Repossession (The Keepers Trilogy) Page 3

  His voice turned into a harsh whisper. He held a finger to his lips. “Now’s not the time. Move with me. Hand on your weapon at all times.”

  I gave him a dirty look because it felt good. “Repulsive, arrogant, and bossy. It just keeps getting better and better.”

  He hushed me again and led me along the edge of the building, his movements stealthy and calculated. I had to admit, I was jealous of his smooth agility. I wasn’t clumsy or anything, but I sure as hell wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. I’d no intention of fighting my way out west on the open road when the Invaders attacked. I knew how to use a gun, and I’d learned a few basic self-defense moves from a class Mama insisted I take with her a few years ago, but the moment I fled my home in Morton, my intention was to hunker down for as long as possible, not duke it out with armed traitors and an alien species.

  It was hard to see them in the dark, but the streets were empty. My captor continued to lead the way, weaving in and out of buildings every few minutes. His head was continually shifting, his eyes searching upward and behind us. Every so often he’d slow and listen to our surroundings, sometimes dropping to his knees to feel the ground with his fingertips, as if the earth could tell him something. We went on like that for blocks, until the center of the city started to thin out and nothing surrounded us but a maze of highways and overpasses.

  “We need to find some friendlies,” he said, when we reached what looked like an interstate exchange. “They might be able to point us to the closest Black Hole. We need to stock up on supplies and go over some plans.”

  He led us underneath the highway’s bridge, then pulled something from his backpack. It looked like a pair of binoculars, only way more high-tech than anything I’d ever know how to operate. “Air patrols run continuously, especially in rural areas,” he was saying. “They’re prime areas for capture, because they know people can’t get from town to town without crossing through. Easy visibility. I don’t see any machines in the sky, but it won’t be long before they show up.”

  “What’s a Black Hole?”

  “A pit. The Underground. You haven’t heard about them?”

  “No, this is all new to me. I haven’t seen a thing outside of Morton since the attack. Some news and rumors here and there, before the Morton invasion. Not much else.”

  He lowered his binoculars and studied me for a moment. “We call Underground hideouts Black Holes, because they’re the only places we can be invisible for a while. Disappear. The enemy has a hard time finding them. They’re not like backyard bunkers, they’re more like hotels. Some are rumored to be as big as towns: whole communities. I’ve heard that people have been building them since before the Invaders touched down. It’s getting harder and harder to locate them, though. The Underground leaders are starting to put limits on occupancy. Black Holes don’t want attention.”

  I followed his gesture to crouch down, stationing myself next to him. “Communities? How have they managed that?”

  “Meticulous secrecy, hard work, and trial and error.” He shrugged. “Let’s keep moving while it’s dark. I want to at least make it past the state line tonight. I hear there’s one just east of Hattiesburg.”

  I didn’t object. I was thirsty and bordering on exhaustion, and I needed a few minutes to think without worrying who or what was lurking around the corner. If I was going to devise any plan of survival or course of action, I needed some sleep, some supplies, and a place where I could breathe to regroup and form a strategy. I laughed to myself, mumbling under my breath, “Strategy.”

  Right.

  Strategy for what, exactly? What did I intend to do, anyway? Life back in Morton was over. My parents’ lives were over. There was nothing for me there, and by the sounds of it, nothing for me anywhere. I was probably in the same boat most of the human race was in—survive until you can’t.

  What a lovely future.

  Things like my job back at the pet shop and my humiliating breakup with Dylan were laughable now. I guess that’s what a change in perspective did to you, though. Whether you asked for it or not, one simple shift in point of view altered your entire outlook on living. When it was just you and your fight to live, the only thing that mattered was time. Time was the only thing reminding you to propel forward and find your next meal, the next roof over your head, or those few hours of crucial sleep, because your days were numbered and they wouldn’t stop for anyone, no matter how rich, privileged, or smart you were.

  If there was one thing I’d learned in my short span of twenty-three years, it was that time didn’t discriminate.

