Repossession (The Keepers Trilogy) Read online

  My mouth was moving before I could will it to shut up. “We’ll find your sister. I’ll help you find her.” I pulled my cold, shaky hand from the water to rest it on his. He hooked his fingers around mine and shut his eyes. Holding hands with this stranger was oddly comforting. I couldn’t bring myself to reject it.

  “She’s already in danger. Could be dead.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Only one way to find out, I guess.” He stood and screwed the medicine lid back onto the jar, then reached for his backpack, stuffing the jar into a side pocket instead of back into his pants pocket.

  “I don’t know where I’m going,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is crazy,” I gestured between the two of us. “You kidnapped me. I was your prisoner, and now I’m running with you. What the hell is that?”

  “Life.” He zipped up the backpack pocket and sent me a glum smile. “It’s full of surprises.”

  THREE

  The mattress was stiff and damp, but it would do. I settled down next to Jet, turning onto my side to face him. I studied his dark stubble, the rise and fall of his chest as it lifted and fell beneath his white t-shirt. Everything about him felt foreign but familiar, a strange, contradictory sensation for anyone who’d just met a stranger, let alone one who’d held you prisoner. I worked to remind myself why I needed to hate him, but as he went on and on about his sister as if she was the greatest thing on Earth, I had a difficult time convincing myself of the conviction.

  “She was adopted,” he said. “My mom couldn’t have any more kids after me. I remember the first day they brought her home, saying they couldn’t wait to travel to China someday to teach her all about her heritage. She was three. I’d just turned seventeen, and I was finishing up my senior year of high school. She had this creepy little teddy bear.” He laughed, staring up at the ceiling, recalling something. “Yeah, it was brown, with these freaky eyes. But she loved that thing. I’d wash it for her, and I was always afraid I’d ruin it or something. That the washing machine would destroy it.”

  “She’s alive,” I said, my voice quiet. “I just know she is.” I clenched my pillow beneath my head, watching carefully as he turned to meet my gaze.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Be nice to me.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Why did you save me from those guys? Why do we do any of the things we do?”

  “Because it’s what any sane man would do.”

  “You gunned down three men. You’ve been working for the Invaders for however long, waiting to soak up information so you could rescue your sister. Who risks all that for some random chick? You might never find her because you chose to save me instead.”

  “Are you saying you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  I shrugged, keeping my eyes on his. “I’m saying I want to thank you. I can thank you by helping you find her.”

  “I’m going to San Francisco.”

  I sat up, propping the pillow beneath my elbow. “What? That far west?” I dropped my gaze for a moment. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: There was a good chance he’d never make it that far. Part of me hoped we didn’t. I shuddered at the thought of being anywhere near the water. It meant being near those things. I hated how they’d stolen yet another thing I loved—being near the ocean—and turned it into something sinister, something wrong. Not that an inland girl like me had the chance to be near the ocean very often, but when I did, it was heaven.

  Was.

  “She’s there,” Jet continued. “I don’t know where, but I know she’s in one of the camps there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw her. She was taken. Her Capsule ID read ‘SF, CA.’ Most of the children are taken and shipped out there in those Capsules, but I’m not sure if they transferred her to another camp from there, or what. The Invaders like the kids. They send them to training camps near their main coastal bases. I guess to train them while they’re young and impressionable. That’s when I turned myself in as a volunteer, when I saw them snatch her.”

  “You surrendered?”

  “Yeah, I asked to be trained for service.”

  “How do they communicate with us?”

  “Technology. Chips that allow us to understand their language, chemicals, all sorts of things.”

  “What do they want from us? Do you know?”

  “Something to do with our water, I think. They’re not killing us all off, and they’re obviously using us as labor, to build up their own defense. There are tons of theories. What I do know, aside from volunteers like me, and the Collected like you they turn into trained workers, those in service are Keeper Agents. They were preselected, long before the invasion.”

  “How so?”

  “They’ve had chips implanted since birth. When the Invaders arrived, the Keeper Agents were activated—awakened, some say—and called into service. Which explains why so many willingly turned themselves over to the enemy.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “If all of these humans were Keeper Agents since birth, and didn’t know it until they were activated, what the hell does that mean? The Invader weapons … some are used to take us down, but they’re also used to preserve us. The injections Collectors use to knock prisoners like you out, the venom and energy spheres … they’re all used for controlling and keeping us alive, to add us to their workforce. So, what do they plan to do with us once we’re trained and under their command? That’s why we call the preselected agents Keeper Agents. The enemy’s directed them to keep humans around for something, but we can’t figure out what. It’s not like their survival depends on us. We can’t defeat them, and we have nothing to offer them. It doesn’t make sense.”

  All of Jet’s comments about not being a traitor washed over me, striking me hard and fast while I considered the news that he’d willingly turned himself over, only it was for Hera, not because he wanted to betray his fellow humans. And if the enemy’s weapons really were mind-control based, could I really blame others in the service? “So … how does the activation work? Like mind control?”

