Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  “My thoughts are not for you to filter through, young man.”

  “Yes, sir,” André responded and sunk further into the chair.

  The colonel nodded curtly and returned his gaze to the windshield, navigating the aircraft home. “Yes. We live in a network of domes because there isn’t enough oxygen outside to support us for very long. Domes cover quite a few American cities: Denver, Chicago, Phoenix, Nashville, St. Louis, Las Vegas, and Dallas-Fort Worth, which is where I live.”

  The forest below gave way to stark plains with tall, pale grass bowing with the breeze, and in the distance sat Dallas-Fort Worth. The clear opaque dome reflected the sun’s rays, spitting off tiny rainbows of light.

  André closed his eyes tightly and inhaled, not trusting the feel of the craft landing, or the sound of the engines throttling down. Hope was something he couldn’t afford. Like all his hallucinations, waking was the hardest part. Shattered hope smothered his will to live, to take another breath, and if this turned out to be another one, he didn’t want to wake.

  Slowing to a stop on the tarmac, Colonel Robbins shifted the craft into neutral and turned toward him. “André, I’ve got a medic on standby and he’s going to need to run some tests to determine what you need to get better. That might mean staying in the hospital for a few days.”

  A shrill echo of his former life came back and along with it came the mistrust, and he shot his eyes between the dome and Colonel Robbins, unsure of what to feel. “Can’t I stay with you?”

  “Not right away. We need to get you healthy before we cross that bridge.”

  “When I’m better, can I stay with you?”

  Colonel Robbins inhaled, turning his gaze toward the dome. When he met André’s questioning stare, André saw hesitation and underneath, the need to protect him. He heard the flurry of thoughts accompanying the uncertainty and understood what he was asking was next to impossible.

  Even so, the colonel nodded and said, “Yes, you can stay with me.”

  That declaration eased André’s fears. The man next to him just made a promise, one that could likely land him in a world of trouble, but he made it just the same.

  “Just so we have things straight. I’m a colonel in the US Armed Forces and if you live with me, I expect you to obey my rules, and don’t think for one minute I won’t punish you if you step out of line.”

  The stern temper of his voice shrank André’s confidence and he shifted in the chair, nodding assent. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to prepare you for what’s waiting for us inside the hangar,” Colonel Robbins said. “Based on the information I received earlier, I’m pretty sure we’re walking into a media circus.”

  André cocked his head to the side. “Media circus?” He wasn’t sure what that phrase meant.

  “Reporters. Do you know what a reporter is?”

  “I think so.”

  Colonel Robbins waited with his eyebrows arched. “Without pulling the info from my head?”

  Caught again. This time André let a small smirk form and he shifted his gaze to the dome. “Without reading your thoughts, no, I don’t know.”

  “A reporter reports the news and they think you’re news worthy. An alien from outer space is news worthy, but we’re going to give them a rescue of a boy who slipped into the wrong container.”

  The dome entrance opened and they taxied in. “Think you can handle that?” he asked and cruised into the docking bay.

  André nodded.

  True to his word, the media was out in force and the sheer number of people overwhelmed André. Colonel Robbins carried him through the sea of reporters, ignoring the microphones shoved in their faces and questions shouted at them. “No comment,” he repeated as he cut his way through the crowd and into the base.

  “Media circus?” André asked, looking back at the doors with the dozens of faces pressed to the glass, combined with the tiny camera lenses.

  The colonel let out a small laugh. “Yes. They’re piranhas.”

  “What’s a piranha?” André asked.

  “A flesh-eating fish.”

  André giggled. He could see where they would be likened to flesh eating fish. Before he could react beyond a giggle, a medic with a wheelchair swung next to the colonel.

  “I can take him from here.”

  “Thanks Cal,” the colonel said.

  André wanted to scream no, but the colonel sat him in the chair and nodded. “I’ll be by in a little while to check on him.” And with that, he turned, leaving André alone with the stranger.

  3

  Matthew glanced over his shoulder just as the medic wheeled André into a room. Worry still lined his stomach, making it a well of acidic slosh. He didn’t know how he was going to make good on the promise he made to that boy.

  “Stupid idiot,” he muttered under his breath. Turning, he marched to the commander’s office and slid inside, standing at attention until the commander finished his phone call.

  “What the hell were you thinking disobeying a direct order?” Commander Lawrence bellowed and slammed the phone down.

  “He’s a boy,” Matthew snapped, glaring at his commanding officer. “And I didn’t sign on with the Armed Forces to kill children.”

  “He could be a spy for all we know.”

  “Bullshit, sir.”

  Commander Lawrence surveyed his colonel and closest friend. “He is an alien.”

  “Who has been drifting in space for years with no food or water. If he hadn’t come into our solar system, he would have died out there. Alone. In the dark.” Matthew took a deep breath, squashing the fury building inside; the injustice of what was done to André was too much to abide. If he ever got his hands on those responsible, he’d gladly carry out his orders to exterminate them. “He is only a boy,” he repeated.

