by Tarah Benner
Contents
Other Works
Title
Copyright
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One - Lark
Two - Soren
Three - Bernie
Four - Bernie
Five - Lark
Six - Bernie
Seven - Bernie
Eight - Lark
Nine - Bernie
Ten - Bernie
Eleven - Bernie
Twelve - Lark
Thirteen - Lark
Fourteen - Soren
Fifteen - Lark
Sixteen - Lark
Seventeen - Lark
Eighteen - Bernie
Nineteen - Lark
Twenty - Lark
Twenty-One - Lark
Twenty-Two - Lark
Twenty-Three - Lark
Twenty-Four - Bernie
Twenty-Five - Bernie
Twenty-Six - Soren
Twenty-Seven - Soren
Twenty-Eight - Lark
Twenty-Nine - Soren
Thirty - Lark
Author's Note
Bonus Content
Also by Tarah Benner
Bound in Blood
The Defectors
Enemy Inside
The Last Uprising
Recon
Exposure
Outbreak
Lockdown
Annihilation
Lawless
Lifeless
Ruthless
By Tarah Benner
Digital Edition
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please visit your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.
This book is a work of fiction, and any similarities to any person, living or dead, are coincidental and not intentional.
Published by Blue Sky Studio, LLC
Copyright 2017 Tarah Benner
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one
Lark
Cold — that was the feeling Lark got from the room. Her feet were numb. Her chest ached from shivering, and her fingers were turning blue. She had her sleeves drawn up over her hands, and still she was covered in goosebumps. She could hear the air-conditioning humming from a vent near the ceiling, tearing through her thin cotton sweatshirt.
Her hair and shoulders were still damp from the rain. It had been sprinkling when they’d disembarked the plane and piled onto the tarmac.
The journey from Kingsville had been short and grueling. Within minutes of their arrest, she, Soren, and Axel had been blindfolded and loaded onto a van that smelled like industrial-grade carpet shampoo. They’d driven for thirty or forty minutes over an extremely bumpy road. Then they’d been shuttled onto an aircraft.
The agents had kept her blindfolded the entire time, but she’d felt a distinct chill in the air when they deplaned that told her they weren’t in Texas anymore.
A second van had driven them straight into some kind of hangar. The agents had led them down a cool echoey hallway, but there were no familiar sounds or smells to offer any clue as to where they were.
At one point the extra sets of footsteps had faded behind her, and the agents had led Lark into a cramped interrogation room. Someone had removed her blindfold, and she’d realized that Soren and Axel were no longer with her. She was alone with Special Agent Reuben, who looked as though he’d just made the catch of his life.
Michael Reuben was tall and broad shouldered with greasy black hair, pockmarked olive skin, and very serious eyebrows. He worked for the Department of Homeland Security, which meant that he could detain them for questioning as long as he wanted.
The interrogation room was small — no more than ten by twelve feet — with a shiny white floor and plain white walls. Lark was seated across the table from Reuben in a metal folding chair that seemed to be growing colder and harder by the minute.
The table was bare except for a thin manila folder and some sort of speakerphone. A fisheye camera was mounted in the corner of the ceiling, and Lark sensed more agents watching her.
“Can I get you anything?” asked Reuben, studying her with dark, cunning eyes. “Coffee? Water? Pop?”
Lark narrowed her gaze. The back of her tongue felt like sandpaper, but she didn’t want to admit that she was thirsty. Need implied weakness, and she could not afford to appear weak in front of Reuben.
“Where are my friends?” she asked.
“You must be hungry. Are you hungry?”
“They were with me on the plane,” said Lark in a dogged voice. “Where did you take them?”
“I’m starving,” said Reuben, leaning forward as if he hadn’t heard her and pressing a button on the speakerphone. “Hey, Cole, can you run and grab us a couple of burgers? Cheeseburgers.” He took his finger off the button, hesitated, and then pressed it down again. “Hold the mayo, yeah? And bring some fries.”
There was no reply from the person listening on the other end of the speaker, but Reuben didn’t seem to expect one. He just leaned back in his chair and propped his right ankle over his left knee. “So. Lark Roland . . . You’re a bit of a celebrity around here.”
Lark didn’t reply. Her brain was running a mile a minute.
Reuben and his partner Durant had caught them outside of Soren’s childhood home in Kingsville. The agents had been staking out the place for days, but as far as Lark knew, they hadn’t managed to capture Bernie, Portia, or Simjay.
The thought of Bernie triggered a swift kick of dread in Lark’s chest. She’d only just found Bernie alive after days of thinking that she was dead. Bernie had warned them not to go to Kingsville, but Lark hadn’t listened.
