Endangered

by Michelle Larkin

  Tora sighed. “Go join the others. I need to check on the newborns.”

  “If you ask me nicely, I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” she asked absently. Tora brought her fingers to her temple. A headache was galloping around the track, headed straight for her at top speed.

  “Join the others.” Aspen sighed. “It’s called asking politely. Here, allow me to demonstrate.” She hopped to the opposite side of where she’d been standing and pretended to address herself as Tora. “Aspen, can you please join the others so I can go do some important doctor stuff?”

  Without a word, Tora climbed back inside the trolley, put the trolley in gear, and sped away. What she needed right now was physical distance from Aspen.

  She took a deep breath as the overhead torches ignited, illuminating the tunnels before her. These tunnels were more familiar to her than the hallways in her house on the surface. She felt relief wash over her as she was alone once again.

  Time to regroup, get herself squared away. At this point, perhaps it was best to let someone else take over Aspen’s training. But who? She mentally reviewed the list of available candidates and sighed. There was no one else.

  Maybe Aspen had a point. Was she using her responsibilities as an excuse to make herself inaccessible to everyone around her?

  She braked to a stop at the hospital’s entrance and squeezed her eyes shut against the headache that was now an all-out migraine. The pain was almost unbearable.

  * * *

  The sound of fluttering wings echoed through the tunnels. Tora felt a slight draft against the side of her body as a small white bird landed on the seat beside her. A dove. For a moment, she wondered if it was Hope, but this presence felt annoyingly familiar. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, the light from the overhead torches like branding irons on her brain.

  Aspen’s voice interrupted the stillness. “You have a migraine.”

  So the Myriad had taught herself how to fly. She was a quick study. With a little luck, their training sessions together would be brief. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Call it one of my newly emerging talents as a Myriad. I can sense you’re in a lot of pain.”

  “I’m not in the mood to talk right now, Aspen.”

  “Would you prefer we sit here in an uncomfortable silence while I watch you suffer?”

  “Whatever you’re doing—however you’re causing this—you can stop now. You’ve made your point.”

  “I’m not the one causing it…exactly.”

  “What the hell does that mean, exactly?” Tora felt her temper flare up again, which made her heart beat faster and the throbbing worse.

  “Your migraine—I think it’s being caused by the anger you’re feeling toward me.”

  That theory was beyond ridiculous. She kept her eyes closed and brought both hands to her temples. “Are you saying I’m the one causing this?”

  “Yep.”

  “I can’t see your face right now—because if I open my eyes, my eyeballs will leap from my skull to escape the pain in my head—but I’m definitely sensing a self-satisfied smirk.”

  “I prefer smug-yet-playful smile.”

  “How do I make this stop?” Tora didn’t know how much more agony she could withstand.

  “Two choices. Either you put some distance between us, or you talk about what’s upsetting you.”

  “Option A.” Tora squinted through her eyelashes, tapped the ignition switch, and put the trolley in drive.

  “I neglected to mention how far.”

  She hesitated. “How far?”

  “Tahiti should do it.”

  Tora put the trolley in park and cut the engine, feeling suddenly nauseous from the pain. At this point, she was willing to do just about anything to make it go away.

  “Guess that leaves option B,” Aspen said. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m a really good listener.”

  She swore she could hear Aspen grinning.

  “Unless there’s someone else you’d like to talk to.”

  Tora couldn’t think of a single Shroud. She confided in no one.

  “Exactly what I thought. You’re a loner. You keep everything close to the chest. Am I right?”

  “That’s what a good leader does.”

  “Good leaders strive to find balance between meeting their responsibilities and taking care of themselves. They realize they can’t possibly do everything alone. Good leaders have an inner circle of people they trust—a support system, if you will. Do you have that?”

  Tora shook her head, instantly regretting it as the pain ratcheted up another notch.

  “Why not?”

  “I work best alone.”

  “Not buying it. Try again.”

  Tora tried to think through the pain. “I prefer to work alone.”

  “Why?” Aspen pressed.

  “Because most Shrouds can’t stay alive long enough for me to count on them.” She felt the truth of her words like a punch to the stomach.

  “And that makes you feel…?”

  “Scared,” Tora admitted. “I’m afraid of depending on someone only to lose them.” The pain in her head instantly diminished as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She opened her eyes and sat up.

  “Welcome back,” Aspen said, studying her. “How do you feel?”

  “Better, but the headache is still there.” She met Aspen’s gaze. “Why isn’t it gone?”

  Aspen shrugged. “Maybe it means you’re still holding on to something.”

  Tora already regretted what she’d shared so far. “Like what?”

  “Like, oh, I don’t know, your feelings for me?”

  “I already told you, I’m not gay.” Tora brought both hands to her head as the migraine returned with a vengeance. This headache was like Pinocchio’s nose. “Are you doing this, Aspen?”

  “I swear on my life, I am not giving you that headache.”

  Felt like it was escalating from a migraine to a brain aneurysm. Dammit. “Okay, okay. That’s a lie. And yes, I do have feelings for you.” Just like that—poof—the pain was totally gone.

