Ominous Order

by Felisha Antonette

  The cell across from me is empty, and the others are too far away to discreetly communicate with.

  A thump sounds from the glass bars. I look their direction. Marc stands at my cell, shotgun lowered, slung over his shoulder. He gestures for me to come over. I shake my head. Marc places his forehead to the bars with his arms through them, both hands wave me over.

  Again, I shake my head.

  He mouths, “I’m sorry.”

  I flick my gaze away from his frown and lowered eyebrows to the cloudy white ceiling, trying to keep my tears from falling. This is such a stupid feature to this body. The tears burn my eyes but refrain from pouring over.

  Marc taps the bar again.

  Grumbling, I dart my gaze in his direction, and a tear skates down my cheek. He looks away from me. “What?” I harshly whisper.

  “Come here,” he mouths.

  “No,” I mouth back, slamming my fist against my leg. “Go away.”

  He extends his hand through the bars into my cell and opens his eyes a little wider. “Please,” he begs, brows trembling and lips drawing inward.

  Getting up, I go to him. At my approach, he grazes my neck and pushes his hand up through my messy ponytail to the knot protruding from my head. He gently massages the spot. The bars are wide enough apart for him to place his forehead to mine when he inches me forward. “I’m sorry.” I try to pull away, but his free hand shoots out and grabs my waist. He keeps me close.

  His body heat warms my neck and face. The comfort I get from the contact stabs a knife in my back, as if the action is a betrayal to myself.

  Marc turns my head to whisper in my ear, “I’d never turn on you. I do love you, Ky. I just…now…I know in the end you’ll pick Luke, and I can’t be with you knowing you are my first pick and I’m not yours. That’s why I agreed to do things this way. So be mad at me, I can take it. I just wanted to explain and reassure you everything we did was one hundred percent authentic. My love in you was the most genuine emotion I’ve ever felt.” He pauses. “I think I love you too much. And while I’m okay with that, my love isn’t enough for you.” He meets my eyes. “But trust I love you.”

  I grab the glass bars in my hands to keep myself from reaching for Marc and attacking him. “How can I trust you?” This close to him, I avoid looking into his eyes. “If everything was real for you, you would be behind these bars with me. Not on the other side.”

  “That’s not true, Kylie.”

  I try to keep my voice low, but the burn building in my throat makes it rough. “You are a snake, and I stupidly fell into your deception.” I push away, but his hands, still wrapped around my waist and the back of my head, force me to stay. “I’m through with you. Let me go.”

  His hold on me tightens. “Would you look at me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then hear me.” Marc’s lips brush my ear as he whispers, “I can’t explain right now what’s going on. But you just need to trust me.” He leans back a bit and begs, “Please, Ky. Trust me.”

  I can’t. “As long as you’re out there, and I’m in here, I’ll never trust you.” I step back, but my hands remain wrapped around the bars. His pleading eyes locked on mine make my sureties insecurities, and I begin to doubt I’m making the right decision.

  I hold my breath and lean over, grip tightening around the glass. Sadness is working its way through me, but I will not break down. Not here. Not in front of him. I cough against the pain and wince to fight it off.

  “Hey,” Marc carries on in a whisper. “Come here, Ky.” His rough palm rubs my neck. As I rise, he cuffs my cheek and swipes the tear from my eye. “I hate to see you cry.”

  I grab him by the shoulder straps of his vest. I shake him once. “I want to tell you I hate you so badly,” I whisper, now understanding exactly what he meant when he said that to me. “I want to hate you.”

  He wraps me in his arms, bars separating our frames. An inch away from my lips, he utters, “But your wants don’t matter.” He kisses me, and I don’t want it to feel as reassuring and perfectly perfect as it does. What is it about him, this boy I accidentally fell in love with at Separation? How did I get here?

  Marc’s lips move smoothly against mine, like we’ve known each other for years. In this uncomfortable situation, he makes it comfortable. Breaking away, he requests, “Now, tell me you love me, Kylie.”

