Paige Hanson Box Set: Paige Hanson

Paige Hanson Series Box Set

Diseased - BoxSet

Body Count - BoxSet

Maternal Instincts - BoxSet

SM Thomas

AR Hurne

Copyright © [2023] by [SM Thomas]

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

Diseased - BoxSet

Body Count - BoxSet

Maternal Instincts - BoxSet

Diseased - BoxSet

Paige Hanson #1

SM Thomas

AR Hurne

Copyright © [2022] by [SM Thomas]

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author.

Contents

1. Prologue

2. Chapter One

3. Chapter Two

4. Chapter Three

5. Chapter Four

6. Chapter Five

7. Chapter Six

8. Chapter Seven

9. Chapter Eight

10. Chapter Nine

11. Chapter Ten

12. Chapter Eleven

13. Chapter Twelve

14. Chapter Thirteen

15. Chapter Fourteen

16. Chapter Fifteen

17. Chapter Sixteen

18. Chapter Seventeen

19. Chapter Eighteen

20. Chapter Nineteen

21. Chapter Twenty

22. Chapter Twenty-One

23. Chapter Twenty-Two

24. Chapter Twenty-Three

25. Chapter Twenty-Four

26. Chapter Twenty-Five

27. Chapter Twenty-Six

28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

31. Chapter Thirty

32. Chapter Thirty-One

33. Chapter Thirty-Two

34. Chapter Thirty-Three

35. Chapter Thirty-Four

36. Chapter Thirty-Five

37. Chapter Thirty-Six

38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

41. Chapter Forty

42. Chapter Forty-One

43. Chapter Forty-Two

44. Chapter Forty-Three

45. Chapter Forty-Four

46. Chapter Forty-Five

47. Chapter Forty-Six

48. Chapter Forty-Seven

49. Chapter Forty-Eight

Prologue

W e were drowning. That’s the last thing I remember.

The light was harsh in her eyes as she rubbed them, removing the crust that had embedded across the lids. How long had she been asleep?

And do you remember what happened to your husband? a voice loomed out from the unfocused room around her. Without her glasses, they were nothing but a blurry shadow.

The panic in her stomach as the water poured into the car.

Reaching over into the backseat to unbuckle her son.

Exchanging one last nod as they pushed the doors open and made for the surface.

Legs tangled in seatbelts.

Losing her grip on their child.

A strong current dragging her down as she watched him float away in dirty water.

This couldn’t be happening.

This couldn’t be real.

No. Like I said, we were drowning. That’s all I can remember. Her tongue wouldn’t formulate the truth, something inside of her needed to hold back.

A soft moan came from the cot next to her bed. His small body still seemed blue as he lay beside her on a ventilator.

He’ll be okay. A kind voice now. A nurse. Someone who cared. He’s a fighter your boy.

The vehicle you were in wasn’t government-sanctioned, the voice came again, professional and clipped. Feminine.

An anniversary present from my husband’s friend. He had the permit.

And who was driving the vehicle? Yet another question.

Her hands on the steering wheel turning white as she gripped tightly, trying to correct their path.

My husband.

She needs to rest now, the kind voice said. Her only protector.

The light turned off. Darkness returned. She was drowning in it all over again.

Chapter One

Do you know where your husband is? The same question was fired at me over and over. I never had any answers for them, but still they came daily to ask.

The porter asked me with every meal, the nurse asked me with every check-up and the cleaners had taken to asking me at the beginning and end of each shift. It was all anyone cared about. Everyone wanted to be the first one to hear the truth. To scoop the gossip. But I didn’t have answers to give. Every time I tried to drag my mind back to my hazy memories, my blood went cold and grief began to stroke my skin, causing painful goose bumps. No, I wouldn’t revisit that memory. I couldn’t.

Your neighbours heard you arguing?

Louder than the other times?

What were you so angry about?

Where is your husband?

The questions came at me over and over in succession but I never remembered. I couldn’t remember. I wouldn’t remember.

I lay awake in my hospital bed. The room kept in the constant shadow of darkness. Occasionally, I would hear the nearby chatter of the nurses as they changed shifts near my room. I became obsessive about differentiating between their voices. Trying to pick out any clues in their chatter about my situation. But it was pointless. They never discussed the patient in room 14, and I knew without a doubt that I was in that room. I had, after all, helped to pick out the generic artwork for it. Once or twice, I’d allowed myself to call out to them, desperate for answers, but nobody ever responded to me.

To try and avoid sleep, or more importantly to try and avoid dreams, I’d taken to counting ceiling tiles in an attempt to keep my mind logical and focused. At least two of the tiles had been replaced recently, they were a slightly starker white than the others and the pattern didn’t quite match. Judging by the tiny flecks of brown staining their frames, there had been some kind of leak. Highly unusual in such a pristine and well-built hospital, but not information they’d ever bother me with.

There was a constant glow of neon light beneath the door, which complimented the flashing numbers that highlighted my loneliness on my monitor. Sometimes I’d hold my breath just to watch the numbers change, hoping I’d be able to trigger the emergency alarm and somebody new would come to my aid. But our bodies aren’t built that way, our bodies are built to avoid death at any cost and I’d always end up wheezing as my lungs demanded air. I had so many questions. So many thoughts I needed to tie down. Where was Leo? What were my injuries?

