by Jade White
He hadn’t told them of Alexia’s abilities, for fear they would use them against her. How long would it take before they found out? They had all planned for a bloodless and explosion-less retrieval, but there was an odd feeling in Ryker’s bones that it was not to be.
Would their contact meet them? Would he personally help them get Alexia back? Leopold had told him that their contact had remained secret for so long, he’d stopped guessing who it was. They trekked in the dead of the night, while the military were busy with the jet. They would not be busy for long, Ryker thought, apprehensive that anytime, someone would swoop down to catch them.
Ryker and the men passed through the city’s extensive and ancient sewage system, complete with rats as big as cats. It was a far cry from the glitz and glamour that surrounded the White House, Ryker thought as they waded through knee-high treated water.
The men close to him were silent, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Some of them had never set foot in the capital in their entire lives, until today. It was a risk they were all willing to take, Ryker knew, all for the fact he was an Auberon. Leopold had positioned Ryker well, as if he was some sort of savior that could liberate all those oppressed by Caledon. The jet had, by then, diverted closer to the capital, twenty-five thousand feet above, circling over and over again, and gaining the attention of even the common folk.
It had sent Caledon’s men scurrying about to solve the unmanned jet, as Ryker and the rest of the Alaskan Tribe waded their way closer to the nearest sewage system connected to Sector 13. They were twenty blocks away from the nearest Werebeing amnesty station, with Ryker holding onto the 3D map Leopold’s men had made. He knew that only the sewage closest to the White House had been placed with monitoring devices. Sector 13 was supposedly old, according to their sources; it was placed inside an old cement plant (which was coincidentally owned by Magnus II’s wife’s family).
Ryker knew this lab would be less complicated. Their source had informed them they had an hour to retrieve Alexia, with what lesser security they had during transition. The attack would be on the convoy. It was a delicate operation, one that he had not been used to. The men with him had done retrievals before, but never within the capital limits. There was a palpable tension in the air, it hung heavily in their minds, and Ryker braced himself for it. He checked the watch he had been given. They were on time.
“Stop,” Sarah’s father muttered, sensing something else in the bowels of the city.
The colonel pointed to a closed-circuit camera a few meters ahead, its red sensor shining like a beacon in the darkness. Ryker waited. What were they going to do? Was the colonel going to shoot it?
Another man named Dwyer held his fist up, to signal that they wait. Then he pressed a button, and the camera’s sensor turned off. “We have thirty seconds. Go!”
The werebeings scrambled to run past the camera, their boots sloshing against the water. By the time the last man had gotten to the end of the wall, the sensor had turned on once more. Ryker was staring at the scrambler in Dwyer’s hand. He had held one like it, given to him by Dr. Delaney. Where had Dwyer gotten it? Was their contact within Caledon’s regime that influential? The scrambler was no mean feat to make…
He shook his head as they continued their journey. He was inching closer to Alexia. He was going to see her again, at last.
*
Alexia’s head shot up as her door opened. It had been an hour ago that her eldest brother had left, and she had only stopped crying minutes ago. Her face was splotchy, and her neck was hurting again. The pain didn’t matter, but the fact that she was the President’s daughter did.
A young man stepped in, one who was not Caliban. He was wearing military fatigues, with a bonnet to match. His uniform gleamed with lapels. Had she seen this man before? She had a feeling she had… then she saw his badge. Lt. Stephen H. Caledon.
Her heart stopped for a moment. They were here to take her away. This was what JJ had meant. She trembled as he walked closer to her. There was no semblance of recognition in his dark eyes. He looked like he lacked sleep, and she saw he had a mechanical arm… some memory flashed in her mind… someone had swiped his arm off, swiped it off completely…
“S- Stephen-” she began hoarsely.
Stephen blinked, surprised that she had said his name. He scowled. Was she trying to gain his sympathy? “As per directives, I’m here to take you to an undisclosed location. Kindly refrain from defying whatever instructions I give-”
“You’re Stephen Caledon,” she began, hazy memories starting to take place in her mind. “Your mother was Juliet. We had a brother named Jared-”
Stephen stopped in place. Jared? Who in the hell was she kidding? Did she think she could gain his empathy in the very least after mentioning his mother’s name? She had defiled it! And Jared, who the hell was Jared? “Shut up,” he told her harshly, suddenly wanting to yank her out of her bed, along with the tubes and wires still connected to her.
She held her hand against her throat, knowing this was her last chance to escape without much fuss. “Magnus Caledon is our father,” she continued, ignoring the sting every time she spoke.
His palms curled up into a ball, and he wanted to slap her. “You and that Ryker boy killed my men. You damaged my weresoldiers,” he hissed. “If I wasn’t given direct orders, I would have killed you earlier.”
“You can’t. I’m your sister-” she stopped, seeing other men come in. Dr. Wallace walked in with a serene smile on his face.
“Ah, I see she’s up and about. Well, it’s time for some sleep, Alexia,” Dr. Wallace said in a chilling voice. Alexia struggled against the orderlies who held both her arms.
No, no, she thought. She couldn’t sleep. How would she escape? How could she warn the people who were coming to save her? “Let go of me,” she told them. “Please- I-” She saw Dr. Wallace inject something in one tube, and then her eyes began to droop and her body slumped.
