Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“Just a little parting gift,” Ingrid says, looking pleased with herself. “Tyrone has one of his own.”
He unbuttons his jacket and pulls the collar of his T-shirt down to reveal the dark words inked on one of his pecs.
Peace. Order. Prosperity.
“Nice,” I say, wanting to puke into the nearest trash can.
I honestly don’t know which one is worse. New America loyalists calling what they do peace is a joke.
“You can get whichever one you want,” Ingrid says, putting her jacket back on.
“Can I get both?” I quip.
“You may,” Ingrid says,
“I want the flag.” I deserve an Oscar for the enthusiasm I’m selling. “The one on my island was destroyed by a storm.”
The storm was me, taking it with me when I left Rising Tide because McClain and I had met secretly and agreed we had to stop what was happening there. I burned it, making sure there was nothing left but ashes.
“We’ll send flags back with you.” She glances at the communication device on her hip, which looks like a cell phone. “Tyrone will take you to get your ink this afternoon, but first, there’s something I want to show you.”
I just nod, reminding myself to stay stoic and entitled. Too much fake enthusiasm may give me away.
Ingrid leads the way outside, where a vehicle that looks like a militarized golf cart waits for us with a driver. It’s small, only holding four people, but fully enclosed with the windows down to let air flow through.
Ingrid reads something on the screen of her communication device and shakes her head. “Why don’t women understand that our president is empowering them?” she asks no one in particular. “Those who don’t wish to serve must bear children. We have no future without more children.”
“There’s no greater calling than motherhood,” Tyrone says.
“Do you have children, Commander Wells?” Ingrid asks.
I shrug nonchalantly. “We don’t track paternity. Procreation is our priority, though.”
Nothing disturbed me more than the system the regime had us set up for Rising Tide. Mindless rutting. Women giving birth to babies not knowing who fathered them and then having those newborns sent to a building where they’re raised and trained.
The thought of fathering children in that place and then abandoning them was too much for me to stomach. Active aromium has always made me crave sex like a junkie craves a hit, but I never gave in until Briar.
I mentally map as many details of the base as I can. It’s so perfectly maintained that it feels sterile. The landscapers tending to the grounds remind me of Kira. Almost robotic. It’s eerie.
Guards open iron gates as we approach a large, nondescript white building. The driver drops us off in front of wide steel double doors. I clock the heavy metal bar on the inside of the building that could be used to bar the entrance closed.
The interior is the same superclean, forgettable white as the rest of the buildings here. Ingrid leaves Tyrone and me behind in the lobby as she goes to talk to someone behind a desk. Then she motions us to join her.
“I think you’re going to like this, Commander Wells,” she says.
I fake a smile, knowing whatever it is, I’m definitely going to hate it.
We walk into a courtyard that’s enclosed by the building. It’s about the size of a football field, with a track around the perimeter, basketball and tennis courts, and landscaping. Kids and young adults are clustered in small groups. Some are running and others are playing basketball, but most are just talking and laughing.
It kind of seems like recess at a private school. I never would have guessed all these young people were on this island, where everything is ordered and precise.
“We’re about five minutes away from some serious rain,” Tyrone says, looking up at the gray sky.
I follow his gaze. “Yep. We usually get at least one afternoon shower a day.”
I wasn’t paying attention to the two people walking over to us. When Ingrid clears her throat and I look over at them, there’s a uniformed guard and ...
Holy fucking shit. My jaw dislodges and air lodges in my throat.
It’s me. My body, my face, my hair. He’s wearing different clothes than I am, but other than that, I’m looking at a mirror image of myself.
22
“I’ve just been briefed on the decline in fertility rates, and the numbers are alarming. If you don’t have at least one mistress, find one. We need to build our population, and it’s going to take more than one baby a year from your wives.” - Excerpt from a message from New America President Soren Whitman to all military officers
Briar
This feels like a trap.
Pax stands at our aromium switch point, the patch of dirt where we use our handheld device to switch aromium on as we’re leaving camp and off when we’re returning. It’s about a half-mile from camp, which is the closest someone with active aromium can get to our shield without feeling its side effects—headache, dizziness, and nausea.