Redemption Lost

by Cindy M. Hogan

  “No. I’ll get a cab and head home. This is your family celebration. Your son’s birthday.” Something must have brushed up against his pocket. It sounded like fabric or something.

  “Stay,” a small voice pleaded.

  “Stay,” an even younger voice said. Perhaps the two boys had rushed him.

  “As you can see,” Miller said. “Leaving is not an option. My kids would love if you stayed. It’s Peter’s birthday. It can be your birthday gift to him.”

  “Looks like,” a female voice said. “You’re part of the family now.” She wondered if that voice belonged to the senator’s wife. Marybeth had heard her speak before, but she couldn’t be sure.

  To Marybeth’s surprise, he relented and agreed to stay. She thought on why he might have done that, and it occurred to her that he needed to stay. Now that Division was black, they wouldn’t be getting a recording of conversations on the senator’s phone. Jeremy needed to stick with the senator in case he made that call to Alvarez. This whole thing was orchestrated for them to hear that call. Despite the danger it put Jeremy in, he would stay.

  Chapter 22

  CHRISTY

  Together, with Christy in utter agony, they made it to the general store, the moon shining brightly down on the compound. Christy made sure Tammy had no idea how much pain she was in. Once in, Christy said, “All right—go set the charges, I’ll rig the alarms.”

  Tammy gave her a swift hug before jogging off. As soon as she was out of sight, Christy sagged on the wall, tears streaming down her face. She refused to let any sobs find purchase, though. She needed to get to work on the fire alarms. Rigging them to go off simultaneously proved more difficult than she’d anticipated, and it took her ten precious minutes longer than she’d planned because she had a hard time thinking with the pain pulsing through her.

  She kept sending mental waves to Carrie and Tammy not to discount her yet and not to panic. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to make it to the infirmary, which was two buildings away. Each step was excruciating. Knowing her limits and recognizing that she needed to be able to think, she popped a pill. Yes, it would dull her mind a little, but nothing like what the pain was doing. A two-minute job had taken her six minutes longer to do thanks to it. Too bad it wasn’t instantaneous help. She figured it wouldn’t kick in until they were on the other side of the wall.

  She eased out of the front door and, staying close to the building, she inched her way to the space between the store and the offices. After the offices came the laundry and then the infirmary. It was going to be the longest 500 yards of her life. Even though she was all in black, she needed to move slowly not to be detected. Ideally, she would crawl along the ground from building to building, but if she got down on the ground, she’d never get up. She had less than ten minutes to get to the infirmary before the fire alarms sounded. If they sounded before she was in hiding, she would be exposed and most certainly taken captive. All she could do was keep moving, slowly but surely.

  She checked her watch. It had taken five minutes to cross the open space. She only had five minutes left to cross two thirds the distance. If she moved at the same pace, that would mean she’d be right in-between the offices and the infirmary when everything went crazy. She had to pick up the pace if she wanted to get out of there tonight. She limped as fast as she could around the corner to the front of the offices, gritting her teeth through the pain, and ran smack dab into Tammy. “Uff!” Tammy reached out and steadied her.

  She wanted to yell at her and ask her what she was doing, but she couldn’t risk someone hearing. She’d have to save her questions for later. Her uff had been too loud already. They stood in tense silence for a good minute before moving on, listening for any indication that someone had heard.

  Tammy’s help made all the difference, and they made good time to the infirmary. They’d barely made it into Carrie’s room when the alarms blared. Christy hid in the closet so she could be vertical and Tammy slid under the bed. As planned, the lights did not go on. It would take the generators a minimum of fifteen minutes to turn on. They most likely wouldn’t be churning out electricity, however. If the generators were hooked up to bypass the main line, then it wouldn’t be long for the lights to be on in the individual houses, but if they were wired through the main, it would be a very long time before power was restored.