Nobody wanted to tell me anything and I had no idea why. I’d begun to worry that perhaps I was gravely ill, that something was taking over my body whilst I lay here oblivious. Other than bruising around my mid-section and large cuts on my leg, I saw no sign of physical injury. I felt absolutely normal. I had to stop obsessing. I had to stay logical. It had kept me alive for this many years after all.

I knew what everybody around me was thinking. That it was a domestic that went too far. That I did something terrible to Leo. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I would never hurt him, not really. It’s true that I had a temper, but I would never let it get that far. Would I?

I watched the shadows of feet come and go along the corridor. Sometimes they paused at my door but they never entered. I wished that they would. I needed more distractions. I couldn’t just sit here and think. It was terrifying.

Every muscle ached as I forced myself to move. Wriggling my toes and pinching my thighs. Keeping the life going in my body, trying to fight through. Determined to survive. I couldn’t believe I ever took for granted how easy it was to bend the arch in my foot or to scratch my forearm. Even just thinking about it now caused me to break out in a sweat of exertion.

I forced myself to try though. To carry on moving as much as I was able whilst confined to this forsaken bed. I may not have been strong enough to walk yet, my one attempt had sent shooting pains burning through my injured leg, but I wasn’t going to lie here and fade away. I would be able to walk over to my son and pick him up of my own accord one day.

Waking up one morning, after what felt like months of depression, I found that optimism had taken hold of my heart. I hadn’t had any nightmares, no new memories to haunt me, and for once, I’d slept deeply and peacefully. I felt rejuvenated. Today was going to be the day. Today I was going to get out of bed and stay out of bed.

Then I heard a voice come into my room that caused a blinding stress headache at its first syllable.

Where is my son?

I don’t remember I reply, blinking furiously against the bright lights she’d carelessly turned on.

I wished somebody would sort out a spare pair of glasses for me, the world was a soft blur without them. I never wore them as often as I should, but my vision was slowly improving with the course of shots I’d designed. It seemed however, that stress was undoing all my hard work; something to take note of and improve in the next batch.

But there was no mistaking the monochrome shadow that loomed over me. It was my mother-in-law. Regina.

You must remember something, Paige. She sounded frustrated, as though I was a petulant child.

I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry. Please stop asking me. Please stop making me think about it.

The longer I was left to lie in the dark, the harder it was becoming to separate the memories I did have from the dreams that haunted me.

Headlights following us down the road.

Shouting voices.

A rage I’d never felt before.

A woman’s scream.

Not mine.

My vitals began to rise and Regina cast a professional look over them. I enjoyed the shift in her focus and the pause in the questions. The silence that lingered around us was only punctuated by the electronic sound of my pulse. Right now it sounded like a symphony. She cleared her throat, interrupting my peace, determined to rob me of any optimism I’d awoken with.

You’re lucky you were brought here; my team is award winning as you know.

Nothing could stand in the way of Regina’s ego. Not even a missing son and an injured daughter-in-law. Her hospital had always been her true passion in life and her dedication to it showed as staff cowered in shadows when she clipped down the corridors in her ridiculous heels. A woman wasn’t a woman without heels, she’d reminded me when I turned up to work in sneakers once again.

Unlike Regina, I valued what others thought of me. You always catch more bees with honey, my mother used to tell me. And I needed my worker bees to stay as busy and as happy as possible. Which is why my team was always the most casually dressed on any given day. Blood samples don’t tend to care how you look after all.

Regina was staring at me; her porcelain nose held high, waiting for some display of gratitude or acknowledgement of her statement of grandeur. I didn’t have the energy to engage in her sideshow, so instead I stared blankly over her shoulder out of the window. Or at least at the crack of light I could see underneath the blind.

A small exhale of air through pursed lips told me she was furious. To the untrained eye, she would simply look as though she was concentrating. But I wasn’t an untrained eye. I was family.

I’d warned Leo about driving in that storm, she muttered to herself as she flicked through my charts, making her own notes and suggestions with the red pen she always carried in her top pocket. A constant reminder to us that she was in charge.

It was the first time I’d heard Leo’s name since waking up in the hospital, he was always reduced to nothing more than ‘my husband’ on the lips of everybody else. Tears began to spill down my face. All I wanted was to scream and wail. The fear of what may have happened to him was overwhelming. But hysterics wouldn’t achieve anything, so I accepted the silent tears escaping that I could not hold back.

Crying won’t bring your memories back. Can’t you even remember what you were arguing about? Her words held a sarcastic edge, as though she didn’t quite believe in my amnesia as she returned her pen to its home. She was above all else an extraordinarily smart woman. If anybody was going to extract the blurry memories from my mind, it would be her.

Gently, she touched the sides of her hair, making sure no strands had escaped their imprisonment, but of course they hadn’t. Not a hair on her head would dare disobey her.

I told you, I don’t remember anything. Don’t make me remember. I’m begging you.

All I wanted was to escape to my home and process my memories in a safe space, but instead, I was being kept in this hospital room and hounded with the same question over and over. If they were trying to break me into admitting half-baked memories, then they were getting close.

When can I go home, Regina? I needed to be the one asking the questions, the control would be mine. She looked at me, her gaze ice-cold.

When I discharge you of course, came her response, so matter-of-fact that had this been a sitcom I probably would have laughed. Of course, she was my lead physician - if she couldn’t fix her own family, then how could she claim to be queen bee?

And good morning to you. She moved to stand over my son’s cot. Instinctively I wanted to stop her. Despite the emotional tundra that was his childhood, Leo had insisted we make his mother a part of any of our children’s lives. Of course I’d agreed at the time but the idea had rapidly fallen out of favour as soon as I saw that blue line on the test.

