Queen Of Blood

man froze. A surge of energy so strong it was nearly visible pushed outward and slammed into the man’s chest like a freight train, lifting him off his feet and blasting him back across the bridge. Dream saw his eyes go wide with shock before the surge carried him away. And then he was gone, flying over the railing on the opposite side and hanging suspended in midair for a moment before dropping to the water below.

Marcy let out a breath and said, “Holy shit. Holyholy-holy fucking shit!”

The men who’d followed the father across the bridge were lying flat on their backs, blown off their feet by the energy surge. They looked up at Dream with twin expressions of horror and began to scoot backward, scrambling to put as much distance between themselves and the monster as possible. That’s what they saw when they looked at her. A monster. Not a woman. Not a human being. But an incomprehensible abomination. A thing. And they were right.

The people on the other side of the bridge were looking at her and cringing, crouching down against the concrete barrier as they huddled together and awaited the monster’s wrath. A few of them were armed men of some authority in uniforms. But they were as helpless and terrified as the wailing woman Dream assumed was the dead girl’s mother. Dream stared at them for a long moment and felt the awakened energy burning inside her, aching to be utilized again. And it would be so easy. She could flatten them all and walk away from this place unscathed.

A weak, frightened voice next to her:“Dream…seriously…we have to leave.”

A peculiar smile contorted the corners of her mouth as Dream turned to look at Marcy. “I’m a monster, Marcy.”

Marcy put a hand to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “Dream. I-”

“Shhh.” Dream touched the girl’s shoulder and felt her body go still. She was every bit as terrifed of her as the strangers huddled on the other side of the bridge. And who could blame her? “Don’t say anything. It’s funny. A minute ago I felt so much guilt, but this thing inside me burns that away when it’s working.” She lowered her voice a bit and leaned closer to Marcy. “I could kill all those people over there just by thinking about it. Part of me really wants to. I shouldn’t do that, should I?”

Marcy’s face twisted with a mixture of sudden grief and black humor. She laughed once, a small, empty sound. “Look who you’re asking. I’m a monster, too.”

Dream smiled. She released Marcy’s arm and touched her face. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you are. And I’ll tell you something, Marcy. I don’t think I hate you anymore.” She looked past Marcy at Alicia, who remained in the same spot she’d been throughout the episode. The dead woman watched them in a remotely curious way, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Dream met and held Alicia’s gaze for a moment, then looked Marcy in the eye again. “I’m going to leave you now, but I’ll see you again.”

Marcy frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Into the water.”

Marcy’s expression abruptly sobered. “But-”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” She gently stroked Marcy’s face and the gir l covered the hand with one of her own. “You’ve seen how strong I am. The river will take me away, but it won’t kill me. It’s the only way out of this for you. Too many eyes will be on me. You and Alicia go back to the van and your sister. Get away from here. I’ll find you again. I promise.”

She moved away from Marcy and threw one leg over the rail. She looked at the black water below and tried to decide whether she believed everything she’d just said. Then the energy swelled within her again and a shroud of warmth enveloped her.

She smiled again and said, “Go, Marcy. Now.”

Marcy stared numbly at her before nodding and beginning a retreat. “Okay…and, Dream?”

“Yeah?”

Marcy’s expression was somber as she said, “I don’t think I hate you anymore, either.”

Then she turned away and began a hurried retreat back down the bridge toward the parking lot. A moment later Alicia turned to follow without so much as a backward glance. Dream watched their backs until they dwindled to barely perceptible specks in the darkness.

Until they were gone.

Dream shot one more look at the people huddled at the other side of the bridge. One of the armed men was fumbling for his sidearm. Dream reached out with her power and made his hand freeze. She was getting better at controlling this thing by the moment. The knowledge was at once terrifying and exhilarating.

Dream swung her other leg over the railing.

Then she stood up and leaped, her arms spread before her as she’d envisioned earlier. She hung suspended in the air, flying for a single, incandescently glorious moment.

Next came the slap of the water against her body, harder than she expected.

Then the world was blackness and a cold deeper than anything she’d ever imagined as the water carried her away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The axe handle felt good in his hands. The muscles in his arms ached from the strain of his physical exertions, but it was a good ache. Chad was a man used to cool, air-conditioned offices and the soft comforts of a home in the suburbs. Physical labor in the so-called great outdoors had occurred only on rare occasions over the course of his thirty-four years on the planet. His thrice-weekly workouts had been confined to hip gyms filled with other trendy and pretty young professionals. Trim and toned bluebloods clad in fashionable workout outfits, iPods affixed to their bronzed biceps as they power-walked on treadmills that hummed with quiet efficiency. And always there had been the relaxing sauna afterward, not strictly necessary but an enjoyable reward for forty-five minutes worth of light maintenance working out.

