Chapter 1
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
"The Hollow Men" – T.S. Eliot
From the dawn of time and the creation of man, there have been a vast many ideas on how the world would end.
Early in the twenty-first century, most in popular culture believed the world would end due to a zombie apocalypse. They joked and prepared for the inevitable zombie outbreak, debating and determining ways to survive through the shambling dead masses. Somehow the world ending didn't seem so bad – as long it was at the hands of animated corpses that could easily be outrun.
Before that, people thought the curse of technology would cause the death of the human race. Computers, through generations of testing, would become self-aware and desire the extermination of the humans that created them. But computers, unlike humans, always reacted logically – no matter the emotional programming they received.
Even before that, the Cold War and nuclear missiles were being blamed for the impending annihilation of the human condition. Children were taught games to protect themselves from nuclear fallout. Adults blacklisted sacrificial lambs, pointing fingers at innocent and guilty alike in an attempt to keep this reality from happening.
And long before that, religious zealots believed the world would end with fire and brimstone; the judgment of sinners and the sacrifice of saints. They believed demons would walk the earth and purge the world of its impurities. They believed the words passed down to them from whichever deity would save them all.
With each generation and each culture, the ideas would vary in detail but remained basically the same throughout. The wicked would perish. The devout would thrive. It was one of the many misconceptions society suffered. The wicked did not perish. The devout did not thrive. Everyone, no matter their beliefs, suffered the same atrocities. They suffered the same loss. They suffered to the point beyond suffering, as people knew it, though there was no word in any human language that could describe it.
All of these ideas started off with a bang – a catalyst so earth-shatteringly tangible that people could point to that one event and say, "that's when it all started; that was the beginning of the end." Books were written about it. Movies were filmed about it. Scientists presented hypothesis after hypothesis on it. The bang most people associate with the end of the world didn't come until later – much, much later.
Instead of the bang everyone was preparing for, the world began to end with a whimper and the slow exhalation of life as more than a quarter of the world's population was wiped out from natural disaster after natural disaster. Earthquakes and floods, hurricanes and tornadoes, tidal waves and droughts descended on areas that ill prepared for such events because they'd never experienced them before. Panic was a worldwide epidemic. People reverted back to their savage origins, protecting what was theirs and the people who belonged to them. When Mother Nature's fury and destruction reached its zenith, the Helium Wars began.
No one knew who struck first. The list of countries housing nuclear weapons was so long it was hard to guess accurately. Many of the survivors tried to ration out what happened so they could point the finger of blame. Facts were tangled in rumor, fiction and conjecture that were doled out by what was left of the standing global governments.
Some believed Russian extremists decided to take up the Cold War again. Others believed the countries in the Middle East, tired of being forced to change their ways of life and belief systems, banded together to start a war against the major powerhouses of the world. A few believed it was Koreas in an attempt to advance their nuclear weapons program. The fringier groups, living on the edge of society long before the Helium Wars broke out, believed it was their own government that set off the bombs in order regain control after a disastrous presidential run that left the country near poverty.
Since most publications, both print and online, went the way of the dinosaur, it was impossible to track down the truth. Because so much information was lost or destroyed, no one could find evidence of any kind. In truth, no one cared enough to spend the time ferreting out the true culprit – they were too busy trying to survive the events as the unfolded and prepare for what would come next.
Hundreds of thousands died in the natural disasters, but millions more died in the onset of the Helium Wars. Lakes, ponds and rivers either dried up or became contaminated by the fallout; what crops that weren't consumed in the fire plaguing the country withered and died. Those who made their living off the land were suddenly left without their livelihood. The great migration took more than a few thousand lives as people who lived in the country made their way into the few remaining cities that were left standing. At least there, the possibility of survival was higher than in the barren wastelands of the farming communities.
The cities grew fat with overpopulation, and soon, chaos took hold. Countless people died in the months of anarchy that struck each city. Violence corrupted the men and women attempting to run those cities with iron fists. They used any excuse to punish those who lived within the confines of their rule – usually for the slightest infraction. People tried to escape. They tried to return to the surrounding land, choosing possible starvation over the tyranny of their leaders, especially when the radiation levels dropped to where people could live on the land again – even if it caused sickness.
Some managed to escape. Most couldn't. The people who were caught trying to escape were dealt with by an unforgiving militia justice – swiftly and quietly – though rumors always managed to seep out into the world.