When I’d been pregnant she’d treated me as an incubator, asking about my symptoms rather than my wellbeing. Introducing people to my blossoming stomach but never mentioning my name. Speaking constantly about ‘our’ baby as though she owned a part of him. It made my skin crawl. I could hide most of my resentment behind a smile or a fabricated bout of nausea, but Franklin knew the truth. He’d start kicking me in the bladder frantically the second I set my eyes on her. She took it as a sign that he already adored her. I knew it was nothing more than a physical response to his mother’s rapidly raising blood pressure.

At my baby shower she’d gifted me a set of scales to help me bounce back she said. Leo threw them out for me as soon as she’d left and held me as I sobbed angry hormonal tears. She consistently asked us about baby names and eventually turned on the crocodile tears in a last-ditch attempt to insert herself into every part of my pregnancy. But Leo held strong. He knew how important it was to me that this one thing was just our secret, our first one as a new family. Besides, he also knew whatever name we chose would be distasteful to her palate and she wouldn’t mince her words about it.

As the main hospital in the settlement, we’d ended up here after my labour began. I’d begged Leo to take me to one of the lesser treatment centres in the zone down from us. To let me give birth at home or even to take me to one of the women on the outskirts, most of whom had midwifery or doula training, but he wouldn’t listen. As my labour progressed in our living room, we both knew it wasn’t going the way it should. He had to put the physical health and wellbeing of me and the baby above my anxiety. It wouldn’t be as bad as I imagined, he reassured me as I squeezed his hand through painful contractions.

Of course Regina had taken it upon herself to oversee my labour, dismissing my chosen physician when I was too vulnerable to fight for what I needed. Appearing at intervals to comment on my dilation or rather lack of. When she’d ordered my caesarean, she looked at me as though I was a failure. I was less of a woman for not being able to birth perfectly like her. I didn’t care about her judgement though - either way, I had my baby and so long as we were both safe and well, that’s all that mattered to me.

She was there in the operating room, she gasped at Franklin’s startled cry as they held him over the curtain for me to see. Then she scooped my fresh baby into her arms and swept him away under the guise of checking his vitals.

The surgeon was inserting the final stitch into my abdomen thirty minutes later when she finally handed him over to me for our first cuddle. Even then, it was a transaction Leo forced under threat of eviction from the room. I watched her misty eyes gaze at me and my son with a longing jealousy as I pulled him close to my chest, letting him fall asleep on my bare skin. In that moment I knew she viewed Franklin as a do-over baby for her. A chance to show off the maternal instincts she’d clearly developed since Leo left home.

Despite my personal feelings towards her however, I couldn’t deny that she was a fantastic grandmother. Franklin seemed to bring out a soft side in her that none of us knew existed. She doted on his every blink, sighed happily at his every breath, and spoke to him in hushed tones for hours. I know it pained Leo to watch his mother lavish the attention on his son that he himself had never received, but as he always said, everyone deserves a second chance. Inwardly, I agreed with him as much as the President agrees with the Anarchists, but outwardly, I let bygones be bygones for an easier life. Eventually, the small nice comments I would make about her to Leo and others felt believable even to me.

As if she knew of my inner walk down memory lane, Regina reached down and picked up my three-month-old boy. She cuddled him tight into her chest. There, there, Franklin. Grandma is here.

Then she turned back towards me, pain painted upon her face so perfectly it could have been makeup. I wish you would have named him William after his grandfather. There it was. The emotional guilt trip. It had been three months but she still made this appeal every now and again, as though she could force our hand with her soft sighs and small tears.

William would have been a fantastic name. He had been a kind and loving father. The yin to Regina’s yang. Where she would smirk at quick wit, he would unleash a belly laugh that would echo through the hospital floor until even the ice queen herself would thaw and could be heard roaring with laughter alongside him. I’d love to have seen that. To watch Regina let loose and simply enjoy life, but when William passed, so did the secret to unlocking her humanity. Fundamentally, I felt sorry for her despite my burning resentment. Up until now, I could only imagine what raising a family without your other half was like. I prayed it wouldn’t become my reality.

I’d offered to name the baby William, I knew after all how important Leo’s dad was to him. But he wanted our son to have his own legacy, his own journey. Not to be burdened by the path walked by another. So, we’d settled on William as a middle name, a touching tribute. Or so we’d thought. She’d still remind us from time to time that we had up to a year to file for a name change.

As I held my arms out, expecting my son, all empathy I had for her vanished as she walked him towards the window instead, singing gently as she went. If I hadn’t found it so soothing, blood may have begun pouring from my eyes. You see, she always allowed her long-forgotten accent to seep into her words as she sang to him. Her perfect English elocution forgotten in those moments. She always sang to him in French, her mother tongue, and there was something so beautiful about her natural tone that I couldn’t complain. I could still remember the first time I heard foreign words from her lips. It was like an explosion of human history in my brain.

She knew as well as we did that any language other than the bastardised version of English-American was not State-approved, but she couldn’t help herself.

When I was feeling more charitable towards her, I tried to remember how hard it must have been for her as a child to leave everything and everyone behind when the original Earth combusted. And then, when you thought you’d found a new life, to be told that your language, accent and traditions were no longer valid or legal must have been the breaking point for so many of the evacuees who landed on Earth Two. It would explain the initial high suicide rates during the first two years of society’s rebuild. Humans are resilient but we aren’t wired for a full restart.

