Species Traitor: A Science Fiction Dystopian Novel by Kate Mary (universal ebook reader .TXT) 📗

I was unprepared for the emotions swelling through me when the small, ramshackle house I’d grown up in finally came into view. Like the others on the road, the front light was off, but I could still see the way the red paint had begun to chip on the door. The old, ratty mat was also visible, the two remaining letters of what had once been the word WELCOME seeming to call out the way they never had before.

Suddenly, dozens of memories flooded through me. Things I hadn’t let myself think about over the last several weeks. Huddling in the kitchen, scared and confused as my mother groaned in the next room, then finally being called in by a wrinkled and very tired midwife. Being introduced to my baby sister for the first time, her face scrunched up as she wailed, her dark hair damp and matted against her head. Bathing her, feeding her, getting up with her at night when my mother slept through her cries. Walking her to school.

Up until I met Finn, every second of the last sixteen years had been about Lena. Everything I’d done had been for her. I’d looked out for her because she’d had no one else, had been there for her because our mother couldn’t or wouldn’t. Had worked and sweated and gone without for her.

Lena, I realized, was the real reason I’d come tonight. Not my mother. Not the woman who hadn’t shown me an ounce of love since before my father left, who had tossed me out like I was nothing but garbage. I was here to see my sister.

I stopped outside the front door and looked around to make sure the road was still empty. There was no reason for anyone to be keeping an eye on the house, but I had the sense I was being watched as I lifted myself on my toes and felt for the loose brick above the door. Pulling it free with shaky fingers wasn’t easy, but somehow, I managed. Once it was gone, all I had to do was slip my hand inside the opening and feel around until the tips of my fingers brushed cold metal.

Key in hand, I slipped the brick back into place before unlocking the front door and stepping inside.

The house was as silent and dark as the street had been as I pulled the door shut behind me. I took a moment to absorb the familiarity before moving, keeping my steps light as I headed for the hall that would take me to the bedrooms.

My room was the first one I came to. The door was cracked, and I couldn’t resist taking a peek. The curtains were open just like I’d left them, allowing the streetlights in to illuminate the room. Nothing had been touched, as far as I could tell. Not a single thing.

Did that mean something? I wanted to believe it meant my mother had secretly hoped I’d return, but I knew it wasn’t true. More than likely it just meant she hadn’t wanted to take the time to clean out the space, then she had gotten sick and been unable to.

Lena’s room was next, and like mine, the door was cracked and just as empty as the one I’d left behind. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting, though. Surely, my sister wouldn’t have stayed at a friend’s house if our mother was sick. Surely, she would be here. Wouldn’t she?

There was only one other place she could be, so I continued down the hall to our mother’s room.

Unlike the others, the curtains in this room were drawn, blocking out all the streetlight except for a thin sliver at the top. As a result, the room was much darker, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust and make out the scene in front of me.

My mother was in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, and in the corner, curled up in an old armchair that used to be in the living room, was my sister. Like Mom, she had a blanket over her, making her look small and young, and a pang vibrated through my chest when I thought about the many times I’d tucked her into bed over the years.

I crept across the room and knelt beside the chair.

“Lena,” I whispered, gently placing my hand on her arm.

My sister stirred, her eyes fluttering and going first to the bed. Once she’d reassured herself that our mother hadn’t moved, Lena looked down, but her gaze registered no surprise when she saw me.

“You got my message,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

“Yes.” I looked toward the bed. “How is she?”

“She’s dying.” Lena’s voice was flatter than I’d ever heard it.

I looked at her again, studying her face and trying to get a read on her. She looked the same, young and pretty, but different, too. Her eyes were lined with exhaustion and seemed as if they belonged to a much older person, not a sixteen-year-old girl. Not the sister I’d worked so hard to shield.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Lena shoved the blanket off, and it slid to the floor. She seemed to have to unfold her body so she could sit up, and when she had, I shifted as well, putting more distance between us as an uneasy feeling came over me.

“Lena?” Her name was barely more than a whisper. “What is it?”

“You left me,” she replied.

“She kicked me out,” I said.

“She gave you a choice, and you chose them.”

I was taken aback by the accusations in my sister’s words. They sounded so familiar, so like something our mother would have said, but that wasn’t Lena. She was sweet and innocent, not hateful.

“Lena,” I reached for her, but she pulled her arm away, “I didn’t want to leave. You have to know that. It was out of my control. I—” I struggled to find the words to explain. “I saw that boy being beaten by the crowd, and I