Reign: Populations Crumble, Book 3

by K. A. Gandy

  Patrick.

  Atlas stands across the bar in front of us, cool and collected, but with an understanding smile. “Ready?” He looks at me, and then Patrick. I nod, and hold my breath. Patrick must have done something similar, because he finally looks down and opens his palm to read the test.

  For a long moment, the silence hangs in the air like the first frost of the season, bitter cold and unexpected. But when he looks up, a smile is plastered on his usually stoic face. “Congratulations, guys. You’re parents.”

  My heart stutters in my chest, and before I can process my own feelings at the announcement, I look over at Patrick, where the biggest grin I’ve ever seen is spreading across his face. “Really? It’s positive?” He sounds incredulous, even though we’d suspected.

  Atlas walks over and sets the little egg-shaped device in front of us, and there they are, little pink test bubbles showing how far along it estimates I am. He claps Patrick on the shoulder, and then gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before he leaves the room.

  Patrick turns to me the instant their bedroom door clicks shut, and wraps me in a bear hug. For a moment—just one—everything is right in the world. It’s like everything clicks into place, and all the mess and struggle and chaos that’s led us here to this moment was worth it. Because truly, there is no other man on the planet I’d rather be sharing this moment with. And my heart blossoms with joy in my chest.

  A long sigh escapes Patrick and ruffles my wild morning hair. “What is it?” I ask, the first words I’ve spoken all morning. Now that we know, it feels like I can breathe again.

  He leans back and cups my cheek, and the look on his face is pure adoration. His thumb trails gently along my cheekbone, and his words take my breath away all over again. “I get to keep you. We’re having a baby, and now there is no reason for anyone to try to separate us, ever again. No mandatory divorce. No other forced matches, no matter what happens tonight. Me and you, until death do us part. I’m so, so relieved.” His voice cracks on the last word, and tears of gratitude clog my throat anew.

  This time it’s me who pulls him into a crushing embrace, and I might never let him go again. Because I don’t have to, and I won’t have to. I get to keep him, too.

  Go Time

  Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and flickers of doubt run through my mind at lightning speed. I push them aside and—for the third time since we’ve been riding in the back of this truck—check my shoelaces. Still tied. A wheel hits a pothole in the road, and my teeth clack together so hard they hurt.

  “I heard that from here,” Nell observes, cool as a cucumber from the other side of the transport vehicle.

  I rub my jaw absently. “Thanks for the commentary. How are you not nervous right now?”

  She glances to her right, where Atlas looms, menacing, in all black, with knives strapped all over him, two pistols in a chest harness, and a rifle barrel poking over one shoulder. “MM won’t let anything happen to me, so why be nervous?” She leans over to an un-weaponized spot, and plants a kiss on his arm.

  “MM?”

  “Muscle Mountain. It’s his favorite nickname.”

  “It is not my favorite nickname,” he grouses, and looks out the front window.

  “Which makes it my favorite nickname.” She gives me a Cheshire grin, and I can’t help but shake my head at their antics. They are a weird pair, but they are oddly perfect for each other.

  I glance at Patrick, but he’s leaning back against the wall of the transport, eyes closed, and ignoring our conversation.

  My hand absently drops to my side, feeling the overlapping scales of the body armor underneath my shirt. It’s light, but still uncomfortable where it presses into my side if I slouch at all. It’s digging into the tops of my thighs, but I won’t complain about the extra protection.

  Finally, the truck rolls to a stop a few feet away from our transport helicopter, parked at the end of a long, grassy field.

  When the motion stops, Patrick’s eyes pop open, instantly alert.

  “Everybody out—Mav’s waiting and she gets pissy when she’s waiting long,” the driver says over his shoulder.

  Her familiar figure stands by the wing of the plane, close-cropped black curls, and red leather bomber jacket ready for action. “Took y’all long ‘nough. I was ‘bout to get bored, here in a minute.” She studiously picks beneath one nail with a silver file.

  Glitch pushes his glasses up, looking green around the gills. “We appreciate your patience, Mrs.”—he belches loudly—“Mrs. Maverick.”

