Curses, Fates & Soul Mates

by et al Kristie Cook

  “Who do we speak to?” my captor asked.

  “Lillian. She’s in charge. Find ‘er right over there, behind the bar. Say Fred sent ya.”

  “Fred?” He extended his hand for a shake. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot, sir.”

  “Same here, sonny. Same here.” The man turned and gave me a wink and moved along, gesturing his friends to follow. They disappeared into the hustle and bustle, leaving us in the thick of the action. Occupants shuffled by with baskets of clothing, and buckets carrying everything from pails of water and soap to canned goods and electronic odds and ends.

  “Come on.” My captor took me by the wrist and we weaved our way over to the bar, which by the looks of it, didn’t just serve alcohol. People lined up to speak to the woman in charge, holding boxes and jars of coins in their hands, hugging them tight against them as if someone would snatch their belongings at any moment.

  “A trading post?” I whispered.

  “Looks like it.”

  “What can I do fer ya, darlin’?” the woman asked when it was our turn at the counter. She had frizzy gray hair tied up in a loose bun, her eyes tired, full of nothing but business. “Need to trade or need a place to stay?”

  “Um, maybe both,” my captor said, releasing my hand to lift the necklace from around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hand it to her. “What can I get for this? Any water?”

  The woman laughed. “Yer new ‘round these parts, ain’t chya?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We need water and a place to sleep. Maybe a bath.” He glanced at me and rubbed his hand over his chest.

  “Well yer can’t have both, darlin’, ‘specially not fer this here necklace.”

  “It’s real silver.”

  “Water or a bath, what’ll it be?”

  “Can’t we just drink the bath water?”

  “Suit yerself, but yer better boil it or God knows what yu’ll wind up with by drinkin’ it, now.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll take the bath, thanks.”

  She nodded to the far side of the room, past a row of mattresses to a curtained area. “Tubs ‘er over there, and you can take the last mattress on the left. Should fit ya both.”

  “Thanks, thanks a lot.” He turned to lead us across the room.

  “Wait, darlin’,” she stopped him, shoving a notepad across the counter. “What’s yer name?”

  “Jet. Jet Phoenix.”

  “Sign right der, please. My name’s Lillian, but everyone here calls me Lil. Holler if yer need me, now.”

  He signed and nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Lil.”

  “Jet?” I asked, letting him clamp onto my wrist again. He pushed his way through the crowd, dropping his chin as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, so?”

  I didn’t want to, really. But I smiled. “I like that name.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Sucks it’s a traitor name.” My smile faded when his grip tightened around my wrist but he kept moving, sighing in appreciation when we reached the curtain Lillian had pointed out.

  Jet pulled the curtain back and waited until I moved in behind him to close us in. “Not much privacy, but it’ll do. Better than nothing, I guess.”

  I glanced at the small metal tub of water, tucked in the corner of the room, surrounded only by a pale-blue cloth curtain. The curtain was fastened to hooks on the wall, which slid like a regular shower curtain, but it concealed very little. Whispers and movement came from every angle, a mixture of lavender and dust drifting into my nostrils. I coughed, and turned to remove my shirt—Jet’s shirt—assuming I was going first.

  Jet froze when he saw the shirt slip up over my head, quickly turning to stoop down next to the tin tub. He started rummaging through his backpack. I slipped off my jeans next, then my panties, setting the clothes on the floor before stepping into the water. I bent over the tub to grab a nearby bucket, remembering to fill it for drinking water later. The water was cold, and I didn’t even want to think about who or what had been in it before me, but this was it for who knew how long, so I sank into the water with nothing but appreciation. “Do you, uh … need help?” he said. He rose and stepped forward, keeping his eyes leveled with the floor. He moved behind me, I guessed to give me some privacy.

  I curled my knees to my chest and crossed my arms over them, shifting my hair over my shoulder for more coverage. He’d already seen it all anyway, when he saved me, but something about his presence made me uncomfortable. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

  I could feel him lift his gaze to my back. My eyes caught his when I peered at him over my shoulder. The room’s dim light accentuated the tired, sunken circles under his eyes. He looked as if he could sleep for weeks straight. The sight made my chest ache, partly because I could relate, and partly because I sympathized for him. Sympathy for my enemy was completely irrational, of course, but it was there anyway.

  He rubbed a hand over his head and exhaled. “Let me at least apply some meds to those cuts. They look inflamed.” Before I could object he was behind me, seated on the rim of the tub. He pulled a jar of ointment from one of his pockets and began gently dabbing the cool medicine onto my back. Between running for my life from my home in Morton, being captured and thrown into a cell, and being caught in a scuffle with the men who’d almost raped me, I’d managed to acquire a few cuts and bruises. The scent of mint relaxed and refreshed me, and I slowly leaned forward to rest my head and arms on my knees.

  “That’s one nasty scar on the back of your neck,” he said. “Injury?”

  “Don’t know, been there since I was a kid. My parents said it was a birthmark or something.”