Stephen stared at the young woman’s unconscious body. Her words had triggered something in him; some strange feeling rose up to his throat, and it left a bitter taste. The orderlies and nurses slowly took down the wires and tubes, with a few remaining to monitor her vitals. They then transferred her to a stretcher, ready to wheel her out to the van waiting at the basement of the facility. Stephen saw her eyes close, defeated by the sedatives.
Dr. Wallace looked at him as they began to wheel her out. He nodded at Stephen, but the young lieutenant said nothing. Stephen, however, began to escort the stretcher down the hall, leading to an elevator that was large enough to fit twenty people inside. A headache began to form, and Stephen kept blinking and closing his eyes as they waited for the elevator to come to a full stop. The facility only had three stories, hastily put into work after the destruction of the more presentable Sector 12.
Despite A129 being dead asleep, Stephen couldn’t shake off that discomfort, a discomfort that grew in him as every second passed. The more he stared at her face, the more disturbed he felt inside. He closed his eyes, waiting for the elevator doors to open. It was all a case of confusion, the vitamins Dr. Wallace had given her had confused her—why, the girl had a death wish, anyway.
The transition had gone smoothly, and they had placed Alexia in a van that was identical to four others. Stephen had made sure he would be riding with her, along with ten other men, just to be sure. The risk was high, especially now that the amnesty program had begun and the others had spotted a lone jet in their skies.
The vans began to move, and Stephen looked out the bullet proof pinholes that gave off a fisheye look to the outside world. All was well so far. He had weresoldiers in every van—not that he needed a lot. He had his bionic arm to add to the arsenal, after all.
The old factory’s surroundings began to fade away as they drove down a dirt road and up onto the sides of a mountain. They had been travelling for more than an hour, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about this operation. He had assigned Caliban to th
e White House, and he suddenly wished Caliban was here. The werebeings couldn’t sense anything off, though, so all must be well…
All of a sudden, their van stopped. Stephen looked up, irritated. “What the hell is going on?” he snapped at the driver. Stephen leaned forward to look at the heavily tinted and bulletproof windshield. There was another military truck in front of them, blocking the way.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. This was an attack. He quickly radioed the others for a warning, but before he could send out a message: Boom! Something exploded, sending their truck reeling sideways, its wheels spinning as smoke rose up in the air.
For a moment, he couldn’t hear or see. Then his vision sharpened and he saw men; he saw soldiers in complete military uniform exiting the van, heading straight for them. “Move! Move!” he shouted to his dazed soldiers. “Don’t let them take A129!”
Stephen scrambled to stand; his legs felt like jelly, but his new arm had prevented a new injury. He looked up to see the van’s doors swing open, and despite his weakness, he recognized Ryker immediately.
Just as he held his gun, someone shot him through the shoulder. Stephen heard his soldiers shift, and he could hear howls and growls and bodies being beaten to a pulp or being ripped apart. He scrambled for A129, desperate to kill her off, just so they couldn’t have her and use her against the country-
With one swipe, Ryker tossed him away, intent on getting to the test subject. Stephen got up, seeing stars, but he readied his arm, swinging it against Ryker’s human face. Ryker staggered from the blow, and his lower lip bled.
“Get her out of here,” Ryker growled to another Alaskan werebeing beside him. “Go!”
He heard gunshots and heard more screams, but his eyes were solely concentrated on the man who had been hunting him ever since he’d escaped from Sector 12.
Let the bloodbath begin, Stephen thought.
CHAPTER 12
It was real, Alexia thought, as she stared at Ryker’s face. He was fast asleep beside her, uncomfortably seated on a metal chair, with a jacket covering his chest. This was the Ryker that JJ had mentioned; this was the Ryker who had once helped her escape…
She stared at his face, as if committing it to memory. She didn’t want to forget him ever again. There was something soothing about his face, the way he slept, and she could see the scar on his eyebrow, a scar that snaked down to—she stopped. This had been a part of her dreams. She had been dreaming about him all along! There was a vague familiarity with Ryker around; he was still a stranger to her, but she didn’t feel the least bit threatened.
She reached out to touch him, when suddenly, his hand shot out, holding her entire hand. His eyes opened, and she stared at those icy blue eyes that seemed to go on forever, and in their clarity, she could see her face in them.
Alexia wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. Instead, she waited as he loosened his grip, and his eyes never broke contact off of hers. “Alexia,” he said, realizing he had had a terrible dream, a dream where he couldn’t save her again.
He hadn’t fully checked on her condition until the moment they had gotten inside the jet that had been readied by their contact in the capital. The man had been a lifesaver, although he had no idea who he was. He had thought that with that betrayal, their contact should have left, but he didn’t. He hadn’t even shown his face. Still, Ryker was more than thankful. Because of that man, Alexia was now safe with him.
The bandage had been removed, and a poultice had been placed over it to quicken the healing of the outer wounds. She had been experimented on as badly as before, Ryker noted. Alexia had been asleep for two full days.
“You remember me?” he asked her, fearing the worst already.
