Swarmed

by Simone Pond

  “What are you doing down here?” he hisses.

  “I heard there was a spill.”

  He stands before me, scowling. “No spills down here.”

  In lieu of a better explanation, I take off and run toward the back of the cellar.

  “I’m calling security!” he yells, stomping up the steps.

  I have about three minutes to find Noah and the others before one of my brother’s goons comes. I sprint down the aisles, calling out their names, but there are only bottles and giant barrels of wine. I’ll have to expand my search to the rest of the house, which won’t be easy now that I’ve been busted. I hope Harper is somewhere close. As I’m heading upstairs, one of the bodyguards enters the stairwell. I jump down the steps and duck behind a wine rack, grabbing a bottle for protection. My timing is completely short of spectacular. Looking at the bottle in my grip, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing coming into the house without some sort of weapon.

  “No sense in running.” His gravelly voice is familiar. I think he’s the one who patted me down outside the library.

  I listen to his shoes clacking on the cement, trying to determine his location. I slink around the corner and run to the stairs, but he hears me and rushes down the aisle toward me. It’s the same muscle-bound meathead who chased me through the backyard earlier. He’s even more determined to take me down. I break the bottle against the wall and aim the jagged edges at him, wine spilling down my arm and all over Noah’s jacket.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he warns.

  “Let me go, and I won’t ram this into your jugular,” I snarl at him, stepping backwards up the stairs, one at a time, until the door knob is within reach. Just as I’m about to exit, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down the stairs. My back bangs against each cement step, sending jarring pain to each limb. He pulls me to my feet by the scruff of my neck. Rage glints in his squinty eyes.

  “So you came back for more?” he snickers.

  “That’s right,” I choke. “And when Achilles hears what you’ve done, you’ll be in trouble.” I sound like a five-year old.

  Meathead laughs and drags me up the stairs, me kicking and writhing the whole way. The kitchen workers don’t bother looking up from their duties as the bodyguard ushers me up another flight of stairs in the back. He thrusts me into a modestly decorated room, then drags me along as he rifles through drawers with his meaty hands. He finds a pair of stockings and ties me to a chair.

  “I’ll be right back with your brother,” he says, slamming the door shut.

  After he’s gone, I open up my hand. My palm is bleeding heavily from the shard of glass I’ve been holding. Securing the piece of glass between my fingers, I reach up and through the stockings tied around my wrists. It takes less than a minute to free my hands, but I remain seated and wait for Achilles.

  Ten minutes later, the door opens and my brother enters. His blond hair is tousled and damp with perspiration, and he’s no longer wearing his coattails. His white shirt is spattered with fresh blood.

  “I’m hoping you came back because you changed your mind,” he says.

  “I came to get my friends.” I glare at him.

  “I’ll gladly return your friends in exchange for safe house locations and names.”

  “I don’t know the locations. And neither does Noah. We’re not even with the Borders.”

  “So you’re okay if they die?”

  “Die? Of course not!”

  “Well, dear sister, it will come to that if you don’t cooperate.”

  “But I can’t help you. I don’t know anything. I came to Savannah to find you. To remind you of what’s important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Our family.”

  He grins mockingly, as though my girlish sentiments are foolish. Hot tears pool up, stinging my eyes. I turn away.

  “Do you see the irony here, sis?”

  “You mean that the same guy who looked out for his little sister is now overseeing the corrupt and unjust system that wants to kill her? If that’s what you’re talking about, then yes, I see the irony clear as day.”

  “You’re no better than our mother,” he says with disgust.

  “Our mother was a good woman.”

  He turns to the muscle-bound bodyguard. “Do whatever it takes to get those locations.”

  Meathead struts toward me, grimacing. Before he reaches me, I jump up and lift the chair, bringing it down on his huge shoulder. This does nothing, except rattle the bones in my hands. He chuckles and lunges for me, but I slip away and run to the other side of the desk. He chases me in circles until he snatches my sleeve and throttles me to the floor.

  Achilles stands next to the door, watching as his guard strangles me. “Choke it out of her,” he says, then leaves the room.

  I’m flailing under the weight of the guard, twisting and turning as I try to pull out of his grip. A few feet away, the shard of glass glistens. I stretch my arm to snatch it, but it’s out of reach. The edges of the room start to go dark. I use my last inkling of strength to knee Meathead in the gut. He momentarily loosens his grip, allowing me to back up a few inches before he’s back on top of me. But I’m able to pick up the piece of glass and jab it into his neck. Blood gushes from the puncture. He releases me to clasp his gaping wound. I roll away and jump to my feet as he falls to the side, moaning and gurgling.

  I leave the room, blood dripping from my face, and see Achilles at the far end of the corridor unlocking a door. I sprint down the hallway, catching him off guard as I pummel him to the floor. He stays down, befuddled, as I crawl into the room and lock the door behind me. Panting and gasping for air, I turn around and see who I came for—Johnson, Noah and George. All three of them tied to chairs. George is slouched forward, not moving. Johnson and Noah are bleeding and swollen.