  We moved quickly and quietly along the desolate highway. I could barely see a foot in front of me, only the sounds of our feet touching the ground keeping me company. My run for survival had only just begun, but I could tell it was a lonely business, even when you were in another’s presence. I wondered how long my captor had been on the run before he became a traitor, or if he’d been on the run at all. Someone once asked me if I ever got lonely. If I ached because it hurt so bad. I’d stared back at them, wondering what loneliness must look like to that person.

  “Lonely?” I’d asked. “Lonely is being surrounded by hundreds of people and not knowing if even one of them really knows you exist.” The thing about loneliness is you can be seen by many, but heard by no one. “That’s loneliness for me,” I’d said. “And it doesn’t hurt. It scares the hell out of me.”

  I pushed the fact out of my head that I didn’t know the man towing me along, instead focusing on his movements as he’d instructed. “How can you tell if we’re getting closer? It’s so dark.”

  “We’ll know. They have security at each state border.”

  “Have you been out of the state since they attacked?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “You don’t answer any of them. At least tell me your name. You know mine—”

  His hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist, and he pulled me down to the ground again. We both crouched low. His breath faltered. “Do you feel that?”

  “What?”

  “They’re close. Human patrol trucks. Ten, maybe twenty. Come on.” He yanked me to the left, and away from the road’s asphalt, until I heard dry gravel and dirt crunch beneath my feet. A flicker of light appeared in the distance from the direction we came, the sound of engines roaring as tires beat the highway with a low growl. We retreated farther and farther back from the main road, watching carefully while the headlights grew brighter, creating a tunnel effect down the highway. The first truck came into view, then the next, each one followed by another, all black as night with armored doors. The line moved past us quickly; my captor’s hand remained, pressed tightly around my wrist. “You holding up okay?” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear.

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “As soon as they pass, we’ll—”

  A light and a chorus of laughter came from behind us. The sound of footsteps sent me on red alert and I stumbled back, tightening my grip on my gun. My captor shoved me behind him and I pressed up against his back to shield myself, steadying the gun at my side.

  “Well looky here, fellers, we got two er ’em.” I peeked around the tall wall of muscle I was clinging to and into the bright beam of a flashlight to find a pale, dirty man, his front teeth brown and cracked, his eyes wild.

  “Turn that thing off!” my captor yelled. “A whole brigade of Keeper Agents just drove by.” He reached for the man’s flashlight, but the man raised a gun, pointing it straight at us.

  “Put yer weapon on the ground, sonny,” he snapped. “Er I shoot the girl, first.” Three men joined him, all raising their guns on us.

  “We don’t mean any trouble, man. We’re just passing through. Put the guns down and I’ll lower mine.”

  “How do I know yer not one of ’em?”

  “If I was, would I be running around in the dark like this with a girl on my arm?”

  “Hhhmm,” the man grunted, running his tongue over grimy teeth
. He didn’t move to lower his gun. “Where’re ya headed to, huh?”

  “We’re looking for a Black Hole. We need water and some cover.”

  “A Black Hole, nuh?”

  “Yes, sir. So we’ll be on our way now. Will you please shut that thing off? You’re going to get us all killed.” He started to back up and my feet mirrored his as he began to shuffle us backwards, keeping his weapon pointed at the men.

  “Hold it,” one of the others said, “how er we gonna show you to a Hole if yer run off, nuh?”

  My captor went still and I followed his lead, leaning to the left to get another peek at the men. “You have directions to one?”

  “Yer standin’ on one, sonny.” The man thumped his foot hard, and the ground gave out a low groan beneath us. He motioned for us to shoo a few feet left, then he shined his flashlight on the ground, running his hand along the dead grass and dirt, feeling for something. His hand stilled, and a snap and click echoed in the night. He rose to stand to full height, bringing a large door vertical with him, grunting while the other men worked to join him in pulling it open.

