The Fallow Read online

  “State your business.” The Authority Figure was a burly, stoic sort, much like most of the others, but he also wore a gold double cross on his white sash. It had multicolored ribbons dangling beneath it, which called attention to his relatively high rank.

  Captain lowered his hood. “I’m here to see Asmodeus.”

  “That’s Dr. Asmodeus Braintree,” he corrected loftily.

  “So you say.”

  “His position, please?”

  The number Donald Hickey had mentioned probably had something to do with Asmodeus’ birth order. The exact ranking system they used was classified information, though, and Captain wasn’t too curious as long as he had what he needed. “Sixty-six.”

  At that, the gate buzzed and moved aside. And the guard cleared his deep throat to give further instruction. “Wait at the top of the hill. Leviathan will meet you there momentarily.”

  He had met Leviathan on numerous occasions—he was a front man for the family. A smiler and a hand shaker, for business endeavors as well as political ones, and Captain knew his “position” by memory. Twenty-one.

  Captain waited on the brick path he knew led to the Compound. He placed his hands in his pockets to check on his pad of banknotes and to keep his fingers warm and dry.

  Since Leviathan hadn’t emanated from the gloom yet, Captain, in the meantime, wandered over the well-manicured lawn and toward a thicket of trees. A few yards beyond the perimeter stood a wishing well. The area was too overgrown with vines, shrubs, and years of fallen leaves for the well to be a functioning one, however.

  He ducked as a crow squawked near his head. It coasted to a landing on the weather-worn structure. After a few calculating hops, it took a dive in. Before long, it flew off carrying something white and oddly shaped in its beak. Was it a . . . severed human hand?

  “Morton!” Leviathan bellowed, urging Captain to stroll back toward the path.

  “Ah, you’re looking well,” he replied, and it wasn’t a lie. Leviathan had inherited his mother’s good looks and was aging gracefully.

  The same could not be said about some of Solomon’s other children.

  Leviathan squinted for a moment at Captain’s scratched face. Fortunately, his expression perked back to overconfident, which was customary, and without comment. “I heard you’re finally on the market for some quality,” he jeered as they shook hands.

  Captain faked a smile in return. “Word travels fast.”

  “The Purge is a busy time, but we stay on top of our exclusive content. And we have great news!” He set his hand on Captain’s shoulder and began leading the way. “Come, my friend. Little brother didn’t want me to spoil the surprise. And just to warn you . . . he’s . . . a little unorthodox. But for these custom requests, he’s the man to see. He’s truly a genius when it comes to a scalpel. You’ll have a better understanding once we get inside.”

  ***

  Stairway after stairway, hall upon hall, down and deeper, Captain was grateful he had a guide through the Compound. Otherwise, he’d be hopelessly lost.

  “Asmodeus?” Leviathan called out as he unlocked one last heavy, industrial door.

  There were other entry points for “The Vault,” but Leviathan led Captain past the pens that most likely contained “exclusive content.” These Fallows were young, had clear skin, decent teeth, and had a variety of body types, though all would be considered “desirable” in some way, depending on a man’s preferences. Captain was partial to small bones, and delicate, hourglass curves, and there were quite a few goods on display that would qualify.

  The Purge had been good to them this year.

  Showcased in chains, their arms were out of the way, and they wore perfectly fitting Fallow bodysuits designed to tempt, but not reveal—a peek or any sampling would cost extra—and they still had hope and fight left in their eyes. They were crying out to him as if they believed he had any will to save them. In his estimation, they hadn’t been in captivity very long and were most likely unaware of their new life purpose.

  These girls were worth money, money, and more money, especially if they had a quality rating in the A through C range. And Captain was indeed aroused, but he was also a businessman at heart and could see this trick for what it was. Like in real estate, the agent would first show off the inventory that was out of a client’s price range with the hope they’d fall in lust with it and go over-budget.

  In the doorway of an office—and not one Captain had been to before—Leviathan cocked a befuddled look inside the empty room. He continued walking past and came to an abrupt halt in front of the next pen.

