Isaac pulled a thick vacuum-sealed steak from the super low-temp freezer while Alessa prepared a colorful medley of canned vegetables and wild rice scented with dried garlic and herbs. In less than an hour, they found themselves sitting down to the most mouthwatering meal they’d had in ages. Isaac had even cracked open a couple beers and set a cozy table in the rec room, with soft music crooning in the background.
They finished every morsel on their plates and sat back in their chairs, Isaac rubbing his stomach contentedly. “One more thing,” Alessa smiled. She dashed off to the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying two small plastic containers. She handed one to Isaac.
His face lit up. “Cheesecake?!” he exclaimed.
Alessa giggled. “Well, cheesecake-flavored pudding,” she admitted.
Isaac laughed with glee. He jumped out of his chair and scooped Alessa up in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and twirling her in the air. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?”
Alessa smiled brightly, draping her arms around his strong shoulders, and planted a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “Once or twice.”
Isaac laughed again and whisked Alessa over to the couch, the pudding cup and spoon still clutched in her hand. Standing behind it, he plopped her down on the back cushions and stood between her legs, his hands resting on the small of her back as he gazed down upon her, the blue of his eyes smoldering like the depths of fire. “Feed me,” he commanded, a wicked grin crossing his face.
Alessa laughed and peeled back the foil on the cup, dipping the spoon into the thick cream and bringing it to Isaac’s parted lips. Isaac locked his eyes on hers as he ate the first blissful bite, moaning quietly.
They shared the rest until only one spoonful remained and Alessa scooped up the final dollop, holding it between them. The smell was sinful – the sweet honey of vanilla mingled with the faintest hint of cherry. She danced the spoon in front of his mouth, teasing, but pulled back when he went in for a bite. Instead, she wrapped her own lips around the spoon, ever so slowly licking it clean, a teasing look in her eyes.
Suddenly he looked hungry for something other than dessert.
Isaac sighed in the back of his throat and kissed her deeply, sliding his hands down her backside and pulling her close to him as he searched her mouth with his own. Alessa’s limbs tingled as her hips thrust forward, crushing the space between them. She wrapped her free hand around his back, digging her nails into the muscles of his shoulder. Isaac growled deep in his throat and reached for the empty pudding cup and spoon, never breaking their kiss as he tossed them on the floor.
He pressed her gently back, and the two of them tumbled over onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and desire.
Isaac ran his fingers over Alessa’s body, tracing the curve of her hip and her waist up underneath her shirt, cupping her with a firm but gentle grip. Alessa gasped and threw her head back as his lips locked on her throat. She burned from head to toe.
Pressing her hands against Isaac’s chest, she pushed him back, forcing him into a seated position against the opposite armrest. She shirked her shirt over her head and shrugged off her pants, Isaac licking his lips in anticipation as he watched. She crawled on top of him, straddling his narrow waist as she trailed her fingers up over his abs and stripped off his t-shirt.
Reaching down, she fumbled with the button on his jeans with one hand and fingered the soft tumble of hair at the back of his neck with the other, scraping her teeth against the softness of his earlobe. “Isaac,” she whispered, her voice rough with longing.
And for the first time in weeks, Alessa lost herself in pleasure, hoping finally that everything was going to be all right.
24. HESITATION
That first night at Raptor, Isaac had truly believed that they’d turned a corner. Their mission was back on track, Alessa’s spirits were high, and they were both more content in each other’s arms than they had been in weeks. All they had to do now was lock down the building and report back to Regina.
They’d turned off the sentry guns and motion lights, secured the roof hatch and stowed the fire ladder. They’d combed every open room on every accessible floor, and checked that whatever entry points they could find were locked. They’d resupplied their packs with food and water and weapons, and most importantly the security cards that would let them in upon their return. It’d taken two days, but they were finally ready. It was time to head back to Paragon.
For the past 48 hours, Isaac had been relieved to find Alessa more relaxed – and more herself – than she had been since they’d set out from Paragon. She smiled often, laughed warmly, and seemed to glow from the inside out. She was happy again.
Or at least, she had been, until they’d woken up that morning and she’d realized it was time to leave. The past couple hours some of the light had gone out of her eyes, and those smiles he loved so much became suddenly harder to come by. Even his touch couldn’t seem to bring her back – she’d already rebuffed his advances twice.
At the moment, she was intently wedging energy bars into every available crevice of her pack, her lips drawn tight below a deeply furrowed brow. The tension was practically radiating off her. Something was wrong.
“So…” Isaac began tentatively, “You almost ready to head out?”
She didn’t even look up. “Yeah,” she grunted. “Just. Let me. Get. The rest of these. In here.”
“Babe.” Isaac knelt next to her chair and reached for her hand. “I think you have enough granola bars.”
Alessa sat back. “I guess so,” she sighed, her face defeated.
Isaac eyed her warily. He didn’t understand. They’d accomplished exactly what they set out to do – found a perfect base, re-equipped themselves for the journey ahead, managed to survive. And they were about to make a triumphant return. What could be bugging her?
“Hey. Less. What’s up? Talk to me,” he urged.
