Imminent Threat: A Young Adult Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Series (The Separation Trilogy Book 1)

by Felisha Antonette

  We walk in silence for a bit, strolling further than I intended. “So instead of telling her you weren’t interested, you hid?” I finally ask. I have been thinking about asking it, but I just now got up the nerve. I could never ask the question she did. I find it out of the ordinary that it’s even a topic on the minds and in the conversations of so many.

  “She wasn’t accepting no for an answer.” He lets out an uncomfortable breath. “So you make out with your leader?”

  There’s no harm in being honest. He did see me kissing him, which should not have happened. “I kissed my leader,” I say, nodding. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “What, you kissing him or me seeing you?”

  The answer is both, but I don’t know why. His purple eyes shine in the darkness and flash when he blinks. The straightforwardness of his question catches me off guard. “Um.”

  A scurry in the darkness halts our steps and silences us. The rushing footsteps seem to stop when I notice it.

  “Wait,” Marc warns low, putting his arm out in front of me. “You heard that?”

  “Yes.” I reach for my gun. It’s not there. “I’m not armed.”

  I hear his, the sound of it loading echoes in the darkness. “I got it. Do you see anything?”

  “No. But I’m sure whatever is out there can see us with our bright, colorful eyes.”

  “Let’s head back. You cover me, and I’ll cover you.”

  We’ve traveled past the houses, past the field of crops where our fruits and vegetables are growing, all the way to the edge of the base. I step to his back, facing the opposite direction. “Okay. Let’s move.” With every step, his back reacts against mine.

  The clouds blow away from the quarter moon, providing light to the shadows we were welcoming. It reflects off a line of five of those dead-alive people standing ten feet from us.

  I halt. “Do you see anything?” I ask, making sure we are not surrounded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Marc turns, now at my side. If he’s shocked by the scene, he’s superb at hiding it, not a twitch or a sparkle in those radiant, purple eyes. He pulls another gun from his front holster and hands it to me. I take it, glad he’s prepared, and now I can defend myself.

  The line of drooling creatures halt, arms hung at their sides, backs hunched a bit and their necks strained as each of them hold us in their sight.

  “What are they? They look like humans. But then again, they don’t,” Marc says.

  “I don’t know what they are, but these guns aren’t going to get the job done.”

  Marc clicks off the safety of his pistol and checks that he has a bullet in the chamber. He holds it near his chest as he asks, “Why not? How do you know that?”

  One of them breaks the line, taking a single step forward, the toe of its boot dragging the dirt as it moves. It growls, body jerking at its shoulders and hips as it slowly continues.

  I take a step back and Marc follows. “Let’s just shoot and hope they stay down long enough for us to run.”

  “Long enough?” Marc snaps, and they charge forward as if he instead shouted, “Go.”

  We fire, round after round, the sweet scent of gun powder filling the air, the firecracker barks snapping through the silence. Five head shots all find their mark. Their heads whip back, and they fall onto their backs. Earlier, I shot the man right through his head, and three minutes later, he rose and tried to attack us again.

  “We don’t have a lot of time before they’re back on their feet.” I snatch Marc’s hand and pull him with me as I make a run for it. He’s faster than I am, and instead of me leading him, he ends up leading me.

  His hand comfortably grasps mine as we flee. I don’t need his direction, I know the way, but I don’t let go. But maybe he’s just in the moment. I adjust my grip as though I’m falling behind, and to my surprise, as my hand is slipping away, he reaches back and grabs me tighter, yanking me closer. His palm presses against mine, and the contact warms me from head to toe. I’ve never felt anything like it.

  Winded, we make it back to the center of the site without being followed. I run to Jord’s office and bust through the door. Jord’s eyes are wide. His hands slam down on his desk as he jumps to his feet. “Kylie, your entrance!”

  “Sir. I’m sorry, sir. Those things,” I start, catching my breath. “They’re out there.”

  “Now?” he shouts, rushing to the tall cabinet in the corner of this office.

