by Fall, Carly
She had lost so much: her home planet, her father and mother, her friends and extended family. She would never forget the vivid images of the Colonists slaughtering her family as she watched from the safety of her room in the high, golden tower she called home. She’d never felt more helpless than she had at that moment, and she also realized then and there that her life was going to dramatically change.
Micah had told her of Annis and Liberty’s deaths, and, recently, Micah said Nico had passed on as well. All of her friends had vanished, and the only ones she had to lean on were the Platoon, specifically Micah, as she didn’t see the other members—Jael, Simon, and Titus—very much, which was fine with her. Yes, if the Saviors had done what they were sent to do, she wouldn’t be stuck on Earth, her only joy the beautiful daughter she had birthed.
Micah also spoke of the governments around the world longing to study their species. He told her stories of his capture by the United States government, and how they had poked and prodded him all in the name of science. They drew his blood and studied him to see how he would respond to serums pumping through his veins. They cut him open and penetrated his glowing eyes with long, skinny needles. She didn’t want any part of the chaos outside her small world and was thankful that Micah had shielded her.
Megan and she were left to entertain each other until Micah’s monthly visit where he brought groceries and supplies from a list she had made the month before. They had no television, as Micah said the images were too terrible to witness. Computers would also offer her images of the violence in the cities. Sophia had a phone, but the only person she could call was Micah in case of emergency, and she was okay with that.
As Megan jumped on the bed, Sophia looked out the window into the backyard. A six-foot-high brick wall surrounded the one-acre property, and there was nothing beyond the wall except desert as far as the eye could see. She and Megan cultivated to two vegetable gardens with seeds Micah had brought them when Sophia first moved in two years ago, and they enjoyed the bounty of their labor almost year round—except for the turnips. She wished they had never planted those awful things, yet she couldn’t bring herself to kill the plant simply because it had grown with her loving care.
They also tended to the fruit trees and were blessed with fresh lemons, oranges, and limes a couple of times a year. Sophia had also begun to experiment with some herbs after reading a book about their medicinal properties Micah had given her. She loved the taste of fresh chamomile tea at night, and she had recently soothed Megan’s upset stomach with a bit of peppermint and ginger tea made from their garden.
Although she was truly alone, she felt safe. The small two-bedroom house sometimes felt claustrophobic until Micah told stories of blood running through the streets of Phoenix as the Colonists slaughtered victim after victim, the Saviors nowhere to be found. He and the Platoon fought daily to do the job the Saviors were supposed to do, and for that, she was grateful.
She grinned, thinking about the book on astral travel Micah had brought her two months ago. At first it seemed silly—she didn’t believe anyone could travel outside their body, although it was rumored her moha had been able to do just that, but Sophia had never confirmed it. However, one night about six weeks ago, she hadn’t been able to sleep, so she read the book in one sitting. She found it fascinating, and had experimented with the practice. Oddly, the exercise was very easy for her, and she had begun to travel outside her body on regular intervals, always going a little further than the previous time. Her first excursion had been to the corner of her bedroom. As she stared at her body lying on the bed, a surge of excitement coursed through her. How far could she go? The book had said she would always remain attached to her body through her “silver cord,” which was almost like a leash or an umbilical cord. As she floated over time and space, it scared her, but at the same time it was thrilling. It was her means of escaping her life without leaving the safety her surroundings afforded her.
Her second out-of-body experience pushed her boundaries, where she floated over the desert and saw the city in the far distance. Because of Micah’s warnings, she avoided it, but she felt drawn to it, to see it and its inhabitants.
She decided she would astral travel over the city on her next attempt.
Her life was so different on Earth than on SR44. As a child of royalty, her every need was taken care of before she even realized the need existed. Her mother and father had made sure the staff waited on her hand and foot. Even if her parents weren’t around to make sure she was fed properly, they were there to give her the love she needed, and her heart clenched as she thought of her loss.
Now, her family was Megan.
She checked the clock on the nightstand. Micah would be arriving in a few hours.
“Megan, you must stop your silliness. Micah will be here shortly. Please, go play with your blocks or dolls so I can straighten out the sheets and prepare dinner.”
Megan jumped off the bed and ran into the next room. Sophia pulled on the sheets and the duvet again, mentally preparing herself for the night. Her job was an important one: to keep the SR44 race alive and pure—as much as possible.
Chapter 4
Blake walked down Fourth Street, glad to see it was almost empty at the late hour of the night. Glancing up at the streetlights, he decided that getting a little bump wouldn't be smart—he'd be on display for all to see—but damn, he was tired and needed a little pick-me-up. He ducked into an alley and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small brown vial and dipped his finger in. He rubbed the cocaine on his gums and sniffed quickly.
It had been surprisingly easy to hide his drug habit from the Saviors because he now lived alone. If he still shared quarters with Talin, there would be no way he could have kept it concealed. He also spent very little time at the silo anymore. It was more of a place to stop off and grab clean clothes and go through the motions of pretending he actually cared about anything. It was actually a relief to be away from the gossip and drama that came with living there.
