James Axler - Earthblood 03 - Aurora Quest

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EarthBlood

UP THE COAST, TOWARD AURORA

Jim Hilton glanced behind him, to the open ocean and, farther south, to distant Eureka.

For a fraction of a stolen moment the clouds shifted and he thought he glimpsed a ship.

Then the wind veered and the curtain closed and the vessel vanished.

Jim's attention came back to the land, and he wrinkled his forehead at the realization that

he'd been careless. He'd been surviving in the ravaged world for long enough to know

that if you wanted to stay alive, you checked and then you checked again.

But there was no sign of life.

Heather was standing up as the boat drifted in, almost silently, its keel grating in the dirt.

She turned around and grinned at her father.

"Like Columbus or the Pilgrim fathers. Shall I claim this new and unknown land in the

name of the Hilton family? Or in the name of Aurora?"

The shot came from somewhere inland, close to the road, the explosion echoing flatly out

to sea. Jim spotted a puff of smoke, blown instantly away.

But that wasn't what mattered.

Heather screamed once, her arms thrown wide, the rope dropping from her hands. Her

feet slipped and she pitched over the side of the boat into the shallow water with a

resounding splash.

Aurora Quest

#3 in the EarthBlood series

James Axler

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EarthBlood

A GOLD EAGLE BOOK FROM WORLDWIDE

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON • AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY •

HAMBURG • STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID • WARSAW

• BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen

property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the

author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

This one is for Liz, who always makes it more like the movies. With endless love and

gratitude.

First edition July 1994

ISBN 0-373-63809-4

AURORA QUEST

work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now

known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in

any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission

of the publisher, Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada

M3B 3K9.

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 the

incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises B.V.

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EarthBlood

® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in

the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in

other countries.

Printed in U.S.A.

"Nothing is forever."

—Dying words of Marcus Barnard, futurologist

and leader of cult of eternal life (1958-1991)

Chapter One

Having scattered themselves to every quarter of what used to be the United States of

America, the survivors of the Aquila, in their two groups, were gradually drawing closer

to each other.

Jim, Heather, Carrie, Kyle and Sly had seen the amended billboard for the Acme Coyote

Trap, a little way north of the Bolinas turnoff. They saw it as potential encouragement for

their unguessable future.

At the moment that the other group—Nanci Simms, Jeff Thomas and the McGill family

stopped to stare at the same billboard, they were less than fifty miles apart.

The highway had been completely blocked by a massive landslide at Tomales, sending

Jim and his group on a detour to the east, toward Petaluma. But they were able to cut

north again before they'd lost too much time and distance. They were traveling in two

four-bys, with Jim driving one and Carrie the other.

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EarthBlood

"Must've been a big quake," observed Kyle.

Carrie was at the wheel and she nodded. "Sure must. That crack across the highway was

a good fifty feet wide in places."

"Was it the San Andreas?"

"That went macro at the end of the nineties, didn't it? Lot of folks chilled in San

Francisco and around."

Sly had been dozing in the back and he came awake with a start. "Where are me?"

"We're just moving on to that place where we might find us some new friends," replied

Carrie.

He grinned, the smile lighting up his entire face. "Sly looked forward to that. Dad'll be

there, won't he?"

Kyle turned around to face the boy. "No. Remember that Steve's gone to a special place.

He can see and hear you all the time. But you can't see him."

"Not as never and ever, amen?"

"No. But there should be some more children in Aurora, Sly." He turned back to raise his

eyebrows at Carrie. "If we ever get there," he said.

THE NEXT MORNING, after a late start, they carried on through a torrential storm. The

wipers worked overtime, but visibility dropped to less than twenty yards. With dumped

and wrecked cars everywhere, it became impossible to drive much above ten miles per

hour. Even then, Jim nearly crashed into a burned-out Army half-track that had been left

slewed halfway across the median line.

There was another fierce shower a little later, heralded by strong gusts of westerly wind.

They were going up a steep incline when Carrie encountered more evidence of recent

quake activity. Half the highway had slipped yards to the right, and she suddenly found

to her dismay that the rear end of their truck was going a whole lot faster than the front

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EarthBlood

end. It took all of her skill behind the wheel to correct the skid and bring everything back

on line.

"That was fun," she said once her breathing had slowed a little. She and the others were

silent most of the day, anxiously intent on the road and weather conditions.

They didn't wait until nightfall to look for a secure campsite. They'd taken an unmarked

cutoff that wound toward the coast, down a narrow lane with high banks of dirt. The

quake had shifted some of it, but heavy rain had washed much of it away, leaving a layer

of fine sand and orange mud that was less than a foot deep. Treacherous, but drivable

with care.

They passed a number of small cottages, every single one with broken windows and

smashed doors. Most of them had tumbled roofs, opening up the rooms to the elements.

