“Wait—” Doogan interposed. “What about my wife and child?”
“What wife and child?” Dr. Merkle said, analyzing him like a lab rat.
“My wife, Keeyla and Fabal?” He stepped forward. “Take Fabal off mole assignment and we’ll stay,” he suggested, though he knew asking for mercy was futile.
In a refined tone, Dr. Merkle said, “After her obstinate disagreements these past few years, do you think Management will let your wife live?”
“She was helping certain citizens, citizens who were starving to death. Do you have a problem with that?” Hotness rushed beneath his skin and he scrunched his fingers into fists.
“Citizens know the laws,” Sese said, both of them nodded heads in dismay. “Food rationing is explicit, or we’d all go hungry. People are prone to gluttony.”
Despite his efforts to combat his temper, rage simmered into his bloodstream. Doogan tried persuasion. “After Cletus hung the child’s remaining parent, the Abatt family took in the orphan, and then an ailing friend. That’s what Keeyla was fighting for—more food.”
“Sorry, Doogan. No exceptions. But in time, Management has promised to reconsider the rationing problem.”
He paced in a two-foot space, his eyes beseeching them. “There isn’t time. That orphan, who’s sick, needs food now if we are to save him. Waiting didn’t save that ailing friend who wouldn’t eat, so his rations could go to the rest of the family.”
“Enough, enough. We needn’t go on, McTullan.” By tapering his eyes, Dr. Sese’s skin folded into lumpy wrinkles as he flapped his hand like swatting at an annoying insect. “Your wife is dead.”
His stomach dropped to his knees. “No—You’re lying.”
Dr. Merkle and Dr. Sese actually looked sorry for him.
“Heversham—” Dr. Sese said in a flat tone, and peered at the man standing by the door. “Mr. Heversham procured the details of your wife’s death. Perhaps he can explain further.”
Doogan whipped around. His contemptuous scowl latched onto Fontel.
Fontel’s eyes widened in his budding pink complexion. “Um—m, sorry, Doogan, but I had to tell the doctors first, you understand. Strict orders.”
Unable to speak, his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. It took all his willpower not to strangle the bastard.
“The Mediators discovered your wife.” Fontel’s feet shuffled as he twiddled his fingers. “She’d been shot. They couldn’t attain her body because she’d fallen from a cliff.”
The oppressive air restricted a decent breath, his heart spasmed, filling with agony. It’s not true. Keeyla’s alive. Fabal…“My son,” he murmured, trying to hold himself together as the edges of his vision started to fade.
“They never found him, but you know that land,” Fontel explained, devoid of emotion. “The boy won’t stand a chance alone in the wilderness. Not with those animals.”
Doogan’s self-control snapped. He stormed Fontel like a violent hurricane. Banding fingers around the man’s neck, strangling him.
Preventative measures had been in place as Mediators charged through the door to Fontel’s aid. A rifle butt to Doogan’s bad leg sent him to the floor, writhing in pain.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Doogan growled between gritted teeth.
“Take him away till he cools down.” Dr. Merkle had risen, holding the arm of the chair for balance. “He’s no use to us this way.”
The Mediators seized him and dragged him from the room.
“You bastards—you killed my family!” Doogan screamed in condemnation. “What kind of people are you?”
***
‘Be a man for Tallas’s sake, help the cause…’ Sese’s words stung Doogan over and over, cowering on his cot. ‘Help the cause, the cause…’
His throbbing leg brought him back to reality, a reality he didn’t want to live in—without Keeyla and Fabal.
Fabal where are you? Keeyla, my Keeyla. I can’t believe you’re gone.
‘Your wife’s dead. She’d been shot—fell off a cliff…’ He covered his ears to drown the words.
Springing from the cot, his leg gave way, buckling him to the floor. He cursed under his breath while crawling to the metal bed frame for support. His legs stabilized beneath him, he walked to open the door and came face to face with a Mediator. Slamming it in his face, he limped to the cot. I hate being a prisoner.
He had to take his mind off Keeyla or he’d go nuts. Think, think. What was Dr. Sese telling him about ‘the cause’? Concentrate on the cause.
