Salient Invaders: A Young Adult Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Series (The Separation Trilogy Book 2)

by Felisha Antonette

  They shake their heads. The tanned woman confirms, “Three hundred tonight?”

  “Yes,” Arletta responds. “Looks like you all should get to work.”

  The scientists shuffle around each other, racking up their equipment and hustling from the room.

  “Kylie Alexander, Lukahn Alexander, lunch?” Arletta asks.

  We leave the lab, going back to the Inn for lunch. “You two are very demanding,” Richard says.

  “They know how to take charge,” Jord responds.

  “I want to ensure that when we leave here tonight, we will be leaving with the required ammunition and artilleries that will help us kill the Vojin if they intend to attack,” Luke says.

  “Great,” Arletta states. “Do you all have a big problem with Vojin in Arizona?”

  “Not yet, but we have been threatened and would like to be prepared if they come.”

  She strolls with her hands tucked in the pockets of her white suit. “We will make sure you all are well equipped with what you need before you leave tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Seits says.

  We sit at a table in the dining area of the Inn. Carden has graced us with his joyful presence. Through my observation of an exchange between him and Arletta, where she greeted him with a hug and kiss to his cheek, he is her son. He also calls her Mom. The two do not resemble one another. Arletta is assertive, direct, and seemingly heartless. Her olive skin is pulled perfectly over high cheekbones and a narrow jaw. Gray eyes add to the intensity of her face while her perfectly plucked eyebrows lighten the fierceness she must know she has.

  Carden’s hair is blond while his mother’s is black. His boyish face is bright from the overbearing smiling, and his natural blue irises add to the easiness he has on the eyes. His mother has likely spent a ton of money to get his teeth perfectly straight and to keep his hair this blond color. I suspect it’s treated from his dark, also plucked eyebrows. “After the celebration this evening, you all are going home, Kylie the Creation?” he asks.

  “Yes, we are,” Luke answers.

  Carden looks at me. I look at Luke, and he shakes his head. What is this Carden boy playing at? A small girl walks up and sits next to Luke. She has dark orange hair and a petite shape.

  “Hi,” she chirps. “I’m Sandy.” She turns to Luke. “I’m your escort for tonight, Lukahn. Carden,” she points to him, “is Kylie’s escort, and Andel,” she points across the room to an older lady with short red hair and a wide butt. “Is Jord’s escort.” She then points to the other side of the room, now to our left to a tall, slim bald man. “Greg, there, is Seits’s escort.”

  “Why do we need escorts?” I’m okay with going by myself.

  “It is a formal event with a date required,” Sandy says, smiling at Luke. Is there any girl on this planet who won’t try to flirt with my brother?

  I nod at her and finish my food. Drinking from my glass, I look over its rim at Luke doing that gazing thing with his eyes as he beams at Sandy. “Cut it out, Luke,” I tell him.

  “Stop it, Ky. Because as soon as we get home, we know where you’re going.”

  I place the glass down a little more aggressively than I intend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You want to talk about this now, Kylie, or enjoy this lunch?” Luke asks with a plastered smile.

  I glare at him. That was a low blow, even for him. “We’ll eat lunch.”

  “Ky, I’m going,” Luke tells me with a nudge to my side. “What time should we be ready for tonight’s celebration?”

  “We have three hours before we need to get ready,” Sandy responds.

  “Thank you,” Luke says as he gets up, leaving his plate behind. We were instructed to not lift a finger.

  “Kylie, would you like to go out and find a dress you’d like to wear tonight?” Seits asks.

  “You all don’t have to worry about that. There will be clothes placed for you in your rooms,” Arletta happily informs us.

  “That’s good to know,” Jord says, scraping his plate clean. He stuffs the last forkful in his mouth and wipes his chin.

  “Should I remove my plate from the table before I leave?” I ask. It’s killing me to walk away and not clean up after myself.

  Arletta stands and drops her napkin on her empty plate. “Leave it. The waitress will clean it.”

