Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Asha

I wake with a start. My arm swipes across the bed in search of Max, but only passes through ruffled sheets. Where is he? The question echoes louder and louder, propelling me out of bed in a frantic search. I think some wisp of dreamy thinking makes this feel like a nightmare, but by the time I stumble into the adjoining room, I realize how silly I’m being.

Through the drapes, two silhouettes mill about in front of the room. Their shapes are unmistakable. Max watches while Braxton hurls a tennis ball, and I listen as the sound of Trouble’s paws scraping at the dirt fades into the distance.

I look back in the room, and my eyes fall on Orson, sprawled atop the sheets in nothing but his boxers. I’m granted a view of his impressive physique. He’s long and wiry, golden tan skin taut around sinewy limbs. Six pack, smooth pecs, and— ahem …

I literally choke on my own spit, which rouses Orson from his slumber. My eyes snap from the log stuffed inside his gray boxer-briefs to his face as he blinks sleep away. He plugs the balls of his thumbs into his eye sockets and rubs them vigorously before acknowledging my presence.

“Morning, Asha,” he greets, his voice pitched lower and made gravelly by sudden wakefulness.

“Uh, morning, Orson,” I return.

He sits upright, flexing those abdominal muscles, and it takes all my concentration not to gawk. You have two hunks already. Are you starting a collection? I think flippantly. Perhaps I ought to as Orson stands from the bed, his Adonis figure on full display. He flashes a smile and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Where are the boys?” he inquires.

I flick my eyes at the window, and he turns his head to find the answer to his question. “Ah.” He looks back at me and smiles. As always, it’s warm, convivial, earnest. I can’t help but offer one in return. “I guess I slept pretty deeply,” he says, crossing to the desk where his computer sits open.

“Despite not tucking yourself in,” I say.

He glances down at himself, spots himself, and blushes. Then, he closes his eyes, bouncing on his heels.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Thinking of baseball stats… it tends to help when the Big Guy is at attention when there's no commander present." His eyes flash open. "Not that you're not a commander, you're very commanding, but if I want to keep the Big Guy, I need him to settle down before those two get back."

My cheeks are hot. "Understood."

He goes back to squeezing his eyes closed and bouncing on his heels. Despite the best of intentions, I study Big Guy, an aptly named fellow, waiting for something to happen. Like confetti exploding from it, I don't know.

"It helps if you don't stare." He doesn't open his eyes when he says it, but I still force my gaze onto a spot on the wall.

"Okay, disaster averted," he says, cracking his knuckles. "Time for work."

Trying to pretend like I'm not mortified, I say, “I’ll admit, I’m a little curious what you’ve been up to on here.”

He grins. "Come hang out," he says, and then heads for his laptop.

After dragging a second chair up beside him, I hesitate, unsure of what he’s invited me to do exactly. I look down at him and he looks back at me and a glint in his eye glimmers like Venus in the evening blue sky.

“You want to see it?”

I grin. You bet I do . Whatever it is. “Sure.”

My gaze lingers on his face a moment longer before turning back to the computer screen, on which a satellite image of a forest appears. “This,” he says with a hint of pride, “is the Raven Pack’s home.”

What the fuck?

I lean closer and realize it’s not a picture, it’s a video feed. Tiny figures like black dots traverse roadways that cut through the woods. They pass between structures tucked in amongst the trees. “Whoa, is that?—”

“Live? Mhm. Just hacked a few satellite systems to gain access to their feeds.”

I cut my eyes to his again, appreciating their dual colors. “Think you’re pretty slick, huh?”

He shrugs. “Must be worth something,” he replies with a smirk. “Besides, not even the Enforcers can do what I’m doing.” Expanding the window, he zooms in on the screen to reveal more detail of the site.

My stomach flips. This is what Max meant. Just by controlling myself, we've learned where they are and can see what they're doing. Patience is going to reward a safer escape for my people and sweeter justice for these bastards. Max might drive me crazy sometimes, but I’m grateful to him for not letting me go in hot… something that probably would have led to me screwing everything up.

