Huck paced.
“You have told me so many times in the past that you understood our cause. And yet every single one of your actions recently has shown me that you are a liar,” Huck seethed.
Gordy stepped forward, but Huck pointed a finger at his son and his face turned red.
“Don’t you dare intervene,” Huck spat. He turned back to Scott, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Scott shook his head.
“Nothing?” Huck let out a condescending laugh. “You aided and abetted kidnappers. You created a destructive device with the intent to harm my people. You allowed your son and your little...” Huck stopped. “What is Grant to you, Scott? Your little protégé...your little experiment.”
“He deserved to live,” Scott said. He lifted his head to look at Huck fully. Huck was nothing; so slight, so fragile. He had caustic words and a mindless army to back him, but he had no power and no control over Scott anymore. “You rule with fear and anger. The people on these Islands will not follow you down a rabbit hole of merciless killing. Your empire will crumble and you will fail and I will only be sorry that I didn’t get to watch it happen,” Scott said.
Gordy stepped forward. “Enough.”
“Stay out of this,” Huck warned.
“I said enough,” Gordy said again.
“He dies,” Huck said.
Gordy nodded. “I agree.”
“And we hunt down the boys. Bring Teddy back safely and annihilate the others.”
Gordy stood away from the group and looked out over the helipad. The helicopter was out of sight, and he scanned the cloudy horizon. “I’ll call all the pilots from the other Islands. They’ll be behind by twenty or so minutes, but we will get them. We can start a search mission—”
He was interrupted by the sound of an explosion. It was a loud, rolling clap of thunderous noise. They swung their heads to the sound and watched as a plume of smoke erupted through the clouds. From their position they could see a fiery mass plummeting from the sky. Scott tried not to jump for joy. Instead, he twisted his face into surprise and cried out.
“No!” he gasped. “No...” he whispered and he hung his head.
“Oh,” Gordy breathed. “No, no.” His face went ashen and he pointed at the spot where the smoke was billowing. “There was a child on that helicopter. A child! Dear God…Blair…what will we tell Blair?” He covered his mouth with his hands and stood and looked out.
Huck turned slowly to Scott. He stalked over and lifted his face upward.
“You are hereby sentenced to death. For treason, aiding and abetting, possessing illegal materials, and for murder.” He walked to his son and clasped a hand on his shoulder.
Scott wiggled under the firm hands of the guards.
“Gordy,” Scott said, his voice firm. The son turned. “I accept my own fate, but my family had nothing to do with my actions. Do not punish them for my indiscretions...”
Gordy looked to the ground.
“Please,” Scott begged. “Promise me.”
“You’ve earned no such promises,” Huck said and he stepped to the side.
But Scott was unrelenting. “I gave you everything I had...my entire life and my family. You couldn’t have accomplished any of this without me. I gave you everything...and all I am asking for in return is safety for my family...that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“There would have been someone else,” Huck replied. He turned his back. “There is always someone else.” He turned to the guards. “Shoot him.”
The guards loosened their grip and went for their weapons, and Scott seized the moment. He pulled away from them and took two large steps backward, and then he rushed to the edge. A small fence separated the helipad from the edge of the tower. Looking below, he could see nothing but gray. The ocean water from that height did not move or turn with the wind: it could have been cement beneath him—there was no way to see for sure. Ignoring Huck’s angry shouts and the guard’s warning shot in his direction, Scott climbed over to the ledge. The wind rushed around him and filled his ears with steady pounding.
A shot rang out and it pierced Scott’s shoulder. The pain radiated down his arm and he held on to the railing. Tears stung his eyes and his clothes whipped around his body. He thought of Maxine—his perfect mate, the mother of his children. He thought of her strength, her resoluteness, and her power. When he first met her, he knew that he had to spend the rest of his life with her. He knew he would be a better man for making her his everything. They had made such beautiful children. Strong and brave. Tender and empathetic. They were amazing, despite his own shortcomings as a father.
Another shot rang out and this time the bullet pierced his side. With all of his remaining strength, Scott pushed himself off the edge and let his body slip into a free fall. He could see the ocean below him, the rapidly approaching swirl of blue and gray and white foam. The hair on his arm stood on end and a buzzing, zipping, sound filled his ears. He closed his eyes. And smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lucy heard the explosion and rushed to the glass. Their westward-facing window provided them a brief glimpse of black smoke spiraling downward into the sea and upward into the clouds. She gasped and placed her hands against the window, and then spun to her mother. The King family gathered and watched the smoke, and they pushed their noses against the glass. Maxine placed her hand on Galen’s shoulder.
“Oh my God,” Maxine whisper. “Tell me that was not what I think it was.”
“Did a plane go down?” Galen asked. His breath fogged up the window in front of him. “What happened?” He shifted and turned to his mother. “Mom, was it them?” His lip trembled and he looked back out to the ocean, frozen.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Maxine replied, her voice catching. “No. No. It’s nothing, come away from the window.” She pulled them each away and went to the wall, and with long pulls of the cord she shut the curtain, blocking out the natural sun and the view of the distant wreck outside.