Chad swung the axe and watched with satisfaction as the blade chopped the log cleanly in half down the middle. He added the halves to the steadily growing cord of firewood before propping another log atop the big stump he was using for a chopping block. The screen door screeched open and flapped shut behind him. He turned and saw Allyson emerge from the rear of the building Jack Paradise referred to as the “mess hall.” She came bearing two brown bottles of beer, one of which Chad accepted with a grateful nod. They were enjoying an unseasonably warm patch of fall weather here in the mountain country of east Tennessee, and the dripping bottle of beer looked like the nectar of the gods as the glass reflected the shining afternoon sun.

He gulped Budweiser and looked at Allyson. Clad in cutoff denim shorts and a dirty white blouse tied off at her sleek midriff, she bore little resemblance to the trendy suburbanite she’d been a month ago. Chad felt a stir of lust as he looked at her long and slender legs. Then, as was nearly always the case lately, he thought of the sheer number of people-men and women-who had been between those legs during Allyson’s time in the adult film industry and his ardor waned. They’d had sex exactly once during their month at the compound, a brief and awkward coupling that easily ranked among the most unsatisfying encounters of Chad ’s life. They hadn’t talked about it much, but it was obvious Chad had developed a mental block in the aftermath of Allyson’s tawdry revelations.

She noticed his scrutiny of her body and smiled. “Got something on your mind, Chad?”

Chad frowned and looked away. A huge red ant crawled across the dry ground at his feet. “Not really.”

Allyson moved closer, sidling up against him to whisper in his ear: “Is there anything you ever wanted to do to a woman but didn’t have the guts to ask?” Her breath was hot against his ear. Her soft lips brushed the lobe and sent a pleasant tingle through his body. “Anything you want, you can have. Anything.”

The tip of her tongue flicked lightly against his ear, and Chad ’s cock twitched as she moved a soft palm over his bare, sweat-covered torso. These physical ministrations were exquisitely pleasurable. The heat of her body and the feel of her silken flesh against his made his heart pound. Allyson was so very skilled at making a man feel good. Too good, maybe.

Chad pushed away from her and said, “Maybe later,” the words emerging as a halfhearted mumble. “Got work to do.”

He set the bottle down and raised the axe again. Allyson watched him in silence as he split several more logs. Then she departed without a word. Chad kept working as he listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps, not stopping until he heard the screen door flap shut again. When he was sure she was gone, Chad slammed the axe blade into the old stump and pic ked up the beer bottle. He retrieved his flannel shirt, pulled it on, and left it hanging unbuttoned. Then he walked away from the mess hall and moved across the sloping, green grounds of the compound toward the little cluster of cabins where most of the inhabitants of “ Camp Whiskey ” had their quarters.

Men attired in green camos patrolled the wooded perimeter of the compound, some out in the open, others lurking behind the line of tall trees. They carried machine guns and had walkie-talkies clipped to their belts. These were serious, stern-faced men. Many of them were former U.S. military. Recruited and commanded by Jack Paradise, they were the compound’s main line of defense against the enemy Jim seemed so certain would come for them one day.

He approached the door of the nearest and largest cabin and the armed-and heavily armored-guard stationed there stepped aside to allow him entry, acknowledging his exalted status at Camp Whiskey with a single, terse nod.

Chad remained a hero to the other survivors of Below. They all remembered well the instrumental role he’d played in the House of Blood revolt. Which was fine. But the deference with which they treated him made him uncomfortable.

This was the only place he ever felt truly at ease anymore.

So Chad knocked on the wooden door once and loudly announced himself. Then he opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark inside, the windows covered with a heavy dark canvas material. The only illumination was courtesy of the glow from a red bulb in a wrought iron floor lamp and a handful of flickering candles. Little wisps of smoke were visible around the heads of the people seated at the table in the center of the room. Chad smelled cannabis, tobacco, and bourbon. Soft sitar music emanated from the tinny speakers of a small boombox propped atop a crate containing rifles.

Jim acknowledged his arrival with a lazy wave. “ Chad. Join us.”

Chad nodded and approached the table, pulling out a wicker chair opposite Jim. “I see you’re deep into the day’s meditations.” He settled into the creaky chair and set his beer bottle on the dusty wooden table.“Uncovering any new universal truths today?”

Jim’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but a lazy smile slowly formed at the corners of his mouth. “What we’re doing, Chad, is engaging in the ancient ritual known as getting fucked up beyond all recognition.

You should join us.”

Jack Paradise lifted a glass containing two fingers of brown liquid and chuckled before taking a drink. “Jim’s getting fucked up. Me, I always indulge at a slow maintenance level.” He stared at the glass cupped between his large hands. His eyes had a haunted look. “After all, the shit could hit the fan at any time.”

Jack was seated next to Jim on the opposite side of the table. Directly opposite Jack was Wanda Lewis, formerly known as “Wicked Wanda” during her time Below.