  “Patience ain’t got nothing to do with it, boy. And don’t you go puking in my clean ‘copter. I ain’t mopping up after ya.” She levels a frank stare at him, nods at the rest of us, and climbs in without further comment.

  “I like her more every time we see her,” Nell says lightly as we climb the few steps to board the helicopter.

  “Contrary women tend to stick together,” Atlas comments drily.

  She smacks him on the arm. “I’ll remember that later. When I decide to be extra contrary.”

  “Yippee.”

  “You two cut it out—we all know you actually like each other,” I demand.

  “Well, duh. You don’t pick at people you hate.” Nell pecks him on the cheek before taking her seat, and the big old Muscle Mountain smiles at her like she hung the moon.

  With no warning, the chopper lurched from the earth, spurring us all to jump into our harnesses.

  Rather than two-way headsets, the cabin was wired with speakers, so that we could hear Mav. “Y’all hang on now, y’hear? I ain't takin’ all day.”

  The chopper zips and dips a bit wildly before gaining altitude, and it feels like being strapped to the back of a bumblebee. Bumbling. I look over at Patrick, and find him gazing serenely at me already. He reaches over and runs a finger down my jawline ever so slowly, but doesn’t say a word over the noisy helicopter blades. I get lost in his gaze for a moment, sharing a secret smile with him before surveying the rest of our group. Nell is swinging her feet freely, like a kid on a roller coaster while she looks with rapt attention out the window. Atlas is staring straight at the ceiling, unflinching, probably reviewing the plan in his mind for the thousandth time since we agreed to it. Glitch has his head as close as he can get to his knees while still wearing the harness, and a bag hovering about an inch below his nose. Ajax sits across from him, keeping a wary eye on Glitch’s airsickness. Two doctors, Vance and Courso, and their nurse, Winston, fill out the rest of the row with Ajax.

  After surveying the other passengers, I slowly shut out my surroundings, and hone in on the plan. Atlas is in charge of the breach, in formation with Ajax and Patrick. He’s been drilling them for a few days to get them up to his standards. The medical team are next, followed by Nell and me to assist as the women wake, getting them out the door. Winston has given us a rundown of what we’re supposed to monitor for, so we can actually help. And Glitch is the camera whiz, getting the footage we need, and making sure no video of us leaks in the process.

  It’s a solid plan, with no loose parts or extraneous people. Maverick will be standing by with the helicopter to air-lift the women and medical staff as soon as they’re cleared. The rest of us will destroy the building, and then follow on land.

  The helicopter begins to drop, and I reflexively grab my harness straps. Our descent is rapid, and the lights inside our vehicle abruptly shut off, as if we’ve lost power. “Don’ fret now, we’re gettin’ close. When I give the count, you unbuckle and prepare to roll’ out.”

  Glitch retches, punctuating the order quite effectively. One of the doctors—Courso, I think—reaches into a cargo pocket on his arm and slaps a patch of some kind on the back of Glitch’s neck. Glitch starts, but after another minute he sits up and wipes his mouth on the back of his arm.

  Mav’s voice comes over the speakers this time, low enough that I have to strain my ears to hear it, “Five, four”—I hurriedly unbuckle my chest straps—“three, two�
�—one last anxious glance at Patrick, whose brows are drawn down with intensity—“one. It’s showtime, folks.” The helicopter hovers for a split second more before we tap the grass with barely a bump.

  Atlas flings the side door open, and leaps to the ground, completely ignoring the two steps into the aircraft. Ajax is right behind him, and Patrick after that. They disappear into the waning night, and the medical team climbs down straight after, taking the stairs. Nell and I grip hands, and make our way down the steps together. Her tight fingers on mine drag me back into that moment hiding in a bathtub in Mairmont, with the sounds of bombs going off in the background as we prayed for safety. I shove the fearful memories aside, and strain my eyes to see in the dim light. We aren’t using lights on the way in, until we’ve cleared all guards. Glitch is hot on our heels, with seemingly no lingering effects from his earlier sickness.

