Silenced (6 page)

“I need you to get ready for the Presenting.”

I blink. “Yeah, what is that exactly?”

She places the pile of clothing on the bed. “A formal ceremony to introduce the team to the rest of the compound. Colonel Jax wishes to boost morale.” Her arms fold across her small chest.

I laugh. “So, you’re going to tell everyone what’s what. Just say what you mean.”Pressing my hands down on the mattress, I lift myself up. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, but first you need to clean up and put on clothes.” Her gaze flitters up and down before resting on my face. “You’ll take lunch with your team.”

My hand goes to my face and I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. “Yeah, I want to see Sadie.”

“You’ll see her at the Presenting.” She nods at the pile of stuff in front of the bed. “Take a bit to go through the things I brought here when I… recovered you. You have an hour before you need to be downstairs.”

I scoff at her choice of words. What she really means is kidnapped. “Where the fuck is my bird?”

She turns and heads to the door. “I’ll have Kenya bring him by the end of the day.” She pauses and turns her head to speak over her shoulder. “That is, if you can manage not to kill her.”

With that she leaves, closing the door behind her. I growl, an excess of cutting retorts piled on my tongue. I manage to swallow them down to the pit of my stomach, then I can at least shit out insults at her.

Kneeling beside the bed, I start to dig through a large black duffel. I pull out a few doo rags, pairs of boxer briefs, and random mementos I kept on me while in hiding. I feel rich yanking out a ball of hair ties. I tie my hair away from my neck before pawing around some more.

My fingers dance across a smooth surface and I halt. I pull out a worn, sandy brown journal. The sight of it makes me chuckle. It even still has an old pen secured across the lip of the book. I push myself up onto the bed and fan out the textured pages.

As I slow down, tiny lettering streaks across my vision. Faces flash in my mind, floating behind my eyes like the phantoms of memory. I promised myself I’d never write in this damn thing again.

I said Sadie’s mom, Hope, would be the last entry.

Juliet’s voice echoes in my head.
Are you done with her?
My jaw tightens with something. Anger? Frustration? Or fear? How am I supposed to go back to this?

To being a collector of names.

My heart hummingbirds in my chest, and I wipe the sweat from my palms onto the blankets. I try to focus on Sadie and tame the emotion running around all willy-nilly in my skull.

I suck in a steadying breath and open the journal to the next blank page. I drive away that bitch called guilt, remove my pen from its holder, and scrawl Tahlia—

My mind blanks. Tahlia…

With a sigh, I realize I never got the girls last name. I scribble an X after her name then lift my gaze to the ceiling. Studying the bits of plaster, I bring her energy to the front of my mind. What she was in her time with me. After a few moments I look back down and write: Trapped. Loving. Accepting.

Once I finish, I clap the book shut, cap my pen, and place it back in its holder. I toss the journal onto the desk as I stand, then reach for the pile of clothes Juliet left. Then, I cross the room and duck into the bathroom.

The soles of my feet scrape against the rough, almost rock-like floor. Dragging my hand along the wall, I locate the light switch and flip it. The too extravagant bathroom is coated in yellow light.

I feel out of place in this room. I should be in a bathroom tough guys wear shower shoes in, some prison-like shit. Then I remember that my experience in the Pit wasn’t why Compound Six was created. It was created to be one of mankind’s safe havens.

I guess now that we’re getting along I’m worthy of sanctuary.

I trudge across the room, duck into the stand-alone shower and turn on only the hot water. As soon as I do, a dial on the shower wall flashes bright red numbers at me.

Sixty.

Steaming water rushes into my face. I leap back.

“Shit burger!” My arms raise in defense. Something thuds to the floor, and I glance down to find a bar of soap flying from its plastic container. I bend my knees and snatch it up, then slowly extend my arms into the spray.

Once I adjust to the heat, I get on with the business of washing my ass. The soap is a bar of musky patchouli. I scrub myself down and squint through the stream of water, back at the number display.

Forty-five.

Forty-four.

Forty-three.

It takes me longer than it should to realize it’s a countdown. I rush through the rest of the scrub down so that my rationed water doesn’t run out before I can rinse. I decide to focus on the important shit, then stand under the showerhead and rinse the lather down the drain.

The water snaps off almost as soon as I finish. I step out onto the rocky surface and glance around for a towel. There is a small drawer next to the door leading back to the bedroom. I rush toward the drawer and yank it open.