It has to do with the exploration of the young lady’s innards and experimenting on her heart? Tissue samples? Yes, they were taking tissue samples for testing.
An antibody? Was it possible they were searching for something to strengthen a person’s immune system, a vaccination to resist disease? Or perhaps they’re searching for a gene mutation that would prevent human fetuses from becoming deformed by exposure to chemicals?
His mind whirled to the past.
On his second afternoon of apprenticing at the Infirmary, he’d seen a woman deliver a baby boy. Its skin like parchment and see-thru. The baby had died almost immediately. It appeared like an epidemic of distorted babies dying at a drastic rate: blue, yellow, and green bodies with an odd number of eyes, ears, or limbs.
As the years went by, he’d seen fewer and fewer woman venturing into the Infirmary to deliver their babies. Citizens were allowed one child. If one died, they had another. But now Doogan brooded over the mutations he’d recently encountered. Where did they come from? How could he have been so blind?
The door opened a smidge and a wink of cranberry entered, bringing him back to reality.
“Doogan, I brought you some homemade soup.” Paniess set a tray on the bureau. “You need to eat and regain your strength.”
A Mediator stood in the doorway, his physique taking up the entire frame.
Paniess turned to the Mediator. “Clive, be a dear and stand outside. I can handle Dr. McTullan. We’re old friends.”
Clive’s granite façade hardened even more, apparently not appreciating her comment. Prior to fastening the door behind him, his upper lip curled, snarling at Doogan.
The last thing Doogan wanted or needed was his old girlfriend sniffing around when he was losing his sanity. He sat on the edge of the cot, caving in on himself while Paniess checked herself out in the mirror.
Her pinky finger outlined her cherry lips. “Now then,” she said, pleased. “Looky what I was able to get for you.” She sashayed toward him with an oblong pill in her fingers. “The perks of working for physicians.” She lips spread. “This baby will take away the pain.”
His pain was a good thing. It kept him from lapsing into madness. He wanted to suffer—for Keeyla and Fabal. “No thanks. I’ll pass.” His voice was stronger than he felt.
“Aww, Doogan, I heard about your family,” she said, coaxing. “Take this. It’ll help, not only with the pain.”
He peered into her pretty eyes full of sincerity, the color of forget-me-nots. “Not now,” he repeated, this time a bit softer. “Put it on the dresser. Maybe later.”
She pivoted to the bureau and picked up the tray. He regarded her slender figure and the dress, not frayed or discolored. A simple perk of the Elite class. His appraisal of Paniess sent his head into a dizzying spin, back to his beloved Keeyla. He closed his eyes, disheartened with his sense of impropriety.
She balanced the tray onto his lap. “The soup’s probably cold by now, but it’s good. And I was able to barter for fresh bread, not that stale crap.”
Thoughts of Keeyla and his own sinking disposition had him fuming, not only at himself, but also at this old mate, who had taught him a great deal regarding a girl’s body. His jaw twitched, and looked up to see her blue eyes fixated on him. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you mean?” She blinked in innocence.
“Arrrrgggg—!” Springing up, he threw the tray. Broth drenched the wall and leaked onto the
floor. With a scathing glare at her attractive face, wavy auburn hair, and cherry lips, he turned away. It should be Keeyla sitting next to him. It was Keeyla he loved with his whole heart. “Get out—” he yelled, his tone quivering in anger.
Clive burst through the door, arms ready to slam into Doogan.
“Stop, Clive,” Paniess demanded. “It’s okay. He tripped. It was an accident.”
Clive assessed the room and stepped out of the door. His glowering eyes never leaving Doogan’s face.
“Doogan, I want to help—and to warn you,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I heard the doctors talking after the Mediators took you away. If you don’t cooperate, you’re no good to them or anybody else. They’ll dispose of you.”
He removed his gaze from her face, refusing to show any sign of concern.
“Do you hear me?” she hissed. “They’re going to kill you.”
“Who the hell cares?” He rounded on her, and stomped across the small room, getting as far from her as possible.
