“Take care of her,” he said, looking back at his motorcycle.
Amber’s eyes flicked to the bike, and she smiled broadly, twirling the keys around her finger just like Viggo had moments before. “Well, seeing as it’s mine now, I suppose I can take care of ‘him.’”
The two embraced, and then, too soon, they were gone, hurtling down the road, Amber driving and Quinn holding her tightly. I rested my head against Viggo’s shoulder and sighed.
I hated goodbyes.
22
Viggo
I jolted upright, gazing wildly around—awoken yet again by the beeping alert being piped through the speakers installed in the bed. Wiping my eyes to clear the sleep from them, I looked at the bed next to me. Violet was already up, and in the dark I could hear the faint sound of fabric on her skin, indicating she was quickly changing out of her sleeping clothes.
I got dressed in a hurry, pulling on pants and a shirt, and then we raced downstairs. No one was there to greet us, so we both headed down to the security room. I glanced at my watch—it was a little after midnight—and recalled that Ashabee, Jeff, and Jay were on watch for this shift.
As soon as we made it to the security room, my concern instantly mounted—Ashabee and Jeff were arguing, Ashabee shouting at his valet, with Jay frowning at them.
“—in you! You had no right to override my orders—you work for me!” Ashabee said as we pushed through the door.
Jeff glanced at me, his face once again an impassive mask that reflected nothing. But Jay looked angry. The young man kept opening his mouth as if to say something, then closing it so fast I was surprised his teeth didn’t clack together.
“What’s going on?” I demanded over Ashabee, who seemed oblivious to our presence.
“The perimeter alarms have been tripped,” Jeff supplied dryly. “Along the walls, just outside the property.”
“Who is it?” I asked, moving closer to the desk to peer at the monitors. The black-and-white video was grainy and hard to make out—the biggest flaw with the camera system was that it needed lots of light, but Ashabee hadn’t installed lights on the walls, save at the gate. It was a surprising oversight, considering the security system was otherwise so advanced, and we would have to rectify it if we were going to continue staying here.
“Who cares?” sneered Ashabee. “Jefferies should have never woken you—we have this perfectly under control.”
Jay was shaking his head, his lips turning downward in a frown. I ignored Ashabee, and turned to Jeff. “Any chance it could be a dog or some other animal?”
“Hmm,” Jeff murmured. “It is possible—we have dozens of false alarms a month due to animals, provided they are larger than a domesticated cat. However, it is unlikely. There are too many sensors being tripped, all at the same time.”
The computer beeped suddenly. I turned my gaze back to it in time to see the camera angle change to the outside view of the gate as a throng of people suddenly moved into view, shuffling up to the gate. A few pressed in close to the right side, the one free of the boards Tim and Jay had installed earlier, and peered inside.
I watched as they turned, forming a circle. There were no speakers on the camera, so I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it seemed obvious that they were discussing whether or not they should enter.
I hesitated for a few seconds, and then turned to the others. “I bet they’re refugees,” I said. “We… we need to decide whether we should let them in or not.”
“Should I go get Henrik and Ms. Dale?” Jay asked, and I looked back at the camera.
“No time,” I replied.
“Well, we aren’t taking them in,” Ashabee said. I ignored him again.
“Let’s run through the pros and cons,” I said, keeping a careful eye on the camera. The group still appeared to be talking, although it looked as though some of them were moving closer to the gate.
“They are people, they need our help, and maybe a few of them might be willing to join the cause,” Violet said, leaning a hip against the desk. “We have enough food to last us a while.”
I nodded in agreement. “Cons?”
“There might be spies in the group, so letting them in could put the king in danger,” Jay said, shifting slightly on his feet. “Also, we have no idea if these people will help out around here or not. They could try to take this place from us if we aren’t careful. I mean… if they think they can.”
I exhaled and looked around the room. “Jay’s right—it’s risky letting strangers in. And if we do take them in, then we set a precedent for the next group. And the next group.”
“We have to recruit people from somewhere, Viggo,” Violet countered. “Not to mention, they need help.”
“I know, but—”
My gaze had strayed from the camera, and my attention from Ashabee, for too long.
“AHA! Those mongrels think they can get into my property, do they?” I whirled to see Ashabee glaring at the system, where the front lawn camera seemed to show a flicker of movement through the dim area. “Well, this’ll teach them!” And before I could even ask, Ashabee pressed something on the control panel, and the system beeped.
I grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him back, just as bright flashes blasted across the screen showing the lawn camera, throwing a set of human figures into sharp relief for a moment, and the faint sound of machine gun fire filtered in through the walls. I scrambled behind the desk, searching desperately for a deactivate switch, and punched it, cutting the gunfire short.
My eyes leapt to the security cameras, looking for the angle I’d seen, but it had been replaced with another view. Frantically, I searched until I found another camera aimed at the front lawn. No light—and no movement. There still wasn’t enough ambient light for me to see anything. I stood up, pushing past an angrily sputtering Ashabee, and raced toward the front of the house, the blood pounding in my ears.
