Dissension 1 Read online

  Dissension

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 1 9

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 2 1

  Chapter 2 2

  About the Author

  Dissension

  Chronicles of the Uprising: Book 1

  Katie Salidas

  Copyright © 2014 by Katie Salidas

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Layout by Willsin Rowe http://willsinrowe.blogspot.com/

  Interior Layout by Katie Salidas http://www.katiesalidas.com

  Editing by Sharazade http://sharazade.com/?p=825

  Published by:

  Rising Sign Books

  http://www.risingsignbooks.net

  For more information about my books email:

  [email protected]

  For my sweet baby girl, Zoey.

  I hope you grow up to be as strong as Mira.

  Just don’t be as jaded.

  Prologue

  Everyone joked about the end of the world, but when it finally happened, no one was laughing.

  December 21, 2012.

  Mankind’s final day had been predicted for years, but no one had believed it would ever come. Why would they? There had been so many dates labeled “the end,” and none had yet come to pass.

  When the sun rose on that fateful day, everyone made their little jokes. Just one more hoax. Street merchants started selling “I survived the apocalypse… again” T-shirts. Everybody looked around, shrugged their shoulders, and got back to what they’d been doing. The world moved on.

  But the day starts at different times across the globe. This particular prophesy — this doomsday prediction — had been made by the Mayan people. It wasn’t until the sun rose in South America that the destruction began.

  Previously docile fault lines began to quake. As if waking from a slumber, the earth rumbled from deep within like some ravenous beast scenting its prey, to be satisfied only by utter annihilation.

  Volcanoes that had lain dormant for hundreds of years suddenly sprang into action, erupting with centuries of pent-up pressure, spewing hot geysers of acrid smoke. Rivers of magma belched out from the mouths of these angry mountains, scorching the land and devouring everything caught in their deadly flow. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, choking out the sunlight. Searing chunks of pumice rained down upon the land, burying entire cities and all their occupants in a rocky grave.

  For decades — centuries, even — the Earth had been beaten and bruised, scratched and bitten by her inhabitants. It was only natural that she would fight back. And her retribution was merciless. Whole continents fragmented as fault lines deepened and separated. The surface of the earth ripped apart while its terrified inhabitants futilely attempted to escape the destruction. Nowhere was safe. Giant waves of destruction beat down upon every coast, swallowing islands whole and obliterating coastal cities on mainlands. Never before had the loss of life been so devastating.

  No one was laughing now.

  It was truly, utterly, the end of days.

  In the aftermath, the few that remained alive were forced to band together for survival. Food was scarce; shelter was even harder to come by. People who had never conceived of a life without electricity, running water, and fast food were faced with the ultimate choice: to live, by whatever means possible... or to die.

  In the ragged days that followed the destruction, many more lives were lost — or taken — in the name of survival. Those who remained were few and far between.

  And not all survivors were human.

  Supernatural creatures — vampires — once thought to be the stuff of myth and legend, were forced from the refuge of the shadows. With no place left to hide, their only choice for survival was to reveal themselves to those few humans who remained. Immortality gave vampires the ability to weather the storms, but their weakness to sunlight left them vulnerable and in desperate need of shelter and protection during the harsh days following the great cataclysms. Only through collaboration could both races stand the slightest chance for survival.

  It was an uneasy truce at first. The vampires’ need for blood, no matter how small a dose, made them objects of hatred rather than companionship; but their ability to protect the former city-dwelling humans against other predators in the night counted greatly in their favor. Eventually, human and vampire learned to co-exist.

  Slowly, as they always do, humans adapted to their newly reshaped home. Society rebuilt itself. Life continued on planet Earth and even began to flourish. Over the next hundred years, eight thriving cities rose from the ashes, and humans once again took their place as masters of the Earth.

  And with that power came hubris.

  Formerly friends and vital allies, the vampires quickly became targets – victims of the humans’ drive to be top of the food chain. Rumors and lies spread quickly about what vicious and cold-hearted demons the vampires truly were. Human deaths, even when the cause was not loss of blood, were blamed on vampires. Long forgotten was the help the vampires had given to their human brethren in those early days of reconstruction.

  The human race came to see vampires as nothing more than criminals and outlaws. Vermin. Using the vampires’ vulnerability to sunlight and starvation, the humans turned their once-helpful protectors into slaves. Hunted down and brought to so-called justice, vampires were faced with the same brutal choice the humans had confronted a century earlier: Succumb to the will of humans, or end their days on Earth.

  To live by whatever means possible… or to die.

