Remnant (The Slave Series Book 3)

by Laura Frances

  “I’ve never seen it,” he says, “but there must be.”

  My eyebrows draw in. “Why didn’t you see it?”

  “Joining the Watcher program was the first time I left home,” he says, and I recall the story Norma told.

  “Your mother hid you.”

  He nods. “I’m glad she did.”

  I think of what Ian and Percy told me, how the Council manipulated the truth to keep the realities of the valley hidden. Cash grew up outside of their reach.

  “I’m glad too,” I say. My face warms. My reason is selfish. If he’d grown up with his father, he might be a different person entirely. Because of his mother, my life is changed.

  A yawn forces my mouth open, sending pain to my head. I grunt, pressing at it.

  “You need to sleep,” Cash reaches for a button to call someone in. I wonder how many nurses entered and exited while I slept before. I stop his hand.

  “There’s a couch,” I say, nodding to the other side of his bed. “I’ll rest there.”

  He pushes the button anyway.

  “They’ll give you a bed,” he says softly. “You’re still healing.”

  His kindness forms a knot in my chest, and I’m too tired to fight the tears that come.

  A nurse enters. I don’t turn to look at her while he asks for a bed. Cash takes my hand, asking for medicine as well.

  “Just for tonight,” he tells her. “She’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  My eyes close. The nurse leaves.

  Cash keeps his hand on mine while we wait, never loosening his grip.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should be the one—”

  “I’ll find them,” I say, wiping my cheek. “I need to know they’re okay.”

  He looks at me for a long time. It reminds me of weeks ago, when I sat with Edan at my side, and Cash watched me openly while we passed food cans between us. He stared then like he was learning me, deciding something. That’s how this feels.

  His lips part like he’ll say something, and I watch them. But words never come. I find, not for the first time, that silence is louder.

  A while later, someone knocks. I twist around. A man stands in the doorway. He’s young for a doctor. I’m reminded of Percy.

  “Ms. Bakker, correct?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I’ve contacted your physician at the other hospital. If you’ll come with me, I’ll get you processed in, and then you can rest.”

  “Can I rest in here?”

  “Of course,” he says. “We’ll do a short exam for our records. In the meantime, the nurses will be able to come in and check on Mr. Gray.”

  Standing hurts. Pain pulses in my head, keeping time with my heart. I grip the rail of the bed. “I’ll be back,” I say to Cash. I peek back as I exit. His gaze follows me out.

  The doctor leads me to an exam room, where he has me sit on a green, cushioned table while he checks my vitals.

  “Any pain?” he asks.

  “A headache,” I say, “and my face.”

  My knee too, I don’t say. I’ve offered enough. His gaze keeps returning to the bruise on my cheek.

  “Was that a fist?” he finally asks.

  “Yes.” My pulse moves with the attention, traveling until it throbs in my cheekbone. My fingers lift to touch it. The doctor goes on checking me, but his expression is heavier now. Thoughtful.

  “Thank you,” I say, “for letting me stay.”

  His hands still, then fall away. He studies me for a moment before saying, “I was just thinking how I didn’t want him to go…my father.” He presses his hands into the pockets of his white coat. Sighs. “He was a soldier. Not a kind man, but brave…”

  “Did he die?” I ask quietly, already knowing the answer. Already feeling it.

  “They said he was guarding a safehouse. Near a mountain.”

  Sorrow hits me. Can he see the flames still reflecting in my eyes? The memory is so vivid, I imagine he can: Cash’s house, and flames funneling to the sky.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, but he holds out a hand.

  “No, I was just thinking…it was a good death. Meaningful. I’ve not had contact with others yet, but the two of you make me think it was worth it.”

  His eyes glisten and shift away. He turns his attention to a sheet of paper clipped to a board.

  “How is Cash?” I ask it to change the subject, and because I need more information than I presently have. He settles on a rolling stool.

