Those in white lab coats rush around the building and quickly bring us the guns and ammunition we need. We load up. Those willing to fight gather anything that they can use as weapons. And we line up in formation around the door, Creations in the front. Everyone else who’s not fighting with us ran downstairs. They sealed the door and locked us out.
Sean aims his weapon at the door. “They’re here.”
The Zombies crowd the building like an angry mob, snapping and slapping at the glass. It’s cracking against the impact of their growing pressure the more the ones in front are smashed against it.
Jord says, “When they make it through, shoot them. Don’t fire off a shot until they’ve broken through the glass. You must shoot or hit them in the head. It you can’t, knock out their legs to slow them down.”
“We went up there and took out those giant aliens,” Sean snaps. “This should be over,” he adds through his teeth.
It does all seem for nothing, but what’s done is done. “Not even close. Looks like we just pissed them off,” I say, drawing my second gun to fill my empty hand.
Sean looks from his left to his right, eyes darting to every entrance and sweeping over the glass walls. He looks at me, and I nod in agreement, already knowing his words before he says them. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to wipe them out.”
The Zombies claw at the spiderweb cracks, ramming the glass to worsen them.
“We can if there are enough of us,” Jord states, nodding.
My neck practically snaps with how quick I turn to him. Optimism. There are hundreds of these things and eight of us. The flight attendants have likely never had training other than flight school and basic first aid. The other two, judging by the fumbling way they hold their weapons, should be in front of us instead of behind, putting us at risk of being accidentally shot. And those of us who were trained for this, even with a gun in each hand, will easily be outnumbered.
Glass shatters around a corner. Jord runs to it, Seits right behind him.
Back at the Vojin’s base, that pink one told me there would be an end to the destruction if we helped take out those extra-large Vojin. But nothing has changed. The Zombies are still at large, and their threat is still being carried out. Killing those gray Vojin was only for their benefit, taking them from under their thumb. We were only pawns. They must’ve known we were coming and found a way to make us work for them, using us to divert their betrayal against their own kind.
Another glass shatters from the other side of the entry. “Hold your ground,” I tell those who volunteered to help. “Do what you can. We’ll take care of the lot.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hands on my hips, I pace the floor, waiting for instructions. I should be looking over some papers or have access to records I can review. Not slumming it in this ridiculous high maintenance suite! I kick the coffee table. It screeches across the marble floor.
They moved me from the Inn’s single room to my permanent dwellings on the other side of the Guidance building where the gold halls are replaced with cream walls and beige carpet. It’s an upgrade. My new room has a small kitchen, sitting area with a projector for visual entertainment, and a bedroom with double doors that block me from the nobody who will be inside the suite with me.
Bored, I stare at the double doors and grow angry with them. I march across the slippery floor. I tug the door on the left until I can snatch it off its hinges and toss it to the floor. Then off with the other.
With the doors gone, I finally step into the bedroom. It’s white. The carpet, walls, the heavy blanket on the bed, the pillowcases. A door in a wall to the left of the bed is also white. It must lead to a bathroom. I’ve not found it yet.
I head toward it to check it out, but a knock on the room’s door deters me.
“Finally!” Hopefully, whoever it is has something for me to do. The silence and lack of action is already killing me. I rush to the door, tripping over the long, wide-legged bottoms of the slacks I’ve been instructed to wear. They’re white, as is my long-sleeved blouse. The satin fabric feels like nothing against my skin. And maybe because I’ve been wearing my thick suit and heavy vests and helmets for such a long time, I feel lighter, and it’s uncomfortable.
They knock on the door again.
“Yes?” I yank it open.
Arletta barges in without an invitation. “Kylie, I have news.”
I push the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for something to keep me busy.”
She waves her hand. “It’s not that kind of news.” She continues in and immediately notices the large white doors laying on the floor. “Hmm,” she sounds. “What happened there?” she gestures toward the doors as she faces me, brows drawn inward and eyes squinting.
I instinctively cross my arms. “Well, ma’am. The entire area is mine, and there is a door to enter.” I gesture to the door behind me. “Having more to block the bedroom didn’t make sense, so I got rid of them. Point me in the direction to where I can dispose of them, and the first part of remodeling the space will be completed.”
Her red-covered eyelids fall over her sparkling gray eyes as she shakes her head. “You cannot change the room, Kylie.”
I half nod, asking, “Do I have to sleep here? Better yet, live here?”
Arletta slowly nods, pinning her gaze on me.
“Then I can change the room.” I cross the floor to the sofa and sit. “The news, please.”
Her hands fold in front of her belt buckle, and she draws her shoulders back, a move I’ve gathered as her taking an authoritative stance. Like one would relay the weather, she says, “The plane on which your general and associates departed crashed thirty minutes ago. We’ve heard nothing of survivors. Because of the artillery loaded on the plane, the damage was worse. Explosions blew out the entire area resulting in many fatalities. I’m sorry.”
I’m on my feet, but I don’t recall standing. My body has gone numb, and my throat goes dry. “A-are…” I suck in a breath to slow the stutter. I try to say, “Are you saying they’re dead?” but my mouth only moves wide enough to make the words unintelligible.
