Human, but not.
Perfect, but not.
Family, but not.
They were dressed in dark colors, dusty from the road. Heavy boots and lowered cowls, moving through the crowd like water. But they were still too beautiful to entirely blend in. Flawless skin and glittering eyes, perfect symmetry to their faces. Blond and brunette, male and female, every one more human than human. Ezekiel climbed to his feet, blue eyes going wide.
Six of them in a pretty row.
Uriel
Patience
Verity
Faith
Gabriel
and
“Eve,” he whispered.
“This is it?”
Lemon raised an eyebrow, looking into the rearview mirror.
“This is it,” Grimm replied.
“Because it kinda looks like we’re stopping in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s the whole point, love. Pull over.”
Lemon stepped on the brake with both feet, brought her monster truck (which she’d secretly nicknamed Trucky McTruckface) to a skidding stop. She was slammed forward against the steering wheel, Diesel’s unconscious body jerking against her seatbelt and Grimm’s head bouncing off the seat behind.
“Steady on!” the boy growled.
“Soz.” Lemon winced. “Nobody ever lets me drive, I’m just the comedy relief.”
“So when am I s’posed to start laughing?”
Lemon raised her middle finger, then peered around again at their apparent destination. After driving six solid hours, Grimm had brought them to a halt right in the middle of Nowheresville. Dawn was a faint promise on the horizon. All around, stretching off to the gloom in every direction, was a thick slice of the most barren desert she’d ever seen.
Featureless.
Empty.
Nothing.
Grimm reached forward and leaned on the horn, almost scaring Lemon out of her skin. The sound was way too loud in the middle of all this empty, but the boy let it blare for a good ten seconds before easing off.
As the echo faded, Lemon heard a metallic clunk to her left. A deep voice called out, drawling and full of menace.
“Make any sudden moves, I’ma make orphans outta your funkin’ children.”
Lemon turned slow, found herself looking down the barrel of a heavy-caliber machine gun. The weapon was mounted inside a camouflaged bunker that had popped up from beneath the desert floor. Inside, Lemon could see a figure dressed in the same desert camo as Grimm and Diesel. His face was hidden by a big pair of night-vision goggles and a kerchief, and he was broad-shouldered and built, but Lemon could tell right away…
“You’re just a kid.”
“Did I say you could talk?” the gunner demanded.
“Well…no, but you’re threatening to make orphans out of my children and I’m clearly too young to have children so as far as threats go, I’m just saying yours might need a little work.”
“Oh, a smartmouth, huh?”
Grimm stuck his head out the window. “I take it you two’ve met before?”
“Grimm?” the figure yelled. “What the fork you doin’ in a Brotherhood rig?”
“Long story. Get us under, Deez is hurt.”
“What?” the machine gunner blurted, pulling down his kerchief.
“She’s breathing,” Grimm insisted. “Surface protocol, remember?”
“Dammit…”
The big boy scrambled out of his bunker, ran over to a stretch of smooth desert just in front of the truck. As she studied his face, Lemon confirmed he was only a few years older than her. He was built like a brick wall, handsome as a hot tub full of supermodels, his blond hair styled upward in a perfect quiff. Leaning down, he took hold of a chain beneath the sand, pulled up the corner of a large tarpaulin buried beneath the dirt. Struggling with the weight, the boy hauled the cover back. Underneath, Lemon saw two broad double doors set in the earth.
“What the hells?” she murmured.
The boy tugged on the doors, and they slid apart on well-oiled hinges. Lemon saw a concrete ramp, leading down into some kind of undercover carport. He beckoned her frantically.
Grimm pointed ahead. “Take us down.”
Lemon looked at her passenger like he’d just asked her to sprout wings and fly.
“Trust me, love,” he nodded. “You’re with friends now, yeah?”
Lemon sucked her lip, and against her better judgment, nudged Trucky McTruckface forward. The ramp was well lit by flickering fluorescent lights, and she brought her truck to a stop inside a large garage. Looking about, Lemon could see other vehicles—military models, by the look. Racks of gear and tools, tanks of fuel, crates of spare parts and a stockpile of heavy weapons.
“Fizzy,” she breathed.
Grimm climbed slowly out of the truck, wincing at the pain of his wounds as he set his feet on the deck. The big boy came charging down into the garage, eyes wide. Lemon had no idea what his program was, but he looked totally beside himself. A little moan of distress escaped his lips as he tugged open the back door and clapped eyes on the wounded Diesel. He climbed into the truck, felt at her throat. Peeling back the bloody bandage from the girl’s chest, he looked to Grimm.
“Jesus H, what the hell happened?” he demanded.
“Brotherhood ambush,” Grimm said. “We gotta get her downstairs.”
Picking up the girl like she was a newborn baby, the big boy carried her back up to the desert floor. Lemon climbed out to give Grimm a hand, and with her arm about his waist, they plodded up the concrete ramp, Grimm’s bloody footprints glistening behind them.
The bigger boy was waiting up top. As Grimm sealed the garage doors behind them, the kid shuffled over to another stretch of dirt, placed Diesel gently on the earth and dropped to his knees. Scraping the sand away, he revealed a large metal hatch set in the ground. With a twist of a heavy metal handle and a grunt of effort, the big boy hauled it open.
Lemon could see the door had once been painted, but the elements and years had worn away the enamel until only a few flakes remained. She could still make out a few letters in faded white on the rust.
MISS O
Squinting in the gloom, she could see the strange hatch opened onto a flight of metal stairs, spiraling down into the desert floor. The big boy stood, lifted Diesel gently and stood by the hatch, staring at Lemon and Grimm.
“Hurry up!” he roared.