  We weave through dense trees and shrubs, following the hushed sounds of the medical team in front of us. They stop after a few hundred feet and drop to their haunches behind some scrub. The three of us pick some shrubbery a few feet to the left and do the same. Through a gap in the branches, I can barely make out the black fatigues of our men as they approach the door. No one stands guard outside—or they’ve already taken care of them—which seems like a good sign. Atlas reaches forward and sticks something an inch outside the door handle, and then gestures right and left for them to scan the exterior of the building. Glitch is to my right, hand up over the shrubbery scanning with what looks like a night-vision camera. The three men disappear around the edge of the building, and long minutes pass in silence. The watch on my wrist vibrates, and within seconds flames light the sky to the west, and we know our diversion has started in earnest.

  The sounds of cranking engines pierce the clearing, and two ATVs with guards on back peel off down a narrow path, so similar to what we used to discover the facility at Mairmont. Before they’re out of sight, I hear the cracks of two rifles firing—so closely timed that it might have been one—and the ATVs stop dead in their tracks, riders toppling over. Other than the purr of ATVs and the distant commotion, the clearing is still for three breaths, before Ajax runs out from the back of the building, to check the two guards. After checking them both, he removes the keys from the ATVs, and gives a closed-fist signal to Atlas and Patrick, still tucked away out of sight behind the building.

  Even though I know it’s coming, the sound of the door grenade detonating still makes me jump sky high. Nell’s hands wrap so tightly around my biceps at the noise that it’s like she’s digging in with sharp talons instead of fingers. The light from the blast fades slowly from our vision as it clears, and the front door of the facility is swinging from a single steel hinge, a hole torn clear through the space where a doorknob used to be, and the bottom half torn off. Atlas rounds the building first, pistol up, and Patrick tight on his shoulder. By the time they reach the door, Ajax has their back for the entry. Atlas clears the hallway with three quick shots from the pistol, and once again they vanish from sight into the building. I hold my breath, unable to think until my watch buzzes again, two short blasts. It’s go time.

  The doctors leap to their feet, and we’re dogging their steps as we approach the entrance with the still-dangling door. I duck around the jagged metal edges. After the darkness of the woods, the bright tube lighting and stark white walls burn my retinas like staring into the sun. The building is eerily familiar, and we dart down the first hall to the right, where we found the girls trapped in the last facility. Sure enough, there’s a nearly identical room, but this time there are only four women strapped to hospital beds. The rest of the dozen beds in the room lie empty. Winston shucks off a large backpack filled with medical supplies, and the doctors empty their cargo pockets of syringes and drug vials while Glitch does a visual sweep of the room with yet another camera. As instructed, we are standing back so he can scan continuously without us being in the final film. He makes a circuit of the room, capturing each woman’s face, and the ID number on her monitor. After the fourth woman, he darts out the door and back up the hallway to continue scanning the entire building. The doctors jump forward like runners off a starting block, and take patients on opposite sides of the room. They quickly assess the drug labels, to ensure they’re as anticipated before pushing syringes of medication into the IVed arms of each woman, and moving to the next. Nell and I wait in nervous anticipation, ready for our time to help.

  Stethoscope in hand, Dr. Vaughan monitors the woman’s pulse until whatever he’s expecting happens, and turns to give me the nod. I jog over, and take her cool hand from the bed. The air smells strongly of sterilizer, and the scent burns my overly-sensitive nose. Searching the file at her feet, I see a name there. Ana Linsey. She doesn’t have a visible baby bump, so either she’s not pregnant or it’s very early on. Either way, hopefully she’ll have an easier time of recovery. I scan the rest of the faces and bellies in the room, and one seems very large, surely near term. Re-training my eyes on her monitor screen, the numbers gradually move into the ranges Winston told us to expect, and each minute feels like an eternity.

  Noise in the hallway draws my attention, but a fluttering movement in my hand drags me straight back. Her thin, narrow fingers try to clutch my hand, and her eyes are huge with panic.