In a few hours, Bernie would drive to their rendezvous point, but no one would be there to meet her. Lark could only imagine the terrible thoughts that would flash through her mind. She just hoped that Bernie would be smart enough to avoid Soren’s house. She’d never be able to forgive herself if her best friend was arrested because of her stupidity.
“I must say, your mugshot does not do you justice,” said Reuben, annoyed by Lark’s prolonged silence. “We were all taking bets on which of the inmates you were screwing.”
Lark blinked back at him slowly, determined not to give Reuben the reaction he was hoping for.
“I said it had to be Hensley, and after getting a look at Axel Park’s ugly mug —” Reuben let out a snort of laughter, shook his head, and then held up one fat hairy hand. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. Let me start over.” He cleared his throat and flicked the file folder open. “Lark Roland, twenty-five years old . . . Served five years in San Judas for murder.”
Lark didn’t say anything. She didn’t see the point in explaining to Reuben that she’d killed Levi Flemming in self-defense. She was sure that the criminals he dealt with all had some alternate story, and she had a feeling that Reuben hadn’t brought her in to rehash her crime.
“According to this report, you attempted to escape with Bernadette Mitchell and Finn McGregor as well, but Mitchell and McGregor were apprehended on-site.”
“Finn wasn’t apprehended,” said Lark in an icy voice. “He was killed. And Bernie was shot in the leg.”
Reuben’s eyebrows flew up, but he quickly schooled his expression and continued to read from the report. “Mitchell was later hospitalized for her in
juries and then escaped with Miss Portia Wong — another inmate in critical care.”
“They have killer drones patrolling the perimeter,” said Lark. “They shot Finn with a missile — blew him to bits. Why don’t you put that in your fucking report?”
Reuben looked mildly surprised by her outburst but didn’t make a note.
Lark was furious at herself for breaking her silence, but she couldn’t just sit there and listen to the prison administrators’ lies. Judging from Reuben’s initial reaction, the security procedures at San Judas weren’t something that the prison advertised.
“Can I ask why you and Hensley decided to escape?”
Lark didn’t answer.
“I mean, it’s clear from your psych evals that you two are the only ones in that group with the ability to pull off a stunt like that. Your friends all have IQs that we don’t usually see in a prison population — Axel Park excluded — but not one of them has the leadership capability and the cojones to execute a plan like that.”
Lark didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to give Reuben the satisfaction of confirming his assessment.
“Now the Indian kid’s a leader — in a Jim Jones sort of way — but he doesn’t have the balls. You, on the other hand . . . You must have had a hard time assimilating to an environment like San Judas — lone-wolf type and all. You probably felt as though you had nothing to lose.”
Lark swallowed, wondering how the Department of Homeland Security knew so much about them. Everything he’d said was true — apart from Simjay not having the guts to break out of prison.
“So why’d you do it?” Reuben pressed. “Did you feel that you were being mistreated in San Judas?”
Mistreated? Now there was an understatement. In the five years she’d been inside San Judas, Lark had been pushed to the brink of starvation. She’d been beaten and berated more times than she could count, and she’d suffered nasty reactions to the pesticides and herbicides GreenSeed tested on the inmates.
“Why does the Department of Homeland Security care about us?” Lark spat.
Reuben frowned. “Are you aware of how dire the food crisis has become?”
Lark shrugged, feigning disinterest. In truth, she knew how bad things were, but she figured that playing dumb was the best way to get information from Reuben.
“Famine is the biggest threat to national security we face, Miss Roland. The drought here, combined with the extreme weather events down south and out east, has triggered a global food crisis like we’ve never seen before. Millions of people have already died, and millions more will die if we don’t come up with a solution. It leaves the U.S. extremely vulnerable.”
“What about the rest of the world?”
“Many regions are suffering just as much as we are. Some have fared a little better . . . some worse. But desperate times trigger desperate actions.”
“And you think that GreenSeed has a solution.”
“We think that they’ve been using their private prison to test several dozen varieties of drought-resistant seed that could help us end world hunger for good. The problem is that the FDA has been dragging their feet on approving those seeds.”
“Why’s that?”
Reuben sighed. “We don’t know. Genetically modified crops don’t usually require the FDA’s approval at all. But when GreenSeed’s team of eggheads tinkers with a species to the point where its structure is fundamentally different from its non-GMO counterparts, the agency has to step in. They’ve created a bureaucratic bottleneck like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Can’t you guys put pressure on the FDA?”
“We’ve tried. But they’ve already rejected at least a few varieties of GreenSeed’s crops, and we don’t know why. GreenSeed won’t release the FDA’s response letters, and legally, they don’t have to. Those applications are confidential.” He tapped the table with one fat finger. “That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to find out why their crops have been rejected?”
“Not exactly.”
