The moisture in the air is so thick, I try to swat it as I suck in a breath. Coughing, I pull the collar of my shirt over my nose to block off some of the moisture in the air. I’m so used to the dry heat; the oxygen here makes it hard to breathe.
The sun brightens the beauty of Highrum. The skyscrapers and glossy buildings some miles from the landing zone glisten and sparkle like new. If only the other states could be so lucky to look this way. The streets are paved with the country’s finest asphalt and concrete—not a bump or pothole flaws the ride. Plush grass and thick trees are so bold and bright the greenery is tempting to eat. As we pass tall buildings and structures, we see Creations cascading from the roofs to clean the bulletproof, tinted windows and storm-gray concrete walls. All the buildings here in Highrum look the same. The only difference separating them is height and width. The exception is the Premier’s home and the Guidance headquarters, which are both black. Black windows, black walls, black roof, but white doors. It’s an off-putting contrast that makes me shudder as we drive by.
We are chauffeured to an Inn where we will be allowed to rest until two PM. At this time, we’re required to sit in on a session with the Guidance where they will be discussing their plan against the threat. Today, we are required to wear our suits, but tomorrow we must formally dress up for the Premier’s birthday celebration.
The car stops in front of a six-story building, dressed with balconies and an entry door that automatically slides open when someone approaches it. We exit, throwing our duffle bags over our shoulders.
“At least, we can relax while we are here,” Jord says, following a yawn with an exaggerated grumble. “Get a couple of hours of shut eye and a glass of brandy.”
“Jord, you will not be drinking while we are here,” Seits quickly dismisses his plans.
He ignores her saying, “What do you say, Luke? Glass of dark liquor is good for the soul.”
“I’ll meet you at the bar after Ky and I get settled,” Luke responds. I turn my attention to him, ready to shoot down his plan, but on the other side of the street, a boutique with purple dresses in the window catches my eye, and I muster my own plan. “You’ll be okay with me leaving you later, Ky?”
“Go ahead. Treat these two days like it’s a vacation.”
“Great idea, Kylie,” Jord cheers with a clap. “Treat this like it’s a vacation.”
The three of us enter the Inn, and the air is dry and warm. I inhale deeply, grateful for the change. The indoors, unlike the bathed silver city, from floor to ceiling, are dressed in gold. Black petunias circle around tall gold pillars posted in every corner and line the junction of the wall and ceiling. They make the gold not so harsh on the eyes.
As we cross the glossy floor to the front desk, we’re greeted with pleasantries and sincere smiles. A few passersby pat my back, and I must remind myself the gesture is one of endearment and is normal in Highrum.
Jord gives the tall, pale-skinned lady standing behind the desk his name, and she slowly taps away on her keyboard. Her non-urgency annoys me. Being places where people lug around without care of other’s time is infuriating.
“Excuse me,” Jord adjusts to look at the pale lady’s name tag. “Johanne, are you able to find it?”
“Have some patience, Jord Austin. I’ve found it.” She cracks an indulgent smile that warms her green eyes. “Creations such as yourselves have never stayed in our Inn before. It’s quite the honor to be in your presence. One minute, and I’ll have your keys for the two rooms.”
“Thank you,” he states with a nod. He looks down at me through his lashes, explaining, “The only Creations these people have ever seen were workers.”
“The soft ones,” Seits cuts in.
“They’ve never seen fighters.” There’s a pause. “Killers.”
I shrug, unconcerned by the Normals’ enthusiasm.
“Is there something you’d like to do while the guys go to the bar, Ky?” Seits grabs the keys from the receptionist and hands one to Luke and me. “The doors aren’t monitored, and nothing is timed here.”
“After a couple of hours of sleep, I’m going to a couple of those boutiques across the street.”
“Would you mind if I accompanied you?”
I purse my lips, take a breath, and subtly release it. “No, Seits. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not coming as a chaperone, just company.”
