Reign: Populations Crumble, Book 3

by K. A. Gandy

  I bristle at the accusation in her eyes, but Patrick remains calm, and gives my knee a gentle stroke with his thumb as acknowledgement, but nothing more.

  Atlas is the first to break the silence, unconcerned with our outsider status. “We already know what we need to do, Helena. It’s more a matter if your people will work with us, or not. We witnessed firsthand more than ten pregnant women, sedated, and held in captivity in a facility local to our NAA resort location. With help from our technical team, we also uncovered a network of these facilities, spread across the entire NAA. Not one has less than three captive women, and the children are being funneled off into so-called “adoption” programs. What we need is hard evidence that can be used to bring them down. We were unprepared last time for what we would find, and rather than risk harm to the women and children, we opted to leave and regroup. Now that we know, we call upon the Resistance to help us breach the local facility, get video footage, and safely wake and rescue the women inside the facility.”

  My eyes sting at the memory of Josephine, of Aisha, and all the other women we’d had to leave behind. Not again.

  “Yes, yes. That’s all well and good.” Helena waves a hand, and my anger starts to boil at her dismissal of Atlas’s request. “But what the Resistance needs is not what the Royces need. While your cause is worthy, I want assurances up front that this will benefit my people, not only you four.”

  Someone at her end of the table hisses through their teeth, but I can’t pinpoint who.

  “So the women trapped all over the country aren’t enough incentive for you? Good Lord, do you have a heart at all, Helena? How can you be so cold when hundreds of women and babies are in the balance?” Without realizing it, while I was speaking I rose from my chair, and leaned forward across the table, palms splayed across the top in defiance. I stare her down, and she’s silent.

  “Despite your childish outburst, I have my own people to worry about. As someone in line for rulership, you might need to tread more carefully yourself, Sadie. Facts are facts—I can’t help anyone else if my own people aren’t taken care of. We need security, food, and freedom as much as the women in the facility that you want us to risk our lives for. You four waltz in and get caught, the worst that happens is you’re thrown back in your gilded cage and assigned a few more guards than just brother dearest and his crew. If my people are caught, we’re prosecuted as traitors to the new crown.”

  “Enough.” Patrick’s tone is pure unaffected steel from his seat, whereas my urge to leap across the table and rip her throat out is strong.

  “Let’s lay it all out on the table, Helena. What do you want in exchange for your cooperation?” Patrick asks, giving nothing away—not even an eyebrow twitch to betray his feelings on the matter.

  She clenches her jaw, and leans back in her seat in annoyance. For a moment, they stare each other down, and it feels as if the room is holding its breath.

  “I want your promise that when you ascend the throne, you will free the Resistance. I want your promise that you’ll ensure my people have access to medical supplies, like any other citizens. I want your promise that we’ll be free to live the way we see fit, without these archaic marriage restrictions.” She taps her fingernail on the table twice more, before going utterly still. “And I want your word that you will pursue this to the end, and that justice will be served on whoever is doing this. If you won’t guarantee that, we’re out. I won’t risk my people for anything less than a guarantee that justice will be served for these women.”

  Patrick opens his mouth to answer, but Atlas holds up a hand to stop him.

  “That’s quite a wish list, Helena. You and I have known each other long enough to know that if I give an inch, you’ll take ten miles. So, why don’t you back that list down a few notches. Need I remind you that the future king of the NAA could make your lives very unpleasant if he were inclined to.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and I held my breath as several of her people around the room stiffened in indignation at the threat. Helena bent first.

  “Fine, but only because those women need us more than we need you. Medical supplies, through legal, reliable means; and you better make whoever’s done this pay, or you’ll answer to us.”

  Patrick smiles at her, and nods. “That seems more than fair. Your people deserve the same medical care as all of our other citizens, and I can assure you that I’ll have no issues pursuing whoever is at the root of this.”

