Unrest Read online

  Unrest

  Copyright © 2017 Wendy Higgins

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Wendy Higgins

  No part of this book may be used, changed, or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Graphic Design by:

  Kalen O’Donnell of Bookable Covers

  Image license:

  © Maxfx | Dreamstime.com—“Sexy male model in blue jeans”

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford of Type A Formatting

  YA titles from HarperTeen:

  Sweet Evil

  Sweet Peril

  Sweet Reckoning

  Sweet Temptation

  The Great Hunt

  The Great Pursuit

  YA Indie:

  See Me

  NA Indie:

  Unknown (book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Unrest

  Books by Wendy Higgins

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  TO BE CONTINUED

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Courtney Fetchko

  Court/Courtster/Cortilla and Gwennie 4-Ever

  Bahntan adjusted his tie as he sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his six female advisers. He refused to show weakness. He would not let their sharp eyes pry into the myriad of feelings he had regarding what had been done on Earth. Their plans had been put into action with resounding success, and now he could only look forward.

  “Towns have been cleared?” he asked.

  “Worldwide, Bahntan, yes,” responded his top advisor, Vahni. “However, the remaining outliers are proving . . . slippery.”

  He’d tried to warn them. He’d studied humanity and war all his life. There were always those who hid. Rebelled. Fought dirty from underground. His own people did not think that way, so they’d doubted. His people trusted their government and relied on it in all ways. Some humans were like that as well, but not all. The fight or flight instinct was not in his people. They now saw humans as reckless and skittish, like animals they were attempting to wrangle and cage because they didn’t know what was good for them. But, of course Bahntan saw them that way, as well. He had to remind himself it was so.

  “The lands are too vast for our numbers,” Vahni continued. “We have taken to bombing all places where large numbers of outliers are expected to be hidden, but we cannot continue at this pace. Ammunitions are running low. It is time to gather the worthy ranks and put them to work.”

  Bahntan nodded. “More bombs. Make a list of supplies needed and rank them by priority. Gather Baelese to train the approved humans and oversee the projects. Our production factories should nearly be ready.”

  “Yes, Bahntan.” She and the other women made notes. He nearly chuckled at the way their heads jerked down simultaneously to write. He’d become so accustomed to the fluid, graceful way most humans moved. It had been difficult to train the Baelese who oversaw the takeover and were expected to face actual humans each day, to woo them into submission. Their ways were so very different.

  He turned his head toward Rashna, his communications specialist. “Tell me about the newest landing. Have all of the passengers of that vessel begun training?”

  “Yes, Bahntan, but unfortunately there is one male missing.”

  He paused, perturbed. “And how did that come to pass?”

  “They were ambushed by humans—FBI—and one male was captured.” Her voice became smaller as she displayed something akin to guilt. “And . . . the ship was also taken.”

  He felt his face harden as he turned to Vahni, whose chin went up as she responded to this. “You have been under duress, Bahntan. Those aboard the vessel had limited access to our current information, so we felt no need to worry you about it.”

  He fought the urge to pound a fist on the table, a very human show of emotion. “That was nearly a month ago. It is not for you to decide what news I can handle.” His hands splayed on the table before him, and he worked to keep his features and voice steady. “You will relay all information to me. All. Do I make myself clear?”

  He saw the small grip of her jaw where it tightened, the only sign of her unhappiness. “Very clear, Bahntan. My apologies.”

  They both knew Vahni would be the one in charge under different circumstances. But as it was, he was in charge and he would continue to remind her of that fact. If Vahni were in control, humans would be obliterated from the planet. It was only his gentle, persistent urging of humanity’s usefulness that caused some to be spared. In time, he believed they would come to respect the lifestyle of the Baelese, the peace it would bring. With Baelese overseeing their reproduction, education, food control, and working conditions, humans would want for nothing.

  One race. One language. No poverty. Each person a useful cog in the labor wheel. There would be no more war. No more pollution. No more unhealthy lifestyles of overeating and under-exercising. Eventually they would become accustomed to the changes and be thankful. In fact, the new generations would know nothing of what life used to be.

  Bahntan looked forward to seeing the day when there was truly peace on Earth. Even if it meant hunting and extinguishing every outlier on the planet.

  A golden hue of sunrise turned night into dawn. I sat on a small boulder, staring at the sliver of sun through trees of the Nevada parkland, the same spot where I’d been sitting silently in the dark for two hours in the cold. I couldn’t take Remy’s whimpering and soul-crushing cries each time she fell back asleep in the tent, venturing into nightmares of what she’d seen the night before. What we’d all seen. I might never sleep again.

  Mom. Dad. Abuela.

