Repossession (The Keepers Trilogy) Read online

  REPOSSESSION

  THE KEEPERS TRILOGY

  BOOK I

  BY RACHAEL WADE

  ALSO BY RACHAEL WADE

  Love and Relativity

  The Preservation Series :

  Preservation, Book One

  Reservation, Book Two

  Declaration, Book Three

  The Resistance Trilogy:

  Amaranth, Book One

  The Gates, Book Two

  The Tragedy of Knowledge, Book Three

  © Rachael Wade 2013

  Rabbit Hole Press Orlando, FL

  www.RachaelWade.com

  Editor: Arlene Robinson

  Cover Design: Robin Ludwig Design

  ISBN: 978-0-9896304-2-9 (Paperback)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers. Your support is such a gift to me. Thank you for everything.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing the acknowledgment section gets harder and harder with each book because it’s impossible to give everyone I want to acknowledge a proper shout out. I simply can’t express my appreciation enough to every blogger, author, and reader friend I’ve made since I began my writing career. All I can say is that you know who you are, and you know that I love you and am grateful for your amazing support over the past few years. Thank you, as always, to my greatest muses, Patricia and Dave, and to Tessa and Cathy for reading the early drafts and giving me great feedback. Also, thanks to God for the gift of storytelling, and the blessing that allows me to do what I love for a living. Much love, everyone. xo

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  A Glossary of Terms for reference can be found at the end of the book.

  INVASION

  15:00

  All the flowers are gone. I stared at the demolished flowerbed, the gun dangling from my lifeless fingers. My mama’s favorite garden destroyed.

  I loved that damn garden.

  It was the only sanctuary I had, giving me a cozy spot to bask in peace and quiet while I looked out over the yard. I could watch Cooper and Riley play, could toss them a Frisbee and laugh while they chased the neighborhood cat. Our black and yellow lab retrievers were inseparable. Mama always said they went together like cookies and cream. When the Invaders first touched down, they disappeared, just like every other animal in the neighborhood, retreating into the nearby woods like they’d gone into hiding or something. There was no more barking, no sign of them since.

  I used to just sit and watch them in that garden, waiting for the moments to pass, wondering when life would evolve, when I’d see progress. Sometimes things were so damn boring and uninspired in our little town. Mama told me to never allow restlessness to become a burden, because before I knew it, the tide would turn and a new season would be upon me. Sometimes, though, I couldn’t help feeling antsy.

  Morton, Alabama wasn’t known for much except a surplus of Baptist churches and Wednesday-night bingo matches after Bible study. The town and the people were sweet, all right, and I was damn lucky to live in a place where people knew your name. They had big hearts. Good people, they were. Hell, I grew up in one of those churches, and they did right by me, always teaching me about grace and whatnot. I like to think I have all they taught me about God figured out now, but the truth is, I’m not sure if I ever will. Did that make me less Christian than them? Was I one of the heathen they preached about on Sunday mornings? Because I didn’t interpret the Good Book the way they all seemed to?

  Hell if I knew.

  Daddy taught me to do the best I could to understand the gospel, to listen to my conscience and all that, and then leave the rest to God. Said it wasn’t for me to understand. Not all of it, anyway. He’d go on and on about how I needed to just accept that I’d never find all the answers I was looking for. Said if I ever did, he reckoned I wouldn’t like what I’d find, and no matter what answers I’d stumble across, they’d never be enough to satisfy my curiosity anyway.

  “Human,” he’d say. “That’s what you are darlin’, just human. God don’t expect you to have His all-knowing superpowers. Jus’ you let it be, now.”

  But for a girl like me with big dreams and bigger questions, Morton, Alabama was suffocating. I hated bingo, I figured looking for answers was better than not looking for them at all, and I was far from content just sittin’ on my behind waiting for something interesting to come along and get me outta this town.

  They always say if you stop looking for something, that’s usually when you find what you’re looking for. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me when the Invaders finally made their way to our tiny town, arriving on a warm spring afternoon. They’d first sent our nation into mass hysteria, stationing themselves along the coasts and in harbor towns. That’s when Cooper, Riley, and other neighborhood pets started disappearing.

  Not long after, the sightings began around Morton, and that’s when we knew things were changing.

  We were an inland town, far from the Gulf or any ocean, and the Invaders seemed to like water. So they were starting to spread out, exploring even the most rural, isolated areas. We thought we’d lucked out at first, thinking they weren’t interested in coming to our neck of the woods.

  We were wrong.

  Optimism wasn’t in my favor when it came to a future in Morton. I remembered I’d just given up any hope of leaving this place. Dylan dumped me, I failed my first college exam—a true testament to my lack of interest—and I lost the last ten bucks in my bank account to an overdraft fee. Working at the town pet store wasn’t exactly ideal for raking in the cash. Every dollar meant something to me, and damn it, that ten-buck loss was a bitterness I’d taste for at least another month. I wanted to go to college to better my future, I did, but none of my classes seemed to hold my attention.

