Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (17 page)

Her
brow furrows and she shakes her head, doubtfully, then looks back at the floor. 
She takes the towel from me and pulls it tight around herself.

“Was
it Nathan?  What did he do?”  She releases a sob into the towel, hiding her
face from me.  I grab her wrist and force her to look at me.  “He’s hurt me
before.  He shouldn’t get away with it.”

“The
rules don’t apply to Nathan,” she says.  “You should know that by now.”

“What
happened?  Are you in trouble?”  I grab another towel and wring the water from
her sopping wet hair.  If she’s in trouble, maybe I am, too. 
Again
.

“He
was drunk.  He thought I was some other woman.  Maybe one of the mothers or
something.”  She wipes her nose and leans her face on her knees, which are
pulled to her chest.

“Alcohol? 
That still exists?”

She
takes the towel I used on her hair from me.  “Go back to bed, Cori.”

I
stand to head back to bed, but when I reach the doorway she says, “Wait.”  I
turn back to her.  “You can’t say anything about this.”  Her eyes are pleading,
and I understand her fear.

“I
won’t.”

In
the morning, I get ready for the day while Marsiana is still in bed.  I’m
learning to cope with the subtle throb in my head that accompanies every
morning.

The
whole day is spent rotating guard shadowing.  The next day, interior tower
shadows.  I’m bored to say the least, but I’m getting by.  I’m focused. 

“Assignments
are ready,” Marsiana tells us another day later.  She’s matter of fact, but her
tone is not as deadpan as it usually is when she addresses us.  I wonder if it
has something to do with why she’s seemed so off lately.  Almost unhappy. 

Titus
hasn’t looked my way since the truck, and I’m anxious to find out where they’ll
assign me.  Women’s building security?  There’s always a chance that if I
perform well with whatever they give me, they could move me into trade later. 
But how long would I have to keep up this good-soldier charade?

“Sean. 
Your first assignment is to join Captain 204 on a trade convoy.  They could use
a good, strong arm like yours for extra security.” 

Marsiana’s
words are calculated like always, but not as emotionless.  She has shattered
me.  There’s no way we both got on trade.  I was right about Titus, I can’t
trust him.  He’s given my adversary the job he knew I wanted, that he didn’t
know I
needed
.  I’m frozen in time and I don’t hear another word that is
said even though I can see her mouth continue to move.

Finally
I meet Titus’s eyes and he nods toward Marsiana.  I look at her realizing
someone has just said my name.

“Yes?”
I ask.

“Trade,”
she says.  “Same assignment as Sean.  We’ll see how you do.”  I look back to
Titus but his back is turned, and he’s leaving the room.

“Dismissed,”
the captain says.

I
am a pile of nerves.  I’ve barely slept in the last week.  I spent countless
hours mentally preparing myself for a getaway, and if everything goes according
to plan, that happens today.

I
guzzle two cans of soda with my breakfast since my body feels so unrested.  I
need the extra kick from the caffeine.  I’ve been sitting with the other
seventeen-year-olds at meal times.  (We’re not pledges anymore; everybody was
assigned to some duty or another except Twig.) 

The
boys ramble on about something, like they always do over meals, but something
stands out and I finally start paying attention.

“Haven’t
you noticed all the traffic in and out of Medical?” Billy asks Matt.

“I
guess so.  I wasn’t sure if that was normal,” Matt replies, a little
defensively.

“They’re
upgrading everybody’s access chips or something.  I heard someone in the halls
on my shift,” Jayce explains, referring to his security shifts on the medical
floor.  I wonder if they’re getting the kind of chip that Dylan told me about. 
The kind that records what we see.  Just another means of control and fear,
that is
if
these people can even
feel
fear anymore.

“Does
everybody have them now?” Sean asks as if reading the next question directly
from my mind.  He takes a bite of bread, then looks over his shoulder and back.

