by KC Klein
Only our ragged breathing broke the silence. Neither of us moved. My legs wrapped around his hips, his hand across my mouth—my face flamed, ears burned. He gazed into my eyes and for the first time saw me . . . really saw me.
There was a sense of déjà vu, of familiarity, then something else that went way beyond. I could see myself through his eyes, but as if looking in the past. Like each life was a reflection, and I stood peering down a hall of mirrors.
He unclasped my mouth and tenderly stroked my cheek. His forehead lowered and rested on mine. “I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t think it would go this far. Kris?” He hesitated.
I had no strength. No energy—he had consumed it as if he had every right. But did he? Had I at one time given him my heart and my body?
I didn’t think he hesitated often, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay and have a conversation while his fingers were still deep inside me.
“Please,” I said as I limply pushed on his arm. ConRad’s fingers slipped out of me and rounded my thighs. Wetness trailed along my hips as his hands lingered there. He reluctantly let go and lowered me to the ground. I stole a glance at him. His breath came in hard; an expression of strained control lined his face. I understood complet Sstoand lely.
I broke eye contact, slicing my gaze to my feet. I reached for my pants and pulled them around my waist. The cut belt lay useless on the floor.
I left. I picked up my clothes and shredded dignity and walked toward the door. What else could I say? What could I do? I had seriously thought ConRad was going to kill me, and yet he’d just brought me to the best climax of my entire life, pinned against a cave wall.
Shameless.
Chapter Eight
I flung the metal door open, ready to force my way past the two guards previously posted there. Instead, I stumbled out into the harsh orange glare of the corridor undeterred. They were gone. What had ConRad said—something about there was only one way in and one way out, which was heavily guarded.
Didn’t matter. I’d find a way.
I staggered down the concrete tunnel and tried to run, but my head spun like I’d had one too many rounds at the local bar. Smooth gray walls surrounded me, and I braced my shoulder against one, concentrating on staying upright. I had to get out of here. I needed to get back to my sugar-coated life, one that didn’t have monsters and mean men who cut me just to see if I would bleed.
The thought caused my neck to itch with awareness. My hand brushed the skin and my palm came away with a thick smear of red. The wound had begun to seep.
I was bleeding again. Which, I’m sure had nothing to do with the freaking gyrations against a damn cave wall. I closed my eyes, the vivid picture of how I must have looked with legs wrapped around ConRad seemed to have been branded into the back of my eyelids.
With my forearm I wiped the sweat that coated my skin and slicked my hairline. I wasn’t sure if the moisture was from my recent aerobic activity or the thick, heavy air that smelled like cooked eggs and wet earth. I trembled as I continued down the hall.
This wasn’t happening. My day hadn’t consisted of being sniffed by an alien, treated like a prisoner, interrogated by a mad man, sliced to assure I bled, and then brought to a withering climax. I had disastrous days before, but this one marked the official D-day of my life.
“Do you need help?” The voice was soft and melodic like ice melting in a glass of sweet tea. A young girl about sixteen or seventeen had skipped to a stop. Her straight blonde hair swung like a gold curtain past her delicate shoulders. Blue eyes widened with interest as they peered out beneath fringed bangs. She hadn’t escaped the imposed military uniform, green camouflage tank top, and army pants, except the one flare of originality—white tennis shoes instead of combat boots. She was petite, a little taller than my shoulders, but her stature was one of confidence that only the truly young, not yet beaten down by the world, could maintain.
I saw my lifeline and grabbed it.
My hand snaked out and caught hold of her wrist, pulling her in close. I placed my face a mere inch in front of hers so there’d be no confusion. “Where’s the exit? The way back home? I need to get the hell out of here!”
Her body reared back, arm twisting under my hold. Terror ringed her eyes as they scanned me from head to toe—then toe to head. I could only imagine what she saw. A half-crazed woman, drenched in sweat, and bleeding. With a death grip on a pair of overly large combat pants that, with a mere slip of my fingers, would tumble to my ankles, leaving me half naked.
