Boil (Salem's Revenge Book 2)

  BOIL

  Salem’s Revenge- Book Two

  David Estes

  Copyright 2014 David Estes

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is dedicated to the incredible members

  of Estes’ Angels, my Official Street Team.

  Your support and selflessness go beyond that

  of friendship, and you’ve made an unbelievable difference

  in my life as a person, and as a writer.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Acknowledgments

  A sample of SLIP, the new sci-fi dystopian thriller by David Estes, available December 1, 2014!

  Prologue

  Fourteen years earlier

  The Reaper wants to look away, but for his old friend’s sake, he won’t.

  Between the glowing, magical bars, Martin Carter tries to speak. It’s painful to watch, the stump of his severed tongue wagging grotesquely in the torchlight. Wet, gagging sounds are all the Reaper, known to humans as Mr. Jackson, can make out.

  “Shh,” he says. “There’s nothing more to say, except I’m sorry.”

  Martin moves closer, dragging himself across the dusty floor. Is something wrong with his legs, too? the Reaper wonders.

  When he reaches the bars, he sticks a hand through and grasps the Reaper’s hand. He’s still trying to speak.

  “Shh,” the Reaper says again, attempting to comfort his friend, even as tears betray him, flooding his eyes.

  Martin shakes his head vehemently. I won’t be quiet, he seems to convey. He points to the ground, to the dirt. Points two fingers at the warlock’s eyes, then back at his own. Watch me.

  Using only the tip of his finger, he draws in the dust. Letters. Words. A message.

  Protect him.

  He knows exactly who his friend is referring to. “I’m going to get you out. Then you can protect your son yourself,” the Reaper says.

  Another frustrated head shake. More writing. Can’t, it says. Cursed.

  The words barely written, Martin’s body begins to shake, white foam erupting from his mouth and splattering through the bars.

  ~~~

  It’s only when the Reaper looks into the orphan’s deep, brown eyes and sees the gaze of his old friend that he realizes the best way to protect the boy is to keep him as far away from himself as possible. What he has to do will likely bring destruction to everyone and everything around him, and if he’s to honor Martin’s last wish, giving up the child is the only way.

  He’ll stay close, but not too close.

  He’ll watch, but not get directly involved.

  He’ll protect from afar.

  “I’m sorry, Rhett Carter,” he says to the two-year-old child, who ignores him, completely enamored by a picture book containing the adventures of a frog prince and his unlikely true love, a fly with bright green eyes.

  Feeling empty inside, the Reaper turns away from the child and begins filling out the online foster care forms.

  But not just for young Rhett.

  For his own son too.

  Only one thing is certain: A war is coming, and he wants to keep Rhett and Xavier as far away from it as possible.

  ~~~

  As my days surround me

  with the bitter eyes of a betrayed wolf,

  my nights haunt and destroy

  without compassion,

  bruising my heart and crushing my soul.

  This Broken Life, Rhett Carter

  Chapter One

  Rhett

  Present Day

  More than Six Months after Salem’s Revenge

  Sometimes a journey begins so comfortably, just a familiar step forward onto an oft-travelled path. And other times, well, that first step is shaky and foreign, as if an invisible force is pushing backwards against your chest, driving the breath out of your lungs, bruising your muscles and bones.

  My latest journey begins like the latter scenario, only the heaviness of my anger propelling me through that invisible barrier, smashing it to bits. In my mind I see the Reaper’s face, split in two, one half smiling and warm and the other dark and cold. Which is the real Mr. Jackson?

  I shake my head, realizing it doesn’t matter because she’s gone. I force the words to my lips, but don’t speak them: Beth is gone. The thought sends lava through my veins, which seems to be the only thing that wards off the heavy blanket of sadness threatening to suffocate me.

  Silently I plot my revenge on the Necros, relishing the thought of shoving my sword through the Reaper’s neck, like I once had the opportunity to do. If he’s still alive, that is. And what of Xavier? I know I shouldn’t blame my ex-best friend, but it’s hard not to when all I can think about are Beth’s empty eye sockets. The Necros made her into a monster and he helped them.

  As a familiar sliver of fur rubs against me, I know I should be thankful that my friends are here by my side. There’s Hex, my magical German shepherd (his fur still brittle and singed from the bomb blasts), Laney, and Trish; the latter stares silently ahead, rarely blinking. They’re all I have left in this world.

  The tattooed Chinese characters on Laney’s neck catch my eye. She told me they mean ‘family,’ which is something she’s been ashamed of ever since her magic-born parents tried to kill her. But she still has her sister, Trish, and that counts for something these days.