She shook her head. The doctors in the community did say she couldn’t speak very well, not with the damage on her throat. Ryker had wanted to ask her what had happened, but there were more urgent matters. He had barely slept, and that quick nap had been the longest one yet. The moment he saw her denial, there was a part of him that broke.
“I’m Ryker, Ryker Locklear,” he began, as calmly as he could. “I took you away from the people that tried to hurt you before, except for Dr. Edith Delany – she helped us get out. We travelled the country together; we escaped from state to state. We were already here, in Alaskan soil, when they took you away from me.”
Alexia closed her eyes, trying to conjure something out of her erased memories. There were none, but his voice in her dreams sounded the same in person. She continued to close her eyes as he spoke.
“We spent nights walking, sleeping in caves, in abandoned buildings. You kept reading the history book with whatever light was available. You made your first batch of pancakes nearing Christmas. We were with the Jamesons,” Ryker almost choked, remembering the kind, elderly couple that had died because of them.
For some reason, Alexia imagined gunshots. Why? She wanted to surrender to her gut feeling; she felt safe with Ryker, so she knew she could let her guard down. She felt exasperated that she couldn’t remember anything, except those instances in her dreams.
“Then we went to Oregon,” Ryker’s words were rushed, as if he only had a limited time to tell her their story together. “We met up with Dr. Barrett. He figured there was something else in you-”
“Blood,” she whispered hoarsely, remembering what JJ had said.
Ryker nodded. “Your blood and your touch. Most especially your touch. Do you still remember what you can do?”
They hated her, she realized. The werebeings feared and hated her for what she could do. She didn’t want them to hate her. She had done her best to stop them from hurting, but Dr. Wallace had made sure he tortured her until her skills surfaced. Some turned back to human form, shivering, naked, and vulnerable, just like how she had felt nearly every day.
Alexia began to shake, realizing the full extent of what they had done to her and what she had done to the innocent werebeings. She gave a gasp, suddenly cowering in bed, shaking her head, hearing their screams reverberating in her skull. She pounded her head with her clenched fists as Ryker tried to stop her.
“Shh, shhh,” he told her again and again, stopping Alexia from hurting herself. “I’m here, I’m here. I’ll always be here,” Ryker whispered to her as she struggled against him and against herself.
Alexia began to sob, and it was a cry he had never heard before. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the pain from her wounds; it was from the mental anguish she had been through. She kept shaking her head, muttering how she couldn’t remember a thing, mumbling about whose deaths she had seen, if it had been her fault.
“It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault.” “I killed my own brother-” she began.
“What?” Ryker looked confused. She had been born in a lab, hadn’t she?
“Jared, Jared. I killed him. My father, he hated me,” she cried. A fresh wave of tears flowed from her eyes. “They took us away from our mother; they kept us locked away—he hated us for what we were-” she choked.
“Who did? Who locked you away? Your father-”
“Magnus, it’s Magnus,” she cried, her eyes widening in horror. “He wanted me dead all along, only he couldn’t kill me because I was useful!”
Ryker held her by the shoulders. “You’re here, you’re safe with me.”
“He’ll find us!” she cried, forgetting her throat had been hurting all along. “He’s out to kill all of us, after he’s done with us, just like how he killed my brother, just like how he used me-” She had begun to hyperventilate, and Ryker was at a loss as she began to claw at her throat, in desperation to get rid of anything that reminded her of that wretched place. He held her hands back, but she wouldn’t stop.
“Alexia, please!” Ryker begged. “You’re safe; you’re here with me. I’m Ryker. You have to remember me. Please!”
At that moment, the doors slid open, and a doctor and two interns walked in. The doctor deftly injected something into her arm, and Alexia’s eyes ro
lled up and she collapsed against Ryker’s chest. Ryker’s heart was pounding, and for a moment there, he wanted to shift, just to bend to the tidal wave of emotions he felt.
“You okay there, Ryker?” the fully human doctor asked, concerned.
Ryker nodded, feeling bile rise up his throat. He refused the help of the orderlies to put Alexia down on the bed. He did it himself, gently. Finally, he stood up. His lips were dry all of a sudden. He wanted to ask the doctor if he could do something for her.
“She might remember; she might not,” the doctor said. “It’s what those memory drugs do. They can change a person’s personality, and I’m not sure how long it will take. The fact that she survived a second bout of tests tells us how strong she is, though.”
Ryker was at a loss for words. What could he say? He stared at her as she slept again. That all too brief moment of consciousness had proven to be a disaster. So, she didn’t remember him, so she had been injected with a host of steroids and vitamins and whatnot—the fact that he didn’t exist to her actually wounded him emotionally. It’s what love does, some voice inside him taunted.
The doors slid open once more, and it was Sarah. Her face looked distracted and pale. She was breathless as well. “Ryker, you have to come—now!”
Sarah eyed Alexia near disdainfully, but she looked back at Ryker, her panic all too evident.
He frowned, but he saw the all-too-real urgency in Sarah’s face. He stared at Alexia one last time before leaving the room, breaking into a half-run as he followed Sarah up to the military base. He walked into the small conference room to see it packed. In front of everyone was a hologram set, with a grainy video feed on display.
