Remnant (The Slave Series Book 3)

by Laura Frances

  She pauses, holding the door partly open.

  “It’s much worse,” she warns me. I return her gaze with determination. I can’t cross the border without seeing Ben at least once. If something happened in my absence, I would never forgive myself.

  The smell is different, even through the mask. Beneath the chemical smells of cleaner are hints of stomach illness. I take shallow breaths, following Emily to the window of Ben’s room. The curtain is open.

  My eyes settle on a screaming toddler on the other side, by a different window. His face is deep red, his lips purple from stretching. Tears soak his cheeks, and a nurse rubs his belly, attempting to soothe him. My heart cracks. Ben.

  I rush to the other window, and my chest tightens. Is this how mothers feel when they are helpless? Did my mother feel this way? I touch the window with my gloved hand, saying his name, but he can’t hear me past the glass and his screams.

  “He’s in pain.” I turn my wild gaze on Emily.

  “He’s given medicine on a schedule,” she says with sorry eyes. “They all are. Whatever this is, it’s painful. The adults describe joint pain and severe headaches.”

  My stomach turns. How can I leave when he’s hurting?

  The nurse sees us watching and wheels Ben’s bed around until he’s facing me. Her eyes meet mine a few times as she speaks something calming near his ear. Tears wet my face. My hands twitch, reacting to his suffering. Trying to reach for him.

  Ben doesn’t respond to her soft words. But in the midst of thrashing, his eyes connect with mine. My heart climbs into my throat. I force a smile for him, say things that I know he can’t hear. As the seconds pass, his screaming calms to hiccups. His eyes don’t leave me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry you’re in pain.”

  Emily wraps an arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to her side.

  “He can’t die,” I whisper. She purses her lips, staring hard at the boy I promised to love.

  “No one has died yet,” she says. “And we’ll do everything possible to bring them all through it alive. They’re trying a few new things now.”

  Ben’s eyes droop, small gasps making his chest jump.

  “Why haven’t I caught it?”

  Emily leans a shoulder to the window, facing me. “You weren’t directly exposed to the toxin since you were at the compound when it happened. They’ve been poisoned. We’re starting to wonder if it’s even contagious. It seems people are just succumbing to the illness at different rates. And those rescued from the mountains aren’t showing symptoms.”

  “Then I could go in there,” I say, pulling at my mask. She grabs my arm to stop me.

  “We don’t know anything definitive yet. For all we know, it may spread through contact with a long incubation. It’s too risky at this point, Hannah. I’m sorry.”

  The sun dips low as we take off. When the aircraft leaves the ground, I grip the arm of my chair, my body rigid against the back; I hate that bottoming out feeling.

  The earth shrinks beneath us. Then we rise above the clouds, and I can’t see it at all. I watch the expanse of white and gray, wishing I could touch them like the birds do. Wishing I could have been a bird all along.

  My father should be seeing this.

  Takeshi sits across from me, his eyes following my gaze out the window.

  “I never get tired of it,” he says, finally smiling a little.

  “How high are we?”

  “Around 30,000 feet, give or take.” He chuckles when I grab my chair again. “You’re safe. We’re in good hands.”

  Outside, the sky darkens. I pull my knees to my chest and watch until the light is gone. Takeshi doesn’t say much; his gaze drifts far away.

  “Are they okay?” I ask. “Meli’s family?”

  A twinge hits me when I ask it. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But he nods.

  “They were brave. It’s a family trait.”

  Silence follows, our eyes drifting apart. I wonder how many years will pass before the heaviness lifts. I wonder if a day will come when we can laugh without the sudden drop, without the pushback of guilt.

  We fall asleep in our chairs somewhere along the journey. I wake up first, my body stiff. Takeshi lounges, hands folded on his lap, neck bent unnaturally. I consider waking him because it looks painful, but he needs the rest.

  They’ve turned off the lights, and like a magnet I’m drawn back to the window. I can’t see the stars, only black. But beneath us, millions of golden lights flicker in clusters and lines, stretching on for miles, illuminating the dark sky with a soft glow.

  A muted ding sounds through the speakers, and a man’s voice says, “Prepare for landing.”

  Takeshi stirs, drawing in a sharp, waking breath through his nose. He rubs a hand down his face and sits up, blinking away sleep. The aircraft dips, and my stomach with it.

  Takeshi scratches his neck, arching his back in a stretch. “Finally,” he says, groaning, “I can sleep in a bed.”

  “Where are we going?”

  As the aircraft jolts, touching down, the reality of my choice to come along settles in. Even in the air, I could ignore it. But not now that we’ve landed.

  “We’ve taken command of the Council’s fortress. We’ll be able to stay there tonight, then head over to one of the holding facilities tomorrow.”

  “Is that where the Council lived?”

  “Lived, operated…” His eyebrows tug together, and he gives me a wary look. “You’ve been there.”

  A chill snakes down my back. “The cells.”

  He says nothing, but holds my gaze a few beats before we exit.

  The air is much colder here, and the wind sharp. A large, military vehicle arrives as we step down, and two soldiers in blue uniforms climb out. They greet Takeshi and acknowledge me, but this is all strange, and I’m having trouble processing it.

