Her Darkest Beauty: An Alien Invasion Series - The Second Generation
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“How do you know that?”
Chalatta shrugged. “I just know.”
Karra stared at her daughter, puzzled, then squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Chalatta beamed at her in complete trust and thrust her eager hand into her mother’s. “It’s kinda like an adventure, right Mama?”
“Kind of,” Karra said, wishing her adventures were less dangerous.
As they walked toward the airway, no one even glanced at them, not that she expected anyone would, now that Snake had hidden them. I told him not to bother. But when has he ever listened to me? What niggled at her the most, though, was that Chalatta seemed to know without being told what he had done. No, her easy response to Snake’s hiding them, as if she understood it, scares me, another reason to doubt the wisdom of this whole “adventure.”
Karra waited for an opening, then stepped into the bubble, and pressed a code. The membrane formed around them. A breath later they sped through the airway tube toward their destination.
Only twice before had Chalatta traveled by airway. Karra stole glances at her daughter’s expressions as the city rushed beneath them, delighted with each flicker of awe and amazement.
When the bubble stopped and finally opened, Karra pulled her daughter out so that they would not accidentally touch those waiting to enter. People became unnerved when something they couldn’t see touched them.
“It’s not far.” Karra whispered because disembodied voices were just as disturbing as being touched by unseen people.
But Chalatta paid no attention. She gazed around her in amazement. Karra imagined she might be comparing the boxy apartments in shades of gray and dun of her former neighborhood to this new neighborhood with the blocks of plastiform giving everything a pinkish-orange glow.
“Plastiform,” Chalatta said. “Right, Mama?”
Karra grinned. “Yes. Much of this part of the city has been rebuilt in plastiform blocks or liquid plastiform poured over a frame of some kind. “See how some of the upper floors seem to grow into the adjoining buildings?”
“What are those things in front of the shops, the ones on legs?”
“Porches,” Karra said. “They keep the snow away from the front door of the shop so that even in winter they can have customers. Do you remember how often Sirra Darrell, the grocer back in your old neighborhood, shoveled the snow away? Even with his door a half a story above ground level, he still had to shovel snow all the time.”
“He had that canopy, but coulda used a porch. Oh, Mama, this is the most exciting neighborhood. Look at all the shops. We don’t have this many shops anywhere at home.”
“We’re heading for the main thoroughfare,” Karra said. “It’s a wide avenue with stores lining both sides of the street. In the center will be a row of street venders selling everything you can imagine.”
“I can imagine a lot. Oh, there’s a grocery. And another one over there. We only have one, well, I mean in our old neighborhood there was only Sirra Darrel’s. And bars. Does every neighborhood have bars? Look, Mama, a hardware store. That means they sell tools and such, right? And there’s a place that sells fabric and yarn. We don’t have anything like that at home. Books. Mama, there are bookstores. I’ve never seen a bookstore before, and here there is more than one. Toys? They have stores that sell toys? They don’t just make them at home? A candle store. Soaps and lotions.”
Chalatta paused to catch her breath. “Oh,” she sighed. “A bakery. A bakery, Mama. Erren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”
chapter 2
“What do you mean Karra’s kid’s not here?” Jem said.
Suzin wiped her eyes with a towel. They were red and swollen from weeping. Her brother had never acted this way toward her before.
“How many times do I need to tell you? I put Chalatta to bed as I always do, then joined her after I finished doing a few things. We’ve shared the same bed since she was a baby. You know that. What’s going on, Jem?”
“When did she leave? Surely you felt her get out of bed. You always sleep on the outside of the bed, Su. Be more specific.”
For the first time in her life she felt an edge of fear as he confronted her. She stared at him a long time before continuing. She had always thought he looked so much like their father, but father never held his mouth in that grim, unyielding manner. Father’s eyes, although as dark as Jem’s, never looked at any family member as if boring through an enemy. In the next moment, she realized he might not accept her words, even though true.
“I was asleep. If she needs to use the facility during the night, I won’t necessarily wake for that. She just turned seven, Jem, and is quite capable of going into the facility by herself. But this morning she was gone. If you have any idea what has happened to her, you need to tell me.”
“And her mother?”
“Karra?”
“Yes. Karra. Where is she, and where did she take her brat?”
Now she understood. Tears started again, except now hot anger lay behind them.
