I instinctively cross my arms. “Well, ma’am. The entire area is mine, and there is a door to enter.” I gesture to the door behind me. “Having more to block the bedroom didn’t make sense, so I got rid of them. Point me in the direction to where I can dispose of them, and the first part of remodeling the space will be completed.”
Her red-covered eyelids fall over her sparkling gray eyes as she shakes her head. “You cannot change the room, Kylie.”
I half nod, asking, “Do I have to sleep here? Better yet, live here?”
Arletta slowly nods, pinning her gaze on me.
“Then I can change the room.” I cross the floor to the sofa and sit. “The news, please.”
Her hands fold in front of her belt buckle, and she draws her shoulders back, a move I’ve gathered as her taking an authoritative stance. Like one would relay the weather, she says, “The plane on which your general and associates departed crashed thirty minutes ago. We’ve heard nothing of survivors. Because of the artillery loaded on the plane, the damage was worse. Explosions blew out the entire area resulting in many fatalities. I’m sorry.”
I’m on my feet, but I don’t recall standing. My body has gone numb, and my throat goes dry. “A-are…” I suck in a breath to slow the stutter. I try to say, “Are you saying they’re dead?” but my mouth only moves wide enough to make the words unintelligible.
She winces. “Come again.”
I try to clear my throat, but its scratchy, like sandpaper. “They’re dead?” I force out.
“That is possible.” Arletta smoothly strolls to the door. “I’ll give you a minute. Carden is next door, should you desire someone to talk to.” She leaves.
The door closes, and my legs give out. I catch myself on my hands and knees, gritting my teeth against the scream scraping up my throat. The blow comes like a bulldozer.
No way they’re gone. Not Marc. Not Jord. They would’ve made it out. I can’t believe they’re gone. I won’t allow myself to accept that.
A siren blares from the hall before the one in the room screeches. Someone bangs on the door relentlessly.
I stand and trip over the long pant legs again. “Enough with these ridiculous clothes!” I rip the cloth at my thigh on each leg and step out of the curtains, then I snatch the blouse over my head, revealing my black tank top I wear beneath it.
I easily make it to the door and rip it open. “We’re under attack!” Carden yells. He looks me over. His nose draws up. “Ach! What has happened to your clothes? Your Creation markings are showing.”
I look my flesh over, never before feeling ashamed by the embellishments that dress my skin. But the disgusted look pinching his nose and knitting his brows makes me want the sleeves back. No! This is what I am. I’m not letting these people change me. I’m here for me, to get answers, not to satisfy their wants and needs. “Those clothes were ugly and inconvenient. I made them better.” Behind him, people run back and forth through the hall, screaming at the top of their lungs, fear-stricken. “What’s going on?”
“Something has happened. We need to get to a safe place,” Carden says. He grabs my arms and wrenches me out of the room. “You must come with me right now.”
Carden flees down the hall, avoiding colliding into the others running about in every direction. Had I not adjusted these slacks, I would be falling all over the place.
“Carden! Are you afraid that they are going to lock you out of the safe place? Because the only danger I see is you being trampled by these people who have no idea what they’re running from.” I snatch my arm from him to keep him from tugging me like I’m a pet on a leash.
“Kylie, now is not the time for your Creation mindset. We must go.”
As a Creation, if I were on Citizen Management, I would say to him, ‘I understand you’re afraid. How can I help?’ The words work through my mind over and over. “Carden, you’re afraid of something and you have no idea what it is. Instead of making it worse, shouldn’t you be trying to calm the people around you? The likelihood of survival is greater if people stay calm. Panic only makes a situation worse and causes fatalities.”
“No. We get the most important people, me and you, to a safe place, and the Creations will trouble themselves with everyone else,” he states, retrieving my wrist and rushing us through the crowd. A sour feeling crawls in my stomach and works its way up to my throat. I swallow hard.