  The interior of the vehicle smells like metal and fuel, and the scents draw up a memory: Cash carrying me into the helicopter after Ian rescued me.

  We race down empty streets, and though the city looked bright from the sky, it now appears dark and quiet. I have no idea what time it is. This could be normal. Or they are all under curfew. I shove away the thought.

  In ten minutes, we’re stopped before a high, black gate. Soldiers mill around with rifles angled down, their features made eerie by street lamps. Not unlike Watchers. One steps up to the driver’s window. Another stands on the opposite side.

  The driver exchanges words with the armed man, and the soldier peers into the vehicle, his eyes settling on Takeshi. He waves us on.

  The gates slide apart, and we roll forward, easing our way past the entrance. I bend at the waist, trying to see out the front window, but I catch only pieces, because the structure before us is huge.

  I first register the red. Red pillars. Red trim. They were obsessed with it, just as they were obsessed with gain by whatever means. By our blood. The blood of my parents.

  I hate the color.

  The door is opened when we reach a set of high stairs. Takeshi and I take them slowly, each step a little harder than the last. We’ve been resting for a week now, but our bodies still drag.

  Bright lights illuminate the massive exterior walls, shimmering over gaudy, gold decorations woven around every window. It’s as elaborate as I might have imagined, if such things had ever entered my mind. But this is the first of its kind that I’ve ever seen. I find it ridiculous. Excessive. Nauseating.

  We enter into a large foyer with black and white tiled flooring. In the center stands a white sculpture of a woman. As Takeshi speaks with a man about our plans, I inch toward the figure.

  She is beautiful. Long hair drapes in waves over her bare shoulders. A flowing dress moves with her curves, flaring at her ankles as though caught by a breeze. Her feet are bare.

  She looks over her shoulder, large eyes gazing toward a nine-foot window behind me. I peek back but only see night.

  “It’s odd,” Takes
hi says, making me jump. “Don’t you think? She seems out of place.”

  I nod. “It’s her expression.” She’s too kind.

  We’re led up another high stairway, this one wide and marbled. A shiny, gold banister lines one side, traveling with the curve of the steps. I don’t touch it. I don’t touch anything that I don’t have to. This place, even the air, feels infected. I notice Takeshi keeps his arms in too.

  The stairs lead to a carpeted hall, with a series of doors on either side. The same gaudy decor greets us, though the dim lighting mutes it. The man leading us opens the third door on the right.

  “I apologize that there aren’t any keys,” he says to me. “Apparently the Council didn’t trust their guests behind locked doors.”

  “Guests slept here?” I ask, looking over the room. A large bed, a table and chair, and a bathroom. Simple, by some standards, but still much more than I am used to.

  “This wing was designated for important guests. Visitors from other countries…anyone the Council might want to impress. You’ll find that the entire front section of this fortress works as a facade. It gets…disturbing…the farther in you go.”

  All I needed to know was that no Council member slept in this bed. That this room did not house one of the five.

  The man turns to Takeshi. “Sir, there are larger rooms on another wing. Would you prefer something else?”

  The prince shakes his head. “Anything you have close by here will be just fine. Thank you for making space for us.”

  Our guide smiles with approval. “Just next door then. This way.”

  He exits, and Takeshi turns to me. “I’ll ask them to bring up a meal. Will you be able to rest here?”

  Anxiety flutters—worry that maybe I know too much about this place and its former owners to find comfort. But I keep my fears private and give him a smile. “I’m fine.”

  He returns it. “Tomorrow, then.”

  He leaves, and I stand by the bed for ten minutes, white knuckles around a post, gritting my teeth. Somewhere in this building are cells designed to break people.

  42

  When the early morning light finally glows behind the curtain, my eyes ache. Three hours have passed since I woke, and I’ve spent every minute rejecting nightmares. I peel back the blankets, and cool air hits my skin.

  The shower doesn’t satisfy. It’s warm enough, but not hot like I’m used to at the hospital. I return to the bed, curling beneath the covers until a knock sounds at the door. A woman pokes her head in.

  “Breakfast,” she says sweetly, then proceeds to enter. After setting a tray on the small table across the room, she tells me, “His Highness asks you to meet him downstairs in one hour.”

  His Highness. I breathe a laugh when she’s gone and cross to the tray. The first time I saw him, he was sitting farther down the table in the cafeteria of the Cosmetic factory. Then again when I left that night, pushing through the door and removing his mask. I knew nothing then, only that his grin surprised me. I wonder now if he returned to the southern edge after our encounter, or if he was nearby when Edan burst into my unit.

  I’m chewing through a thick piece of bread when my phone rings. The sound startles me, and I jump. There must be a way to lower the volume.

  Cash’s name appears on the screen, but when I accept the call, I’m surprised to see his face. His shoulders. His bed.

  “Hannah? I can’t see you.” His mouth pulls in a tired grin, and my heart skips. My fingers fumble with the device.

  “I don’t know how to use this.”

  “You have to look into the screen,” he gently tells me. “We’ll be face to face.”

