Toxic Dust (The Deviant Future Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Introduction

  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 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2019 Eve Langlais

  Yocla Designs © 2019

  Produced in Canada

  Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com

  eBook ISBN: 978 177 384 099 4

  Print ISBN: 978 177 384 100 7

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.

  Introduction

  In a Deviant Future, the world has been reshaped. Humanity has been changed. Yet despite it all, one thing does survive—love.

  The world outside the domes is a scary place, but nothing compared to the marauder who captures her.

  With one dark look, Axel promises violence, yet his touch is gentle.

  He shows her a different way of living. A new set of truths. How the ancients used to do things.

  Makes her want a forbidden thing called love. But can she leave her past and beliefs behind?

  The woman is trouble with a capital T. Yet the moment Axel sees her, rational thought disappears, and when she ends up in grave danger, he can’t stop himself from going to her rescue.

  Can he save her in time?

  An exciting new series from New York Times bestselling author, Eve Langlais, that takes us into the future looking for hope and love.

  Prologue

  The scientists saw it coming with their mighty telescopes. A meteor shower, not shed from our sun or anything in our solar system. They claimed this one came from beyond the edges of our known galaxy.

  No big deal. They’d seen plenty of them before. What they didn’t realize was the sheer scope of it. So many hunks of rock, some of them quite sizeable, on par with cars and even backyard pools, and yet it was the dust carried along with the debris that proved the deadliest. Humanity didn’t discover that little tidbit until it was too late.

  The military spokespeople—wearing their uniforms with their meaningless insignia, bags under their eyes, their expressions bleak—bluffed and told the population to not worry.

  People worried anyway, even as they avidly watched the media footage played on every channel—and used by the fear-mongers on social media to hype. Everyone watched with bated breath as the governments sent space drones to try and divert the stream of incoming rocks.

  It failed.

  As the storm grew inevitably nearer, those same governments resorted to firing missiles, doing their best to disperse the destructive maelstrom before it could hit. It only created more toxic dust.

  The world went a little crazy. Fearing the end of times, humanity sank to its lowest point.

  Mass suicides took place around the world. The methods varied, many choosing to leave in a group. Not everyone could handle the fact they faced an extinction level event.

  Those with a strong instinct for survival looted and stockpiled the things they believed they’d need: rice, water, ammo, fuel, and booze.

  Murder became commonplace with no one to investigate. Law and order ceased to exist. Everyone simply armed themself.

  As society degraded, the remaining media channel kept playing the damning footage of the coming disaster. Countries, once held back by verbal agreements and financial pressure, launched their nukes. A few rivalries were laid to rest as entire cities were wiped out. But the aftershocks spread far and wide as the winds caught the radioactive residue and spread it around the world in time for the meteor storm.

  As the galactic debris showered the planet, blasting it with rocks, Earth’s radiation released via the bombs ended up binding with an alien version in the dust. Or so scientists discerned, those that remained safe in their protected underground bunkers.

  The surface of the world became poisonous. To add insult to their problems, the Earth’s axis moved, shifted. Something happened that changed the orbit and the climate, flipping it upside down.

  The Earth wept at the damage done to it. Massive storms swept the surface, reshaping the continents. Changing everything that was ever known. Wiping out cities and roads and progress.

  Despite billions already dying, billions more perished in the years afterwards. But humans were resilient creatures. Some survived the toxic storms, forever changed, but…that was the nature of evolution.

  Others—those in high enough positions before the calamity—watched from the safety of underground installations. Every government had some kind of hidden bunker for its people, as did those rich enough to plan ahead. More surprising than their foresight was the fact that not just the rich and government officials made it to safety. Lucky people were chosen via lottery for their skills or their good genetics.

  With careful governing, these hidden groups survived. They were the ones who rebuilt first, once it was deemed safe enough.

  To their surprise, they weren’t the only ones who’d made it past the first decade when the world was essentially a wasteland of dead waters, blowing sand, and hot spots that could melt the flesh off bone.

  Before the meteor ever hit, there existed people who’d been preaching the end of the world for years. They were possibly the only ones who rejoiced that all their prepping would pay off. The doomsday preppers hid in their homemade bunkers. Others, supplies in hand, burrowed themselves underground. Humanity ever did know how to survive.

  Some actually remained human. Those that didn’t, adapted.

  Decades passed, and the Earth finally finished changing.

  New Earth emerged with shifted landmasses. New oceans formed. The things once known as the North and South Poles disappeared. New species emerged. Plant and animal, nothing remained the same, and the more influence they had from the dust, the more pronounced the change.

