10

T he following morning, I didn’t take the shuttle to the rehab center. I left home an hour earlier and cycled all the way, skirting the town square and taking a leisurely detour along the lakeside path in the leafy Legislative District before navigating the symmetrical Quantum Zone.

Even in the bleakest months of winter, Capra was beautiful. My days were counting down, and I wanted to savor every moment, capture a thousand mental pictures to take with me.

The streets were lined with trees, some with bared branches, the evergreens still furred with velvet pine bushels. The grass was patchy and yellowed in places, but that was nature, too. Across the lake, the nature reserve was still mostly green and thickly wooded. A spiral of gray smoke rose up in the distance, a strong contrast to the cold, fresh air that stung my cheeks.

The Smoke was a place of shortages and hardship, the Blood Throats, the crime families, and the uncertainty of the Protectorate. But most of all, The Smoke was not pretty. The streets were lined with concrete instead of grass and trees. The buildings were packed on top of each other without space to breathe. The only nature to be found there was the occasional polluted breeze.

I would miss Capra.

I would my parents and Jessie most of all.

I would make a life for myself with Roman in our apartment in The Smoke, and it would be a good life, a great life…but today, this morning, there was a physical pain in my heart.

I wasn’t wallowing in misery and self-pity.

That wasn’t it.

The Smoke had walls, but they didn’t trap you. The Smoke had rules, but they didn’t suffocate you. For all its shortcomings, The Smoke offered adventure and excitement, a life that could be as unpredictable as you wished it to be.

Maybe, if I could convince Roman, one day we might make it into the wilds. Plan a safe route to lands beyond the barons’ reach and who knows what we might find. One thing I’d learned over the last few months was that there was more left of this world than I’d ever believed possible. Maybe more than even Roman believed possible.

But first I had to mourn the loss of Capra.

I stopped by my parent’s home. In a relatively short span of time, I’d come to think of it as theirs, no longer mine. The cabin was my home now…until it wasn’t. I wondered how long it would take before I started thinking of the apartment in The Smoke as home.

My mom opened the door with a mug of coffee in her hand, her smile warm when she saw it was me. “Georga, darling, how lovely.”

“I can’t stay long,” I said as I stepped inside the hallway. “I’m on my way to the rehab center.”

“What on earth for?” She paled, her brow spearing into deep creases as she added breathlessly, “Why would you do that?”

I realized where her mind had gone. “Mom, no! I’m not being admitted. I work there.”

Relief collapsed her frown, but she still didn’t sound impressed. “Well, for goodness sake, haven’t they closed that place down yet?”

“We’re transitioning the women out,” I explained. “I haven’t heard anything about them closing the center. Have you?”

“Well, no, but one would hope.” She sipped on her coffee. “I’ve just made a fresh pot.”

“I really can’t stay.” I wished I could. I wanted to absorb every precious minute of my family while I could. “I thought, maybe, Roman and I could come over for dinner tonight?”

“Of course, darling,” she said. “That would be wonderful. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged and smiled weakly.

Mom wasn’t fooled. She studied me, seeing far more than I was willing to share.

I averted my eyes, and spotted the newsletter on the hallway table. “Is that a new flyer?”

“It came this morning,” Mom said. “Did you not get one?”

“I left home early.” Or maybe they were no longer delivering to Parklands, since only wardens now resided there.

SISTERS OF CAPRA

BULLETIN

REFORM & REGULATION

Dear Citizens of Capra,

Effective immediately, all curfew restrictions are abolished. We will continue to have a guard presence on the streets and expect all citizens to abide by the law of our society and conduct themselves appropriately. There will be no exceptions. All young ladies between the ages of 12 and 15 are invited to book an appointment at the clinic with regard to ovarian egg harvesting. This initial interview will be a consultation and opportunity to discuss the screening process and determine how you wish to proceed. This is not mandatory. Single men older than 25, and who have unsuccessfully participated in at least 2 graduation ceremonies are eligible to book interviews regarding alternative options going forward. Please enquire at Berkley House.

As always, the Sisterhood stands with each and every citizen of Capra, regardless of gender, age or social standing.

We stand together.

Once I’d read the newsletter, Mom murmured, “I know you’ve had some concerns about the Sisterhood, and Geneva.”

“I thought you hadn’t noticed.” She’d certainly dismissed it all as irrelevant.

Mom could flip from mother hen to stern parent mode in a heartbeat, and she did so now.

Her tone was unapologetic. “I didn’t want to encourage your negativity.”

“You think I’m being overly sensitive and that the sun shines out of Geneva’s—” I cut off in horror at the word I was about to use in front of my mother. I’d been spending too much time with Axel.