Throughout all of this, a small company that spent most of the time behind the scenes in the scientific fields became a sudden beacon of light that shattered the night sky. What used to be Los Angeles was rebuilt and renamed Battery City. The corporation that bean the rebuild also began a slow, sprawling takeover of the rest of the state of California – or, what was left of California – with tentacles spreading outward like smoke tendrils.
Each time it was the same story. Whispers of Better Living Industries would hit a beleaguered town of survivors desperate for relief. Representatives of the company would arrive and try to sell the company's mission statement – offering each member of society their own slice of happiness, their own little piece of heaven in return for letting them absorb their town to make it a better place to live, and for a small monetary fee. If the residents proved combative, measures were taken and the Scarecrow Tactical Unit was sent in to take care of the problem by any means necessary.
Better Living promised to clean up the land, to purify the water, to bring civilized behavior back to the panicked and depressed masses. The people, cowering in fear and wanting to take the word of the well-dressed, well represented corporation began clamoring to be pulled into the Better Living fold. They wanted nothing more than to forget all that had transpired around the world and pretend it never happened.
Better Living was more than happy to help. They made sure the populace remained docile through the rebuilding process, slowly urging the more willing people to move back into the city where they could be better watched, better controlled, where they could become productive members of society and spend the money they earned on Better Living products.
There were some people, however, who weren't as willing as the others. They chose to stay in their decimated towns to make their own way. Better Living couldn't tolerate these people to continue as they were – not when control and profit were involved. The company began slipping medication into the food supply. The medications ranged from outright narcotics to heavy doses of anti-depressants that would render the taker uncaring.
Unfortunately, for some, it wasn't quite so easy to let go and swallow the information delivered to them – hook, line and sinker. Rumors of what Better Living was really up to began to surface in places that were now essentially considered ghost towns. People were disappearing. Some came back, drastically changed from when they left. Some didn't come back at all. No one knew exactly what happened to them, but there were many rumors that centered on medical, neurological and scientific experiments. All suggested some form of brainwashing or another.
Better Living assured everyone that it was simply procedure to protect them from the bad elements, the pollution in their towns and the world at large. When people couldn't or wouldn't believe their mission statement, another would be released, targeted toward the non-believers. They were doing medical research and testing to make sure the events that caused the war couldn't be duplicated. New vaccines for illnesses and diseases demanded exploration and eventual creation. Protection from the acid rains and winds that came with nuclear fallout needed to be implemented. All of this required medical testing and volunteers were needed. It all seemed legitimate, but the damage from the whispered stories had been done.
A movement began slowly with one person and an unexpected death that was championed by a voice on a pirate radio station that called himself Doctor Death Defying. The movement, almost squashed by Better Living in its stage of infancy, managed to take root and soon spread like wildfire across the Zones. The underdogs, misfits and rejects, the people living on the fringe of society were getting restless. They needed a way to regain control of their lives and take hold of their destinies.
Some had grown up challenging and questioning most everything around them, demanding answers in an age of secrecy. They didn't trust Better Living and decided to take what stand they could against the corporation in any way they could. They'd finally found a worthy enemy in which to work against. Some fought openly. Others hid in the shadows and tried to help by taking down the monster from within its belly. There was a network of people covering a vast area, though their numbers were small.
They weren't the first and they certainly wouldn't be the last, but four men suddenly appeared as poster boys for the uprising. They called themselves and anyone with them, Killjoys. Only a handful of people knew their true identities. Through their anonymity, they brought hope to those deemed as the lunatic fringe. They brought hope to the forgotten and the weary. They gave the people something to fight for, even if it wasn't completely right. It moved people forward. People who remained stagnant could never truly heal.
The Killjoys were out in the open, most of the time, causing as much trouble and as many problems as they could for Better Living Industries. They attempted on numerous occasions to force the company's questionable tactics out into the harsh light of day with the help of the pirate radio station and Doctor Death Defying.
Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star and Kobra Kid were the names Better Living Industries and the rest of the world knew them by, and no one knew where they came from, just that they were suddenly there, bright as beacons in the pitch black night. Wanted posters of each were splattered through every town and every Zone. Better Living's Scarecrow Tactical Unit, and their underlings the Draculoids, were desperate to put an end to their raids and the destruction the Killjoys left behind. But they couldn't be caught or contained, no matter how hard Scarecrow tried. Too many people helped them hide from the all-seeing eye of the corporation. Besides, it's almost impossible to wipe out an idea once it's been formed.
