Текст книги "The Alien's Handler"

Автор книги: Gemma Voss

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter 22

ELLA

When I come to, I’m relieved to find that there’s no glove in my mouth anymore. But I guess on the list of negatives, that’s probably an indication that no one can hear me scream.

The room is dark, but I can make out the basics. It’s a bedroom. One that looks deceptively normal. There’s a hardwood floor beneath me, a basket for laundry, and a bed that’s made with a fluffy duvet cover. It certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of place you keep a kidnapped woman.

My legs are tied together at the ankles and the knees, and my wrists are tied together behind my back. I test my mobility and find that all I can do is roll around and inchworm across the floor. I could probably get up on my knees, but what would be the point? I’d just be uncomfortable.

I tense immediately when I hear voices getting closer to me. They’re yelling at one another– a man and a woman.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you I’m done, I’m not going back there,” the woman is saying.

“Oh, that’s fine and dandy… But you owe a debt to Beck now. I was just here to drop off a visitor. You’ll be babysitting until the heat is off, then we’ll pick her up,” the man says. I hear a door opening.

“No fucking way! Get back here! I SAID I WAS DONE! I don’t owe him anything—”

“You’re done when we say you’re done,” the man replies. “Fuck it up and find out what happens.”

SLAM! The door shuts so hard the house shivers. A scream of frustration sounds from the other room, where I assume the woman speaking has been left alone. Then I hear some destructive thuds and bumps. She must be throwing things around. I perk up, realizing she’s probably my only jailer right now. An unwilling fellow woman. Maybe there’s a chance I can befriend her or overpower her… something.

My heart starts to pound. I lick my lips. “H-Hello?” I call out. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

It’s silent for a second, then footsteps approach the door where I am. I shuffle up to the door and throw myself against it to test whether its open. “My name is Ella,” I say, jiggling the knob with my shoulder, cheek laid up against the wood.

“It’s better for both of us if you shut up and I don’t talk to you,” she announces in a cold, controlled voice through the door.

“What if I have to pee?” I try, sitting back on my knees.

“There’s a bathroom attached to your room. Figure it out,” she says.

The woman’s footsteps recede away again. I flop back onto the floor. I start to cry just thinking over how little information I have to go on. I have no idea where I am, how long it’s been, or what they plan to do with me. I wish I could be strong and smart, but all I want to do is weep and moan like a baby. Let it out for five minutes, I think to myself. I deserve that much. Five minutes to cry, and then I’ll scheme.

***

KILA

“I don’t understand why we’re going to all this trouble,” Mori is saying as we make our way down the streets of a neighborhood on the outskirts of town. “She has a translator chip. Shouldn’t the authorities have tracked her location by now without our help?”

Out here there are not many alien species, so our crew draws the attention of any human we encounter on the cement lane. The sun is beginning to sink down below the tree-line, casting a golden light across the green squares of vegetation that line the road and walking areas. The dwellings we pass are oddly spaced apart– too close for luxury, too far for efficiency.

“That’s against this particular Earth area’s local laws,” Pakka tells him. “The United States prohibits GPS chip tags that show the locations of private citizens without their express permission.”

“Ridiculous,” Mori mutters. “It’s like these stupid humans want to be disorganized on purpose.”

“The chip’s still going to have a footprint,” I point out, “And we know it will have a signature specific to the tech that the research facility uses. We can assume that’s where she got hers.”

“Correct. That’s a decent point,” Mori says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He is easily the most talented when it comes to scanning and tracking technologies. “Once we have more focused location for where she might be, scanning for the facility’s tech signature might lead us straight to her.”

“Got it,” Kiva interrupts, pointing to the home at the end of the street we have just turned onto. He is out in front, following the map on his mini tap-pad which is strapped to his wrist.

We fall into formation without needing to discuss. With a couple points of his finger, Pakka sends us into various positions. Kiva and I take the front entrance, Vala and Mori split to either side of our target, and Pakka goes wide toward the back, headed for a metal mesh fence.

I take a deep breath. Kiva glances at me furtively. When I catch him staring, he hisses, “Your eyes are black again.”

“Just don’t let me kill him,” I say. “Ella would not like that.”

“That does not assuage my concerns,” he grumbles.

When we reach the cement block in front of the door, Kiva kneels to slide a pin into the lock mechanism on the knob. It clicks in a matter of seconds, and we’re in.

