Being Emerald (28 page)

Morgan sat back in his chair and the corner of his lip curled. He looked every bit the monster he was.

She was scared now.

“So how long until he comes back for you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say.” Had she? She started to search her hazy memory and then realized he was talking to her again. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“Oh, come on, Miss Lewis, pay attention.”

He was confusing her to the point she wasn’t even sure if she’d even given up any secrets.

“Did he tell you about Emily?”

She took a deep breath. Something she could talk about. “Yeah. He told me.”

“Does it bother you to have to look at another woman’s name while he’s fucking you?”

Laila tried to keep a calm demeanor but Morgan’s aggressive emotions fed her rising anger. She slammed her hands on the top of the table. “Stop!”

“I’m sorry. That was a bit crass of me. Where have my manners gone?” He signaled to the guardsman at the door. “Please get Miss Lewis a cup of tea.”

He turned to her and sat back, relaxed in his chair. “Now where were we? Oh, yes. So, Sydney told you about me fucking her over the desk?”

Laila nodded. “Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe since she didn’t like you.”

“Uh…”

“So that makes me wonder who told you I bent Sydney over the desk.”

She frantically raced to come up with a reasonable answer to his question.

Tapping an index finger on his bottom lip, he studied her from across the table.

The door opened and the guardsman walked back in with a cup in his hand, she did a double take. He’d just left a few seconds ago. Hadn’t he? She looked at him, at Morgan and then down at the steaming cup of tea set before her with a packet of sugar on the saucer next to a spoon.

“What’s wrong, Miss Lewis?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. Her hand shook as she ripped the sugar packet open and poured the crystals into the fragrant tea. She took a deep cleansing breath in an attempt to get a grip as she stirred the liquid.

“Sydney didn’t talk to you about us. How did you know?”

Laila ground her teeth, resigned to the fact she had to stay silent or she’d end up hanging herself.

“Are you spying on me?” The General motioned again for the guardsman at the door. “Take a team and scour my office. Look at every surface for a listening device,” Morgan said, studying her speculatively.

Laila tried as hard as she could to look as if she didn’t care.

When the guard closed the door behind him, Morgan said, “Tell me about your family. Where were they from pre-pandemic?

“Florida. Tampa, Florida.”

“And what nationality is the name Lewis?”

“Welsh.”

“Oh, really?” His expression was skeptical. “Do you have any Irish blood in you?”

“No.” Her voice quavered.

“While you lived in the Sapphire Zone, did you ever attend a meeting of the Irish Heritage Club?”

“No,” she lied.

He sucked in a shocked gasp then glowered at her. “You’re not a very good liar, Miss Lewis.” His expression turned lethal with cold, dead eyes and a sneer where his scar bit into his top lip. He leaned over the table and stared hard. “It’s funny, sometimes when I go fishing and think I’ll come up empty, I land a whale. What are the odds?” It seemed as if he was talking more to himself than her. “You work for the Resistance.”

“No.”

She said the word a little too quickly and the conspicuous tone of panic indicated she was no longer doing as well in her deception as she’d hoped. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling well. Her stomach squeezed bile up her esophagus. Her tongue was a brick as she tried desperately to swallow a sip of tea. Her heartbeat thudded loudly. Too loudly. She was a moment away from full-blown panic. His lips were moving. Was he talking to her? “What?”

He flashed an evil leer. Aimed it right at her. “You were telling me who else you know working for the Resistance.” He waved a hand. “Other than Rock, who we’ve already discussed, of course.” He paused, looking so pleasant. “Was there someone else?”

“I don’t think…” She focused hard, trying to remember the last few minutes. She couldn’t remember telling him about Rock.

“Miss Lewis.”

She came out of her thoughts abruptly and turned her attention to Morgan.

“You were telling me about Sydney working for the Resistance.”

Finally sure of something, Laila snorted. “You’re trying to trick me, General. I caught you red handed.”