  “I need a weapon,” I say.

  Johnson nods his head toward a bat leaning against the wall.

  Achilles pounds on the door. “I have a key. You’re wasting your time.”

  “If you open the door, I’ll knock you into tomorrow,” I yell.

  “Come on, Kal. Let’s just talk this out like reasonable people.”

  “That would be impossible, since only one of us is reasonable.”

  “Don’t make me use my gun,” he threatens.

  “Don’t make me use this bat,” I yell back.

  I listen for the doorknob to twist, but instead he does nothing. I quickly help the guys, untying Noah first, but he’s too weak to stand up. I yank off Johnson’s ropes next and hand him the bat. He positions himself by the door, ready to throw down the second someone enters. I start to untie George, but Noah holds my arm and whispers, “It’s too late.”

  “Too late?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The news rattles me like a hurricane. How can sweet, nerdy George be dead? I was too late. That’s how. The door swings open, and gunshots fire into the room. But Johnson moves like lightning, bringing the bat down on Achilles’s head. The crack knocks him out in an instant. Johnson hands me the bat and grabs the gun from the floor, leading us out of the room. Noah’s limping, and I give him my shoulder to lean on as we hobble down the hallway toward the grand staircase.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Far from it. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “We should get George—” I don’t finish my sentence, because at the bottom of the staircase another bodyguard is aiming his a gun at Johnson’s head.

  “Don’t shoot him—we need that one,” Achilles shouts from the landing, blood dripping down his forehead. “You can take out the other two.”

  You can take out the other two…

  Nothing has ever sounded so utterly wretched—not even the swarm of flies as they surrounded my mother—as hearing these words. My brother has ordered to have me murdered. My blood turns to ice. I clench Noah’s hand and stand like a glacier as the man aims at me. Before he can fire, Harper comes around the corner, shooting like
gangbusters. Johnson leaps down the last few steps and runs to Harper, embracing her. She quickly pulls away and fires at Achilles, yelling for Johnson to help Noah and me. The four of us run through the kitchen to the back door. A few workers glance up momentarily, then return to their duties. We cut across the crisp, damp lawn into the woods, silence binding our heavy hearts. George is gone. George, who was much more than a gadgets guy.

  23

  (still 7 days remaining)

  In the glowing candlelight of our bedroom, I tend to Noah’s wounds. Outside the window, the silvery moon makes silhouettes of the willow trees. Like my days slipping away, the moon is losing its fullness, its light much more subtle than the first night we walked along the train tracks. Noah sits on the bed, blanching with each touch. His right cheek is swollen, and the cut above his eye keeps a consistent trickle of blood no matter how much pressure I apply. He probably could use some stitches.

  “This is my fault,” I say as I lightly dab astringent on the cut across the bridge of his nose.

  “How is this your fault?”

  “I was so desperate to see my brother I didn’t think things through. I didn’t want to believe what they told me. And I wasn’t about to accept that he’s a murderous brute. But it’s true.” Smiling to ward off any emotional entanglement, I bandage up Noah’s eyebrow to the best of my abilities.

  “It’s not exactly easy to accept the person you love the most falling from grace.” Melancholy laces his words, as he’s well acquainted with this feeling.

  “How do you get over it?” I ask.

  “You don’t.”

  The great divide between us closes; our similar misfortunes intricately hemming us together. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” I mumble.

  “It was my choice to stay. You didn’t force me.”

  “I wish you would’ve left the party instead of—”

  “You honestly thought I was going to leave you alone with Roman? While you were wearing that dress?” He teases.

  I press a cotton ball saturated with rubbing alcohol against one of his cuts, and he lets out a howl. “Not funny,” I say. “That stupid dress slowed me down and almost got you killed.”

  “But it all worked out. You saved the day.” He tousles my hair, which is still sticky with cake frosting from the dumpster incident.

  “I might have gotten you out of there, but there’s so much more shit going on, Noah. So much more. I don’t know where to start.”

  A vacant stare settles in Noah’s eyes. “In between beatings, Johnson told me about the drug trade. About how the Long-Timers have been financing the Technocrats. About the constantly churning out of new recruits to keep their system running.” He looks away, clenching his jaw.

  “Your brother was probably one of their targets.”

  “I thought about that. But you know, he chose to enter that first speakeasy of his own free will. He could’ve turned away.”

  I search for the right response as I finish with the last of the cuts. There are so many things I want to say, but the words are jumbled. I have little experience being intimate with anyone—let alone a boy—and everything sounds so pithy in my head. Finally, I’m able to stammer out, “Sometimes choices aren’t that black and white.”

  “You’ve got that right, Miss Kalliste.” Noah strokes my arm tenderly, making me jittery and uncomfortable.

  “You don’t have to stay on,” I blurt.

  “Wait, you are?”

  “I can’t leave now. Not when I know the truth. This is bigger than my brother. More important than my DOD. This is about the entire system of injustice. Now that I know what the Technocrats are doing, I have to stay and help the Borders.”

