Trapped

by Ella James

  Copyright © 2014 by Ella James

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are purely fictitious. Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental. PLEASE DO NOT PIRATE THIS BOOK. I HAVE BILLS TO PAY, JUST LIKE YOU DO.

  ISBN: 978-0-9895084-6-9

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  For Cha Bear. Because this stuff always was.

  IF YOU HAD told me a year ago that the fate of the world would hinge on a beautiful alien/Japanese girl wearing a designer gown and clutching a red whistle, I would have told you to lay off the molly, my friend. Actually, I wouldn't have. A year ago, Halah hadn't told me that 'molly' was code for dropping acid, and S.K. hadn't started hanging out with Ami, so I also wasn’t yet aware of how cool it was to call everyone you encountered 'my friend'. But still. I would've thought you were a big, fat liar—or insane.

  Yet here we were—Nick and I, facing just that.

  Just her. Vera.

  It felt like hours that the wind howled in my ears, tossing fallen snow into the air, where it glittered like stardust at the tail of a comet. Overhead, black clouds swirled above the mountaintops, dark as the ones that followed Nick to my house the day I found him.

  I looked at Vera, holding Nick’s whistle between her soft, full lips. Her eyes, on his, must have conveyed a million things, but I couldn't understand a single one of them. I watched his shoulders tighten, and I wondered if they could communicate with ESP.

  When Nick spoke, his voice was low and deep, a warning and a plea. “Vera. We're not having an emergency. We haven't even spoken yet.”

  She plucked the whistle from her lips, cupping it to her chest as she sneered. “‘Haven't spoken'? Have you turned into a human?” Her eyes flitted over me, a curt, dismissive glance before her dark gaze pinned Nick.

  “Whether we blow the whistles at the same time and return, or I blow yours and issue an emergency SOS, it's happening now. This mission is over. We will mine this planet's gold. The Rest will be sustained.” Vera sounded calm now. Serene, almost.

  I searched Nick's face, the side of it I could see, but his emotions were on lock-down. “Vera, please. Exercise some patience. We haven’t even conferred.” He sounded monotone—nothing like my Nick— and the weight of what was occurring crashed onto my shoulders.

  Nick and Vera, aliens, pieces of some hive mine that scoured the universe for elements essential to their survival. They came to our planet for our gold. They had a litmus test to determine if native beings were sentient enough to be spared. And humans didn’t pass their test; Nick had said as much back at S.K.'s cabin, and Vera seemed certain of it.

  But Nick, the alien, was arguing for our survival. For my survival.

  “Clearly, there was an error during your translation,” Vera declared. “You’ve been compromised. Decision-making falls to me, exclusively.”

  Her fingers positioned Nick's whistle between her lips again, and I felt my panic soaring to new heights. This is it.

  I thought, in a wild rush, how ironic this was. After all the times I wanted to die after Dad did, it was ending here? Like this? I glanced over my shoulder, in the direction of the underground DoD compound we’d escaped. The rocky, ice-slick cliffs blurred a little as my legs trembled.

  “Take a deep breath, Milo,” Nick said. My breaths, I noticed dimly, sounded like a teapot shrieking. “'Vera' is trying to strong-arm me.” Nick took a measured step toward her. I couldn't see his face anymore as he moved in front of me, but I watched one of Vera's thin eyebrows jut up.

  “Trying?” The whistle bobbed between her lips like a cigar. “There is no way that I will fail. In that ridiculous vessel, you are practically as weak as a human.”

  I looked at Nick's back, watched him shift his weight in agitation. His voice was soft, a tiger's purring growl. “You will not blow the whistle. Neither one of us will act until we come to an agreement. Do you understand?”

  She tossed her jet black, layered hair, snow-damp bangs falling over her pale forehead. “By that you mean I agree with you, and we leave this planet never to return?” She laughed. “You are damaged.”

  “Vera—”

  “Enough!” Her thin arm sliced the space between them. Her grip on the whistle tightened as her shoulders rose. Oh, God. She was going to blow it! I opened my mouth, filling my lungs so I could cry Nick's name. Then he stuck his hand out and the whistle flew into his palm. He closed his fist around it. “Don't test me.”

  I could see the surprise on her face. Surprise that he would disagree with her. Or surprise that he would fight for humans. Maybe surprise that, in a human ‘vessel,’ he was strong enough to take the whistle back.

  “Test you?” she scoffed. “There is no need.” She flicked her manicured fingers and Nick flinched. His hand convulsed around the whistle and it fell into the snow.

  “Fool,” Vera hissed. She opened her hand and the whistle flew back into it.

  I don't know what happened next, but I think Nick must have tackled her. I saw a flash of his green scrubs, and the next instant, Vera's red gown was spread across his lap, her butt to his crotch, her back to his chest. He had her in a choke-hold.

  She struggled against him, trying to turn her head so she could see his face. When he pressed his forearm more tightly over her throat, her shoulders slumped. “What happened to you?” she rasped.

  Nick's jaw flexed, his eyes darting, for a split second, to me. “You're making a mistake,” he told her.

  “You attacked me,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide, almost vulnerable.

