Reuben was over a hundred years older than Shula and her only full-blood sibling. Their relationship was more parent-child than brother-sister. Reuben volunteered to stand in as proxy for Shula and took her punishment. It was easy to see from his scars that Shula would not have survived the beating and Eli would have never been born.
“Please, Mother.” Eli blinked, obviously fighting tears. “Don’t do this.”
River dropped her gaze and studied the patterns woven into the carpet beneath her boots. She’d faced the council the morning after Mother’s execution without shedding a single tear. Eli was a grown man and an Enforcer. And his mother was giving up Sanctuary, not her life. River extended her hand and touched Shula’s elbow. “Please, we need to hurry.”
Jonathan
GENTLE FINGERS STROKED JONATHAN’S FACE. A hot tear splashed his brow as cold lips pressed a kiss to his cheek. A quiet, but persistent, beep, beep, beep annoyed the hell out of him.
“Baby? Can you hear me?”
Mom?
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
Jonathan was so tired, so sleepy. His left eye refused to open at all and his right eye only opened enough to reveal a blurry band of light.
“Charles, get in here! He’s awake.”
Where am I? As his vision cleared, Jonathan recognized the clear plastic bag hanging from a steel pole above him as an IV. Everything hurt—even his hair. He tried to draw a deep breath, but gasped when pain shot across his ribs. His left hand was on fire. It throbbed in time with that infernal beeping.
Jonathan turned his head and raised his left arm. It was bandaged from pit to wrist. And ended six inches before it should have.
Mom kissed his forehead. “You’re okay baby. Please calm down. You’re in the ICU at Landstuhl Hospital. You’re safe now.”
Safe? Jonathan groaned as another wave of pain shot up his arm and across his ribs. What happened? The last thing he remembered, he was riding shotgun with Franklin and the chaplain to Bagram.
“Calm down, Frankie. It’s okay.”
Frankie? Is he here, too? It was hard to think, hard to put the words together coherently, but he had to know. His mouth refused to cooperate. Was his jaw wired shut? “Is…is he?”
“I’m so sorry, baby.” More tears dripped off the tip of her nose onto his forehead. “Jonathan’s missing.”
She thinks I’m Franklin. The room spun. I must be messed up pretty bad if Mom can’t tell the difference.
“Not Franklin…Jonathan.”
“Calm down, Frankie. The army’s doing everything in their power to find him.”
“No…”
Mom smoothed her hand over Jonathan’s forehead—as if she could still brush away the curls the army’d shaved off months ago. “The last time anyone saw your brother, he was on base, recovering from a sprained ankle. He probably snuck off and went looking for trouble. He left his dog tags hanging in the shower.”
Jonathan pantomimed writing in the air.
Mom handed him a pen and held a notebook steady for him so he could write.
I’m not Franklin.
Mom stumbled away from him and crashed into a stainless steel cart.
A man in green scrubs darted across the room and caught her before she hit the floor.
Someone yelled, “Get her out of here!”
The man dragged Mom out of the room but her sobs continued to echo down the hall even after the door swung shut. “Where’s Franklin? Where’s my baby?”
A doctor snagged a wheeled stool with his foot and pulled it next to Jonathan’s bed.
Jonathan’s hand shook as he wrote: My brother, PFC Franklin McKnight and Chaplain Stewart were in the Humvee with me. Are they okay?
The doctor placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder as he leaned in to read the note. “I’m sorry, son. There were no other survivors.”
The words ‘no other survivors’ ricocheted against the corners of Jonathan’s skull. His sides heaved, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He squeezed the pen so tightly his fingers ached as he wrote: PFC Franklin McKnight. MIA?
The doc shook his head. “There were three men evacuated from the site of the attack. You, the chaplain and an unidentified soldier. During triage, we found Franklin McKnight’s dog tags in your pocket. A medic must have found them near you and assumed they were yours. We’re working on identifying the unknown soldier, but considering the evidence, I’m afraid it’s not going to be good news.”