Eventually, with the leaden surface of the evening Pacific visible beyond a slope of dead

bracken, Jim Hilton spotted a larger house. It stood alone on a bluff, looking relatively

undamaged by either the quake or by looters.

"Spend the night there," he shouted, pointing toward the building and receiving a wave in

response from Carrie at the wheel of the second truck.

As they drew closer, he realized that the appearance had been deceptive.

The high, gabled roof had lost most of its shingles, which lay around the sides of the

house like a shower of fallen leaves. The attic windows on the landward side were mostly

broken, though those that stared blankly out over the sea were salt-stained but still whole.

Dark green shutters dangled from their shattered hinges over the first- and second-floor

windows of the abandoned house, and the large double front door gaped open like a

sucking, toothless mouth.

"And whatever walked there, walked alone," said Kyle Lynch as they stood together at

the front of the building.

"Sure looks haunted," agreed Carrie. "Still, there might be some dry floors, and we can

find plenty of wood to burn. Going to be cold tonight."

"Ghosts," said Sly, shivering and hugging himself with a delighted grin. "Steve told me

all 'bout ghosts and lampirons and stuff."

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"Lampirons?" Jim looked at his daughter, knowing that she was the best at interpreting

the teenage boy's occasional linguistic oddities.

"Don't know, Dad," Heather admitted, then asked Sly, "What's a lampiron?"

"Me thinks it's a bad man that looks like a bat and drinks blood."

Everyone got it at the same moment, chorusing together, "Vampire, Sly. A vampire."

Silently they filtered into the building, Jim going first in case some threat awaited inside.

The desolation inside made them look around in wonder. "Looks like it was empty before

Earthblood came along," said Kyle.

"Yeah. Stripped."

There wasn't a drape or a carpet or a stick of furniture anywhere in the building.

An ominous crack ran down the northern wall, so wide that it was possible to put four

fingers deep into it. Kyle was a fan of horror novels and vids and he remarked how it

reminded him of some real old story.

"Great big house alongside a black lake, bottomless. Crazy lives in it, with his sister,

who's dying. Think it was Vince Price played the madman. Decides he's buried his sister

alive, and she comes back to life and they die together. The wall splits and the whole

mess slides into the pool." He snapped his fingers. " 'Course. Stupid of me. It's Poe. 'The

Fall of the House of Usher.' My memory's getting worse."

"We going in?" asked Sly, who'd been ignoring the conversation about the melancholy

house.

"We are in," snapped Heather.

"Oh, yeah. Me means we going t'eat?"

"Good question." Jim grinned, ruffling the boy's hair. "Get a blaze started and then we

can have some supper. You and Heather go and pick up as many of those wooden tiles

off the roof as you can and carry them in here," he said, pointing to a wide carved

fireplace.

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EarthBlood

MUCH LATER THAT NIGHT, Jim leaned across and ran the tip of his tongue down the

angle of Carrie's shoulder, tasting the salt of fresh sweat. He continued across the

swelling top of her breast, finding the shrunken nipple and kissing it softly, laughing

quietly with sheer pleasure as it roused at the touch of his lips, hardening against his

tongue like a tiny animal.

"Man your age should be sated and sleeping by now," she whispered.

"Woman your age shouldn't rightly be copulating with a man my age. And me your

commanding officer, as well, Second Navigator Princip."

"Copulation!" Her hand slid between their bodies and grabbed at him, making him wince.

"I think that I'd really much prefer it if you called it 'making love,' Captain Hilton." She

gave him another squeeze, more gentle. "Sir."

She gave her slender body generously. In return, Jim drew on all his experience and

resources to repay her sexual kindness, taking great care to ensure that Carrie's pleasure

came before his own urgent need. Finding restraint came much easier the second time

around.

He eased himself up on one elbow, disentangling the long strands of her blond hair from

his face. He ran his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of the young woman, then

glanced at the chron on his wrist.

"What's the time?"

"Quarter past midnight."

"Bright moon," she said, her voice slurred with sleep. "Pray the Lord my soul to keep."

"These days it's up to you to keep your own soul, Carrie. Lord's turned his back on us."

There was no answer, and he realized that she'd slipped away from her half-waking

world.

"Must take a leak," he said to the empty, silver-lit room, wriggling out of the double-

quilted bag, trying not to disturb her again.

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The dusty wood-block floor was chilly to his bare feet, and Jim wished that he'd kept his

socks on. The hall held an armory of angular shadows, and there was a heart-jumping

fluttering from far above him, where a pigeon in the exposed rafters was shifting its

position.

Jim had pulled his shirt on and was padding toward the stairs, feeling for the balustrade

and finding the large carved acanthus at its head.