  “Ana? Ana, it’s okay. My name is Sadie. A lot has happened, but we’re here to take you somewhere safe. Can you hear me, Ana?”

  Her grip on mine is weaker than a baby bird’s, but with great effort she’s able to nod. Her other hand floats up, and touches her throat with an urgent gesture.

  “Water! Yes, Ana, we have water for you. Let’s try to get you to sit up first.” She gives the barest nod, and her already waxy complexion takes on a sheen of sweat as I find the button and the bed starts to rise.

  “Sadie, catch!” Winston calls as he lobs a water pod in my direction. I catch it one-handed, and then have to release Ana’s to twist it open. She eyes the small container of water with blatant lust in her eyes, and I carefully help her hold it to her lips. She sucks it down greedily, and splutters painfully.

  “Th-ank you,” she says in a cracked whisper. “What ha-ppened? Wh—” Her voice gives out.

  “I’ll explain everything, Ana. But first we’ve got to get you out of here. Do you think you can stand if I support your shoulders?”

  Wary determination fills her thin, pale face, and she shifts to swing one leg over the bed. Her movement is painstakingly slow, and I know we’re going to have to move faster if we want to get everyone to safety before our distraction ends. Racking my brain for options, I see that Nell’s patient hasn’t woken yet, and Winston is also by her side.

  I whisper-yell, “Nell, help me! We’ll get them out faster if we double up and carry them.” Winston nods agreement, and Nell darts to Ana’s bedside. As gently as we can, we swing her legs down over the side of the bed, and she grimaces.

  “Tingles. Pins, needles.”

  “I’m sorry, Ana. I wish we could give you more time, but it’s unsafe here.” I try to keep my voice steady and reassuring.

  “I’m tough, let’s go.” Her hands shake like leaves in a hurricane, but her voice is filled with steel will.

  Nell and I scoop her up under each shoulder, and find she’s light as a feather when we lift her from the bed.

  She lets out a moan, but doesn’t say anything as we carry her from the room, and down the hallway towards the hanging door. We’ve almost reached it when there’s a yell from over our shoulders.

  “Sadie, wait! Nell!” It’s Atlas, at the far end of the hallway. “We’ve cleared inside, but we don’t know how soon guards will be back, so one of us needs to go with you back to the transport.”

  He jogs around us and scans the clearing before signaling over his shoulder and leading the way across. We move in silence, and a look at Ana’s face shows her lips tight in determination to remain silent as well. She’s so brave. She has no idea what’s going on, yet she’s hanging on for al
l she’s worth.

  We have to slow down when we reach the brush, and Atlas carries a pistol in his right hand, and a wicked-looking black blade in his left. Holding branches out of the way whenever possible, he guides us on the clearest path back to the helicopter. Long minutes later, feeling very winded, the welcome sight of Mav standing outside the door to the helicopter greets us. We pick up the pace again, and Atlas stops to stand guard as we close the final distance.

  “I’m going back to help the others, you two stay here. We can buddy up and get the last three out without you.” Without waiting for agreement, he disappears back into the tree line, his black-clad frame blending seamlessly with the night.

  Nell sighs, “I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Me either,” I agree, but all we can do is help Ana into the helicopter, and get her strapped into a seat. It takes us several minutes to position her, buckle her, and get her settled with a blanket, an emergency nutrient-gel pack, and a second water pod as we were instructed. By the time we’re done helping Ana, we see Patrick and Doctor Vance carrying the heavily pregnant woman between them, still looking like dead weight on a makeshift stretcher.

  “Clear the floor! They haven’t been able to wake her yet, so we’re going to stabilize her horizontally.” Patrick huffs out the directions, and we scramble to comply.

  The minutes pass in a blur of frenzied activity, settling woman after woman into the helicopter. Three of the four were able to be woken, and by the time we’re done they’re all settled into a seat next to a doctor or Nurse Winston, looking very confused and pale. Mav’s expression has turned to darker storm clouds with each new woman that’s appeared, and by the time we’re done loading she’s spitting mad, and ready to tear somebody’s head off.