Underground 4 (17 page)

Pixie stopped just beside Bastian. Trent watched them from the corner of his eye as Bastian reached out to stroke his hand through the strands of her hair.

“Woman, you're going to drive me nuts,” he said darkly.

“Behave,” she said. “A van is approaching. I think the others are here.”

Trent looked up now, relief washing over him. Finally they'd all be together again. It hadn't been that way since Bridgette had been forced to pretend to be her sister as Weapon X. Ever since that time, it had seemed like there was always one or more of them somewhere else, and in danger.

He put the gun back on the table, and stood. “Let's go welcome them,” he said to Pixie, who nodded. Placing two fingers to his lip, he let out a high pitched whistle. Phoenix looked up, as did a lot of others, but it was only her he was looking at. He motioned his head toward the door, and then the three of them started that way. He couldn't wait to see what the others thought of this place. They were all together and finally getting the help they needed. Things were looking up.

They stood around Bastian's office. Phoenix watched as Trent's face went red with anger.

“What do you mean they didn't come?” he said, glaring at his brother.

Pete didn't look any happier about it than he did. “They insisted on staying to check up on Mr. Samson and Lake's aunt in the Upper section.”

“Mr. Samson?” Trent shook his head in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Pete sighed. “Don't ask me. Apparently he's still been visiting with the old man.”

Trent rubbed a hand down his face and Phoenix started to feel bad for the big guy. Here they’d thought everyone would finally be together and safe, only to learn that they were missing three people, again!

“What about Seamus?” he asked. “Why is he there?”

Pete's mouth turned down even more. “He's been pretending to be a soldier, sneaking into the NWO headquarters.”

“What?” Phoenix and Trent said together.

Pete nodded, looking tired all of a sudden. “He's planning on stealing one of their trucks and driving them all out here once they've made sure the aunt and Mr. Samson are okay.”

“Okay from what?” asked Missy.

“That's a whole other story,” said Charlotte. “I think we should all sit down somewhere so we can really talk. And if we could get some food, that would be great.”

“Shit, sorry, babe,” Pete said, moving to her side as if she were about to fall. “I wasn't thinking.”

She waved him off. “I'm fine.”

“No you're not,” Vi said, looking like a mother hen all of a sudden as she grabbed Charlotte by the elbow, her hands flitting about her face. “You're pale.”

“What's going on? What's wrong with her?” Phoenix asked.

They all looked at each other before anyone spoke. Geez, how much had they missed out on? Had Charlotte been hurt? She seemed to be moving around just fine.

Pete looked at Trent instead of Phoenix, answering. “Charlotte's expecting,” he said nervously. He slapped a shocked looking Trent on his shoulder. “Congrats, mate. You're going to be an uncle.”

After the whirl of activity that followed the news of Charlotte’s pregnancy, they finally made their way to a room that had a long table in the middle of it, surrounded by a dozen or so chairs. Phoenix had to laugh at the relief on Bastian's face now that they were getting down to business. He had looked extremely awkward and out of place as everyone had hugged and congratulated the couple. Her sister had even started to cry. Wuss.

Phoenix touched her stomach and wondered what it would be like to have a baby. She’d always liked kids, but she hadn't been around any in years. Now that she really thought about it, she was pretty excited that there would be a baby in their group.

Her eyes went up across the table to where Trent sat, conversing with Pete still. What would a child look like if they had one? She took in his wavy, dark blond hair and that chiseled jaw. She had naturally blonde hair too, almost the same shade as his now that she looked at it. She'd been dying her hair red for so long though that she couldn't really remember what she’d looked like otherwise. They both had blue eyes, so she was pretty sure any kid of theirs would too.

Her mind started to conjure up a little blonde haired, blue-eyed boy with a round face like she'd had as a child. She took in how broad Trent's shoulders were and thought it would be nice if any boy took after him.

As she let her gaze rise again, she was suddenly met with his own. Trent slowly raised his eyebrows, silently asking what she was thinking. Her cheeks heated as she looked away from him. She swore she heard him chuckle quietly, but she didn't look back to be sure.

Pete started to fill them in on what was happening in New Berlin, with Charlotte taking over to provide some details about the hostage crisis in the Upper section. She thought maybe Charlotte was holding something back, but couldn't be certain.

“Why would this General do something like that?” Bastian asked from the head of the table.

“The people of the Upper section are the ones who keep the city running,” Trent answered. “They’re the backbone. If he loses them, he loses his doctors, bankers, butchers, everything. He can’t afford to lose his hold on them if he wants the city to thrive. Otherwise he’d have nothing left to rule.”

“And because he's scum,” Sam added before turning to look apologetically at Charlotte and Bridgette. “Sorry.”

Neither girl appeared to feel insulted, although Bastian looked even more confused.

“The General is Bridgette and Charlotte's father,” Pixie explained quietly.

“How - unfortunate,” he murmured, looking closely at the girls.

“Don't feel too bad, X and Bridgette talk badly about him too,” Phoenix said.

“X?”

“Arrgg, Bastian, you need a crash course, seriously,” Phoenix grumbled. Pixie shot her a warning look that just made Phoenix want to laugh. “Are you going to defend your man, Pix?” she chuckled.

