lets me pull him along. I know he lets me, because there's no way my ninety-pound self could drag his two-hundred-and-thirty pound brick wall body anywhere he didn't already want to go.

My new captain of the guard strides quickly toward us, falling into step alongside Sam and me. “Samuel Roth, I'm Adam Forsythe, the new Chief of the Palace Guard. Ensuring the safety of Her Royal Highness Ruby Solomon is my top priority. I'll be taking frequent rotations in her personal guard to make sure I stay abreast of everything about her preferences and schedule.”

Sam looks Adam up and down and nods. Samuel Roth's a man of few words, but this is terse even for him. 

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” I say. “Congratulations on what I assume was a promotion, but out of curiosity, why did the job need to be filled? What happened to your predecessor?”

“He was fired, of course. Under his tenure your father was infected with a deadly virus by a rival and went mad, taking his own life. Peter Richelieu should have taken measures to prevent both occurrences. I assure you, no such harm will come to you on my watch.”

Sam releases my hand as we approach the van and opens the door for me. “I'll be with Ruby twenty four seven from here on out. Your services will be superfluous.”

“You can't be with her twenty four seven, sir. Everyone sleeps.” 

Sam raises one eyebrow. “That’s true.” 

“Uh, well.” Adam looks from Sam to me and back again. “In any case, when you have meetings or are otherwise occupied, you can rest easy knowing she's in good hands.”

Wesley snorts.

“I'm your boss, right?” Sam asks. 

The muscles in Adam's jaw tighten and his cornflower blue eyes bulge. “Yes sir.” He watches as Sam sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulder. 

Wesley catches my eye as he climbs into the van and whispers, “This is so awesome.” 

I roll my eyes. At least neither Adam nor Sam have beat their chests or roared yet. I hope Adam lets it go, because I haven't met anyone who could take Sam out. I'd hate to see Adam take a beating his first day at a new job. Besides, it can't be good for morale.

Adam climbs into the van and tells the driver to go. I told them we didn't need any guards and that the Marked who have gathered are friends, but it was a futile effort. Three other vans full of armed men drive alongside us anyway. I hope Rafe doesn't see this as an act of aggression. 

When the Marked come into sight, I lean forward and place a hand on Adam's arm. “I'd like to go by foot from here.” 

Adam frowns. “It's safer to have vehicles close.” 

“But it indicates hostility,” I say. “I know the Marked who are gathered. I won't scare them or have them thinking this is a show of force. That will only escalate things.” 

Adam opens his mouth to argue, but Sam cuts him off. “I have six guns on me with enough rounds between them to take out every kid on that bridge. It's fine; you can actually obey the orders from your future queen. If anything comes up, I'll be there to keep her safe.” 

“That kind of arrogance is dangerous,” Adam warns. 

“It's not arrogance. It's fact.” Sam raises his voice. “Stop the van.” The driver stops.

Oh, good grief. 

Adam orders the other vans to stop as well with his walkie. I don't wait for anyone to open my door, because I need to escape this puddle of testosterone before I drown in it. I grab the handle, swing it open, and hop out. I've barely gone two paces before Sam falls into step next to me and Adam slides alongside me on the right. 

“Don't worry guys,” Wesley says, “I've got the rear covered. Nothing back there will make it through me.” 

I snort. Freaking Wesley. 

As soon as the Marked kids see my hair, curly and windblown into my telltale fluffy blonde mop, they start walking toward us. I can't make out the details of his face from here, but I can tell Rafe's at the front because I recognize his hair. No one else has quite the same spiky, russet colored Mohawk.

When we draw near enough to see faces, I notice Rafe and the dozen men with him have guns trained on us. So much for my hopes of a nice, friendly meeting. 

“What's going on?” I shout. 

“Back away from Ruby slowly,” Rafe says, “and no one will be shot. We need her, and we won't leave without her.” 

I shake my head. “You don't understand Rafe, it's fine. I'm not being held against my will. Put your gun down.” 

“I will when they do,” Rafe says. 

“No one's holding a gun on you, you blind idiot.” I turn my head toward my people and exhale heavily, because I'm a big, fat liar. Even Sam's pointing a gun at them. “Put. Your. Guns. Down. That's an order.” 

Everyone but Sam listens. 

“How is it that you're giving them orders?” Rafe asks. “And who's the meathead who won't put his gun down?” 

“That gorgeous blockhead is your big brother. Sam, stop aiming your gun at Raphael's head. It isn't polite.”

“Wait.” Rafe squints, his head tilted and his body tense. “That's Sam? Seriously?” 