  Captain joined him there and spotted a man in a white lab coat. He had grotesquely skinny and hairy exposed legs. His back was facing them. Fallows were swarming him like hungry beggars, and they clearly belonged to a much lower tier than what he’d seen so far. More likely in the D through G range.

  “Ah, there you are,” Leviathan called out to him.

  Asmodeus’ long gray curls shook over his lab coat. He swung around, clearly startled.

  Captain made immediate eye contact with him through his thick, bottlecap glasses. And he quickly dropped his gaze and turned around after a glimpse of Asmodeus’ gaping boxer shorts and his hairy, morbidly white chest. He had no desire, whatsoever, to witness any evidence of another man’s joy break.

  “You’re early,” he replied, unlocking the pen and stepping into the hall. The barred door closed behind him with a jarring clank.

  “Not very!” Leviathan intoned in response, checking his gold watch. He led the way back to the office. “Have a seat, Morton. He’ll be right with you.”

  There were two simple guest chairs in front of a drab, industrial-looking desk. Captain took the one on the left. The only luxury in the room was the rolling leather desk chair. Comparatively speaking, it was a throne for the King of the Vault . . . Asmodeus.

  Captain’s eye was also drawn to a red folder placed in the center of the desk. He stretched to see the label.

  X21-482AV

  Two letters had been added to Virtue’s Fallow Identification Code. “A” was probably the health and beauty rating, but he wasn’t sure about the “V.”

  When Asmodeus came in, Captain wasn’t being overeager anymore. He had inclined in his chair at an ideal angle to take in the surgeon’s new attire. He now wore a dingy-gray undershirt beneath his lab coat. But still, he wasn’t wearing any pants over his underwear. He completed his mad scientist ensemble with black knee-high socks and a pair of fuzzy, open-heeled slippers. “Welcome to my inner sanctum, Mr. Wersal. I’ll have you know that your request is already being processed.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” Captain replied, unzipping his rain slicker, no longer too concerned about the slightly weather-worn sweater he had on underneath. From his jacket’s wide inner pocket, he pulled out the document he would need to complete his order.

  Upon sitting, Asmodeus took the Fallow Purchase Requisition out of Captain’s hands and began skimming it. With his lenses as thick as they were, his eyes looked comically large and too close together as they darted to and fro.

  “So, you prefer to have it sterilized? Not all of our clients do.”

  “Yes, but . . . why?” He cringed, picturing Virtue’s belly bloated with what would legally be an abomination. “Isn’t the whole point to—”

  “Cost, mostly,” he interrupted to supply. “Although some rather enjoy the . . . repercussions,” Asmodeus said, winking, and clearly inclined toward a fetish or two of his own. “And let’s not forget, we’ll happily take any live born children off your hands for a competitive price.”

  Captain pictured himself wrenching Virtue’s newborn child out of her arms and handing it over to Dr. Horridly Inbred. If he had to venture a guess, Asmodeus wouldn’t exactly raise any of these “lost” children as his own.

  That would teach her a thing or two about pain.

  “That means, above all, if I’m willing to put up with any inconveniences, it’s
cheaper to leave her intact?”

  “Significantly.”

  “Yes, but don’t they sterilize them at Headquarters anyway?”

  Captain typically purchased “as is”—and these goods and services were expensive enough—and he was now drifting further into uncharted waters.

  “Not the ‘exclusives.’ They’re not to be handled in any way once the mandatory medical screening is through. They leave all surgeries up to me . . . and the client.”

  “Well . . . let me think about it.”

  Asmodeus circled that part and put a note in the margin. Continuing down, he suddenly stopped short with a gasp of excitement. “I almost forgot to mention. . .” Asmodeus circled something else and jotted a number down on what appeared to be the invoice. “X21-482 has been marked as AV. That’s the highest rating I’ve seen come through here in a while!”

  “And what does that mean, exactly?”