  “I suppose you’re on his list,” he says. He leans forward, linking his fingers. “The bullet missed his organs. And we controlled the bleeding. In that sense, he’s incredibly lucky.”

  He pauses, perhaps to make sure I’m following. I stare back.

  “Two ribs were broken,” he continues, “and you know his spine was damaged.”

  I nod. He matches it.

  “It’s called a burst fracture, which means a vertebra shattered from pressure.” He points to a section of the spine low on a poster of a skeleton. “When this happens, there’s a high risk of damage to the spinal cord, essentially the power system of our bodies. If the cord is severed, the patient loses all functions below the injury…permanently.”

  “But his wasn’t.”

  “Right,” he leans back, smiling, amazed. “His wasn’t. Cash has a lot of swelling, and that’s why he’s not fully regained sensation. Once the swelling decreases, we’ll have a better idea of his outlook. He’ll likely suffer from some neurological symptoms: pain. Maybe numbness. We don’t know yet.”

  “But he will walk.” The words slip out in a whisper.

  “Yes,” says the doctor. “He will walk. It might be altered a bit depending on lasting effects. But he will be mobile.”

  We’re quiet a moment.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  By the time we return to Cash’s room, they’ve finished with his care. He faces the other direction now, where an empty bed rests. My joints ache to be held by it.

  “No need to change if you’d rather not,” the doctor tells me. “But if you’ll remove the jacket, one of the nurses will set up your IV.”

  They’ve pushed the beds close together, with only a foot of space between them. I lie back on the soft mattress, and my body collapses, relaxing beneath layers of blankets. A nurse brings my arm to the side, wrapping a tight band above my elbow to prepare my vein for a needle.

  I turn away…toward Cash. He hasn’t stopped watching me since I entered his line of vision.

  “How long have you two known each other?” the nurse asks lightly. I feel the prick of the needle, the removal of the band, but it is nothing. His eyes hold mine.

  “Not long,” I murmur. She presses down on the injection site, removing the needle and securing a bandage over the tubing. A cool sensation travels up my arm.

  Cash’s hand rests only two feet from mine. Less than a yard. His gaze wanders my face.

  “What a wonderful thing,” the nurse says, “to have found each other in such an awful place. Sweetheart, I’m adding your medicine now.”

  Weight falls through me, already dulling the pain. The nurse walks to the ends of our beds. “We’ll be checking you both through the night, but sleep well. God knows you deserve it.”

  “Thank you,” I say, but the words barely form. She stands a few more seconds, then leaves.

  The silence that follows fills the entire room, expanding and molding to every corner and edge. He hasn’t said anything about his legs yet, and I won’t bring it up. He must know they told me.

  We lie on our pillows, and I don’t mean for my eyes to close. I force them open again and again, but at some point, they will not lift.

  Cash’s voice, deep and tired, finds its way to my ear.

  “I love you, Hannah.”

  34

  I don’t speak the entire flight. Two soldiers sit across from me, and occasionally I sense them watching. But my eyes stay on the window. I bite down against the ache in my jaw. I know leavi
ng him was right, but I hate it.

  “Five minutes out,” the pilot shouts into our headsets. The helicopter dips to the side, turning. I grip a bar above my head.

  When we land on the roof of a large, gray building, a young woman with short, blond hair runs to meet me.

  “I’m Emily!” she says over the noise of the propellers. I follow her through sliding doors, into a corridor similar to the one at Cash’s hospital. At the far end stands an elevator bank.

  The helicopter lifts away, taking the beating with it.

  “You must be Hannah,” she says, extending her hand. I shake it. “I’ve heard your name several times in sessions.”

  “Sessions?” I ask.

  She leads me to an elevator and presses the down arrow. “I’m a trauma therapist. My team is here to help you work through all you’ve experienced.”

  She gives me a long, knowing look as we wait, and I wonder if she’s expecting an outpouring right now, a confession of all I’ve suffered. But all I want is to find Ben and Sam.

  “That’s kind of you,” I say.