  “But don’t you want to get back to Richmond? You still have time to—” he lowers his eyes to my wrist “—work on extending your DOD.”

  “I can’t go back.”

  Noah grabs my shoulders, desperation flinching in his hazel eyes. “If you stay, you’ll die. What good will that do?”

  “They can fix my DOD at their headquarters.” I take his hand in mine and smile, hoping we can remain civil about my decision to stay. “I don’t expect you to stick around. It’s not like we’re finding any pertinent information about your brother. This whole thing has been about me. I’ve been incredibly selfish. You can go back to Richmond. I don’t want to put your life in danger any more than I already have.”

  Noah grows quiet and stares out the bedroom window. The moonlight radiates over his handsome face, causing my insides to quiver. He returns his gaze to me, taking my breath away. “No, I’m staying.”

  I’m relieved, but confused. “Why?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not really.”

  Noah laughs, holding my hands tighter. “For someone with such an incredible ability to see things, you’re a blind fool.”

  It hits me like a wrecking ball—why he wants to stay—and heat rushes my neck and settles in my cheeks. “Oh.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” he asks.

  A million beautiful replies scramble into my mind at once, but I end up asking, “Where will you sleep?”

  He pokes my side. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  I playfully punch his shoulder, and he winces. But then the grin on his lips spreads all the way to his eyes—even the swollen one. He holds my shoulders, locking me in place so I can’t turn away. I’m squirming around, trying to make some space between us, but Noah holds tight, not letting me go. Everything around us evaporates. He leans closer until his lips are joined with mine. Thunder rolls through me, rocking my insides. His strong hands hold my seams together as his fingers move down my neck and over my shoulders. Tingly sparkly light fills me. My heart feels carbonated, the blood rushing through my veins effervescent. I quake as Noah pulls me closer in, bringing our trembling bodies closer together. We fall back onto the bed, and he smothers me with his soft, wet lips. I kiss him back, our mouths devouring one another. Our lips fitting together so perfectly. I don’t want to stop. I want our supernova to stretch across the universe. But I know this is wrong. I know everything about this is a mistake. Noah’s a Long-Timer. I’m a Short-Timer. He’s made our differences abundantly clear. Over and over. He might want me now, but when the thrill of this moment leaves, I’ll be nothing but a Fly to him.

  “I can’t. I just can’t,” I moan, pushing him away.

  He continues kissing my neck, sending shivers all over me, but I push him away with a little more force until everything comes to an abrupt halt. The fiery passion between us smolders into ash.

  “What are you doing?” His voice is gruff, eyes burning like wildfire.

  “It will never work.”

  “What won’t work?”

  “Us.”

  Noah sits up and straightens himself. He’s about to say something when there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Johnson enters without waiting for an invitation. I jump off the bed and tuck in my shirt. Johnson raises his brows, sporting a slight grin, but he keeps things professional. “We need to talk. When you’re finished here, join us downstairs.”

  “We’re finished. I mean, we weren’t doing anything that needed to be finished. There’s nothing happening here,” I babble, trying to cover up what so clearly went down. Somehow I’m able to snuff out any remaining flickers of heat.

  Noah stands up, rolling his eyes at me. “We’ll be down in a few.”

  The thought of being alone with Noah makes me queasy. I don’t want to get into a discussion regarding my rationale for “us” not working. Not right now. Maybe never. Without so much as a glance, I quickly exit the bedroom and follow Johnson down to the library.

  We gather around a table where paper maps and communication devices are strewn everywhere. The mood is somber over the loss of George. I only spoke to George for those few minutes in his lab, but he was a good guy. A kind soul with a huge heart. And he fixed Noah’s watch without question. Harper’s eyes are
puffy from crying. Johnson gently strokes her arm.

  Leo stands before the group, his muscular arms folded across his bulging pecs. He keeps a stiff upper lip. “Things are progressing at a rate much faster than we predicted.”

  Johnson cuts him off, “Before we start, I want to ask Noah and Kalli something important.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “We could use your help. We’ve decided to go down to Jekyll Island even though we don’t have the exact server location. I want to know if you’d be interested in helping us.”

  “I’m definitely in,” I say.

  Noah nods solemnly. “After what went down, I’m in.” He studies Johnson for a moment. “But I’d like something in return.”

  “I already told you, they’ll fix my DOD at headquarters,” I tell Noah.

  He shoots daggers in my direction. “This isn’t just about you, Kalli. I still want to know who killed my brother.”

  Johnson pats Noah’s shoulder. “I told you from the start that I’d help you. Once we get to headquarters, we can access all sorts of files. Those guys have every nitty gritty detail on the southern grids.”

  Leo clears his throat. “Can I continue? In the next couple weeks, the Technocrats are planning to introduce a new and more potent drug into the speakeasies. Getting onto Jekyll Island won’t be easy. But we’ve worked out a plan.” For some reason he looks at me when he says this. “Our best way to get to Achilles is through you.”