Excerpt from A Broken World

I thought I'd hand out a bit of my novel here. It is, without a doubt, prone to some kind of change at some point, especially considering that it's the first draft, but I think it's worth reading anyway. Please don't hesitate to tell me how awful it is. ;)

And I do mean that. Tell me, truly, how awful it is. For as Sinclair Lewis said, "It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write."

And here is the eighteenth chapter, subject to critique, rewriting, rethinking, rescribbling, and other various forms of redoing until it lies limp and devoid of any enthusiasm.

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The true valour of a man is best seen when nothing else will do; when all that's left of a world is fire and rubble; when bones are as numerous as the ashes they hide within; when the only thing one can do is strive forward because giving up is no option. It's at these times when responsibility is not delegated, but rather thrust upon whoever is in its path. The crown set on the head of a reluctant prince who never had a choice in the matter.

Jehoyl did not feel like a prince. He didn't feel like much of anything, really. It felt like this newfound duty had consumed and purged him of anything that might argue against it. Not that he minded. It was almost a nice feeling to not have anything to worry about for once.

Kirah, on the other hand, though it was obvious she longed to support him, was adamant.

"It's somebody else's problem, Jehoyl!" she insisted. "There's absolutely no use in running off and getting yourself killed. Let them do the work."

He fixed her with a gaze both frustrated and determined. "An army cannot punch through an enemy the way a small group—or even one person—can. We know Foul better than most, Kirah. That's the difference between us and soldiers. We fight; they defend. We hunt these things. You can't send a rabbit to find the bear."

She took in his words quietly, obviously fighting within herself. The battle behind those hazel eyes must be more vicious, even, than the one he was going to fight.

Not that he needed her approval. He knew he would go regardless and that she would forgive him for his choice, because they needed each other, but he was growing to love her more fiercely than life itself. What would happen to her if he never made it back? He suspected this was exactly what was going through her mind, so he sat quietly and waited.

Finally she spoke, teary-eyed and weak-voiced, "Okay. But I'm going with you."

He nodded. The words had been expected, dreaded; he would do anything to keep her safe and away from the fight, but he didn't even need to look into her eyes to know the determination he would find there. But then he looked anyway, because they were beautiful, and because he wanted her to know how he felt.

It wouldn't be long before they left, something they both knew and acted upon without much deliberation, and set out to do as quickly as possible. There were things to gather together, plans to draw up, maps to study. For the first time in his life, Jehoyl was not hunting just any Foul, but had a specific target in mind, a reason to avoid the rest. He tried not to think about it much, afraid that this change could be enough to finally upset the delicate balance of life and survival, emotions that threatened to brim over and spill. It would upset everything and he simply could not afford it.

One again, he couldn't stop gazing at Kirah. How strong must a woman be to bear this much of a burden? This life, though it suited her well, was not fair on anybody, especially her. He bit back a wave of regret. There was work to do.

* * *

Unconsciousness is like being submerged in a deep, dark pool where there is neither up nor down, but the surface needs to be found nevertheless. Andre had been here so many times that he hardly needed anything more than his fury at the claustrophobia to help him claw his way to the exit and emerge into a world of light and pain once again.

He groaned. "At least it was comfortable in there, if a bit stuffy," and struggled to sit up. A startled yelp, also not unexpected, came from one side. He turned his head, which felt waterlogged, in the direction and saw Jenna, kneeling by the fire, twisted toward him, expression of surprise on her face.

"You're awake!" she remarked, a little too dumbly to be held against her. Shock was funny.

"Hungry, too," he muttered and, when he caught sight of the clothes he was still wearing, "And in need of a shower, it looks like. My blood?"

"Most of it, if not all," she replied, having recovered from her shock and returned her attention to the pot over the fire. "Scared me half to death."

"Well," he grinned at her back, "I didn't see you there."

She snorted. "Melodrama does not become you. Have some coffee if you can move."

He stood, though his body threw up a dozen flags of protest, and joined her, squatting to stare into the pot and ignoring his aching knees until they gave up and the pain slowly faded. Accelerated healing was a very convenient thing to have, although it seemed to attract more injury somehow.

"So you're one of us, too?" she finally asked.

"One of who?" He looked at her, puzzled, fighting back a small, nagging thought.

She shrugged in a nondescript way. "Hybrids, Mutts, people who aren't animals, whatever the hell you want to call us. You heal just as quick."

Now his legs gave out, dropping him onto his backside. "Uh," he said. His mind was whirling. Then what did that make him? Neither hunter nor hunted, certainly. Wouldn't they have tested him to make sure he wasn't a Mutt? His quickened recovery, he'd reasoned, came from the augmentation, did it not? But then, that wasn't possible, was it?

She looked at him, interest showing more dominantly than concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he said distractedly. He was supposed to hunt others like her? But what of the Mutt in the basement? It hadn't been human, had it? He cursed silently.

It dawned on him then. The people they'd run from in the Compound, they had been other hunters. "Oh God..." he moaned and rubbed his face with both palms.

Now Jenna was concerned. "What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "You need rest, Andre." She moved to help him.

He shook her off a bit more fiercely than he intended. "I'm fine," he snapped. "Just..." and he trailed off because he couldn't tell her. A beautiful woman like this could not possibly be a monster. What was wrong with Tank? And speaking of which, what the hell was wrong with the people in charge?

What a fool he'd been! Believing the words of a man without question, a man who killed Mutts for no reason other than that they presented a potential threat. It was ridiculous, closed-minded thinking. Something else occurrsed to him and it washed chills over his entire body. The hunters in their sick, single-minded attack on mystery would not stop until they found her.

He stood. "We have to go."

"But what about the others?" She looked frightened by this change in him.

The previous night came back to him in sporadic flashes of memory. He cursed.

"They went to get their vehicles and supplies," Jenna offered as she, too, stood.

Another moment of fierce decision-making and Andre was decided. "Forget them. We have to go."

She looked at him, searching his eyes and saw something there. "Okay, but I expect you to explain why on the road."

They hurried to his car as he struggled to come to terms with his newfound respect for this woman. So quiet and seemingly fragile, yet she fought fiercely when need arose. He regretted leaving the others behind; they had seemed like a nice group of people.

The air felt so quiet as he opened the car door, like the solace offered by the hillside was exactly what he needed. A short break, a moment away from all of this—from life—was so incredibly appealing. Valiantly, he banished the thought and got into the car, slamming the door shut and exhaling heavily. They pulled back onto the road without a word, both aware that they could very well be leaving behind the only companionship to be found in this desolate part of the world, a comfort abandoned for the sake of responsibility.