The X Factor

by Bella Street

  “Right. So that jibes.”

  “While you have that thing open—” She looked down at her hands. “You wouldn't happen to know how long we've been here, would you?”

  Trent snapped the planner shut. “Twenty-eight days.”

  “That long?” Seffy swallowed, her expression forlorn.

  “Since we've been in the compound. Add almost another week going from bunker to bunker with Malone.”

  “God.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I started walking and found myself in a wheat field. There are wheat fields here, right?”

  “I would guess. I've just seen corn and such, but I haven't explored the entire farm side of the compound.”

  “Well, as I started walking through the wheat, I heard something else there. I started running and—” her voice broke on a sob. “It came after me.”

  “It?” When she didn't answer, he continued. “How did you escape?”

  “I saw my door and almost got inside but it grabbed my ankle and tried to drag me back out.” She began to hyperventilate. “I kicked until I got loose.”

  Trent sat next to her and slid his arm around her. “It's okay now.”

  “Is it? I have a bruise on my leg and wheat stuff in my hair.”

  He released her and leaned forward. “Give me your foot.” Seffy lifted her leg and he took off her shoe. Grains of sand sifted to the floor, sparkling in the low light. He returned her frightened look. “What's going on here?”

  She shook her head, her features anxious.

  “Okay, I'll ask around and find out what I can without raising suspicion.”

  “Your key and booze contacts?” she said, her voice wobbly.

  “Just a few guys I've struck up conversations with. I keep their palms greased, they give me what I need.”

  “How do you know they aren't telling Fenn or Fiona? Or if they're playing you?”

  “I know how to choose the right people, trust me. These guys do their job but aren't hardcore, and they don't mind picking up a few bucks to release some unofficial information.”

  Seffy released a shuddering breath. “At this point I don't know whether to be relieved or freaked if someone saw me outside.”

  Trent regarded her for a moment. She looked so damn fragile. “Why don't you stay here with me for a few nights until we figure this out.”

  Her expression grew wary and disappointed. “No way.”

  “Are you saying you'd rather be alone at night with whatever is going on?”

  “No, I'd rather not be alone, but I don't trust you, Trent.”

  He snorted. “Why don't you ask Gareth to stay with you then?”

  Moisture sprang to her eyes. She looked away. “Mind your own business.”

  Trent couldn't deny the little jolt of pleasure at the idea she and Gareth were on the outs. What she ever saw in the guy eluded him. Trent had seen the way Gareth regarded her when he didn't know anyone was looking. Seemed to him, Gareth liked the hero role but wasn't too keen on the actual girl. “The reason why I suggested my room is because I have a couch. I could stay in your room, but then we'd have to cuddle.”

  “No.”

  Damn. He hoped an attempt at humor would wear her down. “You didn't even think about it.”

  “Of course not. I've made enough mistakes already.”

  What the hell did that mean? “So what happens when the big bad gets a hold of you for real next time?”

  “Are you trying to scare me into your bed?”

  “I'm trying to talk sense into your thick skull. Seriously, Sef, something is going on here and you shouldn't be alone.”

  She glared at him, her expression mulish, tears drying on her cheeks. “Can I get another drink, please?”

  “Fine.” Trent cleaned up the first one and prepared another screwdriver. She accepted it with shaky hands and knocked it back one gulp. She stared into the empty glass. “This is much better than Malone's grog.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, offended. That rotgut grog from those dirty brown bottles had brought more trouble than pleasure. Trent refilled her drink after she held out the glass. Sitting down next to her, he watched her sip it. He studied the network of tiny purple veins on her eyelids and her temple, her pale skin and gaunt features. The first time he'd seen her, she been tan, had blue eyes from tinted contacts and styled blonde hair with bouncy curls. One by one, artifice was falling away and somehow he found her more attractive than ever. “Let me stay in your room. I'll sleep on the floor.”

  She didn't look up. Just shook her head. “My door locks just fine.”

  “Did you lock it tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  “It was ajar when I came to your door earlier.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his. “You're lying.”

  “No, I'm not lying, Seffy. The only one who's lying is you, to yourself.”

  She frowned. “I have to do this on my own, okay? I can't keep depending on other people.”

  “Is that what this is about?” He blew out an exasperated sigh. “This is not the time to go all Women's Lib. We're talking about something bad out there, not equal pay or self-reliance or whatever it is chicks are always complaining about.” When he saw her furious expression, he knew he'd gone too far. He stood up, just as angry. “Fine. You can find your own dead body and bury it yourself and feel friggin' proud doing it!”

  “Don't talk like that!” she cried.

  “Well, what do you expect when I want to help you and you think I'm going to rape you!”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “But you've implied it.” He paced the floor, trying to control his frustration.

  “Trent, you've made it clear from the moment you met me that you not only can't stand me, but that you want to have sex with me. I know this might come as a shock, but that little vibe puts a girl on edge.”

  Trent jammed his hands in his pockets. “I admit we got off on the wrong foot, but haven't I proved myself to you yet?” When she refused to answer, he snorted. “You know, I think this is less about me and more about Gareth. Where is he, Sef? Why isn't he at your side?”

