Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  When I glance up, it’s not a drone I see, but a beautiful, multi-colored Phoenix, its wings splayed out as it soars through the sky. The Phoenix lands on the banks of the opposite side of the lagoon and stares at me, its broad head tilted.

  I wake to Curly shaking me. “We’re here,” he says. I sit up and glance around. The sun has risen and glows low in the sky, bathing the morning in tendrils of orange and pink. The sunrise reminds me of rebirth, which produces an ache in my chest.

  Jones’ farm has rows upon rows of mirrored greenhouses. They stretch for miles and mirror the pink sky, making it impossible to tell where the sky ends and earth begins. He pulls up next to a large, red barn, the kind I’ve only seen in old, digital images. Except this barn has a padlocked entry that Jones deftly unlocks. We follow him into the barn, which surprisingly looks more like an aerodyne hangar than a barn. An antique relic of a crop duster plane rests in the middle, its behemoth wings taking up most of the space.

  “Do you ever fly this thing?” I ask, running my fingers over the dusty propeller. I’d be surprised if he did. Ever since the attack in our airspace over five decades ago, the only aerodynes allowed are the government’s drones.

  “Nah, ‘course not. I just keep it in case the government ever comes pokin’ their nose ‘round here.” He grins. “I just tell ‘em I like my antiques.”

  He slides under the belly of the plane and opens a hatch in the wooden floorboards. Standing aside, he motions for us to go down. “Got ever’thing you need down there. I been storing it for Trey for years. It’s all yers.”

  Even hearing Trey’s name causes the pain to crush down on my chest. I take a few shaky breaths, watching as Curly ducks under the plane and descends the wooden stairs. I follow cautiously, the damp, moldy smell hitting me in the face as I head deeper into the underground cavern. The steep wooden stairs lead to a room about twice the size of mine in the Compound. Curly clicks on a single bulb dangling from a string in the middle, and the dirt room is bathed in yellow light. Shadows hide the corners, but even with the dark, it’s easy to see the weaponry laid out on crude tables all along the room. Duffle bags overflowing with rifles lay on the dirt floor. Curly kneels by one, sifting through the contents. “Here, Sienna, help me carry some of this stuff up,” he says.

  I nod because I don’t have the energy to say anything. It’s difficult to maneuver the stairs with the bag of guns and ammo, but as soon as my head peeks out into the barn, I place the bag on the wooden floorboards and slide it to Jones. I half-drag myself out of the hatch and army crawl my way from under the plane’s belly.

  Curly makes a couple of trips to get the weapons and supplies we need, but he doesn’t ask for my help. Maybe he realizes I’m next to useless at this point. When the truck is loaded, Jones hands Curly the keys. “Be careful out there,” he says.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Curly asks.

  “Nah, not this time. I’m getting too old for this.”

  I slide into the truck and wait for Curly to join me. Jones watches as we pull away, and I can’t help but notice the sad look in his eyes. His body may be getting old, but his heart is still in the right place.

  Leaning my head against the seat, I stare out the window and will myself not to think of Trey. I can’t think about his deep voice, strong arms, or infectious grin. If I do, I may never recover.

  My body feels numb. Disconnected. Sucking in air is an effort. And I think how easy it would be to just stop breathing altogether. But somewhere deep down, I know I’m stronger than that.

  “Nash chose a location,” Curly says suddenly. I glance over at him. One hand holds his Lynk communicator while the other rests on the steering wheel, his eyes flitting from the road to the device in his hands.

  “Where?”

  “The Satellite Government Facility.”

  No. I close my eyes and pray I didn’t hear what I think I did. When I open them, Curly is staring at me.

  “He can’t bomb that building,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because my mother is in there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “I’ll help you,” Curly says, like there’s no question.

  “You’re willing to go against Nash?”

  Curly shrugs. “I’ve never really liked him that much. Besides, you can’t do this alone. And Trey wouldn’t want you to try.” He clears his throat, his eyes intently focused on the road in front of him.