  “Yes, sir. Now!”

  He snatches open the door of a cabinet on the right and grabs a shotgun and his cartridge belt that’s lined with green colored shells. Charging past us, he orders, “Grab one,” and points to the handguns lining the wall nearest the door.

  Marc and I each pull a gun from a hanger. It’s heavy like the one from earlier, packed with bullets with a green line of liquid in the center.

  “Head shots only. Like this morning, Kylie.”

  “This morning?” Marc whispers.

  I nod, as Jord asks, “Which way?” In the distance, the echo of their heavy groans answers his question. “Never mind.” He runs off, and we’re on his heels.

  Running toward danger always gives me a rush. I get the opportunity to use my skills without holding back, to protect our home and fight for what’s ours, to keep the intruders off our grounds and let them know who’s boss. I still don’t quite understand their origin, but Luke told me the Vojin said it was okay for us to demolish these disgusting things.

  Reaching the darkness, the only light provided by the moon, it seems like the world is behind us. The creatures don’t hide but rush about. The three of us keep our backs to each other watching as more than ten debate charging toward us. It’s as though they’re analyzing us, as if they are comprehending the outcomes of their attacks, which is against what the man said earlier. They don’t think.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Jord warns.

  As if something in their brains snap, they attack. We shoot, emptying clips into these drooling monsters.

  Bodies drop.

  After thirteen shots, it’s silent. No more running footsteps of undead dead humans, and no more snarling―something they seem to do before they attack.

  “Anyone touched, spit on, scratched?” Jord asks as we face each other.

  “No, sir,” Marc and I respond.

  Jord looks himself and us over. “Good, me neither. Let’s head back.”

  Making our way back to the light of our quarters, Jord asks, “Marcain, can I trust you to not speak of what happened or what you saw? In return, I will not ask why you were so far out.”

  “You have my word, Sir Jord. This will not be released.”

  Jord narrows his eyes and inquiries, “And you have no questions?”

  “I do, but it’s something you are not ready to discuss. When you are, I am ready to listen, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marc nods, and Jord turns his attention to me. “In fight, Chief,” he states. I nod. “Well done,” he compliments.

  “Thank you, sir.” He turns on his heels, leaving.

  Marc and I release a sigh and face each other. “Weird?” I ask.

  He bumps my elbow with his and heads for the houses. I follow him, and we start on the hike to ours. “You’ll tell me about that?”

  I slowly lift my shoulders high near my ears then quickly let them fall. “I cannot.”

  “But you know about them?”

  “I do.”

  “Is it something I should be worried about?” he asks with a tone I can’t pinpoint.

  I study it, unable to decipher the feeling he may be experiencing. Concern maybe, but the concern would be misplaced. Maybe it’s discontent for the unknown; Creations don’t like not knowing the details of a potential threat. “Not yet, I don’t think,” I tell him. “But I believe they will be announcing something soon.”

  Marc holds out the gun in front of us. It rests on its side on his palm. Black and s
ilver with the words, “Extract Z” engraved on the side. “Can you tell me about these guns? Or should I ignore these too?”

  “They fire these special bullets that kill those things. They’re different bullets than we are used to, I’ve never seen anything like them before today. I think the mags are made specifically for them.” I stuff mine in my empty holster. “I wouldn’t let the others see that, though. They’ll have too many questions you won’t be able to answer.”

  “And Luke knows,” he says matter-of-factly, nodding.

  Pressing my lips together, I slightly shake my head, advising, “I can’t say.”

  “This is something we can’t discuss.”

  “Correct. But when we can, I’ll come to you first,” I say with a smile and nudge his arm.

  He glances at me with those deep-set purple eyes and smoothly looks away as he blinks.

  We approach the back of our home, remaining in the shadows. He stops. “You are interested in me, Ky. I can tell.”

  His statement catches me by the legs. I stumble forward, righting myself by placing my hand on the brick wall of the house. I turn to him with my lie prepared. “I don’t have interests.”

  He crosses the ground, covering the remaining distance between us.