  Nurses rushed around, wheeling sick and weak patients out. They came to wheel Carrie out, and she sat up. “Get the others, I can walk out. Hurry, please. I’ll be right out.” The nurse eyed her warily. “Check back in a few and you’ll see. I’ll be gone.” She slid off the bed and swung her hands out from her sides. “Go. I’ve got this.” Seeing that Carrie could stand, the nurse rushed out. Tammy and Carrie rushed to Christy’s side, and Tammy used the screwdriver to remove Carrie’s ankle bracelet and then her own before taking Christy’s off her. Only seconds had passed. Christy swung her arms over their shoulders, and they headed the opposite way down the hall than everyone else, toward the back door and the wall.

  In ten doors they would turn, and after five more doors, freedom would beckon them. The doors seemed to stretch out in front of them forever, the distance between the doors impossibly far. They’d planned to make it to the back door within five minutes of the alarm, when it would be discovered that they were missing during the head count outside the houses.

  Christy slammed the toe of her boot into the corner on the last turn. She cried out, unable to hold back. She bent and grabbed at her leg, slipping out of her friends’ grips. They stood helplessly by her as she convulsed in pain, unable to move or even speak. A door opened down the opposite hall. Two guards already barreled their way.

  “Run,” Christy choked out in a voice only they could hear. She couldn’t move, even with their help. She pushed them forward, falling to the ground. They looked down at her, faces white and panicked. “Run!” she hissed. The guards hadn’t seen them yet. If they would just go, they could make it.

  Finally, they obeyed, running as fast as they could toward the back door. Christy turned to see more guards pour down the hall, looking for the source of the screams. They caught sight of her just as Tammy yanked Carrie out the door that led them to freedom.

  Christy moaned loudly, drawing as much attention as she could. As the first guards reached her and started to lay hands on her, she cried out, “Wait! My foot.” She pulled at her pants to better expose her leg. Guards rushed past, glancing at Christy and the hall opposite, their eyes searching for anything amiss. Christy looked too and was happy to see the hall empty.

  “Why are you still in here?”

  “I told the nurse to help the others who couldn’t walk. I hit my foot on this corner and needed to rest a minute. Where’s the fire?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s looking like a false alarm. No smoke.”

  She slid down the wall and let out a long sigh. “Good. Then I’ll just wait here.” Her head spun and things were a bit fuzzy, but the pain had decreased. The pain meds were doing their job.

  “We can’t let you do that,” the guard said. Tiny blond hairs sat above his top lip. He was so young. If she wasn’t hurt, she’d take them out without a second thought. The stream of guards through the door ended and it shut with a loud clang. “We’ll help you.”

  “Oh, I’d really appreciate that. Can you give me just a second?” Her mind whirred with possibilities. Her leg was hurt, not her arms, and she had another healthy leg she could utilize. It took her longer to think it through than she would have liked, but these boys were young and inexperienced. She could take them. Couldn’t she? Her mind fuzzed. The meds had kicked in. When the one guard gave her his hand to help her up, she yanked him down to meet her elbow and knock him out. Using the wall to brace herself, she’d send a kick into the other guard’s groin and as he bent over, she’d use clasped hands to hit him hard on the upper back, sending his head into the floor to knock him out. Then she’d get to the door and be gone before they came to.

&n
bsp; Only it didn’t work out that way. When he pulled on her hand, she pulled, but he didn’t tumble forward to meet her elbow, instead, she popped right up. She heard laughter. It took a moment to realize it was coming from her. Why was she laughing? The guard said, “Whoa, there. I’ve got you.”

  Her lame attempt at bringing him down had put them both a little off balance. She pointed down the hall where Tammy and Carrie had gone. “There?”

  The guard put her arm around his shoulders “Is that where your room was? We aren’t going there. We need to get out of the building.” His voice had changed and he was talking to her like she was three. Her body felt funny. Maybe she was three. She looked down at her body. No. She was too big to be three. The other guard rushed over and took her other arm. She could see both their guns, completely exposed. She could grab them. She should grab them.