An emergency message broadcasts through the speakers. “Please make your way to the secure shelters in a safe and calm manner. Highrum is under lockdown. Creation Generation Four have been dispatched.” The feminine robotic voice repeats the message. The cries and shouts blare over it.
“Carden, what are Fourth-Generation Creations?”
He continues to barge forward, shoving people from his path.
“Carden! What are Fourth-Generation Creations?” I ask, but still go ignored.
We take the stairs down to the basement and race through a circular shaped hallway to a vault entry where Creations wave us forward.
We arrive in the underground shelter, crowded with members of the Guidance and their families. They seem to have all the necessities, and there are signs that lead to the restrooms, another sign that leads to the kitchen, and a third that hangs over our heads. It reads ‘Rest’. On a table near the door are packages of freeze-dried food. The concrete walls, floor, and, ceiling of the open space are painted white. The alternative would be black, so I’ll take the white as the dim lights make it acceptable to be down here.
Free from Carden’s pulling, I wrap my arms around my stomach. I’d buckle over and groan against the pain if I were alone, but I push through it, trying to think less of the news. I find an empty cot, sit, and place my forehead against my chilly knees. I shudder, hit with too many things at once.
Could they be dead? What kind of attack is Highrum under? Where are their Creations that would prevent such an attack? And if Highrum is suffering, what does that mean for the rest of the country? Most importantly, what is a Fourth-Generation Creation?
Carden sits beside me. “We should have more information soon. Mother will be here shortly.”
My right leg bounces as my trigger finger twitches repeatedly. I cross my legs and breathe evenly to keep down the hundreds of emotions fighting for dominance. Now’s not the time for feelings, I need to be numb to hold myself together.
Carden rubs my shoulder, and I knock it away. “Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “Is this odd for you, Kylie?”
“The last thing I want to do is sit around and wait for something to happen. Or not know whether my friends are alive or dead.” I need my chest strapped in my vest, a pistol in my hand, and a shotgun on my back. I realize the easy thing would’ve been to leave with Marc. I’m not looking for easy. I need to find out what happened with my parents, and the truth about the Vojin and Guidance’s dealings. I need to get close to the Trade. Going back to Separation and following orders, being kept at a Creation’s distance from information wasn’t going to get me these answers. But to know they faced death, and I wasn’t there to help is tearing me up inside.
Carden reaches for me again, and I shuffle away from him. “Please don’t touch me,” I tell him.
“I’m only trying to help you feel better.”
“Put a gun in my hand,” I say. “That will make me feel better.”
The members of the Guidance go from talking and standing around to sitting as the time passes and we wait for word on what’s going on. Though panicked, unlike the people running about in the halls, they patiently whisper and speculate, while keeping their families at ease with reassuring smiles and gentle pats to their backs or shoulders.
The sounds of static coming from a communication device draws my attention to my left, where a couple of Creations are pulling open the vault-like door. Arletta enters. She’s swarmed by the panicked members buzzing with their fear-stricken inquiries regarding their safety. It’s as though her presence sparks the rise of anxiety.
&nbs
p; Arletta soothes their worries with a smile. “Everything will be fine. We are in complete control of the situation. Everyone sit tight until instructions come that Highrum is clear.”
A sigh sweeps over the closed off shelter, which is more like a bunker for the Guidance.
“For everyone’s safety, no one should attempt to leave this safe room. There’s danger outside of these walls,” Arletta says, pointing to her right. “Leaving will put all of us in danger.” She leaves the center of the floor to speak to Carden and me.
“Mother.” Carden jumps to his feet. “What is going on out there?”
Arletta lowers her voice and says, “Those cannibal creatures have found their way into our city. Areas have been taken over, and our Creations are doing the best they can to fight them off. We are safe here, son.” She accepts his embrace and stiffly pats him twice on the back. “Everyone can remain calm. Kylie?” She raises an eyebrow. “This must be odd for you? Would you prefer the fight?”