  “Not at all,” she replies, clasping her hands together and facing the shining, steel door. “It’s the least we can do.”

  We ride in silence, but she peeks at me a few times. It’s easy to see she prefers conversation, but it’s not a talent of mine. The elevator opens to a long hall with yellow walls and painted images of creatures. Windows line the far side, and we step toward the glass. Several buildings stretch across a large piece of land, with paths cemented between them. Streets outline each structure, then travel off toward a larger road and a smattering of homes and fields.

  “It’s an old hospital,” Emily says. “Well, not old, per say. Just older. They built a new one this year, closer to town, which left this open to be used as a private place for you to recover.”

  “Only us?”

  She nods. “It’s been fully staffed and equipped.”

  I glance down to the sidewalk. Our building is also guarded by guns.

  “Hannah!”

  Takeshi jogs over, crushing me in a hug. “Short visit,” he says, stepping back. “Everything okay?”

  “I need to find the others,” I say. “Ben and Sam.” And Aspen and Norma. Names flood my thoughts…all the people I’ve not had contact with.

  “There I can help you,” Takeshi says, grinning.

  “We’re keeping record of arrivals the best we can,” says Emily. “We can check the database for their information.”

  Takeshi gestures for me to follow, ignoring her offer.

  We’re given badges to wear and led past a desk to a dimly lit series of halls. Soft music plays through speakers, soothing notes that stir hope in me. This place, these people, are good.

  “Look at this, Hannah,” Takeshi says, beckoning me around the next bend. I’m not sure what I’m seeing. Glass walls. Water behind them. Swaying, slick plants. Small, brightly colored creatures swimming smooth and quick, a dance of yellows and pinks and blues.

  “What are they?” I ask, touching my palm to the cool glass.

  “Fish,” he tells me, grinning in the pale light that emanates from the tank. I get the impression that fish are common things. Something even a child could name. My stomach pinches.

  I recognize their shape. I’ve seen the image printed on labels and fabric. But I had no idea those pictures were designed after living creatures.

  “I like that one,” a small voice says, followed by a deep cough.

  Another answers, “I like the orange one.”

  I inch around the corner, and there stand two children, dressed in hospital gowns with thick, colorful socks pulled over their calves. The smallest, a boy, looks up at me. His cheeks are rosy.

  “Which is your favorite?” he asks, oblivious to the threat of tears stinging my eyes. Not understanding what a thrill it is to see them so relaxed…so at peace. I kneel beside them, looking up at the tank from their level.

  Pointing, I say, “You see that brown one? With the yellow stripes?”

  The boy scrunches his face. “The brown one?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “that’s my favorite.”

  “Brown looks like dirt,” the other child, a girl, says. “And—”

  The two giggle, and the sound bubbles inside of me. They shouldn’t be laughing…not yet. Not with all they’ve lived.

  I chuckle. “You’re right. It does. But maybe that fish is the most special because he isn’t showing off. Maybe all he needs is for someone to believe in him.”

  The girl angles her head, thinking. “Maybe,” she says, “but I still like the orange one.”

  I stand, gripping the ledge to help me. “Orange is beautiful,” I tell her. “I think that’s a good choice too.”

  The children return to admiring the fish, and I move away with Takeshi.

  “Just needs someone to believe in him?” He winks. I push his shoulder with mine.

  “Come on,” he says, gently tugging my arm. “You too!” he calls back to Emily, who’s talking with the children. And for once, there is mischief. For this moment, he’s having fun. I grin and try to keep up.

  He guides us to a series of colorful doors, all propped open with creatures made of wood or metal or plastic; I can’t tell.

  “Go in,” he insists when I look at him, confused. I step through the yellow doorway, and my heart leaps.

  35

  He is perfect, unharmed, lounging in a reclining chair with a large book. When we enter, Sam’s eyes go round, and he leaps from the chair, leaving it rocking in his absence.