  Realizing the potential for tainting, the humans in their bunkers with their filtered air did their best to prevent exposure, contriving elaborate decontamination systems, even full-masked suits for when they had to go outside.

  And still, despite all their precautions, a few Deviants managed to pop up, which started the screening of blood.

  When the worst of the storms settled, the underground cities expanded. Slowly at first, given the tight controls they’d placed on population. It was said the very first dome on the surface could handle only a hundred citizens of the Enclave.

  It began with one dome. It spread. Humans took eagerly to the process of rebuilding. A new civilization arose, with laws that changed depending on the leaders and necessity.

  But not everyone chose to live in a bubble.

  A few, a very few, humans managed to survive in what became known simply as the Wastelands, the spaces in between the domes th
at housed what remained of humanity. They created their own society. Learned to coexist with the land, or at least defend themselves against it. New Earth wasn’t a gentle place anymore. Those who lived outside the domes had no choice but to be strong.

  Wily.

  Cruel.

  “Because to live requires death. And death should only ever happen to others.”

  A quote left behind, blasted into the metal of a derelict ship too big to have surely ever floated. A warning to the dome dwellers that, outside their precious walls, the Wasteland belonged to those they called Deviants.

  Enter at your own risk.

  One

  “The Creche is life. Life is good. Serving the Creche makes a good life better.”

  The dull morning prayer echoed throughout the large cafeteria. Voices young and old alike partook.

  Having said it so many times already, Laura could recite the prayer without even thinking about it. She’d long ago stopped doing it fervently or with any conviction. She’d had years to cultivate her disillusionment. Like many around her, the words emerged only by rote.

  “The Creche is all knowing. The Merr is its conduit. The Merr is the Creche.”

  The phrase was one that had bothered her for a while. Especially once she deciphered the true meaning. The Creche knew all because those living within the dome walls were always watched. Privacy didn’t exist for Laura and the others who served. Their every move, their every uttered sentence, was observed and reported—whether by tattletales or hidden cameras—to Merr, the one who ran things. At her whim, punishment could be meted. Their current Merr, only recently put in place, had a tendency of withholding meals if everyone didn’t recite along with the morning prayer. Not just the person who abstained, but everyone present lost the right to eat. It had only happened once, three days of no food—and the beatings in the dormitory that night—for even the most reluctant to learn their lesson.

  Laura’s lips moved into the next stanza.

  “Listen to the tawnts. The tawnts teach the rules of the Creche. Rules are good.”

  But did there have to be so many? No wandering around after lights out. No socializing. No sneaking food. No touching.

  Don’t do anything but wake when told, eat when ordered, work all day, and then go to bed.

  Laura barely recalled life before her transfer to the Creche. She’d started at the Academy, where children were crammed together in classes and in dormitories, their beds stacked six high all around the room. There were rules there as well, but they weren’t enforced as strongly. They were told their performance and behavior while at school would determine where they went next. The Academy’s way of weeding out the unworthy.

  A position with the Creche was supposed to be a blessing, or so they’d been taught. Easy work. Clean accommodations.

  They forgot to mention all the praying. Overnight, she was expected to learn religion. Those that balked suffered, their cries strident as they learned to believe at the tip of a lashing whip.

  The burning pain made it easier to pretend afterwards that she believed. Laura never stopped pretending, because non-believers in the way of the Creche and the rules of the Enclave had a tendency of disappearing.

  It wasn’t a bad life if you simply obeyed. Laura woke every day at the same time, eyes bolting open when the bells pealed from the highest tower in the Creche, which happened to be not far overhead. As a sawr, the lowest rank inside the dome, she and the others didn’t get the best accommodations. But at least she had a bed with clean sheets under a roof and meals. Those unlucky enough to be sent to the factories and mines apparently never got those kinds of amenities. It also beat trying to eke out an existence in the Wastelands, where everything could kill you.

  As the bell stopped tolling, all the sawrs on this level rose from their beds. They pulled their blankets taut over the mattress. The dormitory hummed with activity. One by one, bed by bed, they took turns using the privy chamber. The large room could handle only three at a time.

  When it came to Laura’s turn, she enclosed herself in the stall and used the privy then washed her face and brushed her teeth. Laura had bathed the night before, as it was her turn on the schedule. She wouldn’t get another for at least two more days. The conservation of water was drilled into them almost as much as obedience. She changed her night shift to the one-piece suit with its zipper up the front. The legs were loose, as was the upper body. The canvas thick and hardy. The shoes she slipped on her more sock than anything of substance.

