by Eve Langlais
It was over. He’d gambled and lost.
But he wouldn’t give up. He lived. He’d survived. He headed for the rendezvous point, trusting an innate sense of direction that would hopefully not be fooled by the whipping winds. His scarf covered his face, but he still felt the prick of the sand trying to scour flesh from bone.
He thought he imagined the high-pitched whine of an engine.
Whing. Whing. The noise increased until the motorbike emerged from a puff of dust, the headlight a feeble beacon.
Gunner slid to a stop, his goggles hiding his face, but Axel could imagine the smirk when he said, “Need a ride?”
“Dare I ask how you found me?” he shouted.
“Just lucky.”
Fucker was always lucky. Axel swung onto the back of the bike and held on as his friend drove into the storm. Riding it out in the bowl of the Valley wasn’t an option. They couldn’t handle hours of scouring wind. They’d be lucky to last the minutes it would take to emerge.
The storm did its best to hold on to them, swirling tight and close, making it impossible to see. They could circle forever and never find their way out. But Gunner had an innate sense of direction. He always found his way.
The bike crested the lip of the Valley, and they went from swirling storm to still air. Despite the darkness, they couldn’t help but perceive the newest danger.
A pair of vehicles sat idling, headlights on, bright beacons meant to blind. Their occupants probably camouflaged with weapons trained on them.
“Shit. Hold on tight.”
The explosions of projectiles and the hot streak of plasma meant Gunner used and abused his bike and gravity. He swerved, leaning left and right, somehow avoiding the barrage.
If there was such thing as the power of luck, Gunner had it. He leaned so low they practically brushed ground.
When the bike righted itself, Axel timed his leap, diving from the back of the bike into a tumble that saw him smoothly moving to a standing position, gun pulled. He fired, over and over, not thinking, not taking time to look or even breathe. Instinct guided him.
In moments, the guards lay dead or dying, he had a new gash in his arm because one of them got off a shot, and Gunner had returned, straddling his bike, which chugged sluggishly.
“I don’t see any more.”
Switching guns for a freshly loaded one, Axel growled, “Pity. I’m in the mood to kill a few more Enclave soldiers.”
“I assume by your constipated appearance that they took her,” Gunner said.
Axel huffed hotly and kicked the ground. “Drugged her first. Then tossed her into a ball drone. Since fucking when do they send a ball drone?” He pushed his goggles up on his forehead. Usually those energy-guzzling contraptions were kept close to the domes.
“I know. I saw it coming out ahead of the storm, and that’s when I decided you might need my help.”
“Thank you.” He’d be dead without Gunner’s timely arrival.
It galled how poorly Axel had judged the Enclave’s desire to get their hands on Laura. More than he’d have imagined, meaning they had to know about her power.
His comm unit crackled. “Axel! Gunner! It’s a trap.”
“No shit,” Axel muttered, replying to Casey’s startled warning.
“How bad is it?” she replied in clipped words.
“No gemminar. No buggy. No Laura. They took her.” He didn’t soften the disappointment.
Casey swore. “Fuckers. What are you going to do?”
“Do?” He looked at the storm brewing in the Valley. It held nothing to the one in his heart. “I’m going to get her back.”
The problem proved obvious.
“How exactly are you planning to do that?” Gunner asked. “We don’t have the numbers to storm a dome.”
“You don’t have to help me.” He’d do this alone if he had to. He only knew he couldn’t leave Laura in their care.
“Never said I wouldn’t help. Just pointing out the insanity of it. Which again, totally fine with, but what happened to not starting a war?”
“Fuck that. They want to fight. We’ll give them a fight.” Because he was getting Laura back.
Seventeen
Her feet and lower legs dragging on the ground, along with the hard grip on each arm, woke Laura. Not a pleasant waking. She roused with her head pounding, her tongue pasty, and her eyes refusing to stay open.
Her lashes were so heavy. It took all kinds of effort to wedge them open and sneak a peek. With each blink, the direness of her situation increased. The clomping steps of the soldiers’ big metal boots rang in her ears. Dust being kicked up, and as if noticing it triggered the reaction, she coughed.
The ground transitioned to a metal edge, part of a doorframe. She was dragged past it and carted across the grilled metal flooring.
Whoosh. The door behind closed. The soldiers propped her upright, finally noticing she was awake.
“Stand up straight. Arms out,” ordered a robotic voice.
Easy enough to do if she could shake off the lethargy. She waved on her feet, feeling more awake and aware, but with a lingering dullness.
“Arms out!” barked the second armored soldier.
She lifted them, shoulder height. They were heavy and immediately began to droop. She closed her eyes just in time as she felt a familiar mist hitting her face, settling on skin. She was being decontaminated. She and her escorts, with one major difference.
The soldiers got to keep their suits.
Laura was stripped. Completely naked. Even her bandeau ripped away.
The shame of it burned her cheeks. It should have made her angry, except she was dull inside. So very, very dull. Fear also proved distant even as she hoped they didn’t see signs of what she’d done with Axel.
If they knew…the punishment would be worse than death.