  Resting my head against the seat back, I try to come up with a plan. Curly and I need more manpower than just the two of us. But the only other person I can think of is Zane, and he probably never wants to hear from me again. Well, other than for me to say I’m collecting my sister. Still, it’s worth a try.

  Thankfully, my Lynk survived the explosions. I pull it from my pocket and send a voice-activated message. I don’t know if he’ll read it. Even if he does, I have no idea if he’ll respond.

  I’m sorry about yesterday. I know you hate me, but I need your help. My mom’s in danger.

  My hands shake as I wait for him to respond. When the phone buzzes, I glance down, my heart racing.

  I’m listening.

  I record a quick response.

  Can you meet me outside the SGF in thirty minutes?

  I panic when he doesn’t respond immediately. But when his message does come through, I realize he was choosing his words carefully.

  Okay. But I’ll be armed.

  The last sentence knocks the air out of me. I’ve betrayed him, and now he doesn’t trust me. And why should he? All I did was lie to him the last couple of weeks. He shouldn’t trust me. Hell, right now, I don’t even trust myself.

  ***

  The parking lot of the Satellite Government Facility is already full at 08:00 hours. We do a slow drive past the building, trying to determine if Nash is there yet. It doesn’t look like it, so we keep driving, parking a quarter mile down the road. I send a message to Zane with our exact location while Curly calls Jeff to find out details about Nash’s plan.

  “They should be at the facility in about ten minutes,” Curly says once he clicks his Lynk off. “We’ll only have a few minutes of a head start.”

  I shake my head at his use of the word we. “I need you to stay out here and convince Nash not to blow up the building until after I get my mother out.”

  “You have someone coming to help you?” Curly asks, clearly aware of the message I sent to Zane.

  “Yes. A friend.”

  Curly studies my face for a moment, his brows furrowed. “You sure?”

  I nod. “Just keep me posted.”

  When I look out the window, Zane’s silver Aria is cruising down the road toward us. I slide out of the truck and wait in the middle of the road with my hands up. It’s a gesture of innocence or surrender, I’m not sure which. I just hope he believes me.

  The car slows. Zane pulls over on the side of the road, facing the truck. He steps out, his mouth set in a hard line, his eyes never leaving my face. My eyes flit to his waist and the gun tucked in his jeans. It hurts that he thought he needed it.

  “What happened?” he asks, his voice slow and controlled, his eyes roving over my smoke-streaked face and singed clothes.

  “The Compound was bombed. We barely made it out, and Trey—” I choke back a sob. “Our leader was killed.”

  His face softens. “And what about your mother?”

  “She’s still in there,” I say, motioning to the government facility down the road. “But our second-in-command is so angry that he wants to blow the building to bits. I have to get her out before he gets here.”

  Zane takes a deep breath. “All those innocent people will die?”

  “They aren’t that innocent. They just killed at least a hundred of our people.” I pause. “But if you help me get my mother out, I’ll let you save as many as you want.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Help me. Maybe create a distraction so I can search the building
undetected.”

  After what seems like an eternity, he nods. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you,” I breathe. I want to throw my arms around his neck, but seeing the gun in his pants reminds me of his distrust and possible hatred. But I don’t care. Flinging my arms around his neck, I hug him tight. His arms hang slack at first, but then gradually tighten around my back before letting go.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. I hurry over to Jones’ truck, my injured calf throbbing in protest. Once inside the bed, I dig through the duffle bags of guns. When I find a nine-millimeter Beretta with a silencer, I stick it in the back of my shorts before I have a chance to second-guess myself.

  “Ready?” I call to Zane as I jump out.

  “I’ll drive?” He glances at Curly, who is still inside the truck waiting for Nash and his crew, and gives him a slight nod, like a silent greeting.

  “Yeah.” I stride over to his car. “But we need to hurry.” Climbing inside, the soft leather of the seat rubbing against my bare legs, I realize for the first time that I’m still wearing my tank top and sleep shorts. My arms are black with smoke, dirt, and dried blood. I was hoping to walk into the government facility and pretend I worked there, but now… there’s no way I can pull that off.