They really shouldn't have, but the Killjoys inspired a lot of people to take a stand and fight back any way they could. Now the number of Killjoys ranged in the hundreds in the Zones instead of the low double digits. There was a wider network of supporters. Some moved on to other parts of the country – the cities were Better Living were initializing programs similar to those in Battery City – hoping to help spread the movement and inspire others to make a stand, to take back their futures and their freedom. Some dropped the helm in order to protect those they loved. And some either died or were taking into Better Living custody, never to be seen or heard from again.
It was a hard, desolate life that challenged the survival skills of all those who decided to played the game. Sickness and starvation still ran rampant, concerning those not inside the Better Living fold. Families were still being torn apart and orphans left to fend for themselves in an increasingly brutal and cruel world. But hope, dormant and fragile these last few years, finally burst into a living flame that lived in the hearts of the believers, the supporters, the dreamers and the fighters.
The barking of a dog broke into Beth's thoughts and she frowned, looking up from the papers spread across the rickety desk in her bedroom. It was the only place she could work on future plans without being interrupted or spied on. She strolled over to the window facing the front of the house and tried to see through the dust to whatever was coming up the driveway. All she could see was a car. Her frown deepened as she reached into the small hidden compartment in the desk and pulled out one of the few weapons kept inside the house.
It wasn't unusual for strangers to come knocking, hoping for things she didn't really have to give. It happened more often than not. When she had just herself to worry about, it didn't much matter. She shared what she could and told the strangers they could rest until morning. And if they decided what she offered wasn't enough, well, she learned long ago how to take care of herself in any situation. Now – now she had other depending on her for safety and security. She couldn't take those chances anymore.
She strode into the kitchen, glancing over at Tasha briefly as she made her way to the window to get a better look outside. It was just as dirty and grimy as the bedroom window.
Living out in the desert had its perks and its disadvantages. One of the perks, it was remote so they didn't receive many unwanted visitors. One of the disadvantages, everything from the windows to the surfaces in the house tended to have a fine coating of red dust no matter how many times the house was cleaned.
With a shake of her head and a silent curse, she sighed and squinted out into the darkened landscape, wondering if she'd have to use the weapon she now held. She glanced over at Tasha and arched an eyebrow at the young woman. Tasha shrugged, silently informing the other she had no idea who could be heading in their direction. Skittles, hearing the dog bark, raced into the kitchen, dark eyes wide with panic.
Skittles had been with her the longest – almost four years. In those years, he'd only spoken a handful of words. The bulk of those words had been spoken a couple of months after the Killjoys dropped him off to her for safekeeping. He'd asked if he could stay. At the time, the question broke her heart. She told him he could stay as long as he wanted, that he would always have a home no matter what happened. He'd looked so relieved she almost cried.
Since Skittles' appearance, five others had shown up at various times from the Killjoys, with a sixth showing up on her own in the middle of the night in an escape from an abusive partner. It became almost a tradition. Each time the Killjoys stopped by, they always brought something she needed. These were always either children or someone in need of nurturing.
She learned early on that none of the kids had honest to god names, just nicknames. She supposed it made dealing with the past much easier if the person could distance themselves from the memories by giving themselves new names – names that were nonsensical and lighthearted.
Skittles had gotten his because of how he'd been found. He'd been wandering from store to store in a rundown town on the outskirts of Zone 6 that had been evacuated during the natural disasters and never inhabited again. He'd been found searching for bags and bags of his namesake candy. No one knew if he had any family or just how old he was.
When he began to trust her a little more, she tried to ask him, but he'd only shrugged as if to tell her it either didn't matter or he couldn't remember. That knowledge saddened her, but unfortunately, it wasn't exclusive to the boy. There were many families that were torn apart during the natural disasters and the Helium Wars, even later during the resettling and re-civilization of the country. He was no exception.
All things considered, they all guessed he was somewhere around the age of thirteen or fourteen by now. His build and height suggested he still had a lot of growing room left, but because he acted so uncharacteristically for a child or teenager, it was hard to determine for sure.
In the year the two of them spent on their own, they'd developed a tight bond with one another. His silence kept her company in the house and she hoped she provided a feeling of security for him. He helped out as much as he could with the chores, always without asking. Sometimes she wondered if he thought she'd ask him to leave it he didn't take on more than his growing body could handle. She hoped not, but no one truly knows the mind of an emotionally and psychologically scarred child.
