The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

“D
id you see Tina yesterday?” Thrym was grinning over the table at Nancy. “An absolute mess.”

Nancy snorted into her watercress soup.

Thrym tore a chunk from his roll. “Houston told her the medi-comp was broken so she couldn’t get rid of her hangover.”

Phobos chuckled. “That’s evil. Especially after he used it on himself.”

“I like that man,” Deimos agreed. Deimos had been discharged that morning. Romy didn’t want to think about what this meant for Knot 27.

Freya was drooling over the “twins”. She seemed to change her mind as to her favourite on a daily basis. It no longer bothered Romy. Freya was just a young girl, looking for attention from the coolest males in camp. Not that the green-eyed bandits needed a boost to their confidence.

“What’s your job now that you’re out?” Elara asked Deimos.

Deimos nodded towards Romy. “I’m helping Ro in storage. Houston said it will be relaxed enough to not wear me out. And apparently you could use the help.” He directed the last sentence towards her.

This was news to her. And it confirmed her suspicions that Atlas was avoiding her. He hadn’t made any effort to speak to her since the night in his bungalow. She’d glimpsed him numerous times at a distance, and he hadn’t acknowledged her existence once.

Her feelings for him took on a wary edge. There was something about his actions that sparked a warning inside of her. Romy liked to think she was in tune with her instincts. When you were facing a horde of Critamal warcrafts, you didn’t really think as you shot the gun. At some point, it just came down to feel.

She watched him all day yesterday.

. . . Thrym was right. Atlas disappeared three times into the locked room, always making sure no one was near.

He didn’t open the door wide like he did with his office door. No, he
slipped
inside, not opening it more than necessary to squeeze his six-foot-six frame through.

Romy’s instincts told her that the locked room held something she didn’t want to know about.

The room bothered her.

Romy simultaneously wanted to know what was in there, and didn’t. She’d never experienced anything like what she felt for Atlas. She wanted to explore whatever was between them, and find out where it might lead.

For the first time in her lifespan, Romy cared for someone outside of her knot. It was fresh, and exciting, and . . .

. . . a mess.

There was Tina.

And Lucas.

Thrym.

And she wouldn’t put it past Phobos and Deimos to deal with Atlas should she spend any more time alone in his bungalow.

Not to mention there was the constant threat of the Mandate discovering them. Though, with each passing day Romy worried less and less about this and more about the pressing issues, like Lucas, and Tina, and Thrym. It seemed an endless cycle of worry.

Romy sighed.

Maybe Thrym was right, and they needed to regroup away from the Earth humans for a time. Perhaps the knot shouldn’t stay. Three weeks ago, Romy felt ill-equipped to deal with Earth’s mysteries. Now she was confident their team could pull the plan off.

The real issue was, Romy didn’t
want
to leave anymore. Even knowing Atlas had his secrets.

Knot 27 still came first.

But if she allowed herself to grow any closer to Atlas, would that still hold true?

When they were alone together everything was simple—she trusted him. As soon as they were apart, she began to wonder about all the other things that
should
matter: who he was, who he worked for, what his plans were for their knot. Maybe she didn’t have any right to this knowledge. They’d only known each other for a few weeks, after all.

But this distance didn’t mesh with the comfort she felt alone in his presence.

At least with Deimos in the storage room, there was no way Lucas would attempt anything.

One way or another, the matter would settle itself. Preferably before Romy lost her mind.

* * *

T
he two knot mates chatted as they worked that day. Well, Romy did the work. She refused to let Deimos lift more than a finger, not convinced he had the strength. She monopolised the single scanner and asked him to read through some dusty material to keep him busy.

This was the first time she’d been back in this room since Lucas attacked her. It was the first chance she’d had to look for the “classified” listings she’d spied over the soldier’s shoulder. After scrolling through the categories on the device over the last hour, Romy hadn’t found anything to do with a “classified” section. She didn’t expect it to be so easy. Lucas had used a key card.

She needed one of those cards.

If she had one, Romy could get the answers to everything––everything Atlas refused to tell her––and she could finally decide whether he was trustworthy. And if she found the answers here, he’d never know that she’d doubted him. It was a win-win.

Deimos had been nearly as disappointed as Romy at not finding the classified category, for more altruistic reasons.

Romy sighed. “I’m starting to feel like I don’t want to leave, Dei.”

Maybe if their knot remained prepared. If they kept their supplies packed to leave at a moment's notice if they were ever discovered. . . .

Then maybe they could stay until there was an actual sign of danger.

“I can’t wait to be gone.” Deimos shook his head.

She was leaning over, trying to pry a box free. She looked under her armpit at him. “Reason?”

“Because I feel sick when I look at the Earth humans.”

Romy abandoned her efforts to face him. “What do you mean?”

Deimos picked his way closer. “Every time I look at them I’m reminded of the four thousand soldiers dying needlessly, over and over again.
For nothing.
And each time the Mandate’s lies flash across the screen in the clearing, it takes everything I have not to smash the thing to pieces.”

Romy hated the screen, too. “I can understand that. I wish we could tell them.”

He clenched his fists. “When I was in the hospital, I spent the first few days just staring out the window at night. All I could think about was the orbitos, constantly circling in and out of danger. All for nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much hate.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Have you ever been too angry to speak?”

Romy thought about it. “Perhaps.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Our gentle Romy? Angry? Must be those hormones.”

Anger, fear, attraction—she’d felt it all. “Don’t talk to me about hormones.”