  Leaving the table, I’m followed by Carden. “Can you explain to me, Kylie the Creation, where would you be going when you get home if you are already at home?”

  Striding to the elevator, I say, “I think you should mind your business.”

  “I just thought we could get to know each other before our date this evening.”

  “You are my escort. This is not a date.” He’s at my side, his consistent bright smile making my stomach turn. “Is there something I can help you with, Carden?”

  “Kylie the Creation—”

  “Just Kylie.”

  “Kylie?”

  “Yes?”

  He presses the up button for the elevator and takes a step back. His hair sways loosely around his skinny shoulders. Carden has likely never worked out a day in his life; I bet he needs help to open a pickle jar. Or he has servants who do that for him. “I think you should visit us here in Highrum more often. Maybe get comfortable exploring your other talents apart from being a Creation.”

  “I am only interested in being a Creation, Carden.”

  “What about when things change?”

  The elevator dings, but the distraction isn’t enough, and I question, “What is going to change?”

  He pinches his lips to the left, the right, then forward. Time ticks by as he studies me, before saying, “You would have to be around to find out, Kylie the Creation.” He smiles wider. “I will be at your door in less than three hours to escort you to this evening’s celebration.”

  I ignore him as I step onto the elevator.

  Carden throws his hand between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing. “Just a minute, Kylie. If you will, can I show you something?”

  “Like what?”

  “A few things that we keep ourselves entertained with here in Highrum before we are required to strictly care about our nation and the citizens of the America.” He steps onto the elevator and calls, “Floor six.” There’s a soft chime before the elevator lifts. “Would I be right in assuming you’ve been consumed with duties as a Creation your entire life? Fought forever, marched even as you strolled. I’d like to show you the softer side of life. You’ll like it,” he insists, smoothly turning his attention away from me and to our reflections in the gold-plated elevator doors.

  They part.

  I say, “We do not have time to explore, Carden.” Plus, there is no softer side of life. There is managing, control, and reliance. Dominating the weak, managing the poor, and eliminating the useless. This is what we’ve been conditioned to believe, and apart from that, I’ve learned there is love and intimacy. These two things are the softer sides of life, but Carden isn’t going to show this to me.

  He flashes a welcoming grin at me and heads down the hall. “If you prefer to march rather than casually stroll,” he calls back. “I can march instead.” He stomps his feet against the floor, pounds echoing down the hall.

  I laugh at his arms, angrily swiping his sides and his knees, lifting high past his hips. “Will you stop this obscure dance move if I come with you?”

  “Is this not how you march?”

  “No, it’s not. We do not march; we order our steps. And you’re pushing your fists back and forth; we do not do that either.” I walk at his side as he leads me to the “softer side of life.”

  “You referred to it as a dance move. It was not; I know this,” he imitates his version of marching, “is not how you move. I could show you a dance move, but it will involve touching you.”

  I drop my hands on my hips and look ahead. “I’d rather we do not try the dance move unless required.”

  “Understandable.” He picks up
his speed. “Let’s add some pep to our step. We only have three hours.” He grins brightly. His cheeks ought to be sore with how frequently he smiles. And if his cheeks aren’t sore, the wrinkles that form around his eyes should at least be permanent. When the muscles in his face relax, and he looks at me without expression, the wrinkles are invisible. Carden isn’t hard to look at, but this continuous observation makes me uncomfortable. I’m not used to someone smiling every minute of the hour.

  I follow Carden to a ballroom full of wall-sized pictures like those I saw in the hall on our room’s floor. These pictures, though, are of different events, and the people look incredibly happy.

  “Hey,” I sing, hurrying across the slippery black-tiled floor. “I recognize this instrument.” I point to a large pearl table with four legs and a bench. Its top is lifted by a thin post and the slim bars are black. “It makes music, right? I saw it on a movie once!” I reach out my hand to graze its beauty, but retract it, afraid I’ll break it.