Fine. “Okay, Seits. Sure.”
We take an elevator to the third floor and head for our rooms, number thirty-four for Luke and me. Luke kicks the door open and throws his duffel bag on the first bed he finds. Sighing, he charges for the knee-high refrigerator and snatches up a protein bar from its door. He practically gobbles the thing up in one breath.
“Are you okay?” I survey him carefully.
“Did you talk to Marc last night?”
Passing him to get to the bed by the window, I answer, “Yeah. He, um, didn’t give me an answer. He actually shot me down, then I pouted, and he told me he would let me know when I get back.”
“Damn. Collins wasn’t that easy to convince either.”
“You were with her last night? I thought you said she would be simple.”
“She was supposed to be, but she took some persuading.”
“But she agreed to help?”
“She did.”
I go to the bathroom to clean off the four-hour flight. “Don’t get drunk, Luke.” The door opens and closes without him responding. I shed my suit, shower, and wash my face and brush my teeth at the sink. Staring in the mirror, I smooth my fingers over my thick eyebrows and pop a pimple on my crooked chin. I dress in my spare suit, strap on my black vest and boots, and pull my black shoestrings tight.
The Inn’s beds, topped with plush pillows and blankets, are bigger than the beds in Separation. I fall back on it, accidently falling asleep. My dreams of Marc are peaceful, and I calmly sleep alone.
I awake, refreshed, a couple hours later. Stretching, I stand from the bed and head for the bathroom to brush my teeth again before leaving for Seits’s room.
I knock, and she answers. “Hey, Ky, you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we off to?” She gleams with confidence and joy for our ventures.
“Dress shopping,” I admit. “At the boutique with the purple dress in the window.” I wish I knew what size Marc wears so that I can also find his collared shirt and fitted jeans. But I’d need to find a boutique that sold those things, and I didn’t see one on our way in.
“Ky, you would look really cute in this dress.” Seits holds out a glittering navy-blue dress with long sleeves and a turtleneck. “It will complement your eyes.”
“I’m looking for something that will complement your eyes,” I tell her, brushing off the dress she holds out in front of me. I scan racks of dresses.
“Ky,” Seits calls again, holding up a gorgeous orchid purple, waffle-textured, sleeveless dress that flares at the bottom. I take it to try it on.
Before a tall silver-edged mirror, I stare at myself, starting at my bare toes and moving up my long, muscular legs. Carrying my gaze from the dress’s ruffled bottom, starting mid-thigh, past the lacy fabric hugging my middle and chest, I skip over my manly arms and rest my eyes on my face. I take in the dress and then my studious expression. I crack a crooked smile, tug the band from my hair, and shake my head. Sandy brown locks waterfall past my shoulders and brush my cheeks, making my look more feminine. My smile grows wider and more comfortable with my appearance. “It’s better like this. Less like a man in a dress.”
“Give yourself more credit, Kylie. You’re beautiful!” Seits surveys me from my left, out of the mirror’s reflecting range.
“So he says,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s amazing,” I say. Flicking my gaze from the dress to Seits’s warm lilac eyes, I conclude, ‘It’ll match Marc’s eyes beautifully.’
“Do you like heels or no?”
“No heels.” I don’t know how to
walk in heels. I’ve always worn boots or sneakers. I change out of the dress, walking into Seits when I exit the dressing room. She holds up a pair of black and purple plaid shoes. They match perfectly. “I’ll take them,” I cheer, bouncing on my toes. Darting my gaze away from her, I clear my throat, hating myself for just doing that. “Excuse me.”
“It’s actually beneficial to allow the people in Highrum to see us shopping and laughing,” she whispers. “They may begin looking at us as more than mindless killing machines.”
I scoff, “I guess they’ll see us as happy mindless killing machines.” I take the shoes, and with the dress slung over my arm, I go to the counter. “Hi,” I greet the cashier.
