by K. A. Gandy
I slowly place Aisha’s cool hand back on the bed, and I take in her sleeping face. “I won’t forget you, Aisha. I will get you out of here, I promise.”
The four of us file out of the room, back down the single hallway and turn toward the door. Atlas opens the door a crack, and peers out intently before swinging it all the way open. “Quickly, straight to the ATVs. Heads down and stay as quiet as you can.”
We run and hop onto them, and in under sixty seconds the men both have kick-started them, and we’re headed for the tree line.
I shout so Patrick can hear me over the roar of the engines and crunching of the gravel path, “Why aren’t we taking the trail?”
“There was a comm system in the office. The kidnappers have been dealt with and the guards are being sent back to their posts. We found the camera controls in a security office and wiped them, but that won’t matter if they catch us right outside,” he shouts back over his shoulder.
I tuck my head back against the back of his shirt, now stiff with dried sweat, and close my eyes. Images of sedated women roll across my vision, like butterflies pinned to a board for a grade-school science project. I open my eyes, ignoring the sting of the wind whipping my hair around my head in a thousand tiny stinging strands. The brush slides by, blending together in an earthy kaleidoscope of brown, green, and yellow.
How could this happen, and how are we going to stop it?
Aftermath
To my surprise, we ride our ATVs directly to the rocky outcropping behind our cottage. Patrick quickly hops off the ATV, rifle in hand, and scales the rocks. He disappears from sight for a moment before he returns without the rifle. Wordlessly, he climbs in front of me, and we head straight to the back entrance of the guest house. At some point while we were in the secret medical facility, the loud booms had stopped. Atlas dismounts and helps Nell off, and Patrick does the same before extending me his hand. I take it, fingers numb. Whether from the cold or shock, I can’t tell.
On wooden legs, I climb the boardwalk steps after Nell, and follow her into the guest house. There’s a hum of voices, but they wash over me, incomprehensible.
“Sadie, are you all right? Sadie?” Patrick’s worried voice snaps me out of it. I look up from the floor, and lock eyes with his deep blue ones.
“No, I’m not. I may never be all right again.” My voice sounds far away to my own ears.
“Sadie, I think you’re in shock.” He is holding me by both shoulders and gives me a small shake.
“I’ve got her, go get a cup of hot tea,” Nell instructs him. She takes my hand and rubs my arm soothingly. “Come on, we’re going to go sit over here.”
She leads me to a blue striped couch, and I sit next to her. I try to focus on what’s going on around me, but it’s hard. My brain feels like it’s stuck in a loop. I feel exhausted, even though it’s probably barely past lunch time.
Patrick returns, and presses a mug of steaming tea into my hands. The warmth feels good against my chilled palms, so I take a sip. He stays there, crouched in front of me, until the mug is empty. At some point, the fog starts to clear. My gaze strays from my knees to Patrick’s face, etched with concern.
“Hey there,” he says soothingly. “Are you feeling a bit better? You had me worried.” He touches my cheek, the brush soft and careful. I lean into his palm and close my eyes for a second. The vision of sedated women in white comes rushing back, and I snap them back open and lurch upright.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re fine, we’re fine.” His voice is low, like he’s talking to a spooked horse, and his hands are gentle on my forearms. “Nell, I’m going to go talk to the director about a new room. I'm not taking her back to that cottage. Will you stay with her until I get back?” Nell nods, and slips her arm around my shoulders after I settle back against the couch.
I lean into her, grateful for her support. Glancing over, I see that she’s calm and collected, despite her initial reaction to the sight of the drugged women.
“How are you okay right now?” I ask, words barely above a whisper.
One side of her mouth quirks up in a sarcastic half-smile. “Believe it or not, that’s not the first time I’ve hidden in a bathtub in fear for my life. My uncle is a mean drunk.” She shrugs. “You adapt, or you die.”