“Mom—” Lucy started, but Maxine raised a hand.
“I can’t stay in this house,” her mother said. “With Ethan gone and your father out God knows where. I can’t.” She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, and she drank it in one gulp. Maxine filled the glass again and stood with her back to her children, holding the glass and staring at the wall.
“Where will we go?” Harper asked.
“Where do you want to go?” Maxine asked the girl without looking, and Harper beamed at the responsibility of choosing.
“To the park!”
Maxine set the full glass of water down on the counter and leaned over her map; she scanned and skimmed and then placed her finger on a small green square. “Perfect. We’ll go the park.” She lined them all up and inspected for socks and matching shoes. She made a joke about climate-controlled parks and not needing jackets and Lucy tried to smile. Everyone was quiet as they walked. Maxine led the way with Harper’s hand in her own and she kept her head up high. But when they reached the sky bridge, Lucy could tell that something was wrong. People passed them, and there were whispers. A few people stared at Maxine and the brood with narrow eyes, judging them as they passed. A few looked sad. Mournful. One woman put a hand over her heart and looked down at Harper with her lopsided ponytails and made a small sound of pity.
When they reached the end of the bridge and began to make their way to the elevator in the middle of the open atrium, they all heard the shouts and commands, which seemed to rain down on them from all directions.
Lucy’s stomach dropped and she began to shake. She grabbed on to Galen and they stood there holding each other as the guards surrounded them, their guns lifted and in place. One guard even aimed his registered weapon at Harper. Still, Maxine stood up tall. She took one look at the men and turned to her children.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “Stand tall. Be still and stand tall.”
&nbs
p; A gangly man in a crisp blue uniform approached Mama Maxine and stood toe-to-toe with her; he crossed his arms and peered down at the family. More guards materialized from the corners and they formed a half-circle around the Kings. If a middle-aged woman and her five children garnered that much attention from the military, then Lucy couldn’t fathom how they would respond when faced with a real threat. She scanned the open atrium and saw a group of rubberneckers huddling near the elevator, watching the scene unfold. And she could see the concierge wringing her hands at her table and an expression of both concern and interest on her face.
“Mrs. King,” the tall man said with an undercurrent of contempt. “We are authorized to hold you for questioning. Your family is restricted from gaining access to the towers at this time.”
“We’re going to the park!” Harper told him. The man didn’t blink.
“What is this about?” Maxine asked.
Lucy marveled at the strength and calm in her mother’s voice. She gave no hint that she was unraveling, that she had said goodbye to her oldest son, that she had seen and heard the explosion out her window. All her life she had thought that her mom was unbreakable—an unstoppable force, a wealth of knowledge, wisdom, and power—but as she watched her mother stare at the guard in front of her, her jaw tight, her eyes exposing nothing of the pain inside, Lucy realized that the most important trait her mother possessed was being a good actress. She didn’t deny herself the opportunities to fall apart and feel pain, but she could control it. While anger and fear crept its way into Lucy’s features, while she trembled against her younger brother, she marveled at her mother’s confidence.
Lucy took a deep breath and she thought of Grant.
And Ethan.
She thought of the fiery ball in the sky and the smoke.
Something stirred in her, a voice of remembering: to die would be their only safe way to escape. Ethan had not breathed a word of their plan, but she knew the plan would involve a death. A ruse. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and Lucy closed her eyes. She imagined her brother, Teddy, and Grant safe on the beach—reunited with the other survivors, and slinking away from the rubble. That is what she wanted to rest in; that is what she wanted to believe.
“I’m sorry,” the guard said, but he didn’t sound sorry. His radio crackled. “Return to your house and wait, please.”
“I will not,” Maxine said. “It’s a beautiful day on Kymberlin and I’m taking my kids to the park. I demand to talk with someone about this oversight.”
The elevator dinged open and Huck and Gordy appeared on cue. They stepped off and looked at each other, and Maxine moved forward. She pushed her way past the guards and walked straight to their leader. The kids followed behind her, crowded around her arms and legs; they moved as one. Guns and eyes followed them.
“Escort her to her house,” Huck said as Maxine approached.
“Why am I not allowed access to the tower?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. “I demand an answer.”
Huck’s mouth twitched. Gordy slid between them and he tried to place his hands on Maxine’s shoulders to spin her back around, but she twisted out from under him and shot him a glare so penetrating that Gordy dropped his arms and retreated.
“Explain,” she seethed.
“Go home,” Gordy whispered. He was shaken. “Go home.” Then he added, “Please, Maxine...go home and be with your children. Someone will be with you shortly. Just go home, Maxine, your kids will need you.”
His tone, his words, the frown on his face—Maxine knew. She read the truth between the lies, between the softness of his voice, from the way Huck looked at the ground, his fists in tiny balls at his side. She knew because of the whispers and the stares and the pitying strangers.
“Look at me,” Maxine said to Huck. She sidestepped Gordy and a guard swooped in, pushing her back away from the leader. “If you have something to tell me, then you tell me. Don’t stand there and act like I don’t deserve to know the truth. Don’t stand there and act like my family means nothing to you. You owe me more than this. You owe me honesty.”
