Reign: Populations Crumble, Book 3

by K. A. Gandy

  “Peter, that’s ridiculous. There were so many of them, and only one of you. Nobody blames—”

  The interview room door slams open, and Patrick storms out. He halts abruptly, taking in my upset mood, and Peter’s miserable face.

  “Patrick,” Peter says with a nod.

  “Peter, good to see you,” Patrick returns.

  “Anything I can help with?” Peter asks, back in professional mode.

  Patrick runs an angry hand through his very mussed hair. “I have no clue. They brought Mom in, but she won’t talk. Other than the one slip about Richardson with Glitch, she’s been completely mum about who he is or who else she’s been working with, or why. She’s demanding to be released, and stating she was ‘merely acting to get the princess returned.’ They want me to go in, and see if she’ll slip up, but I . . . can’t. Not right this minute.”

  “Let’s get a cup of coffee,” Peter says, tone mild. “Ladies, we’ll be back in a bit.”

  I hate seeing Patrick so torn up about this, and can only imagine how the king must be feeling at the news of the betrayal. Resolved, I march to the interview room door, and let myself in. Glitch and Atlas are arguing with the NAA police captain of Wrightsville, but they all fall silent when the door clicks shut behind me.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to her,” I blurt, not wasting any time. I need to get in there before Patrick gets back.

  “Sadie, I don’t think it’s going to help. She’s not talking to anyone,” Atlas mutters.

  “It can’t hurt. Can it?” I turn to the police captain, and stand firm.

  He shrugs, not caring one way or the other. “We need someone with a personal connection. You two haven’t met, but maybe she’ll leak something. If not, we can always try again with the prince.”

  “Then let’s do it, right now,” I urge, and he stands. “Oh, wait. Glitch, I need your video player.”

  His brow crinkles in confusion. “What, why?”

  “Just a hunch.” I wiggle my fingers, and he reluctantly places it in my palm. Ready, I turn and follow the captain to the other end of the hall, around a few corners, past a set of armed guards, and into a room surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. The queen sits in the middle, looking bored as she examines her nails at the bare white table. The captain speaks to the guards briefly, and then swings the door open barely wide enough for me to slip through.

  Once I’m in, the walls look black, belying the fact that we’re being watched from every angle. Deb looks up, and raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, my, my. I did not expect to see you in here,” she muses.

  “Oh? Why not?” I settle into the chair across the table from her, working to keep my face neutral.

  Sarcasm drips from her tone as she says, “There’s quite a rumor going around that you’ve been kidnapped.”

  “Ahh, well. That’s actually not a rumor. We were kidnapped. I hear you were trying very hard to get me back. Thanks for that, I guess.” I tap my nails lightly on the tabletop a few times, thinking over the best approach.

  She snorts with indignation. “Cut the crap. I know they sent you in here to get something out of me, but it’s not going to work. You can march your skinny butt right back out the door because you’re wasting your time. I want to speak to my husband.”

  “Ooh, I can’t imagine he wants to speak to you right now. After you said he was a failure? No, wait. What was it you said? You betrayed him because he betrayed you first?” I tsked disapprovingly. “Somehow, I think yours is worse. Just a guess, though. I don’t know what he did, after all.” I give her my brightest smile and tip my head to the side.

  Her eyes narrow, and I can see her turning it over, trying to figure out my angle.

  “Besides, I don’t really care what you two did or didn’t do to each other. That’s not my concern—besides, a lot of people these days hate their spouses. I can imagine it’s even harder to stay happy with all the political pressure you two are under. The spotlight. People judging you at every turn.” I tap the table twice, hard, to draw her attention. “What I want to know is, how could you turn against other women like that? That’s what I find so hard to understand.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, and I consider telling her they’ll get stuck like that. Not the point. “I’m sure this is hard for a small-town girl like yourself to understand,” she says, voice thick with condescension, “but throwing you under the bus doesn’t give me heartburn. If it gets me to my end goals, I couldn’t care less about one woman, even if you are married to my son.” She leans forward, her gaze acidic as she looks me up and down. “Your genes may be special, but nothing else about you is. He’ll be better off once you’re out of the picture, and he’s married to someone more appropriate.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, I was hoping we’d get along one day, being we’re family now. But, I’ll live.” I shake my head. “No, it’s not me that I’m wondering about. I want to know how you were so willing to turn on all the other women?”