He picked his way slowly down to the first floor. There was a cool wind coming through

one of the broken windows in the large room to his right.

For a moment he paused on his way to the open front door, imagining that he'd heard the

sound of movement somewhere from within that room.

"Lampiron," he breathed, smiling at the memory.

His smile disappeared as the sound was repeated, not a product of his imagination

anymore.

Jim Hilton clenched his teeth, bitterly angry with himself for leaving the Ruger

Blackhawk Hunter up in the bedroom, alongside the sleeping woman.

He froze there, halfway between the front entrance and the stairs, aware of a tall figure

appearing, silhouetted in the doorway to the right.

"Please don't try to do anything stupid," said the voice.

Chapter Two

"Someone's trying to flag us down," said Jeff.

"I see him." Nanci tapped on the brake pedal of the four-by-four they'd stolen from the

Hunters of the Sun, warning the two vehicles behind her that she was slowing down. In

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the jeep and the Phantasm were the McGill family—Henderson McGill, his first wife,

Jeanne, and Paul, Jocelyn, Pamela and Sukie.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Jeff asked.

She didn't reply at first, but watched her mirror to make sure that Jeanne McGill, at the

wheel of the Phantasm, had spotted the signal. "Doubt it. Road's wide open. Can't see any

way there can be an ambush around here."

"We stopping?"

"Why not? Get that .38 cocked and ready for use, Jefferson. I'll pull up a little short. Get

your window down and cover him."

There was a cool evening breeze blowing in off the Pacific, less than five miles to their

left. Wraiths of mist clung in the dips in the switchback blacktop. They hadn't been back

on the coast highway for long after the detour where a bad quake had blocked their way.

The man wore a plaid shirt and working jeans tucked into hiking boots. He held a

brakeman's flag, waving it slowly across his body. Nanci had spotted an automatic of

some sort tucked into the broad leather belt, and a hunting rifle was slung across his

shoulders. His long dark hair was tied back from his ruddy face with a green bandanna.

The four-by-four stopped twenty paces short of the stranger, and Nanci wound down her

window. "Don't come any closer," she warned. "State your business from where you are."

Jeff Thomas was ostentatiously showing his own handgun through his window.

"Sure thing, lady. Glad to see folks taking some serious care of themselves. We seen

some seriously stupid people passing this way."

"Yeah. What do you want? Warning us of a roadblock?"

He laughed, revealing a fine set of strong white teeth. "Hell, no! In a way it's the

opposite. We got a community settled down near the beach. Every now and again one of

us comes up here on the chance of seeing outlanders coming through."

"You see many?" called Jeff. "Particularly, have you see any sign of—" He stopped dead

as Nanci leaned across and casually laid a hand in his lap, gripping so hard that the words

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choked in his throat.

His face turned gray, and sweat burst from his forehead at the pain.

"Quiet, Jefferson," she warned him, holding a big smile for the benefit of the man with

the flag. "Never, ever talk when you can keep your mouth shut."

"Didn't hear you?" shouted the man, taking a couple of steps toward them but halting

when Nanci waved a finger at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to. Listen, you folks'd be real

welcome to come down and join us. There's some old huts and cottages and a few tents

down there. Not like a real village. 'Newtown' is what we call it." He shrugged and

grinned boyishly at her. "Not very original, is it? We got food and some fuel and we want

decent people to think about joining us."

"Why?" asked Henderson "Mac" McGill. He'd jumped down from the Phantasm and now

stood alongside Nanci's truck with a SIG-Sauer P-230 in his hand. His son Paul had

joined him, holding one of the Winchester Defender 1700 12-gauge shotguns.

"You mean what's in it for you, mister?"

"Yeah."

"Safety in numbers. How many you got in your party? Around a dozen at the most.

Time'll come there's no more gas to steal from isolated places. Then you got to settle

down. Better amongst decent God-fearing people than some murderous rabble. Unless

you all got somewhere better to go?"

Nanci answered him. "We're just moving on. Lot of sense in what you say. How many in

your community?"

The man tucked the flag into the waistband of his pants. "Around thirty at the moment.

Eight are little ones, under ten. Most are married couples."

"How do you eat?" asked Paul McGill.

There was a heartbeat's hesitation that only Nanci Simms noticed.

"Fish is plentiful. We send out groups to scout the hills inland, and they bring back good

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EarthBloodUPTHECOAST,TOWARDAURORAJimHiltonglancedbehindhim,totheopenoceanand,farthersouth,to\distantEureka.Forafractionofastolenmomentthecloudsshiftedandhethoughtheg\limpsedaship.Thenthewindveeredandthecurtainclosedandthevesselvanished.Jim'sattentioncamebacktotheland,andhewrinkledhisforeheadatt\here...

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James Axler - Earthblood 03 - Aurora Quest

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