Implanted (The Ascension Series Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter 7

RETTER

Ret stepped from the shadows of the forest into the clearing that made up the growing village. He shook his head as he looked at the community of small cabins with warm memories of the archaic lean-to of his first home. Because Dad still dwelt in the city up until around the time Ret’s head reached Mom’s shoulders, many of his childhood memories were of just Mom and himself. Yet they hadn’t been without provision. This community, Mom and Dad’s vision, had been a well-laid plan. Their unified response to Marcus’s citywide takeover.

Fueled with a love for mankind, Dad, along with his second-gen bride, had planned the foundations. They were educated and endowed with intelligence beyond the norm and armed with the original schematics of the new world. And once Mom discovered she was carrying their chance for change, the plan had taken flight.

Ret’s earliest memory was curling up next to Mom at night, watching the stars and listening to her heartbeat. In the colder season, they made shelter in the caves. He could taste the ghost of the salted fish that they ate in front of a warm fire while Ret practiced his letters and numbers on a tablet Mom had fashioned.

Over the years, as the community grew with builders, farmers, and old-time engineers, the face of the landscape began to change. Cabins replaced lean-tos, and greenhouses fashioned for optimal crop growth replaced their small garden. Recently, a single windmill had been erected to bring power to the newest addition to the village. A laboratory fit for a king. Or at least a super biochemist. As head of the building committee, Ret was eager to add more power producers to integrate even more advances in the community.

As he strolled through the center of the village
,
Ret noticed his old friend Tanya sitting by the fire, enjoying a steamy mug of tea. He took a seat on a nearby log, smiled and nodded as Tanya looked up.

“Hey there,” Ret said.

              “Hey,” she returned his greeting.

“Looks like I caught you at a moment,” Ret said. Tanya definitely did not have her same enthusiastic shine.

She shook her head, staring into her steaming cup. “My daughter turns twenty-six today. I could be a grandmother. Seems impossible …”

Ret remained quiet. Over the years, he’d learned it was best to just let them talk.

“How old are
you
now, Ret?” Tanya asked.

Ret shrugged. “Eighteen? Nineteen?”

Tanya laughed. “My son is just a few years your junior, then.” She smiled as she looked back into the fire. “I can’t even imagine …” She trailed off and Ret allowed her a moment of reflection. “He was so young when I declined. My memories of him are quite spotty,” Tanya added as an afterthought. The fire snapped and popped, sending glowing ash into the air. Ret watched quietly as the hot cinder cooled to a white fleck and floated away. The steam from Tanya’s tea lifted into the air and a slight scent of ginger drifted on a breeze.

Tanya shook her head and chuckled as she swiped at a lone tear. “I know I’ll see them again.”

Ret nodded. “Hopefully soon.”

She sighed. “Sometimes, the wait can be challenging.”  Tanya waved her hand through the air as if erasing the conversation.

“So, what have you been up to? Are you enjoying having someone to hang out with who is closer in age?”

“You mean the Wolf?” Ret barked out a laugh. “Yeah. She’s alright.”

“She’s in the healing hut right now. Undergoing her detox.”

Ret stood. “Right now?”

“Mm hm. I’m actually surprised your parents waited so long.”

“Yeah. So long.” Ret parroted Tanya’s words, but his mind was back at the river. He looked at Tanya and then over his shoulder to the healing hut. He’d promised that he’d keep her accident between the two of them, but then again …

“Thanks, Tanya. I think I’ll head over and see how she’s doing.”

Ret hurried away from the fire with a nagging gut. He didn’t like it. He knew Wolf would probably hate him for sharing, but the information was crucial to her healing. 

Chapter 8

FRAN

Fran moved in and out of consciousness wrapped in heat and fire. Her cheeks burned, and her throat ached for a drink of water. She wanted to open her eyes, but they were stuck as if lined with thick adhesive. She moved onto her side, and her muscles screamed. She turned onto her back, and a moan escaped from deep within, feral and animalistic to her own ears. The sound was like the groaning of the air ducts. Was she still
there
, trapped inside? Surrounded in darkness? Something tickled her face. A venting spider? She tried to smack at it, but her arms were tucked tight to her sides. Mummified. She wanted to wake, but she was pulled back down into an endless cycle of dreams.

She thrashed in angry rapids, was chased by hungry bears, and then she was running from Ret who hunted her with his mighty sling. A moment later, she was back inside the city, and an image of Marcus hung like an angry avatar over a gaming arena. Sitting on his velvet throne, he flew with the grace of a hawk while shouting, “Quite odd for such a ghastly creature, Rebel!”