Her words slowly sink in, and the puzzle pieces fit themselves together in my head. Nell, scrawny, barely sixteen with nothing but a backpack at the shuttle station in Georada, and no family to see her off. Nell, flinching away from all human contact. Nell, unhappy to be matched with Atlas, a mountain of muscle. She was running.
“Does Atlas know?” I can’t imagine him being happy that his wife has an abusive scumbag for a relative waiting back home.
A single, tight nod is her only response. We sit in silence until Patrick returns with a large, antique room key. He extends his hand for mine. “Come on, Sadie. They’re putting us up in the guest house for a while.”
I take his hand and stand, but turn back to Nell. “Thank you, Nell.”
She smiles at me fondly. “No problem. Get some rest.”
✽✽✽
The next morning, I’m tired from a restless night’s sleep, but feeling myself again otherwise. Patrick and I spent the rest of the day yesterday locked away in our new room. It’s smaller than our cottage, but it has a balcony that looks over the dunes to the ocean. Each time I’d woken in the night with nightmares, he held me until I fell back asleep.
We make our way down for breakfast, and the ubiquitous pink-shirted waiter brings by a basket of pastries. I choose a cheese Danish, but only pick at it. My appetite hasn’t been great. It doesn’t feel right to be sitting around in a luxurious beach house, eating extravagant food while at least a dozen women are drugged and helpless a few miles away.
Before our breakfast arrives, Emmett and Carolina join us at our table.
“Good morning,” Patrick greets them.
“Morning,” Emmett says. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. After they’ve each selected a pastry, they clasp hands and look back at us. “We’re leaving. We’ve put in a transfer request, and given the circumstances, they’re letting us go today.” The announcement is abrupt, but I’m not surprised.
“Where are you headed?” I ask.
“Playa Reino. We thought some distance and some sunshine would be a good change. I know you guys just got here, but I think they’d let you switch locations early given yesterday’s—” Carolina’s forehead wrinkles. “—events.”
Emmett shakes his head angrily. “How they expect to keep us in the dark when our safety is at stake, I’ll never understand.”
My eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“They won’t tell us what the attack was about. Only that it was a group of extremists. Who is out there attacking honeymoon resorts? We deserve to know!” His fist slams the table, and I jump at the bang, still apprehensive after the latest attack.
Carolina puts her hand over his fist in a calming gesture. “Settle down, Emmett. We’re leaving, that’s all we can do.”
Patrick’s face is grim. “It was a kidnapping attempt,” he announces, and Carolina’s mouth falls open.
“Who were they trying to get?” Emmett asks, looking unsettled.
Patrick’s gaze crashes into mine, before he looks back at Emmett and answers, “The women, most likely. There was a kidnapping attempt while we were at the NLC back in Georada. There are still extremist groups out there who think the world is better off without a large human population. When I was active in the guard, we got reports of cells they busted up, and experiments they were doing, trying to finish what the Sterilization Vector started so many years ago.”
Carolina’s grip tightens on Emmett’s sleeve. “My word, are we safe anywhere?” she looks troubled.
“Anywhere is better than here, at this point,” Emmett says darkly. “You should come with us.”
Patrick and I exchange a glance. “I’m not going anywhere without Nell,” I declare.
I snort, but don’t disagree. Atlas speaks up. “Who’s leaving?”
“We are. It’s clearly not safe here anymore,” Emmett answers.
Atlas nods. “It’s probably for the best.”
Breakfast is passed with minimal conversation, all centered around which parts of the NAA seem least likely to be the target of further kidnapping attempts. Anywhere we aren’t. If the kidnappers are out to finish sterilizing humanity, my polymorph genes would be a huge prize.
As we finish up breakfast, another staff member brings a letter and hands it to Patrick. The handwriting matches his mother’s. He opens it and scans the short missive with a tense expression before handing it to me.
Patrick,
Your security detail will arrive tomorrow. There’s been another leak.
Stay Safe,
Deb
Frustration boils in my chest at the lack of detail. What kind of leak? Was that the kidnapping attempt, or is something else going to happen? My angry gaze lands on Patrick, who doesn't look any happier. Before anyone can question us, however, cha-cha music starts blaring from Patrick’s pocket.
