Trapped: A SciFi Convict Romance (The Condemned Book 1)

by Alison Aimes

  “I will.”

  They instinctively ducked as the shuttle, struggling for control, thundered overhead. Close enough that the heat of the engines singed their skin and its roar deafened their ears. It bowled into the hard rocky ground, debris spewing everywhere as it tore forward several metrals into the planet’s surface, its wheels digging for traction. Then it spun to the side, smacked into the cliff, and shuddered to a halt.

  Alarms whirred. Sparks flew from one engine. But the shuttle was intact. Hope poured through Bella. Caine had really and truly done it. Against all odds, he’d saved the people on that shuttle.

  Floodlights flashed on, lighting up the valley.

  In the next heartbeat, the shuttle door lowered. Grey gun barrels poked through the entrance, followed by big men in familiar Council soldier uniforms. They fanned out and started marching in their direction.

  Help had arrived.

  “Thank God,” whispered Winthrop. “And thank Caine.”

  Bella had to agree. He’d done it. He’d saved them all.

  She turned back the way they’d come. Pogue and the other soldiers were already sprinting toward the rescuers, calling out the identification codes that would prove them survivors of the crash.

  A hand clasped her arm. “Where are you going?” Winthrop’s troubled gaze met hers.

  “I’m going to find Caine. I can’t leave him here.” The screeches were so loud and frequent now, they were a constant feral hum. “We’ll hide in the caves until the prisoners leave.”

  “You’ll never make it back up the hill before those prisoners arrive.”

  “I have to try.”

  Winthrop’s eyes sunk shut. When they opened, they were filled with determination—and sorrow. “I’m sorry, Bella.”

  “What’s wrong?” She didn’t like the look on Winthrop’s face.

  “He made me promise.” Before she could make sense of Winthrop’s words, her already sore stomach took a hit as his shoulder plowed into her and her world turned upside down.

  “No!” She struggled to right herself.

  Not as strong as Caine or Pogue, Winthrop staggered under her assault, but he managed to stay upright. “He made me swear I’d get you to safety.” His voice was laced with strain. “Said I could make things right if I get you on that shuttle, no matter what.”

  Didn’t Caine understand that there would be no making it right for her if he wasn’t there?

  “No. He has to come, too.” Slamming her palms into the vulnerable area just over Winthrop’s kidney, she dropped back to her feet as he doubled-over with a howl. “Sorry, Winthrop.” She scrambled backwards. “You left me no choice.” Pivoting, she screamed toward the hills. “Caine, I’m not leaving here without you.” She had no idea if he could hear her over 225’s pack. Still, she had to try. “You promised!”

  “He’s a survivor, Bella.” Winthrop called out to her as she moved farther away. “He’ll be okay. We can send someone back for him later.”

  “It will be too late,” she shouted back. “The pack will know he’s the one who helped us. They’ll destroy him. Stall as best you can.” He’d saved her. She would save him, too. “I’ll be back with him as soon as possible.”

  “Freeze,” barked an unfamiliar voice. “Identify yourself.”

  A lean guy in a Council uniform stood behind Winthrop, the latest in Council weaponry, something that looked like a cross between a gun and a computer in his hand. He looked decidedly uneasy.

  She froze. “I need to go.”

  The soldier in Council uniform hitched his gun higher.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Pogue and the other soldiers closed in around her.

  “Thank you for coming.” Ignoring her, Winthrop approached the soldier from the rescue shuttle. He was talking fast as he held out his wrist for the scan. “All accounted for. Let’s move out.”

  The lean guy’s scanner beeped, but he didn’t relax. “Her, too?”

  “Her, too.”

  Fury whipped through her. She wanted to run, but she was afraid the soldier would shoot her. The instant he was distracted, however,….

  “We were told there were thirty-seven crewmembers on board the last shuttle.” Disbelief laced the soldier’s voice. “Are you saying you’re all that’s left?”

  “No,” she protested, “there are critical personnel missing.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” snapped Pogue. “Dragath25 prisoners are closing in fast. We need to get out of here.”

  “What the hell is that?” Eyes wide, the rescue soldier pointed behind her.

