The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  “I know,” he interrupts. “But I made a promise, remember?”

  The laughter disappears. There’s a finality to those kinds of promises. Take care of the ones I love. It’s what the dying say. The nature of last requests.

  “Any word?” I ask again.

  “Cash is alive.”

  My heart jolts to life.

  “But his condition is still critical,” Takeshi continues, dragging me back to earth. “I’ll know more when he gets out of surgery. They’ll call me immediately.”

  “Then I’ll stay with you. Please…until they do.”

  Takeshi’s gaze fixes on the window, the sun making his dark eyes shine, his clean, black hair almost glossy. Looking at him feels safe…familiar. I don’t mean to stare. I only realize it when his eyes shift back to mine.

  “Have you heard from Meli?” I ask.

  His gaze falls to the floor, shoulders hunched. “Not yet.”

  I want to say she’ll contact him soon. Those are the words assigned to this moment. The right ones. But I’ve never been a good liar. Maybe she won’t.

  Sorrow burrows inside me, a digging, gnawing, uprooting pain. I have to redirect it, or I’ll be consumed with worry.

  “Do you love her?”

  His eyes widen at my bold question, but just as quickly he returns to staring at the floor. The door opens, and slowly he straightens.

  “You will never be the same,” Grace says, floating across the room with a wide smile and a tray.

  I meet Takeshi’s glance. My heart drops.

  She has to survive.

  31

  I stand next to Takeshi outside a closed elevator. The down arrow glows yellow. Behind us, nurses breeze around the hall, entering and exiting patient rooms. We wear blue coats, the kind from the aircraft closet. Four days have passed with little more than sleep and food. My body is stronger, the wounds healing. But every day that passes carves a deeper longing in me, and sometimes I lay in bed unable to stop squirming, because anxiety is eating me from the inside. Cash made it through all his surgeries, but I haven’t been able to contact him.

  “Ever ridden one?”

  “Yes,” I say, rubbing at my arm. Grace removed the tubing after breakfast, and it itches. “With Ian at the cells. When I met the Council.”

  He gives me a sideways look. “That’s got nothing on this. Just wait.”

  We watch as the numbers above the doors take turns glowing, until finally eight is lit. With a ding, the doors slide apart.

  Bright sunlight spills into the hall. We step inside, and my mouth falls open. The elevator shaft is made of glass, and beyond lies a glittering expanse of water cutting a line across the landscape. People move on the other side, walking along a path lined with black street lamps and benches. A child runs, weaving past ambling adults, like he’s chasing something, but I can’t see what. I step farther in, until the glass is on either side and before me. I can’t seem to form words.

  “Welcome home,” Takeshi says, full of pride. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at anything but the bright blue sky and the white puffed clouds; the colorful birds gliding graceful past the window; the life-filled faces of whole people, not broken by war and captivity. I envy them, and that makes me feel ugly.

  “How will I belong here?” I don’t ask it for pity. My past feels like the glass of this elevator, a separation between me and them. I can see the world I want, but what if I cannot assimilate into it?

  “In time,” he says. “Maybe not today, but there’s always tomorrow, right?”

  He smiles, and I’m blown back, swept away in remembering. My palm finds the cool glass.

  “I never thought—” I shake my head.

  “You thought you’d never get to this point,” Takeshi says, stepping next to me. He looks out over the scene with his hands in his pockets. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d get back to it either.”

  Worry grows, billowing like the smoke clouds after the towers fell, spreading like the white dust that coated the alleys. I cannot suppress it. It will be hard enough for the Workers to blend into this new life, but how will the Watchers? Are there good things ahead for men like them? Do they all deserve it?

  Takeshi turns to face me, wearing concern like he’s reading my thoughts. “It will take time, Hannah. Years, even. But I promise, the majority of you will move forward.”

  “The majority.”

  He sighs, but I don’t need him to explain.

  “It’s complicated,” I whisper.

  “Important things often are.”

  Silence follows.