  Her formerly agitated face drops like a mask, and she suddenly looks like the cat who ate the cream. “Ahh, I was hoping you’d say that, Patrick. Ryker, the document please.” She holds out her hand, and he passes it to her in a hurry.

  Patrick freezes at my side, as if sensing the same as I do that we’ve somehow been caught out, without knowing when or how.

  Helena holds up the long document before the cylinder, and issues a command. “Scan into evidence, and display.”

  The cylinder shoots a beam of light over the document, and then goes dark for a moment before flashing on once more, this time loading the image in front of each of us on the tabletop.

  Skimming quickly, I try to make sense of what’s in front of me. It looks like some sort of building commission, on government letterhead. I’m only about halfway through the document, tripping over a lengthy clause about the classified nature of the research when Patrick’s voice rings out, cold as I’ve ever heard it.

  “There’s no way this means what you think it does. My father would never condone imprisoning those women.”

  She tsks at him mockingly, “Well, Patrick, I guess you’ll find out that it’s time for dear King Dad to come off the shiny pedestal you’ve placed him on. This document was signed seven years ago and condones the construction of nine of the secret facilities. I can’t wait to hear him try to talk himself out of this one.” I want to slap the smug smile off her face, and I’ve never even met Patrick’s father.

  From what he’s told me, though, the king is not at all power hungry and hasn’t campaigned to become king. The people keep re-electing him, and he accepts out of a sense of duty. He’s even been the most supportive with keeping Patrick out of politics, until recently. So why would he imprison all of those women? It doesn’t add up.

  “We’ll see, Helena. This doesn’t prove anything. I’m going to give him a chance to explain himself and get to the bottom of this.”

  She shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Good luck with that, dearie. I don’t know how you think you’ll get in touch without getting captured, but by all means . . . Just know, if they scoop you back up, it doesn’t negate this deal. You’re on camera, and everything has been saved for posterity.” She snaps, and the table displays a still of Patrick’s angry face moments before.

  “I’m sure this has been a lot to take in, so maybe you four should go discuss your options. We’ll be here when you’re ready to move forward with a rescue attempt.”

  Condescending witch! Sorry, smug son of a—

  “Come on, Sadie.” Patrick snaps me from my mental tirade, and I stand grudgingly, but trying not to look it. She might have more information for now, but we’ve got a secret weapon who can change that. Glitch.

  High Water

  “Patrick, please sit down,” I urge, but he ignores me. Atlas has been gone for nearly half an hour to retrieve Glitch from his bachelor’s residence, and Patrick’s been pacing a track in the floor ever since. Nell and I have moved past outrage, and into damage-control mode. She presses a warm cup of cocoa into my hands, and I sigh in relief at the familiar, comforting smell.

  “I can’t—if I’m moving, I’m thinking.” He rakes his hand through his hair, which is already a mess. “There’s absolutely no way my father would be behind this. Half the people in his office? Maybe. His political competition? Sure. But my dad wouldn’t hurt a soul. His main critics for years have said he’s not tough enough on foreign policy, and he doesn’t press our size advantage over Eurasia or the Australian Collective. So how is it I’m s
upposed to believe he’s willing to enslave his own people, and for a reason we still haven’t been able to identify?” He stops talking, makes another lap, turns. “I don’t buy it. It’s got to be a set up.”

  “Good God, man. It probably is. But we can’t prove it if you can’t calm down. Your wife is so stressed, she can’t even drink her cocoa, so would you take a chill pill for like five minutes? Please? I’m getting tired just watching you.” Nell arches an eyebrow at him in challenge.

  He sighs, but stills. Satisfied he’s not going to run into a wall for the next sixty seconds, I blow on my mug to cool it, before taking a grateful sip. I instantly regret my decision, and gratitude flees my mind as instead of a world of bliss, it tastes foul, and my stomach twists angrily. Not now, stomach, there’s far too much going on.

