by K. A. Gandy
“He is a pretty easy-going guy most of the time,” she agrees while dipping her second cookie into the glass of milk.
“Yes, he is. When those kidnappers came to the NLC, he was cool as a cucumber. I don’t know how to handle this side of Patrick.”
“Well, to be fair, it’s the first time you’ve seen it. We’re all newlyweds, after all.” She says it so matter-of-factly, it helps ease the tension in my shoulders.
I turn and grab a cookie for myself before answering, “You’re right, this is all so new. I wish I knew how to help him. What to do, you know? So far, all I’ve done is bake everything in sight.”
“It’s okay, he’s a runner. He won’t lose his hot bod before the honeymoon’s over.”
“Who’s got a hot bod?” Atlas’s voice rumbles from the entryway, and I jump a mile high.
Nell spins on her barstool towards the sound of his voice, and gives him a salacious grin. “I’ll never tell.”
He smirks, clearly not concerned with her inspecting someone else’s physique. “Oh, you’ll tell. Or I won’t let you drive,” he says, waving a short key with a black rubber grip in front of her face.
“Ooh, does that mean they’re here?” Nell claps her hands like a little kid on Christmas morning. In that moment, I’m reminded exactly how young she is.
Atlas nods. “When Patrick’s back, we can take them for a spin. If you’re done with your cookies, that is.”
“I think I’m good; I had two. Although, one for the road wouldn’t hurt.” She turns back to me, and I hand her and Atlas each a cookie in a napkin.
“Those are the last two, so don’t rush it. I’ll make more later.”
“Yes, Mom,” she sing-songs back at me.
I’m shaking my head at her antics when I hear an ear-splitting boom break through the peaceful morning.
“What was that?” I ask, but Atlas is already in motion.
“Get in the bathroom, and lock the door. Don’t open it unless Patrick or I tell you to!” By the time the front door slams behind him, Nell is already on her feet and around the counter. She grabs me by the wrist, and we race down the hall to the bathroom.
My hands shake as I lock the door, and another boom sounds close enough to shake the cottage.
“Get in the tub!” Nell urges, and we both clamber in.
“Why are we in the tub?” I ask, after we’re in it. Thankfully it’s a large soaker tub, so we both fit with our knees up.
“Extra protection from stray gunshots,” she tells me, voice tight.
I reach out and grip one of her hands, and she squeezes mine back tightly. “I don’t think those are gunshots, way too massive—the whole cottage is shaking. Did Atlas teach you that?”
“Yes, after the first kidnapping attempt. He was barking orders left and right and took me straight to my room and shoved me into the bathroom and told me to lay down in the tub until he came back. Good gracious, why do people keep trying to kidnap us?” She lays her head on her knees, and I'm not sure whose hand is shaking harder, hers or mine.
A third boom sounds, even closer this time. The tub rattles underneath us, and in the cacophony I almost miss the sound of the front door bursting open.
“Was that the door?” Nell’s voice is a whisper now.
“I think so,” I answer in a barely audible voice.
Heavy footsteps thud down the hall, and I hear the bedroom door open. The footsteps fade as the person goes deeper into the room.
That’s not Atlas. There is a kidnapper in my house right now. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I can feel my breaths coming in shorter and shorter gasps. I try to stay silent, despite my imminent hyperventilation.
The footsteps return to the hall, and I hear the bathroom door knob turn once, twice. A muffled curse comes from the other side of the door, and I hear the crackle of the man’s communication wristband. “Possible target in cottage three.”
Nell’s grip on my hand turns vice-like, and we both sink as far down into the tub as we can. Silent prayers pound in my ears with my pulse.
“Affirmative, pickup on standby,” a different voice responds on the device.
Where the heck are Patrick and Atlas? Oh, God, I hope they haven’t been shot. Or captured.
“Making entry,” the muffled voice says, and then he backs up a few steps.
“Oh, Jesus,” Nell breathes, and we make desperate, terrified eye contact.