  Chapter 1

  April 17th, 2210 – New Haven City. Westernmost Province of the Iron Gate, Pacific Coast

  The roar of the crowd, all twenty-five-thousand people in attendance, rose to a thundering crescendo when Mira delivered a bone-crunching blow to her opponent’s ribs. Standing only five feet tall, she might not have appeared a formidable warrior, but the thin, spiky-haired waif of a vampire could hold her weight and more when put to the test. Amplified by the superb acoustics, the sound of bones cracking echoed through the Superdome arena. The defeated, a red-headed male vampire staggered, punch-drunk, and then dropped to his knees. Dirt and sweat coated his face but could not mask the fear in his icy blue eyes. His was a look Mira had seen so many times before. Her opponent’s immortal life had finally come to an end, and he was ready to take the final deadly blow.

  Above her, Mira knew the fifty-foot mega screen showed her hapless victim in brilliant resolution, ensuring that all who were attending, and those watching from the comfort of their homes, could see these last gruesome mom
ents in crystal clear high-definition.

  Mira gazed down at her opponent’s blood-soaked face. Though he was her enemy for the moment, she did not relish having to end him. No one should be forced into the arena and told to kill or be killed. It wasn’t right. But it was what was demanded of her, and given the choice between her life and someone else’s… well, there really was no choice. No matter the cost, Mira was a survivor.

  She glanced up to the large private box overlooking the arena. A well-dressed man in deep-purple robes sat, enjoying what appeared to be a dinner of filet mignon and roast potatoes. Even here, in the dusty arena below, Mira’s enhanced senses picked up the tantalizing scent of very rare, bloody steak. She could hardly believe that a human could not only watch the murder about to take place, but also sit and eat the dead flesh of a once-living being while doing it. From the smell of it, the poor beast was practically still bleeding on his plate. Who was truly the more savage creature?

  Over the crowd’s roar, an announcer introduced the well-dressed man, Lucian Stavros, Regent of the Iron Gate. Lucian gently and purposefully slowly set down his knife and fork. He took another moment to wipe his face clean and then smiled, acknowledging the roaring crowd.

  Chants of “Death, death, death” rang out from the throng as a single unified demand.

  The Regent listened for a moment, making a show of putting his hands to his ears to hear screaming hoard’s request, and then held a hand out, with his thumb pointed to the side.

  As if the next moment were the most important, the anticipating mass hushed. Eerie silence filled the arena as everyone watched for the Regent to make his decision.

  From her vantage point below, Mira saw the steely look of determination cross the Regent’s face. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he took this decision seriously; but then, he was human, and they never cared much if her kind lived or died. Lucian Stavros took a cursory glance down at Mira. Their eyes met. It was only a brief moment, but in that short time, Mira saw him waver.

  Could it be true, she wondered, or was it just a trick of the light? No human actually cared about the lives of vampires. The moment faded, and the fleeting thought left.

  Mira saw the Regent’s decision. He turned his thumb down. Death!

  The crowd went wild.

  The last hope for her defeated opponent had vanished; Mira had to finish him. “Sorry,” she whispered to the half-dead vampire on his knees before her. Though her fangs tingled at the prospect of tasting his final dying moments — her reward, if you could call it that, for living through another battle — she did not enjoy what she was about to do. Like her, he was a slave, forced into servitude to the humans as they saw fit. He had not asked for this, and neither had she. But, despite what either of them wanted, it was the will of the crowd, the humans, that had to be served.

  Aiming to sever the carotid artery with her fangs, Mira dove at her opponent’s neck. His death would be quick. At least she could afford him that luxury.

  Hot, sweet, and energizing, his blood flowed freely down her parched throat. She’d been starved for so long. Denied the one thing she needed. And now, free to drink her fill, it was all she could do not to let the beast within her take over. Blood was everything: food, drink, life-giving essence, and pure ecstasy. Even the smallest amount could provide healing nourishment and pleasure all at once. But Mira could not let herself take pleasure from it, knowing the source. This was no willing donor. This was a fallen comrade. A fellow vampire. One of her own kind. His death ordered by the command of the humans. No matter how good his blood tasted, it was not for her to enjoy. She’d take only what she needed to heal from her wounds, and let his death come quickly.

  More cheers erupted around Mira. The crowd, despite being entirely human, proved more bloodthirsty than she. The irony of it was sickening. Distantly, she heard the announcer proclaim her the winner.

  With a roar, she threw her head back, ripping out her opponent’s throat, spraying what remained of his blood out into the air. They wanted carnage – they could have it. She had to keep her adoring fans happy lest they turn on her. In the arena, the life or death of a gladiator often came down to the will of the crowd. And though she was repulsed by what she had to do, she knew how to play the game.

  The satisfying flush of fresh blood in her system and the heady rush that came with it was short lived. The reality of her situation was always close to the surface. Above, the giant dome roof parted, sending a hot blast of UV light down around Mira like a cage.

  Not wanting to let them regain their strength, the humans were quick to remind vampires where their place was and who their masters were. Not even afforded a moment’s respite for her victory, Mira was already enduring the painful reminder that she was a slave. Worse, a prisoner.