  “No, not really. KAs aren’t brainwashed or robotic or anything. Not as far as I can tell, anyway. They just really believe they’re meant to serve the Invaders. They have a strong sense of loyalty and purpose. Like those who belong to a religious denomination would be committed to serving their church, committed to their belief in God. Their chips act as translators. That’s how those in service understand the Invaders’ language, how they take orders.”

  The mindless devotion of the Keeper Agents chilled me. Sounded like brainwashing to me. “I haven’t seen the weapons you’re talking about. Only those cylinder things. They look like containers.”

  “Aqua Bombs.”

  “Huh?”

  “They drown you, from the inside out. Fill up your lungs.”

  My gut twisted and eyes stung with fresh tears.

  “What is it?”

  My body shook with a deep, quiet sob and I latched on tighter to my pillow. “My parents,” I whispered.

  Realization swept over his face. “Skylla … oh, I’m so sorry.” Hesitant arms extended to wrap me up and press me into his chest. It didn’t matter that I barely knew him, didn’t matter that what I did know about him made me uneasy. This was what human beings did when they were in pain, in crisis. Offered blind comfort.

  And right now, I wasn’t too proud to accept the consoling.

  I let the tears soak into his t-shirt, curling inward while I worked to calm myself. “That’s how I found them. With those things lodged into their chests.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, working to expel the images of my parents lying in lifeless heaps on the living room floor, water dripping in slow, steady streams from the corners of their mouths. After I’d shot the Invader near the shed in the garden, I attempted to run back inside to find my
parents. I had all of two seconds to bolt from the house the moment I spotted them. More Invaders had surrounded me and if I’d stayed, for even a second longer, they’d have drowned me, too. Those two seconds I’d stood in the living room, staring down at my parents’ bodies, were enough to scar me forever.

  “Why couldn’t they use them?” I moaned. “Take them as prisoners for service? Spare them!”

  “I wish I could tell you. Don’t ask those questions. Sometimes there aren’t answers.”

  When I felt I could breathe again, I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, could see the cogs turning in his mind while he chewed his bottom lip. I lingered on that full lip, not liking that I found it attractive. “What do you think is going to happen to the rest of us? To Earth?”

  “No fucking idea. All I know is, I want to get Hera back and go underground. Stay there for as long as possible.” He blinked and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. We both remained silent for a few minutes, processing the reality of our situation. We were on the run, to where, we didn’t entirely know, and once we got there, we had no idea what waited for us.

  “Where are you from?” Jet finally asked, breaking my troubled train of thought. “You don’t sound like you’re from Alabama.”

  “I’m not. My parents were. They moved us down south from Philadelphia when my grandmother died. My dad worked in Philly, but he loved the South, and wanted to move back after her funeral. What about you? You’re not from Morton, I take it. No accent.”

  “From Florida. I was in Alabama when the Invaders touched down. Was visiting a friend.”

  “Ah. Was this friend a girlfriend?”

  “Something like that.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a harsh shushing sound. The couple on the mattress next to us, begging us to go to sleep.

  Jet apologized to them, then turned back on his side to face me. We were nose-to-nose, our breaths mixing. “Don’t cry.” He pulled up his shirt to wipe at my eyes. “I hate it. Good night, Skylla.”

  “Night.”

  “Hey.”

  I closed my eyes. “Hhmm?”

  “What’s your last name, again? Warden?”

  “Yeah.”

  He chuckled quietly, as if hearing some private joke. “Very fitting.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Go to sleep.”

  Heavy exhaustion took me, the sounds of the Black Hole fading into nothingness as I slipped into sleep, dreaming of a better world, and that I’d awaken to find it in the morning.

  * * *

  When I woke, I wasn’t sure if it was morning. Kind of hard to tell when you’re buried underground. Judging by the chatter and shuffle of footsteps down the main hallway of the sleeping quarters, though, it was time to wake up. I sat up straight, stretching my arms above my head. My gaze fell on a bare, sleek, toned build with scars and tattoos in all the right places. I stilled, letting my arms slowly drop back down to my sides, my palms bracing me upright on the mattress.

  Jet was standing at the foot of the mattress, running a cloth through his damp hair. “Morning,” he said, his voice a tired rumble.

  Speech was caught somewhere between my throat and lips. It took me a second to remind it of its function. “Morning. Did you have another bath?”

  “Yeah. Traded an extra pair of shoelaces with some guys over there. Apparently they’re a hot commodity. Who’d have thought they have so many uses. Also grabbed this.” He swiveled on a hip and bent down to reach his backpack, zipping it open to show off a large canteen. “Clean water. No boiling necessary.” He tapped it and smiled, then rose to full height again, the definition in his stomach rippling with the movement.

  My gaze crawled up his torso and locked onto his. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Water in exchange for information. It helps to come from the inside.”

  “Doesn’t that put you in danger of the Invaders?”

  “No,” he shrugged. “Not unless they find me. And that won’t happen.”

  “You sound mighty sure of yourself.”

  “I took this out the second we escaped the prison camp.” He pointed to the reddened bandage on his left hip. It was surrounded by heavy bruising. “My ID. Implanted in my skin. They can’t track me.”