  She swiveled back around, horror rising in the back of her throat. She’d missed her chance.

  Like locusts, hundreds of shrieking prisoners swarmed over the cliff, pouring into the clearing as if unleashed from the bowels of the planet. Dirty, wild, most in little more than rags. Some carried spears, some twisted wreckage. In the flickering light of the shuttle flood lamps, all had the wild, deadly look of rabid animals crazed by blood lust.

  Nausea spread through her. Please, please, she prayed, please let Caine be safe and beyond their reach.

  “Holy shit,” whispered Winthrop. “They’re going to tear us apart.”

  There was no more time to look for Caine. No time even to hide in the caves.

  “Run,” shouted one of the rescue team. “Get to the shuttle.”

  But before anyone could move, a stream of red light cut through the air, followed by a scream, the stench of burned flesh. The officer to her left fell to the ground. Mitchell crumpled next.

  “They have guns,” shouted another rescue team soldier, firing back. “Protect the survivors. Defensive positions.” Unlike Pogue and his team, this team of soldiers was well-trained and courageous. They instantly circled around her and the rest of her colleagues.

  225’s pack had guns. Where had they gotten guns?

  Winthrop must have been wondering the same thing because he whirled to face Pogue. “You said the lost soldiers’ guns were destroyed.”

  Pogue’s silence spoke for itself.

  Another beam of light flashed. Another rescue soldier went down.

  Chaos ensued. Another team member fell. One of Pogue’s men dropped, too. She tripped over his leg, but managed to right herself.

  “We’ll never make it,” shouted one of the remaining rescuers, his expression resigned. She knew that look. She’d seen the same one on Caine.

  “Shoot,” the man ordered into his wrist transmission, communicating with the crew still on board the shuttle. “It’s the only chance we’ve got. They’ll overrun us and the shuttle otherwise.”

  In the next instance, flashes of light streamed from the shuttle, trapping her and her colleagues between two dangers. Most of the shuttle beams went over their head and into the crazed crowd beyond, felling many of the frontline, but one shot went astray, slamming into the very rescue soldier who’d just given the order. He went down hard, victim to friendly fire.

  There was no time to even mourn.

  “Stay low,” she shouted to Winthrop. “If we can make it a few more paces, we’ll be below the arc line.” She cast a quick glance in his direction. As expected, his face was drenched in sweat, his face twisted in pain. That he’d been able to make it this far was a miracle given his injuries.

  She risked another quick glance over her shoulder. She shouldn’t have looked.

  The shuttle lasers had taken out a huge chunk of the frontline, but too many prisoners had managed to avoid being hit. They surged forward as the lasers recharged. Another rescue soldier went down, not by lasers this time, but by hands.

  Her mind could barely process the terrified scream of the soldier as the pack closed in, ripping at his skin, his limbs, his eyes.

  Bile rose in her throat. She could only pray the poor man was already dead.

  “Keep running!” Her command snapped Winthrop back into action.

  “Help,” Ransom screamed as he was dragged down by two prisoners. Pogue didn’t
even look back.

  She was turning to help when a vicious force slammed into her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bella hit the ground hard, her chin slamming into the dirt. She blinked back the fog as hands clawed at her, flipping her over. A dark-haired man with one grey eye and a puckered scar loomed overhead.

  “Gotcha,” he leered.

  She swung, but he was faster. Her head twisted sideways as his brutal punch rocked her cheek. His hands tore at her thighs. She raised her fists to fight back when her attacker toppled. Winthrop stood above.

  He stuck out his hand. “Come on.”

  Dizzy, grateful, she reached for his hand. Only to have it wrenched away as another prisoner plowed into Winthrop, slamming him to the ground. Another hard weight crashed into her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

  Rough hands raked at her flesh, pinching, slashing. Too many for her to fight at once. She tried to curl up in a ball, but they were pulling at her limbs, grasping at her skin. Her ankle snapped. She screamed in agony. Tried to picture Caine’s face. Tried to remember better times. Joy. Pleasure. All that she’d had.

  Her legs were wrenched apart. Fabric ripped.

