Page 5 of Love Galaxy

The section with my name contains more clothes than I’ve ever owned in my whole life, and they’re all green. I quickly glance down at myself, but I’m still wearing my old jeans with the ripped knees and my eight-dollar sweater from Best&Less, thank God. If I’d discovered someone had changed my clothes while I’d been unconscious I think I’d have screamed.

Instead, I focus on reaching the end of the passageway, where there’s a door set into the end wall. It, too, opens automatically, presenting me with a short ramp and the great outdoors. I stare out across a barren landscape toward an empty horizon. There’s literally nothing in sight. No buildings. No cars. No people. Not even any trees, cattle or crops.

This isn’t what I thought the outback looked like.

As soon as I set my foot on the ramp, the wind slams into me. My hair and clothes are whipped backwards. Grit stings my suddenly dry eyes, and I’ve got to bow my head for fear of being pushed over completely.

The wind’s so strong I can barely draw breath. I immediately want to return to the safety of the passageway. But there’s no way I can leave Harlee and Lydia drugged and unconscious like they’re the subjects of medical experimentation, so I push forward, shielding my eyes with one hand and using my other hand to cover my mouth, breathing through the small gaps between my fingers.

Fuck. I’ve never, not in all my life, experienced wind like this. It’s hell. Just putting one foot in front of the other is a massive challenge. Forget my thumping headache; this gale-force wind isso much worse. It takes what feels like a year to walk the few feet down the ramp.

Why would anyone want to live here?

Stepping onto firm ground is hardly any better. I can’t take shelter from the wind by huddling against the side of the building I vacated because it’s on stilts, raised well above the ground, the floor just about level with my head.

Is it really a building, though? Turning my back to the wind and squinting up at it, I realize it’s more like an airplane than a building. What I’d taken for stilts are actually its landing gear with enormous wheels. And like an airplane, it’s streamlined, with both ends culminating in a curved point—probably the only reason the wind hasn’t yet blown it over.

That and amazingly strong brakes.

I grab hold of one wheel to keep from being blown over myself and again search for signs of life. What I really need is a cellphone. And some painkillers.

And for some way to turn off the wind.

What I find is a building. A proper building, this time, a little way beyond the plane and silhouetted against an otherwise empty horizon. It’s set low in the landscape, like it’s trying to blend into the nothingness surrounding it. One story high, with curved walls that make it more of a semi-circle dome than the traditional rectangle house shape.

I start toward it, tripping over my feet in my haste. For the second time I hit the ground, landing on all fours. Pain shoots up my arms and knees from the impact. The ground out here is rock, blown almost completely bare. All the dirt that probably started life on the ground is now dust in the wind. And in my eyes, mouth and nose.

It’s basically impossible to stand against the force of the wind now I’m down, so I stretch the long sleeves of my sweater overthe palms of my hands in an attempt to protect my skin and crawl forward.

Yes, it has occurred to me that my captors are probably inside the only building within sight. Yes, it has occurred to me that I’m probably crawling straight toward them. But I don’t know what else to do. I’ve got to find a cellphone.

Maybe there’s some way I can sneak inside and make a call before I’m discovered.

Desperate, I speed up.

The front door is closed, and it doesn’t automatically open when I approach. Rather than trying to open it myself and potentially alert anyone inside to my presence, I crawl along the front of the building until I reach one curved side wall. The wind isn’t so strong here, thanks to the wall, and I stand up, shuffling sideways and searching for another entrance—maybe an open window or the back door.

I round another corner until I’m completely hidden from the wind by the building. Spitting hair and dust out of my mouth, the pounding in my head returns in full force now my ears aren’t full of the shrieking of the wind, and I sway where I stand, suddenly exhausted.

I’m not entirely sure how all my life choices have led me to this one moment, but here I am, hair matted with blood, throat and eyes so dry I couldn’t cry even if I tried.

And I really want to cry. I want to bury my head in my hands. I want for none of this to have happened.

I swear, if this whole day has been some stupid prank— If there are cameras recording me— If this is actually some fancy studio with painted backdrops that look disturbingly real and strong fans to make the wind— I’m going to throw a good ol’ fashioned tantrum.

I creep forward. There’s a shuttered window set into the wall. The slats aren’t wood or metal, but they don’t feel like plasticeither. Nor do they open when I pull on them. I press one eye to the slither of a gap between the shutter and the window frame, praying the first thing I’ll see is a cellphone or a laptop.

I’d settle for two tin cans on a string if it meant getting the hell out of here.

Chapter Four

Sorin

“ … w

ill not be able to keep up,” Killan is insisting. “And we cannot have our work interrupted.”

“You have already agreed,” argues the Drah’os, raising what he clearly believes to be a placating hand. His heavily armored neck limits his ability to turn his head, and his thick-set body gives him a distinctly immovable appearance, as though he were made from stone, instead of bone and flesh like the rest of us. “The contracts you signed give us full access.”

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