  I shot up from the mattress and moved in front of him, skimming my finger above the bandage. “You cut it out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jet, that can get infected. You need stitches … antibiotics. Something. You were running with that hole in your hip this whole time?” I gaped at the bandage, the sopping red stain looking heavy and in need of a change.

  “It had to be done.” His skin jumped underneath my touch. He stared down, watching my finger move over the bruise. “I disinfected it with booze from the bar. That’ll have to do for now.”

  I looked around, wondering if there were any nurses or doctors nearby. “There has to be someone who can stitch this up for you.”

  “If there is, I’ll have to pay for it. Nothing’s free. Speaking of paying, come on, we need to have a chat with Lil.”

  “Okay, let me wash up.” I used the toilet and borrowed a fingertip’s worth of toothpaste from Jet’s backpack stash for a quick brush, then tied my hair back and followed him to the front bar. My bangs fell heavy over my forehead, Jet’s black t-shirt now tied up at the corner into a tight knot at the side of my hip. My dark-blue jeans had seen better days, but my flat black boots were holding up good. Better than good. They’d get me through this journey, however long it lasted, straight to the end.

  We found Lillian hunched over the bar, studying a stack of maps, her round glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose. “What can I do fer ya, darlin’? Want some breakfast? Got some hot oatmeal on the stove. Give yer a cup for some shoelaces, er toothpaste if yer got it.” She spoke without looking up at Jet.

  “I need some information,” Jet said, eyeing the map in her hands.

  “Oh? Whatchya got fer me?”

  “Information from the inside.”

  She looked up. “Is that so? How do I know yer tellin’ the truth?”

  Jet pointed to his bloody hip, then reached into his pants pocket and dug out a tiny silver cylinder. It was smashed and cracked along the center. “This was my ID.” He dumped it into Lillian’s palm and she adjusted her glasses, holding the chip up under the low light of a hanging lantern to get a better look.

  “Hhhmm,” she grunted. “Well, what do ya wanna know, darlin’?”

  “I’ll tell you what they’re doing with the Collected if you tell me about the Underground. Some information about the inside, in exchange for some information about the outside. Can we do that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe. Yes or no. Do you want to know what’s going on behind those prison camp doors or not?”

  Her brows rose and she leaned back, studying him. “I’m listenin’.”

  “I need locations for as many Black Holes from here to California you’ve got. Locations, mileage, occupancy, a map, whatever you have. Also need to know if they’ve got supplies and weapons, and what I have to do to get my hands on them.”

  “That’s some costly info yer lookin’ for right there.”

  “So is the information you want.”

  “Darlin’, there’s a good chance I know more about yer bosses than you do. Don’t go gettin’ haughty, now.”

  Whether Jet wanted me to or not, I spoke up. “We’re just trying to get out west in one piece. He was a Collector and a prison guard. He worked on patrol, knows how things work in the streets. There’s not a chance you’ve seen what he’s seen, so if you’re smart, you’ll tell him what he wants to know.”

  Lillian turned her slate-gray eyes on me. “I don’t respond well to threats, ya hear me?”

  “Paranoia and stupid games get us nowhere. He dug a fuckin’ chip out of his hip, and we both look like roadkill. You think if we were interested in tattling on you, or screwing you somehow, we’d be standing here talking
trading fuckin’ shoelaces and hot oatmeal? We’re just trying to survive, like everyone else.”

  “What’s yer name? You didn’t sign in last night.” She slid the notepad toward me and handed me a pen, her suspicious eyes flickering over me from head to toe. “Here.”

  “Skylla,” I mumbled, not bothering to hide my irritation as I snapped the pen from her grip. “But people call me Sky. Last name, Warden.”

  Jet coughed back what sounded like a laugh. “So, Lil, what can you tell me?”

  She reached behind the bar and pulled out another map, folded into fours. Earmarks and red flags lit the thing up. “This’ll point ya to the Holes yer lookin’ for. No word from California yet, though. Dunno how many or where. Enemy’s infiltrated these,” she opened the map and pointed to a few X’s in Texas and one in Arizona, “so they’re prolly wiped out by now or unsafe to visit. But the others are worth a shot. You also wanna stick to the old railroad that runs from here to here, if ya can.” She ran her finger along a red dotted line. “Rebels have a workin’ car that runs along the track at night. Can save ya alotta travelin’ time, and they have supplies and ammo on board.”

  “What do they need?”

  “Canned goods, same as us. They’ll take her, too.” She jutted her chin out, gesturing to me.

  Jet’s hand tightened on the bar, balling into a fist. “No fucking way. Not an option.”

  “Don’t get cross with me, darlin’. Yer askin’, I’m tellin’ ya.”

  “What about clean water and antibiotics? You got any here I can take with me?”

  Lillian looked stunned, as if he’d just slapped her. “Bold sunuva bitch, ain’t chya?”

  “Just like cutting through all the bullshit, like my friend here.” He winked at me and stuffed the map she’d given him into his back pocket. My lips twitched in a grin and I turned and left them to it, heading back to our mattress. I did some final checks to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind—not that we had much to begin with—then met Jet at the bottom of the main stairwell a few minutes later.

  “You all set?” he asked, tossing me a pair of sunglasses.