Right, that’s all I need—more exposure.
I relinquished my grasp, shocked at how grotesque my bloodied palm print showed against her pale skin.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, my voice hitching on the simple syllable.
“We should get you to the infirmary,” she said leaning forward and inspecting the wound on my throat. “It doesn’t look like much, but you don’t want to take a chance with infection, especially down here.” She grimaced and held out her hand by the way of introduction. “By the way, my name’s Quinn. What’s yours?”
I swiped my dirty palm along my pant leg and shook her hand. I blinked my eyes, surprised by the sting of emotion. A few kind words and I was ready to collapse, crying on her shoulder.
“Kris.”
“Hmm . . . odd name,” she said with a slight narrowing of her eyes. Quinn turned and began to walk down the corridor, then glanced behind her to make sure I followed. “We take a right here, and then it’s just a little further.”
I shot a look aro [ot
“Well, now it’s like a second home, but in the beginning . . .” She shrugged, turned, and tapped her hand on the steel arches where large black numbers glistened with condensation that ran lazily down the column. It was so humid even the metal sweated.
“There are markings on each passage where they split—basically four main hallways that connect with each other. Of course, there are other side tunnels, but until you get to know the basic four, don’t bother with them. Just remember, if you get lost, always try to find your way back to tunnel one, which will bring you to the center of the compound. Here we are . . . just through these doors.”
If the two silver doors had ever been tended to, they’d long ago lost their shine. Dingy metal and dirt-smeared, they were haphazardly wedged into the side of a mountain. Surprisingly, the hinges were well oiled as the doors swung easily open. Quinn held one door back for me to follow.
My feet slowed to a stop as I stared in disbelief at the so-called infirmary.
The same lighting that hung throughout the compound was here also, thin copper wires giving off a gloomy orange glow. Each wire alone didn’t provide much light, but when numerous lines wound back and forth, the effect was more substantial. But even in the dim glare, the infirmary left much to be desired.
Below the lighting was a mesh net strung across the ceiling. The net was secured on all sides and drooped toward the middle, presumably to prevent boulders from falling and crushing recovering patients. Thoughtful.
Metal cots were overturned; some with a few, thin, dirty mattresses draped over them. Wooden tables, stained brown with dried blood, lined one wall. A few pathetic chairs stood, or didn’t, depending on the number of legs. And against one wall, a rusted-out metal cabinet, whose doors hung in a saddened lopsided way, completed the room dedicated to healing.
I had entered a furniture graveyard. I wondered if burning the furnishings would release their tormented souls. Sure couldn’t make the place much worse.
Didn’t matter, not my problem. The sooner I got patched up, the sooner I’d be on my way. My BBD might have commissioned me with a responsibility, but it didn’t mean I had to [eanhad to accept. Besides, the only one here who needed saving was me.
I walked over to the cabinet and pried open doors caked with dirt and rust. Browsing the contents, my gaze settled on a few nonsterile gauze pads, some bottles of alcohol, and a locked metal box—noth
ing impressive. I picked up the box and shook. It was light, seemingly empty with small pieces clacking against the sides. I searched the dented shelving for a key and saw none.
I turned to Quinn and held up the box. “What are these?”
“Microbiotics. Careful, we only have a limited supply. We need to make sure we have enough for the goddesses.”
I rolled my eyes. Goddesses—give me a freakin’ break. Don’t ask, Kris. Not your concern. Don’t—but, of course. . . .
“What’s a goddess?” My voice a low monotone. I may’ve been interested if my capacity for surprise hadn’t already been flatlined.
“How do you not know what a goddess is?” she asked, studying me as her eyes arched in surprise.
I shot her my deadpan glare.
