Savior (Residue Series #3) by Falter Laury

Author:Falter, Laury [Falter, Laury]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Audeamus LLC
Published: 2012-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

11 MALEKO

“For the fifth time, they are not taking visitors.”

Eli’s voice grew louder with each word, both because he was approaching and because he was becoming more irritated. Having been a Vire most of his life, he wasn’t familiar with someone opposing him.

Ironically, the person who responded was flat out irate. With each tersely pronounced word, she hammered her cane against the dock, rattling the shack where Jameson and I were eating dinner with our families.

“I. DON’T. CARE.”

Her rotund body moved past the window in a blur, Miss Celia following with her nose in the air.

They were inside before Eli could forewarn us, bursting loudly through the door to demonstrate their defiance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after appearing in the entrance. “They wouldn’t-”

“It’s all right, dear,” Aunt Lizzy called out. “We know them.”

Miss Mabelle blew air across her lips in annoyance and dropped onto a stool hard enough to make the legs of it bow out beneath her weight. Settling her cane against the wall, she glared up at him. “Stoppin’ me is as easy as stoppin’ a freight train,” she informed him proudly.

Unsure of what to think of her comment, Eli turned, hesitantly, and left for his post.

“Saw you coming?” Vinnia deduced.

“From the edge of the bayou,” griped Miss Celia.

“Think they was Vires, the way they act,” Miss Mabelle complained.

“They were,” Oscar commented, flatly.

While Miss Celia’s head snapped back in surprise, Miss Mabelle scoffed. “More of ‘em? Ain’t that just wonderful….”

My mother, who had tired of the exchange, blurted, “Miss Mabelle…Miss Celia…What have you heard?”

Our housekeepers brought news with them on every visit, which Miss Mabelle now delivered blunt and emotionless, as was her tradition. “More shops in yer world bein’ destroyed. Some schools, too. Haven’t hit private residences yet.”

Mrs. Caldwell shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the makeshift table. “Where?”

“Rome, Barcelona, some across Ireland.”

“So they’re hitting the Central Province first,” Jameson cogitated, as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Will be movin’ on to the next province soon ‘nough,” warned Miss Celia. “Thought you had a list,” she added brusquely. “Weren’t ya workin’ down it before them Vires could attack?”

“The list was good for six weeks. Then the Vires caught on to us and reorganized it,” I explained, thinking back to the number of people we’d brought with us over the last few weeks.

Our village had become the city Jameson predicted. Vendors had sprung up bartering fish for freshly baked bread or living supplies. The outposts, meant to foresee coming threats, had to be built farther and farther out as shacks for new arrivals quickly dominated the area. They had now been designated as gathering places and for new arrival orientation. The saxophonist had a flute and horn added to his band and they played nightly to people heading home for dinner.

Oddly, there had been no crime. It was as if everyone knew we were bound to each other, relying on our neighbors to survive. In short, the village didn’t resemble the world we had left; instead it was the ideal of what we were hoping to achieve.

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