“I think you’re young and idealistic, and I’m well aware of Geneva’s flaws.” Mom pursed her lips around a sigh, looking at me. “It takes a strong woman to run a secret organization within a patriarchal society like ours.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. I’d had just about all I could take of Geneva’s strength and power.

She plucked the newsletter from my fingers and waved it at me. “It takes a hard woman to achieve this.”

Well, I couldn’t argue against any one of those points in that bulletin.

Her gaze softened on me, as did her tone. “And it takes astounding courage and idealism to do what you’ve done. You are the girl behind a woman like Geneva, the one she built her throne on. I am incredibly proud of you, Georga.”

I wasn’t the girl standing behind Geneva: I was flat on the ground, trodden down beneath her dictatorial boots, and now I was about to lose my town, my home, my friends and my family.

Resentment flared within me, but it was stubborn and selfish. Things were changing for the better in Capra. Not for everyone, but for the vast majority… for the greater good of all . That was how Capra society had risen from the ashes of the old world. If not for all the selfless sacrifice back then, none of us would be here now.

Mom’s hand curled over my shoulder. “There is no perfect in our world, darling. There wasn’t before, there isn’t now, and there never will be. There’s only better than or worse than, and I believe the Sisterhood is better.”

I swallowed down a lump of pure frustration, at my mother, at Geneva, at myself.

“You’re right,” I conceded. It would be childish to expect any version of our world to be perfect, and I was no longer a child.

I glanced at the time on my wristwatch and groaned. “I really have to go.”

Mom wrapped me in a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, aware of all the chances I’d missed to tell her just how much I did.

I pulled myself together on the long cycle to the rehab center. I had to get my head into the game. Now that we’d settled on a definitive plan, I wanted to inspect each part and plug any holes.

As we did each morning, Belinda and I shared a coffee in the staff lounge and then checked in with Janice. This morning, we received a new set of patient cases. Yellow binders for Ward Y. The serious and serial offenders. Or the way I saw it, the women who’d been seriously and serially failed. Some were broken by the system and the rehab program. Some of them still had a spark in their eyes.

One woman confounded me.

Lauren Allbright was twenty-six years old. She had a pleasant face, wore a serene expression and smiled gently. Her husband was a research scientist in the Quantum Zone and she had two children, boys aged five and three.

We were seated in a small communal lounge in Ward Y. She perched on one end of a two-seater couch and I pulled up a hardback chair right in front of her, her file open on my lap. I’d already read both her admissions forms. This was her second stint in rehab.

“It says here…” I glanced between her and the top admission form. “The first time, you were apprehended at the Blue Fish at 9 pm. You walked in and went right up to the bar counter.”

It was unthinkable for a woman to enter the rowdy bar, let alone on her own and after the curfew hour.

The look in her eye turned prickly. “I was thirsty.”

“I’m not judging you,” I assured her.

I really wasn’t. I was thinking of Beth, the woman I’d tried to help not too long ago. Her abusive husband had made her stand outside the Blue Fish, in the bitter cold and rain, while he drank inside. I needed to determine if Lauren’s home situation had somehow forced her reckless behavior.

“Were you looking for your husband?” I asked, scribbling down notes as we spoke.

“I was looking for a gin and tonic.”

I blinked. “But surely you knew the bartender wouldn’t serve you.”

She smiled and shrugged, the prickliness gone. “You can’t blame a woman for trying.”

Was she just defiant by nature? I could totally appreciate that. “So, your husband wasn’t inside the Blue Fish?”

“Jackson was home with the kids.”

“Did he know you’d left the house?”

“Possibly.” She shrugged again. “The first few times I broke curfew, he came after me and brought me home. By then, he’d probably given up.”

“He didn’t send the Guard after you?”

“Jackson?” Her brow creased. “He never did before. That’s why I had to go into the bar…to make sure.”

To make sure of what? “Is there anything you’d like to share with me about your home life? Is Jackson a good man?”

“He tries his best.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

Her eyes widened. “Why would I be afraid of my husband?”

“I don’t know,” I said gently. “You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Lauren.” I leaned forward, offering a comforting smile that I hoped would encourage her confidence. “You really can, you can tell me anything. There won’t be any repercussions.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

I wasn’t getting through to her. “I’m just trying to help get you out of here.”

Something resembling fear struck in her eyes. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to leave.”

“You’re afraid of going home?”

She shook her head. “I like it here.”

“There’s nothing to like about this place, Lauren. If you don’t want to go home, we can arrange alternative accommodation for you and your children.”

“My children are happy where they are.” She turned her head, her gaze going out the window. The window was small, the view sliced by iron bars, but whatever she saw restored some of her serenity. “Jackson is a wonderful father.”

I skimmed over my notes.

