Maybe, for the moment, Rein had forgotten his dislike for Dyllon. The way Trista had turned seemed to do wonders for them all, as if the sun shone through bleak clouds carrying a ray of hope.
Trista waved him off and started to bark orders. “We have things to do, and bastards that need to pay. They have to pay.” She pointed at Woody. “Change places with Dyllon. If they found his car, they might be looking for him. His picture is probably plastered all over by now.” Woody scrambled up front as she motioned to Dyllon. “Grab the K100 out of the bag. No, not that one. The one with the suppressor. Load it. Wait, you need to strip. I need your clothes.”
Pride lifted the rest of Ellyssa’s spirit as she watched Trista transform from someone sinking in a sea of despair to someone with a take-charge attitude, completely Trista-style, her emotions an ever-changing tide. Her friend had gone through a lot, witnessing her friends murdered in cold blood to losing the people who took her in during her time of need and, yet, she’d managed to climb out of the pit of sorrow.
Dyllon sputtered, “What?”
“I don’t think my pink sweater and jeans are regulation.”
“What am I supposed to wear? And the credentials have you as an inspector, not area police.”
“Don’t you like my outfit?”
Dyllon just stared at her.
Woody snickered, and a little more of the cloud evaporated. “Trista,” he said, “there is no reason for anyone to give up their clothes.” He reached into the knapsack and pulled out a black roll. “Here.” He handed it to her.
Flashing Woody a grateful smile, Trista said, “You think of everything.”
She popped out of the van for a couple of minutes and returned wearing a wrinkled uniform of the Gestapo. Two bars on the collar glinted under the light.
“It looks terrible,” Trista said, poking the pink of her sweater inside the collar as she looked in the rearview mirror. “And I don’t have the overcoat or the gun. I’m guessing you don’t have either of those shoved in the bag.”
Woody shook his head. “Nope, sorry. I was kind of in a hurry.”
“Well, we will just have to make do. And people will still be losing clothing. You and Dyllon need to switch.”
Dyllon glanced at Woody. “She’s right. You could pass for one of the patrols if they don’t look too closely.”
Woody opened his mouth, but then clamped it shut. He yanked the T-shirt over his head and handed it to Dyllon. The muscles in his stomach and arms rippled as he stood to unbutton his pants. Warmth creeping up her neck, Ellyssa averted her eyes and kept them focused on her hands as the males switched clothing.
“This smells,” Woody stated, the tunic pulled up to his nose.
“I had to run through the woods and a dark tunnel. Besides, your clothes don’t smell like a basket of roses either.”
“Are you guys done?” Trista asked. “We need to be moving. And I still don’t have a loaded gun.” She nodded at Dyllon, her eyes dropping to the weapon.
“One sec.” Rein stood and crouch-walked toward the front of the van. “I have something to show you,” he said to Ellyssa. “With everything…” He paused. “It just didn’t happen. You remember how I told you about the hiding place?”
“Yes.”
“It’s under here.” He pushed a box over and a panel slid back. “It will fit three.”
Hunched over, Ellyssa moved toward him and looked at the enclosed space. Another coffin, she thought with dismay. The Renegades seemed to move supplies easily, years of hits and misses and learning, but when it came to people, their solution was shoving them in cramped places like sardines.
Ellyssa hated having her freedom to move, to react, restricted. And this was worse than the box Tim had hidden her in, or hiding under the seat when Trista had taken them to Tim’s and Sarah’s. The false bottom hidden in the floor of the van called for entering feet first and sliding downward, like slipping between sheets. It would be easy, if they were discovered, for the police, or whoever, to open the compartment and shoot them all in the head. Not wanting to think what would happen if they ran into trouble, Ellyssa moved back to the rear of the van.
“As my father used to say, time to blow this Popsicle stand.” Trista moved the lever to drive. The van jolted forward at a slow, steady pace.
Rein’s deep laugh broke through the remaining clouds. It was a beautiful sound. Woody’s and Dyllon’s mingled with his.