I groan as my wrist starts buzzing like an angry beehive is attached to it. The green band is lit up with two pink hearts. Fertile week again. After the alerts stop, Emmett and Carolina stand to leave.
“We probably won’t see you again before we leave, since you’ll be busy. But as soon as you’re able, you should get out of here. Even if you don’t join us in Playa Reino, get away from this place.” Emmett shakes both of our hands, and Carolina hugs us.
“I guess we’d better head up,” Patrick says, before handing the letter from his mother to Atlas. “Be on the lookout, please. We don’t know what’s coming.”
Atlas scans it quickly, expression grim. “I think we’ll see about getting a room down the hall.”
I give them one last wave before we head up the stairs to our room.
✽✽✽
Fertile week passes in a blur of old movies and room service meals. My favorite one is about a couple from the city who buy an old farm and become chicken farmers. We discovered that the TV works again after we track “activity” for the day. Controlling jerks. Something about the old, black-and-white simplicity lulls me to sleep at night. Patrick’s warm arms and comforting masculine scent don’t hurt, either.
After five days, though, we’re both ready to get out of our room. Thankfully, the week was uneventful, and we didn’t have any repercussions from our break-in at the medical facility, or the leak Deb warned us about. Whatever security detail they sent, they also didn’t disturb us. We saw a black-clad man walking the beach a few times from our balcony, but other than that there’s been no sign of security. However, now that we’re allowed out of our room again, I’m sure we’ll be meeting them. Patrick and I both have our tennis shoes on, and hope to get out on the walking trails with Atlas and Nell this morning to plan for our next steps. We’ve hashed out as many things as we can with the two of us, but we both agree we need Atlas’s expertise on how to expose the evil that’s going on here. One thing is for sure, we can’t stay quiet and do nothing.
Fingers entwined, we walk down the stairs to the first floor of the guest house. At the bottom, a man with a broad back in a skin-tight camouflage t-shirt blocks our way. His chestnut hair is thick and shiny in the morning light streaming in from the many ocean-front windows. Our footsteps on the stairs must alert him to our descent because he turns, and my heart almost bursts out of my chest when I see his face.
“PETER!” I scream so loudly that Patrick jumps next to me, and I race down the last few stairs and fling myself right into my brother’s waiting arms.
He hugs me tightly, lifting my feet right off the bottom stair step. “Hey, squirt, I hear you’ve been getting into trouble, as usual.”
“I haven’t done a thing,” I scoff at his playful accusation. “I am a delight twenty-four-seven.”
He laughs, loud and rambunctious. “I’ve missed you, Sadie. How are you? Is your new husband treating you well?” His annoyed emphasis on the word has me guiltily looking back to Patrick, who I’d abandoned without a second thought.
“I’m good, and yes. Peter, this is Patrick. Patrick, my middle brother Peter.” I gesture between the two of them, and Patrick sticks his hand out to shake. Peter accepts, and a minor staring contest ensues. I wave both hands in front of them, breaking their focus on each other. “That’s enough of that. Now, answer my question; why are you here? I thought you were on assignment on the west coast somewhere?” I link my arm through his on my left, and Patrick’s on my right, and we walk to the dining room.
“I was, until I got Teddy’s call. It took a lot of arm twisting, but I got reassigned. I’m part of your personal guard detail now.” He levels me with a serious look. “So no more running off alone. If you’re not in your room, me or one of the guys are with you, period.”
“The guys? How many guys are we talking, exactly?” I squeeze Patrick’s hand nervously.
“Me, plus three. You have four personal guards at all times, from here on out. As things progress and your new status becomes fully public, that will probably have to increase.”
I swallow, making the logical leap. “So, I guess that means you know—” I trail off, unsure how to actually say it out loud. Royalty.
