Chapter 21
"It's good to finally meet you, Ben. Hal used to talk about you a lot."
Grace glared at Karen through the barred window of her room whilst Ben cleaned his pistol on the table beside her. He ignored Karen's comment as he intricately laid out each part of the disassembled weapon on a mat in front of him.
"I'd forgotten what real food tastes like," Karen added, mouth full as she munched on a thick piece of bread. "Is that Pope guy still cooking or is Uncle Scott back in the kitchen?"
Grace raised an eyebrow. Did Karen think if she name-dropped a few people from her past that they'd suddenly trust her?
"Pope's gone," replied Ben, dead-pan as he wiped the exterior of his magazine with a cloth. He placed the items gently on the mat. "And…Uncle Scott-"
"Uncle Scott died saving my life from a Mech attack," Grace said abruptly, standing behind Ben's chair and narrowing her eyes at Karen. "Mech bullets tore him apart, instead of me."
The girl looked down with a melancholic expression, dropping her bread back onto her plate as if she'd suddenly lost her appetite. "I'm sorry. I liked Uncle Scott."
"Well, he's dead," Ben retorted, staring angrily at Karen. "Along with a lot of other really good people. People who were trying to fight your masters."
Karen shook her head. "They're not my masters. Not anymore."
Ben sat back in his seat, hardly blinking as he stared her down. "You may have the others fooled, but not me." He inhaled sharply, leaning forwards. "I can hear you."
"You can hear me?" she scoffed. "What are you talking about?"
Grace rolled her eyes. "He means you're still connected to them. It's what happens when the harness comes off. You can still hear them."
"I do hear…something," Karen said softly, pushing away her tray and getting to her feet. "It's kind of like... a TV and a radio and static playing all at once." She walked towards the window, wrapping her fingers around the bars. "Is - is that what you're talking about?"
Ben tensed in his seat, leaning away from Karen. "Yeah. Something like that."
Grace tapped the bars, warning Karen to back off. The girl released the bars, glancing at her with annoyance.
"It's just noise," argued Karen. "Distant noise. I for sure don't feel connected to them anymore 'cause I remember what that felt like."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Karen nodded softly, a despondent look in her eyes. "Like a hand wrapped around my throat... moving me around like I was a rag doll, hardly able to breathe." Tears formed in her eyes as her nose wrinkled, disgusted by the memories. "Forced to witness horrible things... powerless to speak out. You must remember."
"I remember," Ben said quietly.
"And you were paired with the skitters," Karen whispered, breathing shakily as she pressed against the bars, getting closer to Ben. "Imagine ten times that."
Grace could see Ben's expression change as he met Karen's gaze. Empathy. They had shared a trauma that no other person here could relate to. He suddenly didn't seem so sure anymore that Karen was the enemy.
"Hey, hey," Grace chimed in, banging her fist against the bars again. "Back off, okay?"
Karen rescinded from the window, slowly backing away. "Still don't trust me, Grace? That doesn't surprise me. You never liked me, even before I was taken. You hated me and Hal being together. You never trust people around your brothers. You said as much."
Grace swallowed. Karen remembered her saying that? She felt Ben's gaze on her and she suddenly felt judged.
"I didn't like you because you were possessive of Hal."
Karen raised her eyebrows at her. "Me? What about you? You don't trust your brothers to do anything without your say-so. You were controlling of Hal back then and I bet you're exactly the same with Ben. You didn't even trust him to watch me alone without babysitting him."
Grace rubbed her teeth together. She wanted to grab Karen and shake her - but that's exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? To get Grace riled up and prove her right? To convince Ben that he had more in common with her than his own sister?
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. "Ben." She turned to him. "Can you get Karen some more bread? She must be famished."
Ben awkwardly cleared his throat and rose from his desk. "Sure."
As soon as he was gone, Grace wrapped her arms around the bars of the cell window, showing Karen she wasn't afraid. "I know what you're doing."
Karen's brows furrowed together, giving her an infuriatingly confused look. "I don't know what you mean, Grace."
"Ben was right. You're manipulating him like you're manipulating Hal."
Karen sniggered. "You're just letting personal feelings and paranoia cloud your judgement. Ben's starting to see I'm just like him. Scared. Alone. Traumatised by what the aliens did to us."
Grace snorted, leaning back from the window. She thought back to the last conversation she had with Karen - the real Karen. "You told me you understood."
"Understood what?"
"Your sister," Grace said. "You were protective of her too. Until she died. That's what the real Karen told me."
A flash of anguish crossed Karen's features as she stared at Grace. "I am the real Karen."
Grace narrowed her eyes at her, her lip curling. "We'll see."