  I hold my breath. He brings back the empty feeling in my stomach. The same discomfort, but not from disappointment. It’s something else. This blend of nerves, excitement, weakness, fixation, and others makes it difficult to put a tag on this feeling. I’m not supposed to have these feelings, but I want them. I like feeling. I just want to understand them and know what they mean.

  “Can I test that theory?” he asks.

  My legs stiffen, and my hands shake. If testing that theory means getting closer than this, yes. But no. “I don’t know what that means,” I reply wistfully.

  He draws nearer, his face only inches from mine. My cheeks warm, and I take a breath, smelling dust and his musk that makes my stomach return with a boulder-sized rock dropping in the pit of it. My lower lip trembles, and I bite it and hold my breath.

  Marc steps back and the rock eases. “It means nothing,” he mumbles, backing further away. “You safe to make it in the house alone? Or do you think some more of those screaming dead things are going to return?”

  I take a breath, cracking my neck to relieve my nervousness. “Um,” I step to the side, “yes, I’ll be fine.” A hint of disappointment sticks me in the middle of my back.

  He nods and rounds the house. The front door creaks open and closes.

  I punch myself in the stomach, trying to crush the boulder. After letting out a silent scream, I make my way into the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dirt and the rest of the day rinse off my body and flow down the shower drain. After a second round of wash, rinse, and repeat, I slam my hand down on the water distribution control. I reach past the shower curtain to the outer side of the shower stall, slapping my palm against the tile. Blindly searching the wall, I locate the towel-less hook.

  No. No. No! Not again.

  Shoving my head outside of the curtain, I scan the empty stall for my towel, or a towel. Anyone’s towel.

  I sink to the shower floor, sulking in the terrible realization. I’d dumped my dirty garments down the shoot for laundry day and only reserved my vest and scarf.

  I’ve got no choice but to make a run for it.

  I scurry to my room, wet toes sliding across the floor. I make it to the wood stairs. If I wasn’t soaked, climbing them this quickly wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

  So far, so good. I’ve seen no one, so no one has seen me. I clear the stairs and race down the empty hall to my room.

  I swing my door open, halting in the entry.

  In my safe zone, Cory and Luke sit on my bed, staring at me doing my best to hide my lady parts with my vest hanging in the front and my boots and scarf blocking the back.

  Darn it!

  I pull the door shut with the crux of my arm tugging the knob and pivot to scurry to Luke’s room. I slam into Marc.

  Marc and I hit the floor. My boots clatter with a harder thud than I do.

  I scramble to my feet, covering what I can of myself.

  Marc gets up, avoiding looking at my bareness, and hands me my scarf. I grab it while trying to cover the body parts I’m not comfortable with others seeing. Just my luck, the door to my room opens.

  Argh! This could not get any worse.

  “Please get out,” I beg Luke and Cory, hoping my lady parts can’t be seen.

  Luke shoves Cory out of my room and away from me as his eyes burn holes through my body. I couldn’t feel any more violated as I slam my door shut.

  I ram my head against the door. “Just great. Just freaking great!” Why me?

  Embarrassment: a feeling of self-consciousness, shame, or awkwardness. I already feel disconnected from everyone else here. They have this knowledge that I’ve been held back from, the ability to possess feelings I thought we weren’t supposed to have—that they will have our heads for. Now this.

  I get dressed and sit at the foot of my bed, face buried in my hands.

  “Ky?” Luke knocks.

  “Yes, Luke,” I sigh. “Come in.”

  He closes the door behind him, dropping my boots by his feet. His sigh mocks mine, but far more annoying.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Luke. I came in and went straight for the shower, not thinking. I’ve had a very long day, and the last thing I needed was to finally make it to my room and find you and Cory in here.” I face him, becoming furious the more I replay what happened in my mind. “Why were you two in here?”

  Luke crosses his arms in front of his chest, practically fuming at the ears. “I came here to talk to you. He was here when I walked in. Why is Cory in your room, lying across your bed? What is any of us supposed to think after running into him and then you rushing in here practically naked?”