  I breathe through my nose, teeth clenched for a moment until it passes, and then set the mug aside. Nell and Patrick don’t notice, thankfully, as they’re still debating the likelihood of a political setup. I hate politics. Guilt strikes me instantly at the thought. I’m supposed to be a leader, a political figurehead, and I hate politics. How is that going to work? Is my entire life going to be either hiding from my responsibilities, or letting Patrick—and the people, for that matter—down because I hate the job?

  Unease adds to the churning in my gut, but I’m interrupted by the front door swinging shut with a snap. We all turn as Atlas strides in, followed by Glitch. He trips over the edge of the rug, and stumbles the last foot into the room before righting himself, and pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “So, Atlas tells me you’ve all had a really interesting morning! Guess these Resistance people are out for blood, after all. I mean, if you ask me, it always seemed a bit too good to be true—they had to want something. Though, I admit, I mostly felt like they’d be asking for some sort of political favor from Patrick now that he’s a bona-fide prince and all. I imagine a lot more people are going to want favors now, so it seemed a logical conclusion. But, phew, trying to take the whole thing down from the top! I guess we know that Helena doesn’t pull punches, now. She’s something else, right? Did you know she recently added a fifth man to her love-triangle situation? Word on the street is that one of her other four relationships is on shaky footing, so she decided to bring in another fella preemptively. I assume they don’t call them love triangles, here. Huh, probably should have spent some time today researching that. Terminology is so key to fitting into a new scene.” He pauses to tuck a wayward hair behind his glasses, and seems to finally realize we’re all staring at him in silence.

  “Sorry, was I rambling again?”

  Patrick’s lips quirk up infinitesimally at the corners. “Not at all, man. We’re glad to see you, too. Grab a seat and let’s talk.”

  We all move to the living room, and Patrick tucks me under his arm on the couch, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. I lean my head against his shoulder, and try my best to focus on the important details we need to discuss, rather than how nice it feels to be leaning against him, and how good his shirt smells. He’s a slice of comfort in the sea of uncertainty that is our lives.

  Glitch swings his messenger bag around, and pulls out a familiar silver device to block sounds, and presses the blue button. Once it’s active, he gives a short nod. “Okay, people, what do we need?” He’s matter-of-fact now, as he pulls out his trusty tablet, fingers poised to type.

  Patrick lets out a gusty sigh. “I know where I’d like to start: with clearing my dad’s name. But that’s probably not where we should start. What do you think, Atlas?”

  He looks compassionate, but he’s firm when he says, “I agree—that isn’t where we should start. We need to first nail down the evidence and free the closest women we can. Once they are safe, we can raid the facility for any information, document what we’ve found, and destroy the evidence.”

  Nell interjects, “Why do we need to destroy the evidence? Isn’t the point that we’re preserving it, to prove what’s been going on? How are we supposed to tackle every other tri-state’s location if we do that?”

  “This isn’t a one-and-done situation. Ultimately, we want to free everyone. However, I’m guessing that whoever is in charge is high enough up that they’d shut down and flush the system before letting themselves get caught. So, they can’t know they’ve been caught until it’s done. Then we can go to each and every location, and ensure the safety of all the women trapped.”

  “By flush the system you mean . . .” I swallow, horrible visions in my mind.

  “They may kill them all,” he says in a somber tone.

  “How are people so awful? I just can’t comprehend what would drive someone to do something like this.” The ugliness of the entire situation feels like an elephant sitting on my chest.

  “I know, Sadie. The important thing is that we stop them, for good,” Atlas says, voice hardening again. “Glitch, I assume you’ve got some ideas on the data-gathering portion of the operation?”

  He snorts. “Ideas? Saying I’ve got ideas is like saying Niagara’s got water. You don’t worry about the data collection. You get me inside that building in one piece, and you’ll have more proof than you know what to do with. I will need a minimum of ninety seconds to gather a full video visual before you can have the doctors begin waking the women. There will be doctors, I assume?”

  Patrick answers, “Yes, the Resistance will have to provide medical support. I can’t imagine they’ll be too happy, given the state of their medical supplies, but perhaps I can pull some strings behind the scenes and get them support sooner. Or, barring that, we could schedule the raid after their supply run.”