“Your son needs you.”
It felt as though ice water had been dumped over him. His eyes snapped to hers. “Do you think he’s alive?”
“I haven’t heard otherwise.” She templed her fingers, as if in prayer. “Play along, do what they say. You’ll find a way…” She let the words hang in the air as glossy eyes stared at him. She blinked and turned away. Her shoulders moved with an intake of breath. When she turned back to face him, her emotions were veiled, features composed.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked with a hint of distrust.
Paniess gave him a faint grin and hitched up her shoulders.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Learn,” she said. “Listen and learn, then you can act.”
A ghost of a shadow crossed her face. “You’re not telling me the whole story. Before I get myself in deep shit, I want you to come clean.”
Freezing into an iceberg, Paniess turned rigid. She interlaced her fingers, looping them in front of her. “What could that possibly mean?”
“Then let me rephrase,” he said, his wrath rising. “Why would a pompous Elite like you want to help me?” He saw the effect of his tongue-lashing, her shoulders dropped. “I used you and threw you away like a piece of garbage when I was done. So why the hell would you want to help me?”
She crumbled. Suppressing a cry with her hands, eyes brimming with water overflowed. Paniess slumped onto the cot, mashing her face into the mattress.
In a quandary, he lumbered to the bedside. Her shoulders heaved and hearing her muffled sobbing, he stooped to rub her back. “Get it together, Paniess or Clive’s going to come in here and strip my hide, just like your father did once, remember?”
She lifted herself up, cleaning her face on the lightweight sheet. “Yes,” she cried, “my father has a true gift of torture.” Her expression was packed with hatred. “Promise me,” she said, her bloodshot eyes piercing him. “They’ll kill me, so you need to promise—you won’t tell a soul, no matter what happens?”
“Your Father presides over Tallas,” he said, a bit mystified and feeling somewhat duped. “Your head is safe.”
“Fine.” She exhaled, wiping her nose. “If you’re going to be an ass and get yourself killed, you’re no use to me either.”
Doogan lowered to the cot, but made sure to keep his distance. “Why would an Elite have a daughter working here, underground?” He kneaded the stiffness in his neck, with little relief. “Shouldn’t you be at the Mansion tending to the servants, or lounging on the deck bronzing your skin?”
“He murdered my baby,” her voice barely audible, breezed through her lips.
Flabbergasted, he wasn’t sure he heard right. “What did you say?”
Paniess’s eyes filled again. She whisked the moisture away with her palms. “My father murdered my baby—your baby.”
“Mine?” he said, unconvinced.
“After Fulvio moved your family to the village I found out I was pregnant. I thought you’d come looking for me.” She gazed at him with eyes like pools of icy water. “You never came. My mom noticed the enlarging bump and reported it to him. I was locked away.”
Her voice sounded detached, like she was miles away. “She was born—so little, so beautiful—and so…maimed. Father nearly hemorrhaged at the sight. I still remember what he said. ‘This isn’t a human being, it’s a monster.’ He didn’t have the guts to touch her and called one of the servants to snatch her from my arms. I was told to get on with my life, that the baby had died.” She sniffed and wiped at an dripping tear. “I hate him for what he did, and since I know some of Managements dirty little secrets, I’ve decided to act accordingly.
“For instance—” Liquid eyes locked onto him. “—Fulvio was a burr under their skins forever. He had the propensity of treating citizens with kid gloves. Your father was against the cruel treatment and strict laws, which the other Executives deemed appropriate. After I’d discovered Tallas would have a new creed for moles, I sought out Fulvio to―” Her words clutched in her throat as the door squeaked open.
Clive poked his head in. “Dr. Merkle wants Doogan downstairs, now.”
Easing from the cot, Paniess bent low and whispered in his ear, “I never told my parents who fathered the baby.”
Doogan stared at her receding figure with disbelief and grief.
Chapter 14
I’m not an invalid.” Keeyla felt and sounded frail as she sat on the stool. Across the fire pit, Fabal was too close to the massive beast, which didn’t bode well with her.