  When my parents’ screams rang from inside the house that balmy, sunny afternoon, I saw the first one, right there by the backyard shed, trampling through Mama’s garden. Tall, pale white, and decrepit, drippin’ with some kinda clear ooze, like it had been going for a swim in a pool of diluted Vaseline or somethin’. It stood on two feet, hunched over, with sunken-in eyelids, its eyes dark, glowing, gaping holes staring back at me. Extending its long, frail arm, it released a wheezing sound, and a small cloud of white emanated from its ghoulish mouth as if it was breathing cold air.

  The next thing I knew, its bizarrely graceful fingers splayed wide in the air, and a round, aqua-toned metal container shot forth, aimed directly at me. I stumbled backward over the garden bench, dodging it, and smashed into the back door. That metal container lodged tight to the left of my head, smack into the wall next to me. The creature released another one of those low wheezing sounds, and turned to reach for the latch on the shed. When it entered the shed, the back of its head was to me.

  My eyes darted to the left, burning holes into the piece of metal just inches from my ear, wondering what that thing would do. Explode maybe? Release some kind of toxic gas? I sure as hell didn’t want to find out. With one more quick look at the foreign intruder, I realized it was more interested in our shed than finishing whatever the metal device had failed to do. I slipped in through the back door.

  Tiptoeing into the hall, I ignored the terrifying fact that my parents’ screams had halted and reached up to the top cabinet on our cherry-brown chi
na hutch, pulling out one of our Glocks. My fingers trembled as I checked the ammo and cocked the weapon. My shaky hands found the screen door latch and I stepped back outside, hoping the thing was still in the shed.

  Thank God, the back of its head was still facing me while it rummaged through our stuff. The shade from the shed surrounded the white skeleton-like form, leaving me mesmerized for a moment at the sight of its elegant, phantasmal shape. As quick as I observed this, its head snapped around to me and its wheezing sound morphed into a high-pitched screech. Its hand extended again, probably to launch another one of those metal cylinders at me.

  My reflex was lightning.

  Forcing my hand steady, I raised the gun, released a deep breath, and aimed and pulled the trigger, unloading a round into the creature’s head. The casings burned my knuckles; the pops deafened me. While I watched the intruder jerk and drop to the ground, a wave of thoughts swamped me.

  I did not have all the answers. I did not know if I’d deserved God’s grace or wrath, or what would become of me if I ever fled this town.

  But I did know how to shoot a gun.

  ONE

  Darkness surrounded me, the smell of rust and metal burning my nose. A battery-powered lantern was propped on the table in the corner, illuminating the darkness with a weak, dim flicker; the ceiling above me pounded violently as mechanical, uniform stomps penetrated the earth above, making the hole in the ground where I was now, bound and gagged, a haunting and eerie grave-like cell. I imagined this was what it felt like to be buried alive.

  My breathing accelerated, my nostrils flaring while I struggled against the tape over my lips to scream. Something sliced into my wrists. Peering up through my bangs, I could make out the faint silhouette of my arms, shackled by chains above my head. I couldn’t be here. Couldn’t be on their territory, under their confinement. No.

  But from the looks and feel of it, I was.

  The Invaders had taken over most of the United States territory, and from what we could tell, moved in to claim our planet’s water source, which was already severely threatened. They’d lined up all along our coastal perimeters, creating barrier stations to mark and control their turf. Some said they came from the water, whatever that meant.

  We hadn’t figured out, or no one was willing to admit they knew about the Invaders’ weapons or what made them so superior to ours. They weren’t nuclear. People weren’t dying from radiation sickness. No, their weapons wielded power and technology that our military couldn’t even begin to understand, let alone conquer. Since the Invaders’ arrival, many humans had starved or died from dehydration and random violence, the lack of medical care and supplies, and pure desperation. Between looting, hoarding, and panic-driven consumption, we’d been our own worst enemies since they’d come to our planet. They didn’t have to exterminate us. We were taking care of that all on our own.

  And here I was, on enemy territory, taken prisoner. As if the restraints weren’t enough to tell me I was on their stomping grounds, the aroma of rotten oceanic residue confirmed my worst fears. It was a putrid, salty marine smell, one that sank into the marrow of my bones, prompting my gag reflex. Wherever the hell these creatures were from, they made decaying fish and muddy swamp water smell like petunias.

  But it wasn’t the Invaders who were holding so many humans prisoner. Not personally, anyway. To our horror, it turned out to be our fellow humans—traitors of the worst kind—who’d been the ones to kidnap and hold us prisoner. Apparently, according to various rumors, these traitors were serving the Invaders, and had been in charge of setting up and managing thousands of prison camps all over the country, maybe all over the world. News about countries other than our own was limited since our military and technology had been brought down. Apparently, some human prisoners were destroyed upon arrival at these camps, and some were forced into labor units, while others were shipped off in aquamarine, cocoon-like Capsules to God knows where. The Invaders were virtually invisible and unreachable within these prison camps, only lurking there in the shadows to oversee and direct operations while the human traitors did all their dirty work, managing and disposing of their prisoners. Their main ships settled near the water, around their operating stations, while others were deployed to the prison camps and to the streets for patrol.