Alessa shook her head. “I don’t know, Isaac. I’m just… I’m not ready for this, I guess.”
“Ready for what?” he prompted.
She looked up at him and shrugged. “For all of it. For what comes next. To go out there –” she motioned towards the walls, “– to deal with those things following us, to lose control of my feelings again, to face Paragon, to fight. I just,” she shook her head. “I want a break. I don’t want to be constantly on guard, constantly afraid, constantly looking over my shoulder. I just want to feel safe for once – like we did here.”
He gazed at her face earnestly. “But that’s the point, right?” he encouraged. “We found this place so we can be safe, so everyone can be safe. We’re going to get Janie and Josephine and all the rebels, and we’re going to come back here and be safe together – from Paragon, from the virus, from everything.”
Alessa sighed. “But we’re not, Isaac. Don’t you see? We’re going to come back here, and we’re going to plan, and then we’re going to war. Regina asked for a base, not a sanctuary. She wants to attack. She wants to free all the people trapped in Paragon and get revenge for what they’ve done to us.”
“But don’t you want that too?” he questioned.
“Yes. No. I don’t know anymore,” she stammered. “I thought I did. But do you really think we’re going to make it through this?”
“Less, you’ve gotta think positive…”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“No, Isaac. Let’s consider the facts for a minute.”
He clenched his jaw and sat back, waiting for her to continue.
“One: This base, despite how awesome it is, is hundreds of miles from Paragon. Even if we can somehow manage to sneak the entire resistance – which is, what, a thousand people by now? – off the compound, what do you think the chances are that we’ll make it all the way here before Paragon catches up with us?”
“Okay, that’s a valid concern. But there are ways around that, though – we can split into smaller groups, maybe we can rig some kind of camouflage,
we can –”
Alessa ignored his retorts and continued. “Two: We don’t know who our enemy is. It’s not the Ruling Class – we’ve spent enough time spying on them to know that they’re just a bunch of bloated bureaucrats who can’t seem to agree on anything. But someone put them in charge, someone with this crazy technology that can alter our minds, who thinks it’s okay to control people through drugs and get rid of anyone who doesn’t comply, who managed to organize a military and a prison right under our noses. How are we supposed to fight them if we don’t even know who they are?”
“But that’s not our job to worry about, Less. I’m sure Regina will have a plan…”
“Three: There are super-fast, super-strong, bloodthirsty creatures trying to kill us. What the hell are they? Where did they come from? Who knows how many of them are out there? And what if they’re all just sitting up there waiting for us to come out so they can eat us?”
Isaac stifled a laugh – it really wasn’t funny, but the look on Alessa’s face was priceless. “No one’s going eat us, Less.”
“You don’t know that!” she argued. “And four: Something is seriously messed up in my brain, something that I can’t control and don’t understand. I saw your thoughts when you were dying. I felt what this security guy felt before he killed himself, and what all those people in the mall felt before the virus took them. I’m getting weird feelings whenever those beasts are around. And I can’t seem to shut it off. Even if everything somehow magically works out with the rebellion, how am I supposed to live like this?”
“Maybe the rebels will know what’s going on with that,” he rejoined. “Maybe it’s happened to other people, too.”
Isaac trailed off, rubbing his temples. He felt drained. Alessa was right to worry about all of this – he knew that – but what else could they do? They had to move forward. That was their only choice.
She sat huffing in her chair. He took her hands in his, holding them tight. “Alessa, listen. You’re right. You’re right about all of it – the odds aren’t exactly stacked in our favor. But it’s not like we can just run away. What about Janie? You’re just gonna leave her there?”
“No,” she admitted, begrudgingly.
“And I’ve got to go back for Josephine, right?”
“Yeah,” she sighed.
“And what about everyone else? What happens to all those people trapped in Paragon, in the prison, on the dramas – don’t they deserve to be rescued, too?”
“Yes,” she grumbled. “I just don’t want to have to be the one to rescue them. I didn’t ask for this kind of responsibility.”
Isaac shrugged his shoulders. “None of us did. But sometimes we don’t get to choose our path, Less. Sometimes we just have to do something because we’re the only ones who can.”
“But why us, Isaac? Why me? There’s nothing exceptional about me – I’m just like everyone else. How did I end up in the middle of this mess? How –” She sighed deeply. “How am I not supposed to fail?”
And there it was. That was the root of all this. She was afraid of letting everyone down.
“You’re not going to fail, Less, because I’m not going to let you.” He squeezed her hand and she lifted her eyes, the tears glimmering on her lashes. “Just like you never allowed me to fall short. We’re in this together – we always have been. We’ll just keep doing what we do, and one day, we’ll look up, and it will all be over. And no one will have eaten us, I promise.”
A laugh bubbled up from Alessa’s chest as she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. And there was that smile again.
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“All right.” He could tell she wasn’t completely satisfied, but she seemed resigned. “Let’s get going then.”
They hadn’t ventured even ten feet outside the building when Isaac began questioning if he could actually keep that promise.
