The coat hangs loose, the front unzipped, sagging off my shoulders. But he isn’t looking at my clothes. He examines my face, studying the wounds I’ve yet to look at. After a quiet stretch, a long moment of deciding, he says, “Who you are is important, Hannah. I don’t want to hide what you’ve been through, and neither should you. They need to know.”
The moment expands, somehow much bigger after the silence we share. These people saved us, sent their loved ones to die for us. I am better, a stronger version of myself, and I owe that to the soldiers they gave.
The coat slides off my arms, and I catch it, handing the wadded fabric to Takeshi.
“For Drew,” I murmur. “And Meli.”
Sorrow flashes in his eyes.
“And for you,” I add. “I won’t ever be able to thank you.”
“Just live well,” he says. “That’s all I want for you. For all of you.”
Takeshi hangs the coat, and together we step through the exterior door.
The night sky is black, but bright lights blind me from below. A small crowd has gathered, chattering people asking questions of the soldiers. A cool gust of wind rattles my clothes, soothing the tender places on my skin. I inhale the foreign air.
Beside me, Takeshi offers his arm. “Ready?”
I slide my fingers into the bend of his elbow, and together we descend the metal steps. The clang of our feet on the treads stirs memories of early mornings rushing down the spiral staircase of my unit tower.
Lights flash, and my fingers grip tighter. Takeshi leans to whisper.
“Those are the cameras.”
I don’t look at them, but I stand straighter as we pass.
“Your royal highness,” the people call, “was your mission successful? Are you injured?”
Another asks, “Who’s your friend?”
Takeshi doesn’t linger when he answers. Doesn’t give them my name. There are no pleasantries exchanged or smiles for the flashing lights. He rushes me through, and in the blur, their mouths fall closed when I meet their eyes. They look at me with sadness, and I eye them, curious. They wear colorful coats and bright knit hats. There’s a cleanness to their skin, an unblemished softness to their look. My eyes flick away.
A car waits for us on the airfield, black with dark tinted windows. A large man in formal clothes stands near an open door at the back. Black clothes, but not like the Watchers; he is dressed for gentler things.
“Welcome back, sir,” he says, bowing his gray head. Takeshi pats his shoulder.
“Good to be back, Paul.”
“After you.” Takeshi gestures for me to enter the vehicle. Every movement brings pain, aches growing in new places the farther we travel. I’m slow climbing in, but they don’t rush me.
The interior is smooth and equally dark, with a wide, cushioned bench seat. Warm air breezes from vents, and the sensation raises bumps over my skin. At first it reminds me of the cells, of the suffocating heat that left me burned. But when the temperature remains comfortable and steady, my pulse eases. I slide across the seat to the opposite door, and Takeshi climbs in after me, sitting by the other window.
“Use this,” he says, reaching across me to a strap secured at the top of the door. Pulling, he stretches the thin, heavy fabric across my chest, anchoring it to the seat with a metal latch. Small grunts of pain leave him when he settles on his side again, securing his own strap. He sinks into his seat, pushing out a long breath.
“Where is your father?” I ask. His head rolls on the back of the seat, turning to look at me. The car shifts into motion.
“He’ll be staying at one of our homes tonight. He left in another car.”
My eyelids droop. “What about us?”
His eyes close, and he faces forward, relaxing. “You’re going to the hospital.”
28
It’s a small room, judging by the monstrous size of the building we entered. But I could fit my living unit in here twice, with space for more.
The lights are low, much dimmer than the halls that led me here. Takeshi arranged for us to enter through a back way, but still dozens of eyes followed me. I was taken to a series of rooms, where strangers situated me before machines, taking images of my injuries, focusing primarily on my head and knee. I looked at Takeshi throughout every procedure, trusting his judgement and fighting the impulse to run.
Now I stand in the center of a dark, private room, lost.
A nurse enters, middle-aged and dressed in matching red clothes. Not bright red, but dark—like blood. Her name pin reads Grace.