  She glares at the nearest camera mounted in the corner and speaks directly into it. “Could you please get her out of here? She’s delusional.” When no response is forthcoming, she levels a bored gaze back on me. “It’s worse than I thought. Apparently, you don’t even know what’s special about yourself. You’re the only one. There isn’t anyone else alive with the same genetic makeup as you. Now. Get me my husband.” She demands, but I ignore her. Thankfully, so do the officers waiting outside.

  “No, I don’t think I will, because you still haven’t answered my question. I want to know how you could turn on the rest of the women. You seem confused, though. Allow me to jog your memory.”

  Tapping Glitch’s video player in the way I’ve seen him do it so many times, I start the video of our rescue mission, right at the point where we burst through the doorway, and then come into the room filled with sedated women. As it zooms in on the individual faces of each woman in turn, shock crosses her features briefly before she locks it down. On the last face, I pause the screen.

  “You didn’t know about them, did you?”

  She leans back in her chair, refusing to speak.

  “I’ll tell you about them. That woman there? That’s Paige. She’s currently in a medically-induced coma, caused by the sedation drugs that have been pumped into her around the clock for seven years. Seven years, strapped to a bed, your life going by without you. Impregnated, repeatedly, forced to give birth and the babies taken, one after the other. All while you slept.”

  The color slowly drains from Deb’s face as I talk, and my hunch is confirmed. It wasn’t her. I lean forward, going in for the kill.

  “You see, Deb, it’s not me you’re on trial for. Because I’m right here, fine as can be.” I wiggle my fingers in a flagrant wave. “But Paige, she’s not. She’s still in testing, undergoing treatment after treatment to try to wake her, so she can meet her seventh child. Because she just gave birth, by cesarean, to her seventh child. A little girl, with curly black hair and green eyes. She looks like a little cherub, truly. And as far as I can tell, she’s never been awake to hold a single one of her babies.” I let that awful truth sink in for a moment.

  “Someone out there is using women like breeding cattle, Deb. And right now, everybody in this building thinks it’s you, except me.”

  Her eyes snap to mine, and I can see that she’s finally caught up to where this is going.

  “The thing is, I don’t particularly like you. So, seeing you go to jail doesn’t bother me all that much. However, I do like your son a whole heck of a lot. Love him, actually. And watching you go to jail would tear him to shreds, which I’m not okay with. So, here’s what I think needs to happen—you need to give up Richardson, whoever he is. You don’t have the stomach for what he’s got planned, and what he’s been doing. I can tell, based on your reaction to this video.” I tap to rewind it, and press play again.

  She averts her eyes, and I know I’ve struck home. “There aren’t just four, either. This was on
e small facility. There is one of these in every single tri-state. Some of them hold more than fifteen women. You can do the math on that because I know you’re calculating.” I can’t resist the jab, though it’s not to the point.

  I lean back, and this time I’m the one examining my nails. I wait, and after a long moment of her continued silence, I sigh and stand. “Well, I tried. At least I can go tell Patrick that I said my piece, and he’ll appreciate the effort to save his mother, though I’m not sure you’re worth saving, frankly. Anyone who lets the person really responsible for this go free, well, you deserve to go to jail, too.” I turn and slowly head for the door.

  I twist the knob, and she blurts out, “Wait!”

  Without a care in the world, I turn back to face her, remaining silent. I’ve talked enough to last me a week.

  “You’re right, I didn’t know what he was doing to those women. He told me he needed you, due to your unique genes. We discussed at length how unsuitable you were for a royal appointment, and decided it would be best to remove you from the picture early on, so Patrick could be re-matched. He said that studying you would be what the NAA needed to become the world leader, and turn our population rates around in under two years. He promised me that it would be better for everyone, and that we’d rule together.” She swallows hard, struggling to continue.

