Repatriate Protocol Box Set

by Kelli Kimble

  “Okay. We’ll need something to carry our supplies in. What happens to the clothes that are discarded?”

  “Usually, they’re burned ‘cause they’re nothing more than holey rags by the time we’re done with them,” answered the man who’d given me my clothes. “But, the clothes I take from people when they come into servitude—I have boxes of those in the supply house.”

  “All right. Everyone needs a blanket, a cape, a bag, and food and water to fill it. Can we start working on that? And while that’s in the works, we can start thinking about our next steps.”

  The group dispersed with many smiles, and a few people coming up to thank me.

  Clover squeezed my hand. “Everything will work out for the best,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  I smiled back, buoyed by the group’s faith. But, the weight of being responsible pulled at my feet.

  ◆◆◆

  It didn’t take long for the non-perishable supplies to accumulate for everyone. Every night, we would spend time sewing, and with everyone pitching in, it only took a few weeks. The water would be gathered from the well the night we left. But, the food—that was difficult. We weren’t given enough to survive to begin with, so setting aside enough food to make a meal later wasn’t possible. And even if we did set food aside, it would have quickly gone bad.

  The only possible solution was to steal from the food stores right before we left. And though we had allies who would likely help us, we could just as easily run into someone who would give away the plan. It made me nervous to even think about it. But, we couldn’t expect to get forty-one people very far without provisions for a few meals, at least.

  Finally, it was time to map our escape. Everyone met in the hut after dinner to discuss potential plans.

  “We have two major obstacles,” I said. “First, we have to leave our huts. And to avoid any blame being placed on the guards, we’re going to have to incapacitate them in some way.”

  “Are you suggesting that we beat up my brother?” asked Edward.

  “Of course, that wouldn’t be ideal,” I said. “But, we don’t want anyone to guess that they just let us get away.” The room fell quiet. “We need to think about it,” I relented. “But, the other major obstacle is food. Until we solve that problem, it doesn’t matter how many friendly guards we have.”

  “I say, we leave without it,” said Clover. “We already get by, eating berries and bugs in the fields. We’ll do the same in the woods.”

  “But, we don’t know how long we’ll go without access to food,” I said.

  “I could go a week without food, if it would get me away from here,” said the old man with the cane.

  Hushed arguments broke out around the room. I stood up and shushed, trying to quiet the room before anyone outside heard.

  “Now, I know that sounds drastic, but we could consider bringing much less food than we originally intended,” I said.

  “Aw, leave it. We don’t need their rotten, old food,” said a man named Michael. He stood up and moved towards the center of the room. “We can get out of here and make a clean start with nothing but the clothes on our backs, as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather die out there of exposure than spend another day trying to wring blood from a stone.”

  I watched as he convinced the group we should simply leave. After only a few minutes, it was obvious everyone agreed.

  “Is everyone sure? We should just leave with what we have?” I said.

  “Why don’t we put it to a vote?” said Clover.

  “All right,” I said. “All in favor, raise your hands.” Every hand in the room went up. I swallowed my doubt as best I could. “All opposed?”

  The room stilled, as if even breathing could signify a vote.

  “Looks like we’re decided,” said Michael. He moved back to his seat, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my plan.

  “Okay. I can see you’re all determined. And I admire that. The new moon is tonight. How does everyone feel about leaving tomorrow?”

  “But, how will we see in the dark?” a small voice asked.

  “In the dark, we’ll have trouble seeing, yes,” I said. “But, they will, too. They’ll have difficulty following us. And I’m certain they will follow us. We’ve got to get as far away as possible before daybreak.”

  Clover stood up. “We’re leaving in two nights. I think everyone had better get to bed.”

  The servants from the other hut left, dwindling our numbers to half.

  Michael approached me. “You haven’t told us how you’re going to keep the guards safe,” he said. “Edward seems a little concerned.”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “But, I’m not sure how I’m going to see it through.” I explained to him how Elliot had drugged my wine during the choosing.

  “What was it? Where do we get some?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. And I can’t ask Barrow.”

  “Well, it isn’t a very good plan, if we’ve no idea how to execute it.” He smiled, revealing a missing tooth.

  “I know. But, we have to make sure they can’t be blamed.”

  “Right. I agree. But, we don’t have a lot of time to get this together.”

  I nodded, and he left me to think on my pallet.

  Clover curled up on her pallet next to mine. “You’d better get some rest,” she said, yawning.

  I tried to close my eyes. But, all I could see was trouble.

  ◆◆◆

  Help came from an unexpected source the next day. Elliot arrived home from the mountain. When he heard I’d been pushed back out to the fields, he came to see me.

  “You look thinner,” he said, holding my arms out before giving me a quick hug.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “After you left, Leo made things . . . difficult for me. He thought I’d convinced you to leave, that I wanted you for myself.”

  “But, it’s been months since I left. Why didn’t you leave sooner?”

  He shrugged and looked away.

  “He kept you there. Because of me.”

  “That’s one way to put it, yes.”

  I exhaled a long breath to steady myself. “I’m sorry, Elliot. I didn’t think about how my actions would impact you. I should have brought you with me.”