  The Invaders wanted something more from us than our planet, more than our dwindling water resource. They wanted more than to simply kill us all off. If that was what they wanted, they would have had every opportunity to do so. That was the cause of most of the hysteria since their attack: no answers. After countless attempts to communicate, negotiate peace, or identify their objective, we still had no idea why they were here or what they wanted from us, other than to dominate our water supply with hostile force and hold some of us prisoner.

  Bastards. And here I thought humans were the most hostile of species.

  Rattling the cuffs on the bar over my head, I huffed against the duct tape and used all of my core body strength to twist and contort my upper body, trying every single angle and method I could come up with to break the damn cuffs.

  No luck. If only I had more light to work with.

  The one thing I had going for me was that I was freestanding; my feet were firmly planted on the soil below. I took advantage and tried spreading my legs to feel around, kicking my heel back to feel a wall or something I could use for leverage. There was nothing. Wiping my sweaty forehead with my shoulder, I inhaled deeply and started rethinking my strategy.

  A loud clang came from somewhere in the room, and I froze. The sound of a sliding door? A latch of some sort? I couldn’t tell. Then steps came toward me and my fear spiked, and I was desperate for more light to see what was headed in my direction. I blinked frantically, my chest heaving, disorientation making me dizzy when the lantern on the table fizzed out.

  The shuffle of footsteps resumed and something grabbed me by the waist. A garbled scream erupted deep in my throat and a light blinded me before the duct tape over my mouth was ripped off, stinging my lips. Rough fingers—human fingers, I thought—grazed my lips, slowly, as if to soothe them, before pulling the piece of cloth from my dry mouth.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” a low, smooth voice crooned. The light’s brightness lessened, and I realized it was from a flashlight. My captor pulled the flashlight farther away so it wasn’t blinding me anymore. I spit in his face.

  “Guess I deserve that. But I could shove this filthy piece of cloth back in your mouth if you want me to.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Look around. I’m already there.”

  “Why am I here? What do you want? You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m a mutant alien creature here to take you aboard the Mother Ship. I’m packing heat,” he shifted a large machine gun in his other hand, which was strapped over his chest, “which must give it all away, right?”

  Piercing blue eyes found mine. My eyes adjusted to the light and I could make out my captor’s face: pale skin, sooty-dark brown hair, a military buzz cut. His thick, muscular build was covered with a ratty, grime-covered black t-shirt and cargo pants, the pockets bulging with gear and other weapons I couldn’t make out.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re one of them. A traitor.”

  “I understand how it would seem I’m your enemy, since I’m holding you prisoner at the moment, yes. But I’m not a traitor.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No can do. I’m here to feed you.”

  “Screw you.” I spit in his face again, then tried kicking him in the groin. Given the circumstances and the fact that I’d just lost my parents and my home, it was all too tempting to just give up. To let the despair sink me. But I wouldn’t let that happen. As long as I was still alive, I’d find something to live for. Maybe I didn’t have the mental energy to fight for my own life, but I sure as hell had enough fury to propel me forward in honor of the lives stolen from my parents.


  He caught my thigh with ease and steadied it. “Anytime, baby. All you gotta do is ask nicely.”

  “Great. Your kind is repulsive and arrogant. What an endearing combination.”

  He grabbed my elbow and leaned in, one palm still gripping my thigh. “Hey. I said I’m not a traitor. Don’t start the ‘your kind’ crap, Rambo. Watch your mouth. I’m human, and I’m on the right side, you hear me?”

  “Oh, you traitors are far from human, you asshole. Humans might be disloyal and greedy, but when it comes to picking our own species over another, we’re clear on where we stand with that one.”

  “My, my. What a potty mouth you have. And what did I just say?”

  I yanked my arm from his grasp. “Screw you.”

  “If you want me to keep protecting you, you better start treating me just a little bit nicer.” He narrowed his eyes and pinched his fingers in front of me, emphasizing the little bit.

  Protect me? Was he serious? Although my hands were bound above me, I was able to return his gesture with my personal favorite, the middle finger.

  He noticed.

  “Piss and vinegar, that’s what you’re made of, baby.” He turned on a bigger lantern at the table, then pulled a chair out in front of me, taking a seat. “My match made in heaven. That anger is good, though. Bottle it up. You’re going to need it soon. Anyway, you need my protection, so save your grievances. You’re lucky you’re in my precinct and that I’m in charge of your cell. Others have it a hell of a lot worse than you do.”

  “Let me go. Please, I’m begging you. My parents are dead. I’m only twenty-three. I have to get out of here. I can’t wind up like them. I’m begging you.” I tried tears now. They weren’t a complete act, although I was hoping they’d appeal to any shred of sympathy this guy had in his bones. He was young. Looked close to my age. Maybe twenty-five. Maybe he could relate if I started rattling off reasons I didn’t want to die young.