The next instant the bathroom door crashes inward, and splintered debris comes flying into the tub onto our backs. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut on instinct, and hear the ear-splitting crack of a gunshot, followed closely by a loud thud.
All is silent for a heartbeat, then another. I open my eyes and force myself to look over the lip of the bathtub, and see our would-be kidnapper lying in a black-clad heap outside the bathroom door. I squeeze Nell’s hand, and she takes in the scene with me.
The sound of running feet barely makes it to my still-ringing ears, and then Patrick appears in the doorway, as if by magic.
A grateful sob tears itself from my throat, and I take in his sweat-drenched running clothes, sharply contrasted against the sleek black rifle in his hand.
“Sadie! Thank God! Are you all right?” He steps over the prone form and reaches in to help Nell and me from the tub.
“I was so scared. I was so scared, Patrick!” I’m clutching his shirt, sweat forgotten, and see that Atlas has appeared and taken Nell into his arms as well.
“I know, sweetheart. I was scared too. But you’re okay now, I’ve got you.” His hand cradles the back of my head, and he sweeps his gaze along my form, as if checking for injuries.
“We have to move, it’s not safe here.” Atlas’s brusque tone brooks no argument, and he heads straight out of the bathroom.
“There’s no exterior door in there, Atlas,” I point out, as he strides into our bedroom. One by one, we step over the black-clad man in the doorway, and I try not to notice the pool of blood spreading across the gorgeous wood floors.
“Don’t need one.” He throws open the window, and in one fluid motion steps onto the sill and leaps out. Nell is right behind him and scrambles out a moment later.
Patrick and I reach the window and see two shiny black ATVs parked right under the window. Atlas has caught Nell, and scooted her to the one furthest from the window.
“Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” Patrick says before crossing to his night stand, pulling something flat out of the drawer and slipping it into his pocket.
“Come on, I’ll catch you.” Atlas makes an impatient gesture, as I step up onto the sill. My foot slips, and I tumble out in a graceless heap. He catches me with a grunt, sits me on the second ATV, and then slides over in front of Nell and cranks their ATV. Patrick is beside me in an instant, silent as a cat. He slides in front of me, and with a kick, the ATV beneath us rumbles to life.
Atlas spins the tires as he steers the roaring ATV into the dunes behind our cottage.
Butterflies
I cling to Patrick’s waist, and bury my face into his back as the wind rushes by, whipping my hair wildly around my face and ears. The cold metal of the rifle slung across his lap bounces against my knuckles whenever we hit a bump. I clutch him tightly, and pray as hard as I can for the kidnapping attempt to be over. Where did he even get a rifle?
Soon, the landscape around us changes, and the ground smooths out. After about 15 minutes, Patrick slows the ATV, and I finally lift my head to look around. The familiar autumnal foliage of a hiking trail surrounds us. Atlas and Nell are rolling slowly right next to us.
“This is the best chance we’ll have to slip past the guard shack,” Atlas says, voice raised over the sounds of growling engines.
“I agree,” Patrick says with grim determination. “It’s going to be much harder to investigate once my guard detail arrives.”
Atlas gives a sharp nod, and then speeds off in front of us. Patrick follows hot on his heels, and I bury my face back into his shirt.
Time passes strangely as we ride down the cold trail. Every time my heart starts to slow to a normal pace, another loud explosion rocks the earth behind us, in the direction of the guest house. I watch the trees whip by in a blur, and my eyes water from the stinging wind. Eventually we slow again, and Patrick turns our ATV off the wide hiking trail and into the scrubby brush between the towering trees.
The ATV engines quiet to a purr as we slowly crawl through the underbrush. Thankfully most of the scrub bends beneath the tires, but I still get a few scratches along my chilled arms when things spring back up. We ride one behind the other until we reach the ATV trail to the guard shack. Atlas waits for Patrick to pull us up to his right.