She winces. “Come again.”
I try to clear my throat, but its scratchy, like sandpaper. “They’re dead?” I force out.
“That is possible.” Arletta smoothly strolls to the door. “I’ll give you a minute. Carden is next door, should you desire someone to talk to.” She leaves.
The door closes, and my legs give out. I catch myself on my hands and knees, gritting my teeth against the scream scraping up my throat. The blow comes like a bulldozer.
No way they’re gone. Not Marc. Not Jord. They would’ve made it out. I can’t believe they’re gone. I won’t allow myself to accept that.
A siren blares from the hall before the one in the room screeches. Someone bangs on the door relentlessly.
I stand and trip over the long pant legs again. “Enough with these ridiculous clothes!” I rip the cloth at my thigh on each leg and step out of the curtains, then I snatch the blouse over my head, revealing my black tank top I wear beneath it.
I easily make it to the door and rip it open. “We’re under attack!” Carden yells. He looks me over. His nose draws up. “Ach! What has happened to your clothes? Your Creation markings are showing.”
I look my flesh over, never before feeling ashamed by the embellishments that dress my skin. But the disgusted look pinching his nose and knitting his brows makes me want the sleeves back. No! This is what I am. I’m not letting these people change me. I’m here for me, to get answers, not to satisfy their wants and needs. “Those clothes were ugly and inconvenient. I made them better.” Behind him, people run back and forth through the hall, screaming at the top of their lungs, fear-stricken. “What’s going on?”
“Something has happened. We need to get to a safe place,” Carden says. He grabs my arms and wrenches me out of the room. “You must come with me right now.”
Carden flees down the hall, avoiding col
liding into the others running about in every direction. Had I not adjusted these slacks, I would be falling all over the place.
“Carden! Are you afraid that they are going to lock you out of the safe place? Because the only danger I see is you being trampled by these people who have no idea what they’re running from.” I snatch my arm from him to keep him from tugging me like I’m a pet on a leash.
“Kylie, now is not the time for your Creation mindset. We must go.”
As a Creation, if I were on Citizen Management, I would say to him, ‘I understand you’re afraid. How can I help?’ The words work through my mind over and over. “Carden, you’re afraid of something and you have no idea what it is. Instead of making it worse, shouldn’t you be trying to calm the people around you? The likelihood of survival is greater if people stay calm. Panic only makes a situation worse and causes fatalities.”
“No. We get the most important people, me and you, to a safe place, and the Creations will trouble themselves with everyone else,” he states, retrieving my wrist and rushing us through the crowd. A sour feeling crawls in my stomach and works its way up to my throat. I swallow hard.
An emergency message broadcasts through the speakers. “Please make your way to the secure shelters in a safe and calm manner. Highrum is under lockdown. Creation Generation Four have been dispatched.” The feminine robotic voice repeats the message. The cries and shouts blare over it.
“Carden, what are Fourth-Generation Creations?”
He continues to barge forward, shoving people from his path.
“Carden! What are Fourth-Generation Creations?” I ask, but still go ignored.
We take the stairs down to the basement and race through a circular shaped hallway to a vault entry where Creations wave us forward.
We arrive in the underground shelter, crowded with members of the Guidance and their families. They seem to have all the necessities, and there are signs that lead to the restrooms, another sign that leads to the kitchen, and a third that hangs over our heads. It reads ‘Rest’. On a table near the door are packages of freeze-dried food. The concrete walls, floor, and, ceiling of the open space are painted white. The alternative would be black, so I’ll take the white as the dim lights make it acceptable to be down here.
Free from Carden’s pulling, I wrap my arms around my stomach. I’d buckle over and groan against the pain if I were alone, but I push through it, trying to think less of the news. I find an empty cot, sit, and place my forehead against my chilly knees. I shudder, hit with too many things at once.
Could they be dead? What kind of attack is Highrum under? Where are their Creations that would prevent such an attack? And if Highrum is suffering, what does that mean for the rest of the country? Most importantly, what is a Fourth-Generation Creation?
Carden sits beside me. “We should have more information soon. Mother will be here shortly.”
My right leg bounces as my trigger finger twitches repeatedly. I cross my legs and breathe evenly to keep down the hundreds of emotions fighting for dominance. Now’s not the time for feelings, I need to be numb to hold myself together.
Carden rubs my shoulder, and I knock it away. “Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “Is this odd for you, Kylie?”
“The last thing I want to do is sit around and wait for something to happen. Or not know whether my friends are alive or dead.” I need my chest strapped in my vest, a pistol in my hand, and a shotgun on my back. I realize the easy thing would’ve been to leave with Marc. I’m not looking for easy. I need to find out what happened with my parents, and the truth about the Vojin and Guidance’s dealings. I need to get close to the Trade. Going back to Separation and following orders, being kept at a Creation’s distance from information wasn’t going to get me these answers. But to know they faced death, and I wasn’t there to help is tearing me up inside.
Carden reaches for me again, and I shuffle away from him. “Please don’t touch me,” I tell him.
“I’m only trying to help you feel better.”
“Put a gun in my hand,” I say. “That will make me feel better.”
