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THE ENCLAVE’S BRIGHT lights would normally have cheered him, but Connor found no solace in them this evening. In the distance, a musical kaleidoscope emanated from the shops and concert halls, beckoning potential patrons or ticket-holders with the promise of an evening of entertainment and distraction.
Twenty floors above, Connor enjoyed a commanding view from the balcony of the villa he shared with his foster father. Here, on the Enclave’s historic eastern side, he usually found peace and a sense of security, despite their ongoing secret war against the alien Givers.
There were no such comfort tonight. Not after the events of the past few days.
His hands shook as memories of the previous night flashed through his mind. Their improbable meeting with Mateo and his band of so-called “Runners.” Darcy’s near-execution by a deranged savage—the girl with the disfigured arm. The ambush by a squad of Trackers.
And the most shocking of all . . .
Connor’s gaze fastened on the locket and chain he held in his hands. He leaned on the balcony rail, opening the locket for the umpteenth time, staring in disbelief at the image inside.
His sister, Megan.
The authorities told him she’d been murdered by savages five years earlier, along with his parents. The Infomedia stoked the fires via their constant repetition of the story, and their deaths became a rallying point for increased border security. The Citizens, appalled by the brutal killings, were unanimous in their support of the Council’s crackdown.
Yet he’d seen his sister—alive—the previous evening. Despite the disfiguring scars and a patch covering one eye, it was Megan. The picture inside the locket confirmed it. His sister was alive.
And held captive by the likes of Mateo and his brutal pack of savages.
“Connor? Did you hear what I just said?”
Darcy’s voice was sharp, even more than usual. His stealthy approach startled Connor, and he clutched the locket in a desperate spasm, afraid of dropping it. He pivoted to face his foster father, his expression harder than he realized.
Darcy’s mouth was open, about to issue his orders, until he caught sight of the silver chain dangling from Connor’s hand. His lips tightened against his teeth, and he stood stock-still for several moments before speaking again.
“I’ve called for Tony,” he said at last, his expression neutral but his eyes blazing with their usual fire. “We’ve got work to do, and very little time to do it in. I need you . . .”
“She’s alive,” Connor interrupted, looking Darcy in the eye, his gaze unwavering. “Megan. The savages kept her alive, all this time.”
Darcy’s mouth closed again. The expression on his face didn’t change. It was impossible for Conner to guess what his foster father was thinking.
“Yes,” he said at last. “It appears so.”
He stepped closer, his expression and voice softening. “I’m as shocked as you are, Connor. We had no idea anyone survived. There was so little left of the bodies—you know how the savages are. Everyone assumed all three of them had been killed.”
He placed a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder.
Connor stiffened, unsure how to respond to his foster father’s unexpected touch. Physical contact with Darcy was usually cloaked in the promise of menace.
“They tortured her, Darcy,” he said, no louder than before. “You saw what they’ve done to her. She didn’t even recognize me . . .” His voice broke and his eyes burned with unshed tears.
Darcy’s grip became a claw, matching the icy coldness in his eyes. “The savages will pay for that, Connor, I promise you. We have no idea what it was like for Megan, watching the savages butcher your parents. In some ways, it would’ve been more merciful if they’d killed her. Keeping her prisoner all these years, tormenting her to the point where she does their bidding . . .”
Darcy paused to take a deep breath. “Or Mateo’s.”
Connor stared at him, stunned. Darcy dropped his grip and stepped back. “The savages we met last night, every single one of them, will be Implanted as weapons against the Givers. They’ll destroy the aliens and their human puppets—the collaborators—and return control of the Enclave to us.”
Darcy’s eyes blazed with the fervor of his cause. And vengeance. “It’s the perfect punishment for what they’ve done to Megan. Your sister will be avenged.”
“It’s all the savages are good for, anyway.” Connor wiped his eyes with an impatient hand, a cold hatred settling into his chest. “They’re animals, nothing more.”
He paused, eyeing his foster father. “And Mateo—what about him?”