  Zane slides in beside me and sees the expression on my face. “Here,” he says, reaching behind my seat and pulling out a wad of clothes. He grabs a water bottle from the door and wets a T-shirt before handing it to me. I clean myself as best as I can. When I’m done, but still reeking of sweat and smoke, Zane hands me another shirt, this one lacy and pretty.

  “What’s this?” I ask, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.

  “It’s Arian’s. She left it in here yesterday.” He pauses. “I thought you might want to change your shirt,” he says, looking pointedly at the blood—Trey’s blood—smeared across the front.

  “Thanks.” I slip the clean shirt over my dirty one. It’s lacy and see-through and smells of perfume, but it does help cover up some of the dirt and blood.

  Zane drives the short distance to the SGF parking lot and parks his Aria in the furthest space from the building. He turns to me. “Are we just going to walk through those front doors?”

  “Yep. Maybe you can go to the front desk and create a distraction, and I’ll slip in after you. I’m sure they have cameras, but I’m hoping they’ll be so focused on you that they won’t notice me.”

  Zane exhales. “That’s a lot of pressure,” he mutters.

  “You can do this. I know you can.” I pause and pull out my Lynk, dialing into his. “Just keep your Lynk on so I can hear what’s going on.”

  He takes out his Lynk, glancing at the screen before slipping out of the car and striding across the parking lot to the government facility. From my own Lynk, I hear the door open and his footsteps echo across the marble floor. The indistinct chatter of others around him filters through the earpiece, but I strain to hear his voice. When I do, it’s slightly muffled, but I get the gist of what he’s saying to the receptionist.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  I imagine the receptionist looking up at him. There’s a soft gasp. “Zane Ryder? Are you Zane Ryder? Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you!” Clearly, this is a different receptionist than the one before, which might work to our advantage.

  Ignoring the pulsating pain in my calf, I get out of the car and stay low, hurrying up the path to the building—the blue, white, and black flags hanging overhead—and slip inside.

  I don’t even give my eyes a chance to adjust as I creep to the corridor on my left. I keep expecting a dozen pair of eyes to turn and glare accusingly, but the oversized entrance looks the same as before. No one takes notice of me. Not the woman sipping her coffee at the cafe on my right, not the man whose face is buried in documents, and not the young receptionist who’s talking to Zane.

  Zane’s head turns and his eyes lock with mine for an instant. He gives me a small, encouraging smile before turning his attention to the dark-haired woman who’s gazing up at him, all smiles and puppy-dog eyes. She’s taken by him. And why shouldn’t she be? He’s gorgeous and practically royalty.

  I rush past.

  When I enter the corridor, I glance up at the motion-detection cameras. Maybe if I pretend I belong here, the guards will disregard my dirty, casual clothes and messy hair. Straightening my shoulders, I walk down the hall with false confidence. Each room is numbered, so I start with the first and peek inside, working my way down the hall. Some are similar to twelve, which is where Zane and I met with Radcliffe and Chadwick for the exchange. Others look like conference rooms with long, oval tables and cushy chairs. High-tech equipment rests at the front of the room, and I don’t even want to take the time to figure out what it is.

  Frustration builds as the minutes tick by. I hold up my Lynk to see how things are going with Zane, and his voice comes through clear.

  “You know,” he says in his rich tone, “I’m pretty sure I can secure you an invitation to the next shindig my father hosts.”

  The woman lets out an excited squeal. “I’d love to meet your father! He is seriously the smartest man alive.”

  I move toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. Maybe the next floor will be more productive. I take the stairs two at a time but when I reach the door, it’s locked, and a fingerprint keypad keeps me from gaining access.

  My Lynk buzzes, and Curly’s face shows up on the screen.

  “Did you talk to Nash?” I ask, breathless.

  Curly’s eyes harden. “He says he isn’t waiting.”

  “Why not?”