  “I don't know,” she said, her voice uneven.

  Trent eased down onto the couch next to her. “I know you think he's this knight in shining armor, but he hasn't been there for you lately, has he?”

  She frowned, but finally shook her head.

  “And you don't know why?”

  “I...I think I let him down somehow.” She swallowed. “I did something wrong.”

  “Well, while you two work that out, let me protect you from the wheat thing or whatever it is that's giving you nightmares. And I promise to behave myself.”

  She searched his eyes then blew out a breath. “Even when I'm seriously buzzed?”

  He grinned and stood up. “Especially then. Here or in your room?”

  “Here. Because of the couch, of course.”

  “I can go get you some clean clothes if you want to take a shower.”

  She sighed. “Okay. My pajamas are in the top drawer of the dresser and my toothbrush is in the bathroom.”

  “All right, sit tight.” He paused and sent her a look. “Can I trust you to stay out of the liquor while I'm gone?”

  That got a little smile. “I think so.”

  Trent used the passage and grabbed the first PJs and pair of underwear he saw, swiped the toothbrush and hurried back to his room. He found her nodding off on the couch. Trent coaxed her into the bathroom, knowing she'd feel better after she freshened up.

  Twenty minutes later she emerged, dead on her feet. She sank onto the couch, which he'd made up with sheets and a blanket. After mumbling her thanks, her eyes drifted closed. Trent checked all the doors to make sure they were locked, turned off all but the bathroom light, and cracked the bathroom door so he could easily see her on the couch.

  He settled himself in bed and watched her sleep, turning the events of the evening over in his mind. He couldn't imagine her story to be true
, but there was physical evidence to contend with. And her terror was real.

  No doubt about that. But it defied explanation. There was no way she got outside when the entrances were heavily guarded. Even if she had, what was with the close encounters with the third kind? And the thing in the grass? It sounded more like she'd been smoking the wrong stuff.

  Maybe if he could get to the bottom of the mystery, she'd look on him as less of an annoyance and more of a prospect for her future happiness. Trent smirked in the darkness. Yeah, right.

  He heard Seffy shifting on the couch, then heard her get up. Trent tensed, wondering if she was sleepwalking. She walked over to the bed, lifted the covers and slid in next to him. Shock kept him still. She probably was sleepwalking and would be mad at him in the morning.

  But when she put her arms around him and nestled against his side, he figured he could deal with that when the time came.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seffy woke up and when she lifted her head, her cheek was stuck to something. She peeled it away and looked down. Stinkin' Naugahyde couch. She also saw her pillow on the floor. The events of the previous night filtered into her mind. Sitting up, she noticed that Trent's bed was empty and made. She frowned. Must've been a dream that she'd been in it.

  “Trent?” No answer. Some protector. Seffy got up and brushed her teeth and hair after washing her face. She looked like a wreck. Of course Trent wouldn't try anything with the way she looked. Surely even he had standards.

  “Sef?”

  “In here.” She emerged from the bathroom to find him with a tray of breakfast items which he was setting onto the desk. He pulled forward a cassette player and pressed the tab, releasing twangy music into the room.

  “Sorry. Had to go out for a sec.”

  She shrugged. “I survived.”

  He smiled at her. “I can see that.”

  Seffy noticed he looked as tired as she felt. His face was scruffy and his hair stood up in all directions. Of course that was also a happenin' look. Maybe he was just being stylish, but his faded Levi's and baseball shirt said something else. For some reason she suspected he was more at home in tailored slacks and silk shirts.

  “I don't even want to know what you're thinking while you're staring at me like that.”

  She blushed. “Sorry. Still spacey.”

  “Any bad dreams?”

  “No. Kind of surprising, if you think about it.”

  His eyes seemed to hold a secret. “Let's just be grateful that you had a good night's sleep.” He motioned to the desk. “There's coffee, cream, donuts and fruit.”

  “Wow. It looks great. Thank you.” She cocked her ear. “What in the world is that music?”

  “Slim Whitman.” He lifted his hands. “Think of it as a kind of talisman.”

  “He's yodeling.”

  “Maybe it's a cry for help.”

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop a laugh.

  He poured a cup of coffee. “Cream?”

  She cleared her throat. “A little. And a spoonful of sugar, if you have it.”

  After he had doctored the coffee, he handed it to her. “So no hangover, huh?”

  She raised her brows. “After two drinks? Please. I'm tougher than that.”

  “You drank them pretty fast.”

  “Hmm.”

  He shrugged, pouring himself a cup. “I always had your best interests at heart.”

  She sipped her coffee, feeling halfway human again.

  “After we eat, I thought we could do a little recon today.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We look for clues.”

  She laughed, suddenly absurdly content. Maybe Slim Whitman was responsible for the mood. “I know what recon means. I mean what are we looking for?”

  “Well, I did a little discreet asking around this morning and there's no talk about anyone leaving or coming into the compound.”

  Seffy frowned. “Is this about my dream?”

  “Don't you remember what happened last night?”

  She rubbed her head. “I remember being here, but not really how I got here except that I was afraid.”