She dashed across the Agora looking for her exit venting and Ted, dressed in well-creased pants and a red blazer, ran next to her reciting Impervious dogma. She closed her eyes and when they reopened, a stuffed teddy bear lay where her brother had stood. As she reached for the doll, a tear tumbled from its glass eye.

She wailed and held the stuffed bear to her chest, racing through dark tunnels, searching for an out. Her head throbbed and lungs ached as she ran. Something flashed in her peripheral.
Light
?
She ran toward it, but as she moved it faded, and she ran hard into a metal wall.
How had she mistimed that?

She squatted in the darkness holding her head with one hand and clutching the bear with the other. She panted, trying to catch her breath, and a moment later, her body lurched.

Fran rolled to her side and instinctively reached for the pot that had been placed there a moment before she began to retch. Her entire body convulsed and spasmed until her stomach had nothing more to give. Half off the bed, while her head dangled over the side, she worked to slow her breath. The shiny, worn planks that made up the flooring churned in swirls of browns and tans and the drumming of her heart eased as she rested in the moment.

Although she felt like a haggard zombie, Fran at least felt somewhat victorious with the knowledge she could power-down the Council’s trackers. On her first sip of the detoxification tea, Ema warned her of the fierce battle ahead. Fran knew her body struggled to purge foreign materials, but the Bots put up a good fight. They had found a comfy home in her body and fought hard to maintain squatter’s rights.

As she lamented, a pair of suede booties similar to her own shuffled into view and toed the pot away from her bed. She rolled her eyes upward, and a blur of gray and black took shape until she recognized the dark beard and soft layer of hair that now covered his head. She lifted a weak hand.

“Chan.” She gave him a shaky smile, but her voice came out like a croak.

“Wolf.” Chan shook his head. “You look awful.”

“No kidding.” She eased back onto her bed, and the movement sent a lightning bolt through her skull. She winced and closed her eyes.

“Not sure how you survived this, Chan.”

“Me neither,” he said. Chan began hacking and doubled over with the effort. Finally, on a wheezy breath, he added, “I’m not real sure of anything up to a few days ago.”

Fran peeked through squinted lids. “Are you really back?” She worried she might still be dreaming. Chan knelt by the bedside, his face inches from her own.

“You’re … better,” Fran said. “Right?”

“Didn’t even know I’d left, Wolf.” 

She pictured Chan a lifetime ago in the tunnel, squatting close-by, his face reflecting the light from his Reader. The same Reader he left behind to save her. Even in the darkest place, they’d shared a few moments of fun. He’d kept her alive, and now here he was greeting her in death.

The banging of a door sent a wave of pain through Fran’s entire core. Chan lifted his gaze, and his smile grew wider.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ema.”

“Up and about already are you, Charles?” Ema’s voice trilled out with a song.

“Checking in on my old protégé,” he said. “And you know us Rebels, we run on our own time.”

“More like your circadian rhythms are forever altered by years living in darkness,” Ema said. She dropped the linens on the bed as soon as she realized Fran was awake. “How are you feeling?” she asked, taking Fran’s pulse with one hand while feeling her forehead with the other.

Fran closed her eyes and licked her dry lips. “I could use some water.”

Chan stepped out of the way, and Ema moved in. Using a cool, moist cloth, she wiped Fran’s aching forehead, eyes, and lips, and Fran breathed in a refreshing, minty scent that seemed to call from somewhere in the depths of her dreams.

“Let’s have a look, then.”

Ema opened Fran’s eyes, and Fran sucked in her breath as a light stabbed at her pupils.

“I know, I know,” Ema said, and she wiped the moist cloth over Fran’s sticky eyes again.

As Ema pulled away the linens and fresh air touched Fran’s fiery skin, she had a vague memory of this same scenario also playing out in her dreams. Although the coolness of Ema’s hands felt good, her probing elicited a new round of nausea. Saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth, and Fran swallowed back the urge to heave. Ema’s hands moved to Fran’s wrist as she softly counted the pulsations, and then she pressed her cheek onto Fran’s forehead.

Ema smelled like apples and outside air. Fran breathed deeply and peeked out through squinted lids.

“You’re doing very well, Fran. I can feel that the swelling in your liver and spleen is reduced and can see that your sclera cleared considerably. Your pulse is still rapid, so we need to get more fluids in you. We’ll load you up with water throughout the day, and by nightfall you should be ready for the last treatment.”