  This time, Nick's gaze rested on me. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

  Vera coughed, her head lolled, her body slackened, and for a split second I wondered if Nick had killed her. Oh my God.

  Then the air rippled like water and Nick flew into a row of firs, smacking one of them and bouncing, face-first in the snow.

  Vera was gone.

  I stepped toward Nick and the ground below me shifted with a mighty rumble. Another step and I was on my hands and knees, blinded by a swirl of snow. I scrambled toward Nick as the firs around me clattered, the ice on their branches making eerie music.

  “Vera?” I heard Nick’s voice before I saw him out in front of me, turning in a circle, waving at the sky. It was black now. Awful, Armageddon black. Snow fell in heaps, piling on our heads and shoulders. “Damnit, VERA! STOP THIS!”

  And then she was standing right in front of us.

  She held the whistle out to Nick, her face unreadable. Rage contorted his. He lunged for her and she side-stepped him, red dress whipping in the wind. She pushed her hair out of her face, and I was shocked to find that she looked sad.

  “I hope, when they arrive, The Rest determine you can be salvaged.”

  SO SHE'D DONE it. Holy shit. Sometime while Nick and I were blinded by the snow, Vera had blown the whistle. Issued the ‘summons.’

  I was breathing har
d and fast, too afraid to even see straight, when we heard the voices. Nick and Vera turned in unison, gazes fixed on something behind my shoulder. My heart gave one hard beat and then forgot to beat again. I couldn't even draw a breath.

  Then I turned and saw them: dark figures cresting the cloud-wreathed peak we'd hiked up, spilling over rocky cliff-side where we stood. Men and women dressed in black. Agents from the Department of Defense.

  Nick grabbed my hand and jerked me down the snowy slope, toward a thicker grove of Douglas Firs framing the outer rim of the mountain.

  My numb feet, pounding over snow and frozen stone, didn’t hurt anymore except near the bones. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and eventually they just hurt all the time; the only way I knew I was still breathing was because I was still moving.

  All I could think, as I flung my legs out, clutching Nick’s hand, was that I felt so trapped. If the DoD got me, I'd be labeled a traitor. If we managed to out-run them and the aliens arrived, my life was over anyway.

  For one sweet moment, I allowed myself to go to the dark place I would go to sometimes, during the worst days after dad died. The place that was filled with relief because if I did die, at least it would be over.

  No matter what happened, eventually, it would all be over.

  I tripped over something, pitching forward, and Nick's arms closed around my waist.

  “Faster! Milo, please!”

  His fingers, now gripping my own, tugged so hard I thought my hand might pop off my wrist.

  “I can't!” I panted, but I tried anyway.

  As we ran into the trees, Nick called, “Vera!”

  I saw a streak of red somewhere up ahead, a flash of color in the dim and snowy grove, but she didn’t turn back toward us. Was it her fault that they'd found us? Was she trying to force Nick’s hand? She was powerful—so obviously powerful. Why was she running at all?

  The snow under the trees had turned to sheets of ice, and with every step I skidded. I heard shouts—the agents calling for us to stop—and deep, menacing barks.

  “It's okay,” Nick panted, shoving me ahead. “Just keep moving!”

  Adrenaline made my limbs jerky and uncoordinated. The slope had gotten steeper and I was flying down it now, my stolen lab coat flapping behind me like a cape. Nick caught my elbow, and at that instant, Vera shrieked. In the beat of time between her scream and our plunge, Nick's fingers found mine, and he clasped our palms together.

  Then the trees and the ground disappeared and we soared over the edge. The world seemed frozen as my legs scissored uselessly. I heard a sick smack below us—Vera, hitting the ground—as I toppled into true free fall, flipping end over end, my fingers grasping air. The frigid whoosh of the wind was deafening. I saw a glimpse of a narrow road cut through the mountain. Then sky, then road, then sky, and then my hair blew into my face.

  I had only a moment to wonder how badly it would hurt, dying from impact, when I smashed into something—hard.

  I moaned, and then my lungs screamed for air. I gasped, coughed, gasped again. Once I was breathing, my feet started throbbing, my bloody bare feet. And if my bleeding feet were still my most painful body part...

  With all my strength, I pried my eyes open. I was lying face-down. I was lying on top of Nick.

  Nick, who was on his back, his head lolled to the side, on what looked, to my bleary eyes, like asphalt. My face had been buried in the spot between his ribcage and his underarm. As I looked down at his face, he turned his face toward me and his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes rolled back into his head before they focused on my face, exposing a sea of broken blood vessels.

  I watched, horrified as a line of blood trailed from the corner of his lip.

  “Milo...?”

  He wrapped his arm protectively around my thigh while his other hand stroked my face.

  “I—Nick, oh my God.”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  “Vera?”

  She had gone splat. Or I thought she had, but when I glanced up, I saw her…dancing? She stood a few feet away, waving like she was twirling invisible batons. She was talking fast and emphatically, but I was still too rattled to make sense of her.

  I pressed one hand against the road, testing my arm, my fingers. I put my other arm down, then pushed myself up off Nick, moving slowly, just in case. To my surprise, I didn’t break. My mouth tasted bloody from where I’d bitten my cheek, and my ribs felt pretty sore and bruised. My head throbbed and my eyes felt heavy, but I was able to grab Nick’s arm and help him sit up.