This was a mistake. It had to be. Franklin couldn’t be dead.
The doctor squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder and stood up. “I’m giving you something for the pain. It’ll make you drowsy.” Jonathan watched as the doc injected something into his IV line. The drug worked fast, but not fast enough. He closed his eyes and willed his mind to surrender. The last thing he heard was, “It seems we have a case of mistaken identity.”
When Jonathan woke, Dad was standing at the foot of his bed, talking to an army colonel. Their voices were urgent but too quiet to understand. Dad’s face was chalky grey. The creases around his eyes and mouth were deeper than Jonathan remembered. He looked ten years older.
The air conditioner kicked on, fluttering the curtains over the window.
The colonel shook Dad’s hand then turned and walked out the door. It swung shut with a soft creak.
“Dad…” It came out as a groan, but it got Dad’s attention. He bolted around the side of the bed and grabbed the rails so tightly his knuckles turned white. He took three ragged breaths then jerked the bedrail down and buried his face in the blankets above Jonathan’s right hip.
Jonathan had never seen Dad cry before; not even at grandfather McKnight’s funeral. He’d always assumed it was because he was so strong and brave. Maybe he’d just been too numb to cry…like Jonathan. He should be bawling like a baby…no other survivors…but his eyes were as dry as the Registan Desert.
Jonathan waited for Dad to regain his composure then reached for the pen and pad of paper on the bed tray and wrote: It should have been me.
Dad spoke with quiet intensity. “No. It shouldn’t have been you. It shouldn’t have been either of you!”
If he hadn’t told Frankie to pass that van, they wouldn’t have hit the IED. Jonathan scrawled: It was my fault.
Dad took the pen and pad away from Jonathan and set them at the foot of the bed. “My heart broke when I realized I would never see our sweet, shy Frankie again…”
Jonathan tried to turn away.
Dad gripped the sides of his head with both hands and forced him to look at him. “But you can’t imagine the joy I felt when I learned I hadn’t lost you. I just can’t hold on to it. I’m devastated by Franklin’s death. But please, Jonathan, please believe me, when I say that I’m so very happy that you are alive.”
River
SHULA PERFORMED A MINOR MIRACLE and safely delivered Hannah’s baby, but everyone’s joy was short lived. The child had come too early. She required constant vigilance to be sure she remembered to breathe. Shula stayed at the ranch to help care for the baby and Hannah. River had to share her room with Shula but it wasn’t as bad as she thought it’d be. Shula stayed up with the baby at night and slept during the day. River hardly ever saw the healer, which was just fine with her. The woman was downright scary.
River had just crawled into bed when the sound of urgent whispers caught her ear. “Please, Reuben, I have to try. You heard what Shula said. If we don’t get antibiotics for the baby she’ll die.”
“You know the law. We can’t use outsider medicine.”
“But you’re an Enforcer. You could—”
“I could what? Risk everything for a child that probably won’t survive her first year? What about our sons? Do you think you can raise them without me? Or do you plan to take a new mate after my execution?”
River covered her mouth with both hands.
Hannah’s voice quivered. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing while our daughter struggles to survive.”
<
br /> “Shula’s brewing another herbal remedy. Maybe this one will work better.”
“She’s dying, Reuben.”
River had heard stories of how outsider’s medicine could cure even the most dire illnesses, but their dependency on medical science had weakened the entire human race. The heirs of Sanctuary used outsider medicine, but only in life or death situations. Surface dwellers had to rely on the herbs nature provided and their own immune systems. Natural selection was a harsh, but necessary, doctrine.
Reuben’s voice held so much pain it made River’s heart ache. “Once you’ve recovered from the delivery. We can try again. We’ll keep trying until you get another daughter.”
“Each time I miscarry, it takes another piece of my soul.”
“Then we’ll adopt another child.”
