New World Rising (22 page)

Writing a book involves so many more people than just the author.  While I supplied the passion for New World: Rising, so many others helped bring my dream to fruition. I realize that some will never read these pages—heaven knows I have skipped my fair share of acknowledgments—but for those who do, I want them to know how thankful I am for everyone who contributed to my first novel.

First and foremost, thanks to you, my readers. Without your interest, my book would just be sitting on a hard drive collecting digital dust. No matter how much I advertise or beg bookstores to sell my book, it is your word of mouth that drives others to read Phoenix’s story. And for that I am eternally grateful. I gave Phoenix life but you have kept her alive. I ask one more favor of you, my readers. While passion consumes me to write, I am still human and thus make mistakes. If you find errors in my book, please contact me so I can correct them.

To my confidants, editors and beta-readers: Diane Schultz, Auston Wilson, Cameron Walker, Kimberly Karli, Cerri Norris, Annette Meyerkord and Rachel Bensky. Without your keen eyes, challenging questions and encouragement I never could have developed this story into what it is today. It is an honor to have all of you in my life and to have been able to share the inner workings of my mind with you. Thank you for your invaluable advice, kind words and honesty. I could not have done this without you.

To the incredible team over at Oftomes Publishing, I am so honored to be part of the Oftomes family. Ben you are amazing, talented, and inspiring. Thank you for taking a chance on Phoenix and me. Kim, thank you for creating such a beautiful cover that brought the world on the inside to life, your skills are astounding. Nadege, thank you for making the pages of my book so much more than words, your designs were perfect.

To my husband for his never-ending patience and encouragement. You are my best friend, my muse, my rock. The best day of my life was the day you walked into it. With you by my side, my dreams have become a reality and I want nothing more than to share them with you. You have spent many nights letting me be antisocial so I could write, listened to me cry over rejection letters, reminded me to sleep when I needed to stop obsessing and rest, and finally got me to stop saying “I can’t.” You never cease to amaze and inspire me. I love you.

Lastly, but certainly never least, thank you to my family. Sara, you have not only been my sister but a best friend. You helped bring so many great books into my life that have inspired me. Without your encouragement to read, I could never have found the inspiration to write my own book. Mom and Dad, you raised me to be a strong, confident woman. You taught me to be patient, to be kind, to respect others, and most of all to believe in myself. Everything I am today is because of you. While most people fear becoming their parents when they get older, I would consider it an honor.

FIRE. ASHES. REBIRTH.

Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

This excruciating process happened over and over again until I pleaded for death to come. To make it stop. But it doesn't.

Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

And each time… I'm a little less of the person I was before.

I NEVER SAW
the faces of the men who took me.

Before being dragged to my feet, a black bag had been yanked down over my head, blinding me. The instant I attempted to retaliate against the restraining hands, my arms were pulled painfully behind my back, my wrists shackled by something metal. I remembered my injured arm screaming in agony as they forced me to my knees, but before I could cry out something hard was shoved into my side. Whatever it was shocked me with a voltage so high I was eventually rendered unconscious. Little did I know, that moment of comatose sleep was the only peace I would know for a long time.

When I awoke, I was here. Though I couldn’t be sure exactly where
“here”
was. Undoubtedly, it was some kind of prisoner’s holding chamber… but to me, it felt more like hell.

Everything but the ceiling was polished a perfectly glossy white. When I first roused, the smooth surface was soothing beneath my raw fingers, but I quickly realized the finish wasn’t just for aesthetics. I sat up. Seconds after my head left the floor, hell opened its fiery gates. The entirety of the small room was devoured in a blinding white light emanating from exposed bulbs that lined the open ceiling. At first, I covered my eyes and recoiled, but no matter how I tried to block it out, the light still seeped in. Even behind my hands, my eyelids glowed a translucent red as I squeezed them shut. Purple veins shown through my thin skin. Sweat began to pour from my body at an alarming rate, my clothing becoming soaked almost immediately.

I buried my head in my arms.

If only it would stop.

As if the blazing light wasn’t bad enough, the music started. Not that the blaring noise could really be considered music. It was as if five songs were all being played at the same time, each one competing to be heard above the others. The sound was so loud it made my eardrums ache. Surely they would start bleeding if they weren’t already. But if I moved to protect my ears, the light pierced though my closed lids again, making my head feel like it was on fire. Eventually, I compromised by huddling with my back against the wall while pressing my eyes into my knees and keeping my arms wrapped around my head.

In truth, it made little difference.

Through the constant onslaught, it was nearly impossible to think. Even my own name was becoming harder to remember. Only one thought kept rattling loose as the torture went on. They weren’t going to ask me questions, to seek out my alliance like the Subversive once had. These people were going to break me and see what they could scrape off the floor.

I had to remind myself that
I
chose this.

That there was a
reason
I was here.

They were safe.

They were not being tortured like I was.

Sacrifice. What a heady notion. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time…

It still was.
I reminded myself.

I tried to picture the faces I was fighting to see again, the loved ones I had tried to save but it was so hard to focus.

I had a flash of memory, a glimpse of their terrified eyes pleading with me through that sewer grate. I know I had promised Triven I would stay alive, promised that I would survive this. But even now as I tried to think of him, his image began to slip away. Not even Mouse’s round, sweet face could penetrate this unending mental and physical torture.

I was tough, always had been. My survival in Tartarus was proof of that. But this, this was killing me.

Less than a week ago, if someone had told me I would miss my time in the Subversive’s underground bunker, I would have laughed. But today,
today
I did miss it. Soft beds, warm food, friends—well, not friends exactly, allies might have been a better word. Yes, there were enemies there too, but at least they had been civilized. More civilized than the Tribes.