  Then I ask, “How do we make it move?”

  Takeshi chuckles and reaches back to press a button. The elevator hums to life, and my stomach jumps when we begin our descent.

  Eight floors is a long time to watch the ground rise to meet you. Just before we reach the lowest level, I grasp a handle bar. As the floor settles, Takeshi raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  Faces greet us, a small crowd waiting to enter. I follow Takeshi into a massive room. People fill the space, pushing wheeled chairs and carrying children, crying and laughing and discussing concerns. We walk among them, moving toward large sliding doors that lead outside, and no one stops to gaze at me. No one stares. They wouldn’t, not when the prince walks a pace ahead.

  “Welcome home,” they murmur to him as we pass.

  “We’re proud of you.”

  “Well done.”

  I walk a few steps behind the darling of the South, watching him take it all with grace. And they respect it.

  Takeshi slows, setting a hand on my shoulder, guiding me through the door to exit. The cool outside air chills me, but the sun makes it bearable.

  Paul waits for us at the curb, standing beside the open back door of a car.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I settle on the bench seat, but the question goes unanswered. Takeshi climbs in after, and soon we’re rolling down the street. Buildings fly past, too quick for me to study their details. But the brief glimpses I get captivate me. Unlike the monotonous gray and brick buildings of the valley, dirtied by decades of smog, the buildings of this community come in all shapes and colors. Their sizes vary too, with no reason or order.

  “I’d like you to stay longer and rest,” Takeshi says, drawing my eyes back. “But Grace tells me you aren’t sleeping well.” His expression questions me. I turn back to gazing out the window. We pass a large lot with dozens of cars parked in rows. A massive, one-level building spreads over several blocks, and people enter and exit carrying bags.

  “What is that?”

  “Clothing store,” he says, leaning to see.

  “I want to go there,” I murmur, but he doesn’t hear. We move on, and the store disappears, shrinking into the distance behind us. Sadness grips me. I wonder if I will ever feel comfortable in his world, mingling and blending with the crowds of normal people concerned only with what they will wear.

  “I know you’re worried about Cash,” Takeshi continues. “I’ve arranged a flight to take you to him.”

  My gaze jerks to his. “Now?”

  He nods. “We’re on our way to the airfield. It’ll take about two hours.”

  Time doesn’t matter. I just need to be where he is. I turn back to the window and sit tense while anxiety spreads from my chest like sparks of fire. I’ve longed for this…begged for it. But the weight of it has me frozen, staring unfixed through the glass. Fear rises, and my words come out as whispers.

  “You would say…you’d say if he was dying…”

  “I would, Hannah,” he says quietly. “I promise. But he has been badly wounded.”

  “Will you tell me?” I still can’t speak above a breath with this pressure building in my chest. I press at it.

  Buildings pass in a blur behind his head as he arranges an answer.

  “His spine was damaged.”

  My heart falls.

  “It’s too early to know much
,” he continues, “but the injury wasn’t complete. His spinal cord wasn’t severed. They’ve already moved him out of Intensive Care.”

  Maybe I’ve gone pale…or it’s the shaking. Something makes him touch my arm.

  “They believe he’ll walk again,” he says, slower this time so I’ll catch it.

  I lean my back to the seat and stare ahead, letting the sadness win. Allowing grief its place. I’ll be stronger when I’m with him; I’ll try to be what he needs. But not for these seconds.

  Takeshi pulls his hand away, mirroring my posture, facing forward. His voice drifts between us.

  “You okay?”

  My gaze drops to my hands, where my fingers grip each other in a tangle. Tension winds through my body, solidifying my fears that we will never fully move past this.

  “Yes,” I say without looking. “Thank you. I should be with him.”

  32

  Massive blades beat at the air, pounding out a fast rhythm. My knuckles turn white, my fingers gripping the seat tighter each time the flying machine falls in the open air.

