Captive, p.1
Captive, page 1
part #2 of Populations Crumble: Resurgence Series
Captive
A YA Dystopian Romance
K. A. Gandy
Thigpen-Gandy Publishing
Copyright © 2024 by K. A. Gandy
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact kagandyauthor@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Edited by Lia Huntington.
First edition 2024.
Contents
1. Terror
2. Honey
3. Horror
4. Knockout
5. Holding
6. Hunting
7. Favors
8. Ends and Beginnings
9. Cat Fight
10. Beckett
11. The Thick of It
12. An Offer
13. Room and Board
14. Shockwave
15. Empty
16. Flushed
17. Breakdown
18. Hollow
19. Recovery Bites
20. Plumb and Ponder
21. Desperation
22. No Dice
23. Threshing
24. Wheat and Chaff
25. Skirting the Line
26. Wood Sign
27. Risk and Redemption
28. Reunion
29. Ricochet
30. Aftershocks
31. Courso and . . .
32. . . . Consequences
33. Wrecked
34. Something’s Missing
35. Shadows in the Night
36. Decree
37. Trouble in Paradise
38. Vengeance
39. Action
40. A Question
41. Deleted Scene – Alternate “Decree” Beginning
42. Playlist
Before You Go . . .
More by K. A. Gandy
About the Author
Chapter one
Terror
Demy
Nothing makes sense. My body aches everywhere, the lights are fuzzy—no, my head is fuzzy—and there’s so much noise. People are yelling. Why are they yelling in my bedroom? I want to bury my head under my pillow and hide.
Except—where am I? I keep my eyes screwed shut against the yellowish glow over my head and pat the bed, but it’s too hard to be a bed. Carpet? Did I fall asleep on the floor? And is that—
My eyes fly open. There’s a body next to me.
Nell.
She looks dead. Oh my God, is she dead? My hand fumbles as I reach for her. It lands clumsily against her neck, but I can feel a steady pulse under my fingertips. Thank God. Thank God.
“Hey, we got one moving!” The words sound far away, but I somehow know they’re bad news. Who is that?
“Just stick her again. We’ve got a way to go yet.”
Rough, calloused hands grab my chin and turn my head to the side, exposing my neck.
A sharp pinch of pain breaks through my haze for a few seconds, but then the all-consuming blackness returns, smothering my fear. Smothering me.
Chapter two
Honey
Demy
Consciousness comes back slowly, like thick honey oozing through my brain.
I need to find Nell. She was with me.
“Nell?” Her name comes out as a croak. “Nell, are you here?” My eyes wander.
The dirty, smudged white ceiling paint with chunks of old plaster hanging from above don’t tell me where I am. I’m not entirely sure what happened, either—only that I’m cold. My fingers graze rough cement, and I realize I’m lying on the floor.
“Why are you on the floor, Demy?” I ask myself the question out loud, if for no reason other than to ground me. Something is very wrong, and I can tell I’m missing something. Something huge that I should know. But my head really hurts. My back is twisted, and knotted up like I slept wrong for a solid week.
Moving slowly, I lever myself up off the cold, gritty cement. The room I’m in isn’t empty.
Another girl in a torn red party dress is sitting propped against the wall, but I don’t recognize her.
“Demy, is it?” she asks, sounding bored. She’s focused on straightening the tulle that pokes out from the bottom hem of the dress, not bothering to make eye contact.
“Yes. Where are we?”
“No idea. The Cabal took us.”
Cabal? Cabal.
Oh, no. No, no, no. My memories burst through the slow-dripping sludge, assaulting me with painful clarity. Beckett’s kiss. The boat ride, and the NLC guard who pulled the gun. Atlas was down, Nell was unconscious, and then they threw us in the back of a black SUV. Destination . . . this crappy place, apparently.
“Hey, you need to get a grip on yourself. If you hyperventilate you’ll pass back out and whack your head.” Her voice is cold, and there is no sympathy on her face. She smooths down the last section of material, and finally looks up at me.
It was better when she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes are bloodshot, nearly the color of the dress, and lifeless. There’s nothing there but pure defeat, and I can’t let that rub off on me. No.
My pulse pounds painfully in my temples as I breathe through my nose, trying to slow it down. She’s right about one thing, at least; I can’t afford to knock myself back out. I have to keep my head if I want any chance of getting out of here.
“Where are the others?” I ask when I can breathe almost normally.
She shrugs. “They don’t keep us all together.”
“What’s your name?”
“Carla.”
“How long have you been here, Carla?” I’m afraid of the answer, but I need it just the same.
She snorts. “Who knows? The months run together after a while.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. They have kept her alive, which is good. It means I’m not about to be brutally murdered, at least. I blow out another breath, and then get to my feet. My knees are shaking, but the need to inspect my prison is driving me harder than my physical limitations. I have no memory of my arms getting these deep scrapes, but since I woke up chucked on the ground like so much trash, it seems logical that the concrete took a piece out of me.