“Stay low and be ready to cut the engine on my signal.” His tone is sharp and to the point. With that, he pulls back in front of us, and we continue down the ATV trail at a moderate clip. After another five minutes or so, Atlas veers off the path and into the scrubby underbrush.
We continue on this circuitous route at a slower pace, and I think that I can just see a clearing in the distance that we seem to be skirting around. That must be the guard shack. Eventually we make it through the forest and see another trail, this one too narrow for us to ride side by side. Atlas stops and signals for Patrick to kill the engine, and they both climb off.
“Stay here, and stay low. If we tell you to take off, you take off. Don’t look back, don’t ask questions. Clear?” Atlas orders, and Nell and I both nod. Patrick shoulders his rifle before he and Atlas cross to the trail ahead. They disappear from sight, and the sounds of the forest envelop us. Nell and I exchange nervous glances, but we don’t dare speak.
What feels like an eternity later, the soft snap of twigs alerts us to the men’s return. A sigh of relief escapes me as I see Patrick’s dark wavy hair appear, followed closely by Atlas’s blond buzz cut.
They quickly climb back on in front of us. “We’re clear. The guard shack looks deserted; this is our chance,” Patrick says quietly before kicking the ATV back to life. This time, Atlas surges forward and the roar of the engine cuts through the forest like a knife.
We make a hard left onto the narrow trail, and within a few minutes we enter another clearing. There is some kind of screen across the entire top of the clearing, which makes it unnaturally darker than it should be without any tree cover. In the middle of the open ground sits a good-sized windowless white building. There are no signs or other markers to indicate its purpose, just a door with a square pad above the handle.
We all hurriedly dismount, and head straight to the door.
“It looks like it requires a keycard.” Nell points to the pad above the knob.
“I should be able to get us in.” Patrick slides in close to the door, and whips a nondescript white card from his pocket. “Glitch took my old guard card and wiped it and loaded it with every access code he could find. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to try to break it down.”
“What if this isn’t the right place?” I ask, worried.
“It would be just perfect if we break down the door to a glorified broom closet.” Nell’s voice drips with sarcasm.
The pad lights up with a green outline and an innocuous chirp, followed by the click of the lock releasing.
“Glitch, my man!” Patrick quietly exalts.
Atlas steps back to the front, and pushes the door open. He peers around the door in silence, but pushes it open onto a bare, sterile white hallway. The overhead lights are harsh to my eyes compared to the dim screened exterior, and the sharp tang of disinfectant bites my nose.
We all pile into the hallway, and make our way down. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. It’s silent here, and appears empty. Halfway down, another hall splits off. Atlas stops, and gestures with two fingers down the side hall, and then the main hall. Patrick nods, and takes my hand. We split off down the side hall, while Atlas and Nell continue forward on silent feet.
A doorway is on the right. Patrick waves me past it, and gestures for me to wait. Rifle at the ready, he slips the doorway open and spins inside without making a sound. From my angle, it appears to be an office. I turn back to the hallway, keeping an eye out for anyone else that may be in here. Halfway down, I see what looks to be a large glass window set into the wall. Glancing over my shoulder to see Patrick rifling through papers on a desk in the empty office, I continue down the hall to check out the window.
I peer carefully around the edge, scared that there will be someone on the other side to spot our intrusion. What I see instead stops me in my tracks.
There are people in the room, but none that can sound an alarm. Instead it’s two rows of hospital beds, each with a woman strapped into it. They lie there so lifelessly, in white hospital gowns that at first, I think they’re dead. After a moment, the collective rise and fall of their chests registers and I suck in a relieved breath. I look past the window and see a door into the room. Crossing over to it, I shove my way in.
Thoughts of being spotted have left me, and all I can think about is finding out what is going on with these women. I cross to the first bed, and the pale woman in it is unnaturally still. She is completely unmoving, except the rise and fall of her chest. There’s a mask strapped to her face, and an IV in her arm.
I give her hand a gentle shake. “Can you hear me? Can you respond?”