My eyes want to cross. I’m too tired to process the instructions she’s giving.
“Let me help you,” she says in a motherly tone. She’s beautiful, with deep brown skin marked by age. Her eyes promise kindness.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, but she waves it off.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Don’t you ever apologize for needing help. Certainly not to me.”
One time, weeks ago, Cash said something similar. Missing him sends a current burning through my limbs, like I’ve touched a live wire, and the energy doesn’t know how to leave me.
I clench my teeth against the pain and let her peel off my war-torn jacket. She eases me to a seat on the bed then kneels, carefully working my boot laces.
“I can do that,” I insist, leaning to prove it. But she pushes my shoulder until I’m upright again.
“I can manage just fine. You relax.”
What she doesn’t know is that I’m not sure how. Not when the boots are as sharp a reminder as her words. Cash gave them to me just before he gave me the stars. Now he’s somewhere else. Maybe dying. Maybe dead.
My eyes lose focus, and as she helps me undress, I only move when she makes me.
This arm up, she murmurs. Bend this knee.
I obey every instruction, do everything she says, but my body is collapsing, and soon sleep will take me whether or not I’m ready.
“There,” Grace says, fitting me in a soft, cotton gown that ties in the back. The fabric is cool…gentle on my skin. “Now tell me, are these clothes important to you? We’ve received donations from the community, so you can wear something new—”
“I want to keep them.”
I shouldn’t have cut her off, but they belonged to Cash’s mother. I can’t throw them out. My mind tells me to apologize, but I can’t find the strength to part my lips again. She doesn’t flinch at my manners.
“Of course,” she says, her warm gaze touching mine. “Of course you do. I'll just have them cleaned. Will that be all right?”
“Yes,” I whisper, pushing the word out in a forced breath. My eyes catch on the clothes as she lifts them from the bed, folding them into a neat pile. They are torn and stained, burned and scuffed.
My knees on the street after Titus threw me to the ground.
Hot ash falling from the sky after the compound exploded.
Grace looks over the damage, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She said she couldn’t imagine, but maybe she can. If I’ve learned anything these past weeks, it’s that what I see isn’t enough to know a person.
“Lie down, child,” she says to me. “It’s time for you to rest.”
After setting my clothes on a chair, Grace takes my arm, guiding me to sit.
“I’ll be back shortly with some medicine to help with your pain.”
With careful hands, she helps me lie down, holding the white blanket up enough for me to slip beneath it. There’s no part of my body that doesn’t hurt now, but this mattress is soft, what I imagine clouds to be.
“That’s it,” she murmurs, adjusting the blanket. She brushes my hair back with gentle strokes. My eyes fill with tears, the streams finding familiar routes to my ears. Her touch reminds me of my mother. My chest aches.
“You just remember,” she says softly, “you’re safe now. No one will harm you here. Close your eyes and sleep easy.”
Close your eyes, Hannah, said my mother once. Tomorrow br
ings fresh hope. So sleep now. Her fingertips drew a path along my hairline. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced a smile. Sleep so that this day can end. Will you do that for me?
Grace leaves, and in her absence, small sounds drift from the hall. I lie still on the bed, staring up at the tiled ceiling and lifeless rectangular lights.
My eyelids grow heavy, and I’m not sure at what moment I slip away.
29
Norma is with me in my dream, but I can’t get to her. She stands at the summit of the mountain, motionless in the cold wind. I am in the compound, and flames keep me from escaping. Around me, Watchers laugh, their mouths too wide, teeth too many. Cash stands among them, but his face is stone.
Fire licks my arm, and pain stabs through the inside of my elbow. I grab at it, but now the pain is everywhere, and my hand isn’t big enough to cover it.
Unsteady on my feet, floating unnaturally, I move toward a door in the outer wall. Soldiers run in and out, scarred men from both sides of the conflict, but when I reach the threshold, I can’t get my legs to work. I growl, clawing at the ground, barely gaining an inch.