“I would, ma’am.” My mouth twitches as I struggle to make a grin. “If you won’t let me do that, can I at least have a gun to protect myself?” I keep my words strong though there’s a sting and shake in my throat.
Arletta snaps her finger, saying, “Carla. Here.”
A Creation in a black suit runs to her side. I narrow my eyes as I survey the two of them, not sure I could accept a finger snap and a demand. We deserve more respect than that.
“Give Kylie your weapon,” Arletta orders.
Carla grabs a spare gun from the holster on her right side and hands it to me. “Thank you,” I say to her.
Carla meets my eyes from a partially bowed head and nods once. The look she gives is shameful but hinting at something. I can’t read into it. “You’re welcome, Kylie Alexander.” She hurries back to her post near the door, draws her hands behind her back, and snaps her boots together. Just before I look away from her, she mouths, “I’m honored to have met you.” It’s a harmless statement, but what’s off-putting is that she’s either ashamed to say it in front of Arletta or afraid. I’m nobody important. My name is well known because of my ranking and accomplishments, but my significance to this country—to this world—is minimal.
I barely nod at her so I don’t tip off Arletta and turn my attention away from Carla. The metal of the gun warms in my hand and comfortably molds into my palm. It’s light. I remove the mag from the handgun, finding it loaded with eight bronze bullets. I check if there’s one in the chamber and discover there is. It will do nothing against the Zombies, but it relaxes my muscles and slows my racing heart. I sigh with relief and click off the safety.
“Well, now I know what makes you happy,” Carden grumbles, rolling his eyes as he plops back down on the cot.
I snap the safety back in case I need to knock him in the head with my new friend.
“It may not yet be easy for you to stand down, Kylie. But you must learn to do so,” Arletta advises.
“Can you at least provide me with something to do to help these people.” I gesture to the worried faces around us. “Most of them are scared out of their minds.”
Arletta shakes her head. “These people do not take well to Creations like yourself. They respect you because of all you do and your dedication to the America. However, if you run up to them, intention set on helping, they will not see it that way. Fighter Creations generate fear in the people of Highrum. This is why your kind do not come here that often. Here, Kylie, there is nothing for you to do.”
I wince at my uselessness and her ‘Creations like me’ statement.
“You don’t need to manage these citizens. There are agented Creations here for that. Remember, you are no longer a Creation. Your only role is to sit at the table with the Guidance, provide your opinion when asked, and stay at Carden’s side as his consort. If you must have a task, you can breed.” She pauses. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling, and she taps her bottom lip with her index finger. A thought lifts the corners of her mouth into an ominous smile and brightens her eyes. “Because Creations are being so quickly wiped out by these walking dead creatures and their production is being limited,” she says contemplatively, “we’d need to have a new solution for the protection of the America. And you, Kylie Alexander, with your genetic makeup and distinct structure, could be quite the specimen for a new generation.”
I take a step back from her. “No, ma’am.” I cross my arms and fight the disgust trying to wash its way over my face. “I am not interested in breeding or being prodded by scientists. Nor will I be used for creating a new generation of Creations. That’s not what I signed up for.” I start to turn away, but it hits me. “Why are Creations being limited?” Only the Vojin have revealed this small detail. At the Guidance’s last council meeting, it sounded like they were against this trade-off—destroy Creations in exchange for the Vojin’s retreat.
Arletta looms near me. Her voice lowers as she says, “By decree of the Trade. Because the Vojin has threatened our world due to the existence of Creations, they are convinced it’s better to agree and eliminate the problem than to go to war with the aliens. Creations have been labeled as destroyers. We came to an agreement to allow the current Creations to live out their remaining lives instead of the requested execution the Vojin originally commanded.”
My eyes widen as I shake my head. “You’re calling off your best defense against the Vojin?”