Nothing, not even a flutter of eyelids. They’re sedated. Acidic bile starts to rise in my throat. I spin, and run to the bed across from hers, this one holding an olive-skinned woman with raven hair pooled under her head. I repeat my hand shaking routine, and touch her cheek softly, but still nothing. Making my way down the aisle, I spot a tablet attached to the foot of each bed. I pick one up, and see a medical file.
Anne Gray
Age: 24
Donor: 691205
16 weeks gestation
My eyes start to blur, and I’m unable to take in any more of the file. I look up and see through my angry tears that, sure enough, there is a small swell rising on this woman’s stomach under her gown. I quickly scan the rest of the women in the room, and realize that over half of them have visibly swollen pregnant bellies.
The sound of a door opening pulls me from my sickened stupor. I spin, and let out a relieved breath to see it’s Patrick.
“Sadie! You should have waited for me, what if someone had been in here!” he scolds me in a hushed tone. He glances to either side, and I see cold realization dawn on his face. “God in heaven, no.”
I turn, and continue walking toward the end of the aisle, checking each face. “Oh, Patrick!” I run past the next two beds when I see her.
She’s there, in the last bed on the right. All the life and color gone from her face, she’s as unnaturally still as the rest. The vibrant, spitfire, tornado of a woman reduced to a pale specter in a white gown, mask strapped to her face, IV in her left arm. Josephine.
Anger washes over me in a hot wave, and I grip her hand in mine tightly. “We’re going to get you out of here, Jo. I swear it.” I start looking for a way to unplug her, but Patrick stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Sadie, don’t touch anything. She’s been medically sedated. It could be dangerous to unhook any of this, when we don’t know what they’ve given her.”
“I can’t leave her here, Patrick. I can’t leave any of them.” My voice goes shrill, even to my own ears, as anger and disgust battle inside me for supremacy.
A scuffling noise from the hall causes Patrick and me both to snap our heads up, to see Atlas and Nell running past the window. They spot us, and skid into the room with us.
Nell’s first reaction is a sharp intake of breath, but Atlas surveys the room in silence. Nell runs over, spotting Josephine in the bed next to me.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She throws a hand over her mouth, and Patrick quickly grabs a small white trashcan and shoves it at her.
She turns and retches violently. I turn back to Josephine, and realize I’m squeezing her
hand too hard. I force myself to loosen my grip, finger by finger.
Nell, done puking, runs a shaky hand over her mouth and dries her face with her sleeve. “What is this place?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t stay here,” Atlas says coldly. “We found her, now we need to get out so we can do something about this before we’re seen.”
“Wait, look.” Patrick points to a red, blinking light in the corner. “Do you think that’s a camera?
Atlas’s normally stoic expression turns dark in an instant. “We’ve got to find a way to wipe the feeds. You two stay here, we’ll be back.” The two of them race back into the hall, and out of sight past the window.
“How could they do this?” Nell’s voice is shaking, and she’s leaning against the foot of one of the beds across the aisle from Josephine. My eyes flit past her to land on the occupant of that bed. “Oh, no. It can’t be—” I drop Josephine’s hand back to her bed, and walk over to the rail-thin woman. Her once dark chocolate skin has taken on a pallor, but it’s definitely her. Aisha. My hand flutters up to her cheek, no longer rounded and full of vitality.
“Do you know her, too?” Nell asks, sounding stronger by the minute.
My eyes burn with unshed tears as I answer, “Yes, her name is Aisha. I—I thought she was dead.”
“She might rather be,” Nell says darkly. I turn and see her inspecting the tablet with Aisha’s medical information.
“Why, what does it say?”
“This is her fourth pregnancy in four years.”
My eyes close of their own accord, my sadness like a suffocating blanket. “Lord, help us all.”
The echo of running feet comes back down the hall, and Patrick and Atlas appear a second later.
Patrick flings open the door. “It’s time to go. We disabled the cameras.”
