The Compound

by S.A. Bodeen

  And as I listened to the nothing of the night, a faint scream bit into the silence.

  I sat up.

  The scream got louder.

  I jumped to my feet.

  And then it became a shout. “Eli!”

  Out of the dark to my left, becoming more visible as they neared, was the rest of my family. Lexie carried the two little ones and Terese held Lucas.

  I ran to them, enveloping Lexie and Terese in my arms, getting the rest of them at the same time. My face smashed in Lexie’s shoulder, my words were a mumble. “I thought you all were gone.”

  Terese admonished me. “You said run. You didn’t say which way.”

  Lexie was breathing hard as she set the little ones down. She shook out her arms. “We saw the helicopter and ran the other way.”

  Terese put Lucas down and pointed at Lexie. “She made us keep running and running. I thought we were lost.”

  I had to smile.

  Lexie lowered her voice. “Where’s Dad?” I shrugged, then shuddered. “Either the helicopter or …”

  She looked in the direction of the hatch. “Did it blow?”

  “You didn’t feel it?”

  She shook her head. “We smelled it, though.”

  I took a deep breath, hoping it would clear my head. “We need to take care of Mom.”

  Lexie clutched my arm. “And then what do we do?”

  “We wait.” I grabbed a hand of each of the little ones, while Lexie and Terese each took one of Lucas’s hands. Once we reached Mom, I plopped down beside her and spread out my legs, trapping Quinn between them. He leaned back into me and pointed skyward. “Pitty. Pitty.”

  I looked up at the stars. “Yeah, they are pretty.”

  Within moments, the sky grew lighter in the east, and I could see everyone more clearly.

  Mom still seemed to be resting okay. Her hair had drifted around her face and she looked peaceful.

  Lucas found a stick and drew in the dirt, humming as he worked.

  Cara took handfuls of dirt and screeched as she threw them up into the breeze.

  Terese held her arms out to her sides and spun and spun and spun, until she got so dizzy she fell, giggling, to the ground.

  Lexie undid her braid, spread her hair out on her shoulders, and stood, eyes closed, as the wind softly blew her long hair out behind her.

  I saw a couple of lights in the still dark sky to the west. As they neared, I started to hear them. On my feet at once, I said, “Helicopters.”

  Lexie came to my side.

  Terese stood on my other side and leaned into me, linking her arm in mine. She was shaking. “Are they good or bad?”

  I put an arm around her. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  The choppers landed about a hundred yards away. The dust rose in swirls around them. One was very big and nearly a dozen people got out. Several wore flak jackets and carried weapons.

  I nudged Lexie. “Get the little ones.”

  They were just a few feet away, and she quickly hustled them over to where we stood.

  Other men got out of the helicopter and started our way.

  I took a few steps in front of my family, arms out to my sides. “Stay behind me.”

  Through the haze of dust, we saw someone leap out of the helicopter. Someone not in uniform. There were shouts, and one of the uniformed men grabbed him immediately, trying to restrain him, but his arms and legs thrashed, and he broke free, running in our direction, the others giving chase.

  But they couldn’t catch him. He would reach us before they did, and I had no way of knowing his intentions.

  My stance became wider, firmer.

  But as he got closer, I saw he was me. With longer hair.

  My arms wavered where I held them.

  But he couldn’t be me. Because he was screaming my name, long and drawn out, almost mournful.

  He sprinted closer, arms pumping, legs nearly a blur, and I began to tremble.

  When he got within twenty yards, he started to slow, until he was jogging, and then he was walking.

  He was there, in front of me, and halted only a step away.

  From behind me, in reverent tones, Terese and Lexie spoke his name.

  My shaking arms dropped of their own accord. I stepped forward to close the gap between us and found myself wrapped in a tight embrace.

  An embrace that smelled blessedly familiar of jerky, smoky and greasy.

  Eddy.

  My breaths became sobs that matched his, shudder for shudder.

  We were saved.

  EPILOGUE

  THE FIRST RAYS OF MORNING SUN CREEP TOWARD ME AS I straddle my surfboard in the warm Hawaiian waves. Except for the waterproof brace on my wrist, I assume I’m indistinguishable from any of the other early-morning surfers bobbing near me. For all intents and purposes, I could be one of the locals, deeply tanned and taking advantage of the superb dawn wave action. Nothing on the outside gives any indication of where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.