  “He thinks you’re about to tip off everyone inside, and people will escape before he has a chance to blow the roof off.”

  “Oh no.” I think fast. “Let me talk to him.” At Curly’s hesitation, I plead. “Please.”

  “It probably won’t do much good.”

  Curly hands his Lynk to Nash, and his scarred face leers at me. “What do you want?”

  “Please, Nash. Give me a little more time. I have to get my mother out of here.”

  “Are you trying to thwart my plans, Sienna?”

  I fervently shake my head. “I want the government to suffer just as much as you. But my mom is here and—”

  “Ten minutes,” he says.

  “Ten minutes?” I repeat.

  “You have ten minutes to get the hell out of there before I blow it sky high.” The Lynk clicks off.

  Cursing under my breath, I dial Chaz and pray he answers. When he does, I get right to business, explaining where I am and what floor I need to break into. I don’t doubt for a minute that Chaz can do this; I only hope he can do it in time.

  After what seems like an eternity, Chaz says in his confident voice, “Got it.”

  At the same time, the lock clicks.

  “Thank you!” I burst through the door to find myself in a hallway that looks eerily similar to the one before. I check the first room on the floor. Instead of a conference room, this one looks like a dentist’s office, complete with a chair that lays back and some kind of metal, rotating equipment. But the most disturbing part is the body in the chair. A body of a man.

  I stare in horror at the pajama-clad man who lays there with his eyes wide open, staring. He’s hooked to wires coming from the machine. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, but I don’t take the time to find out.

  Each room I go to on this floor has the same dentist chair, rotating equipment, and a body. None of which are my mother. But when I reach the fifth room, I freeze. A shock of red hair is splayed out on one of those dentist chairs, accompanied by the wide-eyed, pale face, and unmoving body of my mother. Before I enter the room, I glance up at the security camera in the corner and raise my gun. The noise of the gunshot is muffled by the silencer as I shoot out the black face of the white, swiveling arm.

  As I rush to my mother’s side, a sob rips from the back of my throat. “Mom,” I cry out. She doesn’t blink or even acknowledge that I
’m here. I see the rise and fall of her chest and know she’s still alive, but she’s hooked up to that rotating machine. Electrodes protrude from under her sweatshirt and rest on either side of her head. I grab her right hand, which has several tubes snaking out of the IV in her veins. I look her in the eyes. “Mom,” I cry again, squeezing her hand. “It’s me, Sienna.”

  She is unresponsive, unmoving. She is a shadow of the woman I knew as my mother. The rotating machine comes into view, and I’m able to get a clear shot of it. It’s a digital screen, playing images. The images are pictures of my mom dressed in business attire, smiling, happy, and working. These images fill the screen one right after the other. They don’t look falsified, and yet, they can’t be real. When would she have taken these pictures? Another image of my mother and a man with dark-rimmed glasses and hair tinged a distinguished gray fills the screen, followed by dozens of pictures of the two of them. Holding hands, kissing, and showing off wedding rings. Fear grips me, and I take a step back. I glance down at my mother’s hand and see the diamond ring on her finger, the opposite hand of the one with the IV.

  What the hell is going on? I don’t have time to contemplate it. As I rip the electrodes off her, she shudders, like a shock rippling through her body. The machine beeps behind me, and the images shut down. Biting my lip, I remove the tape keeping her IV in place, and then slowly pull the tubing from her hand. Her body jerks in response.

  “Mom.” I peer into her eyes, searching for some form of life, but she stares at me with a blank expression. “Mom, please. We have to get out of here.” I slap her cheeks as hard as I dare and shake her shoulders. “Mom, wake up, please. It’s time to go home.”

  I stare at her face, barely breathing, hoping that somewhere in there is the mother I love, the mother who sang lullabies by my bedside and stroked my hair when I had trouble falling asleep.

  “Zane,” I choke out, speaking into the Lynk. “I need your help. I’m in room five on the second floor. The floor is locked, but if you can find a way in… I found her, but I need your help. We only have a few minutes.”