by Miria Masdan
He lifts my legs, and I wrap them around him. He pushes his erection between my legs, rubbing hard against me. I dig my fingers into his back, trying to pull him tighter to me. He releases my mouth, and I gasp for air. He mouths his way down my neck; licking and biting until he meets my breast. His mouth hovers over my erect nipple. His warm breath sends an uncontrollable ripple from my head to my core. I arch into him, his lips close around my nipple, sucking and pulling; while his hand grazes my inner thigh. I groan.
“Quinn,” I can barely speak.
He looks up at me. He sets me down and backs away. I’m leaning against the wall; my blanket in a pile on the floor beneath my feet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He walks over and picks up the clothes Maggie brought for me. He throws them at me. I catch them and hold them against my chest.
“Put them on or I will drag you naked out into the street and deliver you to your soon to be husband in all you pathetic, schoolgirl lust.”
He walks out of the room. He doesn’t look back. I close my eyes, slide down the wall, and slump on the floor. I don’t attempt to hold back the tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Quinn
I have no self-control. Max’s warning keeps running through my mind. She is the perfect distraction. I can’t concentrate when I am around her; she has me all messed up and confused. If I hadn’t walked out of the room, I’d be deep inside of her right now, and then there would be no turning back. I can’t cross that threshold. She is broken, and tomorrow I am most likely going to have to neutralize her.
I head to the lower level and exit the building into the escape tunnel that I helped dig. It goes beneath two roads and comes out in an old storm drain. From there you can go right and head to the Under center, or left, and it empties out into an old river. I go left. I have a spot on the river bank that I go to think when times get too tough. I’ve only visited Maggie and Ben a few times, but they remind me of all that I’ve lost.
I find my spot and sit. It’s still dark. The day lights aren’t turned on until seven o’clock in the morning. I can hear the water trickle down the river bed. It once was a good sized river: broad and fast. But now it’s about ten feet across, and no more than a foot deep. The Federation owns all the water rights, and they divert the river before it enters the Under. Each Under citizen is given specific rations of water each week, but it is only enough to sustain life. The water in the river is contaminated. The Federation has a sophisticated filtration system that makes the water safe for consumption, but the water that flows in the Under is overflow before filtration.
I only take a few moments at my spot. I didn’t come down here to reflect; I came down here to check the stairwell. It is a short walk from here, and before I head out with Emma I want to make sure it is safe.
I walk along the river bed for about fifteen minutes. I climb the bank under a bridge and enter an old residential area. There is a house across the street from the stairwell. I slip in through a side entrance and go to an upstairs bedroom. I peer out a window.
There are two men standing guard at the stairwell entrance. I leave the house and head back to the river. We’re trapped. I’m careful, but I hear something in the shadows behind me. I pick up my pace, but the sound matches me.
I take a deep breath and turn to face whoever it is following me. I don’t see anyone. I wait.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I hear a familiar voice.
“Chris,” I ask?
He steps out, and I see my friend. It’s been three years since I saw him. He looks older and tired. We grew up together. The first time I met him was on my very first trip down to the Under when I was a kid. I had come here with Maggie and Ben before they escaped the Federation.
“There was some trouble in the West end,” he says. “You wouldn’t know about that would you?”
“I killed two of them,” I say.
“Who’s the girl?”
“What girl,” I ask?
“Marcus is dead,” he says, “and the boss is looking for some girl and the West ends are looking for some girl.”
“She’s broken,” I say.
“Why do they want her,” he asks?
I think about that for a moment. I hadn’t considered the fact that Marcus, the West end, and Benson are all interested in this one girl; this plain, simple girl that seems to be an important individual. Who is she?
“I don’t know,” I say.
“They’ve sent a message outside the wall,” he says.
My heart sinks. She is a part of the attacks. I’m not sure I can go through with it; I don’t know if I can neutralize her. But Max will have no problem if he finds out.
“What’s her name,” Chris asks?
“Emma Greene,” I say.
“She’s alive,” he asks?.
“You know her,” I ask?
“Quinn, you need to get her out of here right now,” he says. “Take her back where you found her, and stay far away from her. Do you hear me? You need to get her back to her people. They can protect her.”
“Why,” I ask?
“I can’t say anymore,” he says. “But you need to listen to me for a change. The people after her will not stop until they find her, and if you’re anyplace near her, you’ll be dead.”
“Who is she,” I ask?
“Quinn, ya gotta trust me man,” he says. “Get her out and get rid of her.”
“Why not let the boss get her,” I ask?
“If you could remember, you’d never even suggest it,” he says.
“So I do know her,” I say. “She keeps telling me we know each other, but I have no idea who she is.”
“It’s not important,” he says. “But if you can’t get her out, you need to kill her. This is something you cannot mess up. You have to kill her; don’t let the boss or the rebels get her.”
“I understand,” I say.
“I gotta go,” he says. “Be safe, and do what needs to be done.”
I watch him leave before I turn to go to the river. She was right. We know each other. I climb down to the river bed and hurry back to the tunnel. I slip inside and make my way back to Maggie and Ben’s place.