“Hello, is this all for you?” The cashier flips her chestnut colored hair over her shoulder. I nod. “Creation number for the account I can charge your purchase to?”
“Two six seven. Kylie Alexander.”
“Do you have your identifier?”
Obviously. But maybe she asked to be polite. I lift my arm and show her the three embellishment lines circled around my wrist, allowing her to scan it. It beeps twice, and my name shows across her computer screen.
“Thank you, Kylie. You have made an excellent purchase today. You are all set, come again soon.” She smiles. It twitches, likely from discomfort.
“Thank you.” I grab my bag. We’re leaving the boutique, and since Seits has opened herself up, I risk asking, “What size do you think Marc wears?”
She thinks momentarily, strolling at my side. “He’s about five-eleven, maybe six-foot, in height. I know his weight is one hundred ninety-five pounds. If you’re looking to purchase clothing for him, you can provide that information along with his body type to an associate, and they may be able to figure his sizes for you.”
“Thank you.” I test the boutique two stores down. Luckily, I’ve made the right choice. A slim girl, standing about my height, with deep red hair cut like Luke’s greets, “Welcome to News Crews! Can I help you find your next purchase today?”
I describe Marc’s body to a T, slightly embarrassed that I know it so well.
“Okay,” the associate says. “I think I can help, and maybe you can try a couple of sizes just in case.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. She returns with a few different colored shirts and jeans in different sizes. This must be the best way to shop. Tell someone what you’re looking for, and they gather it and bring it to you to take your pick. Stress free, swiping through fabrics. Shopping is not an activity I usually like to partake in. “I’ll take the collared black shirt with dark blue jeans.” I’m falling short on his outfit wish, missing the sneakers, but I don’t know what size shoe he wears. I’m not that well acquainted with his feet to guess at it.
The associate grins. “Okay, I’ll get a few sizes that may work and bring them to the counter.”
“Thank you,” I say, pleased with her speed. She quickly bags my items, and we’re out the door.
Shopping with Seits isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. She keeps up a pleasant conversation, and I walk beside her, holding my bags. We go back to our rooms, splitting up at the hall where she turns off to head to her own room.
I enter, seeing Luke lie across the bed, face down. He snores, seeming dead to the world.
Idiot got drunk. I told this silly boy not to do that!
“Luke,” I call loudly after I’ve packed the new clothes in my bag. “Luke,” I call again. He doesn’t flinch—out cold. We have another hour before we must go, and he is not going to be ready.
“Luke!” I smack his shoulder.
“What is it, Ky?” he grunts. “Shut up.”
“You need to start getting ready. It’s almost two.”
“I don’t feel like it, Kylie.”
“Come on, Luke, don’t be a baby.” I pull his leg. “Get in the shower so you can sober up. I’ll put it on for you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
In a large, oval-shaped room in the center of the Guidance headquarters, the Premier and primary Guidance leaders of the America sit, gazing at the podium, awaiting its speaker. Richard strides in through a door on the opposite end of the room. A black robe drapes his shoulders, and his stoic expression makes him unreadable.
He approaches the podium and says, “As most of you know, there has been a threat put forth against Earth from the Vojin. We have discovered there are implants amongst Creations that are slowly being weeded out. Because of how difficult it is to crack a Creation, you may imagine the challenge our Creation leaders are encountering. There have been tests extended to suspected Creations. These tests have revealed several Creations who were implanted by the Vojin. However, what we are trying to figure out is how they were implanted by them. Creations are created by our scientists,” he shouts, slamming his hand on the glass structure. “This must mean they are being implanted after birth, and our suspicions should start with the Breeder!”
“Start with the Breeder?” A young man with a pointy chin and small, pecan-shaped eyes folds his hands on top of the black twenty-foot table.
All the Guidance leaders wear black robes, and before them, on the table, sits a black tablet with images of a Creation boy next to one of the Vojin.