  “Nah. I wouldn’t have come. You know, I would’ve tried to convince you to stay.” He looked over my shoulder, out into the field. “If I knew then what I know now, I would have come with you. But, I didn’t. Rest easy, knowing you did the right thing.”

  I studied him for a moment, not saying anything. I hoped he would say more without my prompting him. But when his attention moved back to me, I almost heard some part of him closing off to me. “So, how’ve you been?” he said. Then, he gave a short bark of a laugh. “Well, obviously, you aren’t doing great, since you’re starving to death in the fields.”

  “Actually, it hasn’t been so bad,” I said. “I’ve found a bit of hope. And it keeps me going. Keeps all of us going, really.”

  “Mm.” His eyebrows mashed together, and he nodded.

  “I could use your help with something. Remember when you gave me that wine?”

  Elliot produced the drug for us early the next morning. I was so relieved, I had to struggle not to cry.

  “Hey, now. There’s no need for tears. You know, I’m not going to use it on you this time,” he said.

  I shook my head, wiping the hot drops from my cheeks. “It isn’t that. I’m just worried what I’m planning, what we’re going to do—what if it’s a mistake?”

  “They’re all adults, Fiona. They chose you to do this for them. It’s what they need. It’s what you need. You know, in your heart, you were always looking for this opportunity.”

  “Was I?” I sniffled.

  He laughed. “You’re the future queen—maybe not of the village, but still, the future queen.”

  ◆◆◆

  Waves crashed in my stomach all day long. But finally, dinner came, and we retired fo
r bed. When it was dark, I gave Edward the wine, and he gave it to his brother, who drank it with gusto, and soon, he was lying on the ground. Edward gave him a little thump on the head, just enough to give him a bump. The guard was set.

  In near-silence, we went to the tool shed and collected our blankets and packs, and then to the well, to fill our skins.

  I led the way to the edge of the village. We walked in pairs, and Clover was my partner. The pair behind us kept a hand on our shoulder so that we could stay together in the dark. We followed a path towards one of the farther fields. In the dark, it was difficult to tell what distance we’d gone, but eventually, I felt the open expanse of the field to my left. We edged around the field to the opposite side, and then it was southward, into the woods. I knew we would be trackable. In the dark, so many people would leave an obvious trail. But there was nothing to be done about it.

  After about an hour, we stopped for a break. I drank from my skin. It was old, and I could feel moisture seeping through the seams already. I wondered how many of them had already lost much of their water. But, it was time to push on, and we began moving south again.

  We’d walked only a few minutes past the break when I heard a voice in the woods. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, but you’d better stop there,” it said.

  I couldn’t tell what direction the voice was coming from, but then, I felt the cool edge of a knife against my throat.

  “Don’t move, Fiona. You wouldn’t want to be the first to die, would you?”

  I stood still. Clover’s grip tightened on my hand, and my breath quickened.

  A torch flared to the side of the person holding the knife to my neck. It illuminated Barrow’s face, only a few inches from mine. He exhaled, and a puff of stale breath hit me in the face.

  Beyond him, the man holding the torch sneered. “What have we got here?” he said.

  “We’ve got a bunch of runaway servants, just like that dodgy guard told us,” said Barrow. He studied my face, shifting the knife slightly so that I could feel its sharp edge.

  “You’re not going to stop us, Barrow,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed. “What a coincidence. My name is Barrow. And I am going to stop you.”

  The person behind me, gripping my shoulder, tapped me lightly with their thumb, and then I felt something hard against my back. I eased my free hand to my hip and slowly touched the hard object.

  “You could kill me, but two of you aren’t going to stop everyone,” I said. My hand closed around the handle of what I hoped was a knife. I brought my hand around in front of me while tipping myself against his knife, just so that it bit into my skin. I felt a trickle of blood.

  He smiled at the sight of my blood. “Oh, no? What do you think they’ll do without you? They’ve languished as our servants for. . . how long? And not once have any of them tried to run. It’s only you, keeping this group moving.”

  I adjusted my grip on the handle and brought it up sharply, at an angle. It penetrated his belly, and I felt it slide up until it met the resistance of his ribs.

  His eyes started, and he took a step back, removing the blade from my neck. I twisted at the knife handle as hard as I could, and then yanked it free.

  Barrow gasped. He turned slightly towards the torchlight and pulled up his tunic to touch his wound. Something fell out of his belly onto the ground, and blood was gushing freely.

  “You stupid brat!” he said. He raised the knife to stab at me, his other hand clutching at his intestines, trying to shove them back inside. But, I had already raised my own knife. I aimed for the soft spot at the base of his throat. It struck just above, penetrating three or four inches. I didn’t pull it back this time; I left it.

  His mouth worked, but he couldn’t speak.

  The man holding the torch stared at Barrow. I suppose he was hoping to help, but he grasped the knife and pulled it free. Blood spurted from the gash and made a gurgling sound.

  He dropped the knife and looked at me. “What did you do?” he whispered.

  I bent and picked up the discarded knife, then wiped the blade on my tunic. “I killed the man who threatened my people. Are you threatening my people?”