  She stared at her hands, hanging limp over the guard’s shoulders. Those were her hands, right? They were moving down the hall, but the wrong hall. She tried to tell them that, but they didn’t listen.

  Moments—or hours, maybe days, later, they stood on the porch of the infirmary. One of the guards asked, “Which house do you live in? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you.”

  She couldn’t talk, but she managed to get three fingers on one hand and four on the other to stick straight up.

  “Building 34?”

  She shook her head in an exaggerated arc.

  The other guard said, “Can’t be 34. There are only fourteen houses. I think she means House Seven.”

  Christy nodded, her head swimming.

  “It’s this way,” the one guard said and led them toward House Seven.

  The plan had worked. The entire courtyard was filled with girls and matrons and nurses and guards. So cool. Then why was she here? She should be gone. Adrenaline raged through her and yet, she couldn’t command her body to do anything about it.

  The guys stopped in front of House Seven where a small group of five people stood, gawking at her. Her people. Her housemates. “We found one of yours in the infirmary.” Nurse Winifred hurried over, her eyes narrowed and then opened wide in shock at something.

  Christy looked down. Was she bleeding again? She couldn’t tell. Her new black clothes made it hard to see. Oh, no! Black clothes. She was wearing black clothes. How could she explain this away?

  “What happened to her?” she asked the guards.

  “We don’t know, but she’s on some pretty heavy drugs and can’t stand on her own.” Lyssa and Cindy rushed over and took her from the two guards, both looking over her black clothes in wonder before stopping at her foot. She wanted to tell them not to worry, that her pants covered the boot and Matron Mara would never know, but just then Mara stalked over. She spoke to the guards.

  “Was there another girl with her? Red hair, milky white skin, freckles?”

  “No, ma’am,” the skinnier of the two said. “She was alone, trying to get out of the infirmary.”

  She narrowed her eyes at them. “Where?”

  Both guards looked toward the infirmary.

  “No!” she said with a growl. “What door was she trying to get out of?”

  “She was headed for the front door, ma’am.”

  You’re sure?”

  Both guards nodded.

  Matron Mara’s tone changed. “Thank you for returning her to us. We were worried. If you find a little redhead, you know where to bring her.”

  “Yes ma’am.” They turned on their heel and left.

  Christy knew where the redhead was. She should tell her, only her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. She wished she could tell Mara that Tammy was safe. She said she was worried about Tammy. Christy wasn’t worried anymore. Not even about her black clothes. She felt good. Relaxed and calm. She looked around for a bed. There weren’t any. She had to sleep anyway.

  She woke strapped to her bed, back in her whites, her finger and her leg throbbing with every beat of her heart.

  Sitting in a chair dozing next to the bed were Matron Mara and another woman she didn’t recognize. Her head pounded, and her mouth was as dry as the Sahara. “Hello?” she croaked.

  Both women startled awake, their eyes falling quickly to Christy’s. Mara frowned. The other woman sat up straight in her seat and looked anxiously at her. Hard lines from grimacing too often were etched near her mouth. She was the oldest person Christy had seen here; her eyes were watery and gray.

  “Matron Mara,” she said with a sickly amount of innocence. “Why am I strapped to the bed?” She had to know what they knew.

  “It appears that you have a broken leg.” The older woman peered at Christy, her attention sharp and penetrating.

  “Yes.” She didn’t elaborate. Every word she said would condemn someone: Nurse Winifred, Lyssa, Teresa, Cindy, Tammy, Carrie, or herself. She would say as little as possible.

  “Tell us how it happened.” Mara’s eyes narrowed at her.

  This wasn’t happening. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I feel sick.” That was true. She started heaving. Neither woman moved to aid her as she stretched her head toward the side of the bed, as far as her bonds would allow, and retched. Not once. Not twice. But three times. The first time was the worst, with the projectile vomit flying to within a few inches of the stiff, new woman. She didn’t flinch. Mara did, however. Her nose crinkled up in disgust, and she moved her feet further back under her chair.