Even though she’d been barely a child herself when it happened, she claimed to remember every moment of that historical voyage. When my patience ran thin, I would rant to Leo about what a pathological liar she was, it was impossible that she could remember everything as vividly as she claimed to at the age of five. She even claimed to recall the numbers on the lottery ticket that won her the passage from the burning planet.

Then he’d remind me, in calm and empathetic tones, that I could also remember everything from my childhood, or at least the parts of it that I’d shared with him. That, in fact, I could still tell you what I’d eaten for lunch on any given day over the last thirty-four years. Sometimes, he would say patiently, kissing me on the forehead, people defy logic.

Please let me hold my son, I request weakly. Pitying myself for having to ask and not growing a backbone to demand what I needed. She’d always had that effect on me ever since Leo had first taken me into her home to introduce me as his fiancée. Before then, she’d at least pretended to be welcoming, dismissing me as just another passing figure in her son’s endless rotation of girlfriends. For him to tell her I was now going to be a permanent fixture in their lives was quite a displeasing shock. I wasn’t the type of woman he was supposed to marry.

I’d never forget the grimace in her smile as she reached out to shake my hand, or the fact she took Leo aside to check he knew the weight of the decision he was making. After all, I wasn’t their usual class of company. If it hadn’t been for all my successes in the scientific field and indeed within her hospital, I had no doubt she would have refused his intention to marry me. He could have married any eligible woman from any zone thanks to his heritage, and instead, he’d chosen little old me with the wild hair and dark eyes from Nomad’s Land.

She looked back at me, finally hearing my request, and the contented smile Franklin always brought out in her faded, replaced by genuine emotion. Where is my son? she asked me as she gently placed Franklin back in his cot. I couldn’t find the words to tell her what I could remember. I couldn’t find any comfort to share with her. Regarding my vitals one last time, she handed me some pills silently and waited as I swallowed them.

Where is my son? Where is Leo? There was a hint of desperation to her tone, amalgamated with a large dash of suspicion. What happened?

I couldn’t help myself. The frustration and fear overwhelmed me. I just wanted to wake up back in my own bed. My husband gently snoring next to me. She couldn’t make me admit the horror that haunted me. She couldn’t make me remember.

I don’t know! I shouted, a break in my usual self-control brought about by a level of terror I’d never felt before. If I didn’t ever remember, then it never truly happened. None of it happened.

With a sigh, she turned on her heels and clipped out of the room, not even bothering to look back at me. For a moment, I longed to call out to her, any company was better than my own company after all.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I was alone once again.

Chapter Two

Iwas sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while. Lost in dreams of better days, rooms full of laughter and beds full of skin. Leo’s legs entwined around mine as he nuzzled my neck. The warm skin of his chest pressing against my back as he inched my pyjama trousers down.

I’ll just be two minutes, he whispered. It took me a moment to fully awaken and distinguish her voice from Leo’s. I wasn’t at home in bed. I was stuck in a nightmare still in the hospital. I thought about opening my eyes and greeting the friendly voice with a smile, but before I could, a second voice burst my content bubble.

Quite impossible I’m afraid. Regina was there, lurking at the foot of my bed like an incessant breeze. Harmless but annoying.

I just don’t understand - the new voice tried to object.

That’s crystal clear, Regina shot back, the words oozing patronisingly from between her lips. My fingers ached to curl into my palm as I listened to her condescending tone. However, I decided in that moment that it would be smarter for me to keep my alert status to myself as it would allow me more time to observe the situation.

At least let me leave this? the voice pleaded, its tone rising and falling to manipulate Regina’s ear. To ask for her blessing.

A frustrated snort of agreement came from within the depths of my mother-in-law’s perfect nose.

I listened to the sound of gentle footsteps approaching my bed. Her eyes roamed my situation, taking in the machines I was hooked up to, searching for noticeable injuries and more than likely silently mocking me in jest for the state of my hair. She unleashed a gentle intake of breath as she moved to talk to me, probably to insult me light-heartedly in the hopes I would awaken to return the favour.

Hurry up. Regina was impatient, I had the feeling my visitor had arrived uninvited and perhaps unauthorised.

Two gentle clicks on my side table as the visitor left the items she had brought for me. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know what they were, she had always been there with exactly what I needed when I needed it.

It took every ounce of willpower not to reach out for the familiar hand that brought them. To the voice I’d spoken to all day every day for several years. I had to stay still though, I had to seem weak. It was always better to be underestimated. Always. Even by those closest to you.

I listened to her steady her breathing, biting her tongue in the face of the woman that, at the end of the day, was our employer. I didn’t know which of us had more self-control in that moment.

Her name was Violet and she was the best research assistant I’d ever had the pleasure of working with. It always seemed lacking when describing Violet to use her official job title because she was so much more than an assistant.

She was our contemporary in everything other than pointless paper qualifications. Held back by a lack of expensive letters at the end of her name.

We’d offered to fund the courses and exams numerous times, aware that she was just as deserving of the titles as we were but she wasn’t interested. It wasn’t that she was too proud to accept our help, she preferred to ‘fly under the radar’. To be honest, if that choice kept her by my side for more years to come then I was more than happy to support her need for no further credit.

Not many people in the hospital were aware of her intellect or her natural ability to find and fix puzzles that others weren’t able to. She had a natural nose for problems, always aware that there was one before it arose.