  “See?” Aspen reached over to take her hand. “Was that so bad?”

  Tora pulled away. “I said I have feelings for you. I didn’t say I wanted to act on them.”

  Aspen nodded. “Baby steps. I can roll with that.”

  “Trust me,” she said through clenched teeth. “There’s nothing to roll with.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Okay.” Aspen raised both hands in surrender.

  “Can we go inside please, so I can check on the newborns?”

  “As long as you keep your anger in check.”

  “That won’t be an issue, as long as you keep your talking to a minimum.”

  “I’ve been told I have a very soothing voice.”

  Tora couldn’t argue with that. There was a calming, hypnotic quality to Aspen’s voice that she found extremely appealing. “I hadn’t noticed.” And just like that, the headache was back. Her hands moved to her temples once again.

  “Another lie?” Aspen asked. “This is fun.”

  Tora rubbed her temples furiously. “If I find out you’re responsible for this—”

  “I promise you”—Aspen laughed—“I’m not.”

  “Glad you find this funny.”

  “What I find funny is you’re a living, walking lie detector, detecting your own lies.”

  Tora laughed in spite of herself.

  “Here’s what we’ve established so far: you’re gay, you like me, and you think my voice is sexy. Anything else you’d like to add?”

  Tora hesitated, reluctant to admit that Aspen was right. “That’ll do for now.” Once again, the pain in her head subsided. She was tempted to deny the sexy part, but it just wasn’t worth the risk.

  * * *

  As
pen followed Tora into the hospital to check on the newborns. After the recent evacuation of all nonessential personnel, the hospital looked deserted. Save for the sound of a TV in a nearby waiting room, the place was eerily quiet and still.

  She felt the newborns’ excitement at seeing her. Their connection and awareness of one another was growing. One by one, she was able to sense each of the distinct personalities.

  There was one in particular who’d already caught her attention—the rogue Myriad of the bunch. Independent, sassy, and fearless, Raven was a born troublemaker. Aspen liked her already.

  But there was a dark side to Raven that she’d have to keep her eye on. Raven and Hope would lock horns on more than one occasion for control of the group. Hope, Aspen knew, would always prevail. But Raven would grow resentful and restless over time. Aspen knew it was her job to keep the peace between the two and mentor Raven as best she could. She had her work cut out for her with that one.

  It was appropriate that Raven’s primary animal was a black raven—brazen, loud, and, at times, taunting. That was Raven to a tee.

  She put a hand on Tora’s arm to stop her as they headed toward Raven’s room. “The newborns need to be together.”

  “I wasn’t planning on separating them,” Tora said. “They’re all staying here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She looked down at the floor and tried to focus as an urgent message welled up from that mysterious vault deep inside. “The newborns need to be in the same room. All of them. Together.”

  “Oh.” Tora bit her lip in thought. “I don’t think we have a room in the hospital large enough to accommodate eight newborns and their parents.”

  “Their parents can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. They should be evacuated immediately.”

  “But they’re babies.” Tora’s face grew somber. “Who will take care of them?”

  “They have us. And they’ll be able to take care of themselves before long. The window for evacuation is closing. This needs to be done now.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Tora asked, looking doubtful.

  “Positive.”

  “Can I at least check in on them first?”

  Aspen shook her head. “Not enough time.”

  She watched as Tora instantly shifted gears, her expression of uncertainty morphing into razor-sharp resolve. “I’ll bring their parents to the surface myself,” she said, already jogging down the corridor.

  Within minutes, parents were bidding tearful farewells to their children in the hospital corridor. Aspen shook her head in amazement. They were leaving the sanctuary with nothing but the clothes on their backs and entrusting her with the lives of their infants—their very own flesh and blood. She couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult this was for them. Yet another example of how different Shrouds were from humans. No human she knew would ever leave their newborn behind.

  These Shroud parents obviously understood the importance of the greater good. With the very future of their species hanging in the balance, they were willing to make this personal sacrifice. But she could see how agonizing it was for them.

  Tora turned to her. “Take the newborns to chamber one. I’ll meet you there as soon as I get back.”

  “Copy that.”

  “One problem,” Tora whispered. “I need the four trolleys outside to transport everyone to the surface at once. The other trolleys are scattered all over the sanctuary. How will you relocate the newborns?”

  “We’ll manage.”

  Tora looked doubtful. Aspen could tell she was trying to puzzle out a solution.

  “Will you please stop trying to micromanage everything? Just let it go.” She slipped her hand around Tora’s. This time, Tora didn’t pull away. “Put your trust in someone else for a change.”

  “That someone being a reformed chocolate addict who likes to hold hands?” Tora smiled and gave Aspen’s hand a gentle squeeze.

  Parents with tearstained cheeks stepped in line behind Tora and disappeared into the tunnels.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Trolley-less, Aspen decided to shift into a dove. She was hoping these newborns possessed the same ability to shift that Hope had demonstrated earlier in the kitchen.

  Her optimism paid off. After a handful of test runs, all seven Myriads shifted with her and flew through the tunnels in formation behind her. Even though she’d discovered her own aptitude for flying, she still very much preferred the feel of solid ground beneath her feet.