  “It’s only twenty-one, in prime fitness and health, and it’s a virgin.”

  Captain was more surprised now than he had been all day. He had lost count of the many ways he had envisioned himself depriving her of this innocence, but he had come to accept that this was a fantasy more than a reality.

  Good news? Yes. But was he willing to pay extra for it?

  “How much will that cost?”

  Asmodeus put the tip of his pen to the invoice. “21AV’s start at twenty-five thousand.”

  “Are you crazy? I was told the whole ordeal would cost less than fifteen!”

  The doctor shrugged, unsympathetically. “If you’d rather pass, I have a waiting list a mile long. And I could probably get twice that at auction. In effect, you’re lucky you’re a friend of Donald Hickey or I wouldn’t even be entertaining this requisition.”

  “All right, fine. I’ll pay extra. But I’m not happy about it.”

  “At least you’ll receive Preferred Client Status at that starting price. We’ll sweeten every deal from today onward with a free sampling session. One of our C’s or lower and a discount if you then decide to purchase.”

  “Great. Let’s get on with this, then.”

  He was a busy man, but he’d let too much time pass—almost twenty-four hours—and if he didn’t undergo a release soon, things could get ugly.

  “All right. Moving right along. Oh! I see you’ve requested Achilles tendon surgery. That’ll be a ‘T.’” Asmodeus added the letter to the top of her file.

  “I have a feeling she’d be a runner.”

  “And that, of course, will be. . .” He added more fees to the invoice. “And. . .” He continued scrolling down the requisition form. “Ah! That’s an odd one. Fingernails?”

  Captain pointed to the scratches across his face. “It’s for my own safety.”

  “Surely, shackles would suffice.”

  “I know, but it’s for revenge as well.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He rolled his chair to a filing cabinet on his left. “I’ll have to look that one up, though.” After a moment of fingering his way past a few files, he pulled a spiral-bound black book from a manila folder.

  Asmodeus rolled his chair back to the desk and skimmed the long table of contents. He flipped to about page fifty or so, and his face lit up when he found his answer. “It’s a DC for. . .” He put his hand to his mouth like he was about to spill a secret. “Declawed,” he whispered. “And it looks like. . .” he continued skimming the requisition until he came to the last item. “Piercings. You have written here, ALL. We do the customary lip studs at no additional cost to you. Anything else, however. . .”

  Captain smiled, picturing all of her fair skin’s appendages fully covered in spikes and studs of metal he could manipulate. “Yes, all. Anything and everything you’re able to pierce, I’ll gladly pay for.”

  “You are aware that this would be over one hundred and thirty piercings.”

  “That’s fine. It’s non-negotiable.”

  Asmodeus nodded, made the adjustments, and flipped to the last page of the requisition. “It looks like that’ll be it!”

  “Yes,” Captain chuckled dryly. “I think that’ll do.”

  “Any final thoughts about sterilization?”

  He sighed. This was going to cost a mint. “Yes, add it to the bill. I have enough wanted pregnancies on my plate right now.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” he replied, jotting down the “I” and breaking out a calculator from the desk drawer. “So, the whole shebang will be . . . thirty-eight thousand, six hundred and forty-three banknotes.”

  “Let me see that!”

  Asmodeus handed him the invoice to review and sure enough, his math was correct. As a healthy, attractive virgin and with the three surgeries and extra piercings he requested, plus supplies, drugs, anesthetics, food, and fluids while she was there. . .

  He reminded himself that the cost and struggles he endured would all be worth it once she belonged to him.

  Captain took out his pad of banknotes to conclude the purchase.

  “Excellent. When it’s all said and done. . .” Asmodeus wrote down the new and improved Fallow Identification Code that would officially make Virtue his customized plaything.

  X21-482AVI-T-FBP-DC-MAW

  “That’ll be one twenty-one-year-old ‘exclusive’ Fallow virgin.” With the tip of the pen, he lightly underlined the first eight letters and numbers. “She’ll be sterilized, I.” He pointed out the letter. “Her Achilles tendons will be extracted, T, she’ll receive full body piercings, FBP, and her fingernails will be removed, DC.” Dot, dot, and dot. “Initial right here please. . . .”