  He studied her, tapping the side of his mug with his finger. “So now the question is do we let sleeping dogs lie?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, I think it would be good to investigate if something happened, right?”

  “It's up to you.”

  “Give me some keywords.”

  “Spaceship, aliens, wheat field.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Yeah.” He set down his coffee. “Let me look at your ankle.” He crouched down and lifted the hem of her pajamas, revealing a lurid bruise just below the nearly-healed injection site.

  She peered down at the marks, her expression deflating. “Oh, yay, it's all coming back.”

  “Are you sure you're up to this?”

  Seffy nodded, wimp tendencies notwithstanding.

  After a quick breakfast, she went back to her room to get clean clothes. Trent followed. Seffy dressed in the bathroom, applied a little makeup which did almost nothing for her worn-out face, and put her hair up. When she came out, Trent was perched on the edge of her desk.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded, hoping she appeared more confident than she felt.

  He checked the hallway first and led the way. As they left their wing, he spoke in a low voice. “I've made arrangements for us to have a 'tour' of the farm part of the compound. A guy has agreed to drive us but you can't go near him. Everyone still thinks you're plutonium.”

  She frowned. “You mean zombi-ish.”

  “Just keep your distance and this will play out fine. And we'll be in disguise.”

  “Let me guess, in greasy maintenance suits.”

  He smiled. “Yep.”

  She stopped.

  “What's the matter?”

  “I missed my Haz-Mat appointment this morning. Did you see them around?”

  “No.”

  “Huh. I wonder if they'll try to come back later. I got in trouble last time I missed.”

  “What do they do to you?”

  “Pretty much the same as Olga did. Temp, blood pressure, lights in the eyes. They also take a blood sample, I think.”

  “They must still think you're contagious if they wear those suits.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  He didn't answer.

  She touched his arm. “Doesn't it bother you?”

  “What?”

  “That I'm plutonium.”

  Trent gave her a once-over that made her blush. “You're dangerous to me in some ways, but it has nothing to do with your germs.”

  She rolled her eyes, hoping he didn't notice her hot face.

  They continued back down the hall until they reached a storage closet where Trent had stowed two pairs of coveralls. After they were zipped in and wearing the compound's baseball hats, they continued to the garage the old-fashioned way, as Trent described it. She was just thankful not to have to use the passageways—not while terror lingered at the edges of her subconsciousness.

  When they arrived in the garage, it was empty except for a guy who jumped into the driver's seat of an idling jeep. They clambered on board but faced toward the back. Seffy held on tight as the jeep lurched forward and headed out of the garage.

  She blinked when they came out into the sun. It still shone bright pink and peeped from behind lavender clouds. It almost looked like something from a kids cartoon. Even if it was freakish, it felt good to have its probably nuclear rays warming her skin. She tipped up her face to absorb every little bit.

  The driver guided the jeep around to the side of the compound Seffy had already seen, and passed the extensive gardens filled with residents. As they neared the fields, Trent pointed out the different grains; corn, oats, soy and...wheat. She stiffened when she saw the familiar golden leaves and spiky heads of grain. She glanced at Trent who was already watching for her reaction.

  As they dro
ve past the wheat field, Seffy gripped the sides of the jeep, remembering only flashes from the night before. Was it possible she'd really been all the way out here? The driver passed the field and kept going.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “I want to show you something else.”

  The jeep bounced along a rutted road and soon the farm was in the distance. Far off mesas and scrub dotted the landscape, made otherworldly by the artificial color of the sky.

  “It's both so beautiful and so desolate,” she said, a little bit in awe of the surroundings.

  “Kinda sounds like you,” Trent said, lightly bumping her shoulder with his.

  Seffy shook her head, frowning. If she had a dollar for every time someone said she was beautiful, she'd be rich enough to find her own way home.

  “What, you've got something against people thinking you're gorgeous?”

  “Yeah,” she said, stiffening. “It usually precedes the part where they want to, how shall we say, 'possess' that so-called beauty.”

  “So people in your experience haven't been content to just admire.”

  No one except Gareth. She gave a quick shake of her head and turned her attention to the landscape.

  “I'm curious why you'd change your hair and eye color, then. Especially since you went with the whole blonde bombshell meme.”

  “I'm curious how you haven't figured out I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Ah, the mystery of Persephone deepens.”

  “Don't get excited, Trent. There's no mystery.”

  He grinned her her, making her hand itch to smack him.

  She decided to change the subject. “When you talk with these 'contacts', do they ever mention why the sun is pink?”

  “They think it's some kind of a temporary corona from the blast.”

  She blinked. “It's been like this for a month. That's not temporary.”

  Trent shrugged. “They said they can't measure any radiation so they must think it's safe enough.”

  Seffy wanted to get a look at the driver but didn't dare. Apparently even the compound people were willing to accept some abnormalities.

  Just not her.

  After about an hour they came to the outskirts of a tiny town—highlighted by a tavern, a convenience store, post office, and gas station. The driver pulled up alongside a boarded-up building. The jeep stopped and Trent jumped out.