Grace had been on shift with Ben for hours. Karen had finally shut up after having something to eat and she was currently resting. Tired, Grace found herself leaning back on Karen's door, her eyelids gently closing.
"Grace."
Her eyes snapped back open and Ben's tall frame was towering over her, nudging her awake.
"Your shift ended ages ago. You should get some rest."
"What about you?" Grace looked over into Karen's room. The girl was curled up in her bed facing away from them, apparently asleep.
"I'm going to stay," Ben replied. "I want to be here in case she tries anything."
"Then I'm staying too."
"Grace, you're exhausted. You need a break. I'll be fine."
Grace sighed, remembering Karen's words about not trusting Ben to be by himself. She didn't want to prove her right, but seeing the way she talked to Ben, how she seemed to get inside his head, she knew it wasn't safe to leave them alone together.
"I'll get someone to cover me for a few hours, then I'll be back," she promised, picking up her rifle and heading for the doors. "Be careful."
Ben nodded at her, dropping back down into his chair and giving her a small wave.
She yawned as she pushed through the double doors. It was late, but there was a small buzz about the place as guards watched the corridors and made their rounds. Luckily, Captain Weaver's words about not slacking seemed to have had some effect on everyone. Ironically, it was probably his current condition which had encouraged everyone to become more diligent. Speaking of Weaver, she hadn't had an update on him for some time now. She saw the perfect opportunity when she noticed Dai approach her in the corridor.
Dai's face said it all when she asked about Weaver. "Not great," he frowned, "but Lourdes came up with a crazy idea that might save his life."
Dai explained the idea - they would pump out Captain Weaver's blood, warm it to over 105 degrees until whatever he was infected with was disrupted or - even better- killed. Then they would pump the blood back into his body. Apparently, Jamil was now involved, trying to find a way to make it all happen. The man certainly had his work cut out for him today.
"We're using all available fuel for the generator while it's being done, Dai added. "There's scouts on the road trying to find more, or there's no way we're getting out of here."
"I hope my dad's doing okay," sighed Grace. She sympathised with him. There was a lot on his shoulders right now and not only did he have to worry about the welfare and safety of the Second Mass, but the health and survival of its leader. He must have been desperate to approve such a risky operation; Grace didn't even know that such a procedure existed.
"He's not had an easy time, but he's managing. How's our new guest in the psych ward?"
Grace wiped tiredly at her eyes. "She's finally shut up. I wish Ben wouldn't insist on staying with her. I don't trust her."
"You don't believe her story then?"
"She's believable, I'll give her that. She knows how to pull the right strings though, comparing herself to Ben. It's hard not to feel a little sorry for her."
"Well, you, Ben, your dad - you all know what it's like to come back and not be trusted. To be subject to suspicion."
Grace nodded, remembering how dubious her fellow Second Mass members were of her since she returned from the alien ship. The rumours still floated about every now and then, even with Pope's accusatory rhetoric long gone. Ben had gone through it and so had their dad. She also remembered how Dai had stood up for her during her father's absence. She'd eternally be grateful for that, and she supposed the man had a point. She wouldn't be here now if Dai, Weaver and others hadn't trusted her. Neither would people like Jamil, one of their most valued members of the resistance.
"I'm not saying we shouldn't be vigilant," Dai pointed out. "But if she's telling the truth, she must be terrified. We can't blame her for the things she did while under the alien's control, just like we can't blame Ben, or your dad for being used by them."
"I'll try to bear that in mind," Grace sighed, forcing a smile. "Hey, any idea where my dad is now?"
"I think he's checking fuel levels. The Beserkers should be back from their scout soon. I'm heading back to find him if you want to join me."
Grace thanked him and they headed through the hospital until she could hear her dad's familiar voice yelling from outside the main entrance. She and Dai glanced at each other before they raced through the door and down the steps where a small crowd of people had gathered around the Beserkers' truck.
Her dad was peering over the truck's bed at a body slumped inside. She realised, with shock, that the body was Anthony. Upon recognising him, Dai sprinted over and leapt inside the truck to retrieve him. The ex-cop was badly injured, but seemed to be regaining consciousness. Grace jogged over to help Dai lift Anthony out of the truck bed, but was even more stunned to see he wasn't alone.
As she got closer, she could see Lyle lifting an unconscious man out from the back of the vehicle.
"I don't think he's breathing," he said, straining as he carried the man past Grace and up the hospital steps.
Grace hoped it was another long-haired man in a scruffy leather jacket, wearing tacky rings and a familiar skitter claw necklace. But there was only one man it could have been.
John Pope had, unfortunately, returned to the Second Mass.