Page 8 of Zalis
“You know who I am, then you know my sister is married to a Mahdfel. Big, ugly guy too. Teeth like grr,” she said, hooking two fingers in front of her mouth to mimic fangs. “He’ll do anything for her. He’ll tear apart every star in the sky to find me.”
The Suhlik continued to watch her, unimpressed with her vague threats. Weasel kept chattering about the quality of theother specimens.
“My sister—my twin—knows I’m missing because of our… our twin bond. Sheknows, which means he knows, which means he’s coming. You better run. Right now.” She mimicked the fangs again, because that made as much sense as a mystical twin bond.
The weasel gestured with two fingers. Suddenly, rough hands were hauling Gemma out of the cage and onto her feet. She screamed as white -hot pain flared in her ankle. She blacked out.
Gemma really couldn’t say what happened next. She was tied to a chair in the middle of the warehouse. The ceiling above had a large gap, letting in the first bit of sunlight she had seen in whoknows how long. That was the thing about being abducted by aliens—she had no way of knowing if she’d been gone for days or months.
The goons were moving the other captives.
“Hey, what was the date when you were taken?” Gemma asked as they walked by.
No answer. Fair enough. Now was not the time to compare abduction stories.
One by one, the cages emptied until only three held occupants: Tinsley, Paloma, and Blake. Five other women were left on the cold concrete, hunched over painfully with their hands and feet bound. Gemma alone had a chair. The fifteen had been reduced to nine.
The goons arranged metal plates with blinking lights in a circle around the captives. Blinky lights were never good news.
The Suhlik stood outside the circle, looking pleased with himself. The weasel looked aghast, like he was about to set a pile of money on fire.
Gemma didn’t like anything about that metaphor. Or was that a simile? She only got a B in English, so she had reasonable doubts. Simile or metaphor, either way, it could fuck right off.
“This won’t hold me,” she said, struggling against the rope. It wasn’t tied very tightly, and the chair felt wobbly, like it would give up the ghost if she sneezed.
Another smirk. “If you insist, but do mind the pressure bombs.”
She stopped struggling immediately. Of course the blinky lights were bombs.
The Suhlik took in her expression of dread like an emotional vampire. His expression brightened. “Your twin should be arriving soon. Give her my regards.”
They were alone.Abandoned. No pellets. No water. No buckets.
Gemma stared at the bombs on the floor that created a circle around the group. The rope that held her hands was loose. With a bit of effort, she could free herself, until the other women, and then what? Defuse the bombs? She’d blow herself up sky high. No, thank you. Carefully pick her way across the minefield? On a broken ankle? Not happening. Best to stay put and wait.
Half a day had elapsed, judging from the way the sun moved across the floor. The temperature had been steadily climbing and would soon be broiling. She was so thirsty that it was all she could think about. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her throat felt like razor blades. Literally the only good thing she could say was that being dehydrated meant she didn’t need the bucket.
“Hey,” Sarah’s hoarse voice called out. “Were you serious about that twin thing?”
“Hell yeah. Creepy twin powers are real.”
Emry was coming to the rescue. She had to believe that.
“I’d kill for a burger,” Sarah said.
Someone groaned. “Please stop talking about food.”
“When I get home, I want a big plate of spaghetti with my nonna’s sauce. Meatballs. Garlic bread. The works,” another person added.
“When I can, I’m making my unicorn cupcakes. Vanilla with rainbow frosting. I roll the fondant into a rope for the horn and ears,” Gemma said. The recipe was simple and more about presentation than taste. They served no other purpose than to bring whimsy and joy into the world and were her very favorite item in the bakery.
“Sweet tea. A gallon. Ice cold,” a new voice added.
“Tacos.” Sarah again. “The crunchy shell kind from the grocery store with sour cream.”
“No. Street tacos. Don’t be gross with your sour cream.”
Others called out their favorites and what they would eat when they got home. Greasy fries. Pizza. Ice cream. All the classics. Butter chicken with naan. An improbably large steak. Bread fresh out of the oven. Cheese. So much cheese. Gemma’s mouth watered, imagining it all.