Cement block walls that used to be white line three sides, but the front . . . it’s scuffed plexiglass. Ignoring my pounding head and skinned arms in favor of curiosity, I wobble closer to it.
“Don’t do it. Stay back from there!” Carla is on her feet in a heartbeat, eyes wild as she grabs me by the shoulders and wrenches me away from the cloudy divider.
“What is wrong with you! How are we going to get out of here if we just stay in this box?” I try to yank away, my elbow smacking the plexi-glass with a painful thwack, but I’m still loose-limbed from whatever they drugged me with, and her grip is strong. Fingers like talons dig into my flesh, holding me captive. She drags me away from the front of our cell, her eyes wide and fearful as she shoves me roughly down against the back wall.
“Hey! What’s going on in there?”
“No, you stupid idiot!” Carla’s paranoid gaze lands on me as heavy footsteps come closer to the cell. “They’re going to take me, and it’s your fault.” She tears at her stringy, unwashed hair with an anguished screech.
Well, she’s gone off the deep end. How long has she been in here? The thought fills me with panic.
Her slap lands hard on my cheek, sending my head snapping to the side and making my already questionable senses go for a spin. My vision doubles, and I hang my head between my knees as my ears ring, leaving me utterly helpless.
But instead of attacking me further, she drops down next to me, and curls into a ball, covering her head with her arms.
The sound of something grating over concrete makes me want to look up, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll vomit all over myself and our cell.
Based on the stench in here . . . the last time that happened, it was never cleaned up. I swallow down the sour taste in my mouth, trying desperately not to make things any worse.
“You know the rules, Carla. No fighting.” A smug masculine voice makes me risk moving to see our guard. The man is wearing a black cloak. His shaved head and cold smile complete the picture. I’m ashamed to say that I cower away from the man as he grabs Carla by the arm and drags her, screaming, from our cell. But when the grating sound comes again signaling that I’m alone in the cell, all I can do is weep.
A whole life of running, and the men who murdered my parents still caught me.
Chapter three
Horror
Fletcher
Two Days Earlier
Everything is going to hell. The attack alarms are blaring again, and I’m supposed to meet Demy any minute. I don’t want to leave her here, but I also don’t want to be the idiot who gets shot or captured because I stayed here on a bench like a sitting duck while the Cabal swarmed the NLC.
Indecision keeps me still. I don’t see any signs of invaders, and I’m less than two minutes from the nearest safe room. If I see any sign of anyone besides Demy, I’ll sprint for the safe room. It’ll be tight, but I’ll make it. Still, the grating alarms have me pushing to my feet, fighting the urge to pace.
Stay alert, stay sharp, I scold myself. I blow ou t a breath and run my hands through my hair. I left it down today, for my last planned date. And now, I’m cursing my vanity. It’s a small thing, but I want to look nice for her. Want to convince her to pick me.
Which is wholly not what I expected, coming into this program. I expected to be matched, yes. I expected to find someone to start a family with. But Demy? She’s nothing I ever saw coming. For a guy like me who’s had every single thing in life handed to him, she’s . . . a breath of fresh air. One I desperately need, even though I haven’t told her that yet. I’m going to, today. Before I lose my nerve.
I scan the area again, tensing when I see someone running this way. My shoulders only relax a fraction when I realize it’s Peter. He looks grim.
“Come with me!” He barks the order on the move, so I break into a run to keep up.
“What’s going on?” I yell to be heard over the wailing alarms.
“There’s been an attack. Three people were taken, and one is injured.”
My heart stops dead in my chest before stuttering back to life. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know yet. The injured person is being taken to the medical building.”
“We’re not going to the safe room?” I ask as we blow past it.
He shoots me a speculating look. “You can if you want to be locked down. But I’m heading for medical to get briefed. It’s as secure as the safe rooms, assuming we get there in one piece.”
“Let’s go,” I urge, and we pick up the speed into a full sprint.
My calves are burning and my sides are heaving, but we cut across the New Life Center grounds in record time. I drop one hand on my knee, watching our backs as Patrick punches in a code on the keypad. It beeps and then the door clicks open.
“Come on.” Peter holds the door until I slip inside, then lets it seal behind us.
The medical building is one of the few I haven’t been inside since I’ve been at the NLC. There’s a tidy waiting room plastered with maternity photos and smiling babies, and a harried-looking receptionist wearing pink behind the desk.
“Are you two injured? The Medical building is in emergency lock down, so if you’re healthy I’ll need to re-route you to the nearest safe room.”
“We’re here with Pacelli Security for an update on the injured, and to speak with Atlas,” Peter states, staring her down.
She wilts under his glare, but points to the double doors to the right. “They’re through there. But there is already a representative here seeing to Mr. Pacelli. An . . . Easton?” she says, reading the name off her clipboard.