Darcy smiled, an expression Connor found more chilling than his fits of rage. “Mateo is mine. Once the Givers are dealt with, I’ll teach that arrogant Tracker some respect. It’ll be the last lesson he learns.”
The doorbell chimed. Connor followed Darcy into the gathering room. The door opened to admit Tony, their gray-haired chauffeur and newest recruit to the cause. He halted just inside the entrance, fiddling with his cap as if unsure of his welcome.
“I waited in the parking garage.” He spread his hands in a helpless, aimless gesture. “I thought we’d agreed on a time . . .”
“No matter.” Darcy cut him off with a pre-emptive gesture. Tony was a good driver, but not the quickest thinker in their clandestine group. Connor found him more and more annoying as time went by. “Connor and I were having a father-son conversation. But now that you’re here, we should be on our way.”
Their walk down the hall, followed by the elevator descent to the garage level, was completed in absolute silence. The Enclave’s security—ever vigilant against possible incursions by the savages—had intensified in recent weeks.
Under the pretext of “security,” the Givers and their human stooges had accelerated the expansion of surveillance inside the Enclave. Darcy and his followers were too savvy to let casual words slip in an obvious place like an elevator.
Once inside their vehicle, engine running and windows closed, they dared to speak freely. Even so, they kept their voices down. Darcy leaned on the doorframe, resting his chin on his hand to shield the lower part of his face from exterior cameras.
“The clinic is prepped and ready.” Tony’s words were difficult to understand as he mumbled into his collar. “The team’s waiting for us.”
Connor edged forward in the back seat, his traditional spot. He would never presume to sit in the front. That was Darcy’s place, beside his subservient driver. “Darcy, I was wondering about the attack by those Trackers. How could they know where to find us?”
“Mateo, of course,” Darcy replied without hesitation, no hint of uncertainty in his voice. “It’s impossible to know where his loyalties lie. I’ve long suspected he was playing one side against the other. It was only after the Tracker ambush that I realized what game he’s playing.”
Darcy paused, clearly enjoying the drama of holding his listeners in spellbound thrall. Tony spoke first, his husky voice betraying his struggle between wariness and reckless curiosity. “What are you talking about?”
Darcy reward him with a freezing silence. Connor knew, without asking, Darcy was displeased by Tony’s over-eager query. Darcy would allow nothing to rob him of his moment of triumphant revelation. They cleared the exit ramp and entered the thoroughfare before he continued.
“Mateo serves the Givers,” he said with a cunning smile. “His plan was to gather everyone working against the Givers’ interests—savages and Citizens—into the same location. Then the Trackers could slaughter us easily, in one surgical strike. Outside the Enclave, where the average Citizen would never hear about it.”
Darcy leaned back in his seat, the leather creaking as he shifted position. “Mateo’s playing the Judas card, on both sides of the fence. He’s a puppet of the Givers, a collaborator in the worst sense of the word.”
He turned, catching Connor’s eye. “That’s why I’ll deal with Mateo when the time comes. I want to see the look on his smug Tracker face when he realizes he didn’t fool me. And then he’ll die.”
“And them?” Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder, his attention still on the road. “What if they survive? Or figure out what you’re doing to them?”
Now you’ve done it. Connor smirked. Never question Darcy’s strategy. Not if you know what’s good for you.
“They won’t, on either count,” Darcy replied, his voice as icy as his expression. The ensuing silence was more threatening than anything else he might have added. Tony caught on, and concentrated on his driving.
Connor glanced into the cargo area, reaching over to peel back a corner of the tarp. The two bodies lay side-by-side, unconscious. The tranquilizers were performing at the peak of efficiency. Two of the so-called “Runners,” unaware they would soon be Implanted. For the good of the Enclave.
Connor studied their faces. The leader of the savages, the one Mateo introduced as Garr. And a young woman. He couldn’t recall her name. It didn’t matter. By night’s end, they’d simply be Implants Twenty-seven and Twenty-eight.
Animals. Connor’s lip curled with disdain. Darcy’s right—this is justice after what you did to my sister. This is the only thing savages are good for.