Nuclear Rising

by Christian Smith

  “I’m already broken.”

  “Then tell us.”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself then,” Bastion replies, waving his hand. “The rest of your team didn’t break either today, but they will. The little blond girl is especially a fun one to torment – she couldn’t even stop crying by the time she got here.”

  I tried to contain the anger, but couldn’t hold back. “You son of a bitch! Get down here and I’ll make you cry. All high and mighty with your fancy Italian suit – I bet you wouldn’t last a day outside of your hoity toity chair up there.”

  I charge toward the platform. A gasp comes out.

  But before I can get very far, I feel my legs go limp under my weight.

  The guards laugh, and all I can do is curse them.

  Celeste replies this time, and I notice she’s moved to the edge of her throne. “Enough. He’s not talking now obviously, and Bastion, you will not talk about women or little girls that way.”

  “Apologies, your Holiness,” he replies, bowing his head while my fists are still clenched tight.

  “Celeste,” I mutter, my face against an ornately decorated rug that has become concentrated with Vanilla scent. I’ll never eat anything with Vanilla again, I swear.

  “Guards,” Celeste says, immediately making the two men near me bow. “Please escort Quinn here back to his new quarters for the time being. Make him comfortable, since it appears he’ll be staying for a very long time.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that – I wasn’t sure what my new quarters would end up being. How could they be worse than an all-white room with a constant leak?

  Darkness covers my eyes as two strong hands lift me off the ground.

  As I’m dragged back, my legs limply trailing underneath me while a hood envelops my head, I can’t help seeing Celeste’s eyes as they stared at me, unbelieving and unrecognizing. Or just simply, she’s moved on from me.

  I can’t help but feel lost. My whole reason for surviving this past week was just so I could find her.

  And I did.

  But she didn’t want to be found.

  My stomach grumbles as we pass a crowded market, people shouting loudly at each other as they place orders back and forth. The aroma of something meaty and savory hits my nostrils, wafted by a sizzling grill just feet away.

  Another few turns and the hood is taken away from me.

  I turn and look at a busy cobblestone street, perfectly lined with small cottages as various people leisurely stroll, every now and then pausing to look in a window at a store display of one kind or another. The women don dresses perfectly tailored to their bodies while the men sport suits of varying colors and designs.

  I turn to the guards, who only eye me curiously. They wear the same green military garb as the others, but carry small gray hand guns with blue glowing tips.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask finally, confused I hadn’t ended up in some dark cell with torture devices.

  The guard closest to me replies, sighing, “The Queen has ordered you to stay in her personal guesthouse while you are her prisoner. We are to keep watch over you at all times and ensure you do not leave the premises. Those are our orders.”

  It seemed too good to be true, and instantly I was suspicious. I looked ahead at a small mansion, styled after French villas, a square, angular white brick building with windows symmetrically placed along the front of it. A balcony sat on top of the roof with a white marbled fence bordering the edges, while perfectly manicured hedges dotted the stone walkway that led up to an immaculately imposing blue front door with an enormous gold knocker.

  Turning once again to look at the guards, one of them impatiently kicking at the dirt, I say, “Wait. I’m supposed to believe you that I was your prisoner, you tortured me, threatened me and now you’re just going to give me a free one week all-expenses paid vacation in this Parisian mansion?”

  “Correction. You are still our prisoner. Until the Queen releases you, or kills you.”

  I smile weakly, replying, “Yeah I don’t believe it. Can I have my stuff though, and my friends and I’ll just be heading.”

  The guards block my path, bringing their pistols up.

  “We have strict orders,” one of the guards says. “You either stay here or you die. You’ll find your things inside as a token of trust from her Holiness, but you won’t find your friends – forget about them.”

  My throat tightens as I think of Bree being dragged down that hallway. I wouldn’t ever forget them.

  “I guess I’ll go into my prison from the Hamptons then. Pretty sure you guys are going to harvest my organs by the end of the day.”

  One of the guards smirks at me, snorting, and I’m not sure if it’s because he really would like to steal my kidney. Pointing, he says, “See yourself in then trash – the only reason you’re here is the Queen’s word.”

  I attempt to drag my legs, much like when you’ve been sitting in the same position too long and your lower extremities fall asleep. Snickering in the background, the guards are pointing and laughing until I finally come to the massive white door.

  It creaks open, revealing an elaborately carved staircase curving to an upstairs loft with an indoor balcony that could’ve been from Romeo and Juliet. A large great room sits on my left, a white granite kitchen in the background with a large island surrounded by chairs, while pans hang decoratively from the ceiling. To the right is a dining room, complete with a mahogany table that spans the entire length of the room, with enough space for at least fifteen people to sit comfortably.

  I nearly bump into the coat rack sitting behind me, my backpack neatly hanging from it, my gun and newly-gifted nail bat nowhere in sight.

  As I set my hand on the bannister leading up the beautiful staircase, I realize I’ve been here before. That is, I’ve been in a house just like this before.

  Flashes of images course through my head. Me sliding down the bannister, making a mess in the kitchen while I attempt to assemble a sandwich, a large husky leading me down the halls.