  Though I may, I will not say those words. “Tell me now. What’s going on?”

  He sighs so low I barely hear it. “Why haven’t you asked me yet?”

  I roll my eyes at his change in subject. “What?”

  “If I’m mixed.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care. I wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t fall for you because of what you are. If you are still you, none of that even matters.” Marc looks down, and I survey him, his dark hair, warm skin tone, his beard lining his jawline, and his neutral expression. Regrettably, I recall Collins kissing him, and an onslaught of memories pound against my already hurting head. A realization pulls a gasp from me.

  Marc looks up, eyes squinting as he waits for me to reveal what’s caused my shock.

  “All this time. You’d been acting weird, sneaking away, and no one could find you, keeping secrets, and being standoffish at times.” The pieces begin fitting together like a puzzle. “Then Collins always being around you, stopping by your room late at night. She may have been trying to get under my skin, but I had it wrong, didn’t I? It wasn’t romantic between you two. You’ve been working with her the entire time, haven’t you? Planning this?”

  “Yes,” he answers in a matter-of-fact monotone that I interpret as truth.

  “And you expect me to trust you!” I hiss, thrusting a jab at him that doesn’t connect as he jumps out of the way of it. “You disloyal son of a bitch! I’ve given you everything,” I whisper harshly.

  Staggered, his brows furrow, and his orchid eyes darken. He stalks back to the bars. “You’re so naive, Kylie. Me!” he snaps in a hushed tone. “I’ve given up everything for you. From the trust of my brother to my loyalty to myself. It’s you who’s betrayed me, from every night you’d lie with me to standing in my face yesterday and telling me I wasn’t important enough for you to make the same sacrifices for me, Ky.” He huffs angrily, looking away from me as he shakes his head. When he looks back up, I look away from him. He says, “Now sit the hell down and trust me to work this out.” He steps away from the cell, warning, “Someone is coming.”

  I grit my teeth, taking three steps back from the bars. He won’t get away with talking to me like that.

  The Volones’s silver illumination casts over the hall before he enters. The sound of rubber scraping glass screeches through the cellar. The Volones has Cory by his neck, dragging him as though his neck were a handle and his legs were wagon wheels. The toes of his boots scrape across the floor. The Volones throws Cory in the cell across from mine, and the bars quickly shut. Another seven-foot Volones is shoving Harold into the cell beside me, and then Jord’s pushed into the cell across from him—next to Cory, but diagonal from me.

  It’s quiet.

  At least for a minute, the silence swallows the prison in the way quiet follows an explosion after the eruption, which is Collins. The glass floor makes it easy to see the reflections of the traitors. The floor being glass also makes the sound of Collins’s footsteps clear. They both draw my attention to her presence. She comes down the hall, one of her feet dragging after every third step, maybe her left. She glances in my direction before turning to Marc. “Why haven’t we killed her yet?”

  “They are not ready to kill any of them,” he tells her.

  I sit on the floor in the corner, back to the wall. She closes the distance between them, and I look away to the floating bed, wondering if I ripped it away from the wall and threw it at the bars, would it still have the ability to hover?

  Collins utters to Marc, “Not them, just her.”

  I clench my fist and bite down on my lip to keep in my anger. But i
t comes out, though not explosively. “Collins,” I say peacefully, yet low and sincere, “I can’t wait to kill you.”

  She snickers. “You will never get that chance, Ky.”

  There’s movement. “Don’t taunt her,” Marc warns.

  “Get off me,” she says, dismissing him.

  I cut in. “The moment I get the chance, Collins. And oh, yes, I will definitely get that chance. I am going to watch you suffer. My hands will be wound around your neck, gripping you tighter and tighter the more bloodshot your eyes become, and when your face is burning red and your nails are digging into my wrist and the heels of your boots are scraping the ground, while the hope for mercy bleeds in your slowly beating heart, and inaudibly, your last breath is used to beg me to let you go. I’m going to revel in those words and say no just before I proudly prove it.”