  I guess I was seriously stunned, because when I heard the DoD's shouts, I felt a second of pure shock. I shot up, whirling to face the cliff we'd fallen from, maybe fifty feet above. My eyes scanned the top, quickly spotting a dozen or agents.

  “Crap.” I was wondering if they would catch us before the aliens arrived when I heard something loud and—

  “OH SHIT!”

  The truck was big, white, and one second from my face. My eyes shut as the squeal of breaks tore through the frigid air. Then the screech was snuffed out by a loud crunch, and I opened my eyes to find Nick standing between the truck and me, his arm outstretched, palm facing out. The truck's grille had caved in the middle, like it had hit a tree head-on. My mouth fell open as the camper behind it fish-tailed, its rear corner smashing into the mountainside with a violent boom and a spray of rock.

  Flashing light like from a camera drew my eyes back to the cliff. Maybe five or six agents were repelling down it.

  Nick clasped my hand and tugged me toward the truck. He opened the driver's door, pulled a screeching woman out, and shoved her toward the roadside, where two agents were lunging toward us.

  Nick slammed them against the cliff with a flick of his wrist. Then he grabbed me around the waist, threw me over his shoulder, and climbed into the cab, tossing me onto the long, bench seat and stomping the gas pedal before he’d even shut his door.

  I found Vera on my other side. She dragged her eyes over me and sneered. “Still alive.”

  For just a second, I thought about reaching across her lap, opening the passenger’s door and literally kicking her out. Before I could, the windshield cracked. A bullet whistled between Nick's shoulder and mine, and I shrieked, dropping down so my cheek was pressed against my knees. A second bullet burst through the passenger window, sending a spray of glass over my head.

  “Stupid animals,” Vera hissed.

  “Milo, are you okay!” Nick's hand pressed on my back.

  The tires squealed as we spun into a higher gear, and I lifted my head for long enough to catch a glimpse of black suits in the road as we sailed past. I ducked as the glass in the back of the cab exploded—once. Then we were around a curve.

  THE VIEW THROUGH the windshield reminded me of footage from a race car’s dashboard camera. The mountain road was extraordinarily narrow—though technically two lanes—and it was curvier than scissor-teased ribbon. And Nick was flying.

  I grabbed his thigh and might have said his name. My ears were popping, and I was dizzy. Nick’s hand found mine. He squeezed my fingers.

  “Tell me you’re okay,” he said. I caught a glimpse of wide brown eyes before they returned to the road.

  “I’m fine.”

  Nick's answer—“Good”—was more felt than heard.

  He navigated the hair-pin curves with seeming ease, and that only made things more surreal. I could feel gravity tugging on the base of my neck, urging my torso back against the truck's bench seat. I gave in, slumping.

  The curves kept coming, our speed making me tremble and sweat. After I'd braced for a crash more times than I could count, I realized I had tears running down my cheeks.

  “Milo, buckle up,” Nick urged.

  Vera hissed, a sound that reminded me of pain but was probably just disdain or ridicule. I didn't care; I didn't even look at her.

  As my fingers fumbled with the belt, I wondered what wou
ld happen if we crashed. Would Nick and Vera heal themselves? Would they disappear—just poof?

  Again, I remembered that even if we somehow survived this mad dash down the mountain, they were still coming. Vera had blown that damn whistle.

  Sitting between her and Nick, looking out at a dark night that might be hiding hostile UFOs, I had never felt so fallible.

  The universe must have appreciated irony, because Vera picked that exact moment to wail, “I'm bleeding!”

  She leaned over me, keening in pain, and I noticed her left shoulder was slick with blood.

  “The pain,” she half-sobbed, reaching for Nick's arm.

  His face hardened. “Blow it again,” he said, each word a punch. “Blow my whistle again and send them back.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would let me bleed to death simply for following protocol!”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I am not fine! Look what's happening!” She cried, waving at her tear-streaked face. “I don't like this!” Her voice was squeaky with pain, her bangs sticking up as the wind whipped in through the shattered passenger-side window. “Nick.” Another gasp, followed by an almost audible gritting of her teeth. “MY SHOULDER HURTS!”

  Nick glared at her, a surprisingly harsh look considering his partner was now drenched in horror-movie quantities of her own blood. “Sit back down, Vera. You'll heal soon.”

  I'd tried not to look at her as she accosted Nick—knowing how she hated me, I didn't want to anger her any further—but I couldn't resist a quick glance now. Already, her tears were drying on her mascara-streaked face, and there wasn’t any fresh blood.

  Vera was opening her mouth, no doubt to continue ranting, when a rumble shook the air, and I nearly died of fear.

  “Shit,” Nick hissed.

  “Is it them?” I cried. At the same time, he said, “How many of those things do they have?”

  “What?!”

  He frowned at me, moving his gaze off the road to see my face. “It's a helicopter.” His hand left the wheel, reaching across my lap and taking mine. “The Rest won’t be here for a long time. And before then, Vera will blow my whistle.”