Tasha was the next addition to the house, just over a year after Skittles arrived. Beth didn't know if the younger woman found the homestead by pure luck or pure accident. Either way, her self-taught field medical training was sorely tested the twilight Tasha showed up on the doorstep, broken and bleeding and more scared than anyone Beth had ever seen before. It took weeks for Tasha to heal enough to become lucid enough to thank Beth for her hospitality as she tried to climb out of bed. She would have made it out the door by sheer force of will if Beth hadn't made a deal with her to keep her in bed. A weapon was promised if Tasha would only stay long enough to heal and get back to one hundred percent health. Tasha had reluctantly agreed, swearing she would leave the minute she could walk without pain.
It took another handful of weeks for Tasha to build her strength back up, but by then, she had grown comfortable in the house – though trust was a hard commodity to come by. Several months passed before Tasha finally realized that the people within the house could be trusted with her life and her heart. It was then that Tasha began to tell her story.
Tasha had lost her entire family in one fell swoop during the first wave of the Helium Wars. A bomb took out the city she was living in, destroying everything in its path. She survived only because she'd been spent the weekend at a friend's cabin a couple hours away. At seventeen, she was thrown into a world of chaos and fear without family to help protect her from the more nefarious people.
A family friend had taken her in, but as the Helium Wars progressed and more people died, the family taking care of her couldn't afford to continue to do so. Food that was uncontaminated was scarce and they had mouths of their own to feed without adding someone who wasn't related to them. It hurt, but she understood and left to make her own way in the world, never looking back.
By the time she turned twenty, she'd made her way from the East Coast to the West Coast with the help of a small band of brigands – people who used petty crime as a way to survive. They broke into abandoned homes and stole what they could later sell for food or water. It was all fairly violence-free – until they reached the Zones and Battery City. Their crimes then turned violent. It was the only way they felt they could taunt the corporation that attempted to control everything.
Scared, Tasha tried to disappear into the thousands of people in the city as an escape. She'd had three days of freedom before she'd been tracked down and forcibly taken back to the group's headquarters. The leader, someone who might have once loved Tasha, had turned hard an uncaring through weeks and months of hiding and survival. He loaded her into a car and took her out into the middle of nowhere only to beat her to within an inch of her life.
She couldn't remember how long it took to rouse herself and start making her way back toward the bright lights of Battery City. She could only remember the excruciating pain each step was. She was on the verge of collapse when she saw the light at the homestead and decided to take a chance. She never regretted her decision.
Frick and Frack, twin boys, where dropped off by the Killjoys a few short months after Tasha turned up. They were found fighting each other in the desert beyond Zone 6 by Jet Star during one of his many exploration trips to map out the areas beyond the Zones in case they needed to make a run for it. At the time, Jet couldn't tell if the boys were related or if they were in a fight to the death over something he couldn't fathom.
Neither boy would explain what the fight was about, but it certainly wasn't their last. They were the oldest of the children in the house, both being sixteen. They were ornery, loud, and unmanageable and liked to cause as much trouble for one another as they could – just as all boys are wont to do from time to time. Beth was vaguely surprised they hadn't taken off on her, or destroyed the house with some of the fights the two got into. She could only be grateful they hadn't done any serious damage to her home or one another.
Of the two, Frack was the quieter and more levelheaded – which was saying something, since they were both loud enough at times to break the sound barrier. Frack spent what time he had, that wasn't spent exploring with his twin, reading and writing the most amazing stories. He'd been the first to dub her Wendy. Shortly after he started calling her Wendy, he named their ragtag family the Lost Boys. In a way, his observation of their home life was pretty accurate and she couldn't help but feel pleased that they look up to her as a maternal figure.
At the time, he'd been reading "Peter Pan," a book she'd loved as a child, thanks to her own parents. She'd given him the book during one of the rougher nights their first month at the house. It had taken him only a night to read the entire book. In the weeks that followed, he read the book three more times. Then he started demanding more books.
Over the course of the next six months, she'd given him access to every book she owned and had been able to collect in the scant five years she'd been living in the house. He devoured them within weeks. He loved reading so much she suggested he go to one of the Better Living controlled schools, if only for an education. His adamant reaction silenced any other suggestions. Instead, she collected old school books and helped him learn on his own.
Frick, on the other hand, couldn't manage to sit still long enough to read anything more than a manual or a paragraph. Consequently, he spent most of his time out behind the house where a couple of broken down cars were stored away. He was her mechanical genius, spending all of his free time working on one or both of the cars, trying to get them in working order. When he wasn't working on the cars, he was working on the electronics in the house, making sure the stove, oven, fridge and everything else needed to survive wouldn't fall into disrepair and break down.
