PROLOGUE: BAD BLOOD

A knife clenched in his fist, Gunner crouched behind the dead brush. The steady burst of rain, constant batter of thunder and absence of crisp moonlight--a rare occasion in the wastelands--created a perfect night for hunting. For once the boy thanked the gods.

Gunner’s eyes emerged above the dead brush, fixed on the nearby abode. He rehearsed every step, then pressed on towards his target. Every few steps Gunner took a few seconds to recollect himself; a mix of rage and nerves made him uneasy.

Through the back door. The throb of his heartbeat deafened his ears. Angst and anger surged within him. After years of dreaming, weeks of waiting and hours of anticipating, he was only moments away. Gently placing his hand against the door, he gave a slight push, but as expected, there was resistance. The boy fit his make-shift knife into the crevice between the two wooden doors where it made contact with a wooden slab. He lightly pinned it, then slid the slab left. After repeated efforts, Gunner finally slid the lock inch by inch until the door became loose. He gave another slight push and it calmly swung open.

Find the prey. Leaving the crash of rain and thunder behind him, Gunner entered the snoar-induced chamber of his prey. He crept through the hallway, leaving a trail of mud behind him. The first door was open. In there lay Charlotte, the Master’s newborn baby. Gunner wondered who the mother was, but a snore from the end of the hallway refocused the boy. He continued his path until he reached the entrance to the Monster’s den, the door wide open. His eyes lasered on his target, Gunner stalked in on his prey. Reaching the bedside, Gunner lifted his hand slowly. Kill the prey. The rage of bloodthirst filled his veins. A candlelight exposed the slight grin on the boys face. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom!

A sudden cry from down the hall awoke the beast. Gunner’s heart sunk to his gut. Quickly, he tried to stick the blade into the prey’s heart, but a blow to the face razed the boy to the ground.

“Argh,” the Master barked, “what is this!” Then, he jolted from his bed towering over the young boy. Gunner, stunned by fear, could not dodge the incoming punch; it jammed his head into the floorboards, “How dare you try-” another cry from the hallway caught the Master’s attention, “Charlotte!” he shouted as he took off towards her room. Gunner lay there tasting the iron of his own blood.

How could this have happened? A plan schemed for so long and thrown away by the innocence of an infant. Was it the gods? Were they responsible? Gunner was lost between anger and sorrow. The gods abandoned him. He was still a slave. The Monster lives.

Gunner noticed the knife on the ground beside him. The Master left it behind. The Gods have spoken. However, he was unsure what they were saying. Should he try to finish the task or should he take his life? If I take my life, I will be free. But, is freedom enough. Gunner quickly reached for the knife when the thud of footsteps signaled the Beast’s return. He grasped the hilt, but a stomp crushed the boys forearm releasing his grip.

“Ahhh!” Gunner shrieked. A sting sparked through his arm.

The Master closed the door. “Ha, foolish boy!” he laughed sinisterly, “You sneak in here to kill me, but now look at you. Helpless and pathetic.” He grabbed a wooden rod from his closet and readied his arm, “I’m going to enjoy this,” he proceeded to beat the boy, each wack provoking a shriek from the boy. Unpleased by his work, the Master tore the shirt off Gunner’s back. The boy tried to scurry away, but lost ability when the next hit split the flesh on his back. Scarlet red stained the whites of his eyes. Blood began spilling over the sides of his back. I hate him. I hate him! Gunner blacked out, hoping he would never awaken again.