  My brows furrow, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why would Cory be in my room when I’m not here?” Even if I were here, he should not be. This is my personal space, and it’s after hours. He shouldn’t even be in our house. I hug my arms around myself, a memory shocking me with a feeling I’ll never claim. “He shouldn’t have been in here.”

  “Even more reason for you to watch out for him,” he says, pointing at me and then the door. “Him being in here and you not knowing about it is crossing a line. What if I wasn’t here first, and you came in that way, finding him here?” He shakes his head, now on his feet, pacing. “How do you think that would’ve played out?” he rants.

  “I would’ve kicked his ass…” I’m bum-rushed by the thought of my uncle. My brows knit and the words I try to hold back escape. “But hopefully, nothing like experiences from our past.” I want to bury the memory, but Cory’s constantly reminding me of what happened. My uncle and what happened to me is the only thing that gives me nightmares, apart from our parents’ murder. And in my mind now, my uncle’s image is replaced by Cory and us brawling in this new room. Me fighting for control as he shoves me down, my child body too weak to fight him off.

  I snap myself out of it, leaping from my bed and heading for the door. Small bumps scatter my flesh, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. I tremble with nervous breaths that are having a hard time escaping my lungs.

  Luke holds me back. “I need to talk to him,” he says, charging from the room.

  I squat down, wrapping my arms around my knees to stop them from knocking together. We assume Cory wouldn’t. My past with him, our years of friendship before he was drafted, and the respect he’s always given me say he wouldn’t. But the look in those fever-green eyes, the burn as he eyed my body, may imply otherwise.

  I stumble to my feet, and stuff my worries in a deep place as I replace the façade I was born to hold. No longer comfortable alone, I take the doorknob in my hand, but I’m discontented by it rattling due to my shaking hand. I ignore it and pull the door open.

  Aga
in today, I walk into Marc as he’s leaving his room. I look away from him, fumbling with the knob as I close the door.

  “Kylie,” he calls softly. I slowly face him.

  With a graze as gentle as a breeze, he touches my arms. “You’re trembling.”

  His soft fingers are tentative yet firm, with palms roughened by work and the clasp of too many weapons whereas Cory’s are aggressive, partially inelegant and rough from the hardened calluses spread out amongst the inside of his hands. Marc rubs up and down my arms, soothing my trembling. He relieves my discomfort with a look of compassion. Like the way Luke looks at me when I awaken from a nightmare and he wants me to know that everything is well, that there’s no harm that will reach me without going through him.

  “Are you okay?” Marc asks.

  I step closer and lay my head on his shoulder, indulging in his caring reception.

  Hesitantly, he pushes his hands from my arms to my back and loosely hugs me. “You’re freezing, Ky,” he mutters. “Don’t turn into one of those things. You were just starting to grow on me.”

  I lean away from him, smile playing on my mouth as I’m putting more distance between us. His arms fall to his sides, and he crosses them in front of his chest. “Sorry I leaned on you,” I awkwardly apologize, with my brows pinched and a bite to my bottom lip. I brush my hair from my face and flick my gaze to my feet. It feels comfortable to be that close, but the fact that it’s banned makes it wrong.

  Marc looks over his shirt. “It’s cool.” He pulls at its hem. “Not like you were crying or anything.”

  “No, I wasn’t crying. I never cry.”

  “You want to go somewhere and talk?”

  Frozen, I stare with wide eyes, taken aback by his offer. His embrace made me remember a feeling I’ve long forgotten. “Yes,” I half-grin, “somewhere without doors. And when we are finished, if you can do that thing you just did with your arms and my back?”

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “Maybe.” He heads for the stairs. “Let’s try the den.”

  We turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs and head to a small room next to the little kitchen. Occupied by a sofa, table, and the projector for shows and news, the den is quaint and a nice place in the house to lounge. We sit on opposite ends of the sofa, and between us, sits a game of checkers.