From time to time, Frick would disappear for a couple of days without telling her where he was going or what he was doing. He always returned with a couple of parts needed for the cars, or random pieces needed to patch other electronics. She never asked where he went – she didn't think her heart could take it – and he never told her. But, she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't take any unnecessary risks – mainly because his brother always stayed behind.
As much trouble as the twins caused together, she wasn't sorry she'd opened her home to them. In the nearly three years they'd spent with her, they'd mellowed greatly – even if emotional explosions still happened frequently, they weren't as violent as the explosions of the past. They could co-exist together without much friction, especially now that the two of them could escape each other for a little while to do their own thing without having to feel guilty and without having to worry about the other.
Tunes, a beautiful child around twelve-years-old, was the next to be added to their ragtag family about five months after the twins were delivered kicking and screaming to her doorstep. She was named because of the headphones she was never without. It didn't matter to her what type of music was playing, just as long as the headphone played something. Beth rationed it was probably due to the fact that before she was found by the Killjoys, she spent most of her time trying to block out the sounds of a city tearing itself apart.
She didn't talk much about her family, other than to say that her mother was once a singer and her father a part of an orchestra at one of the opera houses in a city further away than Beth had ever traveled. She spoke of them rarely, but when she did, a wistful smile crossed her features as she tried to imagine what her life would have been like if her parents had survived the Helium Wars. Beth had no doubt Tunes would have followed in her parents' footsteps and become a musician herself.
Tunes, insightful beyond her years, became an integral part of the family after nominating herself the peacekeeper between the other children within the house. Beth didn't know how she did it, but the little girl managed to quell most arguments with a soft word and a smile. It amazed her every time she saw it happen and was thankful she had help with keeping everyone in line.
Shades joined their family a few short weeks after Tunes. At first, he was very unwilling to join their family and was very vocal about it. He swore up and down that his mother and older brother were looking for him, that they would be worried and scared if he didn't return to where he'd been found by the Killjoys.
It was only after the eight-year-old passed out on one of the beds that Party Poison informed her quietly that Shades was found with his mother in an alley. It looked like she had been dead for days, most likely due to either sickness or starvation.
Shades' older brother, however, was nowhere to be found. The only way the Killjoys could get the boy to leave with them was to leave a note hidden away where only his brother could find it, giving important information on where Shades would be until his brother could return to collect him. On the worst nights, the nights when he was the angriest and loneliest, she hoped his brother would show up – if only to ease the child's mind. She also knew she wouldn't give him up without a fight. Not even to family.
As much a Frick and Frack fought and caused a general ruckus, Shades was her problem child. He acted out at random times for no apparent reason that she could see. After spending some time with her, the freak outs happened less frequently, but that part of Shades still reared its violent head from time to time when he was feeling particularly vulnerable.
The culmination of his anger toward everyone happened when the twins decided to coerce Shades into giving up the only thing he had left from his life before he came to live with them – his sunglasses. The ensuing fight overturned tables and chairs, destroyed plates and glasses and resulted in Shades grabbing a knife to fend off the twins – not that they would physically hurt the younger boy, they just wanted to see which buttons to press to get which reaction. At the time, Beth stepped into the middle of the fight, without thinking, and had been inadvertently hurt in the process. The twins wouldn't let up, and that's when she'd gotten angry for the first time in front of any of them.
She'd ordered the twins out of the house, telling them she would decide later when they would be allowed back inside. The twins hadn't liked their banishment, but had grumblingly followed her orders and proceeded to pout on the front steps, complaining loudly the entire time about not being treated fairly.
Shades, horrified that he actually hurt someone, had disappeared into the basement to hide from the world. After cleaning herself up and wrapping a bandage around her arm, she joined Shades in the basement and asked for an explanation. She knew he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, let alone her, but she needed to know what happened to set him off – other than the twins and their inability to leave people well enough alone. For the first time since he was brought to her, he began crying. Concentrating on what he was saying, she finally began to understand.
The sunglasses were the last thing his older brother had given him before he disappeared while looking for food and medicine for him and their mother. His brother told him the sunglasses would protect him from the people who would hurt him and to never take them off unless he was sure he was safe. He hadn't taken them off since that day, not even to sleep.
