Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Abby, the girl with the limp, and her daughter are gone.

I quietly ask around and learn they've been moved to a school where they're supposed to cook and clean. I hope that's the truth.

Without Beth and Abby to look after, my days feel hollow. I find myself in the basement workroom, alone, assembling guns and piecing together grenades.

The motions become second nature. I don’t need to focus on what I'm doing, and I realize I can even put together guns with my eyes shut.

Albion always needs more guns, bullets, and bombs. So many get destroyed each day that when I head downstairs every morning, the weapons I’d assembled are gone, replaced by cold steel parts, wires, and powder from the factories.

I sit and assemble them. There’s no window in the workroom. I used to not mind. But now I do.

When I’m not making weapons, I wander the long hallways of the old house, peering out every window I pass.

Most are boarded up, either with iron bars on the outside or wooden planks and gray curtains on the inside. It’s a reminder that the outside world is dangerous and we don’t need to see it.

But I find a window. It’s in the attic. I’d never been to the attic before; it never crossed my mind to go there because no one else did and there was nothing there.

That's probably why I started going there the day after Beth was taken from me. I push the heavy door open and step inside.

The house's roof slopes down in the corners of the room, and beams stretch across the ceiling, holding everything together.

The floor is wooden, made of old planks. I can tell they haven’t been touched since before the war started. They creak under my weight. The light doesn’t work when I flip the switch, so I bring a candle with me.

There’s only one window, and it isn’t even a real one. It’s on the ceiling in the far corner, facing the sky.

I can’t see the gray land, but I can see the blue sky and white clouds. There’s an old rug rolled up in one corner, which I shake out and lay under the window. Then I lie down and gaze out the window.

I fit into the corner comfortably. I spend hours under the window, watching the sky darken, the clouds grow heavy with rain. Then it clears and the sky is bright blue again. The sun streams into the attic and warms my face.

For the first time in my life, I yearn to be outside. I’d love to run under the sky, to run and never stop. To breathe the outside air.

In the evenings, I trudge down from the attic and go to my room, where I shower and slip on my gray nightgown before going to Eric’s room. He always greets me with a smile.

In the mornings, I wake before him, slip out of the bed, and go back to my room. He wants to talk to me and have conversations, but I don’t let him. I don’t want to.

One morning, he grabs me as I try to leave the bed and pulls me back to him. He wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in my neck, letting out a content sigh.

“Stay with me this morning, Alex,” he whispers against my skin.

“Yes, Master.” I sigh, annoyed I can’t go to the workshop and feel somewhat useful.

He chuckles lightly. “I am traveling tomorrow, Alex,” he tells me. “A Testing is taking place in a nearby school. I will spend the night. You’ll be okay here without me?”

“Yes, Master. Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “This is the safest place for you.” He rolls me over and gazes down at me. I immediately avoid his gaze.

“Yes.”

“I will miss you.” He kisses my cheek.

“So will I.”

“Alex, I have been thinking. Maybe this will make you feel better. Are you late?” His eyes are wide.

I blink at him. “Late, Master? My period, you mean?”

“Yes, I have been trying to calculate, and I believe—”

I cut him off. “I’m not. Still a week off.” I pull away from him, suddenly not caring if I offend him and slide out of the bed before he can grab me again. I pull on my nightgown. I can feel his eyes on me.

“I’m surprised,” he admits. “I had expected you to be pregnant again. You’ve been here for six months.” He frowns. “I would like for you to have another child. To take your mind off little Alexandra.”

I stare at him, relieved not to be late, relieved to see my period arriving every month.

“Well, I’m not the one who’s sterile,” I whisper before leaving the room. I don’t stay to hear his response.

***

That afternoon, I sneak up to the attic with my candle and lie down on the rug. Staring up at the blue sky, I imagine myself running through it. I slowly let myself drift off, dreaming of Beth and her wet kisses.

When I wake up, it’s dark and my candle has burned out. I open my eyes, but I can’t see my hands in front of my face. I can’t tell how long I’ve been asleep in the attic.

The sky above is black and streaked with silver stars. I wish I could reach up and touch those stars. I try, but my hands just grasp air. I see the moon too; it’s a full circle tonight. It looks free to me, but lonely too.

I sit up slowly, gazing at the moon, trying to imagine that Beth is staring at the same one.

I close my eyes again. That’s when I hear breathing. Steady breaths and a small creak of the attic floorboards, not too far from me.

My whole body tenses, and my first thought is, who would dare come up here to my attic and my window? I find myself holding my breath and pushing myself up against the wall, hiding in the pitch-black darkness.

I wonder who it is. A worker? A Master hiding a secret up here? No one comes here. Especially at night.

But the person seems to be walking in the other direction toward the door. They don’t seem to be aware of me. I wonder what they’ve done up here.

The door swings open and then closes. I release the breath I’ve been holding in a heavy sigh and quickly get up. I know this attic like the back of my hand; I don’t need to feel my way to the door. I make a beeline for the exit.

I pause with my hand on the knob, wondering if whoever just came in is far enough down the hallway not to notice the door opening again. I feel guilty, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.

I count to ten, then turn the knob. But I never get the door open.

Suddenly, a blade is pressed against my throat. I gasp in surprise. Then I’m yanked away from the door and shoved against a wall.

The blade digs into my throat, cutting my skin. I feel the sting and the warm trickle of my blood. One hand holds the knife, the other pins my shoulder against the wall.

I can tell it’s a man. He has big hands. He’s standing close, breathing on my face. But I can’t see him, and I know he can’t see me. I don’t dare make a sound. Seconds stretch into what feels like hours.

Then the hand on my shoulder moves down my body, sliding over my chest, sizing me up. Instinctively, I swat it away. The man presses the blade harder against my throat, but his hand doesn’t return to my chest.

I hear a chuckle. “A woman,” a voice whispers. It’s a deep voice, with a slight accent. A foreigner. Is he a soldier?

My heart pounds. A foreigner in the house. In the Masters’ house. My blood roars in my ears, and my body trembles with fear.

I feel him lean closer, like he’s trying to see me. “Were you hiding?” he asks.

“Sleeping.”

There’s a brief silence, then the knife is removed. Hands grab my shoulders, and he pushes me harder against the wall.

“Sleeping. Not a worker—you would be home by now.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Who are you? One of the Masters’ whores?”

I can hear the smile in his voice. Who else could I be? “Yes,” I reply.

He seems surprised. I feel his grip falter for a second.

“One of those inbred uteruses used each night for the Master’s pleasure,” I continue, echoing the words I’ve been telling myself for too long.

This phrase seems to catch him off guard. One hand slips off my shoulder, but the other presses me against the wall harder. Then the man starts laughing.

I wait for him to finish. When he does, he leans in close to me. “And you were sleeping up here?” He chuckles to himself. “Seems we need to be better acquainted. I have a torch. Wait patiently please.”

When he lets go of me, I immediately move toward the door. But he hears me and grabs me by the waist. He pulls me against him and holds my arms behind my back.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you won’t be going downstairs tonight,” he tells me.

I struggle to free myself from his grasp, but he wrenches my arms higher and I’m forced to stop. He pushes me to the other side of the attic and sits me down in a corner. He settles down next to me, still holding me in place.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice,” he tells me calmly.

I look toward the sound of his voice. We’re a few meters away from my window. I can see the moonlight streaming into the room.

“I have a candle. There, under the window,” I tell him. I wait as he thinks it over.

“Do you have matches?” he asks.

“Yes.” I pull my matchbox out of my pocket and shake it so he can hear the matches inside.

“Trust a child of Albion to have fire on them,” he mutters. “Come on.”

He pulls me to my feet again and drags me to my rug under the window. Pushing me against the wall, I feel him sit down across from me.

In the dim moonlight, I can see his dark hair hanging in front of his face and make out his heavy build and black clothing. He finds my candle and lights it with one of my matches.

When the candle is lit, he holds it up. Instinctively, we both lean forward, curious to see the other. My heart skips a beat, and he bursts out laughing. I watch him as he laughs.

It’s him.

It’s the Japanese soldier who has been in my dreams. The one I thought was only a fragment of my imagination. The one who saved Beth’s life and mine.

The candle flickers and casts giant shadows of his broad back against the wall. His face is shrouded in darkness, but I make out his prominent high cheekbones and dark, deep-set eyes.

He’s wearing thick baggy black trousers, heavy black boots, and a tight-fitting black jumper. He also had on black gloves, with a black hood pulled down heavily over his head.

No wonder I couldn’t see him. He’s as camouflaged as the night.

He’s carrying a backpack, small, light, and strapped tightly across his broad chest. He’s dangerous. All my education tells me that he’s dangerous and that he could contaminate me and kill me.

But he’s smiling. Smiling! His teeth are straight and white. He has such a lovely smile. I see the knife still in his hand, glinting in the moonlight. Blood—my blood—drips off it.

“I remember you,” he tells me. “The one with the baby.” He gives me a grin.

I glance up at him, then back down at the blade. He follows my gaze, then chuckles.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping the blood off with a piece of cloth and fitting it back into a sheath attached to his backpack. “I couldn’t see very well. I couldn’t tell that I was cutting you,” he explains.

“It’s all right, it’ll heal,” I murmur.

He slips his bag off his shoulders and rummages through it. Then he comes closer to me with a black piece of cloth.

Leaning toward me, he presses the cloth against my cut. I gasp at the sudden sting and recoil from his grasp.

“It’ll disinfect the cut and stop the bleeding,” he says. “Your shirt is already stained. Here, you do it.”

He extends the cloth to me. I accept it, noticing the scent of alcohol. I press it against my cut, wincing from the sting. He sits back, observing me.

“Those are handy,” he comments. “You can tie it around your neck later as a makeshift bandage. It’ll help with the healing.”

“No, thank you, I don’t want to keep it,” I respond softly.

He looks at me steadily over the flame. “You wouldn’t want your Master to notice, would you? A cut on your throat,” he suggests.

I look at him, shocked. “You know nothing about my relationship with my Master,” I retort.

“Your Master? So you’re his servant. A bred womb used each night for the Master’s pleasure?”

I recognize my own words, originally his. He smirks at me. I glare back.

“So why are you here?” he questions. “Did you do something wrong? Is this a punishment?”

I press the cloth to my throat and look at him. “No, I’m here of my own free will,” I say quietly.

He leans back slightly, disappearing from the light of the flame. “I’m not talking about this attic. I’m talking about this house.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Bad luck.”

He’s looking at me intensely. “You had a baby. Where’s your baby?”

I stiffen, and he notices. His expression softens. I look at the flame.

“Gone,” I whisper. I try to focus on the sting of my cut.

He moves a bit closer to me. I press the cloth to my throat, welcoming the sting.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

I look at him, surprised. He gives me a small smile.

“You must miss her. My mother had a bunch of kids. But when I was eight, she had this baby. He died in a raid. It took her years to smile again.”

He suddenly looks distant. I look at his face, wide-eyed. Did he know his mother? He knew her when he was eight? Did he know his siblings?

He looks back at me, smiling. “Alex. That was your name—Alex.”

“Sanoske?”

He nods once.

“You’re a soldier.”

“I am.”

“You’re sneaking into the Masters’ mansion.”

“I am.”

“You’re going to kill one of them?”

“Not tonight.”

I look at him. “In a week? For the annual committee Meeting?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know about it?”

“How can you know to send a pregnant woman to workers for a cesarean?” he counters.

I look at him. “How did you know it was me?”

“I just guessed. You sent that pitiful creature, didn’t you?”

“You’re staying with the workers?”

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” he replies. I blink at him. He nods to himself.

“That’s how you know about the Meeting. You’re not a prisoner, are you?” I deduce.

“No.”

“Abby. What happened to her?”

“Her house was raided, and she was taken away. Her kid too. I don’t know where,” he says, his lips tight.

I lower my head. “We got caught. On the way back, they caught Gael and Abby. Did you do the operation?”

“I’m not a doctor. No.”

“Another soldier did. There’s quite a few of you, aren’t there?”