Outside, the night was cool and eerily still. I raced down the porch stairs, down the driveway, past the truck where Solomon was being held, and froze. It may have been too dark for the cameras, but under the dim light of the moon, I could see them.
People were lying on the grass on either side of the asphalt driveway—five on one side, three on the other. I took several steps forward, and then froze again. They were still. So very still.
I mechanically propelled myself forward. The grass was now under my feet, water droplets soaking my shoes, but I ignored it, my focus completely on the five people lying on the left side, not even looking yet at the other side of the lawn.
My eyes took in the men and women strewn across the grass, their faces reflecting the horror and surprise of their last moments, their bodies riddled with more bullet holes than I could count. One girl in particular caught my eye—she was on her stomach, unlike the others, one hand reaching back to the gate. How had they gotten in? The worst part… dear God, the worst part… was the steam coming from the bullet holes, from where their still-warm blood was reacting to the chill in the air.
I stood stock-still. The feeling going through me was more than rage. It didn’t have a name, but it was overpowering anything else in my mind. Pure reason was barely keeping me from running back into the house to exact terrible vengeance.
Where had the machine gun fire come from? It was obviously built into Ashabee’s system… I looked around in the moonlight and saw, built into the very stone walls that sheltered us, long metal panels. They looked like they might fold down at the press of a button, revealing a hidden artillery. I’d barely wondered what those could do when Tim, Jay, and I had been repairing the gate earlier. Now I wished I’d torn them all out.
I became aware of the sounds of panic coming from beyond the front gate. Names were being shouted urgently, followed by hushed and insistent tones. Someone was sobbing, a frightful keening sound that seared my heart, flaying it open wide.
I heard the sound of feet approaching, and turned, giving Violet a hollow look. Her hand was over
her mouth, her eyes wide as she took in the dead. “Oh God,” she gasped.
She moved closer, dropping to her knees next to me, her face pale. I could see tears forming in her eyes, and when she met my gaze, I knew exactly what we had to do.
I climbed to my feet, reaching a hand down to Violet and pulling her up next to me. I led the way, pulling her behind me, heading toward the gate. I could see faces as I drew nearer—people pressed between the bars, their eyes searching for any sign of their companions.
My legs never faltered as I drew nearer. I was driven, now, by a compulsion so intense that it defied rational thought. I stopped at the inner keypad, entering the code, and turned back to the people on the other side. A hush had fallen over them, and I could see wariness and fear on their faces as the gate—the one that still worked on its motorized tracks—pulled open.
They remained where they were even as the gate opened to them. I turned to Violet, who was staring at the people. “We’re going to need paper and something to write with,” I said softly, and her eyes jerked over to me.
“Right,” she whispered after a moment, her breathing coming sharp and hard. “I’ll get Henrik, and we’ll… we’ll handle it.”
I nodded and then turned back to the refugees standing at the gate, looking in. I held up my hands in the universal peace sign, and approached them slowly. “My name is Viggo Croft,” I said. “A guest of… Colin Everett Ashabee.” I couldn’t help but spit the name out. He was lucky I cared more about checking for survivors than hurting him, but my hands were shaking with rage. I knew this was a precarious situation—the people he had just murdered were part of this group. They probably had family and friends among these people. It was a situation fraught with stress and danger, especially if they had any weapons.
I cleared my throat and continued. “I regret to inform you that the people… the ones who came onto the property…” My throat tightened, making the words hard to say, but I pushed them out, knowing that drawing this out would only make it worse. “They’re dead.” The crowd gasped, and I saw several people in the back turn tail and run, several more moving backward. “I’m sorry,” I shouted, taking a step forward. “Please… please don’t leave. It was a mistake. The man on guard tonight… he… he panicked. He activated the defense system.”
I looked down, feeling like I was choking on the lie, but knowing it was as close to the truth as I dared go. A part of me wanted to be honest and tell them that Ashabee was responsible. I would let them exact any justice they wanted, and would probably even be persuaded to help… But it was a bad call. It would not bring their loved ones back. As tempting as it was, as much as I wanted to give them an opportunity for justice, I knew this act wouldn’t be justice—it would be vengeance. And vengeance didn’t solve problems. It wouldn’t even make me feel better.
“Why are you telling us this, Mr. Croft?” asked a man who was pushing through the middle of the crowd, his hat in his hand.
“I can understand if you want to move on. Especially after…” my eyes flicked up to his and then moved away, unable to finish the sentence. “But… we have water, food, and shelter. You’re… you’re more than welcome to stay, or go. I’m… I’m sorry for your friends.”
The man looked around at the other people milling in front of the gate, and then put on his hat. “We warned them not to climb the gate,” he said, his tone remorseful. “But they were insistent. Their deaths are tragic, but if you say it was an accident, then I’m choosing to believe you. Convey our thanks to Mr. Ashabee.”
I couldn’t keep the grimace off my face at his gratitude toward Ashabee, but the man with the hat didn’t seem to notice. He turned back and gestured to someone in the crowd, and I watched as a woman and young girl came forward, slipping their hands into his. I stepped aside, making room for them as they walked up the road toward the house. The rest of the people watched, murmuring in voices too low to hear. I remained silent, letting them decide whether to enter or not.