  In my periphery, I see her approach my cell. Her hands wrap around a couple of the bars. “Even in death, Ky. I will never beg you for anything.”

  Meeting her gaze, I nod. “We’ll see,” I say and drag my lazy gaze away from her. “When I’m out from behind these bars and not being threatened with a gun to my head, don’t run.”

  “I won’t,” she promises.

  “If she does run, Ky, I’ll catch her.” Luke’s voice echoes from down the hall. “But only if you let me kill Sean’s bitch of a brother and then his bitch ass.”

  Something hits against a glass bar. The clunk echoes and the glass vibrates. “You do realize we’re the ones holding the guns while you sit locked up?” Sean says. His lighthearted perky tone is replaced by a seriousness that makes him sound more like his brother. I take a quick glance at Marc to make sure I’ve been speaking to the right twin. Meeting his gaze, I look away. It’s him.

  Pressing the heels of my hands against my forehead and my elbows to my knees, I agree with my brother. “Sure, Luke. You can kill Marc and Sean. Pfft, whether I catch Collins or not, you can kill them.” I shrug.

  “I got you, Ky,” he concludes.

  Cecilia comes to Collins, who is still standing in front of my cell. “Collins, if you shoot her right now, they won’t find out until they come back. Worst that can happen is they get upset. But they need us now, so her premature death won’t matter.” Cecilia glares at me. She says through her teeth, “I’d like to see how long it will take you to bleed out before you pass out.”

  I sweep my hand through the air, not even caring enough to use my words against her. I’ve proven neither of them are a match for me. The only way they’ll get the upper hand is with me behind bars.

  “I’d like to know what type of Creations you four are to turn on your country and stand with the invaders.” Harold’s throaty voice, deep and a bit harsh, causes a slight rumbling echo in the hall.

  “We are only Creations,” Collins states. “We were offered an opportunity to be the first of our planet’s reconstruction. Marc and I and Sean and Cecilia. We will breed a new life on Earth.” She hits the butt of her shotgun against the bars of my cell. “You hear that, Ky? I’ll get to lie with Marc over and over as we make babies to populate the earth. How does that make you feel?”

  I hold my grumble but sigh as I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. My leg twitches for me to jump to my feet, race across the small cell, snatch her by the collar of her vest and yank her forward so hard that when her head rams against the bar, the glass and her skull will shatter. Marc does not object to her derisive words, and while I wait for jealousy to churn in my stomach, I remain numb. I snort, but it turns into a chuckle. “I hope you’ve already gotten the chance to lie with Marc because there’s no way you’re making it out of here alive.”

  She laughs.

  Jord clears his throat, and loudly states, “The four of you turned on us just to have the title of being the first on Earth for their reconstruction?”

  Collins finally leaves, going to Jord’s cell. “Yes,” she says as if the answer is obvious and makes sense.

  Cory grumbles a rough breath, causing his lips to make a vibrating sound. “You sound so dumb, Collins.” Standing from the floating bed, he nears the bars of his cell. “They don’t even like Creations, you dimwitted lunatic. They even hate humans and want to purge the Creations completely! Why would they use you four to reconstruct?”

  Collins takes a couple of steps over to his cell. “Because we are strong, we manage, and have an understanding with them,” she states sternly, throwing her hands on her hips.

  “No. You are a fucking idiot. They chose you because you could stand between whatever plan Jord had to go against them.” Cory’s the only one of us, seeming comfortable in this world, but disconnected because he looks more like us as a Creation than the Vojin, his origin. He glares down at Collins, his upper lip curled in disgust. “They created an ally, and you fail to realize that the only position you hold in this is to prove your disloyalty to your family. You really think, seeing how quickly you turned on your own people, they are going to bring you onboard with their plan? They see you can be bought Collins, all four of you! All you’re good for is knowing the secrets of this mission, and keeping an eye on the others. Don’t get this shit confused thinking the Vojin are your pals because they’re not.” Cory turns his back to her, goes back to the bed, and lies down. “The only way any of us will be making it out of here is by death. Period.”