  His rough fingers continued to massage the gel into my cuts, my breath catching every few seconds as his callused skin irritated the tender wounds. He slowed when I winced. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle, but I’m shit at it.”

  “No. The medicine feels good, the skin’s just sore. Please, don’t stop.”

  He cleared his throat. “I know your outsides are banged up, but … how are you … on the inside? I mean, after what happened earlier. You can talk about it if you want.”

  I listened to the soft lapping of the water as it slushed around me with his movements. “What’s there to say? They almost raped me. You stopped them. I’m glad you shot the bastards.” My voice cracked and my eyes wandered to his strong, inked forearm, watching the muscles flex while he continued to rub my back. “Does that make me a monster to think something like that?”

  The lapping sound stopped as he stilled.

  “A terrible thing happened to you. The evil of the situation was horrible. You’re not horrible. You were violated and hurt, and you wanted them to hurt back. You’re not a monster … you’re human.”

  “Human or not, I doubt being thankful people are dead is a good thing. I should’ve never said—”

  “Damn it, stop. Just stop.” He finally moved again, sliding farther along the edge of the tub to move in front of me, reaching over to grip my shoulders. My naked chest was exposed to him now. I didn’t care.

  “You have a right to be angry,” he said. “Do you hear me? I’m glad I shot the bastards. I’d do it again. If you want someone to carry the guilt, I’ll gladly take the weight for you.”

  I glanced down at his hands and swallowed hard, raising my gaze to meet his glacial stare. A tense muscle in his jaw jumped, and he slowly let go of my shoulders, eyes flickering down to the swell of my breasts. He averted his stare.

  My mouth was moving before I could will it to shut up. “We’ll find your sister. I’ll help you find her.” I pulled my cold, shaky hand from the water to rest it on his. He hooked his fingers around mine and shut his eyes. Holding hands with this stranger was oddly comforting. I couldn’t bring myself to reject it.

  “She’s already in danger. Could be dead.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Only one way to find out, I guess.” He stood and screwed the medicine lid back onto the jar, then reached for his backpac
k, stuffing the jar into a side pocket instead of back into his pants pocket.

  “I don’t know where I’m going,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is crazy,” I gestured between the two of us. “You kidnapped me. I was your prisoner, and now I’m running with you. What the hell is that?”

  “Life.” He zipped up the backpack pocket and sent me a glum smile. “It’s full of surprises.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The mattress was stiff and damp, but it would do. I settled down next to Jet, turning onto my side to face him. I studied his dark stubble, the rise and fall of his chest as it lifted and fell beneath his white t-shirt. Everything about him felt foreign but familiar, a strange, contradictory sensation for anyone who’d just met a stranger, let alone one who’d held you prisoner. I worked to remind myself why I needed to hate him, but as he went on and on about his sister as if she was the greatest thing on Earth, I had a difficult time convincing myself of the conviction.

  “She was adopted,” he said. “My mom couldn’t have any more kids after me. I remember the first day they brought her home, saying they couldn’t wait to travel to China someday to teach her all about her heritage. She was three. I’d just turned seventeen, and I was finishing up my senior year of high school. She had this creepy little teddy bear.” He laughed, staring up at the ceiling, recalling something. “Yeah, it was brown, with these freaky eyes. But she loved that thing. I’d wash it for her, and I was always afraid I’d ruin it or something. That the washing machine would destroy it.”

  “She’s alive,” I said, my voice quiet. “I just know she is.” I clenched my pillow beneath my head, watching carefully as he turned to meet my gaze.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Be nice to me.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Why did you save me from those guys? Why do we do any of the things we do?”

  “Because it’s what any sane man would do.”

  “You gunned down three men. You’ve been working for the Invaders for however long, waiting to soak up information so you could rescue your sister. Who risks all that for some random chick? You might never find her because you chose to save me instead.”

  “Are you saying you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  I shrugged, keeping my eyes on his. “I’m saying I want to thank you. I can thank you by helping you find her.”

  “I’m going to San Francisco.”

  I sat up, propping the pillow beneath my elbow. “What? That far west?” I dropped my gaze for a moment. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: There was a good chance he’d never make it that far. Part of me hoped we didn’t. I shuddered at the thought of being anywhere near the water. It meant being near those things. I hated how they’d stolen yet another thing I loved—being near the ocean—and turned it into something sinister, something wrong. Not that an inland girl like me had the chance to be near the ocean very often, but when I did, it was heaven.

  Was.

  “She’s there,” Jet continued. “I don’t know where, but I know she’s in one of the camps there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw her. She was taken. Her Capsule ID read ‘SF, CA.’ Most of the children are taken and shipped out there in those Capsules, but I’m not sure if they transferred her to another camp from there, or what. The Invaders like the kids. They send them to training camps near their main coastal bases. I guess to train them while they’re young and impressionable. That’s when I turned myself in as a volunteer, when I saw them snatch her.”

  “You surrendered?”

  “Yeah, I asked to be trained for service.”

  “How do they communicate with us?”

  “Technology. Chips that allow us to understand their language, chemicals, all sorts of things.”

  “What do they want from us? Do you know?”