There’s no point in being quiet. We barge right in, stinger guns in hand. I begin checking each room while Kiva follows, his stinger up and ready to shoot. I don’t imagine this Vic from Williams is capable of putting up a true fight, but we are taking precautions.

We come around a corner into the back of the home. He is there in a room that is half windows, facing the garden behind his dwelling.

“There you are,” I say.

Vic curses and falls out of his chair. “Shit, shit!” he yells, and launches himself at the glass door. He fiddles with the handle until he sees that Pakka is standing on the other side of the glass, arms folded over his chest.

I nod to Kiva and he keeps his weapon trained on Vic. I grab the little man by the neck and swing him around so that his back slams against the walled side of the room. He groans, and with his first gasps of breath he is making excuses.

“I didn’t know they’d take her! I swear to God I don’t know anything about it! I wasn’t there, I haven’t even spoken to any of those people since—” He blubbers like a youngling caught in a lie.

“Ah, but if you don’t know anything about it, then how could you know why I am here, hm?” I ask him, squeezing his neck harder until he gurgles and chokes.

“Kila,” Kiva warns.

“What do you want from me?” Vic whines, his face red and sweaty.

“Names. Addresses. Everything you know. Now,” I demand in the clearest terms possible. I hear the beep of Kiva’s mini tap-pad as he begins recording.

“I wasn’t there,” he says again.

“That is inconsequential.” I drop him to the floor. He rolls around, panting. I pull my ikani from my pocket. I show him the shining black handle and press gently on the release. The short blade emerges with a delicate hiss.

“You don’t get it. I’m worried for Ella, really, but they won’t kill her. They’ll kill me though,” he says desperately. “They’ll kill me if they find out it’s my fault a bunch of crazy aliens showed up at their place.”

“That is fine,” I say. “When I am done with you, you will be wish to be ashes. That is… unless you start talking…”

I move to pin him and he flops like a fish, squirming to get away. I dig a knee into his back and press my weight into him. I grab his arm and lock it into place while he starts screaming. Kiva shuffles anxiously behind me, but I haven’t even cut the coward yet and he shrieks like a hopper in a jungle trap.

“Before, I told you of the traditional Kar’Kali method of torture. One of the few barbaric practices we’ve kept from the Archaic period. I promised you a demonstration,” I say calmly, forcing his palm open. “It begins easy. With the smallest finger on your hand.”

I grasp the finger, just as I told him. Perhaps too zealously, because he lets out a high-pitched scream of pain, and I realize I might have broken his pointer finger in the process. No matter…

“It is best done with a Kar’Kali blade. Our metal cuts through bone,” I tell him, and begin to dig my ikani into the tip of his finger.

“Jesus… Jesus Christ– AAAaaannnHHHhh,” he cries out. “Fuck, fuck, you are crazy. Okay, okay, stop it and I’ll tell you what I know.”

I drop his arm. “Quickly.”

***

ELLA

Well, it’s definitely been hours and so far, my scheming hasn’t gotten me very far. In fact, accomplishing just about anything in my current state is exhausting.

First, I almost cracked my head open by getting to my feet and hopping to a light switch. It’s slowly gotten darker and darker. Then, I had to go to the bathroom, which was horrible. I dragged myself to the door, got up on my knees and pushed on the knob with my mouth. This door swung in, causing me to topple onto the tiles from my lack of balance. I had to climb up onto a foreign toilet and shimmy my ass out of my pants. Wiping myself was too tedious and ineffective for me to even think about again.

I searched the place for something sharp, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m trapped in a guest room that doesn’t get regular usage. Soap, shampoo, and towels just won’t cut it if I’m ever going to escape. Before today, I wouldn’t have thought that the kind of person with a guest room that has its own bathroom attached would be the same kind of person who gets random kidnapped women dropped off by criminals. Just goes to show that you never really know…

The only thing I’ve found that might be useful is a travel sized bottle of hair spray. By turning around and using my bound hands, I’m able to shove it down the back of my jeans. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than nothing.

Resigned to my situation and mentally fatigued from brainstorming escape plans, I haul myself onto the top of the bed and lay there.

Just as I feel close to drifting off to sleep, I hear the front door slam open again. I hear voices, but I’m not able to make out what they’re saying at first.

Then, predictably, they start arguing again.

“No! No way!” my unenthusiastic babysitter yells. “Get her out of here. You are not doing your bullshit in my house!”