  Barrow fell to his knees and clawed at the man with the torch. He looked down at Barrow in horror, then back at me. “I’m not threatening nobody! He made me come out here.” He dropped the torch and ran into the woods.

  Clover picked up the torch and held it over Barrow. He’d fallen completely onto the ground, onto his back. I kneeled beside him. “I’m not sorry to have killed you, Barrow. You weren’t a good man. Life is precious but there are exceptions.”

  He turned his head away from me, and I stood up. I looked back at the group. “Is everyone all right?” I asked.

  There was quiet ascent from the few faces I could see in the circle of torchlight. I beckoned everyone close.

  I glanced at Clover. She nodded her encouragement.

  “From what Barrow says, someone betrayed us. Now is the time to turn back, if anyone would like to do that. You’ll bear no judgment from me, no ill will. If you choose to go back, you’ll live a life of servitude. Or you can risk being caught and punished with me. I’ll give you a few moments to consider. If you decide to join me, I’ll be waiting on the other side of Barrow’s body.”

  I stepped carefully around Barrow. He’d stopped moving, but I didn’t trust him. I kept my back to the group so that they could make their choice without me staring at them.

  A minute hadn’t even passed when, beside me, Clover cleared her throat. “Are we getting going or what?” she said.

  I looked behind me. Everyone was still there. “Are you all sure this is what you want?” I asked. “The punishment. . . if we’re caught, the punishment will almost certainly be execution.”

  The group pressed forward slightly. A voice near the back shouted, “We’ll follow you, my queen!”

  I started to laugh, but at those words, everyone dropped to a knee and bowed. “What are you doing?” I said. “Stand up. I’m not the queen. I’m just—”

  “You’re our rightful leader. And we’ll follow you,” said Clover.

  A burning bubble rose up from my stomach and into my chest. These people needed me. And wanted me. I was theirs to command. These were my people. My responsibility. My life. I swallowed the sob of combined joy and terror that threatened the edge of my tongue.

  “All right,” I said. “It’s my honor and privilege to serve you. Let’s go.”

  The group fell into pairs. Clover took my hand, and from behind me, a hand fell upon my shoulder. And together, we moved forward, towards our new life.

  Purging

  Book Five of the Repatriate Protocol Series

  Kelli Kimble

  Prologue

  Leo touched his tongue to the largest sore in his cheek. The metallic zing of the open wound left a bad taste in his mouth, he couldn’t help but worry at it. He sighed and made a mental note to be glad that his symptoms weren’t visible.

  “How much longer?” he said to the pimply kid driving the rover.

  The kid pointed to the tablet mounted on the dashboard. Leo could have read it with his glasses on, but he didn’t want to display such weakness to the insufferable youth.

  “I didn’t ask you to point. I asked you, how long?”

  “Sorry, Sir. It should only be a few more minutes.”

  Leo sat back in his seat. He had mixed feelings about seeing Fiona again. He knew he still loved her, but he couldn’t just forget that she’d left him behind—practically at the altar.

  From the back bench, his assistant tapped him on the shoulder and thrust a tablet into his view. “Sir, I took the liberty of putting together a report detailing Fiona’s recent history. Maybe it would be helpful in your negotiations—”

  Leo cut him off. “I don’t need any damned leverage here. I don’t care what she’s been doing.”

  The assistant cleared his throat. “But, Sir—”

  �
�Get that stupid thing out of my face,” Leo said.

  “Yes, Sir.” The assistant retreated to the backseat.

  Leo immediately felt a stab of remorse. His assistant was the only one—besides his doctor—that knew of his illness. He didn’t need to alienate him.

  “Would you read it to me, please?” he asked in a conciliatory tone. “I get sick trying to read in these things.”

  “Of course, Sir.” The assistant cleared his throat. “‘The subject has been the figurative leader for the past 42 years, though she holds no actual power. Rather, she has equal power with everyone else. She organizes and sees through the rules of democracy—’”

  “I know that,” said Leo. “Tell me about her. About her life. Her personal life.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The assistant paged through the document on his tablet. “Right. She’s the village weaver. She lives with her husband in one of the village homes. He’s a blacksmith.”

  Leo interrupted again. “What’s that? A blacksmith?”

  “He makes things from metal, Sir. Molten metal.”

  “Things? Like swords?”

  “No, Sir. Well, maybe. Mostly, I believe he makes utilitarian objects. Building nails. Iron fence posts. Farming tools. Things like that.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Davenport, Sir.”

  “What kind of a name is that?”

  “I really couldn’t say, Sir.” The assistant stopped for a beat, waiting for further comment. Receiving none, he continued. “Fiona is very skilled at her trade. She’s apprenticing two of the village youngsters. She spends a good deal of time with her neighbor—”

  “Excuse me, Sir,” said the driver. “We’re here.”

  Leo jerked his attention from the assistant’s words to the village in front of him. It was . . . quaint. They were stopped in front of a path, filled with crushed rock that wasn’t wide enough to accommodate the vehicle. He reluctantly opened the door and got out. He didn’t want to walk on the uneven surface of the rocks. He hadn’t brought his cane. He glanced back at his assistant, who was surveying the situation.