  A cloud of dust exploded around our feet and my captor brought me forward to stand at his side. I could feel his eyes jump to my gun. “This is a Black Hole?” he asked suspiciously.

  “See fer yerself, sonny.” Instead of waiting for us to descend the wooden staircase and into the ground, he started down the steps first, his friends following right behind. The wood creaked beneath their feet as they lowered themselves into the pitch-black hole, their flashlights doing little to illuminate whatever awaited them.

  “Is it a trap?” I whispered to my guide.

  “Don’t think so. But don’t let go of me, and fire on my mark, got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  His gaze bounced to my gun again. “Finger on the trigger.”

  I obeyed and gripped the back of his shirt again with my free hand, letting him lead us after the men, down the same wooden stairs and into the ominous hole in the ground. I wasn’t sure I liked this idea, but then again, nothing about this journey had been pleasant, and right now, my only hope for a drink of water or a good night’s sleep was in front of me, trusting me to follow him. I wasn’t sure why I cared if he trusted me or not, or why he said he needed me. He seemed to be able to handle himself just fine on his own. Wasn’t I slowing him down? I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Didn’t that make me a liability?

  The dark stairwell finally gave way to some dim light; the sound of low chatters and glasses clinking floated toward us.

  “You got lucky ther, boy,” the man in the lead said, stopping when we all reached the bottom of the stairs. “This here is one of the few in the area that still has room fer people such as yerselves.”

  “Who do we speak to?” my captor asked.

  “Lillian. She’s in charge. Find ’er right over there, behind the bar. Say Fred sent ya.”

  “Fred?” He extended his hand for a shake. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot, sir.”

  “Same here, sonny. Same here.” The man turned and gave me a wink and moved along, gesturing his friends to follow. They disappeared into the hustle and bustle, leaving us in the thick of the action. Occupants shuffled by with baskets of clothing, and buckets carrying everything from pails of water and soap to canned goods and electronic odds and ends.

  “Come on.” My captor took me by the wrist and we weaved our way over to the bar, which by the looks of it, didn’t just serve alcohol. People lined up to speak to the woman in charge, holding boxes and jars of coins in their hands, hugging them tight against them as if someone would snatch their belongings at any moment.

  “A trading post?” I whispered.

  “Looks like it.”

  “What can I do fer ya, darlin’?” the woman asked when it was our turn at the counter. She had frizzy gray hair tied up in a loose bun, her eyes tired, full of nothing but business. “Need to trade or need a place to stay?”

  “Um, maybe both,” my captor said, releasing my hand to lift the necklace from around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hand it to her. “What can I get for this? Any water?”

  The woman laughed. “Yer new ’round these parts, ain’t chya?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We need water and a place to sleep. Maybe a bath.” He glanced at me and rubbed his hand over his chest.

  “Well yer can’t have both, darlin’, ’specially not fer this here necklace.”

  “It’s real silver.”

  “Water or a bath, what’ll it be?”

  “Can’t we just drink the bath water?”

  “Suit yerself, but yer better boil it or God knows what yu’ll wind up with by drinkin’ it, now.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ll take the bath, thanks.”

  She nodded to the far side of the room, past a row of mattresses to a curtained area. “Tubs ’er over there, and you can take the last mattress on the left. Should fit ya both.”

  “Thanks, thanks a lot.” He turned to lead us across the room.

  “Wait, darlin’,” she stopped him, shoving a notepad across the counter. “What’s yer name?”

  “Jet. Jet Phoenix.”

  “Sign right der, please. My name’s Lillian, but everyone here calls me Lil. Holler if yer need me, now.”

  He signed and nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Lil.”

  “Jet?” I asked, letting him clamp onto my wrist again. He pushed his way through the crowd, dropping his chin as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, so?”

  I didn’t want to, really. But I smiled. “I like that name.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Sucks it’s a traitor name.” My smile faded when his grip tightened around my wrist but he kept moving, sighing in appreciation when we reached the curtain Lillian had pointed out.