“The only reason you live here is because we let you,” the man says. Heavy footsteps approach my door and his voice drifts closer. “Put your headphones on for all I care. The compound’s being watched.”

“Don’t you touch me—” There is scraping and shuffling from a brief struggle from just beyond the door. The woman whimpers, and I assume he’s putting her in her place. I tense up, the fear blossoming in my stomach. In a minute, I’m certain this brute is going to be focusing his attention on me.

“You only make it harder on yourself,” he says as he opens the door. For the brief moment before the man shuts it behind him, I can clearly make out a female form on the floor of the hallway, hunched over and trembling.

Then I’m alone with him.

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Chapter 23

KILA

“Infiltrating this fort would be suicide,” Mori states once he’s completed a scan of the area. “And I have no positive indication that Ella is inside based on these scans. In fact, there is no chip technology anywhere on this property.”

We are seven miles away from the town of Piney where the research facility is based. We’ve arrived at the address provided by Vic Williams. This area is less populated and predominantly wooded, but it wasn’t far to go in one of the human’s cars. Jen offered us one of the facility’s vans, implying that her assistance was not to be acknowledged publicly. The vehicle is primitive, but Vala seems to enjoy driving it.

“Are you telling me this was a waste?” I ask, immediately wondering whether the spineless human lied to us. If he did, I’ll make time once Ella is safe to punish him. I tap on my seat, impatient to find her. It’s been far too long now, and I can’t imagine how frightened she must be. I sit in the seat beside Vala, while the others are seated in the open area that makes up the larger back compartment of this van.

“I am telling you that this area is stocked with enough human guns to kill us all a hundred times over,” he says. “And there are some Alliance made weapons as well, just to be clear.”

“Not a waste,” Pakka says. “It’s clear based on that data that this is a base for the group that was behind the break-in and Ella’s kidnapping. It just so happens they are not keeping her here.”

“It makes sense,” Kiva agrees. “This is a known organization and it is associated with this address. Therefore, bringing her here while the authorities are searching would be inadvisable.”

“That’s true. In fact, there are two vehicles parked on the south side of this property with multiple heat signatures and weapons inside. That is likely the authorities, on watch for any suspicious activity,” Mori posits, gesturing at his scan. “Too bad they are bound by silly human laws requiring ‘legally procured evidence’.”

I turn to Kiva. “What can you tell us? You’ve been researching the information that Vic provided. Is there anything we can work off of?”

He turns pale once he’s under my gaze. “Kila… I… It will upset you.”

“I am upset already,” I say. “Brief me.”

“The names the man Vic provided are associated with an organization whose mission is to convince the public to join the Anti-Alien, Anti-Alliance, Pro-Sovereignty movement. They call themselves the Exile Squad. Mainly they focus on exposing the lies that they believe the Alliance government is spreading. They have a popular website called AlienLiesExposed.Com to which they upload many videos showing supposed ‘confessions’ made by aliens and any prominent Pro-Alien figures they can get their hands on.” He turns his tap-pad around to show us the main page of their website.

“So this is what they plan to do,” I whisper, fear freezing every ounce of the Ka within me.

He taps play on a video, which shows a close-up shot of a Verguli woman. She looks horrified, but shakily begins to say, “I’m here to tell you that the war in Sector 5 is a lie by the Alliance government officials meant to sway the public—” Her voice breaks and she hesitates, yellow eyes glazed over.

“You get the idea,” Kiva says quietly, exiting the page. “In any case, for the past month they’ve been posting articles claiming that the Kar’Kali genocide is a lie as well, and they specifically mention Ella and quote her, saying she’s a government puppet.”

I slam my fist against the small box that occupies the space between Vala and I.

“And here we are with a dead lead,” I growl. “What will we do? You are certain Ella is not being held on this compound?”

“Certain,” Mori nods. “Not a single translator chip in sight. Not many humans in the less populated areas get chips. It would even still appear in this scan if she were d—”

Vala shoots him a glare to silence the end of that thought.

“No,” I say, thinking on that. An idea strikes me. “No, and these kidnappers wouldn’t have translator chips, would they? Because they are too suspicious. If she is not here, she must be close by. Keep expanding your scan radius, and when you get a hit, I am confident it will be her.”

***

ELLA

Rip. Question. Slap. Question. Slap. Question. Rip.