He smiled, crossed one leg over the other and settled his hands neatly on his thigh. “So you did.”

She desperately wanted to scream and scratch that man’s eyes out. She was better than this. Stronger.

The door to the room opened and a guardsman entered. He handed Morgan the bug she’d planted so many months ago. She closed her eyes and made her best attempt to focus inward for a few moments. What would Rock want her to do here?

Kill him.
She smiled to herself at hearing the deep rumble of Rock’s voice in her head. Killing him was not an option at the moment. But the simple solution to this no-win conversation came to her a second later. It was a simple skill she’d mastered during her training. Silence. She could do silent. She
would
do silent. Laila met Morgan’s gaze but this time she was the one who smiled.

Proudly, she didn’t utter a single syllable for the hours that followed. During that time, Morgan ran the gamut from civil to violent, but she had learned how to be silent during intense and emotional stimulus. This was a different situation, but the skill was the same.

She’d not even been paying attention to the General when another needle punctured her skin. Soon after, the world was a blur of disjointed snippets of time.

She sat on the toilet in a bathroom she’d never seen before. A woman in scrubs was in there with her. The woman’s face swam in her vision, her lips moved.

“Sorry…baby…” The words melted before her brain could remember most of them.

She drifted alone until she saw the woman again. “This will help,” she said.

A pinch in the crook of her arm.

Feeling so good. Her head lolled. It was too heavy.

The world transformed. A surreal, hazy feeling threaded through her consciousness. She was flying.

Bright lights overhead. She couldn’t move her legs.

“Okay,” she heard herself saying in response to nothing in particular. The woman undressed her and dressed her in something open in the back.

Then bed.

“Not jail?” she asked the room.

A woman’s voice. “Remember, you’re going to be okay.”

Then she was alone.

Rock waited ten days. He had no fucking idea why his father never showed at the drop house, but he didn’t worry. Rock Sr. could take care of himself and probably stayed to make sure Laila was okay.

Or maybe he’d postponed until he could bring Laila’s mother with him. It hadn’t been hard to see his dad had feelings for Lila Lewis.

No. He wouldn’t worry.

The three hundred miles from the drop house to his new home had taken two days and was blissfully uneventful, with the exception of a few places where the road was blocked by the takeover of plant life. Once he got off the main thoroughfare, it was slower going. Rock spray-painted fluorescent orange arrows indicating his turns as he wove through the maze of smaller roads leading to his destination.

His parents lived in Charlotte, NC, prior to the pandemic. His father had told him stories of their honeymoon on the North Carolina coast. It was he who mentioned in one of their many conversations that living by the ocean might be easier post-pandemic due to it being a good food source.

When Rock finally arrived at the coast, he left his truck behind to explore the area. His first look at the wide beach and immense body of water captivated him.

He walked to the waterline and surveyed the gigantic houses that stood like sentinels left from a different civilization, their bridges leading from their back doors to the beach jutting like huge tongues. He inhaled lungsful of fresh sea air. His dad had been right. This would be the perfect place to start a family.

He searched for homes with their walkways still intact. Some structures were barely standing, weather battered and uninhabitable. Others had held up much better, zipped up tight with hurricane shutters and decks that appeared to be wood but on closer inspection were some kind of plastic.

He circled three homes that appeared as if they were still in pretty good shape.

Finally, he approached the one that looked to be the best choice. It was an enormous blue-gray home reminding him of old driftwood. It had a circular lookout at the very top, giving a three hundred sixty degree view.

The home was protected with metal shutters covering all the windows. Getting inside would prove to be a challenge. Rock returned to his vehicle and drove to the home he’d chosen. Having unpacked his tool chest and a large battery he’d brought with him, he circled around to the back deck.

As predicted, the house was a bitch to break into and ultimately, he had to do some damage to open the first shutter. Once he’d peeled enough of it back to slip inside, he turned on his flashlight and searched the house, looking for corpses or indications the home was damaged. He found neither. It was absolutely perfect.