“So, Atlas is the one who’s hurt?” My mind spins as I follow Peter through the swinging double doors, processing. I didn’t bother to ask the man’s last name before, so I’m assuming. “Who was he with, when they got him, if Easton is here and fine?”
“He was on a double date,” Peter says, his expression grim as he looks at me, waiting for me to catch up.
Double date.
Atlas, Nell—no.
“Did they take Demy?” It’s half question, half demand as I grab his arm, stopping him mid-stride.
He shakes me off with a glare. “I don’t know yet, Fletcher. That’s what we’re here to find out. Whoever they took, we need to get them back, and quickly. The Cabal isn’t kind to its victims.”
Dread fills my veins like lead. Deep down, a part of me knows what I’m about to hear, even as we push into the only lit treatment room. Atlas is laid out flat on his back, a harried-looking doctor staring at beeping machinery while a nurse checks his vitals.
Easton stands off to the side, concern on his face as he listens to someone reporting over his comm.
“—no sign of any remaining Cabal on site. Requesting permission to rapid-follow.”
He snaps orders into his comm. “Focus on securing the perimeter! We need to find any other breach points before we can pursue! I repeat, do not pursue off-property without approval!”
When he looks up at us, his expression is grave.
“What the hell happened?” Peter asks.
“They were at the pond; the posted guards were found tased and tied up. Atlas was alone with the women and Beckett when they attacked. Presumably, he put himself between the Cabal and the women, expecting backup. One of the NLC guards is missing, and the others—”
I don’t need to hear the rest to know the truth, as I stare down at Atlas’s prone form. Only one thing matters.
They’ve taken Demy, and I have to get her back.
Chapter four
Knockout
Demy
Everything goes quiet again as soon as they close the door behind her, so now I’m in a near-silent box. There is nothing in the room but a toilet and sink behind a privacy screen, and a pair of single-width cots. The blankets smell sour when I finally manage to get back to my feet and flop myself down onto the closest cot, bringing the nausea roaring back to the forefront. I breathe through my mouth for a long time, begging it to pass.
It eventually does, but Carla doesn’t come back.
When I fall asleep, I’m curled in a ball on top of the filthy bedding, alone and as small as I can make myself.
The scraping of the door wakes me. Sounds outside the cell are suddenly louder, startling me to awareness. Everything is clearer than it was the day before, which is a relief. I feel weak, but that could be the hollow emptiness of my stomach as much as the aftereffects of the knockout drugs.
I sit warily on my cot as the man pushes his way inside.
“On your feet.”
Moving slowly, I do as he says. He’s not the same man who took Carla away, though he’s dressed identically, from the robe to the cold eyes. He’s more bored than cruel, which I’ll take as a good sign.
“Hurry up, I’ve got more girls to round up and I’m not getting chewed out because you’re slow as dirt.” He grabs me by the arm and tugs me from my cell. I keep quiet as I’m shoved into a line of women. Each of them is scruffy, in that “unwashed and unbrushed after a night out” sort of way. Some are crying, while others stare lifelessly at the wall. None of them is Nell, and fear inflates inside my chest like a balloon, blocking my lungs from inflating fully.
We stop at three more cells, and I barely contain a relieved sob when Nell is pulled from the last one. She’s got an ugly bruise blossoming over her cheekbone and scratches along her forearms, but that familiar defiant tilt to her chin gives me hope. Hope of what, I don’t know.
That we’re both still fighting.
The guard herds us like so many sheep down the divided hallway, passing plenty of occupied cells. Another guard on the other side of the metal gate which splits the cell block herds his own line of women from the cells directly across from us. When we reach the end of the cell block, he uses a brass key to unlock it. I watch with rapt attention as he tucks the key back into a hidden pocket inside his cloak. I haven’t seen a keyhole on my cell door, but from what I could see they are simple external latches. Which means once you’re in, you can’t get out without help.
Once we are out of the cell block, the space opens up, and I see dozens of people milling about at a central gathering area. Most of them are members of the Cabal, but there are women dressed in clothes of varying degrees of dishevelment mixed in, too. Most look fearful, but a few are draped languidly over the benches with the men, laughing or leaning hard into their sides. It’s casual and haphazard, yet the sight still makes me shudder.
I don’t have long to take in the scene because we’re ushered through at a hurried clip, and falling behind even slightly earns me a cuff on the shoulder. I try to memorize the turns we take, but after the fifth one I lose count. My brain is still too foggy. We end the journey in a bleak-looking corridor. The door has blood streaks trailing away from the knob and the sight has me seeking out Nell, meeting her eyes with a worried gaze. She looks away quickly, so I do the same. When the door opens, a man in a white doctor’s coat enters, his bald pate shining under the harsh overhead lights.
“How many this time?” the doctor asks, only barely looking up from his clipboard to acknowledge our existence.