She cried with him that afternoon as they huddled together in the basement. She promised him that he would always be safe with her and that the twins would never attempt to take anything from him again, she would make sure of it. Amazingly enough he'd believed her and allowed her to comfort him. His behavior changed for the better that day. She was thankful, even now, that she was able to reach past his walls and provide for him something he hadn't received in a long time – comfort, affection, love.
Pinky was the final addition. She was also the youngest. At three, she'd gotten her nickname because she only believed promises if they were made with pinky fingers. It was endearing and innocent, something Beth sorely missed – even if taking care of six kids wore her out to the point of exhaustion every day. But, there was no one else to do it, and she didn't have the heart to send any of them away. So, they stayed and they all made the best of it.
Pinky's story wasn't one anyone knew. She was found when she was too young to talk. She couldn't really understand what was going on around her, so even if she could talk, she would have known how to explain it all. The toddler just knew she liked Party Poison's bright red hair and willingly let him scoop her up and take her anywhere he wanted to go – a frightening concept considering anyone more nefarious could have harmed or possibly killed her, or worse. She was safe now, and as much as Beth tried not to, she considered Pinky her own since she was brought to her so young.
With a mental shake, Beth gave Tasha and Skittles a reassuring smile. She tossed a brief thank you to the powers that be that Frick, Frack and Shades were too far away to hear the dog making a ruckus. Tunes was in her room, listening to music on headphones that were too broken to transport anymore. Pinky, who idolized Tunes, was most likely asleep in her little cubby in the room they shared – the only place she felt comfortable and safe enough to sleep.
"Stay in the house until I say otherwise." She met Skittles' worried gaze with a calm one of her own. "Protect the girls." She knew without asking that he'd do as she said without argument.
Beth pulled open the door, hiding the gun in the waist of her faded jeans, the flap of her jacket concealing it from view. She pushed hair out of her face and slipped on a pair of sunglasses to protect her eyes from the last harsh rays of the sun as it sank below the horizon. Stepping out onto the porch, she closed the door behind her and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the car to approach. It was the longest few minutes of her life. Unaware that she'd been holding her breath, she hissed it out through clenched teeth when the emblem on the car became visible.
Blood turned to ice in her veins and she barely refrained from bolting back into the house. Somehow, Better Living had found her and they had sent a Unit to carry out whatever threat they'd concocted for her benefit. Straightening her spine, she strode back into the house and glanced from Skittles to Tasha.
"Go into the girls' room. Lock the door. Don't come out for anything, Skittles. Do you hear me? Don't come out until one of us tells you its safe." Beth met the boy's unflinching gaze. He remained silent for a moment, then sighed and disappeared into the back of the house where the bedrooms were located.
"What's going on?" Tasha inquired, arching an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest.
"Better Living. I don't know why they're here." Beth sighed, shaking her head. She removed the gun from the waist of her jeans and stored it on the top shelf in one of the kitchen cabinets. The last thing she needed was for one of the kids to find it.
"Shit." Tasha groaned, closing her eyes.
"Everything will be fine. But, in case they ask questions, play stupid. We can't give them anything they're looking for. You don't know the Killjoys. You don't know who they are or what they're about. You've never heard of them before. You just showed up here one night a few years back and needed some medical attention. The kids got attached and you decided to stay." Beth informed her friend quickly, giving a back-story that was vague enough to be believable.
"What are you going to do?" Tasha inquired, pulled aside a dark curtain to glance out the window. Her eyes narrowed, watching carefully as her surroundings changed.
The car pulled to a stop and remained motionless for a few moments. No one inside the car moved or even spoke. It was unnerving to watch. She could just imagine what it was like inside. She shivered and shook her head, sighing heavily as she turned to Beth.
"I can't make up a story for myself. They already have an idea that I'm somehow connected to the Killjoys. They don't know what those connections are and I plan on keeping it that way. I'm just going to try my best to steer them away from the kids. They don't need to be dragged into this." Beth mumbled, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, mind whirling with all the possibilities.
Better Living never sent operatives to a home unless they had proof of something. She hadn't been all that active in the underground recently, so they weren't coming to see her for new transgressions against the company. It had to be something from the past, or they were here to gather information on the four most wanted men in the country.
"And if the worst happens?" Tasha demanded, catching her friend's attention.
"Then you take the kids. You run. You don't stop. You don't look back." Beth winced when the dog stopped barking abruptly. That was never a good sign. She hoped Pax was okay and just hiding because he was scared.
"What about you?" Tasha inquired again.