  The trick to retaining her clothes, she’d discovered, was to remember what she was wearing before she shifted. Then, all she had to do was envision her body inside the same clothes as she shifted back.

  Aspen led them through the maze of tunnels and returned to human form, landing just outside the hidden entrance to chamber one. She watched as each Myriad glided in and effortlessly shifted back into their primary animal: a polar bear cub, a mountain lion cub, a coyote pup, a black bear cub, a fawn, a cheetah cub, and a fuzzy black chick that would mature into a raven. The only one missing was the white tiger cub. Aspen knew Hope was in safe hands and still on a tour of the sanctuary with Oscar and Skye.

  The seven newborns followed her into chamber one through the hidden door in her closet. Each baby climbed onto her bed and lay down. Snuggled in like littermates, they all peered up at her. She pulled up a chair beside the bed and kept watch as they lowered their heads, closed their eyes, and dozed off.

  Satisfied they were sleeping peacefully, she ventured into the hallway and quickly turned back. It was freezing out there. She grabbed a heavier sweatshirt from a dresser drawer, unzipped the one she was wearing, and slipped the new sweatshirt over her head. After rifling through a few more drawers, she found a pair of gloves and some Spider-Man earmuffs. Perfect. She was a huge Spider-Man fan. How Tora had managed to find these in an adult size was beyond her. She pulled the gloves on and proudly nestled the earmuffs over her ears. Instantly warmer, she made her way to the main room of chamber one.

  For the first time since they’d parted ways, she wondered if Tora would make it back safely. A lightning bolt of fear shot straight through her. What if SEA soldiers were already waiting at the surface, ready to ambush Tora and the Shroud evacuees? Tora was fierce—no doubt about that—but she was no match against an army of trained soldiers.

  Suddenly torn between checking on Tora and staying with the newborns, Aspen felt her heart pick up speed. That’s when she knew her feelings for Tora ran deeper than she’d even realized. She shook her head, wondering if she’d completely lost her mind. It wasn’t like her to be obsessing about a woman she hardly knew.

  * * *

  After delivering everyone safely to the surface, Tora decided to check in with Edna at the cabin and bring her back to chamber one. Edna could ride out the battle there and return to the cabin later, if it was ever safe to do so.

  She parked the trolley and jogged through the labyrinth of tunnels until she reached the cabin’s basement. Entering the passcode to unlock the hidden panel, she cautiously stepped through the doorway. The basement was cast in perfect darkness. Without even a pinprick of light, her nocturnal vision was useless. But she knew her way around this place by heart.

  In the early stages of construction—before there were lights—she and her father used to trek through the maze of tunnels on foot, side by side in total darkness, quizzing one another and committing every square inch to memory. The simple act of walking hand in hand with her father for hours on end—those were the memories she wouldn’t trade for the world.

  She ascended the stairs, turned the doorknob, and froze. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

  * * *

  Warm at last, Aspen stared into the fire. Oscar stepped out from the hallway and walked over to join her on the circular sofa. “Nice earmuffs,” he said, eyeing them with envy. He was a Spider-Man fan, too. He reached out and rubbed his hands together vigorously in front of the fire. The baby carrier around his chest was empty.


  “Where’s Hope?” she asked, feeling suddenly anxious.

  “I added her to the pile of fluffy cuteness on your bed as I was passing through.”

  She smiled. “They are pretty cute, aren’t they?”

  Oscar nodded but said nothing more.

  Something was bothering him. “What’s up?”

  “I can’t shake the feeling that Hope doesn’t need me anymore. She’s with the other Myriads now.” He frowned. “I’ll miss taking care of the little bugger.”

  There was a thoughtful silence between them. Aspen could tell he was struggling to keep his composure. “Some Spidey earmuffs might lift my spirits,” he said sadly.

  Now it was her turn to frown. She reluctantly took them off and handed them over.

  Oscar clamped the earmuffs over his ears and shot up from the sofa with a look of pure satisfaction.

  Something told her she’d been played.

  “By the way,” he said, grinning happily, “Helga and I have decided—if we make it out of this mess alive—the first thing we’re going to do is find a baby to adopt.”

  Aspen couldn’t be happier for them. Oscar would finally get his chance to have his own baby and not have to keep borrowing everyone else’s. She held out her hand. “Now that you’re not all pathetic and depressed, I’d like my earmuffs back, please.”

  He slid them off and handed them over with a sigh.

  The rest of Alpha Genesis trickled in and gathered around the fire.

  Skye sat on the sofa beside Aspen. “I’d like to stay with Hope until she wakes up.” She looked from Oscar to Aspen. “That’s where I’ll be if you need me.”

  “Copy that,” they said in unison.

  Heading off to tunnel one, the girl halted in her tracks. She turned and pierced Aspen with her signature bright green gaze.

  Aspen hurried over. “What’s up, kiddo?”

  “Cool earmuffs.”

  “Thanks.”

  Skye hesitated. “Can you ask Pierre to make me one of those chocolate-strawberry things?”

  “A crepe? Sure. But just one?” she asked with a wink.