Richard says, “Breeders may be welcoming the invaders and offering Creation infants to the Vojin as willing implants. Possibly like the Non-Creations offer their children to Separation. It’s possible they, too, may be implants.”
The same young man lifts his hand as he asks, “What will they gain by offering their children to the invaders to be implanted in Separation?” I try to catch a glimpse of his name tag, but with his current angle, it’s impossible.
“That is a question we would also like answered.” Richard takes a sip from a glass filled to the rim with water, and he carefully sets it back down without spilling a drop. A large screen behind him that stretches from one side of the wall to the other reads, We are the BETTER. And they honestly believe this. “We designed Creations for their longevity, to live without fear of death or uncertain outcomes, to achieve what someone like you and me would consider impossible. We fight today to keep our creation of the specimen a secret from the other countries who try to get their hands on the Creation blueprint. There are a number of reasons why others would want to use Creations. Why would you, Mr. Conroy?” he asks the young man. “And please introduce yourself to the room.”
Mr. Conroy stands with a soft smile that makes him appear friendly, arms resting at his sides. “Good afternoon,” he greets, looking from one end of the table to the other. We are lucky enough to stand. We must stand the entire time as proud Creations while they discuss us as if we are things and not people. “I am Peter Conroy, Breeder Guidance Leader, first in the America. I would think the Vojin would want the Creations because of their strength and because they manage the citizens of the America. If you are a leader, people will follow you, may this be by trust or fear. Creations are looked upon as leaders, either respected or feared. Either way, people do what they say, and that is what matters. That must be why they want Creations.”
“I agree with you, Peter Conroy,” Richard says with a nod in his direction, and Peter sits. “This assumption would also scare us into destroying the Creations. If they are a threat to us and possibly a gold mine for our enemies, we would need to eliminate them.” Luke, Jord, Seits, and I stand, unfazed by the conversation, although they must be thinking the same thing I am. You stupid Normals, we’re right here, stop being assholes!
A woman with dark, straight hair chuckles at the statement. “We couldn’t eliminate the Creations. Number one, that would leave us defenseless. Secondly, there are reasons behind why they were created. Their influence on the America and the citizens is extraordinary,” she says. She sits at the head of the table, facing away from us. Because we are standing at Richard’s feet, I can’t see her face. Her shiny black hair is slicked back and almost camouflaged by her black robe. “The problem is not the Creations,” she continues. “The is
sue is the threat. We have no need to fix what is not broken. We need to fix what poses as our destruction and holds a threat to us and the Creations. Should their intent be to make Creations our enemies in hopes we would eliminate them, their greater motive may be for us to eliminate our defense. So let’s stop talking about Breeders and Creations and begin finding out how to fix the problem.”
“How do you suppose we do that?” Peter asks.
The woman nods. “They have come here often. Should we go there?”
Peter scoffs, and a few around the table match the dismissive sound. “We couldn’t go there. We have no idea where they live or how they are equipped.”
“What we should be focusing on, besides the Creations being implanted by the Vojin or figuring out how we are even going to get there,” Arletta begins, “is why they have put forth this threat and what it is they think they possess that’s better than what we have already implemented.” She takes a deep breath and carries on. “Everything we have done is by the book. When they came before, they mentioned something about our way of living and mindset. With them posing a threat to the world by turning humans into the undead, they are worse than us in every way. We’ve followed their rules in taking care of our land; we’ve done right by their requests, but we will not stand by while some alien forces their way on us. We never agreed to this, and this is invasive. They are turning into the beings they swore they’d protect us from.”
I agree with her. The Vojin do not have the right to suggest what should be destroyed or kept intact. I would also like more information about their plan of reconstruction. They said something about needing four. I know they will need humans, and Luke and I were considered two of the four. If they destroyed the world, the Earth’s population would be destroyed. Which means they would try to reestablish it, to rebuild the land and maybe the population. Luke and I along with two others would be responsible for doing that? Why? Why choose us? I would prefer to go down in the destruction.
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