Jared stayed quiet and still as the workers unloaded the barrels onto the dock. Gerald said, "I'm hungry, let's get something to eat."
The other worker nodded. They left the barrels unattended. His chance to escape. Jared lifted the barrel's lid off his head and bolted down the street. Where he was didn't matter. What mattered was that he was free. He'd escaped a hellhole. Wandered the depths of the city amongst the glowing streets' lights. His stomach growled, and he smelled food from the dumpster beside the brick red building. He climbed the ladder next to the dumpster and opened the black lid. A pizza box sat on top of the black garbage bags. He grabbed the pizza box and climbed down the ladder. When he opened the pizza box, he found the food was fresh, but the crust was burnt, so the employee threw it into the trash because it couldn't be sold.
Ate the entire pizza; the burnt crust didn't bother him. Threw the box back into the dumpster. On the pavement was a grey blanket and a mattress. Dragged the mattress and placed it underneath the rooftop of the restaurant with the sign on the window out of Business. Wrapped himself with the blanket and fell asleep.
Several hours later, a gentle nudge woke him. Jared's eyes fluttered open. The cold, damp air of the alley hung heavy. Pat was the first thing he saw. Jared rose from the grimy mattress, the burlap sack slipping to the ground.
"You're here," Jared said, the words a raw whisper. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Pat's smile was grim. "This isn't a place for you."
"You broke your promise!" Tears streamed down Jared's face, the cold wind making his cheeks burn. "You said you would look after my mother!"
"I had to leave," Pat said, his smile gone. "It was an emergency. The country wasn't safe."
Jared nodded. He'd remembered when the Zo-pak army raided through the streets of Cascadia—a gruesome image, one that he wanted to erase from his memory.
"Please, come with me to the refugee centre. I can provide you with accommodations."
"Okay, I'll go with you." Jared's decision was a gamble. He was homeless, but free. To follow Pat was to put his life in someone else's hands again, but what choice did he have? He followed Pat out of the alley, a knot forming in his stomach. Pat's car, a dark, gleaming sedan, waited at the curb. As the door opened, the interior remained shrouded in shadow. Jared sat on the black cushioned seat beside a man he was not sure he could trust.
****************
Osa approached Racheal in the hallway, his arm wrapped tightly around the waist of a woman in a blue dress.
"Racheal! Wonderful news. I've taken a third wife. This is Zoey."
Racheal's voice was ice-cold. "You already have Lyra."
"Yes, but one wife is hardly impressive for a ruler," Osa replied smoothly. "People might think I'm struggling. A man of my status should be able to support several women without issue."
He patted Zoey's shoulder.
"I rescued her from the camps. She was the only one healthy enough to marry."
His smile faltered slightly. "Unfortunately, there's a complication. She's already pregnant, so I've arranged an abortion."
Racheal glanced at the noticeable swell of Zoey's stomach.
"She looks too far along for that."
"I don't have time to raise another man's bastard," Osa snapped. "Not when I'm ruler. If I had more time, maybe I'd consider it. But I don't. So, she'll be taken to the clinic."
"But you're putting her health at risk-"
Osa released Zoey and stormed forward, seizing Racheal's arm in a bruising grip.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" he snarled. "I don't have time!"
His grip tightened.
"Yes, she's a slut. Yes, she made irresponsible choices. But I'm willing to forgive her."
He pointed at Zoey.
"I pulled her out of the camps. I offered her a palace, servants, and a second chance at life. Most women would be grateful."
His head shook.
"Instead, I get criticized for trying to solve a problem."
"Let go of me..." Racheal pleaded.
Osa didn't loosen his grip. "Is Lyra the reason you've become so defiant?" he said. "Because I can take her back to the camps. At any time."
"No, she's depressed—"
"Depressed?" Osa repeated, almost amused. "There is no reason for that. She's a queen in my palace."
Osa let go of her Racheal before turning to Zoey. He grabbed her by the wrist.
"Come, Zoey. You must meet my second wife, Lyra. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."
He led her down the corridor and stopped outside Lyra's bedroom. Without knocking, he pushed the door open.
"Lyra. Get out of bed. I want you to meet Zoey."
No response.
Lyra lay sprawled face down, her white, spaghetti-strapped knee-length dress twisted around her motionless form.
He frowned, dropping Zoey's hand. As he stepped over the rug toward the bed, his voice rose in irritation. "Lyra, stop sulking. Don't be lazy—get up."
Osa turned her stiff, cold body on the bed.
Her eyes were blank.
"Lyra! Answer me! I'm your husband!"
He shook her violently, but her head only lolled lifelessly.
"Osa's she dead!" Zoey cried, trembling with tears streaming from her eyes.
"Damn it!" Osa dropped her. Lyra's body flopped limply back onto the silk pillows with a dull thud. Osa snatched the unmarked pill bottle from the bedside table, staring at the blank plastic. His jaw tightened.
"If I had known she was a pill-popper, I never would have taken her in! She stole from me."
He hurled the bottle against the wall. Leaping from the bed, he stormed over to Zoey and gripped her wrist.
"We're leaving. The guards will dispose of her. I'm so sorry you had to see that."
They hurried out, and the door clicked shut behind them—like a tomb sealing them away from the dead.