  We’re being less careful now that we’re miles away from Pittsburgh. Miles away from the hole in the ground that used to be Heinz Field—the old Necros’ lair. We’re heading south and east toward what was once called Washington D.C., but has been renamed New Washington. The last president is dead—killed during Salem’s Revenge—but Vice President
Washington supposedly managed to survive, taking over leadership of what’s left of the human population. According to what we’ve heard, the humans are finally fighting back, and that’s something I want to—no, have to—be a part of.

  The southbound highway is empty, save for the occasional abandoned car, motorcycle, or Walmart tractor-trailer. I pretend the smears of red on the asphalt are paint streaks.

  Gray, swollen rainclouds hover overhead threateningly. Miles in the distance, they seem to reach for the ground like ghostly hands. A storm’s coming, one way or another.

  “It’s weird seeing you without your shotgun,” I say to Laney, trying to break the awkward silence that’s arisen ever since we argued about my plan to get to New Washington.

  “The magged-up Glock Tillman Huckle gave me is all I need now,” Laney says, her voice monotone.

  I force myself to chuckle. “Because of the never ending ammo?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “And the fact that it seems to target magic-born completely on its own,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. I wait for the sparkle that’s usually there, but there’s nothing but deep blue wells of emptiness.

  I swallow and look away. Am I making the right choice? Beth’s face appears before me, perfect and beautiful, her eyes closed—is she sleeping? No. Her eyes are stitched shut, hiding the blindness inflicted upon her reanimated body. Rhett-t-t-t, she says in my mind. I grit my teeth and remind myself of all the evils carried out by the magic-born.

  “This is insane,” Laney mutters.

  I open my mouth to utter a sharp response, but then close it. I don’t want to argue anymore, especially because she’s right. Fighting the witches and warlocks is insane.

  “Nothing to say, Rhett?” Laney says, not addressing me by my last name, like she usually does.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” I say.

  Laney pulls up short, whirling on me, her golden-blond hair flying around her face, her bright blue eyes flashing anger. Trish—who looks more like a miniature version of Laney than ever—and Hex wander a few steps further, but then stop, too. “Then don’t,” she says. “We can go north, where it’s cold and there’s unlikely to be as many magic-born. We can hide. We can survive.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

  “That’s bullcrap and you know it.”

  “You don’t understand anything,” I say.

  She pushes me, hard. And despite our size difference, I stumble back two steps. “I don’t understand?” Her fists are clenched, her face screwed up in anger. “My parents tried to kill me and my sister is a witch. You’re not the only one who feels pain. The only difference is that I’m smart enough to avoid getting hurt again.”

  She’s right, of course. Everyone’s been through hell and back, and I’m certainly not the only one to have lost someone. And yet…I can’t let it go. Not when there’s someone left to be punished.

  “I’m sorr—” I start to say, but before I can finish the apology Laney’s punching my chest, my arms, my stomach, her fists flying everywhere, her face red and fiery, her mouth an angry snarl. “God, Laney, what the hell?” I say, trying to grab her fists, to corral them. Eventually I get one, then the other, and when she tries to kick me I spin her around and hold her tightly from behind.

  She drops to the ground, pulling me with her, and her body starts to shake.

  And that’s when I hear it—her sobs.