  “It does. It’s a piano. It can make soothing tunes. Come, sit.” He adjusts himself on the bench and glides his fingers over the black keys. “I’m playing the keys of the piano.” It’s like magic, the way his fingers glide over the keys, and the soft rhythmic melody echoes throughout the ballroom.

  My lids fall over my eyes, and I exhale.

  Softly, he sings the lyrics long and flowing with the melody of his song. It’s relaxing as he croons of feelings and pleasantries.

  “This is one of the softer sides of life in our world.” He speaks. My eyes shoot open, and I jump to my feet, straightening my stance. I clear my throat.

  “Interesting,” he utters, no longer playing.

  I pull my arms behind my back and look ahead, gaze falling on nothing specific. “It looks easier than it is.”

  “I bet.”

  “You sing?”

  “No.”

  Carden licks his lips before drawing them between his teeth. Nodding, he stands. “Let me show you something else I know you’d never experience as a Creation.”

  “Well, I think I should head back.”

  He throws his palms together and pokes out his bottom lip. “One more thing. Please?”

  I chuckle. “Okay, fine. Then we depart and prepare for this evening.”

  “Yes. God forbid a Creation of your stature and high influence is late for the Premier’s Grand Celebration that he has every year on this same date.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm in your statement.”

  He hitches a brow. The smile fades, and Carden fixes me with his studious gaze. “You are cute and smart, Just Kylie.” Looking away from me, he asks, “Now what would be your response to this statement?”

  “Thanks for your observation of my appearance and intelligence.”

  He scoffs, “They’re right. You are a well-trained Creation.”

  “Thank you.”

  I follow Carden back through the door we entered, and he leads us to another room of the Inn. “Okay, Just Kylie, there are Breeders here in Highrum. The scientists have crafted Creations of a different nature that I can’t really get into detail about. Before the babies can be released to their placement parents, they stay here and are monitored for specific behavior patterns or any irregular growth.” I follow him through a door. “Can I have your word that what you see will remain between you and me?”

  “Yes.” As if I would answer any other way.

  He opens a door to a room painted light green. The air is warm and sticky and smells of an odd chemical. Six posts protrude from the floor, and on their tops are domes inclosing infants. Carden goes to one of them, and on a screen connected to the post, he taps it. The glass of the dome opens, exposing the infant. Carden picks up the child and cradles it close to his chest, staining his black shirt with the slimy clear fluid dripping from the baby.

  I grab the nearest gloves available when he nears me with it.

  “No. Put the gloves down,” Carden orders.

  “I can’t touch that,” I say, shaking my head as I retract a step. I’m overcome with nervousness at just the thought of holding something so fragile. I’d break it or drop it or something.

  He wraps the baby in a blanket he grabs from a shelf on the post. “Here.” He cautiously passes me the baby.

  I’m hesitant taking it, cupping my arm around its tiny body as its head rests against my muscle. The baby yawns, and its tiny fist rises, breaking out of the blanket. The green-colored embellishment on its wrist glistens in the light above us. I gently brush my index finger over it.

  “It’s soft and smells like recycled oxygen,” I mutter. I’ve held a baby, but this baby is not normal. Its fist opens, and I take it, examining its unusual palm. It has the same large circle with the smaller ones scattered throughout its middle, like mine, but the color throws me off. “Why are this baby’s hands green?”

  “Are you being a Creation, examining the soft side of life when you are supposed to just accept it?”

  “I believe I should take that as an insult,” I say, watching the baby yawn again. I try to look down its throat, but its mouth closes too fast.

  “Are you comfortable holding the child?”

  “No, I’d like to understand more about it.”

  “He is a boy.”

  “Okay.” I hold its hand in mine, comparing our palms. “It’s a Creation?”

  “He is a Creation.” Carden takes the baby from me. I go to the dome beside me and cautiously take the baby from it like he did, using a blanket I take from the shelf. This Creation child is a girl. Her embellishments are colored yellow.