  Jet pulled the curtain back and waited until I moved in behind him to close us in. “Not much privacy, but it’ll do. Better than nothing, I guess.”

  I glanced at the small metal tub of water, tucked in the corner of the room, surrounded only by a pale-blue cloth curtain. The curtain was fastened to hooks on the wall, which slid like a regular shower curtain, but it concealed very little. Whispers and movement came from every angle, a mixture of lavender and dust drifting into my nostrils. I coughed, and turned to remove my shirt—Jet’s shirt—assuming I was going first.

  Jet froze when he saw the shirt slip up over my head, quickly turning to stoop down next to the tin tub. He started rummaging through his backpack. I slipped off my jeans next, then my panties, setting the clothes on the floor before stepping into the water. I bent over the tub to grab a nearby bucket, remembering to fill it for drinking water later. The water was cold, and I didn’t even want to think about who or what had been in it before me, but this was it for who knew how long, so I sank into the water with nothing but appreciation. “Do you, uh … need help?” he said. He rose and stepped forward, keeping his eyes leveled with the floor. He moved behind me, I guessed to give me some privacy.

  I curled my knees to my chest and crossed my arms over them, shifting my hair over my shoulder for more coverage. He’d already seen it all anyway, when he saved me, but something about his presence made me uncomfortable. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

  I could feel him lift his gaze to my back. My eyes caught his when I peered at him over my shoulder. The room’s dim light accentuated the tired, sunken circles under his eyes. He looked as if he could sleep for weeks straight. The sight made my chest ache, partly because I could relate, and partly because I sympathized for him. Sympathy for my enemy was completely irrational, of course, but it was there anyway.

  He rubbed a hand over his head and exhaled. “Let me at least apply some meds to those cuts. They look inflamed.” Before I could object he was behind me, seated on the rim of the tub. He pulled a jar of ointment from one of his pockets and began gently dabbing the cool medicine onto my back. Between running for my life from my home in Morton, being captured and thrown into a cell, and being caught in a
scuffle with the men who’d almost raped me, I’d managed to acquire a few cuts and bruises. The scent of mint relaxed and refreshed me, and I slowly leaned forward to rest my head and arms on my knees.

  “That’s one nasty scar on the back of your neck,” he said. “Injury?”

  “Don’t know, been there since I was a kid. My parents said it was a birthmark or something.”

  His rough fingers continued to massage the gel into my cuts, my breath catching every few seconds as his callused skin irritated the tender wounds. He slowed when I winced. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle, but I’m shit at it.”

  “No. The medicine feels good, the skin’s just sore. Please, don’t stop.”

  He cleared his throat. “I know your outsides are banged up, but … how are you … on the inside? I mean, after what happened earlier. You can talk about it if you want.”

  I listened to the soft lapping of the water as it slushed around me with his movements. “What’s there to say? They almost raped me. You stopped them. I’m glad you shot the bastards.” My voice cracked and my eyes wandered to his strong, inked forearm, watching the muscles flex while he continued to rub my back. “Does that make me a monster to think something like that?”

  The lapping sound stopped as he stilled.

  “A terrible thing happened to you. The evil of the situation was horrible. You’re not horrible. You were violated and hurt, and you wanted them to hurt back. You’re not a monster … you’re human.”

  “Human or not, I doubt being thankful people are dead is a good thing. I should’ve never said—”

  “Damn it, stop. Just stop.” He finally moved again, sliding farther along the edge of the tub to move in front of me, reaching over to grip my shoulders. My naked chest was exposed to him now. I didn’t care.

  “You have a right to be angry,” he said. “Do you hear me? I’m glad I shot the bastards. I’d do it again. If you want someone to carry the guilt, I’ll gladly take the weight for you.”

  I glanced down at his hands and swallowed hard, raising my gaze to meet his glacial stare. A tense muscle in his jaw jumped, and he slowly let go of my shoulders, eyes flickering down to the swell of my breasts. He averted his stare.