  Such a compassionate heart. They’re trying to blackmail his father, and he still wants them to have adequate medical care. This is why he’s going to be an excellent king one day—he puts the people’s needs first.

  “I hate that plan,” Nell announces. “The idea of them strapped to their beds one second longer than we can help ticks me off. Let’s do this thing! Let’s go storm the doors and get them out of there. All this data gathering—no offense, Glitch—and plotting, and . . . let’s go get them!”

  “Why can’t we have the best of both worlds? Get them out quickly, skirt the supply issue, and use that as a decoy of sorts. Why not do both on the same night?” I ask, and everyone looks thoughtful for a moment.

  “It could work,” Atlas muses. “I was betting on having the full strength of the Resistance to take out any opposition, but maybe it’s smarter to have them act as a diversion nearby, as if they’re protecting their supply route. They could adjust to run right past the EIC, and cause a distraction that way.”

  “Do you think they’ll agree to that? It would possibly implicate them,” Patrick points out.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Atlas says succinctly.

  ✽✽✽

  The afternoon passes in a blur of plotting, planning, and details. Each of us has a say, and in the end the five of us agree the plan is solid. Exhaustion drags at my limbs by the time I crawl into bed, yet as soon as I close my eyes, they pop back open, and I can’t do a thing but lie awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. In all the day’s changes, there was no chance for Nell to request a pregnancy test. So, I lie here, unknowing, rolling it all around in my head. We’re on such precarious footing, with so much going on, it would probably be better if I wasn’t pregnant. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to wish away a tiny carbon copy of Patrick, as I imagine our kids would be.

  His dark hair in a little baby curl, those deep blue eyes set in rounded baby cheeks. A sigh escapes me, and Patrick rolls from his side of the bed, arm tucking around my middle in his sleep. My life has changed so much in the past few months, it’s hard to comprehend it all sometimes. Days spent in a sun-soaked pasture on Morgan’s broad back feel like a long lost memory that I might never get to experience again. A tear slides slowly down my cheek at the thought, and I squeeze Patrick’s arm where it rests on me. He stirs, so I relax
my grip.

  I am strong enough to make it through this, whatever happens. We’ll free the women because somebody has to. We’ll make things right with the NLC, even if we have to wait until Patrick’s a king, because it’s what’s right. And I have to believe we will succeed—because if we don’t, who will?

  Something of my distress must have filtered through Patrick’s sleep haze, because in an instant, he’s kissing my temple, and brushing another wayward tear from the side of my face with his thumb.

  “What’s wrong, Sadie?” His voice is soft, a whisper in the still night.

  So many words in my head, but not one offers itself up to him. Tongue-tied, I shrug the shoulder he’s laying on.

  He chuckles softly into my hair, and his breath tickles the spot just under my ear. “It’s going to be okay, my love.”

  I shudder at the reassurance, unable to hold it back. What if it’s not okay? What if it all goes wrong? But I don’t say that, I pile it under a mountain of denial in my mind instead. “I know it will, Patrick. Go back to sleep. I’m fine.” I pat his arm in a feeble attempt at reassurance.

  He sighs but drifts back off. I stare at the ceiling until the sun comes, but sleep never does.

  The Fallout

  With nothing left to do but wait, Patrick convinces Bushy-Branch to take Nell and me to retrieve baking supplies so I have something to do to stave off the boredom. We’re walking back to our temporary home—bags of pantry staples in hand—when Nell stops mid-street, and darts to the left.

  “Hey, come back! Nell, what are you doing!” Ajax shouts, startled by her sudden exit. While he doesn’t watch us twenty-four-seven, he’s still escorting us to and from meetings, and keeping his distance so it’s less obvious to the other residents here that we’re essentially under lock and key. The supervision rankles, but apparently that’s my lot in life these days. No matter how many places I'm shuffled to, somebody wants to control my every move.