  Then a roar sounded, louder even than the prisoners’ shrieks.

  The press of bodies disappeared.

  She blinked. Certain she was dreaming.

  Caine, blood running down his face, his chest lashed with cuts, loomed above. A pile of bodies surrounded him.

  He’d come for her.

  He drove his spear into the nearest body. Then another. Until no one around her or Winthrop moved.

  “Hold on.” Caine reached down and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he ran. Winthrop limped right behind.

  She didn’t ask how Caine had found her or bother protesting that he put her down. She couldn’t run, and she knew he wouldn’t leave her. They’d only lose precious time arguing. Instead, she surveyed the path to the shuttle and shouted out a warning whenever a prisoner approached. Holding her breath as Caine’s spear whizzed through the air, cutting down anyone who tried to stop them. Whatever happened next, she was just glad to have Caine close, his warm skin pressed against hers, his steady heartbeat thumping in time with hers.

  Still, the pounding of his boots on the gangplank was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

  “Don’t shoot. We’re the good guys.” Winthrop waved his arms over his head, seeking to calm the guards manning the gangplank. They’d been mowing down any prisoners who got too close. “Council mission D25642.”

  Hope washed over her. They were going to make it.

  Then a flash of light, a grunt from Caine, and his hold loosened. She gasped, clutching at his shoulder as she started to fall, but he managed to regain his grip, hoisting her higher. “Don’t worry.” His steady voice was a whisper in her ear. “I got you, fighter girl.”

  She was about to smile when Winthrop’s words made her blood run cold. “You’re hit.”

  “Where?” Panicking, she ran her palms over Caine’s chest, searching for a wound. “Put me down. You shouldn’t be carrying me. I can make it. We can make it together.”

  “It’s a scratch. Nothing to worry about.” But he let her slide down his body.

  Blood dripped from his thigh. There wasn’t time to attend to it. Not with the shrieks of the attacking prisoners growing ever closer.

  Slipping under his shoulder to offer support, she and Caine limped the last few steps up the gangplank toward the shuttle door. Winthrop right behind. The two guards covering their backs.

  Suddenly, Pogue appeared in the doorway. “Not him.” He pointed his gun at Caine. “He’s one of them. A filthy Dragath25 prisoner. Throw him back.”

  “No,” she protested, stepping in front of Caine. “You can’t.” She was pulled behind him in the next second.

  Winthrop was yelling at the same time. “This man’s a hero. He’s with us.”

  Uncertain, the guards’ weapons swung back and forth between Caine and Pogue. They had seconds to make a decision before the next wave of prisoners stormed the gangplank.

  “He saved me from being torn apart,” she insisted. “He saved you, too.”

  Thankfully, the rescue soldier’s weapon landed back on Pogue.

  “Put down your gun,” the soldier told Pogue. “We’re all coming aboard.”

  “You’re taking a criminal’s word over mine?” Enraged, Pogue pressed the trigger. “I’m the hero, not him.”

  “No!” Bella screamed.

  But it was too late.

  Even as the soldier’s weapon fire slammed into Pogue and he toppled from the gangplank, his gun discharged, slicing through skin and muscle. The acrid scent of burnt flesh tinged the air.

  Winthrop crumpled to the ground.

  He’d leapt in front of Caine.

  “No.” Bella dropped to her knees, her hand hovering over the gaping wound that had once been her superior’s chest, afraid her touch would only hurt him more. “Don’t—don’t move. It’s going to be alright.” She’d wanted him to get all he wanted. She’d wanted to see him save Earth and find the right girl like he’d always dreamed. She wanted him to be the leader he always could have been.

  “Even…even you can't…save me this time.” Winthrop’s voice was a weak rasp, his smile sad and kind, just as when she’d sat beside him on that metal bench so long ago. “At least…I got to be a hero, after all.” His words grew fainter as his eyes sunk shut. “Find Ava…..she deserves a hero, too.”

  Bella hadn’t realized she was sobbing until she tried to speak. No words came out.

  Then there was no more time as another prisoner leapt on the gangplank. Two more right behind.