  When the bell went off again, they marched from the dormitory down the stairs to the cafeteria. Then spent way too long reciting the morning prayer. Long enough the steam on the bowl of mush in front of her disappeared.

  Just once, she’d like to eat it hot. Doubtful it would be more palatable, but it would beat cold and tasteless.

  “I will serve the Creche. I will obey the Creche. I give my all to the Creche.”

  Bowing her head, Laura uttered the final line and waited for permission from her table’s ptmerr to eat the porridge in front of her. Lumpy and thick, probably barely salted she’d wager. They’d run low, and the sawrs meals didn’t merit it. It had been a long while since they’d had any kind of fruit or even raisins to sweeten it.

  It was said the Wasteland marauders kept stealing the shipments. It made her wonder who these raiders were, given the Academy, and even the Creche, taught that no one could survive outside the protected domes. The air was poison. The water unclean. The land incapable of sustaining human life.

  So how did these supposed thieves do it?

  “Eat.” The command was barked, and Laura didn’t waste time.

  Ptmerr Harmony, the one in charge of her floor, had a tendency to cut their meals short. She sat gazing sternly upon them, her hair shorn to the scalp like many of those sitting around the table. When it reached a certain length, the shears came out.

  Laura shoveled the porridge into her mouth, and her nose wrinkled at the pasty flavor of it. She tried to be thankful. She recalled her history lessons and the teaching that only those who served the domes were fed. Everyone else starved. She was lucky to have a place in the Creche. The very thought brought a grimace.

  Once breakfast was done, more ptmerrs, in their tunics and more fitted slacks of the palest blue, arrived to lead them to their next assignment—assisting in caring for the children in the nurseries. There were ten nurseries in all, square buildings, each identical, with exactly four floors. The rigid buildings marched in a straight line from the sawrs’ dormitory with green space for exercise in between. They were circled by a wall, with only one large gate to allow entrance. Outside that gate, more buildings: a hospital, supply lockers, more lavish dormitories for the ptmerrs and the tawnts. Then there was the truly grandest building of all, the palace for Merr.

  It should be noted Laura wasn’t very familiar with much outside the nursery walls. A sawr had no business leaving to go snoop elsewhere. Those that were caught served as a vocal lesson to others. It took a long time to stop hearing the screams and the whistle of the whip as it sliced through the air to strike skin. She sometimes still woke with a gasp, her back spasming in phantom remembrance.

  The ptmerrs split off into their assigned nurseries with their charges following quickly after. An even dozen per nursery. It was a sawr’s duty to keep the rooms clean and assist with the children.

  Harmony handed out the assignments. The babies got the most helpers, with six of their group sent off to deal with them. Four for the one-year-olds, who were still messy and in need of constant supervision. Laura got the unenviable task of working with the two-year-olds.

  Again.

  It only served to reinforce her conviction that Ptmerr Harmony had it out for her. For a month straight now, she’d placed Laura with the hellions. She’d been subject to more meltdowns than seemed normal. Were all children this combative, or had she encountered a special bunch?

  Her own Creche years before the Academy was only a vague blur
. Monotonous years of serving the Creche had pretty much wiped the memories of her previous life. “Life” being debatable. Every day was the same. Get up. Work. Sleep. Repeat. Nothing ever changed except the children. New babies arrived once a month, sent over from the Incubaii Dome once they reached optimal growth. They spent their early years in the Creche then, when they turned four, departed to start their Academy years.

  The only thing she’d never reconciled was how the Academy could have much larger groups of children than the Creche turned out. They were taught there was only one Creche. One Academy. One Emerald City. One of everything, as a matter of fact, in the whole wide world.

  The numbers didn’t add up. But to question invited lashing, and she really didn’t care about the answer. Just like she had no idea what happened to the male children that passed through the Creche. They cared for an almost equal amount of boy and girl children, yet the Academy she attended had only females. After the age of four, the sexes were separated, with the males, as far as she knew, chosen for different tasks and to be avoided at all cost or there would be punishment.

  It proved easy in the Creche since only women worked inside it. Although she did hear rumors that some sawrs met in secret with the soldiers that guarded the gates to the nursery and protected the dome. With their massive concealing body armor who knew who hid inside. Men? Women? Or something else?

  She didn’t care. She had no interest in breaking the rules. Especially not to associate with a man. Or a woman, for that matter. Fornication was a sin, something animals did. Not the more evolved. Even friendships were frowned upon, and while that didn’t stop all the sawrs, Laura had seen too many of them disappear to risk it. Laura kept to herself, but some days she had to hold in a scream as the heaviness of her unhappiness pressed in too tight.