Lark sat back in her seat, thinking of all the crime movies she’d seen and weighing her options as a detainee.
On the one hand, she could cooperate. Reuben might go easier on her in the long run, but her compliance wouldn’t guarantee their freedom. For all she knew, they were shipping Soren and Axel off to some CIA black site at that very moment.
Her other option was to say nothing until she got what she wanted. From what she could tell, Reuben was desperate to learn more about GreenSeed. Maybe he would be willing to cut her a deal.
“Where are Soren and Axel?” Lark asked finally.
“They’re safe.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I realize that,” said Reuben. “But this has to be a two-way street. You help me, and maybe I’ll help you.”
Lark rolled her eyes and let out a derisive laugh. “Why should I trust you?”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
Lark opened her mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
Reuben got up to open it, and Lark caught a strong whiff of greasy food. She leaned back to get a better look at her surroundings and saw a man standing in the hallway.
The newcomer was significantly younger than Reuben and much fitter. He had to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had sandy-blond hair and a hard, square jawline and was dressed in khaki cargo pants and a long-sleeve black shirt.
Reuben snatched the bag out of the man’s hands and slammed the door shut without a word. There was no fast-food logo on the bag. Lark guessed that it had come from a cafeteria.
“Listen,” said Reuben, flinging himself back into his chair. “You aren’t the first person to come to us with some wild story about San Judas. Frankly, I’d believe just about anything.”
He opened the bag and pulled out two cheeseburgers wrapped in thin white paper. “We’ve been digging into GreenSeed International for a long time, but they’re a tough nut to crack.”
Reuben shoved one of the burgers across the table, but Lark didn’t move. Reuben paid her no mind as he unwrapped his burger and took an enormous grease-splattering bite.
“They’ve always been secretive.” He stuck his hand down into the bag and produced two cans of Diet Coke. “You have insight into their operations that very few people have.”
The heavy stench of grease was making Lark’s stomach growl, but she refused to take the cheeseburger. Taking food from Reuben would make him think that he was wearing her down, and she could not allow that to happen.
“So,” he said, talking over the large hunk of beef rolling around in his mouth. “Tell me about prison. I bet they didn’t have cheeseburgers like this in San Judas, eh?”
Lark didn’t move or speak. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a cheeseburger. It had definitely been more than five years.
Reuben swallowed and washed down the bite with a long glug of soda. “You look like you spent quite a bit of time outside,” he said, waving his burger in front of her. “Were you a planter?”
Again, Lark didn’t answer. His line of questioning seemed pretty far removed from the FDA’s rejection letters. There was also a silent battle over the food waging inside her.
Lark hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and she was starving. Who knew what Reuben would do if she refused to cooperate? He might decide not to feed her until she answered his questions.
She could see a ring of grease seeping through the paper beneath the burger. Reuben’s had pickles but no lettuce or tomato. She suspected that the cafeteria was stocked with nonperishables and frozen food but no fresh produce. Still, the gooey drip of processed cheese oozing out from under the bun was making her mouth water.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Reuben. “What is it with you women? Just eat the damn burger.”
Lark clenched her jaw. Reuben’s comment only strengthened her resolve.
He made a noncommit
tal noise in the back of his throat that sounded a lot like “suit yourself” and reached one hand into the bag to withdraw a handful of limp fries. He stuffed them into his mouth and chewed loudly, watching her watch him.
When Reuben had finished his cheeseburger, he downed the rest of the soda and opened the second can with a hiss. He drank greedily for several seconds and then set it down with a burp.
“Okay, here’s the deal. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices: You can cooperate, and things will go pretty smoothly from there. We’ll get what we need, and we’ll see what we can do about reducing your sentence and getting you moved to a prison that still has things like food and running water.”
“Prison?” said Lark. “What prison?”
As far as she knew, the entire country was in shambles. The idea that there could still be prisons up and running seemed absurd.
“We have been forced to close about eighty percent of our state-run facilities,” Reuben conceded. “Most low-level offenders have been released, but people like you and Hensley have been relocated to the facilities that are still operational. The places that are left won’t be Club Med, but they’re serviceable.”
Lark stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he was bluffing. “And if I don’t cooperate?”
Reuben’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “If you don’t cooperate, quite frankly, I can make your life an absolute living hell.”
Lark sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew men like Reuben. She’d had some experience with power-hungry correctional officers at the facility where she’d been held for sentencing and thugs like Mercy Peters who got off on intimidating people. The only way to deal with them was to stay out of their crosshairs or meet them on their level.
“You can’t scare me,” said Lark after a moment. “You need me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Reuben snarled. “We need intellectual property that belongs to GreenSeed. That’s all. You’re just a means to an end.”