More civilized than
this
.

The people of the Subversive didn’t trust me, certainly not at first. (I still didn’t trust half of them.) But over time, I had earned their respect and they eventually looked to me for counsel. They were why I was here in the first place—a botched recon mission.

They had sent us out to infiltrate The Wall and report back what we had found. No outsiders had seen The Sanctuary in six years and six years was a long time. We had come in blind, not know what we would find here. Was it the city their leader, Arstid, remembered and had risked her life to escape? Or had it changed? Best-case scenario, we would find a city that had overthrown their tyrant. A place where every day wasn’t a battle to survive. A place where the refugees of Tartarus could live in freedom.

While I too desired freedom, answers were what I really sought. Answers about who I was and why my parents had given their lives to get me out. Either way, anything had to be better than Tartarus, better then hiding from the Tribes. Or so I thought.

Slowly, my body began to shut down. The steady ache in my lower back hinted my kidneys were most likely failing. The survival books I had once filched from Tartarus’ library taught me what these symptoms might mean and none of it was good news for me. Every ounce of water had been drained from my body, pooling beneath me and clinging to my clothing. And no matter how badly I wanted it, no glass of water was going to magically appear to quench my parched body. At some point, I slumped to the floor. I couldn’t remember doing it, and now that I was there, I couldn’t find the energy to sit up again. My tongue scraped dryly across my cracked lips seeking relief. The only thing it found was the tang of blood. Even my eyelids found it hard to blink without sticking.

My body was dying.

I
was dying.

I knew I had promised someone I would survive for them, but I couldn’t hang on anymore.
They would understand… right?

I had to let go…

My pulse was slowing, ready to give up.

Then just as suddenly as the onslaught had come, it stopped.

The world was plunged into utter blackness and the only sound I could hear was the painful ringing of my own ears.

At first, I loved the quiet. The dark felt cool on my parched blistered skin. The air no longer burned when I breathed. But that feeling of relief did not last. Soon the darkness became overwhelming. Its heaviness was crushing me, pressing in on my limbs, making it harder to breathe. In the light, at least I had a sense of being, but lying in the infinite blackness… it was as if I had just disappeared. As if a sea of nothingness had swallowed me whole. I wanted to curl myself into a ball, to wrap my arms around my knees, to hold myself together, but my body refused to move. Instead, I lay shivering in a pool of my own sweat. At one point, I vaguely remember my tongue desperately stabbing at the floor, seeking relief. The salty moisture did little to satiate my thirst. I wasn’t sure if it was the lack of heat from the lights or if the temperature in the room was actually dropping, but it was getting colder. Then, as the ringing in my ears finally started to fade, the screaming began.

They were so loud.

I tried to pull my hands up to cover my ears but one arm was trapped beneath my fallen body while the other barely fluttered in response. I couldn’t even lift my fingertips to scratch my nose much less cover my ears. Defeated, I did the only thing I could do and squeezed my eyes shut. As the screams echoed over and over, something familiar clawed at my mind. Slowly, I realized I knew these voices.

I struggled to understand.
Were they hurting people I loved?

After what felt like an eternity, it clicked. The screams weren’t another tactic derived to torture me. They were my own personal form of torment.

They were in my head.

As I made that jarring realization, I could now not only hear them but also see their matching faces flashing behind my closed eyelids. My mother’s beautiful blood-spattered face was pale against her flowing blonde hair. Next was my father’s, his face twisted in pain that distorted his usually handsome features.

I was sleeping. I had to be.

I
knew
these nightmares.

I had lived with them for over six years, awoke to them every morning, relived them every night. But something was different now… They had changed.

There was another face, a
new
face. Black eyes stared back at me, overflowing with fear as the man died. A river of blood poured from his mouth, its crimson fingers creeping toward me. It felt like I was drowning in it. I choked, unable to scream. Maddox died to save me and now his death would haunt me just like my parents’ did.

I tried to open my eyes, willing the ghastly apparitions to go away, but to my horror they were already open. In the darkness, there was no escaping the most tortured, inner workings of my mind. You can’t hide from what’s inside of you. The worst part about silence is that there’s nothing to distract your mind. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed. I saw them. With great effort, I curled in further on myself, trying to disappear, to become nothing.  And that’s when the lights came back on, restarting the torturous cycle all over again. In the light I burned for my sins. In the dark they swallowed me whole.

Fire. Ashes. Rebirth.

IT FELT LIKE
days, weeks, months had passed and still I was trapped in this hell. But by some cruel joke of fate, I didn’t die. The fifteenth time (I was counting) the lights came on, something was different. The harsh lights were softer this time. It took me a minute to comprehend there wasn’t the usual searing heat burning my skin, then another to realize I was no longer alone. Balancing on the thin edge of delirium, I could see the outline of a man standing before me, but it was hard to make out his face through the tangles of my hair and thickly crusted eyelashes. He was nothing more than a dark shadowy figure looming above me. I didn’t bother lifting my head to get a better look. Instead, I just closed my eyes.

The toe of his shoe slid under my shoulder and then with a shove flipped me onto my back. As my stringy hair fell away from my face, he muttered something that sounded like a curse. My eyelids fluttered, but I couldn’t focus. Stepping away from me he addressed someone else. His words sounded strange mixed with the residual sounds of the music still pulsating in my ears. They said something about taking me somewhere… to see someone. But before the words could register, my body shut down, casting me into a grateful unconsciousness.