She quickly held up her hand. “I know . . . I know. You are sick of everyone answering a question with a question. Well, goddesses are not really goddesses in a strict sense of things. I mean we don’t worship them or anything, but they are treated like precious glass dolls, a little too carefully if you ask me.”
Quinn’s fingers entwined with the hem of her green army shirt, fraying the seam. She shrugged. “Anyways, that’s a whole other topic. Basically, the short version is the goddesses are regular women who have developed, or were born with, special gifts. Each gift is different, but they are all used to strengthen our defense against them.” Quinn pointed to the earthen ceiling, her tone hushed. “In fact, lately the goddesses seem to be our only defense.”
I assumed she was talking about the monster, or as ConRad said, alien. I was all for whatever was in my defense against the hideous beasts. What were they anyway? Where did they come from? I inhaled and prepared to drill Quinn with my questions, curious despite myself.
“The ironic thing is we were the ones who searched the aliens out.” Quinn plopped herself on top of a wooden table and began swinging her legs back and forth, squeaking the wood wi [g ts oth each kick. Her bare hand ran the length of the scarred wood. I barely contained shouting warnings of splinters and staph infections.
“I mean how many years did humans try to contact intelligent life-forms in outer space? Well, we contacted and they came, but we almost annihilated the entire human race in the process.”
Annihilation of the entire human race? This was beginning to sound like a bad rerun of a Stargate. I hated sci-fi.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Quinn jumped from the table and took the metal box out of my hand. She fished a key from around her neck. “ConRad gave me the key for safe keeping before he went on the mission to rescue you. I’m glad,” Quinn smiled mischievously and unlocked the box, “I conveniently forgot to give it back to him.”
Tipping the box on end, she reverently cupped a small pinkish rectangle in her palm. The pellets looked like pieces of candy, the type I had jammed in my PEZ dispenser as a kid and eaten out of Superwoman’s head.
“This stuff is great. This medicine kills all the bugs and takes away the sting.” Quinn crushed a pellet and smeared some on my neck and then wrapped a thin layer of gauze around my throat. She stepped back, hands on hips and examined her handiwork. “There, that should do the trick. You have to be really careful of infection here. The underground heat and damp encourage cuts to fester.”
“Is that what you do?” I asked, impressed with her knowledge. “Work in the infirmary?”
“This place?” She swept her hand in a circle to encompass the whole mess of a room. “No—no one works here. It’s more like a self-serve. But we lose a lot of good men down here to infection, so the know-how is just common sense.” She glanced at her feet as they traced small circles in the dust on the floor.
“And a lot of good women too,” I added. I was a feminist to the bone and it was a habit—albeit an irritating one—to always add the female version to the scenario.
“What?” Quinn raised her head, her art project on the floor no longer as fascinating.
“Women too. You know, you must’ve lost a lot of good females to infection, not just men.” I studied the empty shelves and began to take inventory. A mental supply list formed of what I would need to get this place up and running.
encot color="#000000">Dammit Kris. Focus. You are not here to get this place going.
I glanced back at Quinn taking in her wide eyes and gaping mouth. “What?”
“Who are you?” Bewilderment colored her words.
What was I supposed to say? Whenever I told the truth, nobody believed me. I finally learned the hard lesson—I kept my mouth shut.
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?” Quinn leaned forward, her body tense, face pale. “I told you the microbiotics are for the goddesses. No woman has ever died of infection here at the compound. The women get the medicine. Oh man . . .” She shook her head and shuddered. “If a goddess ever died of infection, the Commander would have a . . . a . . . I don’t know a word strong enough to describe his reaction, but it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“I don’t understand. Are all the women goddesses? I have only seen men—soldiers and you, of course. So where are all the females?” My teeth slid edge to edge. What had ConRad said? Something about a woman being the best decoy?
“Where are you from?” she whispered as if coaxing me into confession.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . Planet Earth.” I laid on the sarcasm, but my voice rose despite my best efforts. “Where are you from?”