  I lean the phone on the table against the wall, and my face appears in a small box at the top right. Cash’s smile falls away. I touch my damp hair, self-conscious.

  “You’re healing,” he says. My face warms.

  “What about you?” I ask to redirect the attention. “You’re sitting up.”

  Weariness slides over his expression, replacing the lightness. He looks at his hands. I lean closer, wishing I could touch him through the phone.

  “Cash, what is it?”

  “I just needed to see you,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to mine. His cheeks have colored.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath and straightens, squaring his shoulders. A forced show of strength when he doesn’t feel it.

  “I’m ready to leave this hospital,” he says.

  A few quiet beats pass, then I ask, “What do the doctors say?”

  He sighs and glares off toward a patch of sunlight. “To be patient.”

  I don’t mean to smile. “You should listen to them.”

  A few quiet seconds pass.

  “Hannah,” he says. I love my name when he says it. I wait for what’s next. He hesitates. “I need to apologize.”

  Worry pricks my chest.

  “I asked Takeshi to take you with him. I shouldn’t have interfered…I’m sorry.”

  He struggles to look at me.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. He chews his lip, scrambling for a better explanation. I’ve never seen him so nervous.

  “The sickness,” he says. “When you told me how fast it was spreading, I suggested Takeshi take you with him. I was…” He doesn’t finish. He was worried—I know what he meant. But I can’t deny the disappointment. This feeling of being maneuvered…it doesn’t sit well. But the look on his face is worse.

  “I understand why you did it. And I want to see Ian, so it’s fine.”

  We say nothing else for a long time. I can’t stop thinking about Ben. Somehow the distance between us feels forced now.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I never want you to feel controlled by me.”

  This. This is the reason he called me. More than anything else, the idea that I might suddenly see him differently. As something he was. The Watcher and the Worker.

  “I would never think that,” I say, hard enough to make him look at me. “I know you. That’s not who you are.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Even if I ask you not to go back?”

  My heart sinks. “Even then. But Cash, I have to.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” he says quietly. “You’ll just be putting your life at risk.”

  My neck heats. “I’d risk everything to care for them.”

  The statement rings out differently than I intended it. I search for more words to smooth away the tension. But my mind has emptied, and it’s like digging for something that doesn’t exist.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say instead.

  He nods, looking like he’s waiting for a scolding.

  “Do you know about the statue? The woman?”

  His expression tightens. There’s fire behind his gaze now. A fierce feeling. “She’s my mother. It was built by the city. Commissioned by a man aware of the circumstances around her death.”

  My eyes widen. “The Council allowed it?”

  “They had no choice. My mother was well loved by the people. Not allowing it would reveal too much of their true character.”

  “He must have hated it,” I say quietly, as if he’ll come through the door if he hears me. But I saw the moment he died, sprawled out in the falling snow. He cannot touch me.

  His words come to mind, seething with hatred. Will she never leave me alone?

  “I hope so,” Cash mutters.

  The weighty silence returns.

  “I should go,” I say, but I don’t want to.

  Regret crosses his face again. “Be careful. They can give you a weapon.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I smile, not because I feel it, but because I love him. He doesn’t know how to protect me while paralyzed in a bed. All this, I think, is all he knows to do.

  43

  “Come see this.”

  Takeshi waves me over to the large window when I reach the foyer. My gaze slides to the statue. Whatever he’s looking at, so is she. />
  “Heck of a view,” he murmurs. I follow his eyes, and my mouth drops open. Beyond the fortress walls, behind all the buildings, stands a high mountain range. Clouds hover low over white-capped peaks.

  “Is it the valley?” I ask. “So near?”

  “Close enough to the border to sneak our team in over the last months,” Takeshi says. “Far enough that we couldn’t evacuate Workers without first taking control.” He glances back to the statue, then to me, arching an eyebrow.

  “You think she’s positioned that way on purpose?” I ask. We make our way to the front entrance. Outside, a vehicle waits at the bottom of the stairs.

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” he says. “What I want to know is why the Council allowed it in the first place.”

  “It’s his mother,” I say. I tell him the story.

  “Imagine the courage it must have taken to pull that off,” he says when I’ve finished. “The sculptor could’ve been killed for it.”

  I hadn’t considered that, and now I wonder. Was he killed for it? The Council chose to allow the statue to remain, but that wouldn’t guarantee the safety of its creator.

  As we roll down the drive, I glance back to see the stone woman gazing through the glass. Sadness creeps in. She looks trapped.

  The Watchers sit in cells, regardless of loyalty. In the facilities they once used to traumatize Workers and criminals, the men in black now rest against cold, cement walls, receiving trays of food at the mercy of Southern soldiers.

  Maybe I should be glad. For my parents, their suffering should gratify.

  We walk the gray halls, with long tubes of light flickering above, and I want to open every door in search of rebels. The defectors. But they wait like all the rest, hoping their individual assessments will set them free.

  My shoes make quieter sounds than the boots did. These soft coverings only tap as we amble, moving slow beside doors…searching for Ian.

  The soldier leading me glances at the paper in his hand, a scrap with scribbled numbers, and stops by a door. “Adrian Lockwood?”