“I’m
not sure, but probably most of them.”  Jayce straightens up in his seat.  I
sense this conversation is making everyone uncomfortable.

If
they’re upgrading everybody, they must be getting ready to use what the chips
are
really
capable of.  What is it they are trying
to do?  Nathan already has complete control of every soul inside these fences.

I
chew on it a little longer before shifting back to my goal for the day. 
Believing my plans will go off without a hitch would be naive to say the least,
so I’ve run through multiple scenarios and how I would respond to each. 
Regardless of hiccups or surprises, I’m leaving Antius and Nathan for good
tonight. 

I
know nothing about the colony we’re meeting up with to trade, and I have no
idea what to expect.  I don’t even know what we could possibly have to trade;
to my knowledge we have nothing valuable.  Sean and I were given strict
instructions to be spectators only, not to speak, and to keep an eye out for
possible threats to the security of our caravan.  We are learning only, not
participating.  At least that’s what they think.

What
they do not know, is that when we meet with whoever it is, I fully intend to be
lost in the shuffle.  I don’t know if the other colony would take me in, but if
I could manage to mingle into their group long enough for Nathan’s team to pull
away, I can go off on my own afterwards. 

There’s
a possibility that they would feel a certain loyalty to Nathan or Antius, and
sell me out.  But perhaps I could sneak away, and catch up to them later
pretending to be a loner.  Would they mistake me for a savage?

There
are many variables.  Almost too many.

After
breakfast, I meet up with my squad.  With a canvas bag containing a change of
clothes over my shoulder, I stand in line next to Sean, merely because he’s the
only one I know.  I can still see in his eyes that he hates me to the core, but
he tolerates me.  Maybe because of Twig.

We’re
loading onto a military vehicle with a large cargo area.  There’s benched
seating on either side, and gray containers near the cab.  One of the first on,
I find a seat close to the cargo--which I still don’t know the contents of--and
settle in for a long ride.

Sean
is close behind, but another soldier sits between us.  Eight more soldiers
climb aboard the truck, followed by Jacob, one of only a few members of
Nathan’s elite Government division.  I’ve never been this close to an official
besides Nathan, and I had no idea he would be joining us.  I suppose he’ll be
acting as an ambassador.  Our soldiers aren’t particularly charismatic or good
with words. 

The
driver--whom I can’t see since there are no windows between the cab and the
cargo hold--cranks the engine and revs it a few times to warm it up.  I lean my
head against the cold metal siding and allow my eyes to close.  I realize the
caffeine is no use for a weeks worth of missed sleep.  I’m hoping to catch a
little on the drive.

I
pretend to sleep while the numbers add up in my head, and the odds stack
against me.  Ten soldiers, besides myself, share the cargo hold, including
Sean.  A driver and navigator occupy the cab.  A government official is the
icing on the proverbial cake.  What a bitter cake.

Sean
alone would have been difficult to overcome, but a total of thirteen armed and
well-trained men will be on full alert the entire time we’re outside of
Antius’s border.

The
ride is far from comfortable, not that I’d expected it to be.  I lean against
cold metal siding; I sit on a cold metal bench.  There is no heat, no warmth to
be had.  I wonder when spring will come again.  The temperature isn’t the only
thing in the truck that’s cold.  Every single man in here is a stone-faced
block of ice.

After
a couple of hours, the driver pulls off the rugged terrain and onto something
smoother.  While I try to picture what the street would look like, sheer mental
and physical exhaustion get the better of me, and I drift to sleep. 

Later,
I’m half-awake after an immeasurable amount of time, opening my eyes only
momentarily to see that nothing has changed.  I drift in and out that way
several times, for what feels like only minutes.  I realize it’s been hours
when the truck slows and the men begin to stir.

The
squad leader, Captain Wilson, asks “Everybody loaded?” cueing us to check our
weapons.  I stuff a .45 handgun into the back of my pants and conceal it with
my shirt, as I see others doing. 