  Captain took the pen and added his initials to the blank line beside her code. MAW.

  “Bring this Acquisition Receipt when you come to collect your purchase.” Captain stashed away the form, and then they both stood and shook hands. “We’ll be in touch. The surgeries will be going around the clock—this is our busy season after all—but it should be available for pick up by Monday at the latest.”

  The four days would feel like a lifetime, but it would give him time to properly prepare for her homecoming. And thanks to her poor choices, she wouldn’t exactly be greeted with champagne and rose petals.

  “And if you’re ever unhappy with your product, you can return it, and we will reimburse some of your money, the price dependent upon the condition it’s in.”

  All good news. But more than likely, he’d never grow tired of her as long as she still had a pulse.

  Asmodeus rose from his chair and Captain followed him out of the office. “Now . . . about that sampling session. It must be your lucky day! We have one X25 who should satisfy your desirability specifications. And it was just recently moved from class B to C, so not too much extra wear yet. And I know from experience that it’s particularly accommodating to even the most carnal of urges.”

  Compliance wasn’t typically the greatest turn on for him, but. . .

  Captain stroked a hand over the scabs on his face. “Sounds divine.”

  Chapter 12

  Blasphemy

  Blasphemy was under the impression it’d be easy to escape. Doxy and Parody had managed to do so. Aside from their latest run-in with the Authorities, they had remained undetected for years.

  This wasn’t the first time they were caught, though, and it most likely wouldn’t be their last. But what was their secret? How did they evade their “S” placement? Their Fallow Identification Codes had allocated them to the “Service” trade. House slaves to the rich, they’d joke.

  They’ve certainly had their share of Ungodly tasks to perform, but their situations always seemed temporary. Somehow, they had a knack for getting away . . . and finding each other . . . taking care of themselves without the need to rely on “charity.”

  Maybe that was part of their secret. They looked out for each other. They’d rescue each other if need be. Parody had Jujutsu and Doxy was quick with her hands in other ways. They were sly, fierce, loyal to each other, and determined to defy anyone
who doubted them . . . and at any cost.

  In spirit, Blasphemy wanted to be just like them. But her current circumstances were beyond what any human could overcome. Even someone like Gospel. How would he be able to circumvent the line of Authorities brandishing machine guns?

  Was this the new world order? Or would security loosen once The Purge was over with?

  There were past and present rumors floating around that Fort Braintree was fed up with the “depravity” running rampant in Portsmith, despite the Redeemer’s divine, all-powerful influence. They had been threatening to “crack down” on the town for years. Were they finally following through? Or were they too preoccupied with their own problems?

  Blasphemy had never been to Fort Braintree. But most likely, they were no “holier than thou.”

  And one thing was for certain. Blasphemy was being herded toward a cattle car, along with scores of other Fallows who had an “L” code tattooed onto their arms. Once she was inside, no one would likely hear from her again. Not her friends. Not her family. Her daughter. . .

  When one train car was full, another one would open. And based on her rough calculations, the next one had her new name on it . . . L4089D17.

  Could she run? Certainly not fast enough. Her hands were cuffed once again and she was still in pain from yesterday’s abdominal surgery. Could she hide? The morning fog provided some cover. Otherwise, they were at the edge of a stripped hayfield. If she was more than a few steps out of formation, she’d more than likely be taken down by bullets.

  She’d seen it done already. Twice. And the second time was only a few minutes ago. Her ears were still ringing.

  “Pssst. Excuse me. Coming through. . .”

  The voice cut through the silence that no one else had dared to break. And there was something familiar about that whisper.

  By faking a trip over her own feet, Blasphemy snuck in a glance over her shoulder. Catching sight of Parody’s coy little grin and Doxy’s green eyes and freckles—it was like a breath of fresh hope!