Huck raised his head, his eyes flashing. “Honesty? The truth?” He shook his head. “What truth?” He walked away from her, and then turned at the last second. First, he looked at Lucy, then to Maxine, finally to the younger kids. “Go home, Mrs. King. Just like my son asked. Go home before everyone here learns your truth...that your husband killed a child, and then in a final act of cowardice...” Huck looked upward to the overcast sky and put his hand straight in the air. Then he whistled low and made his pointer finger swan dive. “His body is somewhere in the ocean and I have no desire to recover it. He will rot there, alone. Is that the truth you wanted? That your husband was a gutless pig? A worthless traitor who never deserved to see the beauty of my creation.” Gordy walked to his father and stood between him and the King family.
“Father—” Gordy said, his voice low.
“Dove to his death. Left you to pick up the pieces of a broken life. I hope you learn to hate him. Let the years harden your heart.” Huck pointed at her, a piece of spittle flew from his mouth.
Gordy put his hand up, but Huck shook his head and waved his son away, undeterred.
The twins whimpered and buried their heads, and Harper sucked her thumb, wide-eyed and unmoving. Lucy disentangled her hand from Galen’s and stepped between Huck and her mother. She rooted her feet firmly—her hands clenched by her side.
“You don’t get to talk about my father that way,” Lucy snapped. She felt so instantly protective. Her fear of Huck was gone, dissolved in an instant, and she saw him for the shell of a human he truly was. She took another step forward and the guards shifted into place. “And don’t yell at my mother in front of her kids. Who’s the coward now? Who’s the gutless worm?” She tried to push past the guards; she strained against their arms, her hands formed into claws, and she batted at the air.
They picked her up like she was a doll and moved her back into place.
Huck laughed. “Go home, Lucy. Take your family home. And wait until I decide what the hell I’m supposed to do with you now.” Without another word, he stomped off and slipped inside the elevator and disappeared.
For a brief second, the atrium was filled with desolate stillness. No one dared to breathe or move. It was the concierge who finally moved out from her post and approached the shell-shocked family.
“I’ve been instructed, Mrs. King, to have the guards walk you home. And, I’m so sorry, but please hand over your keys. You and your family are under house arrest. Such a shame.” Maxine eyed the woman and dug into her pocket. She flipped the keys onto the ground, forcing the woman to bend down and pick them up. “Yes, well, thank you. And have a wonderful day at—” she stopped herself, aware of the gaffe, and cringed.
Maxine turned, her nostrils flaring. “Have a wonderful day at Kymberlin?” she repeated incredulously. And then she added for good measure, “Do us all a favor and go to hell.”
When they arrived back at their house, Maxine cried for a second. She hit her head against the door and cried. But then she stopped as suddenly as she had started and wiped her tears. She took her full glass of water from the morning and carried it with her up the stairs. Every step seemed laborious and yet Maxine moved with a trancelike quality—her eyes never traveled to the children downstairs.
“Mom?” Lucy asked, running after her, but Maxine drifted upward without turning. She walked across the loft and opened her bedroom door and slipped inside then shut it soundlessly. Lucy turned and saw her brothers and sisters huddled together. Monroe and Malcolm were holding hands and Galen was holding Harper. They looked to her.
“What are we going to do?” Monroe asked.
“I’m scared,” Malcolm added.
“Is dad coming home?” Harper asked.
Galen patted the little girl’s back and shook his head. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and play for a bit.”
“I d
on’t want to play,” Monroe said. “I want mom. I want dad.”
Lucy walked over and crouched down on the ground. She opened her arms and her siblings rushed forward. Together they hugged and breathed as one. When Lucy finally stood up and brushed her fingers across the twin’s hair and straightened Harper’s camisole, she could feel their eyes looking to her for answers. She pushed aside her own terror and grief, and looked at those who needed her most.
She shuddered to think of her siblings enduring their father’s death without her.
“I think we wait,” she told them. She thought of Cass and wondered how to get a message to her friend; and she thought of her father. Suicide. The explosion off the shore. There were so many unanswered questions enmeshed with her grief. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything, you hear me? I’ve got this. We’ll get through this together.”
Galen had tucked Harper into bed and the twins played a board game. They did not seem committed to winning. Each one moved his piece robotically. Sometimes they forgot whose turn it was next. Eventually, Monroe just put his head down on the carpet and stared at the wall. Galen and Lucy sat and stared out of their window. It was a spectacle: the helicopters buzzed around the crash site for hours. Wisps of smoke still appeared on the horizon, but the tendrils were smaller now, barely noticeable. Upstairs, their mother was quiet.
“Should we check on her?” Galen asked.
Lucy shook her head.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Lucy hesitated. She did not know what was beyond the other side, but she was certain that it wasn’t anything good. Two armed guards were stationed just beyond their doorway in the hall; anyone knocking on their door would be there with authority. Her first instinct was to hide the children. Then she lamented that she hadn’t thought of plotting an escape sooner. Could she have tunneled her way to the other homes? Would anyone have aided in their escape? Were they friendless and alone?
The Variables (Virulent Book 3) Page 42