  “You made it!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms around me. I hold him close and breathe in the scent of good care that surrounds him. The smell of soap and clean hair and fresh laundry. He’s still small, still clearly the slave child now free. But the colors and smells of this room make him something else too. For the first time since meeting him, Sam is at ease.

  “How are you?” I ask, pulling back to assess him. He beams up at me.

  “This place is amazing. I never want to leave.”

  I smile soft, because I know he doesn’t fully understand. “It is, isn’t it? But you know what? There’s a lot more to see when you go outside.”

  “Oh, I know!” he says, pulling me toward a window. Sunlight glows over the landscape, making everything look warm. Far in the distance, the city rises against a bright, blue sky.

  “The first thing I want to do,” he continues, “is run as fast as I can. I bet I can make it all the way to those buildings.”

  Behind us, Emily chuckles, but I’m stuck staring while he points, gazing off toward the open grass. It’s when his finger falls slow and his eyes remain on the distance that I see it: the struggle…between what he wants and what he was. I touch his shoulder.

  “Maybe we could run together,” I murmur, then wink. “If it weren’t for this knee, I bet I could beat you.”

  As quickly as the light in his eyes faded…it returns. “No way. The doctor says I was built for speed.”

  As if the words shook loose a memory, his face grows somber again.

  “What is it, Sam?”

  “Cash wouldn’t like me to race. He says real men don’t show off their strength. That it isn’t right to make others feel small just because we’re braver.”

  I turn, settling against the wide windowsill. For a moment we’re quiet, and my eyes meet Emily’s. She leans against the door, watching with interest. Takeshi sits on the edge of the bed, head bowed as they wait for my response.

  “I’m still figuring things out,” I say quietly, drawing Sam’s eyes back, “but I think things will be different now. What Cash said is right, but maybe racing is okay.”

  I shrug to ease the tension, smiling, hoping he’ll mirror it. He does.

  “When will Cash be here?” he asks as he returns to his chair. His eyes are so eager, excited. How do I tell him?

  In the end, all I say is, “Soon.”

  “I had a session with him yesterday,” say
s Emily as we amble the hall. “He had a lot to say about you.” I’m unsure of the look she gives me. Pity. Awe. I can’t read it.

  Before I can think and retract the words, I say, “We ran together the night we were rescued.”

  This draws her interest. I’ve peeled back a layer of my own volition, and she wants more.

  “That’s not how Edan told it,” Takeshi says, sending a twinge of loss through my heart.

  “Oh?” says Emily. “Who’s Edan?”

  How do you find the sum of Edan, adding together all the things that made him good? He was kind and brave, and he served faithfully despite what it cost him. Believed recklessly. I don’t know how to explain him in only a few words.

  “He was my friend,” I say, not looking at anyone.

  “And a brave soldier,” Takeshi adds. “Everyone loved him.”

  “Sounds like a special kind of man,” Emily says.

  But he wasn’t a man, I think He was a boy, called upon to do things he shouldn’t. Made to live a life he hated. And he found a way to be strong in it…through joy.

  “So how did Edan tell the story?” Emily presses. We stop walking when we reach the windows and the elevator. Direct sunlight makes this stretch of hall warmer than the others. Emily’s hair glows brighter here, almost white.

  Takeshi sits against a window frame, holding the ledge. “An assignment came up that forced us to recruit from among the Workers. We needed access inside a factory and had to do it during the day. They lit those things up with alarms at night.”

  He leaves out that the assignment was a trap…one that led to the deaths of both Edan and his sister.

  “Edan told us about a girl he’d pulled from one of the towers the night we brought in the first wave. Said she’d seen his gun and panicked. That he wasn’t sure if he could get her to run.”

  My chest sinks with the memory. This isn’t how I want to be remembered, but every word is true. Emily glances at me. Takeshi goes on.

  “But what struck him that night wasn’t her fear. It was seeing her with children once she arrived at the southern edge. Something changed in the hours she ran for her life.”