“You know how rare shifter children are. The council won’t let us have another one. We were lucky to get Paul. And I can’t bear the thought of raising a human child only to watch it grow old and die. Come with us, Reuben. Let’s take our children and make a new life in the outside world.”
“I am not a traitor!”
River hugged her knees against her chest, but it was Hannah’s request, more than Reuben’s booming voice that terrified her. The council would be so enraged, they’d punish anyone that had any ties to Reuben—relatives, friends, servants and unwanted mates, like River.
Reuben lowered his voice. “The odds for all of us making it out of here alive are a hundred to one. And even if we did; how would we survive? It’s been eighty years since you’ve lived in the outside world. You have no idea how much it’s changed.”
“But you’re an enforcer. You’ve been trained to blend in.”
“Blending in will not put a roof over our heads or food in our bellies.” Reuben sighed so loudly, River heard it through the wall separating his and Hannah’s room from hers.
“I gave up my birthright, my home and my father’s protection when I claimed you as my alpha mate. I gave up half my lifespan to extend yours.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I will if you betray me.”
“Ask Shula to put us under quarantine until I return. No one has to know that I sought outside help for our daughter.”
“We vowed to uphold the law of the surface dwellers when they took us in. We swore a solemn oath to abide by all their precepts, doctrines and covenants. I am not an oath breaker. We don’t have the right to pollute the gene pool with inferior children.”
Something hit the wall and shattered. River couldn’t take it anymore. She’d never heard Reuben and Hannah argue, much less fight. She crawled out her bedroom window and sought refuge in Sugar’s stall.
River had no idea how long she’d been asleep when she woke up to the sound of snorting horses, whispers of “shush-shush” and the mewling cry of an infant. She peeked under the stall door and found Hannah with her baby bound to her back. She led her mare outside.
River couldn’t believe her eyes. Hannah was disobeying Reuben, and committing treason.
River hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth as precious minutes ticked away. Shula would know what to do.
A shadow passed back and forth behind the curtains in River’s room. Shula was pacing the floor, obviously waiting for River’s return. She stopped pacing and opened the window. “Brush the straw out of your hair and go to bed.”
“But Hannah—”
“Is doing the only thing she can.” Shula helped pull River inside.
“Does Reuben know she’s running away?”
“Hannah did not run away.” Shula pinched River’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “Understand?”
River nodded. Hannah was Reuben’s mate. He was responsible for her crimes. If anyone found out she’d deserted New Eden, Reuben would be executed.
“What about Sanctuary witnesses?” Every death had to be certified by a member of the high-council before the body was cremated.
“I’m taking Hannah and the baby to my cabin and placing them in protective quarantine. They won’t die until after Sanctuary Mountain is sealed for the winter so the sworn testimony of two enforcers will suffice.”
“Who?” As Hannah’s mate, Reuben would not qualify.
“Eli and Jesse.”
“Eli?” River did not doubt that Jesse would protect Reuben, but she didn’t trust Eli.
“Eli would never betray me.” Shula rubbed her forehead. “Can we count on you to stand with us? Will you testify that you helped prepare Hannah’s and the baby’s bodies for the funeral pyre?”
“Of course.” River’s eyes stung. “What about Gabriel and Paul? They’ll be devastated.”
“Death is easier to accept than betrayal.” Shula rubbed her forehead. “But Gabriel knows. Hannah said goodbye to him before she left.”
Eli
“ELI? ARE YOU THERE?”
HANNAH’S urgent whisper drifted between the pine boughs long after Eli had spotted her. He still couldn’t believe Mother had beguiled him into committing treason. She knew his one weakness. She’d promised to speak to Zebulon about freeing Aspen in exchange for Eli’s help getting Hannah and her baby out of New Eden.
Even though Reuben hadn’t been able to secure Aspen’s release yet, he was still trying. He didn’t deserve this betrayal. If he ever learned of Eli’s involvement in helping Hannah escape, he’d kill him.
Black spots floated across Eli’s vision. He might even execute Aspen to punish him. He’d been so blinded by his own desires that he hadn’t considered the consequences of failure.