I wait at the entrance for a moment. I have no idea what to say to her. I have so many questions, but I have no time. I need to get her out or kill her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Emma
I’m angry. I throw the clothes across the room. My head is still spinning, and I need to steady myself. There’s a lump in my throat, and I can feel the tears burn. My stomach it twisted, and my core is throbbing with a thick, wet, heat.
“I’m such an idiot,” I grab the blanket and pull it over myself. My skin is sensitive, and the rough fabric against my bare breasts is arousing me again. I can feel them hard against my forearms.
I let out a small groan. I needed him. I still need him.
I laugh. I wonder if it’s like this for all interns and if it’s a cruel joke thought up by the Federation to prevent intimacy. I most certainly do not want to feel like this ever again. I can’t handle to urges or the reaction my body has to him.
I think about him, holding me close. Our bodies skin to skin. His hands are exploring every inch of my body; I can feel him against me: touching, kissing, tasting. My entire body shudders, as my core tightens in an uncontrollable spasm.
I gasp for air. Sweat covers my whole body, and I feel weak and tired. I curl up in a ball. I don’t bother to cover myself again. I start to cry. I can’t control my emotions.
Grace and Mandy don’t seem to be having this reaction. I must be worse than I thought. I don’t think I will ever be normal. Quinn is right I need to hide my heightening.
A sharp pain throbs behind my eyes. I close them and pull my blanket over my head. I fall asleep. I dream of him, but this time I can see his face. It starts out as a feeling of despair. I’m searching for him. I’m running in the darkness, but my feet are not touching the ground. I wheeze and spit. The air is
thick. I can’t breathe.
My knees sink; I fall to my hands; the cold, wet earth sucking me down. I force myself free, stumbling to find a foothold. I grasp at the creek bank; finding a tangled web of roots. I pull myself to the top. I rest.
My mind is racing, but I demand my focus towards my breathing. In, out, slow, steady; over and over again, until the pounding of my heart subsides, and I can hear the sounds of the forest.
I listen. A low hiss and flutter, as the wind weaves its way through the trees, is all I can hear. I listen closer to the sound. The anticipation confuses my senses. I strain to hear a snap, a shuffle or metal against metal. My mind focus’ on one thought: if they have mastered stealth, he is as good as dead; I’ll never make it to him in time.
My nostrils flare; a long, deep infusion of air chills my lungs. I can feel my vest tighten as my chest expands. I savor the dank, decaying, musty odor. I count to ten and release a steady, calculated expiration of visible breath.
If they are close; it will not matter if they see me. They can’t detect my signal; he cut out my receptor. But it doesn’t matter because they are not after me; I am nothing. It is him; they seek.
I try to remember his face, but all I can recall are his eyes. They are warmth, comfort, and home to me: a gentle, calming brown with flecks of gold and copper. The knot in my throat tightens. I rub my neck and swallow hard. Dried pieces of earth crumble and fall beneath my collar.
I wipe my hands on my pants. Each swipe causes sharp, icy pains to shoot through my joints. I rub my hands together, and then I tuck them between my legs. I need to move. My backside is numb, and the wet, cold ground is leaching into my body.
I stand. I look between the trees, where the night is the darkest. I can’t see any movement. I can’t hear any movement. I step away from the creek. Despite my efforts, each of my footfalls sounds like an elephant tromping through the woods.
I tiptoe; I walk, and then I run. I leap over a fallen tree, hitting my leg on a protruding branch. I fall to the ground. I reach down and find a warm, slick, tear in my pants. A familiar metallic scent causes my stomach to churn.
I get up and continue to search. I stumble over the brush on the edge of the forest. Thorns grab and tear at my clothes. I yank myself free; quick whip and snap echoes as the branches, jolt back into their positions. I take three steps. The tree line ends, and tall grass replaces the brush. I stop. Something has changed. The wind rushes past me, wrapping my hair around my face. I pull a strand out of my mouth.
I crouch, keeping myself hidden by the grass to the front of me, and brush to the back. At first it is faint, and I am confused, but the sounds are unmistakable; metal on metal, followed by the snaps and shuffles of feet, charging through the forest.
I smile. I ease back into the woods and head south. I know their exact position, and I will be able to navigate, quickly and without detection.
The terrain to the south is steep. The woods drop down to the valley below, where the creek enters the river. I use the trees to guide me. It takes me longer than I would like, but I make it to the camp before they do.
I know I only have moments to find him. I pass the others; they are all looking at me. When I left, I promised never to return. I run, knocking over a stack of supplies. Then I see him. He is looking at me. He does not look pleased. He shakes his head and looks away.
“Quinn,” my voice is shaky. I’m cold and dizzy. I look down to my leg. I have lost too much blood. He doesn’t look at me. I don’t blame him. I hate myself for what I did; how can I expect him to forgive me?
An explosion of gunfire follows the first screams. People are running, gunfire and chaos overcomes the camp. I don’t take my eyes off of him.
He runs towards me. He doesn’t look at me. I grab him, but he pushes me away. He doesn’t stop; he’s heading straight towards the gunfire.
I go after him. My head is spinning. I take a deep breath and drag myself forward.