The rest of the management team often laughed behind my back about my closeness to Violet, referring to her as my ‘little project’ in a tone so patronising it would make my skin prickle. But none of them ever had the backbone to speak to me in person. If they had, I would have set them straight and explained in impolite terms just how valuable she truly was, especially in comparison to their bloated redundant selves.

In fact, without her input, the eyesight shots I’d been developing may never have been successful. She’d been the only one to spot the minute shadow on a cell that we, in turn, had exploited to build our medication and correct the optic nerve. Without her, I’d still only view the world in blurry vision without my specs.

It was due to be rolled out to the public in the next few weeks and she’d flat out refused to be named in any of the documents, press releases or internal memos. The only place that contained details of her name was in my own private notes that she had no knowledge of. It was important for me to keep the real records of our experiments because if she ever had a change of heart about being so inconspicuous in our achievements, I wanted to have the truth documented and ready to share with the scientific community. I wanted everyone to know how vital she truly was.

Her modesty surprised us every day, although sometimes it did feel a little extreme. She didn’t even have a photograph on our website, the image beneath her name nothing but a stock photograph of a microscope. It had taken several weeks to convince her to even let us include her name in our ‘meet the team’ section.

Once a week, she came to our house for what we liked to call a family dinner. She was, after all, the closest thing to an aunt that Franklin had. He adored her and she him, the smiles they shared in each other’s presence were infectious. We would spend hours eating, drinking and talking, and then at the end of the night, she’d call a car and travel all the way back to the land on the outskirts of the settlement - Nomad’s Land.

It was a large area of land that surrounded the city. Left untouched by the government as they concentrated their efforts on the central space of our new planet.

Once they’d completed building work on the last area for occupation, Zone 1; the nearest to Nomad’s Land, they’d erected fencing, separating us from them.

We were told in school that the installation of the border was a necessity to protect Zones 1-4 from enemy forces who would seek to destroy all that we had built. The human race had already faced one apocalypse, we were too scarce to face another. On Earth One, it had been Mother Nature that was our undoing. On Earth Two, our fate was in the hands of the Dwellers. The original occupants of the planet we’d decided to inhabit. At first, everything between our two species had been peaceful, almost friendly.

They’d freely given us some land to claim as our own, helped teach us about the landscape and the new foes of nature we had to fear. Their technology was lightyears ahead of ours and yet they still found us fascinating. Wanting to know all about the history and art we’d left behind. When they found out about the gallery we were planning to build in Zone 4, right at the centre of our settlement, it was even rumoured that our then President extended a personal invitation to their leader for opening night. But then the incident with the treaty happened and war broke out. We had no choice but to erect defences within our own land for the sake of the greater good.

Eventually, they’d at least turned off the laser fencing and allowed the movement of humans in and out of Nomad’s Land and the central zones. Recognising that some people chose to live a more basic life. But this had come after many legal battles and blood-soaked protests. I could still remember sitting in our history lessons, listening as the teacher droned on and on about how cruel and vindictive the Dwellers were. How righteous and victimised we were. It never really felt completely honest to me. As I’d always been told by my mother, history is always written by the victor.

The people living in Nomad’s Land who had been shut out from our society had explained over and over that they didn’t want support from the government. That they were prepared to defend us should any Dwellers arrive in their settlements and that all they wanted was the ability for free movement in and out of the city. They explained it over and over until they were blue in the face and even the newsies, or the media as they were traditionally known, were tired of talking about them.

Finally, it was agreed that free movement would be granted to Nomad’s residents under the sole condition that the borders were monitored. All residents of Nomad’s Land were required by law to carry an identity chip at all times whereas, for everyone else, it was merely a suggestion. I still have a blister in the palm of my hand from passionately holding onto that damn blue chip every day when I attended my Zone 1 school. Throwing it into the lake was one of the best things I ever did.

These chips contained details of members of our households; last known address, medical records, sanctioned journey history and employment records, and were required to be scanned at the point of entry and exit each time we moved into or out of the central zones.

The leaders of Nomad’s agreed to this requirement because they had members of their society who longed to be like everyone else. Parents who wanted a more acceptable life for their children. Children who wanted to grow up and give their future families opportunities never afforded to them because of their address. A lot of residents had never actually bothered to leave Nomad’s Land. They were happy enough to keep to themselves and the land they knew. They just wanted the same chances afforded to every other survivor of the human race.

But their bravery and strength over thirty years ago, during what was backhandedly referred to as ‘the hardships’, meant that we now had amazing people like Violet to work alongside. I was taught when I was very young that people were more than their address, which is why when I’d first been handed Violet’s CV, I didn’t pick up on my colleague’s point about the length of her daily commute.

When they finally spelt it out for me I decided on the spot that she was the one I wanted to assist me. Her covering letter had already won me over but I wasn’t about to lose out on the best candidate just because her address wasn’t up to the board’s small-minded standards. It seemed that my achievements had erased all memory of my birthplace in their minds.

Violet could easily have afforded a modest property in Zone 1 or even Zone 2 like we had but instead, she chose to remain where she’d grown up. Another modesty of hers, being satisfied with what she already had. Something we should all be so lucky to achieve.

One thing that had surprised me about her though was the day she asked me to sign as a character witness on her application for a driver’s permit.

I’d never known her to willingly register her name anywhere, so to see her completing a form with the government’s logo splashed across it had shocked me.

To try and prevent the pollution that had destroyed our original planet, our government had taken it upon themselves to provide the only vehicles legally available for travel.