He's wearing a uniform. Duh, I should've thought about that. It's been a weird couple of days. “How about this? Wesley, Sam and I will meet you in the middle. Your people and our people will all walk back forty paces on the count of five. Yes?” 

Rafe nods. 

I turn to Adam. “Okay?” 

Adam says, “Yes, but I'm staying too.” 

“No, you're going and I'm done arguing. You take orders from me, not the other way around.” 

Adam scowls, but when I count to five, he walks back with the others. If he stays a half dozen feet closer to us than the others, well, I'll cut him some slack. It's his first day and his boss is meeting with a bunch of armed soldiers infected with the same deadly disease that he thinks killed the last boss. Of course, no one from WPN knows that I'm immune. 

Rafe could lick my face and I wouldn't catch Tercera. 

Luckily, I've inoculated Sam and Wesley with the antibodies my dad gave me years ago, so they're also safe. Even so, since WPN doesn't know that, it's best if we maintain our distance. Rafe walks toward us slowly and I take a few hesitant steps toward him too. Sam holsters his gun. 

I coo a little, because I can’t help needling them. “I am so proud of you boys, both of you sheathing your claws for this little meet and greet. Rafe, meet Samuel Roth, my Chief of Military and Strategic Defense. Sam, this is Raphael Roth, leader of the Marked, and your long lost baby brother.” 

If I expected them to hug, I'd have been disappointed. I know Sam well enough to have guessed that wasn't going to happen, which will make things easier when we head back to the island anyway. I'd rather not have to explain to my new people that while my blood could certainly immunize them from ever catching Tercera, I'm saving it instead to use in a last ditch attempt to somehow cure the imminently dying. 

I'm not sure they'd appreciate my priorities.

“It’s actually you.” Sam smiles. “I'm glad to see you.”

That’s it. More than ten years since he saw his brother, and Sam’s exclamation of affection is less than ten words. I exhale heavily.

Rafe's grin makes his eyes match the rest of his body for once. He actually looks like a tall twelve-year-old should. “I straight up can't believe you're alive, Sam! You look amazing. Man, I wonder if I’d look like that if I hadn’t been on the suppressant for all these years. And Dad?” 

Sam shrugs. “He's as big a jerk as ever.” 

Rafe's grin widens. “I wish I could see him.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows. “No you don't. Seriously, if you do it’s only because you’ve forgotten what he's like.” 

“Maybe. Is he really running the Unmarked?” 

“Yep,” Sam says. “Are you surprised?” 

“Not really, no.” Rafe glances at me. “So what's with ordering people around? I thought they'd taken you hostage when you didn't come back.” 

“They did. Long story short, they tossed me and Wesley in prison.” 

“Yes, and thanks for your great concern over my welfare by the way,” Wesley says. “I was thrown in prison, almost shot by ten snipers, shoved into shackles with a gun to my temple, and basically mistreated every way possible. Yet here I am, and no one’s even mentioned me.” Wesley puts his hand to his heart, and shakes his head. “I’m wounded, honestly.”

Rafe shrugs. “You're wheezing and complaining as much as ever, which means you're fine.”

“I basically saved the day,” Wesley says. “In case that wasn’t already obvious.”

All joking aside, he's kind of right. Wesley's not tough in the way Sam or Rafe or even Adam are tough, although he's fit and a competent shot, but his knowledge of abused women did bring Josephine over to our side. Without him, we might not be standing here. 

I clear my throat. “He’s joking as usual, but Wesley did save us in point of fact. He helped me convince my mom to take action against Solomon.” I lower my voice. “Josephine shot her husband and now, in the twist of the year, it turns out—” 

Wesley bounces up and down like a toddler who needs to pee. 

“Fine,” I say. “You can tell him.” 

Wesley beams. “She’s his heir! They're crowning her queen day after tomorrow. Crazy, right?” 

“That is crazy,” Rafe says. “And also, it’s not happening. We need you in Baton Rouge now. You can't stay here and be queen of the Bible Belt.” 

“They're planning to eradicate you and everyone you know,” I say. “Maybe I should stay long enough to put the kibosh on that. Or have you decided WPN's well armed and enormous army isn't actually a threat?”

“I worry about the snake that's about to bite me before the one in the tree.” 

“Triage,” I say, “I'm familiar with the concept, but a few days here could eliminate the threat of WPN forever. They'd kill you faster than Tercera, even with the suppressant failing. Besides, there are other reasons it might help you. I can come back next week and bring supplies, including food. Good nutrition will strengthen your people for their fight with the virus, you know.” 

Rafe scowls. “Why should I believe you'll come back at all?” 

Wesley grunts. “Like I told you before, Ruby does the right thing. Always.” 

Sam growls at nearly the same time. “We'll come to Baton Rouge, I swear it.” 