  The rescue is becoming a blur. I had been operating on adrenaline, and reuniting with Eddy had shut everything down, made me a basket case. But I do remember, quite clearly, parts of that night.

  The FBI and National Guardsmen threw those shiny silver blankets over each of us and hustled us onto one of the helicopters. They wanted to take Mom straight to the hospital on the medevac chopper, but she refused to be separated from us. And we made our intentions just as clear not to be apart from her. So they flew us to our cabin, where they had set up a base of operations after Gram had called them about the IM conversation. Phil’s helicopter had led them right to us. On the ride, Mom clung to Eddy and cried, before releasing him long enough for him to meet his new siblings. He was surprised, but didn’t stop grinning for a second.

  When we reached the cabin, the place was swarming with people in uniform. We stepped off the helicopter and I heard a bark.

  Cocoa.

  I leaned down, my arms embracing her as she leaped into me. Cocoa’s cold nose went straight into my neck.

  “Hey, girl.”

  In my ear were those little pig-like grunts she’d always made. Her tongue was warm and wet on my face, licking at the tears that were rolling freely again. I laughed, trying to push her down even as I petted her. She was a little gray around the muzzle, but still smelled like cedar chips and dog shampoo.

  Then Gram was there. I waited my turn. As she came to me, sobbing and moaning, my mouth crumpled and I wept yet again. We all did. Gram encircled me with her ample arms and smothered me with kisses that left me reeking of White Shoulders and Bengay. Nothing ever smelled so good to me.

  Els stood behind her, tinier than I remembered. I towered over her by more than a foot. Naturally her expression was one of disapproval. But I was even relieved to see her. With tears still running down my face, my arms went around her, picking her up off the ground.

  She smacked me on the head with her purse. “You brat.”

  I set her down. Not before I noticed she had tears in her eyes. With one small, wrinkled hand she reached up to pat my face. “The house was too quiet. I haven’t had a headache for six years.”

  I laughed and told her not to get used to it.

  After our initial family reunion, a few members of the FBI pulled me aside for questioning. Of course, everyone thought Dad had been killed in an RV fire with the rest of us six years ago. Although the rest of us showing up alive shot some major holes in that story, and we had proof he’d been alive in the Compound: four more siblings. But we had no proof he wasn’t dead now. Because we actually didn’t know ourselves.

  Medical personnel flew Mom to the hospital in Spokane where she had our little brother, Finnegan. We were all reunited a couple days later at our house in Seattle. We flew on a private jet, and on the drive from the airport, I stared out the limo’s privacy glass at the world I hadn’t seen in so long.

  I hadn’t expected people to be flying in spaceships, but I was a little disappointed. Othe
r than different makes and colors of cars, and new buildings everywhere, the changes were subtle. I didn’t feel as alien as I’d expected. The world had gone on without us, but we hadn’t been left behind.

  The first week home was a nightmarish one of being surrounded 24/7 by news vans topped with satellite dishes, and reporters doing the evening news. We kept the curtains shut and watched television, careful to stay away from any news channels. Which seemed to be every other channel. So we watched reality television. Like the people on the islands who had to survive on nothing and then got voted off. Funny, none of us really liked that one. Too big a dose of reality.

  Phil did a few interviews, speaking officially for the company. He stated how emphatically joyful he was that we were all alive and how sad that Rex Yanakakis, brilliant founder of YK Industries, had not been found with us.

  Lying dirtbag. He also took the opportunity to reiterate the intricacies of my father’s will, read six years before upon his “death,” which left control of the company to Phil until Eddy, the sole heir, turned twenty-five. I assumed that the rest of us turning up alive would put a few kinks in Phil’s plan, but that would remain to be seen.

  Of course, the media involved weren’t all legitimate press. The tabloids had a field day with the available facts. One story had us abducted by aliens who kept us for six years, then let us all go except my dad. Some papers even took the angle that the rest of us had gone to live there without him and he’d been searching for us in the RV when he was killed. Crazy, what those rags came up with. And those were only the ones Els snuck into the house. Mom saw them and, despite still recovering from the ordeal, decided it was necessary to hold a press conference.

  Dressed in a dark suit with her hair up, she looked beautiful, serene, and strong as she stood right out in the driveway and made a statement. Basically she told them to believe what they wanted to, but she and her children had lives to lead. She conceded that she would allow Phil to run the company for now, but anticipated that she and her two oldest sons would soon be major players in the world of YK Industries. She then stated the family would be taking an extended vacation, and alluded to us leaving for the Colorado house in a few days, where she graciously but firmly stated that she hoped the press would leave us alone.