He’s done this before. He’s controlled, practiced, and perfectly timed.

I cannot see my captor’s face, but I know I will never forget him now. He’s stamped in my mind, un-erasable– his open palm as it approaches my face, his gruff, hateful voice, and the threat of his body which towers over me. His knife slices at my clothes. He asks me questions, and then either hits me or tears at my clothing like some kind of disturbing dance routine.

“Is Kar’Kal a real place? Or have you just believed what they told you?”

If I don’t answer him at all, I learned he will pin himself on top of me with the knife to my throat and whisper horrible things in my ear. At least if I answer him wrong, he only slaps and tears my clothing. For now, anyways.

“It’s real,” I whimper. I tried not to cry for a little while, but that ended quick. He pulls back his arm and I flinch, but he doesn’t strike this time. Every once in a while, he does this. I guess he just likes to fuck with my head, that extra little bit.

I don’t know how long it’s been, but my clothes are in tatters from his little rips. One by one, the rips have accumulated and I’m wondering how much longer they’ll last before my clothing slides away and leaves me naked. Somehow it’s even creepier when I realize he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in sexual violence for his own personal enjoyment. He dishes it out coldly, like a weapon. If he catches a whiff of resistance or bravery from me, he reminds me how easily how can overpower me. He knows I fear that unspoken possibility, so he uses it. The suggestion of what he could do to me hangs in the air, making me shake with anxiety.

“Oh really? Have you been there?”

“No.” Slap. The pain in my cheek explodes.

“You stupid naïve bitch. Then how are you so certain?”

I bite down on my lip and sob.

“I said, how are you so certain?”

I can’t control myself. I start sobbing so hard I can’t even speak. He sighs and sits back. What will he do to me now?

“Let’s take a break,” he says. My captor’s voice changes completely, turning to a relaxed tone.

I tense, eyes widening. I’m sure it’s some kind of trick, but I try not to react. I focus on tamping down on my ugly sobs that I had been holding back for far too long.

“I want you to know I don’t enjoy doing this. You might even thank me. You’ve been brainwashed, and it’s the only way to deprogram your brain,” he tells me sadly, even patting my knee sympathetically. I twitch away from him, and the jerky movement causes my pant leg to finally give way and shred in two. “I’ll have our mutual friend bring you some food, but then it’s back to business. I am hopeful that we’ll be able to help you.”

He leaves me there, and when the door shuts behind him, my body sprawls limp like a puppet with its strings cut. I breathe deeply, cherishing every second that I’m no longer under his questioning. My face throbs. I close my eyes, not wanting to look down and see what parts of me are on display through my disheveled clothes.

When the door opens again though, I snap taught in preparation for what’s coming. But it’s not the masked man here to question me. It’s the woman. The one I can only assume lives here and wishes she was never dragged into this. The one that won’t help me.

Raven-haired, willowy, and severe, she looks young, younger than I am, but she wears a cold glare that ages her flawless face. “I’m untying your hands so you can eat, but before you get any ideas there’s three men out there.”

“I’m not going to try and hurt you,” I tell her. She doesn’t look convinced, but she approaches with a paper plate topped with a sandwich and a handful of chips. After setting it down on the bed, she helps me stand up and then unties my arms.

She steps back and watches me carefully as I pick up the plate. I don’t hesitate to scarf it down. I’m hungry as anything, and the pain screaming in my face isn’t going to stop me from devouring this food.

“I’m Ella,” I say, once I’ve come up for air.

“I heard you the first time,” she says.

I nod, taking another bite. I guess she’s not planning on replying with her own name. She doesn’t want to help me. Maybe she’s as trapped by these assholes as I am somehow.

My voice shakes as I whisper, “What do they want from me?”

Her stony expression falters for a moment. Does she feel pity for me? Anything?

“Just tell him what he wants to hear,” she says. “He thinks he’s doing a service to the fucking universe by un-brainwashing you.”

“What do they think this is going to prove?” I sigh before shoving more of the sandwich in my mouth.

The woman shakes her head. “Stop trying to rationalize it. They’re assholes, plain and simple.”

I turn to her and plead with my eyes. “I can help you. There’s someone coming for me, and when he’s here we can help you get away from them.”

It’s a desperate plea, and as soon as I see her incredulous expression, I know I won’t get through to her.