“Eli?”
“Over here.”
“I can’t thank you enough—”
“Be quiet. I don’t have to tell you what happens if we’re discovered.”
“Of course.”
As an Enforcer, Eli knew the border patrols’ routes and schedules. He had plenty of practice slipping past the guards on his unauthorized trips to Red Cliff. It was too bad that it hadn’t snowed yet. Once the pass closed, the only way in or out of New Eden was through the tunnel. And that was heavily guarded year round. No one could pass without proper authorization.
At least the baby had quit squalling. Maybe it died. Eli cringed at the thought. It would make things simpler, but what sort of monster wished for the death of a child?
The baby whimpered.
“Eli, we need to hurry. Her fever’s worse.”
Eli was eager to be done with this ill-advised mission. He was cold and tired. Mother’s cabin didn’t have indoor plumbing, or any other geothermal conveniences. You could fit her entire cabin inside Eli's private steam room but it was warm.
He hoped the alibi Mother had devised to protect him was still passed out in his bed. The servant had been easy to seduce and even easier to intoxicate. Eli had no doubt that she would have lied to protect him, but this way, even if she grew disillusioned, she would still testify on his behalf, never knowing he’d been gone most of the night.
When they got to the eastern border, Eli heaved a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” Hannah tried to lean across the space separating their horses to hug him.
Eli dodged her embrace. “Just don’t get caught.”
Hannah nodded then dug her heels into her horse’s side and flew down the mountain.
By the time Eli finally got Old Red rubbed down, returned to the corral and his tack put away, an orange glow outlined the Eastern ridge. He crept back into his room, stripped and crawled into bed.
The servant girl rolled over and shivered. “You’re cold.”
“I had to use the outhouse. It’s freezing outside.”
“Mmmm… Come here. I’ll warm you up.”
Eli snaked his hand around the girl’s waist and tried to pretend she was Aspen. It didn’t work. “I’m tired. Go back to sleep.”
He’d already done what he needed to do before he left. He had no desire to do it again.
Jonathan
“WILL YOU STOP HOVERING LIKE a damn helicopter? I can dress myself.” Jonathan didn’t mean to snap at Mom, but she was driving him crazy. Once she decided to act like a mother again, she went into overdrive. He didn’t need her help pulling his shirt on over his head. He didn’t need her help packing his clothes or zipping his suitcase. And he certainly didn’t need her help carrying it to the car. He held out his right hand and lifted his eyebrows.
Instead of handing it over, she set the suitcase back on the bed.
Jonathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it for four seconds then exhaled as he counted backwards from eight. Using breath control to relieve stress was the one useful thing he’d gotten out of group therapy.
“I’m sorry. But you can’t keep treating me like an invalid. If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”
He smiled to strengthen his apology then grabbed his suitcase and used its weight to flex his bicep. “I may not be as strong as I was a month ago, but I’m still stronger than you and Dad put together.”
Jonathan stepped forward and tripped on his untied shoelace. He reached for the door with his left hand to break his fall, not realizing his mistake, until his stump slammed into the floor.
Instead of proving his independence, Jonathan’s little stunt ended up costing him an extra day in the hospital and six new stitches on the side of his head.
When he was released the next day, his doctor ordered him to leave in a wheelchair. He drew the line at wearing the slip-on loafers his mother had bought for him. It had taken him two days to learn to tie his shoes with one hand. He refused to give up that minor victory just because of one accident.
The drive home was weird. After a few attempts at small talk, they all gave up and just let the silence build until Dad pulled into the driveway. “Well, here we are.”
After a quick glance at his feet to double check that his shoelaces were still tied securely, Jonathan opened his door and stepped onto the driveway. The ever-present lump in his throat swelled when his gaze fell on the imprint of two small hands in the concrete. And right below them, the words Jonathan and Franklin July 6, 1993.
Believe: The Complete Channie Series Page 111