Ellyssa had no idea what Popsicles or stands had to do with anything. But she laughed along with everyone else, and it felt good, a stress relief.
At that moment, Ellyssa held no doubt that their missing family was alive and that they would find them. And when they found them, Ellyssa would make sure they were all reunited. As Trista said, there were people who had to pay.
Their group was strong, fueled by emotions.
Ellyssa squeezed Rein’s hand.
23
As Mathew walked between the two escorting soldiers, he felt the eyes of fellow prisoners follow his trek across the compound, their heads staying downcast so not to be caught. In their thin coats and ragged boots, they carried rocks and stacked them in a field adjacent to the Commandant’s office.
At least the day was warmer, even with the grey wispy clouds that floated across the sky, fracturing the sunlight in bent rays. Patches of snow littered the walkway, slowly transforming into slush. A constant drip sounded as drops of water fell from the gutters to the ground below.
A line of soldiers stood watch over the slave labor, rifles cradled in the crooks of their arms. Next to them, shadowed within the overhang of the building of death—the vent clear of smoke for the time being—stood the sergeant-at-arms. Mathew wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but his skin crawled as if the steely blue eyes of the sergeant raked over him. He faltered, which earned him a poke with a muzzle.
“Get going,” said the soldier.
Tearing his gaze away from the shadowy figure of the sergeant, Mathew’s eyes settled on the thick stone barricade that separated the females from the males. Behind the wall, he could hear a female yelling orders to her wards. The voice held a hard, authoritative edge.
Mathew wondered if his plan would work. If he’d be able to save any of them. His gaze shifted away.
The building housing the Commandant’s office loomed at the end of the pathway, and Mathew was on his way to become a traitor.
Commandant Baer was leaning back in his chair when Mathew entered. Without looking up, he waved Mathew toward the chair. “Sit,” he said.
Mathew took the proffered seat and watched the Commandant shuffle papers into a neat, orderly pile. “Well?” said Commandant Baer, leveling his gaze at Mathew. “Have you decided to provide me with the information I seek?”
Nausea rolled in Mathew’s stomach, but he lifted his chin. He was going to do what he had to do, and technically, he wasn’t providing information about the Renegades or their contacts.
He still felt like a traitor, though.
“You wish to know about Ellyssa?”
Leaning back in the chair, the Commandant folded his hands across his midsection. “Yes.”
Mathew studied the officer for a moment. As always, the Commandant wore his dark blue Waffenrock neatly, the red piping lined straight, the armband bearing the swastika wrinkle-free. He knew Commandant Baer wanted the information. He just hoped the want exceeded his so-called moral duties. Mathew swallowed.
“I will provide the information to you. But it will come at a cost.”
Commandant Baer shook his head, his eyebrows rising in amusement. Mathew guessed this was the first time any prisoner had had the audacity to offer information with a price tag. Hell, it was probably the first time a prisoner had offered information ever.
“No deals.”
“Okay,” Mathew said, shrugging. “Then I guess there is nothing to talk about.” He started to stand.
“Remember, Doc,” the Commandant said, his eyes cold and calculating, “you mi
ght be safe, but your friends are not.”
Lids narrowing, Mathew boldly placed his hands on the Commandant’s enormous desk. “You do what you have to do,” he stated with a lot more courage than the sinking feeling in his chest should have permitted. “I will not cave. Most would be better off dead than the conditions they are living in now.” He turned away, the door his next destination.
“Wait,” the Commandant said.
Mathew stopped, his heart pattering like mad. He kept his back to the officer.
“Maybe we could reach some form of agreement.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sit,” the commander ordered. “Let’s talk.”
Facing the Commandant, Mathew walked slowly back to the green chair, the thumping in his chest deafening to his ears. This was it. Sink or swim.
“What do you propose?”
“First, tell me if any more women have…been put out of their misery.”
“None.”
Settling into a false air of confidence, Mathew scooted back in the chair, his eyes never leaving the Commandant’s. If he flinched or look away, the cards would shift sides.
“Then my proposal is this. No one else dies.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I want everyone to have warm clothes and new boots. I’ve seen the stacks of clothes you have; there is plenty, especially with the depleted numbers. And more food. There is no reason to starve a man.”
“And is that all?”
“In exchange for the better living conditions, I will answer questions about Ellyssa as long as you understand I will not, no matter what, divulge any information that might compromise the Resistance. And I won’t answer anything until new clothes show up on the backs of my friends.”
Commandant Baer swiveled in his chair and stared out the window; his arms folded across his chest. For several long minutes, the man said nothing, and the nerves started to bundle in Mathew’s stomach, giving rise to nausea again. He hoped he hadn’t blown his chance to help his fellow inmates, to stop them from dying, but he meant what he had said—he wouldn’t give.
Finally, the Commandant turned around, his face hard as stone, and the hope Mathew held on to plummeted.
“Fine,” he said.
Mathew felt his eyes bug. He really hadn’t expected the man to agree. Deep down, he had assumed he would be walking back to the barracks, his bargaining chips revoked.
“Let me make something perfectly clear to you,” Commandant Baer continued. “No one is to know about our…arrangement. If any word leaks out, everyone will visit the chamber. Yourself included. To hell with the consequences.”
“I understand,” Mathew said, somehow keeping his voice steady.
He opened a drawer and pulled out blueprints. “I have need for a recreation center for my men. Your people will build it. It gives an excuse for the extra clothes and food. Of course, I would want them healthy until the work was completed.”
“We wouldn’t want your reputation tainted.”
He folded his hands across his midsection again. “It seems I have found a reason to keep you filthy Renegades alive for a bit longer.”
Mathew let the insult roll off his back. It wasn’t like they were friends now. Each of them was working for his own agenda, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be on the same side of the fence. “One more thing.”
“I’m sure that is all you are going to get from me. That was the deal.”
Mathew shook his head. “I’m not asking for anything. Just some information for my benefit.” He readjusted in his seat, leaning forward. “Why? Why are you so interested in Ellyssa?”
Commandant Baer moved his hands to under his chin, his fingers lacing together. “That is none of your business.”
“But I think it is,” Mathew stated. “And I think you know it. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Weren’t those the words you used?”
The Commandant glared at him through slitted lids. “I think we’re done for now.”
24
Aalexis turned the fine focus, bringing the DNA into sharper view. The restriction enzyme had attacked the sequence and produced a double-stranded cut. It was there she would combine Xaver’s and Ellyssa’s DNA with her own.
She’d performed the experiment time and time again, and with each test, the attachment had been successful. She’d already had several partial combinations with her and Xaver’s DNA frozen.
Besides the return of her sister, what Aalexis really needed was a lab with a medical facility so that she could conduct the somatic cell transfer and implant the blastocyst into the surrogate. The complications of the procedure had grown past the use of the temporary lab.
The door opened and Xaver stepped into the sally port to be disinfected. She watched his tall frame as he slipped on the white surgical coveralls, shoe covers and mask. When he was dressed, he pushed through the heavy plastic flaps and proceeded inside the lab.
“What progress have you made?” he asked as he approached her, his blue eyes peeking at her from above the mask.
Even with the strong odor of disinfectant and the surgical attire covering him from head to foot, Xaver’s unique scent still cut through, all clean and male. She pushed the mask tighter around her nose and turned away.
“As we already have discussed,” Aalexis stated, “we need Ellyssa. With her, we can finish combining the DNA and start the replicating sequence inside a cell.”
Xaver sidled up next to her and his heat penetrated through to Aalexis’ skin, as if she stood by a roaring fire. His scent invaded her nose again. Tingles surged where his hand dangled closest to hers and her heart responded. She felt the blood pulse through her veins. Too aware of Xaver’s presence, Aalexis felt an urge to escape. Taking the petri dish, she moved toward the freezer where the other specimens were contained.