  I know this place, because it’s my house.

  It’s odd, but I know already where my room would be – third door on the right as I turn right at the loft. To the left would be the master bedroom.

  Celeste had made this guestroom after my parent’s house in the Hamptons. But why?

  My stomach lurches, so I head to the kitchen and begin assembling a turkey sandwich with minimal mess this time. I shower with running hot water, shave with a clean razor and shaving gel, lounge on the black leather couch while watching pre-recorded Netflix shows.

  Hours pass, an intangible dissonance settles over me as my previous life and my current life collide. I half-expect my sisters to come through the door fighting over some outfit one of them had stolen from the other.

  Another hour passes.

  A knock sounds at the door.

  With twitching fingers I unclick the lock and peer through the narrow opening.

  A voice cuts through me, light and airy, with just a hint of a rasp.

  Celeste looks into my eyes, and says, “May I come in? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I fumble for words, choking on my own tongue, wondering if I had somehow been hooked up to another machine for interrogating.

  “Uh sure,” I reply finally. “I mean, you aren’t interrupting anything.”

  She steps in, her long, slender body wearing black designer skinny jeans, a ruffle navy blue top and stiletto heels with red painted on the bottom. She still wears the leafy crown of emeralds wrapped around her forehead and across her long platinum hair that reaches down past her lower back. A gleam of light catches my eye around her finger where I realize her lily tattoo ends, and in its place sits a silver wedding ring with a large emerald cut diamond.

  “I hope the accommodations are to your liking,” Celeste says, her eyes shining their electric blue. “I had it created just like your parent’s house. It was one of the first things I had built he
re you know. Used to be my palace.”

  She runs her finger along some wainscoting, bemusing herself with some memory as she walks toward the dining room.

  The anger I had felt before suddenly has gone cold. Mish-mashed and hodge-podged, my thoughts try to figure out what I’m feeling.

  But really, I feel empty.

  So I finally look at her, standing at the base of the stairs, and manage to mouth one word.

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you doing this? What’s your game? Are you trying to drag something out of me?”

  A touch of red flashes on her ivory skin and her face becomes serious. “I’m sorry Quinn. Believe it or not, I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

  “Something nice? Really? Like on the level of torture or maybe humiliation?”

  “Don’t test me Quinn!” Her voice is just on the border of yelling.

  “You’re telling me not to test you, Celeste? How diluted are you!”

  “Diluted? Would you like me to send you back to your cell? Or even to reassignment?”

  “Well my first preference would be for you to let my friends and I go, because as you said, that girl, Celeste, is definitely long dead. I have to just accept that.”

  “That Celeste you knew had to die, Quinn!” Tears are forming in her eyes, a splash falls on her cheek, and I look away so I can keep my anger from being quenched.

  “So what’s with the charade then? Why come in here looking all hot with your fancy designer clothes, wearing your engagement ring, that by the way I, Quinn gave you, because I recognize that cut? Why Celeste?”

  The tears are rolling down her cheeks in full force, and I bite my lip to focus.

  “Quinn. You have absolutely no idea what I went through. You have no idea what I’m going through.”

  I reply, spitting out every word as if they’re knives. “You always wanted to be a princess in a castle Celeste – it looks like you at least got what you wanted. It looks like you have been through so much – I mean my brushes with death several times over the past week pale in comparison to your difficult life of deciding what kind of fancy pastry you’ll eat for breakfast.”

  “Please,” Celeste pleads. “You have no idea.”

  “Oh I have a pretty good idea. You and your snobby male models sit up on your high and mighty platform all day, judging people that are lesser than you while people like me are just trying to eke out some kind of survival in this mess we’re all in. What happened to you?”

  And just like that, Celeste’s face tightens, her jaw line sharpens as her hand brushes the tears away in a single motion. The door behind us opens, and out steps one of the guards keeping watch.

  “Everything good, your Holiness? You told me to check in every five minutes.”

  She smiles back, answering coldly. “I was just leaving actually, so if you’ll please escort me to the Green Hall. Mr. York here needs his sleep before his interrogation in the morning. I do hope the bed won’t be too large to have by yourself.”

  The door slams, and I feel like throwing everything in the room at it.

  Instead, I turn away, too numb and tired to care, stomping upstairs to collapse all alone on a very large California King bed.

  CHAPTER 19

  Uninvited Guests

  I wake up day after day to the same nightmares.

  Heads of my friends exploding, limbs being strewn across a war-torn battlefield. Brig, Sledge, even Rose staring at me with lifeless eyes.

  Celeste dying in a fiery blaze.

  Bree turning into a Skulk, her limbs contorting uncontrollably in Al’s Electronics store.

  But still, I don’t tell them why I’m here. Partly because of pride. But partly because of Brig.

  It’s as if my perception of reality has been completely obliterated. No longer can I tell what is real and what’s an interrogation from Dr. Decker. Sometimes I even question if I ever left the lab.

  Five days have passed according to my scratch marks I’ve made in the wall by the coat hanger. The only reason I dread another day is not so much because of another nightmare, but because every day gone means another chance I won’t be able to make it to Brig. Add to that I haven’t seen Celeste since the night we fought, and my hope has shrunken down like an overexposed raisin.