Wilson
stands by the doors and readies his own weapon while he addresses us.  “Rob,
Evan, weapons drawn.  The rest of you keep your weapons concealed unless
hostility is perceived or required.  Keep your eyes and ears peeled.”  His eyes
drift in my direction.  “Sean and Cori will help with loading.”  I nod, but
this wasn’t the plan.  We are supposed to be spectators.  I
need
to be as far away from the action as possible.

The
soldiers I assume are Rob and Evan strap rifles over their shoulders. 

After
another fifteen minutes or so, the truck finally comes to a stop, and Rob and
Evan stand posted on either side of the doors.  Everyone gets to their feet,
and I follow suit.  Jacob eyes me and gives a nod as if to reiterate Wilson’s
instructions.  I wonder what Nathan has told him about me.  I’m not sure why,
but I find him even more unnerving than Nathan.

I
reach around to make sure my firearm is secure and concealed.  For a moment, I
rack my brain trying to remember if I loaded it.  It’s too late for me to check
the mag, Jacob is watching me.  I know for sure I didn’t chamber a bullet, and
the safety is on.  I keep an empty clip in the gun most of the time, and a
loaded clip nearby.  Did I switch them?  It might not be loaded.  I hope I
won’t need it.

Wilson
bangs on the door.  I hear male voices and footsteps outside the truck, then a
click and a squeal as the doors pull open from the outside. 

“Boss,”
the man says with a nod as he props one door open, and the other man props the
other.  The driver and his comrade. 

Jacob
steps aside while the soldiers file out of the cargo hold.  It’s dusk out, and
I still can’t see anything outside from where I stand.  Once the soldiers are
on the ground, Jacob climbs down. 

“Do
you have it?” Jacob asks someone I can’t see.

“We
do,” a reply comes, as Jacob gestures for Sean and me to follow him.  I let
Sean exit the truck first, and stumble after him.  I trip, and almost fall but
catch myself on Rob’s elbow (I can see his name tag now.  I’m always intrigued
by which ones choose to put their number on their tags and those who put their
names instead).  He looks down at me with pure irritation.  I release his elbow
and catch up to Sean and Jacob. 

  We
stand on a paved lot near an enormous building that’s clearly been abandoned
longer than I’ve been alive.  Fallen power lines, dust-covered trash, wood and
stone from the building’s rotted facade surround us.  Everywhere.  The setting
sun illuminates foothills in every direction and a decent amount of shrubbery
surrounding the parking lot we’re in.

Beyond
the shrubs are decrepit houses.  They were probably top of the line before the
suburban people that occupied them fled or died. 

The
rear of our truck faces a large open space, on the other side of which is
another convoy.  My heart races when I see members of another real-life,
non-savage colony of living, breathing human beings.  Not a face among them is
familiar, but I love every one of them for no other reason than they exist. 

I
hear something screeching across the metal floor of our truck and look back to
see that one of the guards has slid a bin to the opening.  Jacob nods to Sean
and me, and we rush to grab it, pulling it onto the ground with great
difficulty--it weighs a ton.

Jacob
commands us, “Over here,” so we lift it again and carry it a good ways out in
front of our group and set it down.  Jacob stands beside it with a key in his
hand, one that I assume opens the massive canister.  “Come on then,” he tells
the other group.

A
man emerges from the back of their crew, which is smaller than ours by a few
heads.  He’s tall, and looks well-fed, probably out-weighing any of our men by
at least forty pounds.  I can’t figure out how in the world he maintains the
extra weight.  How much food slush could one
possibly
consume?

Behind
him, his disheveled men come into view.  They hardly look like an army. 
Certainly nothing of the order and structure of our convoy.  They scurry with a
crate of their own, though it’s made of simple plastic and open on the top--not
locked, like ours, or even closed.  As they draw closer to us, the contents of
the crate become clearer--it’s food.  Real food.