He nods. “Teddy was pretty hot under the collar about the whole situation when he called, and he gave me an earful. Don’t worry, I talked him off the ledge.” He levels a glare at Patrick. “You, however, are on his crap list.”
Patrick looks contrite. “I don’t blame him in the least. All I can do is try to make it up to him, at this point.”
Peter stops at a breakfast table, and I let go of his arms to sit. Patrick sits next to me, and Peter pulls out the chair across from me. “So, if we have four guards, where are the other three?”
“Front door, back door, and off duty at the moment.” He points to illustrate their locations.
“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do,” I say, as the waiter arrives at our table.
We enjoy breakfast, just the three of us, and it’s so nice to have a normal conversation for once. Another guard in camouflage approaches our table as we’re finishing up.
“Peter, I’m here to relieve you.” The man stands at attention, waiting for Peter’s acknowledgement.
“I’m good for now, Spivey. Go tell Martinez to take his off shift.” The man nods, spins on his heel, and leaves the dining room without comment.
“Now, do you two want to stay in the guest house? Because if not, they’ve prepared a new cabin for you. I understand your last one was damaged in the kidnapping attempt.”
His words bring back the vivid image of the splintered bathroom door, and a pool of crimson staining the hallway. I shudder.
Patrick looks over at me. “It’s up to you, Sadie. We’d have more space in the cottage, but if you feel safer in the guest house we can stay here.”
“What are the four of you going to do, if we move back to a cottage?” I ask, and frown as I imagine them all standing around outside in the cold so I can have the illusion of privacy. Peter’s silence is all the answer I need. “It’s okay, we can stay in the guest house. That’s probably easier, right?”
Peter nods, confirming my suspicions.
“Is that okay with you, Patrick?”
He squeezes my hand. “Just fine.”
A crackle comes from Peter’s comm wristband. “We’ve got a situation out front. Everyone report.”
I exchange a worried glance with Patrick, as Peter surges to his feet. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.”
I glance nervously at Patrick, but he looks unconcerned, as he sips his second cup of coffee. I see the guard who’d been dismissed for his rest come flying back down the stairs, and head in the same direction as Peter. A minute later, scuffling sounds come from the fr
ont door of the guest house, and I glance at Patrick again, my worry rising.
Still, he’s calm as he sits there, drinking coffee like it’s any other Tuesday. I guess for him, it is just another Tuesday.
Things quiet down, a door slams, and then Peter reappears. “Sorry about that, the media is getting bolder the longer they’re out there.”
I freeze to the spot. “What do you mean, the media? And how long have they been out there?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh, five days? For the most part they stand in the driveway right past the grass hedge hoping for a shot of you two. Jokes on them because you’ve been locked in your room the whole time. Every now and then one of them makes a run for the front door, usually when one of the staff is carrying linens, or distracted on the phone. However, now that you two are out, I recommend a strict back-door policy for coming and going from the guest house.”
He picks up his abandoned cup of coffee, and drains it in a single swallow, before taking in my pale face.
“It’s okay, Sadie. The guys and I are on top of it. You’re safe here.” He shoots me a confident look, and I relax a hair. The idea of people standing outside, trying to photograph us is freaky, but I guess I need to get used to that.
An odd sound comes from the window to our left, and all of our heads whip over at the same instant. There, pressed against the window, is a short man in khaki cargo pants, with a camera in hand. He seems to recognize Peter, and then immediately lifts the camera and starts shooting right through the window.
Peter jumps into action like a shot, and darts straight to the back door of the guest house. The man lowers the camera, hits a few buttons, and then bolts. We watch in horrified fascination as Peter comes into view of the windows at a full run, another camouflaged guard we’ve not seen yet on his tail, and then hear a loud crash a few moments after they’re out of sight.
A minute passes, and a smashing sound is the only noise from outside. Then Peter, walking now, comes back across the windows, a mangled black mess in his hand. He makes his way in and sits back down, plopping the now-destroyed camera on the table between us. Before I can say anything, a cheer erupts out front. Confused, I turn to Patrick.