The earth tremors, vibrating, and beyond the compound wall, the mountain explodes.
I scream, but my throat collapses, and the sound is muffled, choked. I fight to stand, slipping, calling her name. But she’s gone.
Voices hum in the air around me, indistinguishable words passing over my body.
The world quakes, shaking violently, and my eyes fly open.
Awake.
“Hannah,” a soft voice says. I turn my head, chest heaving. A cool palm touches my forehead. “You’re safe here. At the hospital…remember?”
Her face is familiar, but seconds pass before my eyes shift to her name tag.
Grace.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, lips trembling. Body shaking. The air feels cool on my sweaty skin. “I forgot.”
“That’s all right,” Grace tells me, but the words sound sad. “We’d like to start your medication now.”
“What is it for?”
“Pain,” she says, “and something to calm your nerves.”
Behind her waits a heavy-set nurse in the same deep red clothes. She holds a clear bag of watery fluid.
Grace follows my gaze. “That’s Tara. She’s helping me with your care today.”
“Thank you,” I say, but Tara only stares.
Grace repositions on the stool and takes my arm. “I tried to set you up while you were sleeping, but it’ll be better now that you’re awake. It shouldn’t hurt too much if you hold still, but another jolt like that, and I might just be piercing your ear.”
My hand drifts up to hold the soft lobe of my ear, but then I notice the gleam in her eyes. Slowly my hand lowers.
Grace scoots closer and rests my arm on her knee. “Now close your eyes and take a slow, deep breath.”
I do as she says, but when she slides a needle under the tender flesh of my arm, I have to grit my teeth to keep from jerking it away. I turn my head, searching for a thought to distract me.
“Doing great,” she says. “Almost finished.”
“What is it?” I ask, staring toward the window. Thick drapes block my view of the stars.
I feel a pull and wince.
“This small tube will allow medicine to flow directly into your blood stream. We’ll also use it to hydrate you.”
I peek just as she’s attaching a syringe to the thing in my arm. With a press of her thumb on the back end, clear liquid slowly disappears into the tubing, entering my body. I know because I feel it. At first, it’s an ache, dull and numbing. Then my ears fill with a soft, distant static. Already the pain is subsiding.
“Feeling better?” Grace asks, but my thoughts are slippery, and I can’t seem to grasp the right words for a response. Every blink is a fight to reopen my eyes.
The women move around me, attaching bags of clear liquid to a metal hanger at the top of a pole, adjusting my bedding, and checking a small screen that beats with the rhythm of my heart. Just like at the cells, but the memory doesn’t scare me. Instead I feel nothing…uninterested.
Detached.
Void.
30
I open my eyes to sunlight.
I’m lying on my back completely relaxed, arms and legs extended, and the only sounds are the steady beeps of the monitor and the air that fills and exits my lungs. I could move if I wanted to. But I don’t want to yet.
I’d rather lie here and feel nothing. Know nothing. Say nothing. I suspect movement will increase my heart rate, and they are monitoring every beat. If I move, they’ll know I’m awake, and the room will no longer be empty.
The blankets I rest in are soft, smooth and warm on my skin. The gown hasn’t bunched around my thighs…I must not have moved. The only memory that surfaces of a similar, motionless rest is when I first stretched on a mattress in the coat factory after running with Ben in my arms. But that didn’t last, because I ended up drenched in my clothes on a shower floor.
Aspen’s face appears in my mind with the same judgmental look she gave me when she found me huddled on the tile. I press my palms to the mattress and sit up. Now that I’m moving, I feel the places where my body is stiff. Hunger gnaws in my belly.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” a teasing voice says, and I turn to find Grace entering the room. “How about a shower today?”
I scratch an itch on the side of my head.
“Can I eat first?”