"They're not here to question anyone but me." Beth shook her head, sighing. "Don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've tangled with BL/ind. I'll figure something out. I always do." She assured, forcing a smile for the other woman's benefit.
"And if they take you?" Tasha's eyes narrowed stubbornly, glancing toward the window again. The men in the car still hadn't moved.
"You let me go and forget about me." Beth shrugged a shoulder helplessly. It wasn't something she wanted to happen, but the kids needed to be safe. She could tolerate anything as long as the kids were protected.
"Forget about you?" Tasha demanded incredulously, lifting both her eyebrows. She shook her head, gritting her teeth.
"That's what I said." Beth nodded. "Don't tell the Killjoys, don't explain to the kids. Just, forget about me. If I can escape, I will."
"They won't like it." Tasha warned, heart lurching in her chest. This wasn't what she expected when the day started a few hours ago.
"They won't have a choice. No one's getting hurt or killed over me." Beth countered shortly. She sighed and closed her eyes. "It's best for everyone this way. You've heard the stories."
"Of course I've heard the stories. Everyone has heard the stories. So have Poison and Ghoul. They're not going to just forget." Tasha shook her head, glancing over her shoulder when she heard a noise coming from the back of the house. She frowned, listening intently, but didn't hear anything else.
"They will. Because it's better for them if they do." Beth swallowed tightly and took a deep breath.
"You're not a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter, you know. You can fight back." Tasha reminded impatiently.
"There's a time and a place for everything. If I fight, this place will turn into the OK Corral. I can't risk anyone else getting hurt." Beth shook her head. She appreciated her friend's concern, but she just couldn't do it. Not if it meant people she cared about getting hurt.
"You're an idiot." Tasha scowled at her friend.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. It's appreciated." Beth rolled her eyes heavenward, tossing a hand into the air.
"They'll find out." Tasha warned ominously. "And because they'll find out through someone who isn't me, they'll be even angrier than if I'd just come right out and told them."
"Shit." A block of ice settled in Beth's stomach.
"What?" Tasha demanded sharply.
"Scarecrow Tactical Unit." Beth mumbled distractedly, meeting her friend's worried gaze.
"Oh, yeah, this is not going to go well." Tasha mumbled, rubbing a hand over her face. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, almost flinching when a loud knock sounded on the door and reverberated through the kitchen.
"Here goes everything." Beth mumbled and pulled open the door.
Two members of the Scarecrow Tactical Unit stepped inside, flanked by two of their insubordinates, the Draculoids. Their gazes were so cold and unnerving that both women barely suppressed shivers of fear.
"Are you Elizabeth McLeod?" Scarecrow One demanded, voice echoing slightly off the kitchen walls with the authority he possessed.
"I am." Beth spoke up, relieved her voice didn't tremble the way her stomach did.
The full power of his gaze leveled at Beth and she swallowed thickly. She remained silent, mentally chiding herself for the fingers of fear that clenched around her stomach. She'd faced worse. In the past, she'd been in the thick of things and sometimes had to shoot her way out in order to survive to tell the tale.
This was different. Those instances were out in the open, guerilla warfare with more than just one person. There had been a crowd she could blend in with. A unit showing up to her home, a home no one really knew about, smacked of black ops, a clandestine mission where people who didn't cooperate tended to disappear.
"We're here to question you on your knowledge of the Killjoys and their whereabouts." Scarecrow Two informed her, startling her enough so she flicked her gaze toward him.
"I don't know who you're talking about." Beth shook her head, frowning slightly in feigned confusion.
"Lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two informed her icily.
"I'm not lying." Beth exclaimed, gritting her teeth against the words aching to be released. "Do you know how many Killjoys there are? Hundreds, maybe even thousands. I don't know any of them." She almost flinched when Scarecrow Two's eyes narrowed at her suspiciously. They weren't going to believe her. She figured as much, but she held out hope that she had the ability to convince them this was all a big misunderstanding.
"Lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two repeated.
Beth glanced over at Scarecrow One and nodded toward his partner. "You might want to hit your comrade in the head." She began idly. "He's repeating himself. He might have faulty software or something."
"Do you know the whereabouts of the Killjoys that call themselves Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kid Kobra and Jet Star?" Scarecrow One demanded loudly, taking a step further into the kitchen.
Beth held her ground, mentally chiding herself for the sudden, inane fear she felt. This was her home. She knew all the secrets it held and could easily defend herself if it came right down to it.
"I'm sorry, who?" Beth lifted both her eyebrows.