“We,” she states with emphasis, glaring down at me, “are putting forth a peace offering. In the future, we will breed smaller numbers of Creations and bring them up with more care of the planet and citizens. They will be kinder and more relatable instead of robotic.” She makes a crooked smile and drops her hand on my shoulder. “This is why I believe you will be a benefit to us. I’ve been watching you.” She whispers. “Your feelings and emotions do not seem as dormant as in most Creations. And even more interesting, you pull these same feelings from others you expose to them. We would usually execute a Creation that displays the kind of affection and kindness you have, but you, Kylie Alexander, should be studied.” Her right eyebrow rises, creating an even deeper arch. A tight smirk lifts her cheekbones, and in an impassive tone, she says, “Excuse me, that was the wrong word. Favored is what I intended to say. Not studied.” Arletta chuckles low in her throat.
Stone-faced, I stare at her honeyed smile and glossy eyes, awaiting the ‘just kidding’ that should follow this dubious speech that’s come out of nowhere.
“I’m quite interested in discovering what traits lie within your heart.” Arletta presses her index finger beneath my chin and slightly tilts my head. “Relax, Kylie.”
I clench my fists to hold myself back from throat-punching her. If she wasn’t the Guidance, this conversation would go so differently—starting with me snapping her finger. I step back and turn my head to break eye contact.
“You’ll be used to the change in duties soon enough. Carden will keep you company as you go through this transition.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze before her hand falls away, and she and Carden walk away to three other members of the Guidance standing near the door.
My brow jumps as I acknowledge her statement, but I disagree with every word.
Yeah. I have to get the hell out of here.
I’m questioning exactly what I’ve walked into. I thought I would be using them, but she’s using me. And she knows quite a lot about me.
The door has sealed again, and so far, it’s the only exit I see.
The lights dim and calming instrumental music fades in. The Guidance’s tactic to keep the Normals at ease though they have a reason to be flustered and panicked. When they’d call us in for Citizen Management, this slow whine of a stringed instrument along with the keys of a piano would play through the speakers of the light posts. Creations would fall out the back of a bus, boots hitting the pavement like thunder, charging for homes, alleys, or underpasses. I suspect the Normals didn’t find the tune soothing, but a warning: Get in your last hug or kiss, brace yourself for the wors
t, pray for a mercy that Creations are not designed to give.
The Normals in Highrum, however, favor the soft music. I watch the room; people find open cots and sit with their families. Mothers and fathers tuck their toddlers beneath quilts or hold them in their arms. Single Normals lie on their backs or sides quietly. They all easily find rest in their moment of panic.
Carden returns with a package of freeze-dried bananas. “We should try to get some rest.” He stretches his arms over his head and sits. He yawns and through his yawn adds, “You’re due for some rest. Dark circles are forming under your eyes. And you should consider covering yourself. People are staring at your Creation additions, and you should feel embarrassed.”
I look away from him as he reclines on the cot beside me. Asshole. There has to be a way out of here. I scan the walls. The hall that leads to the restrooms is as dark as the hall that leads to the kitchen. Maybe there’s a way out through the kitchen. It doesn’t hurt to check. I just have to make sure I’m not seen.
“Oh.” The sound escapes from Carden like the caw of a crow. “Mother informed me to not reveal this news, but I think it will give you relief knowing your associates made it out of the crash alive. One or two of them didn’t make it, but most of them are okay. They made it to the labs and tried to get sealed away from those living dead monsters.” His shoulders shudder.
His betrayal to his mother gives me a bit of hope that he’ll possibly side with me and help me out of here. “Can you tell me the exact location of the labs?”
“Oh, no,” he says, sitting up. “Mother also said giving you the details may prompt you to try to escape safety, which I think is absurd. No one in their right mind would leave a safe place to put their life in danger.”
I face him and take his hands in mine. Knitting my brows, I soften my tone. “I need to check on my friends, Carden. You must understand what I’m going through. After losing my brother, they are the next closest thing to family.” It’s not something a Creation would say, but I try to be relatable, hopefully pulling on his heartstrings for the thing he’s been granted from birth to death: a real family.
The Separation Trilogy Box Set: Books 1 -3 Page 73