  When I was little, my father gave me a rock to play with, one he’d found just outside our tower on his way home. He told me it could be anything I wanted, and it soon became a bird. For hours I would fly the rock around the room, imagining it high in the air, soaring over the mountains to the mystery beyond. Each time it dropped, thunking on the floor and rolling, I would cry.

  I grit my teeth, ignoring the idea of fingers loosening from this helicopter, allowing us to plummet.

  “Another ten minutes!” Takeshi shouts, his voice reaching me through the bulky headset I wear. “Should be able to land on the roof.”

  Armed guards, two of them, sit at the front and back of the aircraft.

  I settle my gaze again on the scene below. We’re flying over a patchwork of fields, sectioned in massive squares and rectangles, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen yet. I point, lifting my eyebrows.

  “Farmland,” he says. “Where they grow food. They’ve just finished harvesting for the season.”

  He turns back to watching the horizon, and I look again to the design of earth colors below. Until recently, food only came from unmarked silver cans, and I never questioned it. But now I want to learn to grow the things I eat. It must taste so much better from the ground. I stare at the farmland until Takeshi’s voice cuts in.

  “There it is!” he calls, gesturing out his window. The helicopter turns, and in the leaning moments I see a huge white building surrounded by smaller structures. A large, red H is drawn on the roof.

  The helicopter dips side to side as it lands. We run crouched beneath the spinning blades, the wind whipping violently around us. The guards follow. Takeshi waves to the pilot once we’re out of range, and the flying beast lifts, the beating multiplying as it echoes off the buildings.

  “You’re staying?” I ask.

  “He’ll be back for me after he gets fuel.” He motions with a tilt of his head. “Let’s get you down there.”

  More soldiers stand at a door leading into the building. Their presence reminds me how close we are to the border. Cash was flown somewhere near enough to the valley that he wouldn’t die in transit. I eye the men in blue, reminded of stone-faced Watchers patrolling the alleys.

  “They’re at all the entries,” Takeshi says.

  I meet his glance. “For you?”

  We enter into a wide corridor. Takeshi punches the down arrow on an elevator. “For Cash.”

  The words repeat back to me as the doors close us in and the square room drops to a lower level. Cash is still a target. Am I? Titus and Sterling are dead. Surely no one else cares that I exist.

  The doors slide apart, and we enter into white. The air smells sterile. Clean.

  My body on a cold, metal table.

  A sharp needle buried in my thigh.

  A man in formal clothes greets us. “Your highness, welcome. If you’ll come this way.”

  His eyes trail over my face as he turns, curious. I smile a little. At least I think I do. I meant to. I’m so tense, maybe I only look scared.

  We’re led down a series of halls, past long counters where nurses in deep blue mingle and work. A man jogs past in a white coat, barely slowing in time to push through swinging doors. Ahead, Takeshi tells our guide my name.

  It all fades to muted noise, faraway sounds barely reaching me. I follow the men in silence, my teeth clenched against the anxiety radiating through my body. Will he be awake to hear me?

  The scenery changes from white to dim, and soft sounds drift down the hall. Machines drip relief into veins, and monitors track heartbeats. My eyes shift to the bodies inside the rooms. Will he know I’m here?

  “Does she understand his injuries?” the man asks Takeshi.

  “She understands the worst of it,” the prince answers.

  The man stops, eyes on me. Three doors down stands an armed guard. “You can touch his hands,” he says quietly. “But no jarring movements.”

  “I understand,” I say. My eyes burn.

  He nods. “Very well. This way, Ms. Bakker.”

  Takeshi apologizes with a look, but I turn away before my composure breaks.

  When we reach the door, the guard straightens. Chest broader. Shoulders strong. He and Takeshi exchange salutes, then the prince turns to me. Nods toward the door. Our guide smiles for the first time: a sad, tight smile.

  I enter alone and peek back. Takeshi watches from the hall, arms crossed, one hand rubbing his mouth beneath heavy eyes. I inch forward.

  A curtain blocks my view of the bed. The hum and click of a machine ushers me closer. I’m trembling, shaking like it’s freezing, but it isn’t. It isn’t anything. I feel nothing on the outside. Inside, I’m a pounding heart and an aching chest—drowning.