Sighing, he thought of the first time Brandy offered him heroin six months ago. They were sitting her couch when she pulled out a small square of paper. As she opened it, she told him about the high heroin gave her, and then asked if he wanted to give it a try.
“Why not?” he had said.
The question should have been why. In such a short period of time addiction had formed, and all he really wanted was more of the stuff. Nothing else in his life mattered at this point except the exquisite high heroin gave him.
The cocaine had started one night a short time later at the Black Cuff while he waiting for Brady’s shift to end. He’d been chatting with one of the other waitresses when she pulled out a small vial and offered him a bit of the white powder. That had also given him a high, a feeling of invincibility, and he needed that, because he’d been feeling pretty crappy about everything in his life.
As the Warriors were mated off, he felt more and more like an outsider, like he didn’t belong. When it came down to it, he didn’t. Yes, he was part Colonist, which made him part SR44ian, but they never let up on the fact he was a half-breed, always ribbing him about his crappy lineage. Awkward didn’t begin to describe living in the same space as the woman he loved and watching her with another man.
However, he’d really fucked himself when he’d broken into the government facility to rescue Annis and Micah. That move had left him with no way out of the Saviors, no escape from what they offered. He wished he had thought that bold move through because now he was a wanted man with a fifty-thousand-dollar government-sponsored bounty on his head for breaking into the federal facility where they had kept Annis and Micah. He had helped rescue them, and look at the thanks he got. Annis was in love with Cohen, and Micah wanted him dead just because he was associated with the Saviors. His own government probably wouldn’t mind stringing him up by his balls either. They really didn’t take kindly to FBI agents going against the grain, especially those who were working in the secret p
art of the agency that handled the stranger stuff, such as aliens, chupacabras, and people with psychic abilities. Man, he had really gotten the raw end of the deal on that one.
He relied on the Saviors financially, and for protection. He had no idea what he would do or where he would go if he were to leave the Saviors and strike out on his own. He literally had nothing to his name but some clothing and a few gadgets, but that was the way most of his life had been.
Hearing footsteps coming down the sidewalk, he shoved the vial back into his pocket and went back to the street, feeling better as the cocaine coursed through his system.
Cohen and Hudson strode toward him talking in low tones. Both wore camo pants and leather jackets. Blake knew that under the bulk was an arsenal of weapons ready to take down any of the half-breed Colonists Micah had been gathering who had been wreaking havoc on the city—or had been. It had been quiet the past few months, but Blake couldn't help but feel something brewing in the city atmosphere. The Platoon hadn't been seen or heard from either, and he knew from past experiences that it meant nothing but trouble. They weren't going to go away, especially since Micah teamed up with a Colonist just to get rid of the Saviors. Micah’s hatred of the Saviors ran deep and wide, and he wanted them all dead. Frankly, it was a little surprising considering there were so few SR44ians around, and Blake had never understood it. Common sense dictated that if your species was low in numbers, you didn’t kill each other off; you banded together. Their planet had blown up, for God’s sake. But Micah blamed the destruction of SR44 on the Saviors themselves, so instead of embracing those of his kind, that crazy fucker was out to eradicate them.
"Hey," Blake said to Hudson while ignoring Cohen. There seemed to be an unspoken mutual understanding between Cohen and him that they just didn't talk anymore.
"You see anything?" Hudson asked.
Blake shook his head, feeling the cocaine rush. He was having trouble standing still.
"Well, let's keep looking around," Hudson murmured. "They can't hide forever, and we need intel on where those females are being kept."
The three walked in silence for a few minutes, and Blake's nose started to run. He sniffed and wiped it with the back of his hand.
"You getting sick, Blake?" Hudson asked.
"Nah. Just allergies, man."
"It's that time of year. Beverly’s are starting to act up as well.”
Like Blake cared.
As they walked, Blake thought about going to Brandy's. He checked his watch and hoped she’d scored more heroin. She'd be getting off work soon, and with any luck she'd be waiting for him naked with a set of handcuffs and a long, sweet, brown line swimming up the crevice between her breasts to keep the party rolling all night long. Cocaine would be okay as well. He wasn’t very picky these days.
"Annis and I have been talking about what to get Killian for his birthday, Hudson," Cohen said.
"That's nice of you guys, but really, he doesn't need anything, especially when Santa just visited a couple months ago."
“Annis and Liberty are really excited that Killian still believes in Santa.”
Hudson nodded. “Beverly insisted that he be brought up with human traditions, which of course, is fine with me. It’s just so strange that a child would actually believe that a fat man with a beard can fly around the world and deliver presents to all the kids.”
“Magic, man. Kids believe in magic,” Cohen said. “And we really want to get him something. Annis had a few ideas I wanted to run by you."
Blake tuned out, not giving a shit about magic or what Cohen and Annis talked about, and he sure didn't care what they got the little rug-rat for his birthday.