A few more came forward, their expressions wary, their movements slow and cautious. I couldn’t blame them. For all they knew, this was a trap. I turned to the house, and saw Violet standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for them with the paper and pencil I’d mentioned. I knew she and Henrik would take down names, occupations, and whatever information they thought relevant.
I also knew I had another task. “I’ll leave the gate open for five minutes, and then I’m shutting it. Please take that time to decide.”
Then I strode off, back to where the dead were waiting.
Two hours later Violet found me. I had collected the corpses and carefully carried them to an empty spot fifty feet away from the road, close to the wall. For the rest of the time, I had been digging.
I was tired and my arms were sore, but the motion was robotic at this point. The sound of the shovel hitting the earth was like a heartbeat in my ears, rhythmic and soothing. I didn’t want to think—didn’t want to feel—and the shovel was my sole focus. The hot, impotent fury that coursed through my veins was what raised the shovel up and down, up and down, and if I exhausted myself with it, I could make it up to them. I could make things right again. I could…
People moved back and forth around me. Some of the refugees came out of the house and found their dead loved ones, touched them, knelt next to them. Anguished sobbing accompanied my digging for a long while. I kept digging. Some of the people cursed at me. A few thanked me. But they all let me dig.
It threw me off completely when I felt hands press against the small of my back. I froze, swaying slightly, my breathing ragged and harsh in my own ears. Swallowing, I looked down as arms encircled my waist, and felt the press of a familiar feminine body against my back, a soft cheek resting against my shoulder.
My precious Violet. I tried to shake her off, muttering something even I couldn’t understand, but she persisted. Eventually I gave in, my chest heaving from exertion. I knelt, and she lowered herself with me. She held me for a long time—long enough for the rage that was searing through me to settle down, just a little, into a long, flat ocean of sadness. I felt my muscles un-clenching, the robotic determination fading.
Violet didn’t say anything, just let me grieve for those eight unknown men and women, killed by Ashabee’s prejudice. If I had been faster, or paid more attention, I would have been able to stop him. But it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t…
After a while, I felt my control returning. I pulled away from Violet, and she let me go, her eyes brimming with empathy. I couldn’t find anything to say, so I cupped her cheek, pleased when she pressed into my caress, and then slowly climbed to my feet, using the shovel to help me up.
She climbed up too, taking the hand I offered and pulling herself up, and then picked up her own shovel from the grass next to the shallow hole I was working on. I stared, surprised to see it, but she didn’t seem to notice. In spite of her injured hand, she just pushed the shovel into the ground and withdrew a mound of black earth, tossing it onto the pile.
I stood there for a long moment, grateful, now, that she wasn’t letting me do this alone. Then I dug in as well, aware that the dead had been watching the entire time, hoping that I could do them justice, if just in this one small thing.
23
Violet
I sat in the dark security room, staring at the monitors. Viggo and I had finished burying the dead just as the sun began to rise. I knew this had hit him hard, because he hadn’t put up a fight at all when I had encouraged him to have a shower. Nor did he argue when I told him to get some rest while I covered the rest of the watch. I sat with him a while, my left hand holding his, until he finally succumbed to sleep. I’d been close to dozing off, too, but the horror of the night didn’t change the fact that somebody needed to watch those monitors… to prevent something like this from happening again.
It hurt seeing him like that, my brave and noble Viggo. I also knew that nothing I could say would reach him right now. He was probably winding his rage and sadn
ess into knots inside his head, and I knew that feeling. I knew that all I had to do was be there. Even if it took him time to recover his good cheer, I would be with him every step of the way, reminding him that he wasn’t responsible.
No. Ashabee was. I drummed my fingers over the desk, waiting for him to arrive. Well, waiting for him to be conscious again so he could arrive.
Viggo hadn’t seen it in his fury, but Jay had decked Ashabee as Viggo was rushing out. Not only had he hit him, he had hit him hard, his anger fueling him. It was what had delayed me in catching up with Viggo—I was worried Jay had killed the man. He’d been knocked out instantly, his body crashing backwards into a bookcase, taking out several shelves, the books falling down onto his unmoving form.
I was also certain that Jay would’ve killed him if Jeff and I hadn’t intervened. The young man was seething, his blue eyes tearing up, his face red with anger. I’d had to step between him and Ashabee’s unconscious form to stop him from continuing his attack, but it had barely worked. Even now, I was concerned.
Not that I blamed Jay. He had just been moments faster than me at delivering his punch. However, I didn’t want Ashabee’s death on his hands.
Or on Viggo’s, for that matter. Which was why I had let him sleep, choosing to deal with this alone. I didn’t feel the crushing fury that Viggo did—just a well of sadness that went down too far to even look for the bottom. Sadness and weariness. And a cold determination to make sure that justice was done.
So here I was, waiting, weighing the decision on behalf of all my companions, and wondering what I should do about it.
Someone knocked on the door, jolting me out of deep thought. “Ashabee has regained consciousness,” Henrik said quietly, walking through the door. “He’ll be down soon.”
I nodded in acknowledgement. “Do you have the list of refugees?” I asked.