Savage Run Book I

  3

  Pausing outside the gates, my eyes sweep across our deep valley, the soaring mountains surrounding it, and the glistening river that I’ve swum in countless times. It must have been an amazing country when it was free.

  After the S1-P1 virus killed 90 percent of our inhabitants, an army of Unifers arrived in their blue and green uniforms. Unifers, as everyone knew, were soldiers from the Eastern Republic, a supernation consisting of most of Asia, Russia, and Europe—a society built around goodwill, liberty, and peace. However, the Eastern Republic didn’t send the soldiers; these soldiers were a rogue Unifer army led by the power-hungry General Volkov, looking for a land to make their own. Finding us in a defenseless state, they immediately seized control. General Volkov Sr. was elected president, our nation was renamed Newland, and citizens were categorized into three classes: Laborers, Advisors, and Masters. That was sixty-six years ago, and now, President Volkov Sr.’s son, President Volkov Jr., rules the nation.

  I discreetly place the knife back into the basket, reenter the woods, and return to the same spot I was earlier. After I park my bike by a tree, I kick the trunk a couple of times.

  Plan B.

  I lean my back against the rough, damp bark and stare at the pale wall. Climbing over it and getting into Master Douglas’s property won’t be a problem. Not getting noticed will. Suddenly, I hear Master Douglas yelling obscenities from the other side of the barrier. I grab the knife, quickly climb the tree, and carefully peek my head over the edge of the wall. My blood boils when I see Master Douglas hauling Gemma outside. By her hair.

  “I’ve told you before, you little tramp. I don’t want you talking to anyone who comes to the door. What do I have to say to make you understand?” He lets go of her hair but grips her arms instead, shaking her so roughly that her head bobs. “I’ll kill you, you little rat, and I’ll get another one just like you who is smart enough to comprehend and follow my rules!”

  “I’m sorry, I was just…,” Gemma says.

  Master Douglas’s daughter comes outside wearing her swimsuit. “Dada, I want to go swimming now.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Go back inside while I punish Gemma,” Master Douglas says, his hands still clasping Gemma’s arms, his tone of voice like the purr of a cat.

  She pouts. “But I want to go now.”

  “Do as I say, child. Gemma needs to learn her lesson, even if I have to beat it into her.”

  Master Douglas’s daughter stomps back inside and slams the door shut. I can’t get over how indifferent she seems to how her father is treating Gemma, though I hardly should expect anything different from the offspring of such a man.

  “You don’t deserve to work here.” He tears Gemma’s shirt open, exposing her shoulders and breasts, and then he throws her to the ground so she lands facedown. When she lifts her head, blood flows from her mouth and she’s crying. The white floor has spots of red. He undoes his belt buckle, draws his belt out of his pants, and strikes Gemma with it. The belt makes a sharp cracking sound as it hits the skin on her upper back.

  “Please, please,” she pleads, lifting her arms to cover her face. But he keeps whipping her.

  Something snaps inside of me. Without really thinking, I hop the wall and charge toward Master Douglas. What I’m about to do goes completely against the laws in our society, where Laborers must at all times—even in life or death situations—maintain respect and remember their inferiority to their superiors.

  I don’t care.

  He doesn’t see me coming until the knife is already raised above my head. But before I stab him, I hesitate. I don’t want to kill him, just injure him enough so I have time to take Gemma with me. I jab the knife into his shoulder and quickly pull it out. But it’s not enough. He grabs me by the shoulder and slams me to the ground, my head hitting against the marble surface. I drop the knife.

  “Heidi,” Gemma says, her mouth gaping open.

  Master Douglas clamps his hand around my neck and squeezes tightly so I can’t breathe. I kick my arms and legs, trying to free myself, but he only pushes harder. I start to see stars in front of my eyes.

  Suddenly, I hear a thump, and the next thing I know, Master Douglas falls on top of me. I gasp a few times to catch my breath, and then with all my might I push his lifeless body off me. There stands Gemma with a rock in her right hand.

  “Is he…dead?” she says.

  He moans.

  Still feeling the pressure from his hands around my neck, I stagger to my feet and pick up the knife. “Let’s go.” I grab Gemma’s hand and pull her with me toward the wall. But there’s no tree to climb up on this side. I head for the mansion instead, desperately hoping the delivery truck hasn’t left yet. If it has, then the gates are closed. “The front door—now.”

  We sprint through the sliding doors, across the living room, and into the foyer with the marble floors. Frantically, I open the front door. Outside, the truck driver is talking to the Unifer, waving his hands and laughing.

  Clutching the bloody knife, my eyes steal to the gates. Relief washes over me when I see them wide open. I take Gemma’s cold hand in mine, and we slip behind the truck. The truck’s door slams shut, and the engine starts with a roar. Exhaust spews out in front of me just as we pass the back end and out the gates. Once outside, I curse myself for leaving my bike behind the house. But even though it will take an extra minute to get it—and that extra time might be what will make or break my plan—we need the bike to have any chance of escaping.

  I pull Gemma behind the hedge, the leaves scratching my arms. “Wait here,” I tell her.

  Tearing into the forest, I get my bike and throw the knife into the basket. Before I know it, I’m pedaling hard, zigzagging my way among the trees, adrenaline coursing through me like a fiend, my body rising into a frenzy.

  Gemma steps out from behind the hedge with fresh tears on her cheeks. She’s gripping the front of her dress, gathering the material where Master Douglas ripped it apart. The left side of her mouth is even more red and swollen than before, but it’s not as bad as the despairing expression in her eyes. I help her get onto the back rack of the bike, and within seconds, I’m in my seat and we’re flying down the hillside, the wind straining against my body. Only a few moments later, I hear a dog barking.

  “He has dogs?” My throat is dry—parched. I’ve never heard them before, despite having been there hundreds of times.

  “Two!” Gemma yells.

  The Rottweiler catches up quickly, running alongside us, barking and snarling, baring its teeth and gums. I pedal faster, and Gemma’s thin arms clutch harder around my waist.

  Suddenly, she lets out a loud shriek.

  “What?” I ask.

  “The dog bit me!”

  The dog snaps its teeth at me, and I swerve quickly in an attempt to get away from it. The sudden shift in direction feels unnatural with the extra weight of Gemma. When I hit a thick branch—the road still slick from the rain—I lose control and crash into the ditch. I feel sharp pain in several places on my body. I have no time to really feel it because the Rottweiler dives toward me. I kick the animal in the snout, but just as soon as it falls to the ground, it springs back onto its feet. My father’s kitchen knife lies on the ground right next to my foot, and as the dog charges toward me, I pick up the knife and stab it in the chest. It keeps growling, so I pull the blade out and stab it in the chest again. And again.

  Finally, it whimpers and retreats down the road, falling lifeless to the ground.

  There’s blood smeared across my hand, and my whole body is quaking. Still clutching the knife, I notice that my palm stings. I open my hand, letting the bloody knife fall to the ground, and when I look at my palm, I see blood and grime compressed beneath my skin. My right knee hurts, too, and the hole in my pants has blood around the edges. There’s no time to sit here and cry.

  “You okay?” I ask Gemma. She’s still on the ground and has twigs tangled in her blonde hair and dirt on her peach dress.

>   She doesn’t answer.

  I help her to her feet, and we hop onto the bike again.

  “Come back here! Or I’ll send my Unifers to shoot you dead!” Master Douglas bellows. He must really think I’m an idiot if he believes I’ll do as he says. I start pedaling.

  Speeding forward, all the way down the hill, I keep looking behind me, afraid that Master Douglas will come after us in one of his fancy transporters.