Vehicles had to be pre-booked on a sanctioned, or in layman’s terms, necessary journey and were provided for all members of the community free of charge. They were doing everything in their power to try and minimise any pollution to our new planet having seen the destruction of Earth One. The pictures of the disintegration of the planet shown to us in class were enough for every younger generation to agree with the law.

You were however, able to apply for a private permit if you could justify it and were considered an upstanding member of society. This didn’t mean you were granted your own vehicle, just the ability to hire one once a year. But you still had to declare your journey and intentions. However, a few people saw it as a thrill to control their own destinies through the gearbox, almost feeling free from the shackles of society as they drove themselves along their pre-approved government-sanctioned route.

I never had Violet down as longing for a flight of freedom but she completed the fifty-page form with such care and attention that I could tell it really meant something to her.

Which is why I didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t have a hope in hell. They never granted licences to residents of Nomad’s Land. There was always some cock and bull reason as to why but I knew her chances were slim to none before the ink had even dried on my signature. But maybe she’d be the one. Maybe because of all her hard work at the hospital she would be the first exception, especially considering the ten-page character witness I’d sent in on her behalf.

She was devastated when she wasn’t approved.

I saw the resentment at the injustice of it all swim across her face every time she had to state her journey and reason for travel through gritted teeth down the phone.

Leo had once used his annual drive to take her home because, of course, Leo had been granted a licence. Regina had made sure of it as soon as he turned sixteen.

We surprised Violet with the journey as a gift for her birthday. He picked up the car from the dealership whilst I cooked dinner, and it was parked on the street when she arrived.

I hadn’t ever seen her display such excitement, not even in the lab. Like a child at Christmas she couldn’t wait for the journey home, passing up an extra glass of wine and even dessert. I didn’t mind really, it just meant more crème brûlée for me. I’d never had any reason to be suspicious of Leo and Violet. That’s what I kept reminding myself as they got ready to leave.

When Leo announced that he’d managed to get approval for the longer route back to the border, you would have thought he’d proposed as the happy tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. I never understood the allure of driving but I was pleased it meant so much to her. I knew the route they would be taking, me and Leo had driven it before. It was beautiful. From our house, you were able to follow the central lake all the way through town until the moment it met the lake that ran through Nomad’s Land. The water was constantly fizzing with energy and if the sky was clear, as it was that night, you could make out the puffs of evaporation where the two waters met and fought for power. An unending struggle that neither would win but a beautiful sight to witness.

Leo always said that there was something magical about driving somewhere yourself, even under strict guidelines and surveillance. It gave him a sense of freedom. I was happy for Violet to enjoy that with him, though a niggle of jealousy chipped away at me as I loaded the dishwasher and said goodbye to them both. After all, we wouldn’t get the chance to go for an unaccompanied drive for the next twelve months. But I was happy for her because she was the family we’d chosen. And sometimes that means more than the one we’re born into.

A small cough jolted me out of my daydreams and, once again, I fought to keep my eyes closed. I fought to stay weak and unassuming. All I wanted as I lay in my hospital bed was to open my eyes and see Violet’s face, but something told me I was likely to have my meds upped if Regina realised I was more conscious than not these days.

I listened as her soft steps moved away from me, fighting the urge to reach out to her. The clip-clop of Regina’s stilettos followed her out of the room and the door was pulled tight shut behind them. I waited a moment, weighing up the risk of throwing my entire plan and nature out of the window and chasing after them. Throwing my arms around Violet and finally releasing the devastation and fear I was trying to bury deep down inside.

A man’s cough and heavy footsteps paused at my door. His shadow was large and unmoving. My chances of having any more visitors had receded even further than the President’s hairline as I now appeared to have a guard at my door.

I looked towards my bedside table to find my spare glasses from my desk drawer and a shot of the serum we’d developed to help my eyesight return to 20/20 vision.

That woman was an angel.

Putting my glasses on, I pulled myself into a sitting position on the bed, it was time for a clear assessment of my situation.

Franklin was sleeping gently in his cot. I’d never known that boy to sleep so much and part of me worried that it was a sign that something had been missed in his diagnosis. Perhaps a head injury, concussion, internal bleeding. But then his little lungs moved gently up and down and he sighed happily in his sleep. The medical side of my brain rested and my maternal instincts reassured me that he just needed to sleep. He needed to recuperate, even at his incredibly young age his mind wasn’t shielded from traumatic events.

Holding him into my chest.

Kicking my legs frantically, my strength fading.

Reaching down with one hand to try and untangle myself from the seatbelt.

The current grows stronger.

He begins to struggle and panic.

His eyes pinch closed and mouth parts in a silent scream that I can feel deep in my heart.

Losing my grip on him.

Desperately reaching out for any part of him as he begins to sink.

A dark shadow moving towards him.

Engulfing him.

No. No. I can’t think of that. I have to stay strong right now. I have to keep pretending in order to get us home where we can both begin to really heal.

The uneasy feeling in my gut began to recede as I told myself over and over that I had to keep playing the part. I had to keep those memories to myself.

I shook the images from my mind and focused on the drip that was attached to my arm. It had no labels or distinguishable features listed on it, not the best sign. I would also hazard a guess from its tinged blue colour that it wasn’t the usual hydration therapy all our patients received, so I had no idea what Regina was keeping me pumped full of.