  “He is a ward of the United States now.”

  Matthew nodded. “As an officer of the United States Armed Forces, I would like to take responsibility for the boy.”

  The commander gawked at Matthew. “He’s going to the lab in Denver so we can study him and his species.”

  Matthew clenched his jaw and his hands followed suit. “He isn’t some animal to poke and prod under the microscope. He’s a kid who is scared shitless on a planet he doesn’t know.”

  “He’s an alien,” Commander Lawrence repeated.

  “Yes, but—”

  “—No buts Colonel.”

  “He’s been through enough, sir. You can’t just imprison him for the rest of his life. It’s not right. It’s not the American way,” Matthew said, knowing full well it would push the commander’s buttons.

  Commander Lawrence leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and studied Matthew. “What exactly is the American way, Matthew?”

  “Our history has always welcomed those from other nations with open arms, sir. The words are still inscribed on the remains of the Statue of Liberty. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! He deserves a chance at a life and not in some lab, under inspection like a rat.”

  Leaning forward, Commander Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “What if he’s dangerous?”

  “I’m willing to take that risk, sir.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to tell the president?”

  “Tell him it was a mistake. The boy got locked in one of our waste containers. That would explain the lack of communication,” Matthew said. He had enough time on the return trip to come up with a logical situation. “As for labeling it an alien craft—well, the fact a life-form was onboard drove that assessment. I’ll take the heat for that.” He shifted his weight and added, “Sam, he’s just a kid.”

  Commander Lawrence exhaled. “Why? Why would you risk your entire career for an alien?”

  “Because a child was sealed in a tin can and sent into space to die but somehow, by the grace of God, he survi
ved. I’d like this kid to have a chance at a life and I’d like to be the one to offer him a home.”

  Commander Lawrence sighed. “Matthew, we have known each other for a long time,” he started.

  “Yes, sir, we have.”

  “Are you sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact Linda can’t have children?”

  Matthew hesitated before he spoke. “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Now who’s bullshitting who, Colonel?”

  André stared at the meal on the tray before him. The entire presentation of the steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, a side salad along with silverware and a napkin perplexed him. The smell of the cooked food assaulted his senses and made his mouth water but he was unsure of what to do with the metal utensils. Relief swept through him at the sight of the colonel and he picked up the utensils, shooting a questioning gaze in his direction.

  A mental image materialized in his head, courtesy of the colonel, and he adjusted the fork in his hand to the vision drawn for him. Sticking the tines into the mashed potatoes, he pulled a small amount to his lips. He sniffed it and then took a taste. The creamy consistency flowed over his tongue and like the apple, his hunger dictated his actions and he licked the rest from the fork enthusiastically, digging in for another bite.

  Colonel Robbins approached the side of the bed and glanced at Officer Cal Grey fiddling with readouts. “How’s he doing?”

  Cal turned, trading a glance with André and then back at the colonel. “He’s definitely dehydrated and malnourished. I was able to find a vein and we’re hydrating him now.” He waved toward the intravenous line and the bag of saline hanging from the t-bar on the bed. “I want to monitor him for the night and make sure he doesn’t have any adverse reaction to either the food or the saline.”

  “Thanks, Cal. I appreciate the discretion here.”

  Cal nodded. “You were correct. His physiological makeup is very similar to ours, but there are subtle differences, like his blood type. It isn’t compatible with ours, so he’s at risk if he ever needs a transfusion.” He jotted a note on the computer screen.

  “Can I go home with you?” André asked around a mouthful of food.

  “Not yet, kiddo.”

  André paused, meeting the colonel’s gaze. He hadn’t won the argument with the commander. They were still at an impasse, which meant his future was still in a “to be determined” status, which didn’t surprise him. Usually the direction his dreams went was from utopia to nightmare and this was sliding fast.

  His vision warbled, transitioning to a red film, and he blinked the tears away.

  “I’m working on it.” Colonel Robbins placed his hand on André’s shoulder. “Besides, Officer Grey here will take good care of you tonight, isn’t that right?”

  “Absolutely,” Cal replied, offering a warm smile.

  “I will be back in the morning and then we can talk about what’s next.”

  And with that, Colonel Robbins disappeared through the door.

  André swallowed the lump in his throat and focused back on the meal in front of him. His appetite raged, and he downed the meal within minutes, even going so far as to lick the plate.

  “Hi.” A soft female voice said from the doorway.

  André froze in place when he saw her, the glass of white liquid they referred to as milk half way to his mouth forgotten in the wake of her beauty. He had never seen yellow hair and the contrast with her soft, tan skin left him speechless; her eyes, a striking green with small veins of brown straggling through the irises, flicked in his direction.

  Katrina Lawrence stepped into the room.

  Cal cleared his throat from the far corner.

  “Oh, hi Officer Grey,” she said, moving her gaze to the officer, her cheeks blooming red.

  “How’d you get in here?”

  She let out a little laugh and shrugged, looking at her feet for a moment before raising her eyes again. “I snuck in.”