“Smarten up, Phoenix. Now is not the time,” Trent snapped from the other side of the table.

She could feel her face redden at being reprimanded like a child. Who the hell did he think he was? The Archers had survived as long as they had because they always made it a point to jibe and joke with each other, even when things were tough. How else did you get by in this world?

Christ, if they were all like him, they'd be miserable all the time. She seethed, unable to even look him in the eyes as the others continued to talk about what to do. She heard Pixie beside her whisper to Bastian that she'd explain more to him later.

Phoenix fidgeted in her seat, wanting to get the hell out of there. Now the thought that she had actually started to soften toward Trent just made her feel stupid and foolish. Clearly he was just as uptight as ever. He had no respect for her, never had. Ever since they’d first arrived, he'd treated her like some naughty child.

When Bastian called an end to the meeting, telling everyone to get some rest and eat, Phoenix was the first one out of her seat and through the door.

“Princess,” Trent called out, his voice already holding that note of warning, as if he were tired of her attitude. Well he could take her attitude and go fuck himself!

She sped up, sensing him on her heels. A hand shot out and grabbed her arm, but she shook him off.

“Don't!” she said, stopping to point a finger at him. “You want to act like an ass, go ahead, but I don't want any part of it.”

His eyes narrowed. “An ass? There's a time and place for everything -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it, hot shot. I'm the immature brat, right? I know exactly how you see me.”

“Obviously you don't,” he said, clearly getting angrier. “Although you're certainly acting like a brat now.”

“Whatever,” she said, turning to walk. “I'm going to my room. Alone.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Mr. Samson had finally fallen asleep at some point during the night. Stella sat diligently by his side. She couldn’t remember the last time she'd slept herself. The soldiers had kept watch on them all night before replacements took over. None of the citizens had moved from wherever they sat throughout the hall, everyone too afraid of bringing attention to themselves.

It was clear to her that the man, Douglas, didn't intend on killing anymore of them - not that it made anyone feel more at ease. They were his hostages, worth more to him alive than dead. Well, those who were left at least.

Thankfully she had hidden them behind the food table, a stroke of good luck on their behalf really. She had been able to get Mr. Samson to eat some fruit before he'd fallen asleep. She, on the other hand, didn't have the stomach for food.

Looking over at him, she could see he was sweating again, his colour pale. Feeling his head, she found that his skin was growing hot with fever, something she'd been afraid of. If only she could find someone to look at him who knew what to do.

The fabric around his leg was soaked through again, turning more brown than red now that the older blood had dried. Crawling forward, Stella grabbed the tablecloth that was on the floor, even though it was dirty from the spilled food. Her hands still stung from her own cuts, but she ignored them as she started to rip the cloth into more bandages.

“Stella!” she heard someone whisper.

Crawling back over to the side of the table, she looked around to see one of the boys Mara hung around with, Neal, crouching against the opposite wall.

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“Can you throw me some food?”

Why didn't he just come over here and get some himself.

“Please,” he said when he saw her hesitate. “My little sister and Grandma are with me.”

Guilt filled her and she nodded. Moving around the back to the side where most of the food had spilled, she picked up as much as she could that still look decent, then made a sort of sack out of the cloth she'd ripped.

She tossed it to him, the sack sliding across the floor.

“Neal,” she called out as he turned to leave. He stopped and looked back. “Have you seen Mara? Or my parents?”

His eyes went sad and she knew. Tears blurred her vision as she watched him struggle to say something. Instead he just shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Stell,” he said before crawling away.

No. It wasn't true. Stella fell back against the table, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her family couldn't be dead. It
couldn’t be
true. What was she going to do? Letting her head drop, she cried softly, her mind racing with the reality that she might be alone now.

How long she stayed that way, she didn't know. All she could think of was how full of life and laughter her sister Mara had been. Life was cruel to snuff out a spirit like hers. Her father's easy smile and her mother's laughter played around and around in her mind.

Even if she did get out of here, what then? Would she just return to her home, alone and empty? How would she support herself? At eighteen, what did she know about taking care of a home and providing for herself?

Would she be sent to the ghetto when she couldn't manage?

When her tears eventually dried up, she still sat like that, curled into a ball with her forehead on her knees. She couldn't move, couldn't accept what Neal had implied.

Only when she heard Mr. Samson moan did she look up. His head rolled from side to side as he called out in his sleep. Wiping her eyes, she went back to him, touching the burning skin of his forehead. He was too hot. She looked back at the soiled bandages and wanted to kick herself for forgetting to change them.

Now was not the time to lose herself in her own heartbreak. She had someone, at least, who still needed her. Working quickly, she changed the bandages then got more juice for him. What she really needed was some water. Maybe she'd venture out of their hidden spot and try to find some once she had him settled again.

“Mr. Samson,” she said, holding the cup to his lips. “Mr. Samson you need to drink more.”

He mumbled something, turning away from her.

“Come on,” she urged. “just a sip. You can do it.”

She got what she could through his slightly parted lips before he quieted down again to sleep.

Sitting against the wall, she let her head fall back, closing her eyes. If she didn't get help soon, she was going to lose Mr. Samson too. What was she going to do?