Briefly I considered pulling it out of my arm, but then she would know how much stronger I was feeling. I couldn’t let on just yet, something told me it was better to keep playing the victim for the time being. So, I would continue to let them pump me full of this mysterious liquid until I convinced her to discharge me. After all, despite our differences, I would like to think she wouldn’t truly wish any harm upon me just as I wouldn’t wish it upon her. We were family after all.

I picked up the small vial and needle Violet had left me - I may as well take the eye serum shot and by tomorrow morning, I would no longer need my glasses. Being able to see clearly would definitely make me feel less vulnerable. For one thing, I would finally be able to see the faces that kept intruding on my peace with that question I had grown to hate.

The label on the vial was loose at one end and I picked at it, there underneath the sticky label were two words in Violet’s handwriting: Stay strong.

It felt as though she was sat with me, holding my hand as I read the message over and over, enjoying the friendly reminder of the world outside of this room.

I knew that I was going to get back to that world. Whatever it took.

Chapter Three

Iwoke up once again to the sound of people in my room. I was beginning to think that ninja-like reflexes were part of the hiring policy at the hospital.

Regina? I asked, keeping my voice soft and hazy. I’d learnt how to feign weakness at a young age. Once again I reminded myself that it is always wisest to be underestimated. She ignored me instead, keeping her attention on my notes. Regina? This time, I made sure to croak her name, a pitiful sound. Letting every syllable crack against my throat, a single word but laced with a thousand thoughts and worries. My mind whirred as it commanded my body to fight against its natural urges to sit up and take control of the situation. It was self-preservation to play the victim, it told my muscles as they quietened down. Most people don’t realise how tiring it can be to pretend to be something you’re not.

The nurse delivering my lunch looked towards her boss waiting for her response, waiting for some gossip to take back to the break room. I watched as Regina’s shoulders rose and fell as she controlled her breathing, aware of her audience. Aware of all they said about her.

Yes Paige, what is it? Her tone remained neutral as she turned to look at me with a professional smile. But I could see the corners of her eyes were downturned at having to acknowledge me and what she knew my question would be.

Deep down below my own pain and confusion about the current situation, I had a mountain of empathy for her. Imagining being in her shoes caused a lump in my throat that I feared might choke me. The cruelty of not knowing where your child is, not knowing if they are safe, must feel like a knife to the gut every time you dare to let yourself think about it. The love of my life may currently be missing, but he was her world long before he even made an appearance in mine.

I just wondered, I paused as if to catch my breath, whether your treatment plan is working? I chose my words carefully, specifically assigning my recovery to her capability. If she denied I was improving, it would be an admittance that she wasn’t the miracle worker she proclaimed to be. If she admitted I was recovering, she would have to talk about discharging me. She went to dismiss the nurse from the room, not willing to play my game. I couldn’t let the only witness escape; her presence was the only leverage I had.

I’m sorry, that pitiful tone spilt out of my mouth once again. The one nobody had been able to resist. The one my mother taught me. Could you possibly fix the bottom of my sheet? I can’t seem to reach, I gestured at the drip in my arm. And my feet are freezing.

The nurse smiled at me warmly. Of course my dear, you just sit back. She busied herself remaking my bed, fluffing my pillows and taking care of my general comfort. She caught my eye, and if I didn’t know any better, she shot me a subtle wink. As though she’d seen through my façade and knew I needed her. Impossible, of course, but when the mind is starved of kindness, it begins to dream up its own.

I looked Regina in the eye, watching as her brain weighed up her options. Sometimes when she was lost in thought, I liked to pretend I could read her mind. Inferring meaning into every blink and twitch. People had always been my favourite subject to study.

Her jaw went tight and before she spoke, I knew which decision she would have made. I knew which decision she would always make. Sooner or later, everyone becomes predictable.

Of course, my treatment is working. She huffed as though I’d insulted her, in a way, I guess I had. But we still don’t understand the reason for your memory loss. It was a clever card to play. One I didn’t have an answer for. I could own up about the fuzzy recollections that turned my blood to a panicked lava that threatened to spill out of my eyes. But the idea of speaking them out loud, even thinking about sharing them brought on the start of a panic attack. Triggering my over-reactive fight or flight response. No. I needed to keep those flashbacks to myself. At least until I understood them fully.

Even if her treatment of my overall health was successful and I was physically strong enough to go home, they couldn’t in good faith discharge me until they’d checked all possible reasons for my memory loss. What if I continued losing memories? What if something happened to Franklin because of my amnesia? That would be terrible PR for the hospital. I knew in my heart that my mind was healthy, just locked down, but I couldn’t explain that to her without sharing what I knew. I had no choice but to let them keep thinking I’d lost my memories and in doing so giving her the excuse to keep me in the hospital.

The nurse patted me gently on the arm and left us alone. I let my façade slip, too caught up in the fact there was no winning for me in my current situation. Please, I just want to go home.

I’m afraid it’s not up to me, her voice was low and soft. A tone she had never directed at me before. I tried to reach out to her, to make her expand on this quiet declaration, but as soon as the words escaped her lips, she turned on her heels and left. Too afraid of her own honesty.

How was that possible? Who was above Regina in her own hospital? Rumour had it that when the President came in for treatment, she ordered his security team out of the room, and they complied.

Considering that man was so paranoid that he even insisted on a team of guards to watch him sleep at home, it was ludicrous to believe she’d convinced him they weren’t needed whilst he was in her care. But somehow, she had found the words to appease him, to soothe him, to lure him into doing exactly what she wanted. She may have liked the credit for being a good doctor, but she also knew that to do her best work she had to be uninterrupted.