They’d exited through a side door, shutting it quietly behind them as they surveyed the expanse of the lawn, squinting in the afternoon sun. All seemed clear, but as they rounded the corner by the main entrance, Alessa had suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide and her jaw slack. “Isaac – look.”
She pointed at the wide doorway to his left, and he tentatively turned his head to see what she was gaping at.
Gouged deep into the glass, Isaac was disturbed to find, were claw marks – set upon set of frantic scratches straining to get inside.
Isaac released a long breath. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Alessa agreed. “No, it’s not.”
“They knew we were here.” Isaac glanced towards the shady groves of trees punctuating the driveway. Shadows – all he could see were shadows. They were still, but who knew for how long.
“That glass is military-grade,” he whistled. It was about as indestructible as glass could get. “Whatever did this –”
“– sliced through it like butter,” Alessa finished.
Isaac didn’t even want to think about what those claws might do to flesh. Or bone, for that matter. “You brought those guns, right?”
Alessa dug them out of her bag and handed one to him, tucking the other into the back waistband of her pants. “Not that we know how to use them.”
Isaac flipped the safety off and on and practiced his stance. “How hard could it be?”
Alessa’s eyebrow jumped in response. “How about we just stay far enough away that we don’t have to find out?”
“Works for me,” he smiled, slipping the gun into his coat pocket. “Let’s move.”
They headed off toward the highway, backtracking through the tall grass and towering sculptures as the bright winter sun glared down. There wasn’t much in the way of hiding places along this route, but at least no one could sneak up on them.
When they reached the highway, Alessa turned to Isaac, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Do you think someone within the rebels will really know what’s happening to me?”
“With the ghost thing?” Isaac asked. “I think it’s our best shot. It certainly seems to be related to the stitch somehow, right? And there are plenty of other rebels who’ve been stitched.”
“It’s just so different than what I experienced under the stitch. I’m not, you know, seeing dead people. I’m feeling things…”
“You’re feeling things that dead people felt. That’s pretty close.”
“Yeah, except when I feel things from not dead people. Like when you were sick, and I saw your hallucinations. And when I get feelings from the creatures. I just don’t understand…”
“Maybe I died for a minute. Maybe those beasts are, I dunno, undead?”
“Like, zombies? Or vampires or something?” Alessa scrunched her face up. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
Isaac shrugged. “I’m trying to connect the dots here. It’s obviously all related. I’m just not quite sure how.”
“Let’s just hurry up and get back. Hopefully someone in Paragon will be able to help.”
25. BOTCH
Nikhil had known that they’d come for him sooner or later. He was never in Paragon’s prison for long – a few weeks, maybe a month or two at most – before the slate of his mind was wiped clean and painted once more with another pretend life that he had no choice but to live out.
He didn’t fully trust his sense of time in this dark, quiet cell, where each day had a tendency to bleed into the next. But he was fairly certain that he was already pushing six weeks or so with this latest visit. It was only a matter of time before he was saddled with another stitch, another set of memories, another identity to try to sort out from the rest.
But this time, he had hope that things might be different. 14 had been teaching him to resist the stitch, to pick a single strong memory – something real – and focus solely on that thought until the procedure was over. “The trace,” she’d called it – because he could use that memory to trace a path back to what was real.
He
usually disposed of 14’s notes, drowning them in the dredges of his soup or, when all else failed, swallowing them whole. But these ones he’d saved, tucked away in the bottom of his shoe. He’d studied them religiously, night after night, day after day, reciting the words in his head until they played on repeat in his mind, each line as familiar as a song.
“It’s going to hurt – don’t think about that.”
The pain – that was the part Nikhil was most worried about. He’d been stitched into many different lives already, but the common thread that stuck with him through all of them was the agony of the stitch. There was always a price for a new life, as any mother could attest. He guessed that was true for artificial lives as well – only this time, he had to pay for the lives he acquired, even if he didn’t want them. But 14 seemed to think that the pain would be less if he distracted himself by thinking about the trace instead. So that would be his strategy.
“The trace must be your only thought.”
This was the key. He had to concentrate. He had to hold on to every detail of this single memory. Not a whole life, not a series of events, just one solitary vibrant thought. If he could do that, he wouldn’t lose his grip on reality entirely; he could claw his way back out.
“Just focus on the trace, and everything else will return.”
Once it was done he’d be dazed, she’d warned. But he couldn’t rest, couldn’t shut his mind off until he remembered the truth. The stitch would shatter his neural pathways like a jackhammer to asphalt, and then it would pave new paths pointing to the programmed memories. If he went to sleep, his brain would try to heal itself, sweeping the broken fragments of his real memories away. Instead, he needed to repair the original paths, patch them back together before they were lost. If he could keep rehashing the trace, it would strengthen that one pathway in his brain and eventually the connecting paths would relink, and he would be able to recognize truth from fiction. This was, after all, what happened whenever they deposited him back in the prison, on a lesser scale – he’d remember the prison itself, and then other things would start coming back to him. He understood how this worked. He just needed to use it to bring those memories back sooner rather than later.
Shudder (Stitch Trilogy, Book 2) Page 15