It sucked being dumped, and even though he decided he was done pining for Annis, it still pissed him off that her being with Cohen irritated him so much. At first, he had tried to make peace with the situation, but he realized he wasn't going to be able to do so. Instead, he turned his energy elsewhere as much as possible, mainly to Brandy. She had become his outlet for all his frustration, as well as his go-to for distraction from Cohen and Annis, and all the other lovey-dovey crap with the other couples in the silo.
He also noticed his drug use brought out his dark side, the Colonist side of him. His thoughts turned black, his mood vile. His temper could zoom from zero to off the charts in a moment’s time. It had become a vicious circle. The heroin mellowed him out, but it seemed to bring out his darker side when sobriety hit. Thankfully, sobriety didn’t visit him very often anymore.
So he could move freely around town without worrying about people recognizing him from his picture in the post offices and the FBI website, he'd grown his hair out and wore a little scruff on his face. During the day, he wore sunglasses, and he was certain he couldn't be identified. He didn't look like the clean-cut FBI guy he had been. If he wore his old Cardinals jacket and the pants with a hole in the knee, he could easily be mistaken as one of the many homeless populating the area. At night, his best defense at being discovered was to always be aware of everyone around him while out on the streets. He figured the stiffs at the FBI weren't that into the Black Cuff.
Scanning the area, Blake saw a large man step out from a building, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in recognition. "Isn't that what's-his-face?" he whispered, coming to a stop. The figure kept on walking.
Hudson's eyes narrowed. "Who would that be, Blake? The Boogeyman? The tooth fairy? Or maybe Santa himself?"
Blake rolled his eyes. "Don't be a dick, Hudson. That d-bag from the Platoon. What was his name? The one who told me he knew where the SR44 women are."
God, his brain was a pile of mush. What was that guy’s name? He usually remembered those sorts of details.
"Simon?" Cohen asked.
A surge of anger coursed through Blake, simply because Cohen remembered the name and he couldn't. He needed another bump to get his mind focused.
"Yeah," he said, hating having to respond to Cohen.
"Well, let's go reintroduce ourselves," Hudson said with a small smile and cracking his knuckles. "It's always nice to see old friends."
"I don't think he'd actually call you an 'old friend,' but I'm right behind you," Cohen murmured.
Blake watched them go, and then brought up the rear, wishing he had time for another quick sniff before this all went down.
Hudson turned around and whispered, "No guns."
Like Blake couldn't figure that one out. Hell, they were in the middle of Phoenix, Arizona. A little firepower would be bad news and bring in all sorts of people ranging from the curious to law enforcement.
When they were a few feet from Simon, someone behind them said, "Hello, gentlemen.”
Slowly, Blake turned around. Jael, another member of the Platoon, stood five feet behind him, a gun pointed at Blake’s head. Crap. Blake should have heard him coming, but the rush of the cocaine blowing through his system had apparently dimmed his senses a bit.
Blake looked back over his shoulder. They were trapped. Simon also had his gun drawn on them. If bullets started flying, they were sure to be hit.
There was a beat of silence as everyone sized up the situation. Yes, they outnumbered the Platoon, but the assholes had their weapons drawn. Hudson smiled as though he actually was greeting an old friend, the hilt of a knife slipping out of his jacket sleeve into the palm of his hand. Cohen looked a little tense and jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jacket.
"There's no need for violence," Jael sneered.
Blake almost laughed out loud at that one. From what he'd heard from Nico, Jael was as crazy as the night was long, and the bastard loved violence.
"I agree," Hudson said. "So just tell us where we can find the SR44 women, and we'll be on our way."
Jael smiled, and Simon shifted his weight as though he were uncomfortable with the situation.
"That's not going to happen," Jael said.
“I thought we were trying to avoid violence,” Hudson commented. “I mean, it seems silly t
o kill each other when there are so few SR44ians left. Besides, it looks like you’re putting our gift of the contacts to good use. That should count for something.”
The contacts dulled the glow of an SR44ian’s eyes, and the Saviors had presented them to the Platoon as a goodwill gesture. Instead of a thank-you note, the Platoon had killed Talin.
Bastards.
Jael took a step forward, his gun trained on Hudson’s forehead. “The only reason there are so few of us left is because of you and the rest of the Saviors.”
“You assholes keep saying that, and I just don’t get it,” Hudson murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Of course you don’t,” Jael said, narrowing his eyes on Hudson. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the destruction of Noah’s father when his son didn’t return. You didn’t see the poor choices he made while in the throes of his sadness, which led us to the war with the Miladrids. You didn't witness the murder and mayhem when the Miladrids freed the Colonist and allowed them to kill SR44ians at will. If you had succeeded in your mission, SR44 would still be around, and I wouldn’t be standing in front of you getting ready to blow your brains out.”
The click as he pulled back the hammer seemed as loud as an actual shot.
Sweat formed on Blake’s brow as he gauged Hudson’s response. There was no way Hudson was going to stand there and let Jael get off a shot.
Hudson nodded and smiled, acting as if he were oblivious to the fact he was on the business end of a cocked and loaded gun. “Jael, before I kill you, I just wanted to let you know I think you are one of the biggest douchebags I’ve ever met, and that includes humans and SR44ians.”