Grace sits on the stool by my bed and wraps a wide band around my bicep. I remember this from yesterday. My heart beats faster when the band fills with air, squeezing so tight it hurts. But there is an end to this. After a few seconds, it will release. I stare at the blanket until the band deflates.
Grace smiles at the results but doesn’t explain them. “What are you hungry for? Eggs? Pancakes? I could get them to put berries on oatmeal for you if you’d like.”
“No oatmeal.”
She studies me.
“Please,” I add. Then I ask, “What are pancakes?”
She grins. “Just another example of the Almighty’s great love. I’ll place the order for you.”
She stands, patting her legs. “In the meantime, I’ll get you some juice and crackers. The cafeteria’s a little slow this time of day, and it might be better to shower while you wait.”
She returns a few minutes later with a tray holding a small cup filled with an orange drink, and a pack of pale crackers. I down everything faster than I should. Now my stomach hurts.
There’s a bathroom attached to this room, with a toilet, shower, and sink. Grace leads me by the arm, though I’m strong on my legs. She rolls the metal pole with us, where tubes still stretch to my arm, the site now covered to keep it dry. I peek back at the bed.
Her index finger points to a red cord hanging from the shower wall. “Pull this if you need help. I won’t be far.”
She exits, and I avoid my reflection in the mirror above a sink.
Cool water streams out first, and I’m content standing in it. It’s still warmer than the freezing valley water. But after a few seconds, the flow heats, and bumps spread over my skin, stinging at the places where I’m injured. I close my eyes.
Cash waits there in the darkness, falling again, reacting to bullets as they track through his body. My eyes open, wider than before. He isn’t dead. Takeshi would have told me.
My head droops, water streaming from my chin and nose and hair. It’s more than my loss. Perhaps I have lived in a shell, separated from the rest of the world, but I know he is rare. The world would be lacking without him.
It takes three tries to get my hair clean. The first two times, the water flows away gray, small pieces of dirt spinning until they disappear down the drain. The back of my head stings, and dried blood makes the soap pink. I wash my body until the water loses its heat. Even then, I linger, hesitating to leave the seclusion.
When I finish, Grace reenters and helps me wrap my bruised knee and work
on clean clothes—a light purple shirt and soft gray pants. “I’ve changed your bedding,” she says, lifting her eyes to my reflection as she carefully brushes my hair. “And someone is here to see you.”
My heart leaps. The sensible part of me knows it cannot be Cash, but I can’t stop the thumping in my chest…a relentless knocking…begging.
Takeshi sits on the stool when I exit, and he spins lazily to greet me. I should have known, and I’m glad to see him. Still, my heart falls a little.
He looks different, with his hair fuller and skin clean. He wears simple clothes like mine: black pants and a gray short-sleeved shirt. A blue coat lies at the end of my bed. He stands when I enter.
“You look better,” he says, smiling.
“You too,” I say, sliding across the floor in flat white slippers, damp hair wetting the back of my shirt. “Any word?” I try to keep the question calm…relaxed. But I’m desperate to know.
I settle on the edge of the bed, and Takeshi sits on the stool, facing me.
“You two catch up,” Grace says, unwrapping my arm. “I’ll go check on those pancakes.” She winks.
Takeshi laughs. “You’re spoiling her. I don’t remember pancakes on the menu here.”
Grace whacks his arm playfully, then walks to the door. “They’ll serve it today. Didn’t even know what they were. Twenty years old and never tasted a pancake in her life. Well, if I have to break the rules to give this girl a happy experience, you’d better believe I’ll call the head chef and demand the fluffiest…” Her rant continues down the hall, even after the door closes.
I grin. “She’s amazing.”
Takeshi nods, still laughing. “Yes, she is. My dad used to say he could face just about any threat in war…all but that woman.”
“How does he know her?”
“Grace is the head nurse at the palace. She’s here as a favor to me.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“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.
Remnant (The Slave Series Book 3) Page 11