  I fought back another wave of debilitating grief that made my bones feel like liquid—like I’d never have the ability to stand again. Have to be strong. Have to be strong. I rocked back and forth with my eyes shut tight. I couldn’t afford to give in to the loss. If I did, it would consume me whole and devour my will to live. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

  We’d been fired up to leave the nature preserve last night and head north to the base in Utah after hearing the Morse code message, supposedly from other military personnel in hiding, like us. But we decided to wait until morning since we needed more light to plan our trip on the map. Plus, headlights in the night would be too easy to spot, and we were all worthless last night, running on adrenaline and vengeance, one step away from crashing. I never did crash or sleep a wink, even though my adrenaline was long gone.

  The soft sunrise was too pr
etty—too majestic—for the way I felt inside. Raw. Like my heart had been grated. During the night, I’d begun to believe the sun would never rise again, and now that it was I felt as if the Earth were mocking what we’d been through, reminding me just how miniscule and unremarkable we were. A new day was happening despite what we’d lost. The world wasn’t stopping to mourn. It felt wrong.

  We’d been so close to the camp yesterday where the Disaster Relief Initiative, the DRI personnel, had taken my parents, my grandmother, Remy’s parents, and Rylen’s wife Livia. We watched in confusion as those DRI bastards fled. Then we’d watched in disbelief as Air Force jets dropped a bomb on that camp, obliterating our family and the people from our town. Oh, God.

  I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. Even while the world fell apart around us, I never imagined anything would happen to my parents. I never let myself believe it was possible, even after watching my Grandpa Tate shot and killed by a Disaster Relief Personnel—fucking Derps. Who was I without my parents? I was the daughter of an Army man and a Mexican dancer. A Green Machine and a Señorita. A small bubble of laughter worked its way through a sob in my throat when I thought about my parents’ silly banter with each other. Their relentless love and devotion to me and my older brother, Tater.

  The sound of a tent’s zipper wrenched through the morning solitude and I quickly wiped my eyes. I looked over and saw Rylen crouching as he pushed through the opening. The golden hue of sun made his blond hair and the scruff on his face stand out. His eyes met mine and I had to swallow hard at the sight of pain in his expression. I’d already cried so much last night.

  Seeing those solemn gray eyes brought back a flood of memories: young, scrawny Rylen Fite, loved and cared for by my parents like he was their own son. And his eyes reflected his remembrance too, as if he felt their absence as prominently as I did. But he’d lost a wife, as well. Maybe she hadn’t been his wife in every technical sense of the word, but he’d been trying to make it right. Every bit of his loss was reflected in the heavy way he sat on the rock beside me and rubbed his face before staring out at the sunrise.

  “Are they still sleeping?” I whispered.

  “Tater’s awake. Just laying there. Remy’s asleep.”

  I nodded. We sat, sharing a heavy silence until a car door shut in the distance, signaling that some of the guys sleeping in the vehicles were awake. Devon and Josh had slept in the minivan. Tent flaps began to open. Mark, Matt, Texas Harry, and Sean slowly made their way out, stretching, followed shortly by Tater and a blanket-wrapped Remy. All were respectfully quiet as we gathered around the cold fire pit. Remy squeezed onto the rock with me and put her head on my shoulder. She shivered.

  “We leave this morning for Utah,” Texas Harry said. “But I suggest we only take two cars. We can siphon the gas from the third and split it between the other two. Otherwise we’ll run out pretty damn fast.”

  My heart began to accelerate. Leave one of the cars behind? But the smallest vehicle was . . .

  “We’ll leave the sedan,” Tater agreed.

  “No!” The word burst out of me and everyone turned. In a scratchy whisper I said, “That’s Mom’s car.” It was all we had left of her. She used to pick me up from softball and volleyball in that car. She taught me how to drive in it. The thought of abandoning it made panic rise in my chest.

  “Amber,” Tater said softy, his eyes tired. “We can try to come back for it someday.”

  “Yeah right!” The words were choked. I knew I was being stupid and sentimental. The car was just an object, a material possession, but it felt like it was a piece of her. Everyone stared at me, and I couldn’t take their pity. I stood abruptly and crossed my arms, walking fast down the path toward the cars. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  When I got to mom’s sedan, I spread my hands on the cool metal of the trunk and gasped for air. Mom’s hugs, her support, her unconditional love, gone forever. In my adult years she’d become so much more than my mother. She was a friend. This was unfair. I wanted her back. If only we’d raided the camp sooner. God, I was going to hyperventilate.

  I sucked in a heaving breath when I felt hands on my shoulders, then arms wrapping around my upper body. His lighter skin and slightly taller build told me it was Rylen, not my brother. I reached up and grasped his forearms, taking his comfort.

  “She’s in here, Pepper,” he whispered into the top of my hair and gently tapped my heart. “They all are. We’ll take them with us wherever we go.”

  I leaned my head back against his chest and my body shook with leftover convulsions from last night’s crying fits. He held me tighter until my breathing was even.

  “Hey,” came a whisper from behind us. Rylen let me go and we turned to Remy. Her long, blonde waves were a mess, framing a pretty, round face, eyes sunken from crying. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her voice was weak. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “That’s all right,” Rylen said. “I’ll let you two talk.”

  He left us, and Remy came to my side. We both leaned against Mom’s car. Remy’s hand slipped out from under the blanket and she ran a hand over the bumper.

  “I don’t have anything of my parents’. I wish I did. So I understand.” She swallowed hard.

  “We can’t take it,” I whispered. As much as I wanted to, I wasn’t going to fight them on this. It would be dumb not to conserve gas. “Will you help me unpack it?”

  She nodded and we set to work. Most of our camping stuff had been packed in the back of Dad’s SUV. Food stores and other essentials were in Mom’s trunk. Grandpa and Dad had packed it with efficiency, but we were down to only days’ worth of edibles now. We pulled out a box with canned potatoes, chicken noodle soup, and beef stew. One box of square salted crackers sat with a half-eaten box of grahams and the last of the instant latte mix. Three-fourths of a case of water bottles was all we had left.

  “Have we really eaten that much?” Remy asked with fear in her voice.

  “Yeah.” The problem was, we’d always assumed we’d be able to find more food, or that things would get better any day. Now we knew differently. We had to ration. We could hunt and fish, but lack of water was most frightening. I didn’t trust natural water sources after so many of them had been contaminated.

  Remy said, “Thank God it’s winter and not summer when we’re sweating to death.” She opened a box that had toiletries in it and pulled out a box of condoms. I rolled my eyes at Dad’s forethought.

  “These would’ve come in handy . . .” Remy’s voice trailed off and her cheeks turned bright pink as she shoved the condoms back into the box and closed the lid.

  My eyes bugged. “You and Tater didn’t use anything?”

  Her flushed cheeks did not lighten and she wouldn’t look at me. “I got the shot.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t protect you from diseases.” Who knew what the hell my crazy brother did while he was overseas with the Army?

  “He said he always used protection. With others.”

  Wow. I couldn’t believe they even had a conversation that night before hooking up, as drunk as they were. And ew, I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  “Don’t worry,” Remy said, heaving the box out of the trunk. “It won’t be happening again.”

  Okay then. I couldn’t get a reading on her feelings about that statement as she walked away, so I let it go and grabbed the case of water. I would use two bottles to make the last of the coffee today. One final hurrah before we left this place.

  I didn’t look at anyone when we made it up to camp, though I could feel their eyes on me. I set to work pouring water into the kettle and readying all of the cups with half a scoop of the coffee powder. Emotion welled up within me when I scraped the bottom for the last dregs. I really had to stop getting emotional over coffee. I needed to conserve the water in my body and not cry it all out.

  “You really don’t gotta do that,” Texas Harry’s voice rumbled. I looked over
and he nodded toward the gas fire I was lighting. “That’s yours. We appreciate your sharing the past couple days, but you should keep what’s left for you.”

  I shook my head. “We’re in this together. One last treat for all of us before we hit the road.”

  “Well, that’s mighty nice.”

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “Real nice.”

  “Hella nice.” Mark earned himself a smack to the back of the head from Texas Harry.

  These guys . . . they were always cutting up, keeping it light, but today’s banter felt heavy. No smiles.

  “When’s the last time you saw your families?” I asked. The men’s eyes jolted to me.

  Tall Mark, with his long, slender frame, kicked a rock and shoved his hands in his pockets. His brown hair stuck out straight, overgrown. “I was in San Diego over the summer for my mom’s birthday. So, six months ago. And I talked to her three days before the bombs.” The bombs on D.C. and other major cities had dropped on Thanksgiving. He cleared his throat and toed another rock. “I’m sure they’re okay. And my sister’s family. They live close to each other.”

  We were all quiet. I’m sure they’re okay. Did he really believe that? Or was he just trying to give himself hope?

  I looked up at Matt. He was the shortest, only a couple inches taller than me, but his wide back and shoulders, paired with his squared face, made him plenty masculine. His dark-blond hair had grown thick. He and all the guys had scruffy faces. He caught my eye.

  “I was with my folks on Thanksgiving in St. Louis, and I took my dad’s car to get back to base in Arizona since the airports closed. I never made it back to them, but . . .” He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m going to find them once things settle. I’m sure they’re okay.”

  Oh, Matt. He dropped his gaze to the ground.

  “Same,” said Texas Harry in a rough voice. “My pop wouldn’t fall for that roundup shit. He probably got Mama in the cellar when those fuckers came through.”

  His words rubbed me harshly, and Tater too, because my brother said, “My dad didn’t fall for anything. He was just trying to keep everyone safe until we could figure it out—”