  Her skin singed where the light touched. Instinctively, she held up her hands in surrender. The faster she let them haul her away to the prison level, the better.

  The crowd around still roared with applause. But were they cheering for Mira, or happy to see her being tortured by blinding light? A bit of both, probably. Humans loved to see any bit of vampire suffering. Though it angered her, Mira would not show it and invite their ire.

  Two humans, one male and one female, approached Mira, both wearing standard issue black Kevlar body suits and hoods with a wooden stake and hammer emblazoned across the chest. Handlers. Specially trained to deal with vampires and equipped to kill if necessary. Among their weapons were UV torches, quick blasting light sticks able to direct a powerful beam of ultraviolet light at the push of a button. The female’s hand inched towards her UV torch as they approached Mira. She was a new appointee as Mira’s handler, who preferred to shoot first and ask questions later. Mira hated the mocha-skinned Amazon wannabe and would have loved nothing more than to rip her to shreds. Few females were allowed to be handlers, and this one had wanted to prove herself from the moment she’d been assigned to Mira.

  Once Mira might have acted on her desire to kill the nuisance handler and take whatever punishment she’d be given, but after years in this prison Mira had learned her lesson. Fighting back was best done strategically. Immortality was not invincibility, and she was no fool.

  “Arms out, slave.” The largest of the two handlers, a male with a deep voice, barked the order at her.

  “Come to congratulate me on my victory and adorn me with jewelry?” With a cocky smile, she held out her hands, awaiting the silver cuffs with which they’d restrain her.

  “Silence!” The male refused to look at her. He fastened the cuffs around her wrists and pulled back quickly, almost as if he feared what Mira might do.

  Silver stung her skin, but Mira wouldn’t let on that she was in any pain. “I always did have a thing for the strong silent types.” She smirked despite the discomfort the cuffs were already creating. Hives were beginning to pepper Mira’s smooth alabaster skin. An annoying allergic reaction, but she’d never admit how much it bothered her. Any sign of weakness could be exploited.

  The male handler refused to acknowledge her or engage her further. He continued to work shackling her feet and then connected another silver chain between the two sets of restraints. When finished, he pointed toward the door at the edge of the arena. The female handler pressed a few buttons on a small communicator device around her wrist. Above, the dome began to close, and the shafts of light surrounding Mira vanished.

  Thankful to be back in the dark, Mira nodded to her handlers as if to say, “Lead on,” and followed as they directed her away from the arena, down to the pens.

  Her moment of fame was over.

  Chapter 2

  Not a word was exchanged between Mira and her handlers as they exited the arena and headed down through the lower levels toward the prison. Only the sound of their bootsteps on the smooth concrete broke the silence. Not that Mira had anything to say to the pair of humans who ushered her back and forth from the arena to her cell, but it would be nice if occasionally she was treated as
something more than an unwanted creature whose usefulness had ended the moment she dealt her final blow in the arena.

  The silence ended as they passed through a set of thick metal doors. The light beyond dimmed, but the echoes of agony through the corridors became intensely vivid. Deep within the underground, where no sunlight could reach, was where the vampires were kept. Dark and dank, scented with the foul odor of unwashed bodies, blood, and mold, this was the place Mira called home, the only place she’d known for the last thirty years. She was lucky to have lived that long. Countless other vampires had come and gone before her, and many more had been slain at the point of her own teeth. The gladiator’s life was all she knew now. Occasionally there were vague remembrances of what life had been like before her capture, but almost her entire vampire existence had been down in these dirty cells.

  Fed only with the blood of other unwanted vermin, the humans had practically starved Mira and her kind to the point of savagery. It not only served to keep her kind more eager to fight in the arena, but also reinforced the image of their savagery in the human population’s mind.

  Rounding one dark corridor and heading down another equally gloomy one, the trio traveled further into the murky underbelly of the arena. Mournful howls and agonizing screams grated on Mira’s nerves as they passed by the Hall of Punishment. Vampires who failed in battle but had not been killed were made to suffer unthinkable tortures at the hands of their human owners. Mira had unfortunately seen the inside of that hall on more than one occasion. If vampires could scar, she’d be unrecognizably disfigured from her time within those walls. Her punishments, rather than for failure in battle, had been ordered as attempts to break her spirit. No one, neither her handlers nor her Owner, had any affection for Mira. Free-spirited, uncooperative, and cocky as she was, Mira had not broken. Not once. No matter what vile punishments they’d thrown at her. As long as she was imprisoned in Iron Gate, she had one thought and one thought only… freedom. She’d have it someday, no matter how long it took. But though she loathed the arena and the life she had to lead, she knew that staying alive was the only way to get that freedom she so desired. And to do that, she had to remain a winner in the arena. It was the only reason she was still alive, despite her many attempts at escape and even more episodes of bad behavior. She knew as long as she kept winning, and earning her Owner lots of prize money, she’d be safe from final death.