  I grip the curtain to stop my hand shaking and step around it.

  His eyes are closed. My first thought is: he’s dead, and everything in my chest slams to a halt. The heart monitor beeps, mocking me. I stand a full minute, just looking.

  He’s propped on his side, knees bent, tucked in with pillows placed strategically. A tube runs from inside his elbow to a bag of liquid.

  In sleep, you would never know he’s a warrior. The nurses tending to his needs won’t look at him and see the man who led the rebels in the end, who inspired Watchers to abandon their posts. This sleep, with medicine pumping through his veins, makes him vulnerable. Childlike. I kneel by his bed, leveling our faces, and run my fingers over his hand. A tear stain trails from his eye to the pillow.

  I may be wrong to wake him. I pull my hand back, but his eyes flutter until they’re half-open.

  “Soldier,” he whispers. His fingers link with mine, and a straggled sob leaves me. Tears spring from my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sluggish.

  I frown. “You did nothing wrong.”

  His eyebrows pull low. “We should have left together.”

  “You’re alive,” I say past a lump in my throat “That’s what matters.”

  His eyes close. Within a minute he’s fully asleep again. I settle on the cool floor, fingers still entangled, and watch him breathe. Alive.

  33

  His voice wakes me.

  I unfold, sore and stiff. Sharp pain jabs my knee, and I groan, straightening the leg. A deep throbbing expands over my face, where my arm pressed to the bruise Titus left. The room is dark, with only soft light filtering in from the hall.

  My eyes land on Cash and the tender way he’s watching me.

  “You’re here,” he murmurs, like it’s the first time. His fingers find my hair, smoothing through the long, clean strands. I push off the ground and don’t stop until our lips press together. My eyes squeeze tight, and his palm holds my head, keeping me there. Pulling me closer.

  My vision swims when we break apart.

  “Are you okay?” I choke out. Stupid question. Of course he isn’t. Lazy fingers explore my chin. My jaw. My cheek—car
eful where my skin is discolored and tender.

  “I’m fine,” he says, smiling weakly. I laugh, a single burst of joy.

  “Liar,” I say. But I regret the word. It makes his expression fall.

  My lungs feel empty, the air too thin. “What is it?” I ask. His gaze drops.

  “Cash.” I lean close again, touching his face, forcing his eyes up to mine. It isn’t right for him to look this way. Not after all he’s done. The image of him standing on the tank wreckage, calling out to a sea of black-clothed Watchers, still sits fresh in my memory. I feel it in my chest like the moment is now, a vibration of boots pounding the pavement. How can he not see it?

  “I promised to protect you,” he tells me.

  I shake my head, too fast. Too many times. “All you ever did was protect me.”

  His jaw tightens. He swallows hard and doesn’t answer.

  “Cash,” I whisper again. “You made Takeshi promise to take care of me. And he did. That was you. You’ve never stopped protecting me.”

  We’re both quiet for a while, and in the silence, some of his tension leaves. I settle on the floor again.

  “Have you found the boys?” he asks.

  “They’re somewhere else. A different facility.”

  “You have to go find them,” he says. “Sam is brave, but he should be with someone he knows.”

  I nod, but all I want to do is curl at his side and sleep. The man told me not to touch more than his hands. I’ve already broken that rule. If I’m careful, could I fit in the space that’s left?

  “Hannah.” My eyes lift from the mattress. “They need you.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’ll find them. I promise.”

  The seconds stretch. He cups his hand over my wrist, his thumb drawing circles over my skin. My thoughts narrow to every point of contact.

  “Have you seen anything yet?” he murmurs. His steady gaze never leaves me.

  “I saw farmland,” I say, resting my chin on my arm.

  His lips lift. “What did you think?”

  I smile. “I want to learn it.”

  He doesn’t respond. But his gaze moves over my face, and I feel his approval. His agreement.