  Her laugh sounded like the sweetest music to André and his lips curved into a smile. He brought the glass to his mouth, remembering he was in the process of finishing what was on the tray when she interrupted. His heart fluttered, both in his chest and on the readout next to Cal.

  “Your father will have your head, young lady.” Cal stood, crossing the room toward the girl.

  She bit her lower lip, a move that shot tendrils of heat into André’s stomach, fishing outwards like a tornado overtaking his body.

  “Please let her stay,” André said.

  Cal paused, glancing between the two children. His eyes flicked to the monitors and he shook his head. “Not tonight. Maybe in the morning after you get some rest.” He turned toward Katrina. “And you—you need to beeline it home, young lady.”

  She rolled her eyes and sent a half smile in André’s direction as Cal led her out of the room.

  Soon after she left, Cal dimmed the lights, ordering André to get some sleep, but all André could do was stare at the ceiling and see her teeth shimmering between her pretty pink lips.

  4

  Officer Cal Grey sat in the dim light, poring over the test results. The X-rays showed open growth plates and bones that had lost density but could be revived with the right mix of vitamins and minerals. Cal just had to figure out what that right mix was. The hydration routine along with intravenous vitamins therapy seemed to sit well with the boy, and he certainly looked stronger than he did when Colonel Robbins handed him over.

  His organ placement mimicked that of a human and his honey-bronzed skin looked like the tone of a healthy tan. In other words, the kid snoring in the bed could have been any normal eleven-year-old boy, save a few distinct traits. His blood type wasn’t a match to any known on Earth, the kid’s tear ducts produced blood along with saline when he cried and his eyes shimmered almost neon blue when he had seen Katrina Lawrence.

  Colonel Robbins had stuck out his neck for this kid and he could understand why. There was something special about André, beyond the fact he survived in space for so long. Cal mulled that over, turning it every which way in his head. To survive in a pod with little food and air required a state akin to hibernation, something humans can’t accomplish, but somehow this boy did, conserving energy and oxygen for an extended period. In short, his survival was a miracle and he felt compelled to protect the kid.

  André hadn’t talked much and the way he looked around, curious but not as much as he should be, alarmed Cal. It was almost as if André didn’t believe he had been saved, that some level of his subconscious dubbed this experience a dream. He jotted a note on the case tablet to run André through a psych review before releasing him.

  Voices in the hallway caught his attention and he glanced at the clock. Eight in the morning and the argument grew louder. With a quick glance at André, he slid out of the room into the hallway, heading toward the ruckus between Commander Lawrence and Colonel Robbins.

  “You can’t put him under lock and key in some institution, Sam,” Colonel Robbins snapped.

  “I’ve got the paperwork to do just that right here.” Commander Lawrence waved the forms in his hands.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Cal said as he approached.

  “What?” they both snapped in Cal’s direction.

  “The paperwork submitted on the boy states his name is André Robbins and Colonel Robbins is listed as his next of kin. As such, I can only release him to Colonel Robbins.”

  Both of them gawked, speechless and then Commander Lawrence sent a glare in the colonel’s direction.

  “You didn’t.”

  Colonel Robbins shifted. “I had to put something on the forms.”

  “And you know the laws better than any of my subordinates.”

  Cal watched the colonel’s shoulders raise and lower. He knew the laws just as well as Cal did. That’s why the paperwork was submitted through the system, so Matthew Robbins could claim legal guardianship over his long-lost nephew.

  “I should throw the book at you,
” Commander Lawrence snarled.

  Colonel Robbins spread his arms. “Go ahead, Sam, but what will that look like to the public? Hmmm? He’s a kid. What will incarcerating him do to your political aspirations?”

  Cal saw the gears turning in the commander’s head, along with the burning red spreading from his nose to his ears. Colonel Robbins hit a sore spot and he hoped like hell the gamble he played would be enough; otherwise he’d be court-martialed for his part in this ruse.

  5

  A soft hand sliding into his jerked André from sleep and he sat up, his eyes darting around the dim room and falling on Katrina.

  She offered him a smile and squeezed his hand. “You snore.”

  André blinked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before scanning the room for Cal. When his scan came up empty, he turned his attention back to Katrina.

  Katrina looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry for waking you,” she said. “I just wanted to...”

  “Talk to an alien?” André said, his voice raspy from sleep.

  “Yeah,” she admitted and met his gaze.

  He smiled at her. “You’re not afraid of me?”

  Katrina rolled her eyes. “No.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Katrina. What’s yours?”

  “André.”

  “André,” she repeated.

  Between her speaking his name and the soft warmth of her hand, the monitor went from a steady beep to a quick staccato beat, mimicking that of his heart. She was a new introduction in this hallucination, one that left his soul wanting, begging for this to be real. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, drinking in her fresh scent.

  “Am I what you expected?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  The door banged open and both André and Katrina jumped. The lights flicked on and Commander Lawrence glanced from his daughter to André and back.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice carved the air, filling up the small hospital room with hostility.