Nothing was said the entire time she was stripped and then cleansed so thoroughly she felt violated.
She hugged her upper torso when the doors on the other side of the chamber opened and a woman stepped in. Older than Laura, wearing white, but in a shade that held a hint of yellow. A light cream. Her head was bowed as she approached Laura with scissors.
The intent became clear. This managed to pierce Laura’s apathy. “Not my hair.” She backed away, trapped between the soldiers and the woman advancing with the scissors.
The unbreakable grip on her arms returned.
Laura still managed to struggle as the woman sheared her hair almost to the scalp, leaving jagged tufts barely even a finger thick. Two fingers at most.
The scissors cut away her pride and left her with nothing. She had no choice here.
No rights.
Another rinse took care of the stray bits of hair left on her skin. She stood dripping and shivering. Were they done finally? They put her through so many levels of decontamination she wondered if her skin would strip from her flesh.
She raised a hand to her scalp and felt the bristles. They took her locks. Which shouldn’t have bothered her. After all, she’d had them trimmed before. But this time, feeling the ragged ends, tears filled her eyes. The loss of everything only served to highlight her foolishness. To think she could be free.
She’d thought herself so clever. As if she could beat the Enclave and walk away.
I should have known better.
The Enclave took all. Her hair. Her dignity. Even Axel’s life. She’d heard the soldiers giving a verbal report as they went through decontamination. They didn’t care that they summarized her failure while she listened.
Axel died in the Valley. He and all his crew.
There would be no rescue. No escape, because she couldn’t touch her power. The drugs they’d injected her with slowed her moves. Dulled her thinking.
It didn’t allow anger or heat. Only sadness.
The heaviness inside meant she moved like an automaton, putting on the gown they finally gave her—white, of course, made of thin material. She ate the food put in front
of her. Some kind of nutritious, flavorless slop. She could barely choke it down.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, unbidden, as she spooned the awful stuff. What a stark comparison to what she’d lost.
She succumbed to the tests. They pricked her. They scraped.
They listened to her heart and looked inside her mouth.
She said nothing during it all. If she did, it would emerge as a scream, a shriek to break glass, and it might never stop.
After the last test, they took her out of the flimsy gown and gave her a proper dress to wear, the material thick and finally bringing back some warmth to her limbs.
She felt the air on her head keenly as a pair of soldiers marched her somewhere, taking her through a series of corridors, the walls made of painted cement. White. No windows, only doors placed at intervals. They went down a lift and across a walkway made of interlocking glass sheets to form a bridge between buildings.
“Where are we?” she asked, the curiosity breaking through some of her apathy.
“Incubaii Dome.”
“I figured that out. Which part?”
“We’ve just departed the intake center.”
“Going where?” she asked as they entered a new building.
The soldier didn’t reply or explain why they went down another lift to the main level and headed outside, where they marched Laura over the shockingly clean paths formed by seamless concrete. Their destination appeared to be the tall, round building, which boasted large windows.
There was a lift to take them to the top floor. A penthouse space with windows all around. An orderly place. Everything in the Incubaii Dome ran with machine-like efficiency.
How dull.
The guards escorting her shoved her into a chair and took a step back, leaving her to face the person behind the massive desk. He had dark hair with hints of red and stared at her accusingly.
“You’re old,” he declared, which seemed odd given he appeared almost the same age as her.
“If I’m old, then why bring me here?” The fiery words escaped her sluggish body. She’d almost felt angry for a moment. The heated burst like a shower of colors in a gray world.
“You’re here because it would appear you’re a late bloomer.”
A subtle explanation. She didn’t want subtle. “Don’t you mean to say I’m a Deviant?” She lifted her chin and forced herself to focus on the man. Handsome if cruel appearing, harsh planes shaping his face, the set of his lips uncompromising, his gaze cold.
“You’re not a Deviant. Look at you. Perfect in every way.”
For some reason the words caused relief.
He dashed it. “You’re Aunimaa. Someone who has evolved inside instead of out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Don’t you?
The words rang inside her head, drawing a startled gasp. “What was that?”
He smirked and leaned back in his seat, hands steepled over his chest. “You shove things around with your little power. I poke inside your mind.” As if to prove a point, he ran a nail over it.
“Get out of my head.”
Make me.
The jabbing came again, sharp fingers inside her head, so much like Horatio with one difference. Even though she was terrified, she couldn’t muster a grip on the magic inside her. The wall she tried to build tumbled down, and he laughed.
“Try as hard as you like. We know how to sedate your powers.”
“What will happen to me?” She held out a slim hope he’d eject her from the dome. Set her free to fend for herself.
“You want me to set you free?” Spoken so mockingly. “That is amusing. And not happening. We have need of you.”
She glanced down at her white gown. “I’m to be a Madre.”
“A special kind of Madre. The kind that isn’t allowed a smart mouth.” The ghostly fingers left her mind, only to drag down her body, touching her in places that shamed and frightened her.
It didn’t help he laughed.
“Stop it.”
“Make me.” He leaned forward. “Go ahead and try.”
She stared at him.