  Bits of food stuck to Christy’s lips, and she had no way of removing it. The two women didn’t seem inclined to wipe it away, either. She was reminded that she took that pain medication hours after she’d ingested any food. No wonder she lost control then and was so sick now.

  Mara spoke again. “Where are Carrie and Tammy?

  She shook her head, the smell of the vomit making her want to throw up again. She gagged several times, but nothing came up. This time she had the sense to spit to get most of the chunks and debris from her lips and mouth. She rested her head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Who are you?”

  Now that she could answer. “I’m Ryann.” She kept her eyes on the ceiling.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Her eyes darted to them and as they did, she couldn’t help but notice the golden blond hair in her peripheral vision. Her golden blond hair. “I’m Ryann,” she insisted.

  A sharp clap of pain radiated from her fingers up her arms. The stern woman was standing, a small diameter metal rod in her hand. “You must not tell a lie.” Her thin lips pressed together, and her skin took on a gray cast.

  Christy opened and closed her hand, leaving it in a fist so it would be a smaller target and to protect her fingers.

  “Let’s try this again. Who are you?”

  She grimaced. “I’m Ryann.” Her stomach was roiling with nerves and nausea.

  She whipped the stick again in a quick efficient manner. It cracked on the fleshy part of Christy’s thumb. Again, she stretched and closed her hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but Christy wanted to save her hand some pain so she spoke first. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m Ryann!” she yelled. “If you think I’m someone else simply because I was wearing a wig and contacts, you’re wrong. I was a call girl, and I got more jobs with the black hair and green eyes. Everyone has blonde hair and blue eyes these days.” Her blood pumped like a raging river through her veins.

  The woman’s hand twitched, the end of the flexible metal rod twitching in the air.

  “How did you break your leg?”

  Nurse Winifred wasn’t there. Christy had to assume she’d been found out, but what story did she tell? She thought about her and the things she’d said and done for her. She would tell the truth. The truth that would protect the other girls.

  “I was exploring the named houses when the matron for Primrose House saw me. She didn’t want me looking in their window, so she punished me.”

  “Why were you looking in that particular window?” the gray w
oman asked, her head moving once from side to side.

  Good question. Christy bit her lip, realizing that house was how they were connecting her to Carrie—Bridget, to them. This was a dangerous question. “Well, that Cassandra girl,” her eyes flicked to Matron Mara, who seemed to love that girl, “told me that it was super unusual that I went straight to the numbered houses. She said it almost never happened, and then she told me all this awful stuff that happens there. I guess I was curious about what she’d said. I was a call girl, and I would have been in Primrose had I not been chosen. I wanted to see what it was like.” She let the tears fall. “I thought if I peeked in the side window, no one would notice me.” She cried harder. “I guess she was right. That Matron was so mean.” She sniffed hard. Mara’s face did not soften.

  “But you knew Bridget, didn’t you?” She walked around the bed, hitting the stick into the palm of her opposite hand. “She was on your same transport over.”

  So she knew. There was no hiding the connection. “Yes.”

  “Did you see her there?”

  “Yes. She was in the kitchen. I shouldn’t have tried to get her attention.”

  “No. You shouldn’t have.” The gray lady scowled and stopped on the other side of the bed. “You helped her and Tammy leave the compound, didn’t you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. That was not something she would admit to. The hard part was containing her excitement that they’d gotten away. The possibility of this place going down had suddenly gone up exponentially.

  She slapped the rod against Christy’s other fist. It hit her broken finger. She closed her eyes and clamped her teeth together against the pain.

  “Liar!” she barked and moved her face right above Christy’s. “We have a place where we take liars here, and you don’t want to go there. Believe me.”

  “I didn’t. I swear.”

  “I’m wondering what happened that made you stay behind. You unlucky creature.” Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits.