Ominous Order

by Felisha Antonette

  Someone grabs my shoulder, and I spin around, slicing their neck. I’m tugged to my right, and as I whip around to catch them, another person throws a punch to the right side of my head.

  I’m surrounded.

  Blow by blow, kick by kick. I tense every muscle in my body to fight against the pain. They smash against the tender bruises I have from earlier and create new ones. Rage, an unorthodox amount of fury, charges through my body.

  There’s a snap and crackle, and I’m warped with a heat that consumes me and then explodes from me as if every inch of my flesh were shouting at the top of its lungs.

  Silence. And light.

  The lobby of the Inn is engulfed in a—my—silver-blue light. It casts off my flesh as though I were an LED lightbulb powered by the stars. The bodies of Creations lie around me, smoldering. I hold my breath, blocking the coal-like sulfuric scent tainting the air.

  The light flickers then dims, and when I look back at my hands, I see my flesh. “Whoa,” I say under my breath, panting.

  “Whoa, is right, Kylie Alexander.” Rising from behind the lobby desk, Richard stands with Arletta at his side. “We can’t let her leave,” he says to her.

  I walk backward down the hall, unable to avoid the view of the fallen bodies of my brother and sister Creations. Their smoking corpses give me no satisfaction or regret. The only two things I feel are the buzzing energy picking at my flesh and the pumping adrenaline charging through my veins.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The circular, silver knob of the black door is ice cold but quickly warms in my hand. I throw a glance over my shoulder. Seeing no one is behind me, I yank the door open and slip inside.

  Beyond the door, the space is dark and empty. I pull the door closed and search the knob for a lock. There isn’t one.

  My skin has the faintest glow, just enough for me to make out the room isn’t dark. The ceiling, walls, and floor is just black. Directly across from the entry is a single door that’s ajar. I cross the floor in two strides and nudge the corner of the door open with the toe of my boot. It opens to a flight of stairs. At the top, it’s dark, but the light of the room at the bottom of the stairs casts light up to the middle of the flight, luring me to descend it.

  I creep down the stairs, clutching my knife tightly in my hand, senses on high alert.

  At the landing, I enter a wide hall with huge windows to my left and right. They lead into rooms with three white walls, a ceiling with a large light, and a white tile floor with a drain in the middle. A person dressed in a white jumpsuit lies on the floor in the fetal position.

  I look from my right to the window on my left. A woman with long silver hair, eyes darkened by bruise-like circles around them, and pale skin stumbles to the window. I stand in the middle of the hall, between the two viewing rooms. The woman’s shaking hand rises and presses against the glass.

  I knit my brows as I near the window, studying the padded room and the malnourished woman. “What is your purpose here?” I say. She can’t hear me. She only stares, brows trembling as they rise, chapped lips cracking as her mouth tries to make words.

  I back away from the window and look around me, noticing the lookalike rooms—eight on each side, an occupant in each one—take up the entire hall.

  This must be the people they’ve captured and are studying. I continue onward. Some rise as I pass, others remain passed out on the floor, either curled into a ball or flat on their stomach.

  My stomach turns as I pass them. Their trauma is evident on their faces, necks, feet, and hands from new wounds and old, possibly caused by whips, electrocution, bullets, and other objects that would leave straight or round bruises.

  The light in the hall is provided by the light of the rooms, coming from the ceiling. It feels wrong walking in it, as though their pain lights my path. I pass the fifth window on my right. A woman with dark, wavy hair messily hanging around her head sits on the floor with her legs crossed. She appears unfazed, unlike the others. As though she’s waiting for something, her eyes are closed, and her chest steadily rises and falls, breaths even. She’s gone through her share of torture; her lip is busted, and a fresh pink scar parts the warm-toned skin on her neck.

  Her eyes shoot open. Our gazes lock, and her hooded eyes narrow as her bushy brows furrow. There’s something familiar about her that I can’t look away from. She stands and walks to the window, steps steady and even. When she’s closer, I study her narrow nose and square jawline.

  My stomach drops, and I swallow hard.

  I stumble away from the window, tripping over my feet. “How on Earth?” I mutter under my breath, catching my footing. “You’re…” She resembles Marc. I slowly approach the glass and stare into her dark eyes. “Are you Marcain Thanatos’s mother?” I ask, but I know she can’t hear me.

  Her brows rise, and she points to her ear, shaking her head.

  I nod and back away from the window. I hustle down the hallway, stumbling upon a suited Creation’s body lying next to the only door in the hall. She’s covered head to toe, black suit and no weapons. I kneel to check the pulse in her neck. She’s alive. Someone’s been here first, but they left her badge on her hip. I lift my gaze to the black steel handle-less door and scan the white wall it sits in. I see a keypad next to it, the height and width of the glass badge clipped to her pocket.

  I snatch the badge and rise, pressing it to the reader. There’s a soft beep, and the door pushes open on its own. I slip in and silently close the door with the handle on the inside. The strong stench of ammonia stings my nose, and the roaring air conditioner blowing from above my head freezes my naked arms and legs.

  Two operating beds, covered in clean plastic, sit in the middle of what looks like a science lab or first aid room. Each is surrounded by three monitors, and next to the bed is a silver table with drills, scalpels, and tongs. The place is wiped clean, ceiling lights shining off the stainless steel and freshly laid plastic on the floor beneath the bed.

  Rustling to my left alerts me to whispers. There is a corner of the lab area I can’t see. There’s another corner to my right, and I suspect both corners may lead me to the halls of those viewing rooms.

  I creep, one foot over the other, to the left, and peek my head around the corner, seeing Ellie, Jesail, and Jasmine fiddling with the lock of a door.

  I release a lungful of air and slacken my shoulders. “What are you girls doing?”

  The three jump from their crouched position. They whip around to face me. Jesail marches across the floor and throws a punch in my chest. “Why wouldn’t you stick to the plan? I’ve—we’ve,” she looks over her shoulder at her sister and back to me, “had enough of thinking you’ve died or have been captured or something, Kylie!”

  I throw my hands up, and my voice squeaks as I say, “Sorry.” I’ve never seen Jesail show any emotion other than anger. The amount of worry and concern she’s displaying tugs at my heartstrings, and I want to throw my arms around her neck and rub her back as I promise her I’m okay. I step toward her and then catch myself retract because I know such an action will make her suspicious or uncomfortable. “Maybe I can help you all make it past the door.” I pat Jesail’s shoulder as I pass her. She returns my gesture and follows me to her sister and Ellie.

  “We thought they had you, Ky,” Jasmine says as I crouch down beside her.

  “You all don’t have to worry about me. I’ll always be okay.” I meet her eyes, and she gives me a small smile and a single pat to my back.

  I try the badge first, but it doesn’t unlock the door. Grabbing my knife, I jab it between the slit of the door and pry the latch until the door slides open. “Ellie, is the person you’re after down here?”

  “She is,” Ellie says urgently, knees knocking as she rips open the door before I have the chance to move away from it.

  “Well. Okay,” I drag the word out, turning my attention to Jesail and Jasmine. “Jasmine, go with Ellie and free everyone you can. Jesail, come with me so we can get t
he others.”

  Jasmine runs into the hall behind Ellie, and Jesail and I hurry through the lab to the other side. I jimmy the door open and we run door to door, freeing the occupants. I expect for them to be out of it, sluggish, or unwilling to trust us. But to my surprise, they’re on their feet, following our gentle instruction for them to come with us and our promise for their freedom.

  I reach the fifth door. I clutch the long handle tight in my hand and slowly pull the door open. I don’t know why. My nerves get the best of me, causing my breaths to become uneven and my palms to sweat.

  The woman stands on the other side of the door as I’m pulling it open. Her dark, shadowed eyes soften, and her kind smile lifts her cheeks as she says, “Thank you,” with a clear and even voice.

  “You…You’re welcome.”

  Jesail has freed the others, and the ten of us crowd the bright hall. “You ready, Kylie?”

  She snaps me out of staring at the woman. “Yeah,” I say. “Sure.” I turn on my heels, and we rush from the room, meeting Ellie, who is holding hands with the silver-haired woman I saw, and Jasmine is standing in front of the other seven they freed. “Alright, Ellie. Do you have a way out of here for us, or is it only the front door?”

  Ellie doesn’t break her gaze from the woman she holds so tightly. The glimmer in her black eyes brightens with the passing seconds as a pool of tears forms at the bottom of her lids.

  I get it, and I’d love to give her this moment of reunion, but we’re on borrowed time. I clear my throat, grabbing her attention.

  She throws up her index finger and turns the woman to face her. The woman’s voice is such a hushed whisper, we can’t hear what she says. The tears stream from Ellie’s eyes, and she rubs over the woman’s cheeks. “Shh. Don’t make it worse.” Ellie leans forward and kisses her long and hard. The woman raises her weak arms and wraps them around Ellie. When she draws back, her smile stretches the width of her shoulders. She nods quickly, and the happiness takes over both their eyes. They didn’t need to say anything, and yet they shared an entire conversation.

  Ellie’s gaze darts to mine. “We, um.” She clears the croak from her throat. “We came from the side door through the back garden, but it was just the three of us. It’s too many of us now.”

  “If we take the same route, are you sure we’ll be seen?”

  Ellie uses the collar of her shirt to wipe her nose and tenderly grazes the cheeks of the woman at her side. “It’s not happening.

  “We had to be stealthy,” Jesail says. “We won’t be able to achieve that with so many of us.”

  I slam my fist on my thigh and look back at the door I came through. “So our only option is the front door, huh?” I rake my hair from my face, and my hand gets caught in the tangles. I grumble and roll my eyes. Facing Jasmine and Jesail, I say, “There may be Creations waiting for us when we get up there. You two still have some fight in you?”

  “Hell yeah,” they say in unison, loading their handguns and heading for the door.

  The people we freed don’t show any signs of fear or hesitancy. They stand, arms at their sides, feet together, hair messy, eyes crusty, and blank-faced. I slowly say, “We’re leaving, and we need to stay quiet. Stick close to us.” I wait for some type of acknowledgment of my instructions, but they only stand at attention, no nods or okays. I knit my brows and consider another way of communicating until the woman with the dark hair and square jawline steps forward.

  She says, “They’re ready. Just walk, and we’ll all follow.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  I cautiously pivot and look back at her once more before I complete my turn. It’s in her eyes, minus the purple shine in her irises. I follow behind Jasmine and Jesail and hear the soft patter of feet slapping the white tiles.

  We walk through the hall past the unconscious guard and creep up the stairs into the darkness. Through the all-black room, we crowd around the double doors that open to the hall that leads to the lobby.

  I take the front of the line, arming myself with only a knife. Second to a shower, I need weapons. With Jasmine and Jesail at my back, we exit the room and enter the hall.

  The shine of the gold walls and columns lights the dead bodies lining the floor all the way to the lobby. I expected more Creations to be lined up, ready to stop us, but the lobby is empty. I thought maybe even Arletta and Richard would be waiting for me with ominous smiles as if they’ve won this war, but they’re absent too.

  We make it to the center of the lobby, and I check my surroundings. It’s silent.

  I don’t question it. We run from the building and race down the street, fleeing to our safety zone, the bunker. The cheers and gleeful praise singing from the voices of the patients we rescued are uplifting.

  I smile and cheer with them, throwing my arms in the air to match their joyful gestures.

  Jesail runs to my side, eyes bright and smile wide. “That was crazy easy, huh? I wish all missions were like that.”

  I stumble to a stop. It wasn’t just easy. It was convenient. There’s yet to be something complicated about Arletta and Richard other than their personalities. Each of their plays, from making an example out of Fein—which I suspect was her shining a light on me—to her convincing me to come here for her benefit. It’s all been a game of convenience for her, me putting her in a place to get what she wants.

  I lift my gaze to the thick cloud of smoke, and something rises and disappears into it before I can catch it.

  “Everyone, stop!” I throw up my hands, palms facing away from me. Shaking my head, I say, “It’s a trap.”

  Ellie rushes over, keeping the silver-haired lady at her side. “How do you mean?” she asks, eyes shaking, holding the woman closer. “I can’t lose her twice.”

  “We can’t go back to the bunker,” I tell her. “I’m certain they’re watching us. We go back, they follow us, and within the hour, they’ll raid your safe haven. You’ll lose everything. We’ll lose everyone.” My trigger finger twitches as I think of an empty plan. It’s probably a drone they have flying over our heads. Anywhere we go, they’ll follow and likely swarm us. We only have one option. “We have to go back,” I say. “It’s the only way to keep everyone safe.”

  “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard,” Ellie shouts in my face, prodding at my chest aggressively.

  I snatch her hand in my grip, but I don’t use nearly as much strength as I can. “Listen. I’ve been very, very nice, Ellie. But if you continue to disrespect me, I will bust your lip and break your index finger you so freely jab at me.”

  She snatches her hand from mine and rolls her eyes. “It’s still a stupid idea,” she says under her breath.

  “It’s not the best idea. But it’s the only one we have right now. And we need you to help us stay safe.” I give her an encouraging smile with my lips pressed together and slight upward turn to the corners of my mouth. “Please?”

  Ellie looks to her companion, who’s yet to speak or provide any reassuring facial expression or gestures. “Fine,” Ellie says. “But if we get hurt or anything worse…” she faces me, irritation in her narrowed eyes. “It’s on you.”

  I throw my hands out at my sides but bite back my rebuttal. We don’t have time for arguing. We just need to get off these streets and get these people somewhere safe. They don’t roam, only look to me and wait for instructions. Whatever they did to these people, they have them trained. The only one who seems to have a little consciousness is the woman I perceive to be Marc’s mother. While she patiently waits, her gaze shifts as if she’s taken in her surroundings, not wanting any surprises.

  “We need to go through the side entrance, the one that leads to the underground bunker for the Guidance,” Ellie says.

  “Please. Lead the way,” I say.

  We follow her back to the Guidance building and search for the side door. I think it may be the one I escaped from earlier, which means we could be walking into the bunker where everyone is being held. We’ll eithe
r walk into a trap, or we’ll be able to ambush them.

  “They were hiding out down here because of the Zombies,” I say. “If they are down here, we need to charge immediately. Try to convert the Creations and strap up anyone who isn’t with us. I need to take care of other things.”

  Ellie leads the group around the corner of the building to the bunker door sealed shut. Jesail helps her jimmy it open and after everyone is in, I shove it closed.

  Without the added pressure of looking out for the others, I’m less careful. I run back around the corner and through the front doors, into the lobby and charge for the stairs. The announcement from earlier repeats itself, warning the citizens to stay calm and make it to a safe place, but there’s an additional message, informing the citizens of Highrum of rogue Creations trying to take over the America.

  I rack my brain as I climb the stairs, trying to remember what floor the baby room was on. We were in one room where he played a piano that looked like the ballroom, which was on the sixth floor. I’ll try that first.

  I climb two more flights of stairs and slow when I make it to the door. I slowly push it open and peek through the crack I leave, peering to the left. Nothing. No one. I push the door open a little wider and look around the door to peer to the right.

  Down the hall, last door, I see the back of someone’s body head into the room.

  I slip into the hall and hurry across the floor on my tiptoes. The annoying feminine voice coming through on the intercoms should be enough to hide the sound of my approach.

  The door is cracked. I nudge it open a little more with my right hand and take my knife in my left, handle secured in my clutch.

  “Come in, Kylie,” Carden says in a calm tone, free from his usual perkiness.

  I round the door. He’s in the room, alone with the babies, one nestled in his arms. I nudge the door closed with the toe of my boot and lock it.

  At the sound of the click, Carden lifts his gaze to me. “Why aren’t you downstairs?” I ask.

  His upper body turns from left to right as his arms are too occupied to gesture to the sleeping babies. “Someone had to keep them safe.”