Deimos laughed, and they settled into companionable silence. It wasn’t until the final siren sounded and they made to leave the room that he spoke again.

“I’m going to kill them one day. The Mandate.”

She could barely make out his green eyes from where he stood in the shadows. She swallowed thickly. Romy had never heard him speak like this, not even about the Critamal. How had she missed the disappearance of her light-hearted friend? In his place was a darker man. A man changed by near-death and betrayal.

He stood and turned his back to her.

“I’m going to kill them all.”

They exited the storage room, sharing a confused look at the large influx of Earth humans entering the clearing. The dinner bell had rung, yet they weren’t heading into the Hull, instead gathering around the Mandate’s ever-present projection next to the office building.

“What’s going on?” Romy asked.

Deimos glared at the screen. “No idea.”

“The Mandate has a scheduled announcement,” a low voice whispered between the knot mates.

It was Atlas. Romy tensed and didn’t turn.

“Great,” Deimos muttered.

Atlas gripped his shoulder tightly. “There will be eyes on you. Don’t be a fool.”

Deimos returned Atlas’s harsh expression with murderous eyes. The two men stared at each other. Romy laid a hand on her knot mate’s arm.

“Dei . . . the others.”

With a slow blink, Deimos broke away. “Got it.”

Romy refused to look directly at Atlas. He’d been ignoring her and she wanted to return the favour. Unfortunately, her curiosity was running rampant. “What is the announcement?”

The low voice came after a short moment. “It is a trial. For a woman who once lived in this settlement. She was found stealing.”

Romy recalled Phobos speaking of this a while ago. “They make the settlement watch the conviction of their own friends?”

“No,” came the quiet reply. “They make the entire world watch it.”

Deimos’s words were scathing. “A display of power.”

There was no answer from the man behind her, yet Atlas didn’t contradict Deimos. Was it possible he disapproved of this power display? That was what she didn’t understand. Atlas surely had to be an underling for the Mandate in some capacity. The soldiers obeyed him, Tina obeyed him, and Romy assumed the work he was doing all day was classified. But why did he work for them if he didn’t agree with their laws and punishments?

Unable to help herself, she met his grey eyes and wondered if there was a vulnerability in them she’d somehow missed. Was Atlas trapped? Did the man before her want more than a life under the lies of the Mandate? Was helping Knot 27 a silent rebellion against the world leaders?

Disjointed words blasted through the clearing’s speakers and Romy broke away from his intense stare.

The words smoothed out and a picture flickered into view on the pixelated hologram: a woman dressed in filthy rags, kneeling on whitewashed stone. There were gasps among the Jimboomba crowd and Romy could gather that this woman looked nothing like the person they remembered.

“Silence,” Atlas barked.

Everyone stilled, and Romy’s eyes widened. She shared a sideways look with Deimos. Shouldn’t that be Tina’s role?

It seemed no one else dared to make a sound when the picture zoomed out to show a line of hard-faced men and women filing up onto raised seating. There were seven of them. And each wore stark white to match their pristine surroundings.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“The current Mandate,” Atlas replied.

These were the people responsible? Each member of the Mandate lowered themselves with poise onto their own white throne-like seat, spaced evenly across the length of the trial area. It was hard to tell from the picture, but Romy got the impression the trial was outdoors; she could see the bedraggled woman’s hair waving slightly in a breeze. She looked filthy against the white and slouched at the foot of the seven thrones. Romy ground her teeth; the contrast was purposeful, no doubt. Deimos was breathing hard, and Romy stretched out to grip his hand, hushing him under her breath. She was unable to tear her eyes from the screen as the cowering woman’s trial began.

It was a sham.

Each of the seven took a turn condemning the Earth human, and then, when she was finally given permission to speak, her voice was so weak it barely carried through the speakers, her legs shaking as she neared collapse.

And the Jimboomba crowd watched in silence. Most in the settlement were nodding, booing the person who used to be their neighbour and friend. Was the Mandate’s hold so tight? Could they have brainwashed the world so absolutely? To Romy, the trial was a clear setup, designed to consolidate the Mandate’s lies. But then, she knew about the biggest lie of all, forewarned of the leader’s capacity for manipulation and deceit, and she probably looked at the streaming image before her with different eyes.

The warmth grew at her back. “I don’t know why they’re doing this now,” Atlas breathed.

Deimos froze. “Our presence?”

“It could be coincidence,” Romy added.

There was a hum behind her. “I don’t like coincidences. You all need to lay low.”

“I don’t see how we can lay lower than we already are,” Deimos snapped.

Romy watched the projector with unseeing eyes as the convicted woman was dragged away. A picture of an island took up the screen; it was a stronghold. Could this be the prison she’d heard of? Image after image flashed on the screen: kind prison guards, evil and hulking prisoners, even a prisoner beating a young woman.

Peaceful music filled the Jimboomba clearing and the camera zoomed in on a woman’s face—one of the Mandate. She was petite and smiling. “The Mandate will always take care of you. May peace be with you all, and remember,” she winked, “take less than what you need.”

“Are you saying they’re watching this camp?” Deimos said in alarm.

Romy looked the twin’s way, and jerked as the black eyes of Lucas glinted at her through the crowd. Had he been watching them the entire time? For a reaction?

“It would appear so,” Atlas said grimly. “Unfortunately, thievery wasn’t the woman’s only crime. She was conspiring against the Mandate. I think I have a way to get your knot to safety, but I need a little more time.”