“How long have you known?”

“Months.” I shrug. “I saw a bracelet. Around a little girl’s wrist. It obviously wasn’t from Albion.”

He gives me a hint of a smile. “Of course. We were sloppy.”

“Are you here for the groundwork? To find the fastest ways in and out of the house?”

“You seem keen to know more.”

“Why else would you be here a week early?”

“Why are you here? Sleeping? Where’s your Master?”

“He’s out. At a school. He’ll be back soon. I like the sky.” I point at the window.

He glances up, then back at me. “You know the air outside isn’t toxic. You know about us. What more is there that you know and shouldn’t?”

“Not enough.”

“Not enough for what?”

“Not enough for freedom. I’m stuck.”

“Freedom.” He contemplates the word.

It feels good to talk to him. The only person who I can talk freely to about my knowledge.

“What are you going to do with me this time?” I ask him.

“I could kill you,” he whispers.

We look at each other for a long time over the flame.

“I need to get my baby back,” I say quietly.

“I can’t help you with that.” He presses his lips together and leans away from me slightly.

“I see. So are you going to kill me?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he says quietly. After a while, he adds, “You could do nothing. Warn no one, stay out of the way.”

“Are you going to kill all the Masters?”

“This is a war.”

“All of them?”

“Probably not. There are usually a few survivors, and Masters are very slippery. Every-man-for-himself type. They run away.”

I reach my hands behind my neck and tie the cloth tightly. He watches me calmly. I can still feel his gaze on me when I let my hands drop and adjust the cloth into the right position.

“Gael was going to die. Her Master Hector was going to let her die, just for another Pre-Perfect. My mother died in childbirth. Albion is a great factory of bombs and babies.

“But Albion is innocent, right? No one knows anything. I don’t know anything. What happens when the Masters are gone?” I ask.

He tilts his head. “You lose.”

“And everyone gets wiped out?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re on some secret mission, aren’t you? Something hush-hush.”

I pause, connecting the dots. “The plane went down, but you walked away without a scratch. That was your cover for landing here, wasn’t it? You’ve been living with the workers, gathering intel.

“Workers are everywhere, they see everything. And now that you know all the Masters are coming here, you’re planning to kill them. How? By blowing up the house?” I prod.

He grins at me. “That’s right. After we take our prisoners.”

“What about the other women and kids here?”

“I hope they’re smart enough to get out.”

“Why do men have such a death wish?” I murmur.

He tilts his head. “Men have a death wish?” He laughs. “You don’t know much about men, do you?”

“I’ve known my fair share of men,” I retort.

He hesitates. “I guess you have, mother of Albion. How many men? Can you count them? Or is it just a blur of nights?” he taunts.

I stare at him. “Of course I can count them. And tell you their names.”

“You’ve been brainwashed.”

“I think you have too,” I retort.

We lock eyes over the fire. After a moment, he leans back, still watching me.

“Looks like we have two choices here. Either I kill you right now, you disappear, and things get complicated. Or I let you go and take my chances or find some way to buy you off. What scares you the most?”

“Right now, there’s nothing you can do to me. I don’t want to tell anyone about this place or anything about you. Let me go, and I won’t mention you.”

“But you know too much.”

“I’ve known too much for a long time,” I whisper.

He flexes his fingers and stares at the dancing flame.

“I don’t do relationships,” he says. “Friends, family, lovers. They’ve only ever caused me pain. I don’t fail either. I don’t trust you, but killing you seems like the worse option. So you’re free to go.

“When we attack, I suggest you run. But I’m not promising you’ll live, or be saved. I’m not promising anything. I can’t save you. I won’t. You’re not my problem.

“Do nothing, say nothing, and run. That’s it. That’s all I can give you. Can you do that?”

“What are my chances of surviving?” I ask.

“Better than if you decide to stay in this house,” he says.

I lift my chin a little and meet his eyes.

“I need to find my daughter.”

“I’m not going to help you.”

“So all I get is a warning?”

“That’s right.”

Our eyes meet over the flames. I blink. He blinks.

“Okay,” I say.