  And she shakes and she cries, her tears streaming like swollen rivers, and I just hold her as it starts to rain.

  ~~~

  The abandoned farmhouse is drafty and has a slightly rotten odor inside, but we can’t be choosy these days. And it has two shelves of canned goods in the pantry, which we eat cold while the rain drums on the rooftop.

  Laney hasn’t said a word since Hex licked her face and convinced her to stop crying and continue onward. In this case, Hex’s magic was simply being a dog, inexplicably able to cure sadness with nothing more than a lick and a wag of his tail.

  I think she’s embarrassed, but I’m not about to say that.

  Truth be told, I’m scared to death. Laney’s not really a crier.

  As Hex scarfs down a can of ground meat and Trish draws circles in the dust, I try to get things back on track. “The Pyros and Volts and Destroyers were all traitors to the Necros,” I say.

  Laney says nothing, just shoves her spoon into an empty can that used to hold green beans. At least she still has her appetite.

  “But who are they working for?” I continue, throwing the question out there. “They don’t seem like natural allies, and yet, they banded together easily for the battle. Surely they must be getting orders from somewhere.”

  Laney cracks open a can of lima beans and starts shoveling them in her mouth.

  “If we can just figure out who’s leading the magic-born, perhaps we can hit them where it’ll hurt the most,” I say.

  “I thought you hate the Necros,” Laney says, her mouth still full. She doesn’t make eye contact.

  “I do,” I say, but right away I think of Xave. Do I hate him, too? “But it doesn’t matter—they’re all dead anyway.”

  “Maybe not all,” Laney says, after swallowing a big bite. “Some may have escaped.”

  “Maybe,” I say, feeling an unwanted thrill in my chest at the prospect of Xave being alive. “But that’s why we need to get to New Washington. We can finally find out what’s going on. And Trish will be safe there,” I add, because I know that’s Laney’s number one priority.

  “New America hired Bil Nez to try to kill you.”

  “Only because they thought I was working with the Necros,” I argue.

  “The End works for New America,” Laney says.

  I picture the sadistic group of witch hunters racing away from Heinz Field in their Hummer, having destroyed many of the witch and warlock Wardens protecting the Necros. Their leader, the ex-mixed martial arts fighter named Graves, flashes me a sneer of victory. And yet…

  “They’re helping to destroy the magic-born,” I say.

  “Not just the magic-born,” Laney says. “Anything that moves. They’d kill my sister, you know.”

  “Not if she kills them first,” I say, lowering my voice.

  Laney’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “What did you say?”

  It’s something I’ve been thinking for a long time. Something I probably should’ve kept as a thought. Too late now. “Trish is very powerful, Laney, surely you see that,” I say.

  “And?” she says, crossing her arms across her chest.

  “Hiding her away will only delay the witches from finding her. Instead, her powers could be used to beat them. We have to take every advantage we can get if we’re going to win this war.”

  I wait for the explosion, my heart pounding in my chest, but it never comes.

  Instead, her reaction is worse. “I have nothing left to say to you, Rhett Carter,” Laney says quietly. “Maybe you’re not who I thought you were. Trish is just a kid and you want to use her powers?” She shakes her head in disappointment, which seems far more painful than her hitting me. “Seems like you’d fit right in with The End. Maybe you should see if they’re still taking applications.”

  Her words sting, but I’m not about to be deterred. I’m still doing this for the right reasons. “I’m not on their side,” I say. “I’m on our side. Humanity’s side.”

  “What about Trish and me? What about Hex? If we continue down your path of revenge will you use us until we all end up dead? Is that what you want? Do you want your only friends to die?” Her voice is rising and I’m worried she’s on the verge of another breakdown.

  “Laney, I’m glad I met you and Trish, but I didn’t leave Mr. Jackson’s house all those months ago to make new friends. I left to find old ones. I left to find…” I can barely choke out her name. “…Beth.”

  “Thanks. Sorry that meeting me wasn’t a priority. But just a reminder in case you’ve forgotten: Be
th. Is. Dead,” Laney says, dropping her voice to a whisper. “We’re not.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I say, feeling sudden and unexpected anger at her for reminding me of all I’ve lost. “I’m a Resistor, Laney, one of the few who can naturally fight off the witches’ magic. If anyone can get revenge, it’s me.”

  “Well, I don’t care about revenge,” Laney says. “And neither does Trish.”

  “That’s your choice, isn’t it?” I say, purposely egging her on.

  Laney looks like she’s about to explode, but before she can respond, her sister pounds her little fist on the floorboards.

  Simultaneously, Laney and I jerk our heads to look at her. She stares back, her gaze flitting back and forth between us.

  And then she speaks the first word I’ve ever heard her say.

  Chapter Two

  Laney

  “See,” my sister says, her tiny voice ringing out crystal clear like a wind chime.

  I feel my eyes widen and the tingle of goose bumps rising from my skin, both on my arms and the back of my neck. I look at Rhett, whose mouth is slightly open. He’s as shocked as I am.

  “Trish?” I say, looking back at my sister. She hasn’t spoken a single word since the night she screamed and killed our parents, and yet her first word doesn’t so much as crack or shudder.

  She doesn’t repeat the word, just points to the floor, where she’s been carving lines into the dust. Not lines—letters. Words.

  “Do not fear for me,” Rhett reads, running his finger along Trish’s message etched in the dust.

  My heart stutters and I suddenly feel short of breath. “Trish,” I say. “What does that mean? Fear what?” The words in the dust seem to turn black and I have the sudden urge to smear them with the heel of my hand, but I know it’s just a trick of the fading daylight and staring at them for too long.

  “See,” she says again, repeating her first word. And then a second word: “Remember.” And then, as if nothing has changed, she lays down next to Hex, her hand absently stroking his fur.