  There just isn’t enough time.

  That all changes today though.

  Waking up with a fierce determination to escape and steal the fusion cell battery, I decide that Bree needs me. Brig needs me. And I am not about to roll over and die. I have survived worse odds – well maybe.

  So as they strap me into the cognitive interrogation device, I give Dr. Decker a smirk and a wink, because I know something he doesn’t. Specifically his royal Holiness is my fiancée, despite our rough restart. And I’m going to convince her to get me out of here one way or another.

  Today…

  “I’ve been asked to give you a particularly troubling memory, Mr. Quinn,” Dr. Decker hisses. “I’ve found a high amount of cortisol associated with one particular memory, so let’s test your limits today shall we?”

  Another pinch at my neck, and I’m in another place.

  Wispy waves crash along a darkened beachfront, grainy sand sticking between my bronzed toes as salty water scours the rising tide up the shore. A large bubbling rock sits underneath me as I stare lazily into the reflected moonlight rippling across the bay.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice whispers warm breath into my ear.

  A sigh breathes out from my lips as I try to dissect my reality. Part of me screams that something bad should happen, that I’m really being interrogated, that it isn’t real. But part of me shushes that warning, content to indulge in a happy dream.

  “It is beautiful,” I reply, looking into Celeste’s clear, blue eyes, no longer glowing. “I could stay here forever actually.” Wrapping my hands in her long, delicate fingers, I feel the warmth and softness I always felt before with her skin.

  “Why don’t we?” Celeste asks. “You and I could run off somewhere, we could find an island. Just you and me, and maybe one more.”

  As I see her hands graze her stomach, a soft smile crosses her parted lips, her eyes echoing the happiness she’s embracing. And then I realize.

  “Wait,” I ask abruptly. “Wait. You’re telling me-“

  “That I’m pregnant, yes.”

  “You’re pregnant,” I say, denial and a rush of excitement blasting through my subconscious mind all at once. “Really? No way! How? I mean, what?”

  She laughs softly, grabbing my hand to rest against her abdomen. “Really Quinn. Honestly I thought you would’ve noticed tonight, me not drinking before we celebrated our little extravaganza to Mars. Which reminds me, we may have to take a rain check on that, at least for eight months or so.”

  I grab Celeste tight, laughing and crying at the same time as little tears of happiness well up in the corner of my eyes, feeling her skin against my shirtless body, and I know in that moment, I don’t ever want to let go. I’m happy at last. I’m where I belong, and that’s with her, and with my future child. I never wanted anything else.

  “I can’t believe it,” I mutter over and over as I press her salty hair against my face, closing my eyes to soak in this moment.

  Suddenly Celeste pulls away from me, seriousness crossing her face as she stares at me blankly. “Tell me one thing though Quinn – What is it you wanted to steal from the Sempers?”

  “Huh?” I ask, taken aback, nearly falling off the rock we sit on.

  “Tell me please. For your child, for me. And you can stay here forever.”

  I stare at the ground for what seems like minutes, not wanting to fight any longer. I didn’t care about anything else, except for where I was now – that’s all that mattered.

  “We were sent to steal a fusion cell battery for the Semper tribe,” I finally mutter. “I don’t know anything else other than that.

  Celeste smi
les, gratitude showing on her face. “Thank you Quinn – that’s more than enough for us. Now where were we?”

  Again I feel her warm body curling up against the nook of my arm and chest, but I can’t help feeling that something isn’t right.

  A vibration against my leg and a flash of light signals a notification from my phone. I click it open as Celeste looks at me with concern.

  Gasping, I stare at the headline flashing on my phone.

  “World War 3 Coming. Nuclear Launches Detected Worldwide. A World in Chaos – The End?”

  Panic throttles my brain into action. My heart pumps wildly.

  I kiss Celeste’s head one last time and wake up from the dream.

  The last thing I remember is punching Dr. Decker in the face, screaming, “The Queen has my child! Celeste is your Queen, so where’s my kid!?”

  ┈┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈┈

  A bowl of Cheerios swirls lazily in front of me while I stare sullenly into the creamy depths of milk, trying unsuccessfully to process a tiny bit of what I’d just seen and heard.

  It had to have been made up.

  I try to rationalize to myself that it wasn’t real, but somewhere deep inside of me is clawing, scratching my brain, telling me I have or had a child that might be out in the world, and I have to know for myself if it’s true.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  A sudden rap at the front door steals my attention, and not being used to visitors, I’m instantly on edge that it might be someone trying to hurt me. So I grab the only thing I can think of to defend myself, and that’s a small metal butter knife that I’ve tried to sharpen over the past couple days.

  Creeping over to the huge white door, I creak it open just enough to sneak a peek with one eye. Instantly I see Celeste, and just as quickly I feel myself shutter the door in her face.

  What do I do?

  Another knock.

  “Quinn,” a muffled Celeste says. “Let me in Quinn – Dr. Decker told me what happened today. Can you let me in so we can talk about it?”

  I close my eyes.

  Take a breath.