  I expected to either be caught or die here. Last night, I mentally prepared myself for this. Being locked in a cell, likely staring death in the face, doesn’t bother me. He bothers me.

  Marc stares a hole through me until I dart my gaze to him. “What?” I mouth.

  He turns a quarter of the way to me. “What she said. That’s not true,” he says, mouthing the words.

  “I don’t care,” I mouth back, shrugging.

  He inhales, chest swelling, shoulders rising high. The air rushes out of him as he exhales and looks away from me. “Sean,” he calls. “Trade spots with me.” He glances my way once more before being replaced by his brother.

  Marc doesn’t have the right to be upset with me for being angry at him or angry about this situation. They set us up, working with the Vojin for whatever reason. The four Creations least suspected to be mixed are the ones who took the Vojin side. How do they expect us to respond?

  I’m with Cory. I know the Vojin have no interest in Creations. We’re their enemy. Maybe not their greatest enemy, but we, Creations, are the only ones who can give them a run for their money. Like they mentioned at the meeting in Highrum, the Zombies were a threat that would end if our government would eliminate Creations, which I believe might be a ploy to get the Guidance to take out the America’s greatest defenses.

  If the Guidance or the Trade believe them, Creations are done for.

  Now, we’re going to be left to watch as it all unfolds.

  Chapter Three

  For what seems like hours, we wait for night to fall. Or something for us to interpret as night. My watch is distorted. The hands slowly wind counterclockwise constantly.

  My eyes are dry, and my muscles cramp from sitting in the same position for too long. I fight a yawn and start to climb to my feet when I hear the door to the hall slide open.

  Soft pink washes over the dimmed corridor. The glow grows brighter as the pink female Vojin makes her way to my cell. “Kylie?” she calls, voice the same as the Vojin from earlier.

  I stand as the bars rise. The Vojin heads out of the hall, and I follow closely behind her, keeping my steps quiet and my guard up. Our guards watch me as I depart, but they say nothing.

  Finally, something that shuts Collins up.

  We pass Luke’s cell, and I look in on him, seeing him sleeping like a baby. I smile to myself. It’s a relief he’s found comfort. He’s not worried about us getting out of here, so I won’t worry about it either. We clearly have this pink Vojin on our side, and maybe she’s waiting for the right moment when the Volones let their guard down so she can really help us get out of here.

  We
quietly walk through the narrow halls. The glass floor is a dimly lit blueish green, and a green stream of lights runs up the walls, seemingly within the glass. Maybe it’s their way of communication. By the way the floor and walls responded to the war and the Vojin’s steps, it’s connected to them in some way.

  The female Vojin leads me to the elevator room. With the multiple turns we take, I get lost in this maze of halls, unable to determine my right from my left. Should we make it out of those cells, there’s no way we would find our way back to the portals without help from a Vojin.

  The elevator takes us down until the door slides open. She exits first and surveys the halls. With the coast clear, she waves me on. We walk three feet to the left, down a hall also made of a glasslike material. It’s dimly lit in a stormy gray like the hall cellar with the jail cells.

  We come up on our destination, another section in the glass that’s a sliding door. It’s so quiet I can hear myself breathe, but I don’t hear a single move the pink Vojin makes, even as she lifts her right hand and presses it to the center of the door. The door slides to the left, opening to a small command center lit by a soft white hue. What I interpret as clear glass tables curve around half the room, facing a blank glass wall.

  The pink Vojin approaches the tables, four feet from where we stand, and places her hand to the center of the one directly in front of us. The table tops glow pink as a switchboard reveals itself. Buttons and keys reflect in the glass as the wall beyond it presents eight rectangular screens from floor to ceiling, as though they were being projected onto the glass wall.

  The room’s white hue turns a greenish-blue that mixes with the Vojin’s pink. The female Vojin presses her middle finger, the largest of the four that looks as though the two middle fingers of a normal hand were merged into one, against an outlined circle on the table. She says, “This is real time,” as the screens on the wall begin showing videos. “It shows what’s going on right now on your Earth.”