  “Something to do with our water, I think. They’re not killing us all off, and they’re obviously using us as labor, to build up their own defense. There are tons of theories. What I do know, aside from volunteers like me, and the Collected like you they turn into trained workers, those in service are Keeper Agents. They were preselected, long before the invasion.”

  “How so?”

  “They’ve had chips implanted since birth. When the Invaders arrived, the Keeper Agents were activated—awakened, some say—and called into service. Which explains why so many willingly turned themselves over to the enemy.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “If all of these humans were Keeper Agents since birth, and didn’t know it until they were activated, what the hell does that mean? The Invader weapons … some are used to take us down, but they’re also used to preserve us. The injections Collectors use to knock prisoners like you out, the venom and energy spheres … they’re all used for controlling and keeping us alive, to add us to their workforce. So, what do they plan to do with us once we’re trained and under their command? That’s why we call the preselected agents Keeper Agents. The enemy’s directed them to keep humans around for something, but we can’t figure out what. It’s not like their survival depends on us. We can’t defeat them, and we have nothing to offer them. It doesn’t make sense.”

  All of Jet’s comments about not being a traitor washed over me, striking me hard and fast while I considered the news that he’d willingly turned himself over, only it was for Hera, not because he wanted to betray his fellow humans. And if the enemy’s weapons really were mind-control based, could I really blame others in the service? “So … how does the activation work? Like mind control?”

  “No, not really. KAs aren’t brainwashed or robotic or anything. Not as far as I can tell, anyway. They just really believe they’re meant to serve the Invaders. They have a strong sense of loyalty and purpose. Like those who belong to a religious denomination would be committed to serving their church, committed to their belief in God. Their chips act as translators. That’s how those in service understand the Invaders’ language, how they take orders.”

  The mindless devotion of the Keeper Agents chilled me. Sounded like brainwashing to me. “I haven’t seen the weapons you’re talking about. Only those cylinder things. They look like containers.”

  “Aqua Bombs.”

  “Huh?”

  “They drown you, from the inside out. Fill up your lungs.”

  My gut twisted and eyes stung with fresh tears.

  “What is it?”

  My body shook with a deep, quiet sob and I latched on tighter to my pillow. “My parents,” I whispered.

  Realization swept over his face. “Skylla … oh, I’m so sorry.” Hesitant arms extended to wrap me up and press me into his chest. It didn’t matter that I barely knew him, didn’t matter that what I did know about him made me uneasy. This was what human beings did when they were in pain, in crisis. Offered blind comfort.

  And right now, I wasn’t too proud to accept the consoling.

  I let the tears soak into his t-shirt, curling inward while I worked to calm myself. “That’s how I found them. With those things lodged into their chests.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, working to expel the images of my parents lying in lifeless heaps on the living room floor, water dripping in slow, steady streams from the corners of their mouths. After I’d shot the Invader near the shed in the garden, I attempted to run back inside to find my parents. I had all of two seconds to bolt from the house the moment I spotted them. More Invaders had surrounded me and if I’d stayed, for even a second longer, they’d have drowned me, too. Those two seconds I’d stood in the living room, staring down at my parents’ bodies, were enough to scar me forever.

  “Why couldn’t they use them?” I moaned. “Take them as prisoners for service? Spare them!”

  “I wish I could tell you. Don’t ask those questions. Sometimes there aren’t answers.”

  When I felt I could breathe again,
I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, could see the cogs turning in his mind while he chewed his bottom lip. I lingered on that full lip, not liking that I found it attractive. “What do you think is going to happen to the rest of us? To Earth?”

  “No fucking idea. All I know is, I want to get Hera back and go underground. Stay there for as long as possible.” He blinked and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. We both remained silent for a few minutes, processing the reality of our situation. We were on the run, to where, we didn’t entirely know, and once we got there, we had no idea what waited for us.

  “Where are you from?” Jet finally asked, breaking my troubled train of thought. “You don’t sound like you’re from Alabama.”

  “I’m not. My parents were. They moved us down south from Philadelphia when my grandmother died. My dad worked in Philly, but he loved the South, and wanted to move back after her funeral. What about you? You’re not from Morton, I take it. No accent.”

  “From Florida. I was in Alabama when the Invaders touched down. Was visiting a friend.”

  “Ah. Was this friend a girlfriend?”

  “Something like that.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a harsh shushing sound. The couple on the mattress next to us, begging us to go to sleep.

  Jet apologized to them, then turned back on his side to face me. We were nose-to-nose, our breaths mixing. “Don’t cry.” He pulled up his shirt to wipe at my eyes. “I hate it. Good night, Skylla.”

  “Night.”

  “Hey.”

  I closed my eyes. “Hhmm?”

  “What’s your last name, again? Warden?”

  “Yeah.”

  He chuckled quietly, as if hearing some private joke. “Very fitting.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Go to sleep.”

  Heavy exhaustion took me, the sounds of the Black Hole fading into nothingness as I slipped into sleep, dreaming of a better world, and that I’d awaken to find it in the morning.

  * * *