  “I didn’t bring you here to examine the babies. But I guess some things are not easy for a Creation to adapt or adjust to.”

  I put the baby back in the dome, and it seals shut. All six babies are calm, eyes closed, sleeping. “Excuse me,” I say, acknowledging his discomfort. “I don’t do well with things I don’t understand.”

  Carden presses his lips together and glances at the infants. He sucks in a breath and loudly releases it. “We should go. There is minimal time left for us to prepare for the celebration.”

  I soften my expression, asking, “Have I made you uncomfortable, Carden?”

  He goes to a sink and scrubs his hands clean. I do the same, looking for him to answer. “I guess I expected another reaction from you. Creations, they look like everyone else. Why can’t they be like everyone else?”

  Offended, I say, “What? You want us to embrace all the terrible stuff that goes on in this country? You want us to awe and be jolly? Do you want me to see these infants and wonder about their future or swoon over how cute they are? Because that’s what Normals do?”

  “No,” he snaps, crossing the floor to me. “I want you to see that everything isn’t structured. That everything doesn’t end in a period or a question mark. That everything is greater than this moment.”

  I snatch a towel from a nearby shelf and dry my wet hands. “Well, if you have a problem with the way we were created, then maybe you should change it.”

  He utters under his breath, “I did.” Speaking louder, he continues, “These beautiful boys and girls will not only protect and serve our country, but they will consider life. They will look upon babies and acknowledge their innocence and beauty because they’ll know they’ll have bright futures. When they see Waulers lying in the street, they won’t dispose of them, but build them a home and get them off the streets.”

  I throw my hand up, silencing his stupidity. “Have you ever thought, for a moment, that Creations follow orders? We don’t make the calls for population demolition. Those come from your people. If the order came for us to build houses and get every Wauler off the street, we’d do that. If the order came for us to feed the hungry, we’d do that too. If they trained us to look at babies and people as flesh and heartbeats instead of occupants of a falling country, we’d do that too. But your mother has desired the opposite. So don’t turn your lip up at me because I am the way I am. I was created this way
, and they,” I point to his science projects, “will be this way too.” I stalk out of the room, breathing away my anger. I’m not the bad guy. They are. The Guidance, the Trade, the Vojin. I only follow orders. I only do as I’m told. All of them are the enemy.

  I march down the hall to the elevators. The doors part as soon as I smash the down button. I step in, still feeling the infant cradled against my arms. “Lobby,” I say, and the elevator descends. The softer side of life? I guess this is really moments that makes someone happy, that slows them down and makes them embrace the experience. That, for me, isn’t holding infants. Carden playing the piano, though. This took me out of the havoc of this world to a place of peace, if only for a second. Tranquil: free from disturbance; calm. But like everything else that brings me joy, it couldn’t last.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I cannot believe the Premier got that intoxicated,” Seits laughs, plopping down onto her seat of the jet that’s flying us back home tonight. She’s had five glasses of wine too many.

  I am the only sober one on this flight besides the pilots.

  “Shh, Seits,” Jord hushes her. She giggles. “That is the last time you will be taking a drink.”

  “I think you should say,” Luke belches, “that is the last time you will consume any alcoholic beverages.”

  We were cordially invited to a charade of music and drinking. Minimal dancing, and I was happy for it because it reduced the opportunity for Carden to touch me. The party started off calm and informal. The music was peaceful, and if it had played in my bedroom, I would have fallen asleep to it. A sinless melody of pianos and violins, which Carden assisted in playing. I thought it was going to be a nice relaxing event with swaying dancing and pleasant greetings. It wasn’t.

  Carden and I walked through the oversized double doors of the ballroom after Luke and Sandy. Everyone made it their business to speak to us, expressing kind words, constantly touching my exposed arms, hugging and kissing me after mentioning how beautiful Carden and I were together and how phenomenal I looked out of my suit.