Piles of towels are folded up inside. I yank one from the top and pat myself dry. I wrap the towel around my waist as I head back to my room.

No, not mine.

I can’t turn this into a home.

I pull on the coveralls still piled on the bed and finish dressing. I match all the other residents of Compound Six. Damn, I miss my old threads. As I slip on the matching boots. Movement echoes below me.

Furniture bangs. Things slam shut. Muffled voices pulse up through the floor. I head for the bedroom door and stick my head out. I’m staring down a long hallway that leads to a set of stairs on my right.

More low murmurs float up to me. I creep down the hall. The closer I get to the stairs, the easier it is to make out the voices. It’s two people, a dude and a female. I press my back to the railing and slide down the stairs. I focus on their energy and try to get a taste for what they are.

I can tell they’re both like me. My feet hit the bottom step and I crouch down like I’m on a secret ninja mission. No idea why I’m sneaking around, but I go with it.

I test their energy again. After several moments, I can tell neither are Muses. They’re the easiest for me to feel because I’m one of them. That leaves Spirits and beasties, or for the PC minded, Shifters. Me, I’m sticking with beasties.

A feminine laugh rings out, then the clomp of footsteps closes in on me. I rush to stand up straight as the skinniest white boy I’ve ever seen in my life rounds the corner.

He eyes me with interest, and I give him a head nod. Then, he shuffles toward me and rests his skeletal hand on the ball of the bottom railing.

“Pike?” His beady brown eyes widen, and he leans in toward me like he knows me like that. “The Pike Richards?” His face flushes a tomato red that travels to his Dumbo-like ears. He extends his hand toward me. “Been waiting a long time to meet you!”

Discomfort floods through me, but I manage to offer my hand. He grabs it and pulls me into an embrace.

Awkward.

He’s stronger than his shoestring physique lets on. I stare over his bony shoulder, trying to back away. No dice. “Uh… Okay.”

With a loud chuckle, he pulls away and grips my shoulders. He grins down at me like he’s on that good shit. I reach for his hand and try to pry him off. It’s like trying to lift a boulder. I only manage to raise his hand a few inches.

He laughs again. “Names Tripp Mason.” He jerks me out into the hall, and swings me around a corner and into what looks like a living room.

How does this place have steroids?

Gripping me around the shoulder, he points to a girl seated on a maroon couch. “Meet the other member of the warrior’s three.”

“The what?”

He pounds me on the back and I go flying into the middle of the room. I scramble to keep my balance. My jaw clenches. Someone needs to learn a personal space lesson. Before I can say so, he’s beside me, pointing again.

“This is Kiwi Grunder.”

I glance back over at her and my jaw sinks to the floor.

Dayum,

This girl is fine as hell. The stripper name suits her because,
dayum.
She glances up and regards me with a neutral expression.

“Hm.” She folds her arms over her award-winning chest and raises her thin eyebrow. “So you’re Pike.”

She’s nowhere near as impressed with me as I am by her. She’s not traditionally beautiful, but she is impossible not to stare at. Her hair is close shaven except for the long, thick bang that swoops over the right side of her face. Big, bright eyes that almost look black. There’s some reddish brown powder rubbed around them. At first it looks like make up, but as I inch toward her I see that it’s a natural part of her skin. A mark of some kind from the gods.

I shrug. “That’s me.” I flash the best smile in my I-wanna-tap-that arsenal. A gesture she returns by sucking on her teeth.

“Well, whoopee for you. Glad you finally got it together.”

I blink as Tripp laughs like a high otter. Shaking it off, I lean over and offer my hand. She stares at it, then gazes back up at me.

“If I’d known such a beautiful lady was waiting, I’d have hurried my ass up.”

Behind me, Shoestring chortles. Kiwi shakes her head and grins over my shoulder. She lifts herself up and saunters away, still shaking her heard. My gaze follows her.

That body is ridonculous. That’s what my white buddies used to say about a body that won’t quit. Fit, yet curvy. Nice, plump ass. She can definitely get it.

“Ouch,” Tripp says now that she’s out of the room. He strolls around and faces me. “Guess you aren’t her type.” He winks.

He reaches out and runs his fingers across my cheek. I freeze, my brows furrowed. “But you are mine.”

