The Blood Bargain Read Free Page A

down three.” Zoe stopped peeling potatoes for a moment and took a deep breath.
    “You don’t say.” Her voice was flat, that controlled motherly worry tone. Even her long blonde waves seemed to lose their shine when she was upset.
    “I think the council needs to have a chat with Caius, they haven.t gotten that close in over a year.”
    “I agree, you should talk to your Dad tonight.”
    “Plan to. Hey, do you need help?” I hated burdening Zoe and Candice with all of the house work when I was out on patrol. Meal prep, like so many other things had taken a giant step backward by about two hundred years. It could now take hours to prepare dinner depending on what we had. Microwaves and drive thru windows were a forgotten memory. Well, not completely forgotten. Every once in a while I still get a craving for a handful of McDonald's fries.
    I walked over to Zoe, my hand out for a peeler. Rather than give me one she turned up her nose.
    “How about you take a wash first? You smell horrible.” She chided. Okay yeah there was a bit of really dead blood on me.
    “ Fiiine . Be back in ten.” Around the back from the kitchen was the door to the backyard. I smiled and looked right as I exited our place. Under the large oak tree I had buried my dog when he blissfully died of old age two years ago. Maybe someday I would also be so lucky. Not a day
    went buy that I di d n ’ t miss that little guy. We had some pets that survived the turmoil; a few gals were desperately trying to breed the ones we had so they didn.t die out. I hoped someday we could get one for the twins.
    Directly down the wooden steps was our interpretation of a shower. Basically it was open rain water well with a grate to filter out the leaves and other debris. Worked like a charm three seasons out of the year.
    The basin dumped out into a pipe with an on off switch and a shower head. Not exactly rocket science, but better than a dip in the river.
    I swung open the wooden door, thankful that whoever had last frequented the wash down had put the soap back.
    I slugged off my work wear, throwing my size six jeans over the door. Followed by shirt and all the extras. I remember years ago I couldn.t stand to be naked. Pop culture had given me, like most girls in my class, enough body issues to keep a psychologist well fed years to come.
    It wasn ’ t that I was fat. I had some meat on my bones just too much to grace the cover of any teen magazine. I wasn ’ t a size small or extra small, I was a medium. Not terrible, but just off enough to drive me insane with calorie counting. It was an epiphany when I went from feeling
    like I could lose ten pounds , to just being thankful I hadn’ t lost my life.
    Bo dy image is one of the things I’ m glad died with the world. No one was obese anymo re; there just wasn’ t enough food for it. Not only that, but the active lifestyle and earth grown foods kept us in much better shape than the processed packaged alternatives. I was leaner now,
    muscles in my arms more defined from lugging my bow around.
    Flick of my wrist and I was under the luke warm spray. Minutes later the stench of death and blood had been replaced with mild soap. Refreshed and somewhat at ease, I flipped the lever. No point in a long shower, wasted water. Over the left wall of the shower shack we
    kept a collection of towels. Standing on my tiptoes I reached up and over, feeling along the chipped wooden pegs for a handful of cloth.
    Got it.
    With my towel secure, I wandered inside and quietly up to my room for clean clothes. I hate to be attached to inanimate objects, but I must admit I am attached to my room.
    Opening the door was like a time machine to the early nineteen hundreds. A thick wood armoire painted in an off white and a rod iron bed took up the majority of the space. The walls had that grandma floral paper, which complemented the patchwork quilt on the bed. A few
    framed silhouettes and a cross hung on the walls. It was utterly basic,