"Do you know the whereabouts of the Killjoys that call themselves Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kid Kobra and Jet Star?" Scarecrow One repeated, glancing over at his partner.
"I see it runs in the family." Beth mused, sighing heavily. She tossed an amusedly quelling look at Tasha when the other woman snickered softly.
The attention of the Scarecrows turned to Tasha. They gazed at her for a moment in silence.
"You are?" Scarecrow Two demanded idly, sounding bored with the entire conversation.
"Tasha." She spoke up, voice clear. She refused to let any of these bastards see her fear.
"Why are you here?" Scarecrow One inquired.
"I live here." Tasha shrugged a shoulder, glancing over at Beth.
"What is your connection to the Killjoys?" Scarecrow One changed tactics, gaze never wavering from Tasha's.
Tasha took a deep, silent breath to calm herself. "Is that a band? Do they make music?" She made a face, shaking her head.
"This is not a joke." Scarecrow One shook his head, hand resting on the gun holster hanging from his belt.
"I'm not laughing." Tasha muttered, holding her hands up. "I'm seriously asking, because The Killjoys would be an awesome band name."
"The Killjoys are domestic terrorists." Scarecrow Two informed them, bitterness coloring his tone.
"Oh. Well, that's too bad." Tasha frowned thoughtfully. "What have they done?"
"They've bomb multiple facilities, murdered innocent people." Scarecrow One's eyes returned to Beth.
"Murder. That's a serious crime." Tasha nodded slowly, a slow finger of dread tracing the length of her spine. This wasn't going how she'd hoped. But then, she knew without thinking that something bad was going to happen during this exchange. She'd felt it coming for days. She just hadn't known when it was going to happen.
"Yes, it is. Which is why we're here. Your friend has a known connection to the Killjoys." Scarecrow Two pivoted, turning back toward Beth.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Beth countered angrily, shaking her head.
"And I state again, lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two's voice lifted to a subdued shout. He signaled to someone outside. Another member of the Scarecrow Tactical Unit stepped into the house, holding Shades and Frack by the back of their necks. He shoved the kids into the kitchen in front him, fingers tightening around their necks when they tried to escape.
"Wendy!" Shades yelped, face blanched with fear.
"You've gone from terrorizing the general population to terrorizing children?" Beth demanded, reaching for her boys.
"You will tell us what we want to know, or the outcome of this interview will not be one you like." Scarecrow One advised, voice deceptively soft.
"I don't take kindly to threats." Beth's eyes narrowed, fingers curling to fists at her sides.
"Then give us the information we require!" Scarecrow Two gave up all pretenses and began shouting.
"I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything! How is threatening my kids a good idea?" Beth shouted back, vision becoming a little hazy. No one threatened her family and got away with it.
"You know something." Scarecrow One countered with a shake of his head.
"Leave my kids alone." Beth met their eyes, one by one.
"Or what?" Scarecrow Three finally spoke up, amused.
"You obviously don't know what you're getting yourself into when fucking with a mother's child." Beth muttered, fingernails biting painfully into the palms of her hands.
Before she let herself think about the consequences, she recalled the basic combat training she'd received on the streets when she was a teenager. She raised her fist and swung at Scarecrow Two. He stumbled backward into the kitchen counter. Using the distraction, she leveled a kick to Scarecrow One's chest. He went sprawling onto the floor, gaping up at her for a brief moment. A pain filled yelp from Shades gave her pause.
"You have a choice. You can come back to Battery City with us for extensive questioning or we'll round up your brats and enroll them into the program." Scarecrow Three informed the room ominously.
Beth's heart went cold. She sighed, closing her eyes, head bowing forward in defeat. She wouldn't fight, especially if it endangered her kids.
"Wendy, no!" Shades shook his head, wincing when Scarecrow Three pulled him back a step.
"Everything will be fine." Beth assured, forcing a smile. "They just want to ask me some questions, When they figure out I don't know anything, I'll be back." She let her arms hang limply at her sides, watching warily as Scarecrow One strode over to her and pulled her hands behind her back to snap handcuffs into place.
"You can't go with them!" Shade exclaimed, lower lip trembling slightly as he and Frack were shoved forward.
Beth lifted her eyes, meeting Tasha's gaze. Tasha remained motionless for a moment before she nodded, reaching for Shades. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders from behind and pulled him back against her, both as a restraint and a hug.
Beth smiled again, giving Shades a wink before she was pulled around and hustled out the door.