“This isn’t about Chalatta at all, is it? You always just pop in here as if you have the right. This time you let me pour my heart out because my little girl is missing. Brat? You just called her a brat, Jem. But that’s how you think of her, isn’t it? You’re looking for her mother and thought I knew where she might have taken her. Well, I don’t know where Karra is. I never saw her. Just yesterday Chalatta and I sat at the table to plan her birthday party, because she’s seven today. Today, Jem, as if you cared. All you care about is if I know where she might have taken Chalatta. But she’s not here and you know something.”
Even as the rambling words tumbled out she realized her spitting rage drew her, not logic. Still enraged, she pounded on Jem’s chest as if to pound out everything he knew.
He grabbed her wrists together one-handed with a strength she never knew he possessed, his face rigid with fury.
Her fear returned. Except for his appearance, everything else about him was not the Jem she knew. Something colder than hatred stared back at her from his eyes.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Calm down.”
Suzin, frozen, could not have spoken had she wanted to. She waited for him to release her.
When he did, a cruel grin formed on his lips. “But when you find out something, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
She found herself nodding.
He reached in his pocket and gave her a card. “This isn’t my personal information. You can’t track me by contacting this man. But you’ll tell the person on this card whatever you learn.”
His eyes had become black pools, drawing her inside. Nothing else existed except his need. She must please him. To fail meant death. She knew it. Again she nodded.
“Look at it.”
Her attention darted toward what he held. She wanted to look away, but the information burned itself into her memory: Frenell Perston, Exit 11-070, Bldg., 2, #408, Vid #64052.
“Yes,” he said. His single word released her.
She met his eyes again, anticipating more instructions.
“You will contact this person as soon as you find out anything. Won’t you. Suzin.”
She would. As soon as she learned anything at all. Her heart hammered a staccato rhythm that echoed in her head.
Jem left, and the darkness went with him. Badly shaken, Suzin crumpled to the floor, too stunned to weep. Hysteria crouched beside her, causing her whole body to tremble. What happened? What was that terrible darkness? Who was this person who looks like my brother yet spoke to me with a voice as cold as the Northrange Wind?
COPYRIGHT PATRICIA RENARD SCHOLES 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No portion of this work may be reproduced by any means whatsoever without the explicit written consent of the author and the author's publisher. This work contains people who have been used in a fictionalized setting for the purpose of historical reference. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is used strictly for the embelli
shment of the story to lend creditable influence to the fictionalized work. The copyright laws of 1988, namely the Berne Convention Copyright Laws of 1988, and the Digital Millennium Copy Right Act of 1998, enacted by Congress protect this work from piracy and any transmission, trade, or sale through means electronic, printed, shared, or otherwise is strictly prohibited and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
Dedication
This work is dedicated to the Maker of All Things who made this book possible.
Acknowledgments
Blessings to you, Dennis, for you always allowed me the time and space to write my books. A special thanks to Shannon Hoyt, my new editor.
Cover Designs
Olivia, you are exceptional.
https://www.fiverr.com/oliviaprodesign
About the Author
Born into an abusive home, Patricia determined to make a better home when she married. She realized as soon as her first child was born that she needed to relearn how to parent. After much reading, advice, trial and error, she accomplished her goal so well she began to parent other children in her home.
That is the background Patricia brings into her stories. Her "children" are heroes, survivors who lived through tough childhoods and went on to become successful adults.
“You cannot control life’s circumstances. Bad times happen to everyone. But you are accountable for your response to them.”
Patricia and her husband, live outside of Durango, Colorado, surrounded by national forest, a great environment for a writer.
To contact Patricia:
Website: www:PatriciaScholes.com
Email: Patricia@LorekeeperPublishingServices
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PatriciaRenardScholes
Facebook Street Team (book reviewers homepage) https://www.facebook.com/groups/1979283709023710/?ref=br_rs
Make comments. She would love to hear from you.
Lorekeeper Publishing Services
Other Books by Patricia Renard Scholes:
The First Generation-An Alien Invasion Story
Winter’s Fist
(note: this book can be yours free. Just copy and paste this link:
https://www.subscribepage.com/WintersFist)
The Second Generation-An Alien Invasion Series
Her Darkest Beauty
Steps of the Dance
Power in the Dance
Her Alias
Her Dark Inheritance
Bible Study:
I AM – The Words Jesus Said About Himself
Herbal/Survival:
39 Healthy Teas You Can Make at Home
Healing Herbs from Your Kitchen
A Willowbark Tea Herbal Garden
Surviving Hard Times – A Livingbook
Co-edited with Christopher Renard:
The Fox and Abd al-Qadir, My March Toward Freedom,
as told by a prisoner of the Third Jihad
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