  “And, who is he?” I prod, scared to dry up the flow of words she’s finally saying.

  “Brody. Brody Richardson, of Satellite Security.” The defeat in her tone is thick enough to cut with a knife.

  “I’ve never heard of Satellite Security. Have you got a photo of him?”

  She inclines her head. “On my phone. I’ll unlock it, if someone brings it in.” She glances back up at the camera before staring back at her lap. “Surely Patrick must know I’d never be involved in something that heinous,” she says to me, while we wait for the phone to be brought in.

  I don’t respond, having had more than my fill of her self-righteousness. Peter is the one to bring the phone in, so I know that Patrick is outside, and my heart hurts for him. Even if his mother isn’t the one behind the evil taking place at the Environmental Impact Centers, his family will be torn apart by this. Peter places the phone in the middle of the table, and then turns and exits without a word. Deb leans forward, and the phone scans her face before unlocking.

  “Show me Brody,” she commands, and a photo loads instantly. She shoves the device across the table to me, and my jaw drops in shock.

  Apparent

  Three Days Later

  The hum of the airplane’s engines abruptly cuts off, and my heart jumps into my throat. I glance over at Patrick, and his calm smile woos me back into the moment. Focus, focus. Mav exits the cockpit without any fanfare—as is her way—and gives us a saucy wink.

  “Y’all don’t be faintin’ on me now, this is ‘bout to get good.” She drops the door open in a rush, and takes the steps down two at a time. Patrick follows behind her at a steadier pace, and I follow a heartbeat behind him. Nell and Atlas are right behind us. Glitch chose to stay back in Wrightsville, given his part in things.

  A nondescript black transport truck awaits us on the grassy air strip, and I climb into the back, suppressing a huff. This is the last time, Sadie. Suck it up.

  The ride is quick, and before I know it we’re pulling through the high gates of the Resistance compound. Everything looks so different to me now than it did before, and I find myself going back down some of the happier memories here, of people who are different than me, but accepting. We roll to a stop directly next to the gathering field, and it is packed. People cover every square inch of grass, and butterflies swarm my stomach at the thought of standing up in front of them all.

  The back doors swing wide, and Patrick stands, extending me a hand. “Shall we, Princess Sadie?”

  He uses my formal title as a reminder, and I square my shoulders. Taking his hand, we walk out of the back of the transport with our heads held high. Even in black fatigues, I can feel the power in our walk, and I revel in the moment.

  The crowd parts, and we make a beeline directly for the stage, where Brock and the remaining leaders of the Resistance wait. People clap as we walk by, happy to see us returned safely to the flock. Brock claps as we approach, but in his eyes I see reproach, not welcome. Turning towards the assembled crowd, I spot Pierce in the front row, looking very unhappy at our return. My heart squeezes at the worry I see there.

  Once the four of us are lined up on the stage, Brock takes the podium and addresses the crowd. “Welcome, everyone. We are so pleased to announce that our latest foursome is back among us! Now that things have settled down, we are pleased to offer Sadie and the rest of her quad sanctuary once more.” He stops, and the crowd claps and whoops loudly.

  “Thank you, I’m excited as well. It has been hard, this transition in leadership. And it was never something I dreamed would happen, or wanted. However, I stand before you humbly willing to accept your vote, and become the new leader of the Resistance.”

  A chant begins at the back of the crowd, and slowly gains momentum “Ri-sing! Ri-sing! Ri-sing!” Before long, nothing else can be heard but the urgent call of the people. Finally, Brock raises both hands, and they fall silent.

  He raises his voice, and at the top of his lungs he shouts, “The people are RISING!” The cheer in response is deafening.

  He turns, grin in place, and fixes Patrick in his steely gaze. “Would you care to address the people? You’ve received such a warm welcome, I think they’d like to hear from you.”

  “Certainly!” Patrick enthuses and gives a quick wave to the crowd as he takes his place behind the podium.

  “Hello everyone, thank you for the warm welcome. Truly, it means so much to have your support for our family. We are happy to be back among you, and we have news that we think you’ll find joyous.” He gives me a wink. “Sadie is pregnant! We’ve got a baby on the way.”