Using his battery and converter, he tapped into the shutters’ wiring and once the power was connected, the metal rolled up, replacing the darkness with brilliant light and an amazing view of the ocean.

He thought of Laila as he toured the home in the light of day. The kitchen was twice the size of his in the Emerald Zone, and that one had been huge. He imagined her sitting there at the island, chatting with him as he cooked, as was their routine. She was never far from his mind, and as he took in the details of the house, it was Laila he wanted to please. He could live in a hut for all he cared, but he wanted a castle for his queen. It looked as if she’d get it.

He walked through the living area. The room was sleekly modern in white and pale blue, colors reminiscent of the sea. Hanging over the mantle opposite the ocean view hung a seascape in watercolor, with white sand and turquoise water.

Rock inspected the fireplace and found it was in good working order, looking as if it had never been used. On the far side of the living room, he took the hallway to the master suite. The view was the same with another wall of windows. The bed was gigantic.

Rock smiled. The headboard and footboard were brass in curly designs. Perfect for ropes. “Absolutely perfect,” he announced to the empty room.

He took the steps to the second floor. A common area gave access to all the rooms on that level and held the spiral staircase, leading to the lookout. There were four bedrooms, one of them decorated for a young boy, with trains and cars littering the floor. Rock climbed the stairs, curling his way up to the next level and emerged into a round cupola. It was about ten feet in diameter and, after spending more than an hour trying to get the metal shutters open, gave a breathtaking three hundred sixty degree view and easy access to the roof.

He imagined their children in there, with toys littering the floor. Yes, a perfect little clubhouse for his babies.

Rock grabbed his toolbox, made his way to the kitchen, and sat at the island, swinging the box onto the light gray granite.

He took out his list. He’d had a lot of time to think about what he’d need to do in order to make the home he chose livable. He’d had to bring the important things with him, not knowing if he’d be able to find what he needed in Onyx.

The list was extensive, but when he was done, they’d have some electricity, a place to go to the bathroom, and fresh water. He’d made the plans and learned the skills. Now all he had to do was put them in motion.

Laila awoke in her isolation cell and groaned. Her head. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to rub out the throbbing that seemed to center there.

When she forced herself to swing her legs over the side of the cot, she found she was nude. With great effort, she wrapped the sheet around her and walked the few steps toward the door. Grasping the handle, she attempted to turn the knob. Nothing. Still a prisoner.

She scanned the room. There were no clothes for her.

She lay down and limped through her memories of the night before. They were like impressionist paintings, giving her a general sense of what had happened, but the details were missing.

She examined the crook of her arm. Three needle marks. She worried for the baby she was almost positive she carried. Whatever they put into her system last night couldn’t have been good for the tiny life inside her.

The third injection had been something different. It had gripped her differently and the following hours were filled with snippets of bright lights, questions, and…she gasped. There was some kind of medical procedure. She remembered screaming, screaming for Rock over and over as she was restrained. They had done something to her. The vague memory spiked her heart rate.

Opening her eyes brought her out of the disjointed memory. She looked around the sparse room again and realized she wasn’t in her old isolation room as she’d initially thought. This one had a slightly different shade of paint. No water stains over the door. The rest was the same. Cot, sink, toilet, and four blank walls to stare at.

Laila closed her eyes and allowed her world to crash down around her. Rock would return. Wouldn’t he? The drugs, combined with Morgan’s insinuation she was naive and stupid to believe Rock would be back for her, had chipped away at her certainty.

She turned to face the wall with her back to the door and vowed to keep her promise to remain doubtless about what she’d built with him. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. It had been sixteen days since she’d walked up to re-enter the gates to New Atlanta. She pictured him, walking through the house he chose to spend their lives in. Something with lots of windows letting in a daily dose of feel good rays of sunlight to warm their skin and their home.