“The contact led the police right to her,” Xaver said following behind her. His heat radiated from him in waves.
Did he know? Was he torturing her on purpose?
“But she escaped, of course.” she said, somehow maintaining a steady monotonous note. Aalexis opened the freezer, using the steel door to block him from sight. Cold air rushed out, brushing against her skin.
“As predicted.”
“I assumed as much. The information about the Renegades has reached her.”
“It seems a Captain Dyllon Jones is missing. The same one who aided the detective during her search. He is either dead or an informant.”
“Perfect. If they are incapable of capturing her within the next few days, we will have to go back to Amarufoss and wait for her. The people in charge are imprudent.”
“I agree. I have also contacted the Commandant and instructed him to reinforce his patrols of the area, in case they happen to bypass the roadblocks.”
“As I am sure they will.”
Aalexis placed the dish inside the freezer and closed the door. When she turned around, Xaver stood right behind her. Surprised, her eyes widened minutely. Not enough that an average human could have registered, but Xaver was not average. Ignoring him, she pushed past, her destination the door.
“I have something I want to discuss with you.” He was following her again.
“What?” she asked on her way to the decontamination port. All she wanted to do was go to the gym and think about what was happening to her. She wondered if Ellyssa had experienced the same symptoms.
“Would you stop for a moment?”
“I want to work out.”
“Aalexis. Stop,” Xaver commanded, his voice deep.
The muscles of her neck constricting, she halted her progress, her escape route just within reach. “When will the lab be completed?”
“In less than three weeks. But that is not what I want to talk to you about.”
Turning, their gazes met. Xaver’s mask was pulled down and his blue eyes, shelved over his angular cheekbones, glimmered. A lock of platinum hair escaped from the hood of his coveralls and hung on his promin
ent forehead. A strange fluttering tickled the inside of Aalexis’ stomach and rushed to her chest. Fighting to maintain her composure, she swallowed.
“When Micah returned after he had located Ellyssa,” he started. With magnetic force, Aalexis’ gaze was pulled to the movement of Xaver’s full lips. “He told me some things that at the time had meant nothing, but now I wonder.”
“Wonder?” she stated, her voice dead.
He took a step toward her. “It concerns Ellyssa and the emotions Micah sensed through the music box. They were so strong that he actually felt them.”
Aalexis stepped back. Whatever foreign affliction she had been feeling she shoved down. She would not be like her sister. Anger forged forward. “I do not wish to talk about Ellyssa’s breakdown,” she said, the deadpan tone no longer a fight to maintain.
“I think we should. I have developed a theory.”
Taking another step back, Aalexis shook her head. “What theory? Emotions weaken. There is nothing to theorize. Now, if you will excuse me, brother, I have training exercises.” She spun on her heel and escaped through the flap. Without looking at Xaver, she removed her coveralls and shoe guards. Her hair fell around her shoulders in blonde waves. She pulled it back into a bun.
“If you care to join me,” Aalexis said, her hand on the knob, “you may. I feel a need for a worthy opponent.”
Aalexis walked out into the evening and inhaled, welcoming the cold that sharpened and focused her mind. Whatever she had felt would not control her. She would not succumb.
What had Xaver meant when he said Micah felt the sensations? Aalexis shrugged off the uncomfortable thought. It didn’t matter. What mattered was seeing her father’s plans come to fruition.
To the right, a bright round moon hung directly over The Center—her Center. Rat-a-tat noise and machinery sounds drifted on the Lake Michigan breeze. Beams of yellow light spotlighted the three-story building. Bricks and concrete climbed up the skeletal frame in colors of grey and red. The building wasn’t as tall as her father’s had been, but she didn’t have to hide behind false training schools and eugenics used for more conventional means. Nor would she hide her experiments down in the basement for training purposes.
Flawed (Perfection) Page 17