I was sick of everyone thinking I was some sort of alien spy. Hadn’t ConRad proved I was human? My ears heated at the memory of my pleading, his name quivering on my lips.
Quinn stared, mouth slightly open.
“Look,” I said and rolled my eyes, “if I knew where I was, I could better answer where I’m from, right?”
More staring. A bikini wax was less painful. No, correction. A full Brazilian was an easier undertaking.
Quinn stepped closer and adjusted her long hair over and around her ear. In that one moment, she looked years older than I had originally thought. She touched my neck again and shook her head. “Men, they can be so stupid sometimes. I could’ve told him you weren’t an alien. Your energy’s too bright.”
My breath hitched in disbelief. How had she known about [e kI could ConRad’s accusations? Did she know what had happened afterward? My ears started to pulse.
Quinn stared off in the distance as if she’d heard something. “Come on, he’s looking for you.”
“Who is?” I asked.
“The Commander, of course,” she said rolling her eyes, seeming to test the gesture for the first time.
I narrowed my own. Was she mocking me or . . . mimicking? Hard to tell.
Quinn grabbed my hand and rushed me through the swinging metal doors. “We need to hurry. He’s upset.”
Great, he’s upset. Not hard to imagine, considering his standard M.O. was pissed and royally pissed. I slowed my pace. Quinn tightened her grip and yanked on my arm as she dragged me along the twisting tunnels. Before we even rounded the corner I could overhear ConRad’s gruff commands.
“Where the hell is she? And keep this covert. I don’t want the Elders here breathing down my neck. But find her. NOW!”
My body jerked in response to ConRad’s order. I shot a pleading glance at Quinn, desperate for intervention.
Apprehension trumped over the pity in her eyes. She leaned closer. “Show no fear,” she whispered.
Easier said than done. Regardless, she was right. I wasn’t going to back down. His anger appeared to intimidate everyone, but it wouldn’t make a coward out of me. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and stepped forward.
There stood the Commander in Chief. He had my previous guards backed against the wall, sheer intimidation keeping them pinned. He seemed oblivious to the sweat tracking down his face, as if he was above the discomforts of mere mortals. ConRad’s profile was rigid, seemingly birthed from the surrounding mountain itself. He was a walking study in simmering rage being kept tightly reined
in with stone-cold control.
Wasn’t that how one describes a sociopath? God help me if he had body parts stuck in a freezer somewhere because I’d be next, squished between the frozen peas and empty ice cube trays.
I knew immediately when ConRad became aware I was near. I didn’t so much see his reac [ se/div>
In a hushed second we were alone. Quinn and the soldiers had fled, leaving me desolate like Daniel in the lions’ den with only faith as his shield. Of course, this time the lion wasn’t restrained and my shield of faith . . . a bit tarnished.
ConRad pivoted toward me and stilled. Our eyes held, communicating a wave of heat.
I broke first. I was on no such terms where sharing impregnated stares across a room with this man was appropriate. He was dangerous. It was best I kept that in mind.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
Could it be . . . was it possible he’d been worried about me? I’d prepared myself for a scorching set-down, not consideration. My cheeks warmed with insecurity. After our last encounter, I felt overly exposed. A sensation I wasn’t taking kindly to. “I’m fine.”
He stepped back with a nod, allowing me to see the entrance to the interrogation room. “It will be fine, I promise,” he said reassuringly, raising his hand in invitation.
My throat constricted as my earlier anxiety returned. I could almost hear an inaudible pop as my chances of escape burst. I hesitated, searching his face. The sincerity etched in the crinkle-lines along his eyes, and the kindness belying his fierce gaze had my feet crossing the threshold. I sat at the pitted wood table, absent the knife, as he took the opposite chair for himself.
“You must realize by now why your presence here is such a concern.”
“I realize nothing,” I said, “except that I’ve been treated like a prisoner, interrogated as a spy, and in general bullied into submission.” I arched a brow. “Have I missed something?”