His eyes scan me up and down and I narrow my eyes. A hand plants on his hips and I shake my head. Oh, hell no.

“I’m not gay, Shoestring.”

He frowns. “They never are.”

Before I can respond, a loud knock interrupts us. He winks again and sashays across the room and around the corner.

I rub my eyelids. What the fuck is going on here? I’m in a house with Tripp and his super white name in some reenactment of
Brokeback Mountain
.

Then there’s Kiwi, with her unwarranted black girl attitude giving me blue balls for no reason.

“Kenya!” Tripp bellows from out in the hall. “Come in, girl.” The door slams shut and two pairs of feet pound their way into the living room.

“Pike.” Kenya nods at me. I nod back. She looks around. “Where is Kiwi?”

A bang rings out from another room in the house, and Kiwi comes rushing in. She smiles at Kenya. “I’m here.”

Kenya claps. “I’m here to escort you to the main grounds where you’ll take lunch in the main cafeteria. Colonel Jax will lead the Presenting. All you three have to do is sit on stage next to him. From there, Juliet will brief you on the rest of your day.” She smiles. “If you’ll follow me.”

Kiwi is on her feet first and the two of them start for the front hall. Tripp glances at me. I take it as a cue to stand up and get moving. He follows suit. Together, we rush to catch up. They’re halfway through the door. As we close the distance between us, Tripp lets me go ahead of him and closes the door behind us.

Outside, the light is sickly yellow. The four of us trudge across the grounds of Compound Six, which is on an old military base in what used to be Alabama. As we walk, I step closer to Tripp.

I nod ahead toward Kiwi. “She always that mean?”

He shakes his head. “A little intense, but no, the attitude is new.” He grins. “Showed up at the same time you did.”

My hand rises to shield my eyes from the weird interrogation room glare.

I grin. “Well, I like a challenge.”

Tripp sniggers. “I’ll take that bet.”

I shake my head. “If you win, I’ll let you give me a blow job.”

Laughter gushes out of him and I glance up at the sky. There is something off about it. A flicker of yellow ripples across a space that is more silver than blue. For some reason those ripples put me on edge.

I’m so busy looking up that I barrel right into Kiwi. My head jerks down toward her. “Sorry,” I mutter.

She hisses up into my face.

Surprise doubles me back, eyes narrowed. “The fuck?”

Everyone stops in their tracks and Kiwi is the first to set back off in the direction of what looks like an old hospital. Kenya offers a sympathetic smile and turns to follow her.We pass beside a small, man-made pond settled beside an old golf club. Everything is beige and maroon bricks, gated in by fences with wisps of electrical charge making the air buzz.

Scattered in the distance sets a row of watchtowers with armed Enforcers atop them. Beside me, Tripp clears his throat and my eyes dart over to him. He nods up at the sky.

“Weird, isn’t it?”

I raise my gaze again. “Doesn’t feel natural.”

“That’s because it’s not.”

My eyes widen and he nods. “Yeah, we’re boxed in.”

“Meaning?”

“There is an energy field around the entire compound,” Kenya says from a few paces in front of us.

I turn my attention toward her. “Why?”

“Because berserkers aren’t the only danger out there,” Kenya says, leading us left. “The energy field went up after the last fire storm.”

I blink. “Fire storm?”

She doesn’t get a chance to reply because we stop at a row of low, concrete barricades with a few armed guards at each end. Kenya flashes a badge at the nearest one and he nods us forward. We have to zig zag through the barricade maze, then trek up a small hill.

I clear my throat and again ask, “Fire storm?”

“Yeah.” She glances over her shoulder. “We lost twenty people in it. After that, the field went up. It’s manipulated to look like the real sky. Most people don’t notice it.” She eyes me as we approach a rectangular building with rows of boxed windows. It stands five floors high. As we approach a set of glass double doors Kenya turns to me, an interested regard on her face. “It’s rumored the gods are back,” she says in a low voice.

Dead weight drops onto my shoulders. She turns, leading us past more guards and into a sea of light blue-cloaked bodies. People bump into me from every direction as I weave through the crowd, losing sight of Kenya and Kiwi. I edge near the corner of the room. That’s when I spot them by an elevator. I rush to meet them, followed seconds later by Shoestring. My stomach twists into knots. The elevator ding makes me jump. As we pile inside, her words circle through my head.