“My dear, sweet, Keeyla.” Fulvio linked his thumbs over his belt. “You need rest. I’m taking care of the boy.”
She looked up at him. “And how are you taking care of Fabal, by teaching him to be one of your moles?” Her slight shift caused a flare to shoot from her shoulder to every nerve ending.
Smoke laced the cavern, clouding the dome above like a threatening sky. Zennith wandered about, as Tibbles rocked back and forth on his back. His meaty legs kicked the air, seemingly scratching a most annoying itch. He grunted and snorted, creating wisps of dancing smoke until Fabal laughed out loud. Tibbles stiffened during the chortles, looking like a dead beast with rigor mortis, producing more hilarity. He rolled to the side and a deep rumble exited his throat, as though snickering.
The amusing antics planted a wry grin on Keeyla, though, her thoughts strayed to the preceding hour. It’d been ages since she’d seen such deformities. And it’s astounding, people had stalwart souls and, proving the wilderness was evidently livable.
“Here, Keeyla. This will help.” Fulvio had fashioned a sling made from a torn piece of cloth. He wound it under her elbow and knotted it behind her neck. “It’ll take the weight off your shoulder.”
He utilized a rolled sleeping bag like a hassock, getting comfortable and fixing his eyes on her. “Tanya’s boy, Knox, was taken by the Mediators that were hunting for you,” he said. “It’s not the first time Tallas has spirited away our people. Knox will likely be dissected and experimented on, and killed like the others.”
“Wha—I don’t believe you.” A pang of trepidation sailed up her spine to lodge into the base of her skull. “Doogan mentioned the need for research to combat disease, but never, never said anything about dissecting and killing people.”
Night after night, he had traversed from the Infirmary to their tiny apartment, fatigued from hours of caring for the sick. His tales of abusive Mediators and the Elites, who wore blinders, denying the travesties, were his nightly complaints. And wasn’t it Doogan that accompanied Gerbe Gibbernathy on his hunting trips to supply food for the bellies of hungry citizens? Gerbe had shouldered the blame, entreating Doogan not to forfeit his life. The lip-locked community had been adamant in preserving their caring physician.
Movement caught her eyes, and her train of thought. “Is it wise for Fabal to go near the bear?” she asked.
“They’ve become good friends,” Fulvio responded with mirth. Hi
s hands rested on his sizable paunch. “Tibbles won’t hurt a flea, unless provoked.”
Fabal’s small hands were wrist deep into the beast’s blue-tinged pelt. The bear voiced his approval with throaty blurbs, thoroughly savoring the rub down. Tibbles embraced Fabal with wide paws and plunked the boy between his huge hind legs.
Shrieking, Keeyla sprang up, toppling the stool.
“Relax, Keeyla.” Fulvio chuckled, his hand on her arm, restraining her. “Look, he’s fine.” Dwarfed in blue fur, Fabal’s soulful eyes and lopsided grin lit up his face, peering their way.
She eased back onto the stool and giggled for the first time since their adventure began. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” she said.
His head bobbed. “True. But we need to rest since we’re gathering at Pinehaven to strategize Knox’s rescue.”
“If it involves my son, I’m going with you.”
He sighed, grating his fingers into his beard. “Fabal has offered to be of service. To save Knox and possibly even Doogan.”
At the mention of her husband’s name a twinge unsettled her heart. “You think you can get Doogan out of Tallas?” she said looking skeptical.
“There are tactics and ploys available.” His gaze returned to the burning embers. “My people on the inside risk their lives.”
She gaped at him with new respect. “You have someone on the inside—inside of Tallas?” Collecting errant strands of hair that had adhered to her moistened neck, she repeated, “You do have a lot of explaining to do.” She glanced across the smoldering logs to Fabal, now snuggled in wooly warmth and fast asleep. Tibbles paw patted the boy’s head.
“You wouldn’t mind conversing while I prepare a satisfactory hasenpfeffer stew for dinner?” He pushed to his knees, then to his feet. “I’m famished.” He set to work skinning and gutting the jackrabbit he’d caught that morning.
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