“I’m waiting.” He sighed a moment later. “Given who you’re related to, I expected better, Laura.”
“You know who provided my genetics?” she asked.
“Mother, yes. Father…well, that’s kind of unknown. Her family was most perturbed by her actions given lineage is everything. Knowing this, the female portion of your bloodline still refused to name the man. The assumption was he didn’t have any rank. No one was surprised when the child ended up in a Creche and then the Academy.”
“In other words, I was sent away because I didn’t inherit my mother’s power. Who was my mother?”
“No one, anymore. She was disposed of not long after your birth. After all, a ruling family is only as strong as their weakest links.”
He seemed to be explaining an awful lot. None of it very positive. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s meant to make you understand that this is your destiny.”
“To provide genetic material for the creation of—” She abruptly stopped. Finishing that sentence just wasn’t possible.
“Imagine if we can breed your power, maybe mix it with another.”
The most sickening part of his statement? He didn’t seem bothered by it at all. “Who are you?” she asked, too numb for fear. Although she tried to find it. If only she could touch an emotion, maybe she could snap this drugged trap.
“I am Earl Eros. You will address me as my lord.”
“You’re not my lord.”
Care to reconsider? The ghost finger touched her, scraped along her mind, digging and dragging and—
No! The scream emerged on a wave of fury, the emotion burning hot enough that it formed a conduit to her power.
The heat of it filled her. And she didn’t flinch from it. She flung it.
The chair holding the Earl was slammed backwards into the wall.
The Earl’s eyes widened, not in fear but satisfaction. “About time you showed some sign you’re worth the trouble.”
“I don’t want to be Madre. You will let me go.” She didn’t know what else to ask for.
“No. You’re where you belong. Thank you for showing me your strength. I’ll have your inhibitor dosage increased. Can’t have you hurting the patrons when they come to visit.”
“I’m leaving.” She whirled and marched to the door.
Stop.
Her feet planted.
Turn around.
The command spun her.
The Earl brushed off her power as if it were nothing and stood. He approached, slowly, and she remained frozen in place.
He towered over her, placing her in his shadow as he said, “You aren’t going anywhere. Someone with your telekinetic ability is valuable. Which means there are people willing to pay to see if they can breed the power. And by breeding, I mean they will copulate with you until you are with child.”
She almost forgot to breathe. The threat horrified. “No. I don’t want to.” Choice. Surely she had some choice?
“Don’t want?” He smiled down at her. Cold biting fingers lifted her chin. “Do you really think I care about what you want, Laura?”
The despair sobbed out of her. “Please let me leave.” She already missed the wide expanse she’d once thought so frightening. This man was much scarier.
“Why this ardent desire to return to the Wasteland? The report says you were happy to be rescued. Hugged the commander.” He clearly mocked. The fingers on her chin pinched cruelly, and his tone dropped an octave. “Don’t tell me you enjoyed playing the part of a Wasteland Rat? Or was it the charm of a certain leader that drew you?”
He meant Axel. She knew better than to admit to what she’d done.
“What did you do?” he breathed, tapping his fingers along her jawline, making her tremble. She had to divert his digging attempts.
“You killed hi
m even though he brought me for the trade,” she accused.
His brows arched. “I wasn’t anywhere near the Valley when it happened.”
“You ordered it.”
Again with the smirk. “And got lucky. Did you know there’s a bounty on the Wasteland Duke’s head? The Enclave posted it a few years ago. He’s worth quite a bit dead.”
“Then I guess congratulations are in order,” she said dully.
“The amount I made from his demise is nothing compared to what you will earn me.”
“No.” The powerful thought blasted from her, and despite knowing the futility, she moved to the door. No surprise, it remained closed no matter how she tugged.
“Madre Laura, you are behaving in a most erratic manner. Do you need to be reminded you are a subject of the Enclave? Perhaps a refresher on obeying the rules is required.”
Rules. Other people making her choices. Bland food. Being made to… She wouldn’t allow that to happen.
She huffed as she whirled on him. “You can’t do this. It’s wrong.” The fear and panic pushed against the fog stifling her power. She fueled it with her anger and her fear.
It pushed against the Earl. She could see it bending him, pushing him.
He pushed back against it. Slashed at her mind with a single stroke.
On your knees.
The command threw her to the floor hard. She fell and only barely protected her face by having her hands hit the solid surface first.
She gasped. “I will not.” She struggled to rise. It felt as if a hand pushed her down.
You will obey.
“No.” She whispered it.
“So defiant. And yet so well behaved. Now at any rate. I read your file. You used to have a stubborn streak. Creche records show it took more than thirteen lashes to break you. The record in my dome is twenty-three. Twenty-three lashes without once crying out, not even in her head. How many will you last this time?”
Fear suffused her, filled her completely, especially since the fingers drew forth some old memories. Brought the whistle of each lash to life. The pain of the sting as it landed.
Caught in the memory, she barely noticed as rough hands gripped her and dragged her from the Earl’s office. Once they were out of sight, the grip on her mind eased. She panted as if she’d gone for a run.