Like a soaring eagle, I watch the Raven Pack’s movements while he continues, “I estimate there are about a hundred members of their pack. That’s based on an analysis of several days’ worth of monitoring, which involved reaching back in the data logs. Pretty tricky. Here, and here,” he touches his index finger to two points on the screen, “they post sentries. These rotate with another three, here, here, and here, in a predictable pattern.”

As I observe them, I can see groupings clustered together, two larger figures surrounded by several smaller ones. I realize these are families. I squint to better appreciate the finer details captured by the satellite’s camera: the father’s paunch, the daughter’s tangled hair. “This is incredible,” I whisper in awe.

“Yeah, remarkable, the spytech available to any curious party with the know-how to hack it.”

“Who owns these satellites you’re hacking?”

“Various governments.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Can they tell you’re breaking in?”

“No,” he replies confidently. “I’m very discreet.”

An idea occurs to me. “How much can you see with these satellites you hack into?”

“Everything,” he says. “But if it’s Area 51 you’re interested in, I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you, everything exciting happens below the surface.”

I shake my head. “No, someplace else.”

I point him in the direction of my home, knowing the coordinates from some old maps my home always kept hanging in our dining room. He takes no time at all, pulling up another live feed. My heart sinks in anticipation, but when the town appears, I’m shocked by what I find. Instead of the rubble I remember, structures have been rebuilt. Not the whole town, but several structures, and repairs have been made to the buildings and streets. There isn't any evidence of the nightmare that occurred.

Someone’s been rehabilitating the place.

“What are we looking for?” Orson asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, feigning half-interest.

But then I reach over and commandeer the trackpad of his laptop, moving around the map, zooming in, checking out the improvements. It’s remarkable. Nearly the entire town had been razed and now many of the sections are like new.

Better than before the raid, even.

Curiously, however, no one’s around. “This is a live feed, too?” I ask Orson.

“Yep.”

I hunt around looking for signs of life, but find none. How peculiar . Mysteries stack on top of mysteries.

Scrolling, I find my old home. Before nostalgia kicks in, with its inevitable assault of emotions and tears, my eyes lock onto something in the road. I zoom in as close as I can, but even top-secret spy satellites have their limits, apparently.

The object shifts and then I realize I’m looking at a person. But they’re dressed funny, completely covered in dark clothing, a hood drawn over their head. I wonder who they could possibly be hiding from. You’re the only person around for miles. Why are you dressed like that?

“Do you know that person?” Orson asks.

“No,” I respond curtly, wishing I was doing this alone.

“Where is this, Asha?”

He sounds more curious than concerned, but I ignore his follow-up question while scrutinizing the hooded figure. A lone person… a man, I’d guess, from his shape. Rebuilding our town.

It's weird.

A glitch in the feed sends horizontal bars of distortion across the screen and when they resolve, the figure is gone. I search the surrounding area, but he’s disappeared.

“Asha.”

I snap my attention to Orson. “It’s nothing.”

Suddenly, the door opens in the adjoining suite. The twins are coming back . Fumbling with the trackpad, I attempt to close the feed. “Dammit, how do you close this fucking thing?” I angrily tap at the trackpad until Orson steps in and closes the window for me, but not without a curious glance my way.

It’s just in time, as the twins step through the door between rooms. “You’re up,” says Max, and it’s clear from his inflection that he felt a small jolt of panic when he saw the bed empty.

“Did you sleep well?” Braxton asks, touched by the same concern as his brother.

“I’m fine, guys,” I reassure them.

Their worry gives way to wariness as both brothers eye Orson with suspicion. Casually, I edge my chair away from him, as though proving nothing untoward took place.

“Get ready,” says Max.

“Where are we going?” I inquire.

“Raven Pack.”

Watching them from thousands of miles above the Earth was one thing. Venturing into the lion’s den is another. But it’s not quite fear I’m feeling. Not of them, anyway. I feel a sort of queasy excitement, every nerve enlivened and raw.

“Will we be killing the perpetrators, or is this a stealth extraction of my pack members?”

“We’re not executioners,” says Max, “we’re Enforcers.”

Sure, you’re not, but when I get out there, can I be certain I’ll act with the same restraint?