Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 1

For the briefest of moments, after emerging from the hatch leading up from the vehicle bay, Yulia froze.

Part of her hadn’t really believed she’d ever make it this far. And yet, here she was, the cool of the forest all around her, the flitting insects, rays of gray daylight angling down here and there where the illumination had managed to sneak its way through the dense canopy overhead.

The air was humid, the earthy scent of the soil so refreshing she couldn’t help but draw a deep breath, savoring it, the staleness of the air handlers down in Gamma something she’d gotten so used to that only when exposed to the forest crispness did she realize just how dreary and draining it really was way down there.

Get moving, idiot!

The man hatches from the underground base at Gamma—the base she’d just escaped—were intentionally constructed to bring one out into the middle of the brush, to have one emerge directly into the depths of the Fen, thereby making detection highly unlikely, if not impossible.

Scanning the shadowed trees, she found no waiting sentries, no returning patrols. Only the buzzing, calming murmur so unique to deep forest.

In any other situation, she’d have desired to bask in it for a while, but in this case, such an indulgence was likely to get her thrown back in a hole—or much worse.

She’d spent enough time in that hole already.

Being held against her will was bad enough. Rotting in a cell built by her own side, her own people, made it so much worse.

Not knowing why was the cruelest of all.

But she was free, finally. Now she had to figure out how to not die.

The chain of events that had led to this moment had been shockingly fast.

Over and over, it played in her mind. The call, the confusion among the officers charged with guarding her. Then the mad rush to the base to find out what in God’s name had happened.

Disaster.

Heartbreak.

It can’t be true!

But it was. All of it.

Then they’d come for her, in the middle of the night, a black bag slammed down over head. Something heavy striking the back of her head, stars, and pain…then blackness.

She’d woken up in the cell—in Gamma’s own brig—and spent who knew how many days there.

Harling Fuller had done it to her. The actual base commander—and supposedly one of her father’s inner circle—had been the one to throw her in a jail cell.

Bastard.

He was supposedly a friend. But now she knew the truth.

Trying to remember what her father had told her, she kept to the shadows.

“Never stay directly on a path if you can avoid it. Skirt it, use it to orient, but never make yourself a target.”

Plunging through the understory brush, she hated the way the branches gripped and tore at her shift, but knew it was better that way.

The first time her father had brought her to Gamma, she’d complained that it was like being swallowed up by the earth, but he’d said that was exactly what made it perfect, that the TSS would never believe they were there, the forest above so tangled and dense there would barely be room for a one room shack.

But underneath that trackless waste was a sprawling rebel installation, complete with full repair and refit depots, massive supply caches, training facilities, and command and control capabilities. It was all there—but thirty-five meters underground.

To her though, for the past year and a half, it had been one thing.

Home.

Because her father had been there with her.

The twinge deep in her chest was something she knew she’d never get used to.

Part of her never wanted to get used to it, because it meant she would always remember him. That anguish gave her a reason to keep going.

And now the only thing she could do was flee the one place she’d felt safe.

As fast as she possibly could.

She hated them for it, at what they’d done, her anger never far from the surface.

Her rage at her situation was a crutch, a shield even, for it kept her from sliding into the depths of despair.

Her dad… he really was gone.

Benton Wyndham was his name, rebel leader, moral soul of The Awakening.

To her, he was just Dad, the kindest, gentlest, noblest man she’d ever met.

And they’d killed him.

The inner marker, what appeared at first—and second glance—to be a moss-covered boulder, was dead ahead. It was a welcome sight, and at the same time it filled her with a surprising dread.

For beyond would be somewhere she’d never been without either her father, or a patrol to guide her.

How was she supposed to make it through on her own now?

“Only one way to find out,” she murmured, plunging ahead, patting the rock as if it were a loving pet.

A last reminder of what she thought to leave behind forever.

Following the edge of the twisting forest path, she lost sight of it a couple of times, the tangled underbrush and humid mist that hung along the ground in places—as well as her desire to be as quiet as possible—making it difficult for her to stay moving in a single direction. Stopping when she needed to, she began to worry she’d misjudged the amount of terrain she’d need to cover. How much ground could she make before dark? Where was she going to sleep when the night, only a mere few hours away, finally settled upon her?

She had to hope her absence from her cell wouldn’t be noticed for at least a couple of hours, maybe more. Would he even put out an alarm if he didn’t see her return from topside? Would they send out a patrol?

She’d run into Private Hughes just before she’d escaped. Fortunately for her, the tall, red-headed guard hadn’t seemed to suspect a thing—and he’d let her go without so much as a questioning word.

Grif Hughes had been a friend of her father’s. How long could she continue to get that lucky?

She’d never been missing before, so she had no real idea what was “normal” for the guards at the entrance to Gamma.

Putting herself in Harling’s shoes didn’t help, because if she were in his place, she would call out a “rescue”—to keep up appearances—but when they found her, they wouldn’t bring her back to Gamma. They’d imprison her elsewhere—or worse.

What if Harling had concluded she was too dangerous, and decided to just have her eliminated altogether?

A chill ran down her spine at the cold realization that a bullet in her brain, and a shallow grave in the Fen, was likely to ensure Yulia Wyndham would never be seen nor heard from again.

Then she froze when she saw it.

“No… that’s not it,” she whispered, dread sinking deep in her belly. “There’s no way.”

It was the marker.

The same moss-covered boulder she’d passed hours ago.

Did it look different? The light was lower now, which could be playing tricks with her eyes.

Or just make the same fucking rock look different enough to fool you.

Her mouth went dry as she drew near.

“Fuck… fuck.”

It was definitely the same marker.

Which confirmed she’d just traveled in circles for hours.

And that meant she was much too close to Gamma. A “rescue” patrol could arrive at any moment.

Rescue, for Yulia, meant something quite different than being saved from her predicament.

Panic threatened to overtake her then, her heart beginning to pound. She pulled one of the sidearms from the folds of her shift, squeezing the grip tight, her palm suddenly clammy, slippery.

During her escape from captivity, she’d managed to disable one of the cell guards, knocking him out—and she’d taken both of his pistols—PSW-41s. Fortunately, it was one of the models of sidearms her father had taught her to use.

A muffled snap sounded from somewhere off to her right and behind her. She wheeled around, leveling the weapon in the direction she’d heard it. A rushing in her ears nearly drowned out the evening forest sounds.

There was nothing though, only the gathering of ground-hugging mist, lengthening shadows, and impenetrable brush crowding around massive, soaring tree trunks.

On instinct, she dashed headlong down the meandering path. Staying directly on it was going to have to be a calculated risk. She was in serious trouble, and separating herself—as fast as she possibly could—from the base, was her only real hope of getting out of this alive.

If she even managed to survive the night.

Her breath coming fast and hard, her feet beginning to scream at the pounding they were taking from the rocks and twigs scattered here and there across the trail, she kept running, trying to ignore the doom she swore was reaching out to her from the shadows of the forest, all around her now. Tears stung her eyes, her vision starting to blur at the edges.

Dad, please get me out of here! I don’t want to go like this!

“Stop.”

The voice boomed from somewhere behind her, and she caught a toe on a root, losing her balance and sprawling forward, the gun flying from her hand and bouncing away as she crashed to the ground. She grunted at the bone-jarring pain in her knees and hip, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.

Rolling over onto her back, she found herself staring up through the canopy, stars beginning to twinkle in the patches of darkening sky visible through the gaps in the leaves. It felt as if an elephant were sitting on her chest, her desperate gasps utterly silent as she arched off the dirt, trying to find even a little breath.

For a moment, she feared she would pass out right there. Then she drew a wheezing breath, and another, her muscles finally beginning to work again.

Rolling to her knees, she looked all about her, searching for him.

But there was no one there.

It was a male voice, deep—a tone she’d never heard before.

TSS?

She had no idea. But while being caught by Harling again might be dangerous, being detected by the TSS meant certain death.

Move!

Wheeling around, she dashed back down the trail, her toe a throbbing ache, the soles of her feet burning hot now. It didn’t matter. If she died in the next thirty seconds, hurting feet were no longer going to be a worry.

Twilight was definitely gathering now as she made a turn down a slight grade, the path dwindling to little more than an overgrown hint of a foot trail ahead.

Were those footfalls behind her?

She chanced a look back as she ran.

Nothing.

Except the deep shadows of the forest, thick all around her.

“Yulia.”

The sound from behind her froze her right in her tracks, one of her feet slipping in the dirt as she skidded to a stop.

It was that same voice—and it was much closer.

Instinctively, she spun around, plunging a hand into the folds of her shift to retrieve the other gun.

But it was gone.

Oh no.

It had to have fallen out when she’d toppled to the ground.

You’re dead.

A man—a very tall man—stood on the path less than twenty yards behind her. He was powerfully built, perhaps the equal of the largest man she’d ever seen. The jacket and trousers he wore were both a hunter green, washed out to almost gray in the dying light. The clothes were similar to something she’d seen some of the rebel patrolmen wear.

But somehow, she knew this was no patrolman.

His deep black beard and dark hair made the sparkle of his brilliant gaze appear as if there was almost light emanating from his eyes.

“Yulia Wyndham. I’m here for you.”