Earth: The Final Battle (Walker Saga, #7)
Jaymin Eve
1st edition
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Eva
Six months.
It had been six months since Eva Walten had witnessed the brutal destruction of everything she had known and held close to her heart. Six months since she’d heard the laughter of her parents, wrestled in the grass with her younger brother, or lived in her country home. Six months since her heart had shattered and she had become nothing more than the shell of a human.
She existed, but it could barely be called living.
Most days Eva wished that she had died with them. That would be a hell of a lot easier than living with the pain which ate away at her insides. Like a cancerous growth, malignant and deadly. She knew her hurt and anger was destroying her, but she was at a loss as to how to find the light at the end of this hellhole. She couldn’t eat, sleep or halt the nightmares.
There was one thing she had, though. One thing which wiped all thought from her world.
Battle.
Her father had taught her to fight – he was the toughest person she’d ever known, and she still couldn’t believe he was gone. An unseen knife had ended Craig Walten – well, removed him from the mortal plane, anyway. He had died a hero, engaging the gangers long enough to ensure that the rest of them escaped.
Except not all of them had; the men who’d waited at the end of the path ensured that.
Eva was the only one not to fall. She was a good fighter, but hadn’t been strong enough to save her mother and brother and, even though she’d suffered what should have been mortal wounds, had somehow awoken the next day sore but alive. She still did not know what had happened, but knew somehow she must have misjudged the extent of her injuries. Of course her family hadn’t been as lucky.
Eva cut the thoughts off. If she spent any longer dwelling on this, she’d probably lose her shit and start screaming and rocking in the corner. Something which she was doing less of thankfully. A cold numbness was starting to replace the agonizing heat of loss. But the pain never really dulled.
Right then she was in a warehouse on the edge of New York City. Living the life of a nomad. Wandering the streets. Looking for a fight. She wasn’t alone. There were others who shared the same life. A bunch of girls who had found her a month ago when she was attempting to slice her way through a dozen tattoo-faced assholes. They had helped, and for now she stayed with them.
A crack like lightning shattered the silence.
Eva shot up from her half-asleep pose. That was definitely gun fire. Her hand automatically closed around the blade secured in its sheath beside her sleep sack. The sword, Mortem, so named for its ability to bring death to any too slow to escape its razor-sharp edges. Edges which never dulled, edges which seemed to thirst for the taste of blood.
The sword was unusual in other ways: shaped with double blades, curved slightly at the tip, it was reminiscent of weapons from many years past. But still unlike any in the history books.
Eva had never seen a blade like it, and she’d done a lot of research over the years. Her father was a scientist and he loved books. Their old farm house had a room completely dedicated to history, but even though she had scoured through facts on all the world wars and battles, there was no weapon like Mortem.
The blade was even red, as if the metal it was made from was naturally a deep burgundy color. And there was the subtlest glow to it when she was in the presence of those meaning her harm.
Mortem was a gift from her father, and had saved her life more than one time. She rarely let it leave her sight. Craig, her father, would clam up whenever Eva pressed him about its origin. But he had taken the time to teach her how to use and respect the blade. Despite his nerdy scientist persona, her father was actually a third Dan black belt and had been trained in more than one martial art. He was a complicated man, and her best friend. Her mother had been her best friend also, but the bond with her father was special.
Fingering the ornate hilt, gilded and with three tiny jewels deeply embedded, there was no glow to the blade right then.