The members of the Guidance go from talking and standing around to sitting as the time passes and we wait for word on what’s going on. Though panicked, unlike the people running about in the halls, they patiently whisper and speculate, while keeping their families at ease with reassuring smiles and gentle pats to their backs or shoulders.
The sounds of static coming from a communication device draws my attention to my left, where a couple of Creations are pulling open the vault-like door. Arletta enters. She’s swarmed by the panicked members buzzing with their fear-stricken inquiries regarding their safety. It’s as though her presence sparks the rise of anxiety.
Arletta soothes their worries with a smile. “Everything will be fine. We are in complete control of the situation. Everyone sit tight until instructions come that Highrum is clear.”
A sigh sweeps over the closed off shelter, which is more like a bunker for the Guidance.
“For everyone’s safety, no one should attempt to leave this safe room. There’s danger outside of these walls,” Arletta says, pointing to her right. “Leaving will put all of us in danger.” She leaves the center of the floor to speak to Carden and me.
“Mother.” Carden jumps to his feet. “What is going on out there?”
Arletta lowers her voice and says, “Those cannibal creatures have found their way into our city. Areas have been taken over, and our Creations are doing the best they can to fight them off. We are safe here, son.” She accepts his embrace and stiffly pats him twice on the back. “Everyone can remain calm. Kylie?” She raises an eyebrow. “This must be odd for you? Would you prefer the fight?”
“I would, ma’am.” My mouth twitches as I struggle to make a grin. “If you won’t let me do that, can I at least have a gun to protect myself?” I keep my words strong though there’s a sting and shake in my throat.
Arletta snaps her finger, saying, “Carla. Here.”
A Creation in a black suit runs to her side. I narrow my eyes as I survey the two of them, not sure I could accept a finger snap and a demand. We deserve more respect than that.
“Give Kylie your weapon,” Arletta orders.
Carla grabs a spare gun from the holster on her right side and hands it to me. “Thank you,” I say to her.
Carla meets my eyes from a partially bowed head and nods once. The look she gives is shameful but hinting at something. I can’t read into it. “You’re welcome, Kylie Alexander.” She hurries back to her post near the door, draws her hands behind her back, and snaps her boots together. Just before I look away from her, she mouths, “I’m honored to have met you.” It’s a harmless statement, but what’s off-putting is that she’s either ashamed to say it in front of Arletta or afraid. I’m nobody important. My name is well known because of my ranking and accomplishments, but my significance to this country—to this world—is minimal.
I barely nod at her so I don’t tip off Arletta and turn my attention away from Carla. The metal of the gun warms in my hand and comfortably molds into my palm. It’s light. I remove the mag from the handgun, finding it loaded with eight bronze bullets. I check if there’s one in the chamber and discover there is. It will do nothing against the Zombies, but it relaxes my muscles and slows my racing heart. I sigh with relief and click off the safety.
“Well, now I know what makes you happy,” Carden grumbles, rolling his eyes as he plops back down on the cot.
I snap the safety back in case I need to knock him in the head with my new friend.
“It may not yet be easy for you to stand down, Kylie. But you must learn to do so,” Arletta advises.
“Can you at least provide me with something to do to help these people.” I gesture to the worried faces around us. “Most of them are scared out of their minds.”
Arletta shakes her head. “These people do not take well to Creations like yourself. They respect you because of all you do and your
dedication to the America. However, if you run up to them, intention set on helping, they will not see it that way. Fighter Creations generate fear in the people of Highrum. This is why your kind do not come here that often. Here, Kylie, there is nothing for you to do.”
I wince at my uselessness and her ‘Creations like me’ statement.
“You don’t need to manage these citizens. There are agented Creations here for that. Remember, you are no longer a Creation. Your only role is to sit at the table with the Guidance, provide your opinion when asked, and stay at Carden’s side as his consort. If you must have a task, you can breed.” She pauses. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling, and she taps her bottom lip with her index finger. A thought lifts the corners of her mouth into an ominous smile and brightens her eyes. “Because Creations are being so quickly wiped out by these walking dead creatures and their production is being limited,” she says contemplatively, “we’d need to have a new solution for the protection of the America. And you, Kylie Alexander, with your genetic makeup and distinct structure, could be quite the specimen for a new generation.”
I take a step back from her. “No, ma’am.” I cross my arms and fight the disgust trying to wash its way over my face. “I am not interested in breeding or being prodded by scientists. Nor will I be used for creating a new generation of Creations. That’s not what I signed up for.” I start to turn away, but it hits me. “Why are Creations being limited?” Only the Vojin have revealed this small detail. At the Guidance’s last council meeting, it sounded like they were against this trade-off—destroy Creations in exchange for the Vojin’s retreat.
Arletta looms near me. Her voice lowers as she says, “By decree of the Trade. Because the Vojin has threatened our world due to the existence of Creations, they are convinced it’s better to agree and eliminate the problem than to go to war with the aliens. Creations have been labeled as destroyers. We came to an agreement to allow the current Creations to live out their remaining lives instead of the requested execution the Vojin originally commanded.”
Ominous Order Page 13