  And one of the private YK Industries jets did leave for Colorado that evening, but none of us were on it. We were on a chartered jet bound for the Big Island and Gram’s house. Luckily, through all the chaos, no pictures of us ever emerged, so people weren’t recognizing us on the street. We’d all changed too much. Gram had kept Eddy sheltered all those years, so his face, and mine, managed to be relatively anonymous as well.

  Every passing day in the sunshine and salt water slightly dulls the fear. I don’t know if there’s enough blue sky or waves in the world to push me toward anything resembling forgiveness, let alone a feeling of security. But we plan to stay as long as the respite lasts. I suppose something will intrude eventually. Perhaps Phil? The company? The world?

  Or perhaps my father.

  A set of waves comes, and I ride the third nearly all the way before it bucks me, spilling me off my board and into the water. My head bursts above the water and I gasp in air. I grab my board, climb on, and paddle back out to try again.

  EDDY AND I SPEND A LOT OF TIME THESE DAYS PLAYING WITH the little kids on the beach, watching Cocoa chase Lucas and Cara in and out of the waves as Quinn sits in the sand, throwing handfuls into the air and screeching.

  And we find ourselves teaching them about the world. Small stuff, dumb stuff we would never even think needs to be taught. Like the postal service. Fire sirens. Litter. Lucas has appointed himself the official litter patrol, as every day at the beach, at least once, he’ll yell out “Litter!” before chasing after whatever happens to be blowing along the sand.

  Eddy wondered why I didn’t know the little ones that well, and he was silent as I told him the reason. He doesn’t seem to judge any of us.

  Another set of waves comes, but I stay where I am, letting them push me up before they slide on by.

  Lexie and Terese spend most days with Gram’s horses. I think the animals provide something the rest of us can’t, but Lexie laughs easily now and then, and Terese hasn’t gone back to an English accent.

  Life is okay. Good, actually.

  The sun comes up farther, and the beach is awash with sun. A group of people, burdened by coolers and beach towels and sun umbrellas, slowly trudges onto the beach. The tallest one turns my way, drops his load, and waves both arms.

  I ride the next wave in, then tuck my board under my arm and jog toward them.

  Lucas waves, then frowns and points behind me.

  “Litter!”

  I motion for him to stay where he is, and reply, “I’ll get it.”

  Grinning at his obsession, I turn and notice a small bit of white in the sand a few steps behind me. I bend over, pick it up, and take a quick glance.

  My grin fades as I take a closer look.

  A Tums wrapper.

  More accurately, a half-empty roll, which was why it hadn’t blown away.

  I shade my eyes and look behind me into the rising sun, where the stretch of beach is empty. Then I look back toward the others, where they are setting up, ready to enjoy another day of their new lives.

  With a shaking hand, I stuff the Tums in my pocket and hurry to join my family.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This novel would not exist without the combined actions of the following:

  My champion agent, Scott Mendel, and his astute comments on draft after draft as he waited for me to find the story. My fairy godmother of an editor, Liz Szabla, and her brilliant guidance as I traversed a new genre. My stalwart e-mail buddy, Sarah Van Dyke, and her bottomless support throughout the entire roller-coaster creation of this book. My forthright daughter, Bailey, for asking me, “This is really good, are you sure you wrote it?” My tenacious daughter, Tanzie, and her daily reminders that I am a mother who writes, not the other way around. My husband-of-the-year, Tim, and his patience with my incessant musings about plot and character. Those ingenious folks at NaNoWriMo and the annual opportunity they give all of us wannabe novelists a chance to prove we have it in us.

  For everyone above, and all the other friends, family, and first readers who helped lead me to the end result, my Grandma Stuve would have said it best:

  Thank you much.

  For Bailey

  A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK

  An Imprint of Macmillan

  THE COMPOUND. Copyright © 2008 by S. A. Bodeen. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bodeen, S.A. (Stephanie A.), 1965–

  The compound / S. A. Bodeen.—1st ed. p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37015-2 ISBN-10: 0-312-37015-6

  [1. Survival—Fiction. 2. Deception—Fiction. 3. Psychopaths—Fiction.

  4. Twins—Fiction. 5. Fathers—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B63515Co 2008

  [Fic]—dc22

  2007036148

  First Edition: May 2008

  Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  www.feiwelandfriends.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

&nbs
p; Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments