The Collection (17 page)

Chapter 41

The world is ever changing. There is no point in learning about other countries because they may disappear tomorrow.

—
American Gazette

They traveled on through the mountains. Mia sat right next to Andrew, putting pressure on his head wound. He thought the stranger in the front seat was more deserving of medical attention but didn't want to pass up the opportunity to sit so close to her. She was alive; focusing on that was enough to get him through anything.

Mia leaned forward and signaled for Carter to take another left. They turned and Mia's hair hit Andrew in the face. She had long hair again. His final memory of her was with short hair. It should have taken months, if not years, for the length to grow out again. Andrew wanted to question her about how long he was really with the militia, because he was certain she wouldn't lie to him. Time wasn't making much sense to him.

The car started to slow down. Carter tried to rev the engine, but the speed didn't increase. This was a familiar situation.

“Pull over,” Andrew said. “You're running out of gas.”

“What?” Carter asked.

Andrew moved forward until his mouth was next to Carter's ear. “You're running out of gas,” he said.

He looked at the dashboard. There was no fuel light; he assumed it was broken. Mia looked over at the gauges.

“There is no gas,” Mia said.

“Well then, what's wrong?” Carter asked.

“I'm not sure,” Mia said.

“How far away are we?” Andrew asked.

“Not far,” Mia said. “According to the map maybe another five kilometers.”

“I don't know what that means,” Andrew said.

“Three miles, give or take,” Mia said.

Andrew had never bothered to ask where she was this whole time. How she had managed to learn how to operate a vehicle or a new system of measurement. Nothing had seemed important at first, only the fact that she was here and breathing. The car slowed to a crawl.

“How are you doing?” Carter asked the man in the passenger seat.

“I've been better,” he said. “But worse too.”

Andrew looked at Mia; her nose was crinkled up. Andrew could tell she was struggling with her feelings toward the man.

“It was an accident,” Andrew said.

“I was trying to stop the militia from hurting you,” Mia said.

“Enough with the apologies,” the man said. “Is there a doctor at this place we're headed?”

“Where are we going anyway?” Andrew asked.

The sun was all the way up in the sky now. Andrew felt his forehead sting as the sweat rolled into his wound. The car came to a complete stop.

“Can you walk?” Mia asked.

“I'm fine,” Andrew said.

“Don't mind me,” the man said. “I'm the one with the life-threatening injury.”

“I'm sure you've been shot at before,” Mia said.

Andrew almost wanted to laugh. It'd been so long since he'd felt that urge. Before the sound escaped his lips he realized Mia had ignored his question.

“Where are we going?” he asked again.

“There's a sanctuary for Americans here,” Mia said. “We'll be with people like us.”

She picked up his hand and replaced her own with it. Andrew felt the sting as he pushed the piece of fabric over his wound. Mia opened the car door and climbed out. She was covered in scrapes, but even with the tears in her long red dress she still looked beautiful.

“Why are you so dressed up?” Andrew asked.

He climbed out of the car. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed her appearance when he first saw her.

“It's a long story,” Mia said.

Andrew noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes. Her feet were covered in scratches. He started to take his off.

“Don't,” Mia said. “They'll never fit me.”

“Then I'll carry you,” Andrew said.

“You look like you're going to pass out again,” Mia said.

Andrew locked eyes with her. She was tired, but he recognized she'd never accept the shoes. He stood up again.

“Wait in the car,” Mia said to the man. “We'll come back for you.”

He started to open the door.

“I promise,” Mia said. “If we were going to let you die we would have left you by the cliff.”

He seemed to accept her answer and leaned back in his seat. Carter climbed out of the car and joined them.

Mia looked away from Andrew and started walking. She was clutching a plastic bag. Andrew and Carter followed her. The three walked in silence for a few minutes. Andrew tried his hardest to hide the difficulty he was having walking in a straight line.

“I can't believe you shot someone,” Andrew said. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

“It's not funny,” Mia said. “I was trying to help.”

“I can't believe you wanted to leave him for dead,” Carter said.

“You weren't in Saint Louis,” Mia said. “That man killed Whitney. And I wouldn't have left him. It just took a moment to come to the right decision.”

The right decision; Andrew didn't think there was such a thing. Every choice carried significant repercussions that led to a series of uncontrollable events. This man's presence could be dangerous for them.

“How do you know about this place?” Carter asked.

“I made contact with someone here,” Mia said.

“Man,” Carter said. “We're busy taking up with the enemy and you're making all the plans.”

“I found these people before we left America,” Mia said. “I met them online. Through the same website your dad found us on.”

Carter stopped walking.

“Before we left America? Do you mean before my house was invaded by government employees and my dad died in the car accident?”

“Your dad didn't die in the accident,” Mia said.

“He's dead though,” Carter said. His voice was getting louder. He took a step toward Mia. “This is all your fault,” he said. “You thought you could contact strangers online and it wouldn't get traced back to us?”

“It wasn't like that,” Mia said.

“Yes it was,” Carter interrupted. He took another step toward Mia. “My father is dead because of you. I wish I never met you.”

Andrew stepped in front of Mia. He didn't know what Carter was doing.

“We don't know that,” Andrew said. “Stay calm.”

“You're going to side with her?” Carter asked. “I know you're thinking the same way I am. You try to remember what happened and that noise comes crashing through. That's because of her.”

“She saved us,” Andrew said.

“And the militia found us wandering the desert,” Carter replied sarcastically.

Andrew moved his eyebrows together. Carter turned and stormed off.

“Wait,” Mia said. She started to walk out from behind Andrew.

“He'll be fine,” Andrew said. “He's staying on the road. Let him walk alone.”

Then Andrew started moving his feet. Carter's anger was misdirected. He was mourning his father, and Mia was an easy target. Still, Andrew didn't think it was wise for her to have contacted people over the Internet.

“I didn't mean any harm,” Mia said.

“I know,” Andrew said.

The two walked along the road in silence. Andrew thought about the previous day's events. He had been happy as a soldier. It made him sick to admit that, but life had been easier. He thought about the decisions that were in front of him, ones he'd have to make for himself. Up ahead Carter stopped walking. Andrew hoped it was to make amends. The three needed each other too much. As Andrew and Mia approached him Andrew saw Carter wasn't stopped; he was frozen.

“Carter, I'm sorry,” Mia said. “But we don't even know how we were detected.”

Andrew looked at Carter's eyes and followed them down to what he was staring at. Andrew took a step back as a man with a gun walked out of the trees. Mia gasped. Andrew spun around and more people with weapons drawn walked onto the road. He held his hands in the air. Lifting his hand off his wound caused a sting; Andrew felt the warm blood drip down his forehead. The three of them were surrounded.

Chapter 42

GRANT MARSDEN, TRENDSETTER: THE CASUAL CHIC LOOK IS SWEEPING THE NATION

—
American Gazette

The previous week's events were starting to take their toll on Grant's work. He finally had a free day with no press visits or meetings at the Mission. He sat in his basement working on several projects that needed attention. He was tinkering with an injectable knife, which allowed an assailant to not only stab their victim but also inject a poison at the same time. He wanted an automatic release where there wasn't even a button-push required.

Grant thought about the men in the training facility. These were people with formal education, working on classified projects. Grant could have easily ended up in their shoes, but he had picked up his trade in a more peculiar way.

 

W
hat are you doing here?” the man asked.

“Looking for food,” Grant said. He had only been out of the orphanage for a few months. It was the first time he had been this close to a gun, but he wasn't afraid.

“I should shoot you,” the man said.

“Then do it,” Grant said. He took a step forward. Grant had six years to live through until he enlisted.

“Why aren't you afraid of me?”

“The way you're dressed,” Grant said. “And the way you smell.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“You look bad and you smell bad,” Grant said. “This is a beautiful house and it's not yours. You're trying to rob the place. If you kill me that means a loud noise, which will wake up the owner, who will kill you.”

The man grew flustered at Grant's comments. Before he could speak a sharp whiz came through the air. The man lowered his gun and fell to his knees. Grant looked past him to see a man standing in silk pajamas and a robe. His dark hair was parted to the side with the previous day's styling gel in place. The house's true owner. Grant gave a smirk before the man shot him in the shoulder with a dart and Grant joined the dirty old man on the floor.

 

H
is concentration was broken when a knock sounded through the laboratory.

Grant rolled his eyes. His staff knew better than to disturb him down here. He had both phones in his pockets; if it was an emergency they knew to call. He ignored the sound but again it echoed through his private space. Grant got up from his table and stormed over toward the door. He looked at his security system and saw Brandon standing outside. Grant pushed the intercom button.

“Go away,” Grant said.

“Sir, I am so sorry to bother you, but you have visitors.”

“Tell them to go away,” Grant said.

“It's . . . it's . . . the grand commander and his family,” Brandon said.

Grant watched his employee's face glow. He did not share the house manager's emotions. Grant didn't appreciate surprises and wanted to continue with his work.

“Tell Ian he can . . .” Grant rethought his situation. “Tell him I'll be right up.”

When Grant was running the country many things would change, and one of those would be that nobody would ever be allowed to interrupt his privacy. Until the position was his, though, Grant had to play along. He slid on his blue moccasins and grabbed the cardigan he'd brought down with him, pulling the white sweater over his yellow polo. He unlocked the door to his studio and climbed up the staircase.

The house had been built to Grant's specifications, and that included a secret tunnel system, making it easier to cross the giant structure. There were two entrances to his workshop; one was hidden behind a bookshelf in his office and only Brandon knew its location. Grant came out into the office behind his desk and started walking toward the foyer. There stood the First Family.

“Ian,” Grant said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I saw your schedule was clear and thought we'd pop in,” he said. “This place is a compound.”

“Just my humble home,” Grant said.

“This is my wife Nancy,” Ian said. “And I brought along my daughters Lyndsay, Tamara, Erin, and Nina.”

The four girls giggled and bowed. Erin and Nina were the seventeen-year-old twins. Lyndsay and Tamara were just slightly older. All four were stunning.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Grant said.

The five women bowed. Grant wondered which one was his future wife. Not that it mattered; any of the four would do.

“I wasn't expecting company,” Grant said.

“We'd love a tour of your home,” Ian said.

Grant nodded and called for Brandon. “Have some lunch ready in the courtyard for us in an hour,” he said.

Brandon's grin couldn't be contained. He bowed and ran off toward the kitchen, knocking into a table on the way out.

“Let's start upstairs,” Grant said.

The party moved up the stairs, the girls whispering to one another. Grant tried his best to keep a smile on his face, but the whole time his annoyance festered.

 

A
nd finally we have the ballroom,” Grant said.

It was larger than most banquet halls and could easily handle five hundred guests. The floor was made of gold marble. No event had ever been held here, but that wasn't the point of having a ballroom. The fact that Grant's home was large enough to house one was reason enough to have one.

“What's through there?” Nancy asked.

Ian turned and gave her a sharp look.

“I meant nothing,” she said. “Only your house is perfect and from the outside I can tell it's still larger.”

“You are observant,” Grant said. “That's the east wing. I keep it closed off. I thought more employees would live on site, so it's mainly single rooms.”

“Your servants don't live here?” Tamara asked.

“Some,” Grant said. “I refuse to hire unserved boys. They should spend their preservice time in the real world, not sheltered in a giant house. Most of the workers have wives they like to go home to.”

“What did you do for your preservice years?”

“I apprenticed for an engineer,” Grant said. “He planned roads and sewage ducts, nothing ladies should concern themselves with.”

“It sounds interesting,” Nina said.

“It's not,” Grant said. “Let's head outside to the courtyard. I have two swimming pools and some wonderful landscaping. I'm sure Brandon can round up some swimsuits.”

This made the girls clap their hands with delight. He ushered them out of the ballroom and looked over his shoulder at the door to the east wing. He didn't want any more attention brought to it.

“Maybe while the ladies take in the outdoors you and I can continue with our conversations,” Ian said.

“My pleasure,” Grant said.

The grand commander started talking about foreign relations again. Grant was starting to see Ian less as a respected man and more as an outdated fool who made his teeth grind. This was the fourth time Grant had heard this speech in as many days. He couldn't think of a worse way to spend his time than listening to the old man babble on.