  “We have to go.” As if choreographed, Caine scooped her up, handing her off to one of the other soldiers. He slung Winthrop over his shoulders. “We’re not leaving him behind.”

  The other soldiers seemed to understand. Without another word, they shielded Caine’s back, guarding Winthrop’s body as they crossed the threshold into the shuttle.

  “Survivors retrieved,” hollered one of the rescue team as they stumbled inside. “Shut the doors. STAT.”

  Bella’s boots vibrated at the shuttle rose, the doors still closing. The screaming below faded over the roar of the engines. The calm, methodical whir of the ship was disorienting after so much chaos. Dazed, she slumped against the metal shuttle wall, balancing gingerly on her one good ankle.

  Out of thirty-five crew, only she had made it back alive. Winthrop was dead. Ava still missing. A sob ran through her. Then her gaze found Caine.

  He was gently passing Winthrop off to two soldiers.

  Her heart leapt. Yes, there’d been too much death, too much waste of good life, but something wonderful had happened, too. Caine had made it off Dragath25 alive.

  At least for the moment.

  It didn’t escape her notice that two soldiers’ guns remained trained on him, their gazes wary.

  “Put your guns down,” she insisted. “He’s the one who saved your lives. Without him, your engines would have stayed jammed and you’d be down there defenseless against those monsters.”

  A stern-faced man with salt and pepper hair, a crisp Council uniform, and a Captain insignia stepped forward. “Is that true?” His question was for Caine.

  “I was able to create a jammer from spare parts to counteract the machine that brought the other shuttle down, Sir.” In his rapid, no-nonsense response, it was easy to hear the soldier Caine had always been.

  “And who are you, ma’am?” The Captain asked her, his assessing gaze traveling the length of her.

  She tugged at her hem, suddenly well aware that she was in nothing but Caine’s big, old-fashioned shirt. No official Council uniform in sight.

  Putting as much steel into her spine as she could muster, she offered an official Council salute. “I’m Cadet West. One of the junior scientists under Dr. Winthrop,” she managed to say his name with only a tremble, “assigned to the
previous research mission to Dragath25. When our shuttle crashed, Caine saved my life. He did the same for a number of other colleagues as well.”

  “So this man here is a prisoner and not mission personnel?”

  She exchanged a quick glance with Caine. If he wanted her to handle this differently, he wasn’t giving her any clue.

  “That’s right,” she admitted. “But his initial sentence was a crime in itself and his efforts these past two weeks saved not only my life, but the life of your crew.”

  Painful seconds ticked by while the Captain considered her words. Finally, he nodded, his gaze locking with Caine’s. “Seems we owe you our thanks.”

  She let out a deep breath. Especially when the guns trained on Caine dropped.

  “I’d like Cadet West to be examined by a doctor,” Caine said, “and then we can discuss what you want to do about me.”

  “Do about you?” she echoed. “There’s no question. You need to be looked at, too, Caine. You’ve been shot. Then we’re going back to the space station and then to Earth, and we’ll make sure the world knows what you’ve done for us today.”

  “One thing at a time,” said the Captain—his gaze flickering between them as if trying to ascertain the exact nature of their relationship. “You both look pretty banged up. Medics will see to both of you. Then they’ll show you to some quarters where you can get cleaned up and rest. But tomorrow morning at eight hundred hours, I expect you in my quarters. I’ll need a full report. A lot of people are going to be wondering just what the hell happened here. Especially why I’m bringing back a Dragath25 prisoner as one of my only survivors.”

  “We’ll be there,” answered Caine, his warning stare restraining her from saying anything more.

  The Captain started to step aside so the medics could do their work. He stopped suddenly. “There was a lot of hope for Earth’s future riding on your mission, Cadet West. Any chance you have good news?”

  “Yes.” It was a wonderful feeling to be able to give such an answer—and her chest squeezed again as she wished Winthrop and Ava were there to give it with her. “Our mission offered some real possibilities for making Earth habitable and healthy once again.” She took a deep breath, “I intend to make sure every bit of that information is passed onto the Command Council—once I’m assured everything with Caine has been squared away.”