Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
“We can rekking communicate now thanks to you,” he says with a crooked grin. “Females talk a lot. Like a lot. I am thankful Aria has another female to yammer to. Usually Breccan feigns ‘work’ and leaves me to listen to Aria’s never ending tales. She and Emery spoke for nearly half a solar over the smell of a mortyoung’s hair.” He groans. “Hours and hours, Draven.”
Hadrian talks more than either female, so I’m not sure what he’s complaining about.
I eye the west entrance door again. It’s not too late. I could go back to Sector 1779. It was a little quieter there. The trapped feeling wasn’t so bad there.
Boom!
A loud magnastrike makes the entire facility shake, and then we’re plunged into total darkness.
I freeze as my heart rate spikes.
I am not trapped. I can escape. Even in the dark. I can get away.
Within seconds, though, everything comes back to life, and we’re bathed in light once more. I let out a ragged breath of relief.
Aria’s pained scream echoes from what must be Avrell’s lab. It reminds me too much of my past—when The Rades consumed my rekking everything.
“Go assist,” I bark out. “I’ll check to make sure everything stays up and running.”
He runs off without another word and disappears into Avrell’s lab. Usually Oz or Jareth would handle this sort of thing, but I don’t want to be anywhere near a screaming female as she delivers her mortyoung. Rekk no.
Instead, I head in the opposite direction, checking rooms as I go. Everything on the south side of the facility is in working order. I pass Avrell’s lab and block out the screaming as I head for the north area of the facility where the females’ sub-faction exists. When I get a whiff of an electrical burning, I take off running. Even focused on my task ahead of me, I count doors, exits, windows. I’ve memorized them all in this facility, yet I can’t help but check and double-check. When I reach the source of the smell, I let out a hiss of frustration. The cryochamber room. Three cryotubes remain. I hate going in this room. Seeing them trapped inside makes me panic. The urge to free them is nearly overwhelming. I don’t even like them, but I don’t want them trapped. If anyone knows how horrible it feels to be trapped, it’s me.
But the last time one was hastily freed, she nearly died. Aria yanked Emery out, and it caused an uproar within our ranks. It was voted that they will remain there, sleeping, until it can be decided on when and how to safely wake them.
Slowly, I walk into the room. Smoke comes from one of the cryotubes. I detach the wires from the standing pod, grab one of the misters, and douse the flames before they can spread.
Pop.
Hiss.
Those two sounds send alarm racing through me. Without thinking, I did exactly what I’ve been told not to do.
Don’t wake them.
I scramble away from the cryotube now that the fire is safely put out and rush to the east door of the cryochamber room. The cool air on the back of my neck—the feel of freedom just behind me—calms me considerably.
I will tell Breccan the geostorm electrical surge caused it.
I will lie.
His warnings to put anyone who messes with the cryotubes into a reform cell has my entire body trembling. When I was eaten up with The Rades, I was forced into one. To protect me from myself. To protect others from me.
I can’t go back there.
Not now. Not ever.
Turning, I decide to bolt, but a sound stops me.
Whimpering at first.
Then crying.
Sad, fearful crying.
RUN!
RUNRUNRUNRUN!
Yet my useless boots stay planted to the ground. The lid of the cryotube creaks open. I’m frozen in horror as the alien climbs out of the pod, trembling badly. Her hair is like the other two aliens if you were to mix them together. Light, the color of the sun on top, and dark underneath. It hangs in long, messy waves, covering her breasts. She’s not as small as the other two aliens. Her bones are larger. She carries more meat. Maybe this one is stronger. Maybe I haven’t hurt her.
Her nog darts all around as she takes in the space, her gaze falling first on the door behind me and then a quick look at the west door behind her. Then, her eyes meet mine. Brown eyes. Wide. Terrified. Spilling liquid. She takes a step toward me, her bottom lip trembling. I take a step back. When she reaches her hand forward, I take another step back.
“H-Help me,” she croaks.
She steps forward again and again and again. I stumble back until I crash against the wall beside the door.
Trapped.
My nog darts left and then to just behind her. Exits on two sides of this room.