“You’re an idiot,” she snorts. “No one knows where you are. No one is coming here. If you think you’re fucked… Once they’re done with you, they’ll leave you somewhere and you’ll go back to your regularly scheduled programming. Me? This is my life. I’m stuck forever. So shut your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

She’s awfully confident in the statement that no one is coming here, but I know Kila is looking for me. I know it more certainly than I know my own name. He’s the kind of man that crawls across a desert to survive. He’s the kind of man that clings to the under-carriage of a bus just to eat dinner with me. And even though I didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he’s the kind of man that won’t stop until he finds me.

Before I can reply, the door bursts open again. It’s my masked friend.

“We gotta go, stat. Got word there was a van outside the compound,” he tells the girl. “Not government. Turned around and headed this way. I shouldn’t need to tell you that we were never here.”

My heart stops. I know it’s Kila.

“Whatever,” the girl is saying, contempt pouring off of her.

Then the man reaches for me and I twist away. My arms are free now, and I hop backwards on my shaky bound legs. He stalks toward me, furious. The girl doesn’t lift a finger to help him, and instead takes the paper plate out of the room like she can’t be bothered with either of us.

“I don’t have time for this,” he says. “And I’ll make you pay for it later.”

I slide my hand behind my back and grab for the hair-spray bottle that’s been wedged in my ass cheeks all night. As he lunges for me, I shoot out my arm and spray wildly in the direction of his face. He lets out a shout of surprise and anger, but I don’t wait for a moment. I elbow him in the balls and hop like my life depends on it. I hop into the hallway. Once glance to the right and I can see the woman’s back heading towards a living room area. She looks over her shoulder at me, then looks away. I hop in the opposite direction, where a door awaits me just down the hall.

It’s my only opportunity. I’m slow-moving in this state, and it won’t take long for my masked torturer to get up. And he’ll be pissed. I grab for the door, and sure enough, as I’m slamming it shut I can see him in the door-frame of the room where I was being held.

I lock the door. My eyes start searching the room frantically. It’s a laundry room. My first instinct is to grab the nearest piece of furniture and shove it up against the door. It turns out to be a table topped with unfolded clothes, which slide onto the floor when I throw my body weight behind the act of bolstering the door.

Just in time, the knob jiggles and I hear my captor shouting at me from the other side. He pounds on the door so hard that it shakes.

As I scan the place, my eye catches on a glint of metal– scissors. Yes.

I grab them from a cup of scrubbers and screwdrivers and triumphantly hack at the zip-ties that are binding my legs together. Behind me, the door shakes so hard that I hear a heart-stopping cracking sound. He’s about to break the thing down. But I have legs now. Legs and weapons. I shove the screwdrivers in my pockets and keep the scissors clutched in hand. There’s a small, high window in here and the sight of it makes me want to scream with joy.

I hop on top of the dryer unit and kneel on it, eliciting a metallic moan from the machine. I get to work popping up the sash lock and throwing it open, but when I check over my shoulder, I see that the door has been busted off the hinges. My masked buddy is trying to cram himself through the opening, pushing the table as he goes. I rip the screen of the window with my scissors and throw myself through, not bothering to carefully pop out the screen altogether.

It seems I’ve been in a split-level house, so I am belly crawling through a bed of mulch as soon as I am halfway through the window. My ears perk at the sound of a tires on gravel, and the hum of an engine approaching.

“Where are you going, bitch?” the angry voice from inside sends a shot of adrenaline pulsing through my system. He grabs my feet and tries to haul me back inside. I claw at the grass for purchase and stab my scissors into the earth to hold onto for leverage.

I kick wildly as I scoot farther and farther from the window, pulling one leg from his grip. I am so close. My shoe pops off, and the release of his weight on my leg propels me forward– I am scrabbling, crawling, and wiggling until I can pick myself up.

I stumble, just getting a bearing on my new surroundings, but the first thing I see is a man I don’t recognize. He’s coming right for me with a look of determination. I start to run but he tackles me, laying me out like a linebacker. The air is knocked out of me. As I sputter, my new problem starts to try and pick me up. I grip my trusty scissors in hand and stab the first body-part I can see. He shrieks and drops me, but it’s not a long-lived victory. He knocks the scissors from my hand and punches me in the stomach. I double over, tired of all the pain and running low on energy.

The sound of an opening car door fills me with hope and desperation all at once. I don’t know if it’s really him, but I scream at the top of my lungs, “KIIILAA!”

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