20. Quin
The guards are running late today. VERY late
Usually they arrive sometime after we’ve all had breakfast, around half nine in the morning if the clock on the television is anything to go by.
We’ve just cleaned up from dinner and have settled on the cushion when the door opens, Kim Johnson at the head of the group.
“Betcha thought ya were gettin’ the day off, didn’t ya? Sorry to get yer hopes up, yer majesty,” the lemming shifter jeers, puffing himself up like he’s the be all and end all of this facility. Little man with a big attitude and ego is what he truly is, though.
Simon rolls to his feet with ease, no sign of the injuries that have riddled his body these past weeks, except for the weight loss. However, most of that is masked by his scrubs, hair, and beard. So, to all intents and purposes, he’s remained unchanged.
Much to Johnson’s ire and disgust.
“Lead on, my good lemming. Just don’t get lost or take a wrong turn over a cliff, hmm?”
Simon saunters over to the rest of the guards, a completely unaffected expression on his face. Through our bonds, though, I can feel his nervousness and excitement. I sincerely hope his friends pull through for him, and that today is the last time he’ll ever have to walk into such a horrific situation again.
As they leave, the lemming shifter turns and sneers at me, and something in his eyes sends goosebumps shivering all over my skin. I transmit a tendril of warning down the bond to Simon, and the wave of comfort that returns calms me somewhat. However, a lingering niggle of unease remains, and all I can do is to prepare the others for our escape and hope we all come through unscathed at the end.
***
Several hours have passed since Simon left us, and if previous experience is anything to go by, we still have another half-dozen or so left before he rejoins us. We’re all running high on adrenaline in anticipation of Simon’s friends’ arrival, which is why none of the little ones are in bed at such a late hour. I’m sitting quietly with Nick and Luc, all three of us pouring strength down our muted bonds with Simon, when the doors to the rest of the facility blast open. To our surprise and horror, O’Hare struts into the room past the guards, his glare boring into my head like a drill.
“Quin!” he barks, making the younger shifters startle in fright. “Come with me. Your parents wish to speak with you.”
That lingering niggle turns into a full-blown panic. We’re not supposed to be separated, that was the deal Simon made…
Horror spreads through me, and I glance at Nick and Luc, their expressions mirroring the fear on my own.
Unless Simon is DEAD?!
I fumble for the bond linking me to Simon, but it’s still there, alive and pulsing despite being shielded. I hesitate for another moment, unsure how to proceed, and O’Hare takes it as disobedience.
“If you don’t come with me now, Quin, your friends here will pay the price. I’m… abiding by your little protector’s rules. I’m not here to conduct research or pick a fight. In this case, I’m simply the messenger. Your parents wish to speak with you, and I’m to take you to them. Now, don’t keep me waiting… or do, if you’d like to be responsible for whatever I do to the mute over there.”
O’Hare jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward Ollie, and my own protective instincts rouse. I slowly get to my feet, using the movement to hide my hushed instructions to Nick and Luc:
“If I don’t come back, stick to your plan. Don’t come searching for me, just run like you told Simon you would. I’ll do my best to keep my bonds open, but you two need to stay safe and out of O’Hare’s clutches!”
The mated pair nods, and I finally make my way to the group of guards standing in formation. I’m both relieved and perturbed that Johnson isn’t among them, as being O’Hare’s flunky is one of his favorite roles. I stand tall, my eyes scanning over my friends and nod one last time to Shane before I follow the sadistic scientist out of the room and into the bowels of the structure we revile.
***
I’m quietly surprised when we finally make our way to where my parents are waiting. I know we’ve moved above ground because there are windows overlooking our surroundings. Not that there’s much to see at this time of night.
Several buildings squat on top of the ground like ugly, squalid gargoyles. Most of them are clustered close together, but one sits apart from the others, and even I can hear the generators it houses from here. High fences topped with razor-wire ring the outer edges of the reclaimed land, and guard towers sit at intervals this side of the fence. A single compacted dirt road is the only visible way in and out, and large spotlights circle the inky surrounds, with groves of trees interspersed with quagmires and interconnected pools of murky water.
We’re in the middle of a fucking swamp?
My mind reels.
Holy shit, we’re in the middle of a fucking swamp!
How the ever-lovingfuck they managed to build a series of underground laboratories in the middle of a fucking swamp, I’ll never know, but it was smart. Apart from all the security, there’s nothing here to alert anyone to what is going on.
“Quintas, how good of you to join us. I take it you’re being treated reasonably well, now that we’ve dealt with your little… rebellion?”
My father’s smooth baritone sends my inner child into hiding. So many times in the past he’s spoken to me like this, as though there was nothing at all the matter, and then he’d lash out, striking me to the ground. The way in which he’d beat me while barely breaking a sweat, then turn and patronizingly instruct me why my failure deserved such treatment, “and really Quintas, if only you’d exert yourself just a little, all of this unpleasantness could be avoided.” He’d then turn around and level me with a disappointed stare and sigh, and I’d scramble to apologize and make up for whatever it was I’d done to displease him.
It honestly took being locked up in here to recognize the cycle of abuse I’d been exposed to as a child, and my subsequent bid for freedom to truly escape it. My father may still try to use his methods to keep me in line, but I no longer want nor need his love or approval, not that I ever had it in the first place.
“If being treated well equates to being left in solitary confinement, driven to near-starvation, and beaten at the whims of sadistic sycophants on a power trip, then yeah, sure. I’ve been treated like a fucking prince,” I spit back, smiling inwardly at the way my father’s mouth and eyes tighten with fury at my disrespect.
I brace for the beat-down he’s sure to inflict on me, but my mother stills him, resting her hand on his forearm.
“Caleb, ignore the child. He’s trying to goad you into a reaction. Do not allow him to win.”
My mother’s dulcet tones belay her poisonous nature, and I warily eye her from where I stand. She’s lounging in an armchair, nonchalance and boredom radiating from her supine posture.
“Quintas, you only have yourself to blame if you believe your treatment anything other than appropriate. You broke out of a secure facility, which in turn weakened our defenses, allowing one of our prized specimens to escape. We still haven’t managed to retrieve him, and that means years of research has been corrupted or left incomplete. Now, we let you run off and have some fun, but you were needed back here, so we had some friends go and fetch you.”
Ice slides up my spine in foreboding, and my stomach revolts as my worst nightmares become reality.
“We knew exactly where you were, son. We found you with that pretty girl and her shifter grandfather months before we collected you, and I must say, seeing just how closely you... bonded... with her, well, I’m sure your father and I will delight in getting to know her better in the near future. We only need to wait another month or two until she’s ready to join us, don’t we, dear?”
My mother smiles wickedly at my father, and I instinctively reach for my bonds. The ones with Simon, Nick, and Luc are the same as before, but it’s the one I’ve kept hidden from everyone that I check on.
The warmth and love are still there, although they’re dulled with sadness and a tinge of anger. My relief is quickly cut short, though. A sharp stab in my neck precedes a sensation so cold that it burns through my veins. Light and consciousness fade away, and the last thing I hear before I slump to the ground is my father growling at O’Hare:
“Get him down to the ramp and into the jon boat, quickly. We don’t have much time before they arrive.”