If she could influence our President, how was anyone other than Regina the deciding factor in my discharge?

Before I had time to ruminate on the mystery too deeply, the answer came walking into my room.

A vision in black stood before me.

Her skirt was cut just above the knee, showcasing her toned calves which were encased in sheer black tights. Patent black heels with a red bow on the back held her petite feet, a tight leather skirt with corseted sides hugged her perfectly formed hips and the ensemble was tied together with a tight black blouse buttoned to the sharp dramatic collar. She surveyed me with two perfectly framed smoky eyes and pursed her deep red lips.

Where is your husband? Her tone was the plummy English our President valued so much. It was so pleasing to my ears. Why this woman wasn’t on broadcast with that voice, I did not know.

I’ve already told your colleagues. I don’t remember. As frustrated as I was by her repetitive question, I was also intrigued by the woman in front of me. A new specimen to study.

She smiled at me, trying to look friendly but failing miserably. She looked like a tiger ready to toy with its prey.

Paige, my name is Agent Cherry. She took her time on the introduction, her tone becoming soft and honey-tinted. I’m afraid I can’t help you if you won’t help me. I considered her point. So, this was another game to play. Another party to appease.

I’m sorry, I said in my most submissive tone, trying to disarm her. I really am. I knew I was treading too close to the vortex of sadness that had taken hold of me the moment I woke up in the hospital when I spoke my next words. I wish I could help. I really do. Nobody wants to find Leo more than me. I tried to gulp down my true despair. I couldn’t let it escape. I needed to stay in control. Control is safety.

I dropped my gaze to my hands and fidgeted with my wedding ring. I told myself it was to distract the tears from falling but really, I needed to cling to the only piece of Leo I had with me. I drew strength from the memory of his smile the day he slid this ring onto my finger. The day he became mine. I’ll stay strong. I’ll stay rational. I’ll stay brave. A mantra I’d repeated to myself every night since I was a little girl. All I can remember is drowning. The water was so dark, I stifled a sob and stole a glance at her to see how my performance was landing, I was so afraid. I let the catch in my voice linger in the air around us. The true depth of the horror I felt deep inside was beginning to claw its way to the surface.

She sat at the end of my bed with more grace than I’d ever been able to muster and regarded me pitifully. Reaching out, she placed her perfectly manicured hand upon mine. The juxtaposition of her well-painted claws against the stubby gnawed nails of my own aging hands was not lost on me. Where I had callouses from years of handwritten notes, small burns from experiments gone awry and long-forgotten scars, her hands were soft and flawless. Hands of the elite. Hands of Zone 4.

I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. She squeezed my hand in a show of solidarity. My parched heart drank up her kindness, savouring every last drop. Relishing in human contact. But we can’t let you go home until you tell us what happened. Until you tell us why you were arguing.

Am I under arrest? I asked one of the questions that had obsessed me since I woke up in this room.

Of course not. You’re being treated for your injuries. As a patient, they can’t let you go until they’re happy you have a clean bill of health. Including the cause of your amnesia. We just need to know what happened that night, we need to put the story together so we can find Leo. Her response sounded kind and caring but I was still wary enough to infer the meaning underneath. Either I confessed to half-baked truths or I would be stuck under her control.

What if my memories never come back? I was weighing up my options. If I told the truth about my nightmares, they might let me go home. Home to where I could be surrounded by Leo. Home to where he would come and find me. But still, the panic in my bones ached in warning. I had to keep my truths to myself. At least until I had more of them. I could still hear the echo of the woman’s scream from my dream if I focused hard enough, a sound just out of reach of my memory. What happened Leo? What went so wrong?

She sighed and let go of my hand. Standing up, she pushed down her skirt, removing imaginary wrinkles.

Then I guess you won’t go home. She looked over at Franklin. Cute kid. I was jarred by the comment. It was so American for someone who spoke as properly as she did. Looking back at me, her next words were dripping with passive-aggressive energy. Here’s hoping he isn’t discharged before you.

The threat was obvious.

Where will my son end up if I don’t comply with their wishes and get my memories back? Will they take him from me?

I’ll do anything you need. For the first time since she entered my room, I was being brutally honest. Still, I couldn’t bring the truths I could remember to my lips. The words refused to form. My brain shutting them down due to an unknown need to self-preserve.

Very well. And with that, the vision in black was gone from my room.

I moved to pick up Franklin, no longer caring about the scream-inducing pain that gaped from the injury on my leg. I hobbled as best as I could, trying to take as much weight on one side as possible. Right now, I no longer cared about seeming weak and unassuming. I didn’t care if Regina walked in and caught me walking. I just needed my son.

I carried him back to my bed and collapsed into a dreamless sleep with him held tight across my chest.

Chapter Four

The next few days went by in a blur of tests. I was injected, monitored, scanned, poked, prodded and drawn from. They took samples from every inch of me. I felt like a pin cushion but still, I went along when they came for the next blood draw, and the next and the time after that. There was no way they needed as much blood as they ended up taking unless they were running each test individually. It was just a sadistic way to torment me.

I stayed silent as they put me through machine after machine. I made small talk with the lab assistants I knew, making sure to ask after their families. I laughed at the nurses’ jokes, even adding my own humour into the mix. I had to connect with people where I could, I had to remind them that I was human. I was more than just a tragedy. Regina would find it harder to treat me so callously with the hospital on my side. I made sure to mention Franklin as naturally as possible in all my interactions. I