I find him, positioned against a truck. I stop and look around. I see a movement to my right. A man, a gun, I run, I don’t think.
I hear my name.
I panic. He’s coming towards me. I hear the shot.
He grabs me and whips me around. We fall.
I can feel the blood cover me. I can’t feel any pain; I expected pain.
Another shot and another.
He’s grabbing me. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for air.
He looks into my eyes. I touch his face. Blood covers my hands.
I still can’t feel any pain.
He falls onto his side.
I sit up and look at myself. I feel my chest, my abdomen; I can’t find my wound. Blood covers me. I look at my hands. They’re shaking.
“No, no, no,” I try to wipe the blood off. My chest is heaving, and I can feel my stomach wrench. The tears pour. I can’t see. I can’t hear. But I feel him.
His hand is touching my face. He’s wiping away my tears. I look at him. He smiles at me.
He coughs. Blood trickles down his chin.
“No,” I use my sleeve to wipe his face. “It was supposed to me.”
“You win,” he says.
“But I don’t want to win,” I’m sobbing, “Why?”
“I promised,” he closes his eyes.
“Look at me,” I shake him. He opens his eyes.
“Let me go.”
“No,” I kiss his face, “take me with you.”
“Not this time,” I feel his breath against my mouth. I pull away, just far enough for me to look into his eyes.
Warmth, comfort, home; I think of my orchard. I want to go home, back to the days when we would meet and look at the stars, talk about everything and nothing. It didn’t matter, as long as we were together.
I close my eyes. I can feel myself falling. I wait to hit the ground, but I don’t. I float and drift on a warm, wind. I can no longer feel anything. I succumb to the peace, to the calm. I ease away slowly; allowing myself to fade.
I wake. I can hear talking coming from the other room. It’s the first time I have had my nightmare three times in one day. It is also the first time that I awoke, and I could recall all of him: his eyes, face, and touch. The dream is real. It’s not a dream at all; it’s a memory. I thought he died once, but he didn’t. He’s alive, and he’s here. I need to find him. I need to find out how he survived. Where he’s been for the last three years, and I need to take him far away from here.
I get dressed and walk out to find the others. There are in the same room that I left them.
“I need a receptor,” They all look at me.
Grace stands up and walks over to me. She places her hand on my forehead, and I lean away. I’m never going to get used to people touching me; it’s just not natural.
“Does anyone have one?” she looks towards Max. He is smiling at her.
“We didn’t bring one, and they don’t need them down here,” says Smith.
“I need to reset,” I rub my eyes; I’m exhausted. “Where is Quinn?”
“He left,” Grace says.
“Oh,” I’m disappointed and relieved. I made a fool out of myself, and I need to organize my emotions and take control of myself before I confront him.
Just then, Maggie enters the room. She hands me a cup.
“What is it?” It smells terrible.
“Coffee,” she laughs. “It’ll help with the headache. You shouldn’t drink so much.”
“Never again,” I sit in a chair and take a sip. It’s bitter, but I drink it.
I listen to the others argue over the best way to get back to the city. My mind is wandering. I start thinking about where I am. I never knew there was an entire city underneath East City. There are people down here that aren’t online with the Federation. They are natural humans, and they are surviving? I look at Maggie. I’ve never seen a woman like her. Her face isn’t smooth, there are little lines next to her eyes and lips and her skin sags. Her hair is a beautiful silver color.
“Maggi
e,” everyone looks at me again. “How old are you?”
She burst out laughing. “You’ve never seen a real human before; have you?”
“I don’t understand,” I’m confused. “We’re human.”
“Barely,” she smiles. “You’re part of the Federation system. You’re updated and fixed. They take good care of you: all perfect and pretty.”
“But you don’t take good care of yourself?” I look at Grace. “I don’t understand.”
“No, it’s not like that,” she comes over and sits next to me. “We age like we are supposed to age. We get old.”
“I still don’t understand why you live down here?’ I ask. “Aren’t you afraid of disease?”
“Its freedom…sort of,” she says. “Most of us are Federation. We just are being punished, or we don’t fit in their perfect world. We are the lucky ones. We are still useful, so they keep us.”
“But it’s dangerous and terrifying down here,” I take a sip of my coffee.
“Ha, dangerous,” Quinn’s enters the room. I don’t look at him.
“Hey, there he is,” Max says, “I was just starting to think you left us for good.”
“We can’t take the stairwells,” he says. He stands in front of all of us. “Marcus’ men are guarding them. We can’t stay here either. We’ve already put Ben and Maggie in too much danger.”
“What’s the plan?” Smith walks in from the other room. Mandy is behind him.
“We have to take the old sewer access and head out of the city.”
“Are you insane?” Max stands up and walks over to Quinn. “We can’t risk it with them.”
“It’s the only way out of the city,” Quinn doesn’t look pleased. “We’ll get a few hours of sleep and head out right before dawn. It’ll be easier to blend in with the crowd.”
“Where are we going?” Grace speaks up. She looks right at Max, and he smiles at her again.
I think about how many times I’ve seen him look at her and smile at her, and it's odd. I wonder if something happened while I was a crazed, over-aroused maniac attacking Quinn.