“Pardon my lack of faith that you'll come for me big brother, but it's not like history supports your promises. It's doubly hard to believe you when you've gone native.” Rafe stares pointedly at Sam's uniform. 

“Mom wouldn't take any of Dad's calls, which I don’t blame her for, but then the grid shut down. Dad and I had no reason to believe you survived,” Sam says, “or any idea of where to look even if we wanted to.” 

Rafe shrugs. “Where did you start looking, then?” 

Sam's face falls. “I'm sorry Raphael. I really am. I failed you.” 

I take Sam's hand. “You most certainly did not. You were eleven, twelve at the most when your mother would've died. There was nothing you could’ve done. You'd have died if you tried to find him, as Rafe well knows. By the time you were old enough to hunt for him, the suppressant wouldn't have worked on you.” I spin around on Rafe. “You were willing to risk the lives of all your people to get your brother back. Stop acting like a spoiled brat and show him some of what you really feel.” 

Rafe's face collapses and my heart twists in my chest. These poor brothers. So much love, obscured by so much emotional constipation. I decide to throw them a bone.

“Rafe, Sam loves you. I care about you and all the Marked kids who have hovered on the fringe making their own community. Relying on the generosity of others might have kept the hormone suppressants coming, but it hasn’t taught you to trust. I know the Unmarked didn’t provide much aid. I know they weren’t reliably supportive, but I’m not your dad, and I’m not the Unmarked leaders. I won't abandon you like everyone else did.”

“Even if I believe you, I need to be able to convince my people. A week is too long after all the time I’ve already been gone.” 

Wesley groans. “You’ve got to be more flexible, man.” 

I huff. “How about this? I’ve been thinking that we should establish a care center locally, near WPN. If WPN provides materials in the old Marked maternity ward in Texas City, I can drive out each day and work with Job. Then I could donate plasma as needed and keep order here in Galveston too. That way WPN will be on tap to provide food and any other support the Marked need. WPN's organized and has plenty of grain, meat, and medical supplies.” I look at him flatly. “Things the Marked don’t have.”

Rafe scowls at me. “We have meat and we have grain.” He glances back at my guard. “You kind of like the idea of being queen, huh?” 

I frown. “Actually, no. I hate it.” 

“Uh huh,” Rafe says. “I just bet you do.” 

“I'm thinking of what would be best for the Marked, nothing more.”

“What's best for us would be you honoring your word. Come back like you said you would before we brought you down here to save your boyfriend and retrieve your daddy's journal. You know, the one that was only lost because you left it.” Rafe peers around me to look at the vans. “Where is that journal, by the way?” 

“I have it,” I say. “Back on the island. I'm reading it now.” 

“Uh huh, well, how's this for some incentive to do what you already promised?” Rafe asks. “Wesley said the coronation's Friday, which is the day after tomorrow. I'll give you one day after that to get things in order, and one extra day to drive out to Baton Rouge. If you haven't arrived by sunset on Sunday, I'll execute Rhonda. The day after that, I'll execute Job. Before you say I won't, remember that he's no good to me without antibodies to work with.” 

I clench my hands into fists. What if something comes up? What if a bridge collapses, or a car breaks down? 

“You're acting like an insane person.”

“No,” Rafe says. “I'm acting like your presence is a life and death issue to us. Because it is. Every day you delay means a day we can't work toward a solution. That means more of us die.” 

“Fine. I don't want to leave WPN until I'm sure things are stable and they won't kill you all, but if you don't mind that possibility, so be it. I told my people that my cousin needs my plasma due to a bleeding disorder. I set up a plasma draw for later today so you can take some of my antibodies back with you. At least stick around for that, so Job can continue the clinical trials while he's waiting for his own execution.” 

“Fine.” Rafe waves at Wesley and Sam, spins on one heel, and starts toward the mainland. 

“You know, I told my WPN guards not to worry about me during this meeting. I told them you're a friend and not a threat. I guess that was a lie.” 

Rafe pivots. “Sam's my brother and Wesley's my friend, but you're not my friend. You’re a necessity, nothing more.”

I pretend I don't care. “Fine, whatever, but before you leave, at least tell me if you ever heard from my aunt.”  

“She must've gone back to the Unmarked. She disappeared a few days ago, or so my people tell me. There at night, gone the next morning. When she joined us her husband didn't want her to stay. He kept insisting she could live in quarantine indefinitely. We’re assuming she got sick of bad food and bailed.” 

That doesn't sound like my aunt. She would've wanted to stay where the infection was and truly study the live virus like she couldn't before. Even if it meant she had to eat burned oatmeal every morning.

This time when Rafe turns to leave, I don't stop him.