  Another deafening cheer goes up, and Patrick lets everyone go wild for a minute, before gesturing that he’s got more to say.

  “Thank you. We’re over the moon, ourselves. Right, Sadie?” he asks and I nod happily. “However, we’ve got less than amazing news. It turns out, Helena wasn’t the only person in leadership here who was a danger to our family.”

  A rumble of shock and dismay ripples through the crowd, but Patrick doesn’t stop to let them process.

  “In fact, there’s an even bigger snake in our midst, and I, for one, think it’s time the people knew the truth. Don’t you, Brock?”

  His eyes narrow dangerously. “What’s this about, Royce?”

  “Oh, you would know. The snake is you, Brock. Or, should I call you Brody? I’m not sure which is your real name. Either way, you’re in hot water.” At hearing his other name, panic crosses the older man’s face. He motions to Ryker, the intelligence agent standing to his left, who reaches for a gun. But Atlas is faster, and grabs the man’s arm before he even makes it to the holster. Disarming him with a flick of the wrist, Atlas dodges a punch, and slams a fist into the side of his face. Ryker crumples to the stage in a heap.

  “Brock, that’s unnecessary, really. Is that any way to treat your guests? We’re just going to enlighten everyone here about what’s going on. You see, Brock here has been leading quite the double life. Turns out, Helena wasn’t his only paramour. No, unfortunately, my mother was also one of them. Some of you may know her as the queen of the NAA.”

  The silence is so profound, you can hear the wind rustle the leaves on the trees.

  “I don’t know how many others there are, I only know that we have traced lead after lead, and everything points back to you, Brock. The trust—the one which demanded construction of the Environmental Impact Centers, where hundreds of women were kept drugged and pregnant—is currently controlled by Branson Richardson. Satellite Security belongs to one Brody Richardson, who seduced my mother and convinced her to help him overthrow the government of the NAA. Oh! And he’s the supp
osed cousin of Branson Richardson. And Brock here, plotting and taking over the Resistance by slowly poisoning Helena’s mind over the years to gain leadership. Did any of you know his last name was Richardson? No, me either.” He looks around for a moment, and then snaps. “Oh, yeah. Here are the photo IDs on file with the NAA for each of those three cousins! You’ve been a busy, busy man over the years, Brock.” He points to the large projection screen across the way, which flickers one, and then shows three IDs side by side. Each one has the name of a different Richardson, but a photo of Brock, with various ages and hair styles represented.

  “Did I leave anything out?” He looks at me, and I shake my head no.

  “All right, then. Brock Richardson, you’re hereby under arrest for crimes against humanity, including but not limited to kidnapping, medical slavery of more than four hundred women, as well as stealing thousands of the resulting infants from their mothers.”

  I’m horrified as Brock leaps across the stage at Patrick, the knife in his hand flashing dull black as he flies through the air. Patrick doesn’t miss a beat, and dodges to the side, knocking the swipe wide. Brock pulls up mid stride, and turns to swing at Patrick’s exposed side, but the strike doesn’t land. The crowd surges forward, and two furious men grab hold of his ankle from the edge of the stage, and snatch. A moment of panic crosses his face before he’s swallowed up by the raging mob.

  Retreating to the back of the podium, Atlas shoves me behind him, next to Nell. Patrick makes his way over.

  “Have you called for pickup?” he asks, but rather than answer, Atlas points. We all look, and there’s Mav’s jumbo helicopter, making great time over the tree line. The crowd quiets as she comes in to land, and they’re buffeted by the wind from the double rotors. She sets it down directly behind the podium, and climbs out. The last few rotations blow her short curls as she hauls herself up the back side of the podium with a hand from Patrick.

  She purses her lips with anger when she sees the angry crowd, and strides to the abandoned podium. “Now y’all better listen up, and listen good.” The crowd begins to look in her direction, but not fast enough to suit her. She pulls a double-barreled pistol from a holster I didn’t know she had, and fires three rapid shots into the air. Everyone ducks and freezes, exactly the intended result.