Jackson is a good man. He didn’t have her admitted. He didn’t send for the Guard. He tries his best. He’s a wonderful father. She’s not afraid of him… or so she says.

“Eight days ago, you went back to the Blue Fish,” I said.

“When you have a winning horse…” She pulled her gaze in from the window to smile at me.

“You wanted to be re-admitted?”

“It’s so peaceful here,” she sighed. “Quiet.”

“That’s a huge risk to take for a little peace and quiet.” I wasn’t buying this. There must be something at home that she was running away from. “If they felt you weren’t responding to rehabilitation, they would have tried more serious measures.”

“Like Margie,” she said. “She’s a woman who lives on my street. She was totally different, rehabilitated, when she returned from rehab the second time. Her mind is cleared. She drifts effortlessly through each day.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” she repeated dreamily. “It must be so blissful. So peaceful. No more noise.”

It suddenly dawned on me.

Lauren Allbright’s mind wasn’t in any condition to be released to its own devices, and I certainly wasn’t qualified to handle her case.

I jotted down my final thoughts and, as soon as I’d thanked Lauren for her time, I took them to Janice.

“We have excellent psychiatrists here,” Janice declared. “That’s one good thing that’s come out of this institution. Now they’ll actually get the opportunity to use their skills to build people up instead of tearing them down.”

“Are you saying she’s going to stay here?”

Janice nodded. “But she’ll get proper help instead of a laser lobotomy.”

Laser lobotomy . That must be the laser operation that zapped the brain, killed off emotion, spontaneity and pretty much flat-lined your personality.

I gave a small cough. “This morning, I noticed that Ward X has been cleared of all patients.”

“That’s correct.” Janice planted her elbows on the table and linked her fingers beneath her chin. “The last two patients have been relocated to the safe house in Parklands. Rose collected them yesterday evening.”

“That’s good.”

Janice’s smile held a trace of impatience.

She was waiting for me to leave.

“Does that mean the heirs will be brought in today? I mean, now that Ward X is empty and available.”

She set her shoulders back, stating with an air of authority, “You and Belinda won’t be involved in their rehabilitation.”

“Oh, I know,” I said. “I was just curious.”

Her gaze narrowed on me. “That’s none of your concern, Georga.”

I cursed myself for the foolish move. I’d pushed too hard. I no longer had to worry about the kind of suspicions my behavior might raise after the fact, but I couldn’t lose my position before the great escape.

“Understood,” I said with what I hoped was indifference and hastily exited her office.

That evening, Roman brought home a tranquilizer gun and a small, flat box that contained four darts. “Aim for the largest area, the chest is your best bet. The darts will penetrate a shirt, or scrub top, even a sweater or white coat. If they’re wearing a heavy jacket or coat, then you’ll need to aim for the neck.”

“It shouldn’t come to that,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

“Either way, try to get as close as safely possible before you pull the trigger.” Roman grinned without a trace of humor. “The propulsion is strong, that’s not the problem. But if you’re close enough, you can’t miss.”

I gave him a look. “Says the man who can probably hit his target with his eyes closed. You do realize I’ve never held a gun before, right?”

He didn’t laugh. “Do you realize how many reservations I have about this plan?”

I did, and I wasn’t about to entertain any one of them. “Show me what to do.”

Roman demonstrated how to load a dart, then he handed me the gun.

The weapon was black, and hard plastic. Much lighter than I’d expected. Then again, I had nothing to base any expectations on. Roman made it look effortless, but it took me three attempts before I managed to pop the dart into the spring mechanism. Once I’d done it, though, once I knew how much pressure to apply, it came naturally.

“Get comfortable with the grip,” he said. “Make sure your finger has an easy reach on the trigger. Here, let me guide you.”

He positioned himself at my back, reaching around me as he caught my wrists and extended our arms, then wrapped both hands around the cold, plastic butt in my hand. I was instantly aware of his body pressed to mine, of being folded within his masculine embrace, inhaling his scent. Heat swept through me and my skin pricked with desire.

I wasn’t the only one affected. His mouth brushed the spot below my ear, not quite a kiss, but somehow so much more.

“Roman…” His name was a sigh and a groan. “You’re distracting me.”

“Maybe we should have a timeout from this training session.” His voice was gravel, husky with temptation as his mouth trailed down the side of my throat.

I rested the back of my head against his chest and tipped my eyes up, and I almost gave in when I saw the hunger in his molten silver gaze. “What about my parents? We have to be there for supper in half an hour.”

There was a devilish glint in his eye, a wicked grin sliding across his bristled jaw. “We can be late.”

It was that grin that did it. I missed this side of my husband so much, and I hadn’t been sure I’d ever see it again, and here it was…for me.

Needless to say, we were late for dinner with my parents.