“Another treatment?” Fran clamped her eyes. “My head’s going to explode.”

“One more.” Ema held Fran’s head so she could swallow from the bowl of bitters she’d brewed. “I’ll have Tanya bring you water and ginger tea for your nausea.”

Ema patted Fran’s shoulder. “You’re doing terrific. In another few days, you’ll be chasing bear cubs through the prairie.”

Fran’s eyes remained closed. She could hear Ema shuffle around her bed and felt the tugging and tucking of the linens.

“By the way, Charles, if you’re feeling up to it, I’m sure Ben would be happy to give you a tour around the camp.”

“Sure,” Chan said. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to stay with Wolf for another minute.”

“One minute more,” Ema said.

Fran waited a beat for Ema to breeze back through the door before addressing her mentor. “Charles?” She said. “How did I not know your name was
Charles
?”

“Hey. I was Chan before you were Fran. And, by the way, I named you Wolf, and I can take it back.”

“Mm hmm …” Fran’s mouth felt thick.

“Hey, Wolf.” Chan nudged her sleeping tomb.

She peeked through her lids and licked her lips. “Chan.”

“We need to get them out.”

“I know. I tried.” Fran struggled to focus. “It’s worse than we thought, Chan.”

She fought to stay with Chan, but the effects of the tea were pulling her way. “It’s in us. We’re all. Infect ...”

Chan’s faced blurred and she didn’t have the strength to bring him up to speed. A powerful wave washed over her, and unable to resist the pull, Fran returned to the darkness.

Back inside fevered sleep, she continued to fight the battle. A few times, when breaking through the conscious barrier, she noticed a warm hand around her own and sighed with the comfort of her mother’s touch, before fading back into her world of dreams. When able to stay awake for several minutes, Fran took small sips of ginger tea or water before her heavy head fell back onto her pillow. Now and then she’d wake to the perfunctory hands of Ema poking and prodding, bathing her face, and tucking the linens, but didn’t dare open her eyes for fear she’d be forced to drink more bitter potions. Her body began to acclimate to the new normal and soon nightmares faded and fitful sleep returned.

When the voices of her mother and Ema discussing her progress roused Fran, she untangled her brain from the depths. A cool breeze passed through the window and Fran rolled to her side to catch the fresh air on her cheek. She lay quiet, not wanting to disrupt the conversation and tried to keep her eyelids from fluttering.

“If I would have known about her near-drowning, I would have never given her such a heavy detox dose.” Ema’s voice, although cloaked with the formality of medicine, carried a worried tone.

Fran’s muscle tensed.
Retter told
?

“All in all, she’s done well, Ruth. We just need to make sure she doesn’t overdo it when she comes around.”

“I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her,” Mom responded.

Ema chuckled. “Yes. Good luck with that.”

Fran kept her lids closed until she heard them shuffle out of the hut. With a sigh, she cracked open her eyes just enough to allow a small shaft of daylight to enter her dark world. Although sensitive to the sunlight, she didn’t notice the usual intensity of the accompanying headache, so she dared to fully lift her lids.

Another breeze hastened through the window and brushed her cheek. On a yawn, she drew in a large lungful of sweet, dewy air and stretched her arms out wide, feeling rested like she’d just woken from a midday nap.

I’m done!

Flooded with relief, Fran tore at the blanket and sat up to inspect her surroundings.

She looked at the line of cots and noticed Marie had been released. A smile spread across her face and she stood, eager to find her ward from her days at the Ranch. Had Marie begun to sing again? And what had become of Fiona, Fran’s first ward to exit Impervious? Her smile grew, remembering team-Fran, and she wondered if John and Bob would be joining them soon.

As she took a step forward, the room began to sway, and Fran lurched toward the doorway to grab onto the wooden threshold.

“Oh … No, no, no, dear.” Ema seemed to appear out of nowhere. She placed a strong shoulder under Fran’s free arm and assisted her back toward her bed. “You’re not quite ready for the great outdoors.”

Although frustrated with her weakness, Fran felt grateful for the support and allowed Ema to lead her back into her bed.

“When can I go home?”

Ema clucked and tsked as she fluffed Fran’s pillow and readjusted the blanket. “I’m glad to hear you’re ready to go, but we need to rehydrate you before we turn you loose. You’ve lost so much fluid, you know.” Ema indicated the nearby bucket before handing Fran a cool cup of water. “Drink up, dear.”

Fran nodded and drank deep from the water vessel. The sooner she got out of this place, the better.